Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of their respective creators and/or those taking from them. No profits realized.

A/N: My knowledge of Judaism is limited to my time with friends over the years and my "adopted" family in New York, a college roommate's parents and grandfather in Brooklyn. A couple portions are inspired by a chance meeting with a real life "Mr. Benz." If anything is wrong or seems out of place, it is simply my ignorance. Feel free to correct me. All comments, thoughts and reviews appreciated!

For NFA's Religion Challenge, inspired by events in S7 that bothered me and were solidified by Ziva's expression at the moment her swearing in ceremony was over.

In Their Footsteps, She Makes Her Way Alone

Rabbi Benjamin Gershon was a round, patient bear of a man, liked by most and well suited to his position as an associate professor at Georgetown in the religion and philosophy department. He was as popular with his students of all faiths and backgrounds at the Catholic university as he was with the nearly as mixed membership at his father's synagogue in Alexandria, where he served as an assistant rabbi and general peacemaker for the elder Gershon's flock.

Which was why, on this rainy Tuesday in November, he found himself in the reading room and library in the city's first Jewish Community Center not far from Georgetown's campus. The small, historic library didn't get many visitors these days, ever since the larger metro area JCC had been opened, with its state of the art facilities and extensive collections, but it was still manned by stalwarts, many of them retiree volunteers, who believed the collection should remain open and available and free to whomever chose to use its resources. Ben himself came here often as a student and knew some of his kids did even now, so didn't begrudge giving up his lunch hour to make a couple old men happy.

"Please, Benjamin, will you go?" His father's voice sounded weary, the sound a familiar one, usually appearing on the rare occasion when his even-tempered father could not reason with someone. "I know that Mr. Benz sees threats in every corner, but he has been complaining about a man who showed up out of nowhere a couple weeks ago at an Open University talk on Jewish Culture. Since then, he has appeared at the collection, and has come back several times. It was bad enough the first dozen times Oskar complained, but now he is certain the man has a gun."

"Has he been threatened?"

"No, and in fact Oskar concedes he has been quiet and mannerly, staying only an hour or so each time. But Oskar is uncomfortable."

"Because the man isn't Jewish?" Ben had guessed. "Maybe he's thinking of converting," he joked, thinking in the next moment he might actually have guessed correctly.

At his father's sigh, Ben pulled back his smirk and reminded himself how insistent Mr. Benz could be. "Oskar is certain he is not," he could imagine his father's shrug over the phone, "but then, you know he hasn't asked, either."

Ben had nodded to himself, having lived his life surrounded by those who had come to the U.S. from Russia, Germany, Austria and elsewhere, many in the worst times, the '30s and '40s. For some of those survivors, they would never wholly trust that it wouldn't happen again; ever wary, these ancient gatekeepers watched to be certain that those who might harm their people would not be allowed to do so without a fight. "The man is there now?"

"Yes, and only just arrived. His first visit after a couple days; not an unusual event, apparently, for him to skip a few days, then return for just as many. All in all, it sounds to me like the man is simply using his lunch hour for a bit of study, but..." Another sigh. "Benjy..."

So of course, Ben went; he was as sure as his father was that it was nothing, but they would both feel terrible if something happened. Besides, the center was around the corner from one of his favorite old bookstores, and he didn't have a class until 2:00. With only a moment to grab his umbrella, Rabbi Gershon was off toward the Metro, amusing himself by wondering if a stop at the bookstore would technically prevent his visit from being his mitzvah for the day.

As soon as he arrived in the entryway, shaking off his umbrella and stamping his feet on the entry rug, the Rabbi was met by the thin, slightly bowed man he suspected still had more steel in him than most of his own contemporaries did. "Rabbi," the elderly man whispered a quick greeting, then asked intently, "your father sent you? You know?" At the younger man's nod, Oskar Benz, eighty-something and the survivor of a perilous journey through the Tyrolean Alps before he was ten years old, one of only three of his family to have survived the Shoah, urged, "he is still here. I do not trust him, Rabbi; he seems unsettled and, whatever he is, he is not a Jew and not an historian – I know the look of each, and he is neither."

Ben nodded his head and raised his hands in a calming, understanding gesture. "I'll have a word with him, Mr, Benz. Where is he now?"

With a silent crook of his finger, Ben's eager guide led him to peer over into the "old section," the original library area where, as they had for nearly one hundred years, heavy wooden tables stood surrounded by towering bookshelves, now packed with reference books both ancient and new from the Jewish and Israeli culture collections. The man's gnarled finger pointed toward the section's lone occupant, a man who appeared to be roughly Ben's age, and who at present was frowning over an open text, in English, with another several books lying across the table. He looked innocent enough, if a bit damp himself, enough that Ben might have turned back from interrupting him, until old Mr. Benz tapped his arm sharply, made eye contact with the Rabbi, frowned pointedly and gestured along his own rib cage before nodding toward the interloper.

