The Kabbalist (25 page)

The professor took the
last sip from his glass. “The
Book of Zohar
became public at the end of
the 13
^th
century, when it was published by the Castilian-Spanish
Kabbalist Rabbi Moshe Ben Leon of Valladolid, aka Ramdal, who claimed to have
copied it from a Rashbi text he had somehow acquired. The book became a
sensation and shortly reached the Jewish communities in the Holy Land, the most
prominent of which resided in Acre. Acre was then the capital of the crusaders’
Kingdom of Jerusalem or rather of what was left of it. Almost immediately, a
controversy arose regarding the identity of the author. Some accepted the
Ramdal’s claim that it was an original Rashbi’s 2
^nd
century text.
They believed that the Rashbi’s scripts had been somehow discovered by the
Ramban, a former head of Acre’s Yeshiva, who was originally from Catalonia, and
that he sent the scripts to the Ramdal, whom he had known before and respected
as a great scholar. Of course, the Ramban was already dead and could not
confirm or disprove any of this.

“Others claimed this
was an elaborate forgery by the Ramdal. Rumors were spread to the effect that
the Ramdal’s wife was heard to say that the Book of Zohar had been her
husband’s own creation. According to these rumors, when she asked her husband
why he was not taking full credit for himself, he explained to her that he had
figured it would sell better this way.

“One of Acre’s
Kabbalists, Rabbi Yitzhak Ben Shmuel, a former student of the Ramban, was
deeply disturbed by the possibility that the Zohar was a forgery. He planned to
travel to Spain to learn the truth for himself, but in 1291, Acre fell to the Muslims
and he was sold into slavery. Ten years later, he surfaced in Spain, still
pursuing the question which haunted him. Arriving in Valladolid, he met the
Ramdal, who swore to him that he was in possession of the ancient Zohar
originals and promised to show them to him. Unfortunately, the Ramdal suddenly
died and no Rashbi scripts could be presented. From a letter he wrote, it seemed
that Rabbi Yitzhak was eventually convinced of the antiquity of the Book of Zohar.
But his letter was abruptly cut off where he was about to elaborate on the
evidence for that.

“The controversy
survived to our time. Professor Gershom Shalom, a teacher of mine, I am honored
to say, and undoubtedly the greatest and most prominent Kabbalah researcher of
our era, attempted to settle this controversy. He tried to prove the Zohar’s
antiquity by applying semantic analysis to the text. As it sometimes happens,
Professor Shalom ended up on the other side of the fence, concluding that the
Zohar was
not
compiled during the 2
^nd
century AD, but at the
time of the Ramdal. Most Kabbalists, of course, still reject this conclusion
and attribute the Zohar to the Rashbi.”

Professor Orlev paused and
gazed at his audience. “Nobody has ever found any remnant of the scripts the
Ramdal claimed to have copied,” he said. He then added almost in a whisper. “In
one of my researches I once stumbled upon a document which hinted that a
related script was hidden somewhere in Safed. However, this was a vague entry
in a dubious document, which I could not confirm elsewhere.”

“But,” said Luria,
“from what you have just told us, the place to start looking for these texts,
if they at all exist, is Spain. Could it be that Rabbi Yitzhak had somehow
gotten hold of them and returned here?”

The professor shook his
head. “No, Rabbi Yitzhak settled in Spain. He died in Toledo.”

“So this is not the
document we are after,” noted Luria.

“Just a moment,”
intervened Jeanne, “if we are talking about a relic that was found in the ruins
of the Temple, then the times are incompatible, too. Even if the original Zohar
was written by Bar Yochai, he lived in the 2
^nd
century AD, almost a
century
after
the destruction of the Temple.”

Orlev scratched his
head. “You are right, of course,” he said gloomily.

A short silence
followed, which Luria interrupted. “Can I raise one more subject?”

“Of course,” said
Orlev. “Go ahead.”

“We tried to figure out
where the scrolls could have ended up. De Charney had given them to a friend of
his before he was killed. This friend, in turn, was severely wounded, and the
documents were lost. That got us thinking about the monastery of Stella Maris…”

“I see.” Orlev was
evidently excited. “Napoleon’s rear hospital.”

“Exactly; this, in
turn, reminded me of an event which took place there four years ago. One of the
monastery’s residents, Father Fernando Diaz, was murdered. I understand that
you knew Father Diaz personally, and I wondered if I could ask you…”

A dark cloud descended
on Orlev’s face, and his shoulders sagged perceptibly.

“Professor Diaz was a
brilliant scholar of Christian history,” said the professor in a broken voice.
“His death was a tragedy to this discipline of historical research and a personal,
painful blow to me. Why have you mentioned him?”

