He’d never heard such a thing. “Columbus was a Jew?”
Marc nodded. “And remained one all of his life. He sailed to the New World hoping that he would find a place where we could live in peace. A prevalent theory of the time said that Jews in the Far East lived free, without persecution. He, of course, thought he was sailing to Asia. That’s why he brought de Torres with him. A Hebrew translator. Someone who could speak to the people he found.”
This was amazing.
“The Sephardi Jews had long protected the Temple treasure. It was brought to them in the 7th century. But in 1492, Spain became a dangerous place. All of the Jews had either been expelled or converted. The Inquisition was rooting out the faintest hint of false Christianity. To even be suspected of being Jewish meant death, and thousands were executed. So they tasked Columbus with a special mission. Take the Temple treasure with him. When he found those Asian Jews, have them protect it.”
“But there were no Jews waiting for him.”
Marc shook his head. “And when he finally realized that, at the end of his fourth voyage, he hid the treasure in his New World. Luis de Torres was there and assumed the duty of guardian, calling himself the Levite. I am his successor.”
“You know where our precious objects rest?”
“That I do. To reveal this to anyone is a violation of my duty, but what happened during the war changes things. I need your help, good friend. This is something I cannot do alone. You are the most honest man I know.”
He smiled at the compliment. “I would say the same about you.”
Marc reached out and grasped his shoulder. “When I first came here and climbed to the loft, and you followed, I knew then that you were a man I could trust. The world has changed and this duty that I have been given must change, too.”
“He told me where the treasure was located,” Berlinger said to Tom. “We were standing not far from where you and I are right now, though these streets looked much different in 1954.”
Tom imagined that was true. The Nazis would have left a mark, then the Soviets made it worse.
“Our synagogues were in ruins,” the rabbi said. “The Germans had gutted the interiors, using the buildings for storage. Nothing had been repaired. The Soviets hated us as much as the Germans did, and they killed us, too. Only slower, over a longer period of time.”
They stood at a street corner, down from the town hall, everything busy with morning activity. Most were tour groups, here for the day.
“They come from all over,” Berlinger said. “I’ve often wondered, what do they take away from the experience?”
“That to be Jewish is dangerous.”
“It can be. But I would be nothing else. Your daughter said you are no longer one of us. Is that true?”
“I renounced twenty years ago and was baptized Christian. My way of pleasing a new wife.”
Berlinger lightly pounded his chest. “But in here, what are you?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
And he meant it.
“Then why are you in Prague?”
“I came because I thought my daughter was in trouble. I’ve since discovered that is not the case. She’s a liar. Naïve, as hell, but still a liar. She doesn’t need my help.”
“I think she does. Zachariah Simon is dangerous.”
“How did you know the connection?”
“They are together, right now. I watched as you left the hall. I watched her, too. I’ve never cared for Simon.”
He could see that this 102-year-old man had lost none of his edge. “What did you do for my grandfather?”
Berlinger smiled. “Now, that’s a story I will never forget.”
“It’s in Jamaica,” Marc told him. “That’s where Columbus hid the treasure. In a mine the natives showed him. He blocked its entrance, left the island and the New World, and never returned. He was dead two years later.”
“Have you seen our treasures?” Berlinger asked.
“I’ve touched them. Held them. Hauled them from one location to another. I changed the place. It had to be done. De Torres left coded instructions on how to find the mine. They are impossible to now decipher. Every landmark that existed in his time is gone. So I’ve changed those instructions.”
“How did you move them? Are not the menorah, the divine table, and the trumpets heavy?”
“They are, but I had some help. My wife and a few others, more good men I can trust. We floated them out of the cave where they rested, down a river to another cave. There I found my own golem to help protect our treasures. A remarkable creature. I know you think that golems are not real. But I tell you, they are.”
He sensed something. A foreboding. “What is it, old friend?”
“This may be the last time you and I speak face-to-face.”
He hated to hear that.
“The Cold War is heating up. Travel into Eastern Europe will become next to impossible. My duty is done. I’ve protected the treasure the best I can, placed it where it should be safe.”
“I made the box, as you asked.”
