TEL AVIV, ISRAEL
December 1966
Arie surveyed the tin roofs of Neve Tzedek, a low sprawl beneath him that stretched almost to the sea, an island of poverty in the midst of Tel Aviv’s building boom. I should buy out the Yemenites and Moroccans there, he thought, and build. He examined their crumbling roofs and dense alleys. It’s so close to the sea, that land is a gold mine, and it’s on my doorstep.
On clear days, which was most of them, the view from his new offices stretched north past the power station at Sde Dov to Netanya and south to the hill of Jaffa and the cross of the church whose name he could never remember. He congratulated himself: It’s the best view in Israel, not bad for a boy from … He paused. A sense of irritation disturbed him, as it did each time he looked out. Why hadn’t he rented higher floors? The view is much better from up there. He still had the option for a residence on the top floor of the tower, but the municipality was claiming the building had no residential license, only commercial. Well, he’d deal with that. Why else had he been cozying up to the mayor and paying off half his staff?
He turned as his secretary, Sharon, knocked and opened the door. “Your ten o’clock,” she said. “Larry Larone.”
Arie managed a smile and pointed to the white leather sofa. “Larry! Sit down, please. How are you?” Larone was the uncle of his daughter’s American pen pal, Alice. The girl wanted to come and work on a kibbutz next Easter for a few months, and Larone had used that slim connection to meet the Israeli tycoon and pitch a truly off-the-wall business proposition. And yet, Arie had been intrigued. “Any luck at the dig?” Arie asked. His English was good, with an accent more staccato German than slurred Hebrew.
The Texan, tall and thin with a carefully trimmed goatee, walked right by Arie to the double window, as did most visitors. “Oh my Lord,” he said, “what a view! And look at Jaffa for Heaven’s sake, there’s St. Peter’s, the beacon for pilgrims to the Holy Land. And the hill of Jaffa, where Saint Peter raised Tabitha from the dead. And to think, you gaze upon this holy sight every day of your life. You are indeed blessed, Arie, even if you don’t believe a word of it.”
He shouted with laughter—Heh!—and slapped Arie on the shoulder: “Let yourself be guided by the Lord, Jesus Christ, our Savior, and all will be granted to men of faith.”
“Thank you,” Arie said. “I will try. But in the meantime, any luck at the dig?”
“The well, you mean. We’re not there yet. But have faith, for the Lord guideth us. Not to green pastures, but to black gold.” Another loud Heh! “But seriously my friend, I need to know, did you decide, will you invest? Can you improve your offer?”
Arie poured a glass of water and reached across to the oilman, who in return gave him a colorful brochure. Arie could not decide whether Larry really was a devout Christian who truly believed the Bible pointed to vast oil reserves beneath the Holy Land, or a con artist.
Apart from salt and a few chemicals in the Dead Sea, Israel had no known mineral wealth. Yet with half the Arab world growing rich from oil, it made no sense that there was no oil or gas buried beneath Israel. Why would it stop at Israel’s border, a line in the sand?
Arie was deeply invested in transport, from building roads to selling and servicing cars, so the logical next step was to provide the fuel for the engines. Finding oil would be the master coup. But could he really trust this Bible-thumping, God-fearing evangelical Texan with the strange leather boots and silver string tie who had wrung a drilling concession from the government based on ancient biblical prophecy? Here it was at the head of the prospectus, in large bold blue type: “And of Asher he said, Let Asher be blessed with children; let him be acceptable to his brethren, and let him dip his foot in oil (Deuteronomy 33:24).”
The Texan’s company was drilling near Haifa, in the Carmel mountains, part of a region known in the Bible as the “foot of Asher.” “Oh praise the Lord!” Larry had shouted, “the Lord keeps his promise. Trust in the Lord for His word is Truth!”
So far the wells were dry. But the Bible was explicit. Referring to the land given to the twelve tribes of Israel, it stated that oil would be found where Asher’s foot met Joseph’s head. “Well, maybe not explicit, but more or less,” Larone had said. “It’s implied that where the two lands meet, that’s where it is. That’s where we’re digging, we’ve found signs of hydrocarbons. We’re reaching the Jurassic crest.” All man has to do is believe, dig, and wait for the gusher.
