The Kabbalist (29 page)

Luria did not answer.
He turned the street corner and stopped the car.

“We’ll talk later,” he said.
“I am going out for a few minutes. Meanwhile, please move to the driver’s seat,
lock the doors and do not open for anyone but me. Leave the engine running and
be prepared to drive away immediately when I return.”

Ignoring Jeanne’s
alarm, he jumped out of the car and walked back quickly toward the house they
had just left. The house next to Bennet’s was dark and from the look of its
derelict yard, Luria concluded it was not populated. He looked around; the
street was empty.

The gate had a locked
chain around it but he just jumped over the stone wall and found himself inside
the yard which bordered on Bennet’s garden, separated from it by a fence
covered by a honeysuckle creeper. He approached the fence. A shelve supported
by bricks stood near it, about forty centimeters above the ground. It carried a
few flower pots with some dead, shriveled plants. Luria climbed on it and
peeked through the creeper’s leaves into the adjacent garden. Seconds later, a
beam of light flashed, scanning the garden from side to side. Bennet was
standing in the back door of the living room which opened into the garden,
holding a powerful torch in his left hand. There was something in his right
hand too. Luria strained his eyes. It was a gun.

“I know you are there,”
called Bennet suddenly. “I saw you.” Luria was alarmed. He flexed his muscles,
getting ready to run. It took him a few seconds to realize that Bennet was not
addressing him.

Bennet stepped into the
garden, flashing his torch in all directions. He approached the fence, and
Luria could actually hear the professor’s halted breath. “Step out,” called out
Bennet. “Come out and face me, you cowards.”

Luria froze in his
place, holding his breath. The professor stood silently at the same spot for a
few more seconds and then moved slowly to the other side of the garden, his torch
scanning every piece of turf around him. Luria breathed with some relief, and
allowed himself to shift a bit in his place. Then, suddenly, the worm-eaten
shelf under him gave way and collapsed.

Luria found himself
lying on his back on the wet turf, next to the dead flower pots. With the
silent background, it must have sounded as if a bomb had gone off.

Bennet turned around
quickly. The beam of light hit the fence at the spot where Luria had been
standing just a few seconds before, but Luria was gone already. He rolled a few
meters on the ground, stood up and disappeared behind the other side of the
house. Bennet approached the fence and attached his face to it, straining to
see through the wet foliage. He shoved the torch through the leaves and flashed
it into the neighboring garden. Luria was certain that the gun was cocked in
his other hand.

“Cowards!” shouted
Bennet. “Stupid fanatics! Next time I see any of you around here, I will shoot
you down like rats.” He mumbled something, switched off his torch and went back
into the house. The door closed behind him.

Luria was afraid that
Bennet would now come out to search the neighboring garden. He quickly jumped
over the garden wall into the street.

It was pretty dark, but
Luria saw something. On the other side of the street, leaning against the wall
of one of the houses, half-hidden by the foliage, somebody was standing. Luria
strained his eyes. It was hard to discern any details in the dark, but he could
pick out the figure of a tall man, wrapped in a raincoat with his collar up. He
could not see his eyes, but could feel that the man was looking at him.

Rain was dripping into
his eyes and he wiped them. When he opened them up again, the man was gone. He
hesitated for a moment and then started walking fast back to the car.

“What happened?” Jeanne
was alarmed but at the same time relieved to see him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Luria tried
to sound nonchalant, as if being all soaked up and muddy was perfectly natural.

“What happened?” Jeanne
did not give up. “Where have you been? I thought I would die of fright.”

“Just go,” said Luria. “Let's
get out of here. I’ll tell you everything later.”

“S
o, you have eventually used the material I gave you,” said
Eitan.
They were sitting in Luria’s office to summarize the Porat file.
Porat’s wife was scheduled to land later that morning, returning from her
vacation in Europe, and Luria was to meet her early afternoon.

“Sorry?” Luria raised
his eyes from the report he was reading.

“I gather that the
material I gave you on Porat is already out there.”

Luria frowned. “What
makes you say that?”

“Porat was hospitalized
last night at the Rambam Hospital.”

“Hospitalized?” Luria
did not understand. “What happened?”

“Orthopedic ward; he is
suffering from multiple fractures.”

