Invisible City (Rebekah Roberts #1)(75)

He looks at me with soggy, hopeful eyes. “Oh, Rebekah,” he says, reaching for me, clumsily wrapping his arms around my bed-bound body. “I’m so glad.” And then we both start to cry. I’m not sure what he’s crying about, or whom he’s crying for—his injured only daughter, or the woman who left us both behind—but me, I’m crying because I’ve finally seen a little bit of the world as Aviva saw it, and it nearly killed me.

I stay in the hospital a few more days while they monitor me for a possible blood clot. When I leave, Dad and Maria and Iris and I all pile into a livery car and go back to Gowanus. After they get me in bed and my dad and Maria go back to their hotel, I tell Iris to bring in the newspaper. I avoided the article I knew they’d published while I was in the hospital because I knew it would stress me out, but I told Iris to get a copy so I could read it when I got home.

The story about the cover-up is teased on the front page (“Hasidic House of Horrors” in white letters on a red banner) and gets three-quarters of page seven: INSIDE THE “HASIDIC HOUSE OF HORRORS”: NYPD TURNED A BLIND EYE AS JEWISH “COPS” COVERED UP MURDER

By Rebekah Roberts and Larry Dunn Who you gonna call? Not the NYPD.

A private security force made of members of the ultra-Orthodox Jewish community tried to keep the murder of both the infant daughter and the wife of the group’s primary benefactor under wraps—with the help of New York’s Finest.

The Tribune has learned that instead of calling 911, relatives of eight-month-old Shoshanna Mendelssohn turned to a group known as Shomrim, which means “guards” in Hebrew, to whisk the child’s body away to a Jewish funeral home and avoid an official police inquiry last year.

The child’s father, Aron Mendelssohn, 49, has donated tens of thousands of dollars to the Borough Park Shomrim. Mendelssohn’s wife, Rivka, was found dead in the family’s scrap yard along the Gowanus canal last week.

The NYPD allowed a group affiliated with Shomrim to take Rivka Mendelssohn’s body from the scene without examining it for evidence.

“It’s time for the secrets to stop,” says Malka Grossman of Mandel Memorial Funeral Home in Borough Park.

Grossman prepared both Shoshanna and Rivka Mendelssohn’s bodies for burial. In the Jewish tradition, bodies must be cleansed by a member of the same sex.

According to Grossman’s notes, obtained exclusively by the Tribune, both Shoshanna and Rivka Mendelssohn sustained blunt force trauma to the head.

Grossman says she handed her notes to Shomrim with the belief that they would be turned over to police.

But the NYPD says they never saw her notes.

“For years, top brass have let the Orthodox police themselves,” says a department official. “It’s all political. They vote in a bloc. They contribute to campaigns. They want to be left alone.”

The Borough Park Shomrim declined to speak with the Tribune.

Last year, the group received more than $25,000 in funding from the City Council.

Aron Mendelssohn has been charged with improper disposal of a body. Mendelssohn’s sister, Miriam Basya, 30, was shot by police on Tuesday after threatening an officer with a pair of scissors. Police tell the Tribune that they believe it was Basya who murdered both Shoshanna and Rivka Mendelssohn.

“There is violence in the Orthodox community, just like any community,” says Sara Wyman, founder of a Manhattan-based support group for the ex-Orthodox.

“Many would rather keep this unpleasant side from the outside world.”

Police Commissioner Donald Evans told the Tribune that, in light of the Mendelssohn case, the department planned to “clarify” the relationship between the NYPD and Shomrim.


“It’s a good story,” says Iris.

“Not exactly thorough,” I say. I’d like to write some follow-ups. Look into the “hospital” where Miriam was sent. Interview Baruch. Maybe profile Dev and Suri, and Sara Wyman. But not now.

I go to bed early, and the next morning when Iris goes to work, Tony comes over with coffee and bagels.

“How’s Darin?” I ask. “Have you seen him?”

Tony nods. “He’s okay. He’s on desk duty, but he says that’s normal after a shooting.”

“Had he ever shot anyone before?”

Tony shakes his head. I take his hand and squeeze it.

“I know you were looking out for me when you told him about Saul,” I say. “I’m sorry I got so angry.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad I did it, considering. But I’m sorry. I broke your trust.”

I smile. “Your big mouth probably saved my life.”

“Listen,” he says, “I wanted to explain about my mom.”

I almost object, but I’d like to get to know him better, and what’s going on with his mom is clearly a major part of his life.

“She isn’t always like that. She has Alzheimer’s.”

“Really? But she’s only like…”

“She’s fifty-five. It can hit you young. And she had it for two years before she told me or my sister. But she’s only been violent like that once before.” He sighs. “I’m sorry you had to see it. Once should have been enough.”

“What are you gonna do?” I ask.

“My sister’s coming down for the weekend. I don’t know. If we can do it, we might hire a part-time nurse or something. I know eventually she’ll have to go … somewhere.”