Selected Detective
RAY GUARD

They landed at eleven o'clock. A warm, clean morning with blue skies and yellow sunlight floating in the middle, like a lump of fat. Ben-Roi wants to get a connecting flight soon. There was no event until that night, so he agreed to take a taxi to the city and visit the Israeli Embassy to clean up and change his clothes, and check his ears with the doctor. Khalifa gave instructions in Arabic, and they were soon launched.

They did not speak during the journey, just sitting while staring at the scenery outside the window as soon as the big city surrounded them. When they reached the Nile, they turned left along the Corniche, cruising there a few kilometers before turning into the middle of the city again, back to the density of the city, he said, swerving among the busy traffic before finally turning around the corner towards a spacious and quiet street with a metro station on one side and a walled area filled with trees and churches on the side they stopped there. Ben-Roi has never been to Cairo before, but he feels certain that this is not the Israeli Embassy. Angrily he asked Khalifa what had happened.

“I just want to check something,” replied the egyptian, while getting out of the car. “Just a few minutes. I think you should come too.” Ben-Roi grumbled, but Khalifa was so pushy and finally the Israelite came out also grumbling. They paid for a taxi, crossed the road and, descending some stone steps, entered the interior of the enclosed space, appearing on a small and narrow road between high walls of red and yellow brick. The atmosphere was very calm, quiet, the atmosphere was humid and stuffy.

“What the hell is this place?” ask Ben-Roi, looking around.

“This is Masr Al-Qadima,” Khalifa replied, taking her cigarette and igniting it. “Old Cairo. The most ancient part of the city. Some of its parts go back to Roman times.” He smoked his cigarette. “Although I remember this place was renamed.” He looked at Ben-Roi. “Name as Babylon. Babylon in Egypt.” The Israeli raised his eyebrows, as if saying “Is that any meaning to me?” Khalifa did not respond, just sucked her Cleopatras then moved her hand and headed towards the street. Then they passed through many doors or windows, but did not see anyone, nor did they hear any sound, except their footsteps and the incense of a song, soft and very smooth. The road turns to the right, then to the left, then to the right again before arriving at an open space, a room with a tree fringe in front of the Ben ezra Synagogue.

Again the Israelite asked what was the matter, Khalifa did not answer, just flicked his cigarette and took Ben-Roi into the building.they paused for a moment at the gate, paying attention to the marble pulpit, the decorated wooden galleries, walls and ceilings are very beautiful, then step up until they stand in front of a shrine made of wood high up on the inner side of the synagogue, flanked by Menorah braso on all sides.

“Welcome, Yusuf. I knew you'd be back.” Like his previous visit, Khalifa was so convinced that the synagogue was empty. But it turned out that there was a tall, white-haired man, sitting, as before, behind the shadows below the gallery. He raised his hand in greeting, staring at the two for a while before standing up and approaching them. Khalifa introduced her friend.

“Arieh Ben-Roi,” said. “From Israel Police Unit.” The man nodded, as if he was already looking forward to such an answer. His eyes glanced at the Menorah necklace hanging on Ben-Roi's neck. Khalifa's restless. After arriving here, he was completely unsure how to voice what was on his mind. Not even completely sure about what exactly was on his mind. The man seemed to understand the dilemma facing Khalifa, so he took a step forward and touched his hand on Khalifa's shoulder.

“This object was brought here since a long time ago,” he said softly.

“Seventy generations now. Mathhias the Great Priestess ordered it. When he knew the holy city would fall into the hands of the Romans.” Khalifa winked at him.

“Yang...”.

“Others?” back, the man seemed to know what he was thinking even before Khalifa himself did it. “Eleazar the gold craftsman made it. To deceive our enemies. The real ones were sent to Egypt with my ancestors, here waiting until a better time comes. Our family has looked after him since.” Ben-Roi opens his mouth, then closes it back and just goes silent. For a long time they did not speak.

“You never told anyone?” Ask Khalifa at last. The old man shrugged his shoulders. “The time is not yet right.”

“Now?”

“Oh yes. Now's the right time. Her signs were fulfilled.” her eyes, which made Khalifa surprised, were visibly teary-eyed by tears of happiness, not sadness. He looked at the detective, then, slowly, turned to the nearby Menorah, extended his hand and touched the tip of his finger to one of its branches.

“Three signs to guide you,” he said softly, his voice suddenly felt distant, as if echoing across vast space and time. “First, the youngest of the twelve will come and in his hands there is an eagle; second, the son of Ishmael and the son of Isaac will stand together as friends in the House of God; third, the son of Isaac will stand together as friends in the house of God, the lion and the guard will unite, and on his neck there is a lamp. When all these things come, then that's the time.” Then silence for a while. The words of the man resonated in the quiet, silent and cold inner room of the synagogue. Then he looked back, his blue eyes sparkling.