Marc had specified the size, about thirty centimeters square, modeled after the treasury containers nearly every synagogue possessed. Usually they were made of iron and held important documents, or money, or sacred utensils. This one was of silver. No decoration adorned its exterior, the emphasis on the safety the container provided to its contents rather than appearance. An internal lock sealed the lid. He found the key in his pocket and handed it over. His friend examined it.
“Lovely. The Stars of David on the end are well crafted.”
“There’s engraving.”
He watched as Marc brought the brass close to his eyes and studied the stem.
“Po nikbar,” Marc said, interpreting the two Hebrew letters. “Here lies. That it does. And you did a good job on the hooked X.”
His friend had specifically requested the symbol.
“These markings will ensure this is the correct key,” Marc told him. “If anyone ever appears here with this, you decide if they are worthy, then show them the box. If it never happens during your lifetime, choose someone to carry on the duty.”
They stood at the base of the east wall of the Old-New Synagogue, the iron rungs above them leading up to the loft.
“I changed everything,” Marc said. “But I tried to stay with the tradition. Place the box up there, in the loft, where it will be safe, among the old papers.” Cross paused. “Where your golem can look after them.”
He smiled, then nodded, acknowledging his duty.
“Before leaving Prague that last time,” Berlinger said, “Marc placed something in the box and locked it. I stored it in the loft. Your grandfather told me nothing else. He said it was better that way. The box stayed in the loft for thirty years, until finally removed during a renovation. Luckily, I was still here to ensure its safety.”
“You never looked inside?”
Berlinger shook his head. “Marc took the key with him.”
Tom rubbed his tired eyes and tried to make sense of what he was hearing.
“This was once a central point in the Jewish quarter,” Berlinger said, motioning to their surroundings. “Now it’s just another part of Prague. Everything we built is nearly gone. Only memories remain, and most of those are too painful for any of us to recall. Your grandfather was one of the finest men I ever knew. He trusted me with a duty. It was my task to pass that duty on to someone else, and I have made a choice for when that happens.”
“But now I’m here.”
The rabbi nodded. “So I will pass what I know to you. I want you to know that if there had been a way for me to find the treasure, I would have. We deserve to have it back. That was the one thing Marc and I disagreed on, but I was in no position to argue with him. He was the chosen one, not me. Now the choice is mine. I should like to see those objects once again in a temple.”
“I’ll find them.” He removed the key from his pocket. “Where’s the box this opens?”
Berlinger pointed right.
“Not far.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
TOM WALKED WITH BERLINGER AWAY FROM THE OLD-NEW SYNAGOGUE following a street labeled Malselova. Shops and cafés, busy with people, huddled close to the cobbled lane. He knew what building sat just around the bend. The Maisel Synagogue, built by Mordecai Maisel in 1591. He’d visited it several times while writing his article on Prague. Maisel had been a wealthy Jew who ingratiated himself with Emperor Rudolph II, becoming a trusted adviser and eventually securing a special permit that allowed the building’s construction. For over a century it was the largest and most lavish structure in the quarter. But it burned in the fires of 1689, rebuilt in the late 19th century then completely restored, he recalled, in 1995. Services were no longer conducted inside. Now it held a permanent exhibition dedicated to the history of Czech’s Jews.
They entered the vestibule and Tom admired the stylish vaulting and the stained-glass windows. The towering walls were a warm shade of yellow. People milled back and forth, admiring display cases filled with silver objects. Little sound could be heard, besides their footsteps. Berlinger nodded to a woman behind the ticket counter and they were waved through.
“This was where the Nazis brought the artifacts stolen from all the synagogues,” the rabbi whispered. “They were to be displayed as part of their museum to our extinct race. Those precious objects were piled into this building and several more. I saw them myself. A terrible sight.”
They wandered into the nave, beneath unusual chandeliers, their bright lights inverted, pointing downward. Above him, a second floor was visible past a balustrade that lined the nave on two sides, broken by archways that each displayed a shiny menorah.
“Those artifacts are now gone, returned from where they came. We could not find the home for some, so they stayed here. Eventually, we decided this would be the best place to exhibit our heritage. A museum not to an extinct race, but to one that is still quite alive.”
He caught the pride in the old warrior’s voice.
“You and your daughter,” Berlinger said. “Is there any way to salvage that relationship?”
“Probably not. I had a chance, long ago, and I let it go.”
“What she said about you, faking a news article. I looked into that. You were once a respected journalist.”