“Multiple fractures?”

“Yes. He broke his two
arms and his two legs among other injuries.”

“Not a bathroom
accident, I presume.” Luria was beginning to understand.

“He claimed to have
fallen off his bicycle, but it looks more like a work accident. One that is typical
to his professional environment. What have you done, Luria?”

Luria had not yet told
Eitan about his encounter with Srur; now he did. “Now, Eitan,” he concluded, “the
deal with Srur is that nobody knows anything about this. I did not mention your
name in order not to involve you, so you know nothing. The material I am going
to show Porat’s wife will not include your findings, either. I’ll use solely my
material and mention only the first woman.”

Eitan started laughing.

“What is so funny?”

“It is you,” laughed
Eitan. “It is the way you seem just barely to wiggle out of troubles, which you
manage to get yourself into. I find this very amusing.”

“Well, this is not
always the case,” noted Luria. “It did not work out for me four years ago. This
time it did, and Porat is paying the bill. I bet
he
is not amused.”

Eitan stopped laughing.
“I have no pity for this scum,” he said. “And if he allows himself to fool
around with his employer’s secretary and mistress, especially when the name of
this employer is Ze’ev Srur, then he is even more arrogant than I have
imagined. Any way you look at it, he got what he deserved. This is poetic
justice.”

Luria sneered. “I have
no tears for him, either; the man ruined my career. And after his wife hears me
out,
she
is going to have no tears for him either.”

He shoved the file on his
desk towards Eitan. “Let’s review it now.”

*    *    *

Rachel Porat was in her
mid-forties but intensive workout activity, along with minor plastic surgery,
made her look ten years younger.

“Mrs. Porat,” Luria
rose from his chair to shake her hand. “I am so glad to see you again. I hope
you have enjoyed your vacation.”

The woman smiled at him,
and Luria wondered why Porat ever had to mess around with women so incomparable
with his glamorous wife. “Yes,” she said. “It was fun, a breath of fresh air.
It almost made me forget the reason I had hired your services.” She looked
tense. “I have arrived straight from the airport. I am a day early, so Yigal
does not even know I am back…”

“First,” suggested
Luria, “let us get you a cup of coffee.”

“Thanks, but this is
not necessary. I prefer getting straight to the point.”

Luria was afraid of
that. “Well, Mrs. Porat…”

“It is Rachel, please,
and you can be frank with me. No dodging is necessary.”

Luria struggled a bit.
This was not the first time he was giving the bad news to a betrayed spouse,
and it was never a pleasant task. He had to adjust his message to the specific
person and circumstances, and he judged Rachel Porat to be a strong person.
“Well, Rachel, I wish I could tell you a different story, but I am afraid the
findings are positive.”

He looked at her face.
She was fighting for control but, as hard as she tried, she could not stop the
tears from coming to her eyes. “Are you sure?” she asked at last, trying to
control her breaking voice.

He nodded slowly.

“Do you have evidence?”
He nodded again.

“I see. Can you show me
what you have?”

Luria made a virtual
sigh. The most difficult moment was approaching. He handed her the report. She
put on her reading glasses and started reading. The tears started coming down
almost immediately, and Luria gently pushed towards her a box of tissues, which
was placed upon his desk especially for such emergencies. She took her glasses off,
grasped a few tissues and wiped her eyes, smearing her mascara.

“Who is the girl?”

“Just a girl,” said
Luria, “a secretary in another attorney’s office.”

“Do you have pictures?”
her voice quivered a bit. He nodded and slowly pushed the rest of the file
towards her. It contained an envelope with a few printed pictures and a DVD.
She pulled the pictures out of the envelope and leafed through them, then
turned them over and read the captions on the back of each. Her features
contorted as she struggled for control, but eventually she gave up. She put the
envelope and the pictures on the desk, covered her face with both hands, and
wept. Luria turned around and stared through the window; he really hated these
moments.

A minute or two later
she calmed down. Rachel Porat pulled out a small mirror and examined her face.
“My makeup…” she said. “I look awful.” She pulled out a small makeup kit and
tried to fix it. Luria kept staring through the window until she was done.

“And the DVD?” she
asked. “What’s in it?”

“All the prints you
have seen, more pictures and some video.”