“Your arrival fills the first sign,” he said, smiling at Khalifa. “Because the youngest of Jacob's twelve sons was Joseph, or Joseph in the Arabic tongue. And you brought an eagle. The second sign is that he stretches his hand to embrace the two detectives that are filled by the two of you. For through Ishmael the Muslims traced their fathers, and from their brother Isaac the Jews traced their descendants. Muslims and Jews in the House of God. And as the third sign..” He tilts his head, marking the ornament hanging around Ben-Roi's neck.

“Lion?” khalifa asked, her voice sounding heavy and strange to her. “Gherd?” The man says nothing, just looks at Ben-Roi.

“My name,” says the Israeli. “Arieh is a lion in Hebrew. Roi is a guard. Look, this is all about what?” The man's smile widened and he let out an amused laugh. “I'll show you guys, buddy. Seventy generations, and now, finally, it's time to open this veil.” He grabbed the two detectives by the hand and led them to the back corner of the synagogue. He pulled out the key and opened the low door on the wooden panel along the wall.

“Our synagogue was built in the late ninth century, on top of the ruins of the old Coptic Church,” he explained, while ushering the two down the stairs to a lower chamber made of stone, which was, empty in addition to a folding wooden chair rack and, in the middle of the floor, a large carpet. “In turn, he stands on the ruins of an even older building, which goes back to Roman times.

When my ancestors first came here this building was home to the leader of the Jewish community in Babylon, a very wise and holy man. His name is Abner.” He walked on the carpet and, looking down, grabbed the end of the carpet.

“None of these are now left of the original house, except for one small piece of space under a very deep chamber, once used to store wine. The space survived untouched when on it centuries walked slowly and buildings came and went.” He pulled the rug to the side, revealing a stone sheet with a socket at the center, larger than the flag surrounding it, smoother, older, very old. With the help of the two detectives, he shifted it to the side, opening a hole in which there was a rung down.

Khalifa did not feel certain, but it seemed like she caught a thin beam from below.

“Ayo,” says the man. “He's waiting.” The old man led the two detectives down the stairs and into a narrow arched hallway with dusty brick ceilings and walls. The beam was unmistakable, was a warm gleam coming out from a corner on the inner side of the basement.they stepped closer, the gleam getting stronger the closer their steps were, the closer they were, deeper and stronger. Their nostrils caught the faint fragrance of perfume in the air, almost imperceptible but at the same time, strangely so poisoned that they began to feel light. They reached the end of the room, turned to the corner and stopped.

“Oh Lord,” Ben-Roi chokes. In front of them was a colossal space that cut through rough stones, the walls and ceilings rough and uneven, the interior covered in the warmest, sweetest and most beautiful rays Khalifa had ever known. While standing on the far side, the source of the lamp, Menorah branched out seven, exactly the same as they found in the mine but at the same time entirely different. the gold was clearly richer and alluring, the shape was clearly lighter and graceful, the decoration was so delicate and lively that beside it, the flowers, the leaves, the decorations were so vivid, and fruits will clearly look nothing more than a dull but worthless imitation.

The two detectives looked at each other, eyes met and looked at for some time before they turned their heads back.following the white-haired man, they walked forward until the two stood right in front of the candlestick, its rays struck them like golden waves, flowing into the eyes of the two, flooding the furthest recesses of their bodies, and filling them.

“You make these lights keep on?” ben-roi asked, his voice barely audible.

“The lights have not been touched since Menorah was brought here,” replied the old man.

“These lights have been lit, and have remained so ever since. The flavor never burns out, the oil never runs out.” They shook their heads in astonishment and leaned forward a few more inches, staring at the light.

It was unlike anything Khalifa had ever seen, made of all the colors of the rainbow and more, colors Khalifa did not know existed. Colors are so pure, so perfect, hypnotizing, that after every other color will look boring and monochrome in contrast. It pulled him inside, pummeled and rolled around him, touching his face as if he were passing through a translucent shawl before suddenly separating revealing a vast open space, the space that somehow and he could never explain it properly contained everyone he had ever known, every place he had ever visited, every single thing he had ever done: his whole life unfolds before him, so clearly perfect, so real. There was his father and mother, his brother Ali, the day of his police graduation, the day when he was five years old when he ran away from home and climbed to the top of the Great Pyramid of Cheops. And right in the middle, clearest and brightest of the distance, laughing and waving at him as if he were looking at them through the window, Zenab and his children.

“I can see Gaul.” Khalifa. In fear, he sees Ben-Roi has stuck out his hand and is holding it right in the middle of one of the flames. He stretched out his hand too, intending to draw the hand of the Israelite, but the white-haired man held him.

“God's rays cannot harm those in whose hearts are truly sincere and virtuous,” he said slowly. “Leave it.” Ben-Roi smiles. The flames seemed to expand and enlarge to cover his entire hand, wrapping him in a brilliant golden ray glove.

