Moshe Karlin emerged from a deep and dreamless sleep with a premonition of impending doom. The world seemed out of place. The dawn chorus of summer birds filled his ears, but louder than usual, as though an entire flock had perched on the windowsill above his bed. The mattress pressed against his back, hard and coarse. A chill breeze tickled the hair on his bare chest.
His eyelids snapped open. The endless blue velvet canopy of heaven stretched overhead, and as he gazed, a star winked out. His heart thumped in his rib cage. He was not in his bed. Or his bedroom. Or even his house.
He craned his neck forward. He lay on his back in a stony field, as naked as the day he was born.
His head slumped to the ground.
Moshe Karlin, you are in deep trouble.
Galit would kill him when he got home. That is, if she ever found out.
As his bold plan for sneaking home unnoticed grew flesh and sinew, the crackle of a loudspeaker jarred his thoughts, and a nasal voice boomed: Allahu akba-a-ar! Allahu akba-a-ar!
Moshe heard the East Jerusalem muezzin most mornings but always from a safe distance. This morning, however, the blaring call to morning prayers seemed to issue from only a stone’s throw away.
