The Kabbalist (11 page)

Jeanne was aware of her
ability to use her charm to manipulate others, especially men, but this
abrasive (and quite attractive, she had to admit to herself) Israeli was
proving to be a tough customer. She felt embarrassed and for the first time
that evening she could think of nothing to say. Luria sensed her embarrassment
and hastened to rescue the conversation in the only way he knew.

“But I am not the
really interesting person at this table. Why don’t you tell me about yourself
now?” he said awkwardly.

Jeanne smiled, partly
of relief, and partly because of Luria’s clumsy attempt at avoiding exposure.
She promised herself to learn more about this enigmatic man, but understood
this would have to wait for the right moment. “Like I have already told you, I
am a history student and a member of the de Charney family, which has deep
roots in Normandy. I live with my father and mother in Caen.” She paused for a
moment. “This is Caen of Normandy, not Cannes on the French Riviera.”

Luria nodded.

"My father, who is
the most generous and gentle man in the world, heads the ‘formation et de
recherche de psychologie’ - the institute of psychological research at the University
of Caen, and my mother is a lawyer. I have an elder brother, Gilbert, who is a
gifted pianist and performs all over the world. My father has two brothers; the
eldest, Claude, lives in the old de Charney estate outside Caen, where I had
found the letters I showed you, and his son, Louis, is my best friend.” She
fell silent for a moment and her eyes scanned Luria’s face. “I have already
told you that Louis looks very much like you, but…”

Luria looked at her questioningly,
and she laughed. “… But Louis is such a sweet child… and he does not have so
many secrets…”

Luria blushed. “So you believe
I have many secrets.”

Jeanne felt awkward.
Her hand rose to her mouth. “Oh, I am sorry,” she gasped. “I am so terribly
sorry. Usually I am much more sensitive and tactful. I have no idea what has
gotten into me tonight. It must be the fact that you remind me so much of Louis,
which made me forget myself. Will you please forgive me?”

“This is quite all
right,” said Luria. “In Israel we actually prefer frankness, and I do
understand why you have said that. I am not really that mysterious. It is just
that I do not like to talk about myself.” He smiled. “Well, here I am, asking
you to tell me about yourself, yet evasive whenever it comes to telling you
anything personal. You are absolutely right.”

He raised his head and looked
at her. Jeanne saw the vulnerability in his eyes and felt genuinely sorry for
him. He was probably ten years her senior and apparently the epitome of manly
toughness, but she sensed his loneliness and insecurity showing through, and
found, to her surprise, that it made him even more appealing to her. She forced
herself to smile. “It’s OK,” she said gently, putting her hand on his hand,
which lay on the table like an injured bird. “Let us order some dessert. These
cakes look so delicious.”

*    *    *

The car stopped by the
entrance of the hotel. The two sat side by side. Jeanne did not show any sign
that she was about to leave the car. A charged silence hung between them.

“Good night,” said
Luria after a while. “Thank you for a great evening. I really enjoyed your
company.”

Jeanne remained in her
seat. She turned her face and bent over toward him. Wondering at her own
feelings and conduct, she brought her lips closer to his, and they met half
way. The feel of her lips and the scent of her hair intoxicated him.

An eternity later, when
their lips parted, they just sat there silently, both wondering what was
happening. In the semi-darkness, he saw her smile at him. He looked at her questioningly,
and she nodded. Luria drove the car to the hotel parking and then, hand in
hand, they walked into the lobby.

T
he mobile phone rang
for the first time when Luria was in the shower. He rinsed his head with hot
water and ignored it. It had been a long day, and he was just longing for the
moment he would lay his head on the clean sheet and wrap himself in the soft
eiderdown. He turned off the tap and stretched his hand out for a towel.

The phone rang again.

He rubbed himself dry.
His body was still burning from the hot water, but was rapidly cooling down. He
brushed his teeth, put on his underwear and a T-Shirt, and stormed out of the
bathroom, racing for the bedroom. The cold touch of the sheet jolted his body
like an electric shock. He let out a short yell and did his best to wrap
himself in the eiderdown from head to toe.