“Video…” She shook her
head. “So we have a movie too… that’s really nice.”

She closed her eyes.
“Luria, how much do I owe you?”

“My secretary will hand
you the bill. But there is no hurry.”

“You have done your job
and there is no cause for delaying your fee.” She stood up, trying to convey a
business-as-usual attitude. “And thank you,” she added, “you have done a
professional job.”

“Just a moment,” said
Luria, “there is something else you should know.”

“Something else?”

“You said that you have
arrived straight from the airport. I suppose you have not had any contact with
your husband for the last twelve hours or so.”

She searched his face
for a clue. “We have hardly spoken in the last few weeks.”

“I am sorry. I am not a
harbinger of good news today.”

“What happened?” asked
Rachel, her alarm showing through.

“Your husband was
injured. He is in the Rambam Hospital,” said Luria. “Nothing critical,” he
added quickly.

“What happened to him?”

“Two broken legs.”

“Two broken legs? How
did that happen?”

“And two broken arms; he
claimed it was a bicycle accident.”

She shook her head in apprehension.
“He must have finally pissed off one of those gangsters he is working for.”

Luria kept a blank
face. “I don’t know. I just got word of it a few hours ago.”

“Do you think I should
visit him?” she asked. “Or perhaps that girlfriend of his should take care of
him…”

“It’s your decision.”

“That was just a
rhetorical question. Of course, I will take care of him. He is still my
husband, you know…”

“Of course.”

“But I can assure you
that he will not remain so after he gets well and we sort out this business.” She
waved the envelope. “I have had my suspicions, and this clinches it. He will
not touch me again, even after they remove those casts.” She extended her hand
and he shook it. “Shalom, Luria, and thanks again.” She turned around and
started walking toward the door.

“Rachel,” Luria called
after her.

She turned around.

“You are too good for
this… this man, you know. You deserve more than that… much more.”

She did not smile. “I
guess this was meant as a compliment,” she said. “Thank you.”

Then she turned around
and walked out of the room.

O
nce again,
the door on the other side of the
bougainvillea bush opened and Professor Yeshayahu Orlev was
standing there, beaming.
A few days earlier Luria received a phone call
from the professor. Orlev had read Jeanne’s letters and offered to resume their
conversation. Luria, of course, hurried to set up a meeting.

“Please come in, my
friends,” said the professor with joy that Luria felt was quite genuine. Once
inside, Jeanne kissed Orlev on both cheeks like an old friend, and the elderly
man’s huge brown eyes lit up even more. He shook Luria’s hand enthusiastically
and led the two to the antiquated couches in his living room. “I’ll be right
back,” he said once they were seated. “Your tea is on its way.” As before, they
could see him picking leaves and herbs in the garden. A few minutes later, he
was back with the tray and the familiar teapot and started fussing, until each was
holding a glass in a silver sheath, filled with the hot greenish, aromatic
liquid. Orlev sat on his couch and watched his guests. Like in a ritual with
fixed and known rules, the two of them tasted the tea. Luria, as usual, added
generous amounts of sugar. They expressed their unprejudiced opinion that this
was the best tea they had ever tasted and then spent a minute or so sipping
silently from their glasses.

“I read the letters,” said
Orlev eventually. “I confess I am intrigued. The descriptions of the 1799
battles are interesting, but there are already known and detailed accounts of
these battles. However, this is the first direct reference I have ever come
across to documents taken from Safed. This is, of course, if we assume this
letter is genuine.”

“Do you doubt the
authenticity of these letters?” wondered Jeanne.

“Well, dear,” the old
professor smiled at her, “I am a historian, and I cannot really be sure before
I see the originals.” Jeanne blushed.

Luria moved uneasily in
his seat. How is it that he never suspected Jeanne’s story? He had never seen
the originals either and she had already shown herself capable of forgery… but
why would Jeanne do a thing like that? He raised his eyes to her, and saw that
she was looking at him. She was clearly reading his thoughts.

“I am sorry.” Jeanne
turned to the professor, but Luria knew she was addressing him as well. “The
originals are in a safe back in France.” She paused for a moment. “I can have
copies of the French originals faxed here.”