“Four years ago I was
involved, as a police officer, in the inquiry into his death. I still wonder
what really happened there. I understood from Aryeh, my cousin whom you know
well, that you knew Professor Diaz personally.”

“Yes, indeed,” Orlev concurred.
“Fernando and I met often, mostly at academic conferences, and I grew to
appreciate the man and his work.”

“Do you happen to know
what research he was conducting at the time of his death?”

The shadow on Orlev’s
face grew darker. “Not really,” he said after a while. “Aryeh must have told
you about the last time we met him. Professor Diaz mentioned a new research he
was working on, but did not elaborate. He always liked to be a bit mysterious.”

“So you don’t think he
was really researching something.”

“Professor Diaz was a
true scholar. He was
always
working on something. Perhaps he felt it was
not mature enough to discuss… and he hardly ever published anyway.” Orlev
looked at Luria suspiciously. “What are you driving at?”

“As I said, I was
involved in the investigation, and this is a promising lead, which I do not believe
was pursued at the time.”

“Are you hinting that
the subject of Professor Diaz’s research had something to do with his death?”
Orlev looked shaken. “It seems far-fetched to me. I understood it was a case of
a burglary which escalated into that terrible outcome.”

“Yes,” acknowledged
Luria. “That is the official story.”

The professor suddenly
glanced at his watch and looked alarmed. “Well, my friends, my time today is
limited. Even so, the topic is challenging. Let me think about it, and we may
resume our conversation in a few days.”

“Sure,” said Luria,
acutely aware that the professor was dodging the subject. “We will be honored
to meet you again.”

Jeanne, too, smiled at
the professor and nodded. The three rose to their feet.

“Oh, I have a small
request, my dear,” Orlev addressed Jeanne. “Could you let me copy those
translations you showed me? I have a copy machine in my study.”

Jeanne hesitated for a
second. “Of course.” She handed the documents to the professor, who promptly
disappeared into his study.

Luria turned to say
something to Jeanne but what he saw in her face made him freeze. She was facing
the door through which the professor had just left. Her eyes were staring at a
point behind Luria’s back, and her expression was a mix of amazement and alarm.
Luria turned around and looked back.

Someone was standing in
the doorway. It was not Professor Orlev.

Luria blinked. The figure
standing there was so strange that he was not sure what to make of it. It was a
child with an angelic face, blue eyes and fair hair, whose age Luria would have
estimated under normal circumstances at around ten. However, the boy was a
giant, whose height Luria judged at well over two meters. He had a muscular,
well developed body, but his face and the look in his eyes were those of a
little child.

The odd-looking boy now
stepped into the room, his eyes fixed on Jeanne. He was smiling.

“Mommy…” he said, his
voice of a grown man but his intonation childish.

“Mommy?”

T
he alarm on Jeanne’s
face was replaced by a gentle smile.

“Mommy?”

Luria stepped into the
path of the giant, instinctively trying to protect Jeanne. The child stopped in
his tracks. For a moment, he stared at Luria, frowning, and then pushed him
effortlessly aside.

Luria swayed on his
feet, lost his balance, stumbled back and tried to hold on to a nearby chair.
Failing to stabilize himself, he fell backward, taking the chair with him. He
immediately jumped back to his feet, ready to charge, when he heard Jeanne.

“Don’t move and don’t
try to hurt him,” she said quietly. “Do not worry. He is just a little child. I
can handle him.”

The giant child, who was
already moving menacingly towards Luria, now halted. Jeanne’s voice had a
mesmerizing effect on him. He listened to her voice and smiled. Then, forgetting
Luria altogether, he stepped towards Jeanne. When he was close enough, he
extended his massive right hand and stroked her cheek. Jeanne raised her hand
slowly, held the hand that was wandering across her face, and stroked the back
of it. The child smiled contentedly.

“What is your name,
sweetie?” She asked gently.

“Naphtali! What are you
doing?!” Orlev burst breathlessly into the room.

The giant cringed. He then
moved away from Jeanne toward the distant corner of the room, trying to
increase the distance between himself and the infuriated professor. Eventually,
he stood against the far wall, his back turned to them, so that he would not
have to see the angry face of the old man. He looked much like a reprimanded
pup.

“I am so sorry.” Orlev
was hugely embarrassed. “I hope he did not scare you. Naphtali would not hurt a
fly.”

Luria, still patting
and stroking his sore behind, was not so sure about that.

“It is all right,” said
Jeanne softly. “He did not hurt us. He is so gentle…”

“I am so sorry.” Orlev
was beside himself. “Naphtali is my son… my only son…”

Luria and Jeanne felt awkward,
not knowing what to say.