The phone rang again.

Somebody was really keen
on talking to him. He thought it out for a while and then unwound himself from
the eiderdown and stretched a fumbling hand towards the cabinet next to his
bed, where the phone was charging. It was cold out there, so he pulled the
phone in and quickly wrapped himself again. “Luria,” he said.

“Yossi?” Luria
identified the caller immediately. “What's wrong with you? By the time you
answer, one can die of old age!”

“I took a shower. What
is it, Aryeh?”

“Are you in a cave or
something? I can hardly hear you.”

Luria let out a
desperate groan, untangled himself and exposed his head and hand to the cold
world out there. “I was in the shower. What’s eating you?”

“Listen,” said Aryeh,
excited. “I must see you.”

“What happened?”

“This probe you wanted
me to do…”

“What about it?”

“I have found
something.”

“What have you found,
Aryeh?”

“I think I have succeeded
in building our Rivka’s family tree.”

“That’s very good news.”
Luria was now becoming excited as well. “Do you have any documentation?”

“I have everything
that’s needed, but this is just the tip of the iceberg. There’s more.”

“What is it?”

“This is not for the
phone,” said Aryeh. “I just wanted to make sure we can meet tomorrow. How about
10 o’clock at your office?”

“Sure,” replied Luria.
“10 o’clock it is.”

*    *    *

When Luria arrived at the
office next morning, Aryeh was already seated opposite Noga’s reception
counter, waiting. Luria glimpsed at the clock on the wall. It was 09:50; Aryeh
was early.

“Yossi!” Aryeh rose
from his couch to hug him. Luria could feel his excitement.

“How are you doing,
cousin?” he said in a cheerful voice. “You must have some interesting news.”

Aryeh raised a finger
and touched his lips, signaling silence. His eyes moved around and rested on
Noga. “Let’s go into your office,” he whispered and put his arm around Luria’s
shoulders. “We have some family business to discuss.”

“I’ll be coming with
coffee in a few minutes,” called Noga after them. Aryeh turned around and
wanted to say something. “Muddy black with no sugar,” said Noga, smiling,
before he could say a word. “I remember.”

Aryeh smiled, and the
two cousins stepped into the office and headed towards the small round table.
Luria dropped into a chair, and Aryeh seated himself opposite him. “Well,
Aryeh, why are you acting like you have seen too many spy movies lately?”

“Spy movies?” Aryeh
shrugged. “Let me remind you, dear cousin, that I am a Hassidic Jew. I am not into
this crap. In fact, I have not seen a single movie since I left behind me the
meaningless secular life you seem to relish so much.”

‘OK, OK.” Luria hated
this. “Let us not go into
that
right now. What have you found?”

“Last week,” said
Aryeh, “I mobilized a few resources. From the old man I have told you about,
who is a walking Safedi encyclopedia with his own private archive, to some
scholars I know. I also searched the Internet."

“Searched the Internet?"
Luria raised an eyebrow. “I thought that in your … circles this abomination was
banned.”

Aryeh grew serious.
“Don’t be so condescending. It is true that I have returned to my roots, and that
I am a man of faith now, but this does not make me a mindless fanatic like some
of the fools out there. I am perfectly aware that some of the things rabbis say
are aimed at preventing their adherents from knowing more than they should, and
at fending off difficult questions. However, in my case, I am still the one
making the decisions about what is good for me, and if someone thinks that the Internet
can corrupt me – well… I have made my decisions about faith and resisted worse
temptations. I am not a brainless bigot.”

Luria smiled. Aryeh was
right, of course. He never fully kept his respect of old to Aryeh, ever since
his cousin had chosen to undergo such a profound change in his life. Luria had
little regard for any form of mysticism, religion included. He could explain to
himself Aryeh’s metamorphosis only as an impairment in his cousin’s judgment
and common sense. He was always glad to find out that a lot of the old Aryeh
still survived the transformation. “I am happy to hear that,” he said. “Please
forgive me and go on.”