Orlev waved his hand.
“I am afraid I have offended you, my dear. It is just that I am trained to
confirm my resources before drawing conclusions. Anyway, for the sake of this
discussion, let us assume the authenticity of these letters. They are, in fact,
compatible with other leads I have encountered before.” He gave Jeanne a long, searching
look. “Have you found out anything new since we last met?” He asked.

Luria shook off his
nagging thoughts. “After our last meeting, we paid a visit to Professor
Bennet.”

The smile on Professor
Orlev’s face disappeared. "Professor Bennet… did you show him the letters?”

“Yes. We wanted to hear
his opinion…” said Luria, feeling a bit angry. Orlev had no exclusive right to
this knowledge and no cause to complain.

“What did he say?” The
old man demanded to know.

“He had his doubts
too,” replied Luria. “But like you, he was willing to float some ideas.”

“Let me guess. He
thinks such a document can prove his thesis that Kabbalah is derived from
Christianity!”

Luria did not answer.

“Poor Jonathan,” said
Orlev, “still a captive of his obsessions. Whatever you say, he unfailingly
ends up singing the same tune - always this Christian Kabbalah. But what can
you expect from a scholar who insists on transforming Jesus, the Jew who tried
to preach to his people about putting an end to foolish hatred and strife, into
something he never was – a Christian?”

“What do you mean by
that?” Jeanne was alarmed.

‘Here we go again’
thought Luria, feeling desperate. He knew he had to find a way to divert the
conversation elsewhere.

But the professor
responded before he could say a word. “I mean this fixation of his, this blind
spot he has along with the rest of the Christian world, that Christianity came
into this world with Jesus. It did not. It was invented after him by Paul, who
used Jesus’s charisma and the myth created around his death. After Jesus’s
death, his brother James led the community of Jesus’s followers, who were all
orthodox Jews. When Paul, who never knew Jesus, joined them, James and the
others rejected his ideas and tried to silence him by sending him abroad. He
eventually had his way and became the true father of Christianity. Jesus, like
his brother, would have never accepted Paul’s ideas. Jonathan just cannot face
this truth.”

Jeanne was upset.
“Professor Orlev,” her voice sounded strained, “no Christian can accept what
you have just said. Really! There is a limit to what even you as an academic
can allow yourself!”

Orlev was not moved.
“My dear Jeanne,” he said pleasantly, “you have got it all wrong… an academic
cannot afford
not
to speak his truth, however inconvenient it may be.
Remember Galileo. I am, of course, far from being in his league but my point is
that one cannot just ignore evidence. And new evidence keeps popping up all the
time to strengthen my claims.”

“Evidence? What
evidence?” Jeanne unconsciously raised her voice.

Luria gave her a
reprimanding gaze. The last thing he wanted was to have the professor elaborate
on his conflict with Bennet, which, Luria had by now realized, was in fact a
conflict with the whole Christian world. Jeanne returned a defying stare. She
was offended by the professor and wanted a confrontation. As Luria feared, the
professor leaned back on his couch, preparing to launch one of his lectures.

“I do apologize, dear.
I have upset you again,” said Orlev. “I would like to ignore the religious aspect
of this loaded topic. The only aspect I will discuss is the historical one. It
is true that we are talking about events which took place 2,000 years ago, and
that the Church has made every conceivable effort since Nicaea to market its
official version and to silence all others. Even so, new evidence keeps
emerging.”

“You have already said
that. What evidence?” Luria never heard Jeanne talk rudely before.

The professor chose to
ignore her tone. “The New Testament comprises some hand-picked scriptures. The
editors had a large number of candidates to choose from, and they picked those
they found most palatable. This way, we ended up with the gospels of Mathew,
Marcus, Lucas and John – four of Jesus’s known apostles.”

Luria was curious. “What
other gospels were there?”

“To start with, there
were the Gnostic scriptures which were banned by the Church. A stack of these
scriptures was found in 1945 at Nag Hammadi in Egypt. They were hidden there by
Coptic Christians who wanted to preserve them for posterity, yet feared the
wrath of the Roman Church. Even before that, in the late 19
^th
century,
the famous
‘Gospel of Mary’
was found, also in Egypt.

“Mary?” Jeanne was
astounded. “The Holy Mother?”

“No, no.” Orlev waved
his hand impatiently. “It is associated with Mary Magdalene, Mary from the
village of Migdal near the Sea of Galilee.”