Glancing back, Ben's eyes narrowed as he had to admit to himself there was a slight bulge in the drape of the man's sport coat, under his left arm – certainly not his area of expertise, but maybe a gun after all. With a quietly drawn breath, Ben nodded, offered a smile of encouragement to the old man, and tipped his head toward the office. Mr. Benz backed off a couple feet before stubbornly digging in and gesturing with his eyebrows that Ben get on with it.

After only a moment, Ben nodded with a small, private smile. Far be it from me to argue with a man who faced the devil himself and lived to tell about it... At the same time squaring and relaxing his shoulders, Rabbi Gershon moved into the old section and toward the man deep in his study of the book before him.

"Pardon me..."

The soft voice broke the stillness of the place, and Tony looked up to see a broad-chested man, eyes twinkling out from behind metal-framed glasses, his mass of reddish brown curls bordering on the unruly and balanced by a beard of the same color only a bit more tamed than his hair. "I'm Rabbi Ben Geshon. My students and I study here sometimes. I apologize for interrupting your work..." He glanced briefly at the titles of the books lying across the table, recognizing most; in all likelihood the basic, introductory texts were cited in the Open University class his father mentioned. His next glance back at the man he'd come to confront, who looked at him owlishly, blinking his way back to the present, told Ben that his interruption had pulled the man away from some rather deep thoughts.

"No ... it's okay; it's not really work. It's ... I just..." It was the first time Tony had been interrupted as he read the compelling and complex history of Ziva's religion and culture and country, so rich and bound up in each other that the more he read, the more certain he was of his concerns, and confused about recent events. His reaction to it all made it more difficult than it should have been to switch gears quickly to the outside world, and he knew it showed. "Sorry." He sat up a bit straighter. It wasn't until then that he began to wonder why he'd been approached.

"May I sit? Only for a minute," the Rabbi promised. At Tony's quick nod, the Rabbi murmured his thanks as he sat, both to Tony and to his Creator, who seemed to have favored him with a non-violent interloper for his confrontation. "May I ask your name?"

DiNozzo took in the kindly, intelligent brown eyes, and knew without a doubt he was being sized up. Masking his surprise, he shrugged and said, "Tony."

The Rabbi smiled and nodded, "Tony. A pleasure." The man offered his hand, and considered him another moment as they shook hands, to Tony's growing curiosity. The man then leaned closer to speak, as if in confidence, "Tony – you've been here several times in the past couple weeks, I've heard. You've probably noticed that not too many people come here anymore, mostly just retirees or maybe some kids from the local yeshiva, working on a project for class. Right?"

DiNozzo nodded silently, curiosity growing steadily.

"And you may have noticed the man at the central desk out there today – he's been here several of the times you visited. He's a good man, Tony – but he's from a time when any stranger suddenly interested in Judaism or Jewish culture could mean a threat to the safety of those in the community." Ben watched with satisfaction as, after some initial confusion, the man's green eyes reflected an understanding and quick regret that he might have caused the old man concern.

"Oh – no, look; I'm harmless. I mean, I'm barely even taking any information away in my head, this is all new to me. I just ... I had some questions..."

Ben smiled. "You're welcome to stay as long or come as often as you like; I just wanted to be able to assure Mr. Benz you're not a threat to anyone here."

"Me? No." Tony blinked, then added, "if it helps, I'm a federal agent," he reached around to his hip pocket for his wallet and a card, pulling out a card for Ben as he showed him his badge.

"Not so much 'harmless' as safe, huh?" Ben grinned, and Tony relaxed a little.

"...and this isn't an official investigation, so nothing to be concerned about. Or ... well, it's it's not for work. I have this friend ... a co-worker. I'm just ...reading. For me."

Ben looked again at the card and, cocking his head with sudden insight, said, "Eli David's daughter."

Tony's eyebrows went up. "You know him?"

"No," he chuckled at the thought of knowing someone so influential, "just from the news. I know the name and who he is. I read somewhere that his daughter was working here in town with one of our agencies, but I couldn't remember which. It's NCIS, then?" At Tony's silent nod, Ben's own curiosity started nibbling at him. "And she is the co-worker who has you so interested in Israel and Jewish life," he mused. Receiving another silent nod, accompanied by a look of some discouragement in Tony's expression at the reminder, Ben pressed, "so ... you've just now met her? Or will be working with her?"

