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[Synopsis: SuperJew and Mitzvah Man hunt down clues as to the identity of the individual responsible for the disappearance of the sacred Falasha Bagel]
As they zoomed across the stratosphere, Mitzvah Man turned to SuperJew and asked, “What’s our next move, Chief?”
“We need to have this note analyzed. And don’t call me Chief.”
“OK, Chief. So we’re going to a forensic laboratory?”
“Not exactly. The way the Falasha Bagel was stolen, without any traces or damages the premises, leads me to conclude that there may be a supernatural aspect to this investigation. For that reason I think we should visit onE of various consultants I keep on retainer to aid in just such an investigation.”
“Where’s this guy located?”
“At 205th Street and Broadway in Upper Manhattan. Right in the heart of Little Santo Domingo.”
“So we fly up to the Bronx and turn left.”
color="#ffff00">“Exactly. Just follow me,” said SuperJew as he left Mitzvah Man behind him in a trail of vapor.
The two landed in front of a ramshackle storefront church on Dykeman Street. The crude handpainted sign read, “Iglesia Pentecostal Dominicana de los Santos Ecumenicos.”
“This is the place?” exclaimed Mitzvah Man, a little taken aback.
“Don’t be fooled by outward appearances. This guy has got a lot of talent,” said SuperJew.
A little bell attached to the door of the church announced their arrival as they stepped inside. The place was arranged like a little chapel with rows of folding chairs facing a humble stage with a lecturn. A sign over the stage said, “Jesús es Nuestro Salud.”
“I’m not sure I belong in here,” said Mitzvah Man apprehensively.
“They don’t bite,” admonished SuperJew.
In response to the tinkling of the little bell, a dark-skinned young woman stepped out from between the velvet curtains behind the stage.
“¡Holá, SuperJew!”
“¡Holá, amiga!” SuperJew than held a brief conversation with the girl in rapid-fire Spanish, and she retreated behind the curtain.
“Wow!” exclaimed Mitzvah Man, “You speak great Spanish!”
“Spanish is one of the great classical languages of the Jewish people. The great physician and philosopher Maimonedes was Spanish. All Spanish people have some Jewish blood in them.”
The girl once again appeared and beckoned, “Venga, SuperJew.”
The two men stepped behind the curtains and were greeted by a distinguished Latin gentleman in a white suit. SuperJew embraced the man in the Latin style. They exchanged a few words in Spanish, then SuperJew said in English, “I have the pleasure to present you my associate, Mitzvah Man.”
The man graciously exclaimed, “And so the next generation emerges to take up the cause of the Jewish people.”
SuperJew turned to Mitzvah Man. “This is my dear friend, Juan Garcia Calderón Katz de la Vega, of the Dominican Republic.
“How did Katz get in there?” asked Mitzvah Man.
The Spanish man answered, “My maternal grandfather escaped the Holocaust by emigrating to the Dominican Republic, where he became a dairy farmer. Later he started the largest food processing company in the country and branched out into resort hotels. He married a Dominican woman, as did my father.”
“So that makes you one-quarter Jewish.”
“I don’t deal in percentages,” said the man. “Even if you have one drop of Jewish blood in your veins, the spirits of your Jewish ancestors will stay with you and guide you. I am an ordained rabbi as well as being a Pentecostal minister, because there are more things in the material and spiritual worlds than can be explained by one religion alone.”
“That’s why we came to seek your help,” said SuperJew, producing the note Mayor Bloomberg had given him. “What can you tell me about the person who wrote this?”
“Does this have any connection with the theft of the Falasha Bagel?” asked Señor Katz de la Vega.
Shocked, Mitzvah Man exclaimed, “How did you find out about that so fast?”
“I dispose of an internet the same as you, but it’s an internet of the spirit world.” The man turned his attention to the note. He examined the handwriting, held the paper up to the light of a candle, and, rolling it up, passed it beneath his nose like a cigar afecionado. After spending a moment in contemplation, he said, “This is written by a disturbed person who is harboring very destructive intentions.”
“Do you think you can determine the identity of this individual, Señor?” asked SuperJew.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
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Posted on 7/4/2006
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