And all this man, Arie Nesher, had to do was finance the wait. One million dollars would last a long time.
Not a chance, Arie had said. After all, what if the Bible was referring not to crude oil but to olive oil? For the region was blanketed with olive trees and always had been. His offer: three hundred thousand for 51 percent of the company. It was worth a gamble, he thought, and what Larry didn’t know was that he was covering his bet by backing an Israeli company that was searching for gas offshore.
After twenty minutes, Arie walked the Texan back to the elevator through his offices, pointing out company names fixed in bronze to each cluster of doors: his empire, renamed Feather Holdings. “Textiles, construction, automobiles, a chain of grocery stores, another chain of pharmacies, an insurance company, and more. We’re a conglomerate now.”
“So why so mean?” Larone said. “Make it eight hundred thousand, I could never persuade my partners to sell 51 percent for three hundred Gs.” They stopped by the kitchen, a recess with water and a coffee machine.
“I shouldn’t have boasted about my company,” Arie said. “Listen, it isn’t only about money. With me you get contacts, proteksia, I can get things done, smooth things over with the mayors, the party, even the police if necessary. Think of me not only as a business partner but as a facilitator, consultant, analyst. The best there is. That’s who you’re bringing into the company.”
When the elevator door closed on Larone, who promised to work on his partners, Arie returned to the coffeemaker and waited for the water to boil. He needed a moment. He had presented himself as the dynamic, successful businessman, image was everything, but that wasn’t how he felt. With all the buzz around him in the media, and his employees bustling in the corridor and others with their heads down at their desks, he still felt a cold sweat. All was not well with the business. Insurance and pharmacies were performing well, but they were the sectors with the least investment and external financing. Every other sphere was struggling to remain in the black while construction and automobiles, where he was most leveraged, were hemorrhaging money. His business plan was that his earnings grow to pay his debt, but instead his earnings were falling. His next meeting in an hour was at Bank Leumi, which was threatening to call in two separate loans. He needed to sell assets to pay the debts, and quickly, but the economy was drying up. Foreign investment had slowed, government financing was disappearing, immigration was down, so was demand for housing, cars, everything. He felt like banging his cup on the table. Moshe had warned of this a year earlier. He should have listened to the old coot. The economy was in free fall and he was going down with it.
The oil and gas investments—should he do them? However bad the situation today, he still needed to build for tomorrow. He was on a bicycle that needed forward motion or it would crash. Borrow, buy, consolidate, profit, sell. That had worked so far, and for it to continue to work, to build more wealth, he needed to invest in the future while divesting some of the failing businesses. But again, back to the same problem: who will buy? Nobody can get financing.
It seemed for Israel, after eighteen years of statehood, the party was over. The economy was a game of musical chairs and he was left without one. Arie felt ill. He was way overextended. But he couldn’t admit it or the sharks would lunge. His only way forward was to invest more, bluff, and extend the terms of his bank loans. After all, the banks knew if he went under they would lose their money too. This was a time for strong nerves and no false steps. Business as usual. He nodded at his chief accountant and smiled as heartily as he could at the personnel manager.
On the way back to his office Arie stopped at Sharon’s desk, sipping his coffee. “How is it going, the presents?” Arie asked.
The first day of Hanukah was a week away, December 18, in the Jewish calendar the 24th of Kislev, 5726. Sharon had brought presents for everybody on Arie’s list, from his own children to his parents-in-law, Tamara’s siblings Ido and Estie, as well as Peter and his children. All but one.
“I don’t know what to get Tamara,” Sharon said. “I think you should pick something yourself, really, it’s too personal.”
“Don’t worry, buy her some jewelry, she likes earrings.”
“I bought her earrings last year. Or rather, you did.”
“So a bracelet, then. Or a necklace.”
“Or both?”
“Better still, yes, both.”
“With matching earrings? A ring? A set? Diamonds?”
Arie gritted his teeth and nodded.
As he walked to his office and slammed the door, she looked after him, shaking her head.