Tony snorted softly and shook his head. "We've been partners for over five years." At the look of mild surprise on the Rabbi's face, Tony shook his head and explained, "it's just ... things have changed – are changing – and ... I just don't get it."

"Within her faith?"

"No. Or ... well, no. I didn't think so. But now I'm not so sure, with all this," Tony waved a hand across the books on the table. "I don't know. I'm afraid so, maybe."

Ben sat looking at the man across the table from him, who was clearly frustrated and feeling beyond his depth in areas so much a part of Ben's own life. A federal agent, and one caring enough to try to learn something about Judaism for the daughter of Director Eli David? Ben couldn't resist. "Tony," he began. "Look – I don't mean to intrude, but if there's something I could answer for you..." At the agent's guarded look, he shrugged, "it's up to you. But as both a teaching assistant and a professor, I've taught my share of 'Comparative Religion' and 'Intro to Judaism' courses, to the point that you probably couldn't surprise me and you definitely couldn't offend me. So," he shrugged, "if there's something I could help you with, or answer, just ask. Consider it a thank you for your being a public servant – and for not freaking out that Mr. Benz sent me over to check you out."

At that, Tony relaxed a little more, and even laughed softly. "Thanks, but ... I think I've got the basics. I don't think the questions I have left fit the standard classroom topics."

"Then the answers probably aren't in any of these books, either." Ben's glance took in the books spread out across the table in front of them. At Tony's bare nod of agreement, the rabbi considered the man another moment, and offered, "if you want me to back off, say the word. But you look as if the more you've read, the greater your concerns. I may have some of the answers you're looking for, or I may not, but if you think I can help – you can tell me what's going on."

Tony hesitated, then sighed. "Ziva is becoming an American citizen. And I think ..." He paused, then asked, suddenly, "look, you're a real Rabbi, right?"

Anticipating his reasons for asking, Ben nodded. "Seventeen years now."

"So this can be confidential, like under the priest-penitent privilege?"

Ben nodded, "the functional equivalent, yes, if you like."

Tony nodded, then, with another pause, said carefully and low, "she wants to keep working with us, but as things are now ... she can't continue as she had been, as a Mossad liaison. Everyone wants her to stay, but the only way she can is as an agent, and the only way she can be a field agent is to be a U.S. citizen. So strings are being pulled, and she's whizzing through on her way to becoming a citizen in a few short weeks."

At the man's frown, Ben tried, tentatively, "... and ... you don't think she should?"

Tony's eyes snapped up to his, sensing he'd been misunderstood. "Oh, no – I think she should. I think she'd be safer, and could stay with us that way, so yeah, I want to see it happen." His briefly cleared brow darkened again. "But ... she's becoming a citizen for the wrong reason. She didn't even mention it until things happened, and it's the only way she can keep her job. But now she's rushing headlong into things, just like she's on another mission, forcing herself to ignore everything that might interfere with her target. And I just..." He paused again, and frowned, suddenly blurting, "and if it were really her choice, what she wanted, I'd be all for it, but ... I think she's just doing it so she can keep working where she is, and maybe ... to renounce her father. Not her country... and not her culture. I don't think she would ever renounce Israel unless she had to, not the way she used to talk about it, how she looked when she'd make plans to go visit." He glanced up at Ben, almost guiltily, and said, "and that's what got me here, and got me thinking – this is a lot more than just a country she's giving up, isn't it? It's not like changing citizenship from somewhere else, like Canada or France, where the country and a major religion aren't so intertwined. There's the whole cultural identity thing with Israel and Judaism, isn't there?"

"Well, yes, for many there is," the rabbi conceded. "But of course many of us are Jewish without being Israeli."

"I know, but Ziva is." Tony searched for words. "If Ziva gives up her Israeli citizenship, she's also renouncing everything that she has identified herself to be – Israeli, Mossad, daughter of a prominent political figure – so maybe being Jewish, as she has known it, is something she'll feel she's giving up, too. That wouldn't be the case if she were English or Spanish or Canadian, not in the same way." Tony struggled to put into words what had been gnawing at his gut for weeks. "For Ziva, she renounces her citizenship, it means she renounces Mossad and, and by extension, Eli David; by extension from there, she renounces her family and her cultural home." He was quiet for a moment, as his thoughts continued to circle around all the things Ziva was preparing to jettison. "'Jewish by birth, not by religion.' I heard her describe another Jewish Israeli that way once. I think sometimes she thinks of herself the same way, following the traditions there in Israel because 'everyone' does, but not so much here, because to her, American life isn't the Jewish life she knew."