Aryeh leaned back. “Some
background first. In 1799, the Jewish community of Safed was undergoing a
process of recovery after long years of suffering. In 1759, an earthquake hit
the city, killing hundreds, among them about 120 Jews. The city was mostly destroyed,
and the Jewish population was reduced to less than fifty families. Then, a war
broke out between the central Turkish regime and a local Sheik named
Daher El-Omar, who was too independent for the Turks’
taste. All this made life difficult for the small Jewish community, which had
to pay high tributes and went into considerable debt. In 1775, power passed to
Ahmed El-Jazzar of Acre, a Mamluk with a knack for cruelty. He actually
stabilized the area and showed tolerance towards the Jews. The community
started growing again and was reinforced with more than 200 Hassidic Jews from
Eastern Europe. Besides, there was a small trickle of Jews arriving
occasionally from North Africa.”

The door opened softly,
and Noga stepped in, holding a small tray with two cups of coffee. She placed
the cups on the table and left. Aryeh raised his cup and drank thankfully from
the hot liquid before resuming.

“One of the North
Africans was Yitzhak Bakri, who arrived in 1794, with his wife Sarah and his fourteen-year-old
daughter Rivka. The Bakris were a well-known family in Algiers, where they had
moved from Livorno, Italy. This was a high class, educated family, whose
members were usually fluent in a few languages including Italian, French and
Arabic. Before long, the family emerged as an important player in the Algiers’
trade with the Italian cities and Southern France. The head of the family was
Yitzhak’s brother, the businessmen Yossef Bakri, who also assumed another
sensitive role. A central branch of the Algerian economy of those days was
piracy, and Yossef Bakri helped the American Consul in Algiers in releasing
American prisoners for ransom. The released prisoners were transferred to
Marseilles, France, by a family-owned ship.”

Aryeh took another sip
of his bitter coffee. “Yitzhak Bakri was the black sheep of the family. He was
an eccentric, who had left a well-to-do family behind and arrived in Safed for
reasons of faith. He wanted to study Kabbalah and be near the places where the
Rashbi and the Holy Ari had taught and died. However, fortune did not smile
upon this small fragment of a family. Yitzhak and Sara perished as soon as
1796, in the Black Death plague that devastated Safed at the time, leaving
young Rivka all by herself. She was adopted by the Elisar family, a local
pillar of the
Sephardi
[xx]
Jewish
Community in Safed. Sixteen-year-old Rivka was now an orphan, but at least she
ended up in a good family.”

“And Rivka Bakri is the
girl our French officer fell for?”

“The very one,” said
Aryeh. “And she was a real beauty, too. There are rumors that she had attracted
the attention of a famous Hassidic celebrity, who visited Safed in 1798, and
who considered arranging a match for her with his family.”

“Who was he?” Yossi was
curious.

“He happened to be my
spiritual idol, Rabbi Nachman of Breslau, the founder of the Hassidic branch I
am now proud to be part of. He was visiting the Holy Land at the time, but when
he found out that Napoleon was on his way north, he hurried to Acre and left on
a ship. The match, had there really been one, was not to be consummated.”

“So, our Rivka was
beautiful, from a good family, and in high demand.”

“She was very
beautiful, yes, and she was also of good ancestry and breeding. However, she
had a reputation of being frivolous, which drastically damaged her value as a
potential bride.”

“Frivolous?”

“There were rumors. Add
these rumors to the knowledge we now possess, and it seems that her short
affair with the French officer did not go unnoticed.”

“And whatever became of
her?”

“I’ll be coming to that
in a moment. After the withdrawal of Napoleon, El-Jazzar was furious at the
sympathy the Christians and Jews had shown towards the French. He planned a
bloody massacre of all non-Muslim infidels. This was prevented by Sir Sydney
Smith, the British Admiral who had helped El-Jazzar defeat Napoleon during the
siege of Acre. Smith warned El-Jazzar that if any atrocities took place, he
would use his flotilla’s artillery to bomb Acre off the face of the earth. This
calmed El-Jazzar a bit, but the local Muslims, with El-Jazzar’s silent support,
started riots against Jews and Christians. This was a difficult time for the
Jews of Safed, and at this timing, Rivka was hurriedly matched and married to a
young Sephardi Jew of the local community.”

