The German Suitcase by Greg Dinallo Page B

drowning fate it had been spared. Having been stored in crates for more than a decade, the massive sandstone blocks that comprised the Temple and its towering Gate were reassembled in this enormous pavilion beneath a slanted glass wall that ran its entire length, giving the space an ethereal glow.
    The nearly four hundred wedding guests were seated alongside reflecting pools that formed a moat around the raised granite plain on which the Temple and its Gate stood. The dais, where the bride and groom, and members of the wedding party were seated, was situated between the two stone structures.
    At this moment, Dr. Jacob Epstein, in a finely tailored tuxedo, was striding to a podium. Like many men, Jake had become more distinguished-looking with age; and other than a slight forward lean, he had the appearance and vitality of a man decades younger. His features had softened, and his once dark, unruly hair had settled into gentle off-white waves, but his eyes still had their intelligent sparkle. More than six decades after leaving his homeland, he still spoke with a slight accent which further enhanced his charm and his role as family patriarch.
    “Hello, my name is Jake Epstein, proud grandpa of Melissa, our lovely bride,” he began in a cheery voice. “On behalf of our son Dan and daughter-in-law Sarah, my wife Hannah and I welcome you to this special occasion. The other day, while drafting my remarks, I recalled that somebody famous once said: Irony is the art of becoming what we most detest. It brought to mind an incident in Israel, years ago, when half the audience walked out of a performance of Wagner’s Ring in protest. Having made their point, they all went outside and got into their Mercedes Benz limousines and Mercedes Benz sports cars and Mercedes Benz taxis and went home.”
    A ripple of laughter spread though the guests.
    “I mention that because some of you may be asking: Why would a devout Jewish family hold a wedding reception in an Egyptian temple? Weren’t they the guys who conspired to have Moses and his scrappy tribe of Israelites slaughtered? Where would we all be today if Charlton Heston hadn’t parted the Red Sea and saved their kosher tuchas ?”
    Those in attendance roared with laughter.
    “Well, coward that I am,” Jake went on in his endearing way, “I’m going to let my co-conspirator-for-life explain. Hannah?” he prompted, gesturing to the dais. Elegant in a silver-gray sheath, Dr. Hannah Friedman Epstein strode to the podium and embraced her husband. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Jake said, beaming as applause rose.
    Slender and secure with intense eyes beneath a cap of white hair, Hannah Epstein was, indeed, a striking woman. “Thank you, thank you so much,” she said, as Jake stepped aside. “You know, for years people have said: Dr. Epstein has such a charming bedside manner; and I would ask: Which Dr. Epstein? And they’d always say: Dr. Jacob Epstein. Well, that’s because, he always gets this Dr. Epstein to do the dirty work.”
    A wave of laughter broke across the room.
    “So, why are we here in enemy territory?” Hannah asked rhetorically. “Well, Jake and I chose this Temple not only for its serene beauty; not only because of our respect for the Sackler brothers, distinguished physicians and philanthropists, for whom this magnificent wing is named, but most importantly because of the ecumenical spirit that being here symbolizes—the very same spirit that guided Jake and I when naming our Foundation. We didn’t call it the Epstein Foundation. No, we named it the Epstein Family Foundation because we are really all one family on this earth; and we know that our extended family will Never Forget…” Hannah paused, letting the Holocaust slogan resonate. “…that though so many were lost in the Shoah, many were saved, as were my husband and I, by families who opened their hearts and homes when it would’ve been convenient to have kept them shuttered. We gather here in deep