"Are you sure she feels as if she's giving up as much as you say?" Ben asked.

"No, not at all. I may be way off base. But I do know that even though she might say she isn't observant, with some things, she is. Very."

"Like what?"

Tony had to think only a moment. "Like she doesn't come close to keeping kosher, lunch on the job, or a bite after work. Yet at her apartment, the one time I tried to use one of her black handled kitchen knives to slice cheese, you'd've thought I was going to use it to kill the neighbors."

Ben was chuckling and nodding by the time he finished, catching early in the story where it was going. "Sounds American already. Kosher kitchen, but outside, anything goes." As Tony tried to smile in response, Ben could see that there was much more than a few common quirks that bothered the man. "So ... you're afraid she's made her decision rashly," he summarized, "and that giving up her Israeli citizenship means she'll give up her beliefs?"

Tony shrugged. "Or that she'll suddenly find she's given up more than she wanted to ... or intended to." He was silent a moment, thinking again, then said, "I know why she wants to leave her father and those ties with Israel behind and, honestly, I wish she would. Last summer ... she was unable to complete a mission for him, and he left her to die." Tony's eyes darkened. "If Judaism was 'only' a religion for her, that she could just pick up – or not – wherever she went, that would be one thing. Or if she grew up in a place where it was just another religion out of several, like we have here, so her whole culture didn't turn on it, this wouldn't seem so ... big. But ... it just feels like she's giving up far more than her government, or even her family. I want to be happy for her, if it's what she really wants, but..."

"You don't think it's what she wants."

Tony dropped his eyes to the table, shrugging. "I don't know. I just get this feeling that one of these days, soon, it's gonna hit her, all of it, and she'll think she's tossed away everything. She's already lost a lot, and ..." He wound down, nearly out of steam. "She made a point the other day about how the oath makes her disavow citizenship in any other country. I just got the feeling that she was ..."

"Unconvinced?"

Tony shrugged, then nodded. "Undecided."

Benjamin tipped his head and offered,"well, Tony, this may not be much, but if it makes you feel any better," he began softly, "they don't really enforce that, the rejection of one's home country. Not like they used to – I don't know the details, but there were some lawsuits that made it ... muddy, I believe. So the U.S. doesn't press it. And when the other country simply refuses to recognize the person's disavowal..."

Tony's eyes widened in surprise and, Ben could see, some worry. "You mean Israel could stop her from becoming a citizen?"

Ben shook his head, "from my understanding, more like Israel would refuse to acknowledge her new citizenship, or would recognize her as having dual citizenship, not at all an uncommon status for their citizens. Israel is far more inclusive of its people than exclusive. If she finds she has given up too much, I suspect she might find that Israel never thought of her as having left."

Tony chewed on that a moment, and though his brow cleared a bit, his eyes remained fixed on the table before him, clearly imagining scenes Ben could not imagine. "Given the circumstances, don't know if that's better or worse."

Ben considered the man in front of him, clearly sincere in his concerns. "When is her exam? Or has she already taken it?"

"The citizenship test? In a few weeks, maybe more – she hasn't exactly been too specific." At the question that suddenly surfaced in the man's eyes, Tony deflected, "it's complicated." He could see that the rabbi was not going to press the issue, but was also curious about his response and what was behind it. "A lot of stuff happened, before the mission, after, during ..." Tony offered. "She was really, really angry with me before she left, some ... other mission stuff," he glossed over. "Since she's been back, she's not angry, but ... things are still ... awkward. We're treating her with kid gloves, sometimes, and sometimes that's more successful than other times."

Ben's eyes suddenly narrowed as he put a few pieces together. "Her father left her to die, you said ... and now she's here and on her way to renouncing Israel and becoming a citizen?" At Tony's nod, his eyes widened. "So it was you and your people who rescued her, not Mossad or her father," Ben surmised, no question in his statement. "Indeed, complicated."

DiNozzo said nothing, but his expression told Ben saw all he needed to know.