“Wonderful!” Luria
clapped his hands in mock applause. “So we have a happy ending!”

“Not exactly,” said
Aryeh. “There was something odd about this marriage.”

“Odd?”

“Yes. It was done in a
great hurry, at a time which was not favorable for weddings and ceremonies in
general. And the young groom… while belonging to a branch of a respected
family, was not really such a hot commodity…”

Aryeh took another long
sip from his cup, while Yossi could barely contain his curiosity. “Well?”

“Well… the young man
was… how to phrase it in today’s terminology… he was mentally challenged.”

Luria was
flabbergasted. “Why would the prom queen marry damaged goods?”

“This is an excellent
question,” said Aryeh. “Perhaps our Rivka was damaged goods herself.”

“But…”

“I told you there were
rumors.”

“What rumors?”

“Well, Rivka was
married in late June 1799. She bore her only son in January 1800, barely seven
months into her marriage…”

“Only son?”

“Yes. As far as my
sources go, there were no more births in this family after that - quite
uncommon in this community.”

Luria raised his hand.
“Just a moment; you are bombarding me with details of Safedi 18
^th
century gossip. What is this? Where did you get all this information? Do you
have any evidence to back up these stories? Like documents, maybe?”

Aryeh groaned. “I
forgot I was dealing with my skeptic, faithless cousin. Well, the answer to all
your questions is yes. My source is a descendant of the Modai family, with
roots in Safed as early as the beginning of the 18
^th
century. Rabbi
Haim Modai, one of his ancestors, had left written documents of Safed of the
time, and described the 1759 earthquake. His descriptions are quoted today as
reliable historical sources. It seems that the tradition of documentation
stayed in the family, and my man has in his possession a number of notebooks
describing the day-to-day life in Safed in the late 18
^th
century and
even later. As far as I know, no historian has ever laid eyes on this material.
I am now in his confidence, and he allowed me to photocopy some pages. Later, I
hope to be able to convince him to share this rare material with the public. I
personally know some Israeli historians who would trade their right arm for a
glimpse at these documents.”

Luria stood up. “OK.
But if we believe your sources…”

“… Then Rivka’s husband
never fathered a child,” said Aryeh. “If you ask me, he was not capable of such
a feat, or perhaps our princess never let him touch her. I am willing to bet
that this only child, whose name was Eliyahu, was the son of Pascal de
Charney.”

Yossi Luria dropped
into his chair, incredulity written all over his face. He let out a whistle.
“What a story!” he exclaimed. “I find it hard to imagine Jeanne’s face when she
hears that her family has a Jewish branch. She will have an instant heart
attack.”

“Just a moment,” said
Aryeh. “The story does not end here.”

“There’s more of this
stuff? What can you possibly add to this? Did our Rivka elope with Peter Pan
and end up a pirate?”

“Yossi, please stop
this nonsense. There is more, but I want to start with a historical anecdote.”

“Why not? I forgot that
you are a historian too. I seem to be surrounded by them.” Luria’s mind was still
reeling from the news.

“Funny,” said Aryeh
pleasantly. “Now, for some gossip about the Bakris of Algiers. In 1798, Yossef
Bakri supplied grain under contract to Napoleon’s expeditionary force in Egypt.
The French never bothered to pay for the grain, and the debt had swollen over the
years. Bakri, left with an unpaid debt, sold it to the Dai – the local ruler.
Meanwhile, France became a monarchy again, and the kings, back in power, declined
to pay a debt incurred by the revolutionaries. This caused relationships
between France and Algiers to sour until, in an incident in 1827, the incensed
Dai hit the French Consul to Algiers with the butt of his hand-held fan. To
repay the insult, King Charles X’s government ordered the invasion of Algiers.
This ended up with more than a hundred years of French occupation, with
ramifications still prevailing to this day.”