“Naphtali was an
exceptionally big baby. His delivery was problematic, and… and he was hurt...
but he is a good boy…” the professor’s voice faded away, and tears came to his
eyes.

Jeanne approached Orlev
and took his hand with hers. Luria could see she was deeply moved. “It is all
right, Professor,” she assured him. “He has done no harm, and I am sure he is a
wonderful son. Everything is fine.”

The old man raised his
eyes gratefully, gave her a sad smile and then addressed his son. “Come here,
Naphtali. Daddy is not angry. Come to Daddy.”

The child would not
budge, so Orlev walked over to him, took his hand and walked him out of the
room. The boy lowered his head not daring to look at the guests. Jeanne and
Luria exchanged embarrassed glances. Not a word was spoken.

A few minutes later
Orlev returned. “He is fine now,” he informed them. “Naphtali is fine. He
spends much of his time in a … boarding house and when he is home, I need to
keep an eye on him. I apologize for the inconvenience.” He was now alert and
cheerful, as if nothing had happened. He handed Jeanne back the letters. “As I said,
we can meet again to discuss this.”

“We will be very happy
to do that,” said Jeanne and Luria nodded in agreement.

The professor shook their
hands and smiled. “Shalom, and see you soon.” He walked them to the door and
watched them close the garden gate behind them.

*    *    *

“What a charming, sad
child,” said Jeanne as they were making their way to the car, both wrapping
themselves in their overcoats against the cold Jerusalem wind.

Luria did not answer.
The liveliest impression he had from this ‘child’ was his enormous strength.
The ease with which the child had flung him across the room astonished him. He
opened the car door, and they both sat shivering inside, rubbing their hands to
drive away the chill. Luria started the car, and they were on their way.

“This was such a
strange experience…” said Jeanne after a while. “I cannot tell the age of this
child, but Professor Orlev looks more like his grandfather than his father. And
where is the mother? I am sure there is an interesting story behind this. Such
a cute, poor thing…”

This was a bit too much
for Luria. “You are exactly like Ella,” he snapped, “willing to embrace the
whole world no matter what. So what if he looks like a child? This cute, poor
thing nearly broke my back. What is it with you, girls?”

Jeanne shot a strange
look at him and said nothing.

They then sat quietly
for a while, lost in thought. As they were leaving Jerusalem, heading toward Route
No. 1, Luria punched the keyboard of his mobile car phone. After a few rings,
they heard Aryeh’s voice.

“What’s up, cousin?” he
said in Hebrew.

“We have just met
Professor Orlev,” Luria answered in English.

“And how is Yeshayahu?
Was he helpful?” Aryeh switched to English.

“Well…” answered Luria.
“We have learned a lot, but little regarding our specific case. He promised to
meet us again, but I doubt if he can help.”

“I see…” Aryeh sounded
disappointed.

“And then,” added
Luria, “we met Naphtali.”

“Is that so?” Aryeh
fell silent for a moment. “Professor Orlev’s son?”

“The very one,” said
Luria. “Do you know him?”

“I do.” Aryeh sighed. “It’s
a tragedy.”

“Can you tell us his
story? Jeanne is very curious and so am I. The boy seemed to have mistaken her
for his mother…”

“Listen,” Aryeh
interrupted him. “I am a little busy right now. I am in Haifa today anyway, and
if it works for you, I can pay you a visit in your office sometime late
afternoon.”

“Six o’clock?”

“Six o’clock is fine,” said
Aryeh. “See you, Jeanne,” he added before hanging up.

*    *    *

The office was already
closed when Luria and Jeanne arrived. They had hardly entered, when the
doorbell rang. Luria let Aryeh in, and the three of them went to the coffee
machine for a hot cup of coffee.

“Well,” said Aryeh once
they have all settled comfortably in Luria’s office, “you have finally met
Professor Yeshayahu Orlev. Impressed?”

“A fountainhead of
information,” said Luria, “but he was not of much help to us.”

“Yeshayahu Orlev is the
world’s foremost authority on the history of the Second Temple and the history
of Kabbalah. If he cannot help, I wonder who can.”

“Please tell us about
the child, Naphtali,” said Jeanne.

Aryeh turned somber. “It’s
a sad story. I heard it from Yeshayahu, and Professor Bennet filled me in on
some more details.”

“Professor Bennet? Are
you close to him, too?” Luria was surprised.

“I got to know him through
Yeshayahu,” answered Aryeh. “Jonathan specializes in early Christianity. He,
too, has a fascinating story.”

Luria was curious. “So
first tell us about this Professor Bennet. His name just keeps popping up.”

“Don’t you know who he
is?” Now it was Aryeh’s turn to be surprised.