"Well, to your concerns ... if you'd like an outside observation," he began slowly. At the nod he received, Ben began, "I can't say I have ever met someone in exactly her circumstances, certainly not anyone from our generation. But there are a great number of Jews here in the U.S. – many here in the metro area – who came here in more comparable circumstances than you'd suspect. Like Mr. Benz over there," he tipped his chin behind Tony, who automatically glanced over his shoulder to see that the elderly librarian had been on the other side of the closest low stacks, trying his best to observe the others' interaction – and who now scurried away as if he actually had a chance of not being caught. DiNozzo turned back to see the affectionate smirk on the rabbi's face, and smiled a little himself. "Tony, everyone is different, and yes, I have met many, many people of my parents' and grandparents' generation who had no choice but to leave their homes and culture and family behind, to escape to the U.S. or elsewhere, and start all over again. Your Ziva's circumstances are different – on the one hand, she has been here for a while, as I understand it, and has a job in a country with far more rights for immigrant Jews than those other immigrants had, years ago. And," he smiled, tipping his head to Tony, "she has friends here who care deeply about her. So, in those respects, she has a wonderful start on her new life here, a much better start than those who knew no one and had no work. But on the other hand," Ben mused, "she is alone in her exile – not like the thousands of immigrants who came at the turn of the last century, or who came to escape the round ups and the camps, who came by the literal boatload from the same village or with their families. Those refugees came to cities like New York, where they could settle in established Jewish communities within the city, so many of them with similar experiences that it made the transition a little easier, and allowed their culture – and religion – to stay alive in their homes and neighborhoods as they worked to fit in within their new country.

"All that to say – I would guess that it is very possible that either consciously or unconsciously, Ziva anticipates having to give up much more than simply her government. But how much, and how hard will it be?" He shrugged. "Who knows? Are you justified in being concerned?" Ben softened, "Yes. But ..." he dipped his head with a bit of a smile, "if you'll forgive me ... maybe you are more concerned than you might be otherwise because of your concern and feelings for her, and less because of the several issues she faces. Yes, of course, they are complicated, but in the scheme of things ... not so different than other Jews who fled their homeland over many generations because of political difficulties. For better or worse, it's a part of who we are."

The rabbi suppressed a smirk at the blink of surprise his words brought, the clustering of the man's thoughts to shift from the clearly focused concern he had for his partner to a denial of his obsession with her. "What, you're going to say you don't have feelings for her?" Ben's grin took on a wry cant. "Go ahead, and then explain what it is that brings a man out in this rain, in his free time, to try to swallow whole thousands of years of religion and culture that aren't even his."

Caught up short by the man across the table, Tony could merely snap his open mouth shut as he reddened slightly before quickly deflecting, ruefully, "hey, if you ever decide to quit your day job, you ought to think about law enforcement. You'd be pretty good in the interrogation room."

Ben's soft chuckle rolled out across the stacks, and he considered the man before him, still looking concerned and even troubled, but, he hoped, less darkly so than before. Sensing that the man had had enough of his amateur psychoanalysis for the time being, Ben reached into his own pocket to pull out a battered wallet and from it, his card. "Here, Tony. Please – if you have any questions, or want to talk ... or if you think Ziva might want to talk to someone in the community, give me a call. Maybe I can help. Or if someday, God willing, you should need a rabbi..." Ben's eyes twinkled.

Tony was caught short by that, and actually blushed a little. "I'm Catholic..." he tried deflecting, with a self-conscious grin.

"Oh? Well, maybe for now. There's always hope..." the rabbi teased, then his smile softened a little as she stood to leave. "Agent DiNozzo, I have interrupted you long enough. It's been a pleasure." He offered his hand again and Tony stood to shake it.

"Thank you, Rabbi," he said softly, "for taking the time..."

"My pleasure. I do wish all the best for your friend Ziva, and for you, too. It sounds like she is doing well here, to have friends 'taking the time' for her." He gave Tony's hand a final shake and tipped his head back toward the central desk. "I'll tell Mr. Benz you're one of the good guys, and to watch out for you."

"Thanks," Tony smiled quietly.

"I'd like to hear how things go. Maybe when you need a rabbi," Ben suggested again, unable to resist the feeling he had about what was causing the agent so much concern for his friend. At the man's smirk and rolled eyes, Benjamin turned to go have a word with Mr. Benz. The 'intruder' at the table and his story had been as non-threatening as Ben had expected, but certainly more intriguing. He found himself curious to know how their story would play out, and if he would ever see the agent again.

Wouldn't be too hard to manage that, Ben, he told himself. It's pretty clear that the man isn't done looking for his answers, and even if they weren't to be found in the books he was reading, he's doing something in his search for meaning in his friend's quest for naturalization, and Ben knew DiNozzo would be back until he found more than he had so far.

Looking around to wave an assuring goodbye to Mr. Benz as he sneaked a last look toward the agent and headed out into the clearing afternoon, Ben reflected that the old library was a pleasant place to work. Just maybe he'd come back here to work on Thursday instead of staying in his office, as a change of scenery. If the agent was there again, still on his quest, he might have a few more questions. And Ben loved nothing more than discussing students' questions, even when the 'student' wasn't exactly a traditional one...