The Masada Complex Read Free Page B

Josh laughed, together with the whole crowd.
    “The prize committee,” Drexel continued, “voted to award this year’s prize to Masada El-Tal for her most recent exposé in Jab Magazine , which was titled: Senator Mahoney: For Sale . That report, as you know, rattled political fault lines from Arizona to Washington and all the way to Jerusalem!”
    The audience applauded meekly, which did not surprise Rabbi Josh. By exposing a bribe, Masada had forced Senator Jim Mahoney to resign and face a federal indictment. But the old man was still Arizona’s most admired politician, even in disgrace. His illustrious career, culminating in chairmanship of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee and a viable presidential run, which he lost by a small margin, had brought Arizona a great deal of pride, as well as a number of lucrative Federal projects. According to Masada’s article, the senator had taken a large cash amount in exchange for pushing through a piece of legislation called The U.S.-Israel Mutual Defense Act . But she was yet to trace the source of the money, though all fingers pointed at the State of Israel as the likely culprit, despite its formal denials.
    A man in a blue jacket rushed onto the stage and whispered to Drexel, whose smile vanished. Shading his eyes, Drexel strained to see the rear of the hall. Rabbi Josh looked back and saw the valet boys lined up with their backs pressed against the tall doors.
    Drexel handed Masada a silver statue. “Congratulations!”
    “Thanks you.” She lifted the statue. “This boy is perched on a bundle of newspapers, announcing the headlines through a tin cone. That’s how they sold news before the Internet.”
    Rabbi Josh glanced again at the rear of the hall. Was someone trying to get in?
    “But whether we deliver the news by shouting it,” she continued, “by writing it, or by sending tiny electronic signals to your iPhone, we’re only the messengers. When money changes hands for political favors, both payer and recipient betray the public, not the reporter who exposes the crime.”
    Rabbi Josh watched her, his fingers mulling the lapel pin on his jacket, a tiny combination of the U.S. and Israeli flags, joined at the stem.
    “I receive many e-mails from readers,” she said, “asking why a former kibbutznik and IDF veteran would publish an article that hurt Israel. They are correct. Every time I write about Israel, I’m torn between my heart and my professional duty. Last week, a woman told me about her visit to King Herod’s ancient fort atop the mountain I’m named for, how she cried for the Jewish zealots who killed their children and themselves on Mount Masada rather than become slaves to the Romans. But I worry about today’s Jewish children.”
    A murmur passed through the hall.
    “In Haifa, kids board a bus to school but instead arrive at the cemetery. In Jerusalem, yeshiva students study a page of Talmud and a moment later cover it with their blood. Teenagers on the Tel Aviv beachfront eat their last pizza ever . And boys who should be dancing at college parties are instead writhing in their burning tanks in the Galilee or near Gaza.”
    The last image generated a groan from the audience.
    “The Zionist dream of Israel as a safe haven for the Jewish people has failed to materialize. For decades now, major wars have interspersed with small wars, ending young, promising lives, leaving behind widows and orphans. Rockets continue to hit kindergartens in southern Israel, missiles land on factories in the north, and Palestinian men and women strap on explosive belts and go to a shopping mall. Since earning independence as a small Jewish state shortly after the Holocaust, in the six decades that have passed, not a single family in Israel has been spared grief, either for a son, lost in service to his country, a mother, blown apart in the marketplace, or for a grandfather, shot dead on his way to the synagogue.”
    Rabbi Josh glanced around the hall, where