Luria thought for a
moment. “I wonder where… Hey, wasn’t he the professor who had infuriated those
Haredi fanatics? The guy they arranged the public curse against? It was on TV.
Pulsa… something.”

“Pulsa Denura,” said
Aryeh. “Yes, he is the one. He published an article about links between Kabbalah
and Christianity; an absurdity if you ask me. Nevertheless, some people took
him too seriously and made all this fuss. By the way, Professor Orlev earned
his fair share of attacks by Haredi circles too, because of
his
views on
Kabbalah."

“Kabbalah and Christianity?”
Jeanne wondered. “I thought Kabbalah was a branch of Judaism.”

“And you are perfectly
right.” Aryeh was quick to answer. “Professor Bennet is a provocateur,
specializing in this kind of statements.”

Luria sensed the
hostility in Aryeh’s voice and reminded himself that his cousin was, after all,
a Haredi Jew. “Hey, just a moment,” he intervened. “There is no need to go into
ideological controversy here. You were telling us about Professor Bennet. Who
is he, then?”

“Professor Bennet is an
Evangelical Christian American. He first came to Israel in the early 70’s. He
enrolled in the department of Jewish Thought at the Hebrew University in
Jerusalem.”

“Does he speak Hebrew?”
asked Luria.

“He studied Hebrew
before he came and spent a year here in an
Ulpan
- a Hebrew school. His
Hebrew is perfect. I wish all native Israelis would speak fluent and correct
Hebrew like he does. Anyway, he began his studies at the Hebrew University and
immediately stood out from the rest of the crowd. He was quickly noticed by
Professor Orlev, who had already made a name for himself.”

“Right,” said Jeanne.
“Professor Orlev did mention that Bennet was once his student.”

“Indeed he was,” said
Aryeh. “Jonathan Bennet was an outstanding student. There was another notable
student in that class. Her name was Ruth Shoham. Professor Orlev was very
impressed with both, made them his research assistants and guided them through
their master's degree. This trio became very close.” Aryeh paused to sip some
coffee from his cup. “In fact, they became so close, that Professor Orlev, a
confirmed bachelor, married Ruth. At the time, he was over forty five, and Ruth
was about twenty years younger.”

“So what?” said Jeanne
defiantly. “Love knows no age.”

“But this story ended
in tragedy,” continued Aryeh. “Ruth became pregnant immediately. She was a
petite woman, and the baby inside her womb was extremely large. The whole
delivery became messy, with the baby getting entangled in its umbilical cord.
When the doctors finally decided to operate, it was already too late. Ruth
never walked away from the operating table.”

“And the baby?” Jeanne
inquired anxiously. “What happened to the baby?”

Aryeh’s face was grave.
“At first, the baby looked perfectly healthy, but within a year, it was
realized that the trauma had left him disabled.”

Jeanne raised her hand
to her mouth. “What a tragedy!”

“Naphtali is over
thirty,” Aryeh went on. “But mentally he is hardly five. During the last few years,
he has been living most of his time in an institution, coming home mostly on
weekends. Yeshayahu is a busy academic and a sought-after lecturer. All his
time is spent in research, lectures and conferences.”

“But this… child is
very strong. He looks like an athlete and is very physically fit. How is that?”
wondered Luria, still haunted by his experience with the giant child.

“Naphtali has two areas
of interest. One is watching nature documentaries on TV, and the other is
working out. Yeshayahu had a small exercise room installed for him at home. In
his way, Yeshayahu is very attached to the boy and would do anything for him.
He does not really have friends outside academic circles, he lost all his
family in the Holocaust, and Naphtali is probably the only thing in the world
he cares about, besides his work. He adored his wife, and this child is all he
was left from her. They have a very special relationship.”

“And Bennet?” said
Luria. “You told us he was very close to Orlev.”

“A few weeks after the
marriage of Ruth and Yeshayahu, Bennet received his master’s degree and
returned to the US for a doctorate at Harvard. He came back to the Hebrew
University only ten years ago, more than 20 years after Ruth had died.
Yeshayahu was jubilant. Jonathan was the closest thing to a family he had besides
Naphtali. The two published a few papers together, but then they had an
academic dispute which ended their friendship. They have not been on speaking
terms ever since.”

“What do you know about
Orlev’s wife?” Jeanne was curious.

“Not much,” said Aryeh.
“From the way he talks about her, it is obvious that he admired her. He showed
me a photo once.”

Jeanne fixed a pair of
inquiring eyes on him.

“It was just a picture, but
I could see that Ruth Orlev was a very beautiful woman.” Aryeh smiled. “She was
as beautiful as you.”