“I can feel her hair,” she whispers, “her face. It's right here. Gaul is here.” Ben-Roi started laughing. His fingers moved increasingly through the fire as if he was caressing the skin of his loved ones, constantly so for a while before suddenly his face turned and let out a deep sedan sound. The others came, the others again, the others again, each one rougher than the last, his entire body seemed to shiver from the pressure of grief. He pulled his hand, bent forward, held the edge, but his body movements grew stronger and he eventually fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. His tears flowed profusely like water from a collapsing dam, constantly, emptying itself.

“I love him so much,” he keeps saying so. “Oh Lord, I love him so much.” Khalifa tried to calm down, but it did not seem fitting and, as she stepped forward, she touched her hand on Ben-Roi's shoulder. He was still sobbing, tears were pouring down the cheeks of this Israelite, his breath short, the sighs of suffering. In the end, barely realizing that he was doing so, Khalifa came closer, hugged his waist and embraced this big man.

“I love him so much,” said Ben-Roi. “I miss him. Oh my God, I miss him.” The Egyptian said nothing, just hugged him. The light of Menorah enveloped the two like a shining robe, pulled the two together, and bound them. The old man smiled, turned around and walked out of the hall.

When they finally ascended again to the synagogue's living room, the old man was no longer found, calling his name, but no answer, and after searching here and there for a few minutes they came out.

It was already noon when they arrived there earlier. But now, inexplicably, it was dawn again, as if the Time span had somehow slipped and jerked, breaking the normal rhythm of the daily cycle. they gazed eastward at the tinge of pink and green, which adorned the sky above the uneven head of Muqattam Hill, the, then walk forward and sit on a wall chair under the trunk of a giant Indian laurel tree. As they sat down, a little boy in a white djelabba came carrying a tray with two cups of tea on it. His eyes were blue and bright like sapphires.

“What will we do with this?” he finally asked. By his side, Ben-Roi has bowed forward and sipped his tea.

“Doing a good thing,” murmured. “trying to do something different.”

“Hmm?”

“The last thing Gaul told me. Before he died. Do something good. Try to make something different. That's a phrase we have.” He looked at Khalifa, then looked down again. “I never said this to anyone.” The Egyptian smiled and sipped his tea. Very sweet and very viscous, the liquid was pure and reddish-brown, almost like the color of pomegranate exactly as he liked.

“This will cause problems,” said Ben-Roi after a moment of silence, then again sip his drink. “When people know that it was found. Let it be like this. Lots of other Har-Zion's everywhere. Also Al - Mulatham.” Khalifa smoked her cigarette.

The sun had just poked out from behind the hill, forming a thin, bright red scythe.

“It's too .. strong,” continued Ben-Roi. “Too .. special. If I had to go back .. I don't think we'd be ready for that. Everything is already quite complicated.” He put the glass on the side and folded his arms. A pair of bee-eaters flew from the branches above, pecking at the ground with their long beaks and, like chicken feathers, flashing back and forth. The two men exchanged glances, then nodded, knowing that they were thinking the same thing.

“Agree?” ask Ben-Roi.

“Agreed,” replied Khalifa, finished her cigarette and stepped on her butt with the tip of the shoe pad.

“I'll call Milan. tell her that the thing is safe. He won't want to know more.”

“He can be trusted?”

“Yehuda?” Ben-Roi smiles. “Yes, he can be trusted. That's why I called her about Menorah the first time. He's a good man. Like his daughter.”

“His daughter?”

“I think I told you,” said Ben-Roi.

“I'm sure I've said it.”

“Say what?” This Israelite rubbed his head.

“Yehuda Milan is the father of Gaul.”

They were worried that their decision would make the old man angry. When they met him and told him about the plan, he simply nodded and smiled with his enigmatic smile.

“Our task is to keep the Lamp, and when the time comes to reveal its origin,” he said slowly. “This we have done. Nothing more to expect, either from us or by us.” There were footsteps and the boy ran towards the synagogue, taking a position by the grandfather's side.The old man stretched his hand over the boy's shoulder.

“What will you do now?” ask Khalifa.

“Now?” The man shrugged his shoulders. “We are the manager of this place. This is our home. That's not gonna change. Nothing will change.”

“That light?”

“Lamp will remain in place.until it becomes God's will to move it. When the buds are lit there will always be light in the world, however dark it may seem.” The boy pulled on the grandfather's robe and, tiptoeing, whispered in his ear.The old man laughed amusedly and kissed his forehead.

“He said, if I die and he has to take care of this synagogue, you are both welcome to come and see the Lights whenever you want.” The two detectives smiled.

“May God be with you, my friend. The light of Menorah is within you now. Don't let it fade.” He looked at the two for a moment. The two men suddenly experienced a strange feeling of floating without any weight. Then with a nod, he clasped the boy's hand, turned around and walked into the shadows under the wooden gallery of the synagogue. Then they both disappeared from view as if they never existed.

As they leave the synagogue, Ben-Roi suddenly raises his hand to the side of his head.

“My gear healed,” said.

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