“A gospel by Mary
Magdalene?”

“Yes. According to it,
Mary was Jesus’s closest pupil and apostle. It tells how after Jesus had gone, most
of the other apostles turn to Mary to share Jesus’s secret knowledge with them.
Still, Andrew and Peter reject Mary, refusing to believe Jesus had preferred
her. Finally, Levi, another apostle, scolds Peter for having always been a
hothead… No wonder this gospel never made it into the canon.”

Jeanne opened her mouth
to say something, but the professor raised his hand. “And there is more. In
1978, another gospel was uncovered in Egypt. ‘The gospel of Judas’ was made
available to the public as late as 2001. According to this gospel, Jesus
acknowledged Judas as the only disciple who really understood him and his
vision, and claims that by extraditing him to the authorities, Judas was
helping him shed his human body and unite with God.”

“But this is absurd,” exclaimed
Jeanne in disgust.

“No, it is not,” said
Orlev patiently. “My point is that many scriptures have been censored by the
Church, due to their incompatibility with the party line. Once you understand
that, your mind can open up to new ideas.” He took a sip from his glass. “Now,
two years ago there emerged a truly extraordinary finding, which provides a
whole new perspective to the story of Jesus’s death and resurrection. It shows
that what has been hitherto perceived to be a Christian ethos is probably
something totally different.”

“You confuse me professor.”
Jeanne was bewildered. “What finding?”

The professor laughed
his strange cooing laugh. “Well, my dear, this is indeed an extraordinary
story, yet true. In 1998, David Jeselsohn, a Swiss-Israeli collector, bought from
a Jordanian antique dealer a stone tablet, with eighty seven lines of Hebrew
text inscribed on it. This artifact was carbon dated to the first-century BC.
The text, dubbed
‘Gabriel’s Vision’
, describes an apocalyptic vision of
the angel Gabriel. It tells of an evil king who will destroy many Israelites,
including their leader who is referred to as
‘Sar Hasarin’
– Minister of
Ministers. After this calamity takes place, Gabriel orders this
‘Sar
Hasarin’
to come alive within three days. Sounds familiar?”

“But Professor,”
Jeanne’s voice was strained. “You just said that the text was written in the first
century BC. Jesus died in the first century AD...”

“Aha,” trumpeted the
old professor, raising his hand and waving his finger, the image of a biblical
prophet. “This is my point exactly! This text precedes Jesus by almost a
century and yet tells of the death of a Messiah and his resurrection within
three days!”

“I think I see your
point,” said Luria. “You are implying that Jesus might have consciously played a
role that had been written in advance.”

“I am not sure I
understand,” said Jeanne.

“This is very simple,
my dear,” explained the professor. “If indeed, there was in Jesus’s time a
prevailing myth about a Messiah, who would die and subsequently be resurrected,
then Jesus might have consciously planned his death in order to fulfill this
prophecy and make use of this myth. He believed that his spilled blood would
facilitate the salvation of the people of Israel.”

“You are saying…” Jeanne’s
voice conveyed utter disbelief. “Are you saying that Jesus planned his own
death? That he meant to die? Are you hinting that he committed suicide?”

“My dear…” the good professor
noticed Jeanne’s distress. “All I am saying is that Jesus might have walked
open eyed to his death, choosing to die a martyr for a cause he believed in, as
did many Jews before and after him.”

“But… but you claim he
actually planned the whole move…”

“Yes,” said Orlev. “I
think this is highly probable.”

Jeanne looked shaken.

Orlev pressed on. “The
key to understanding Jesus lies in understanding the prevailing traditions and
myths of his time. Jesus was a natural product of an era characterized by
Messianic fervor and obsessive political activity. He represented the prevailing
notions and ideas of his time. He represented
evolution
. His ideas, as
presented in the New Testament are refreshing but by no means
revolutionary
.”

“So,” said Jeanne defiantly,
“you see no new message in Jesus.”

“I did not say that.”
Orlev smiled patiently. “I think he was quite innovative, but not necessarily
in the area that got him so famous. Jesus was a Jew with unique capacities and
original thought, who wanted to save his people. He was not the only one with such
aspirations during that turbulent period in the history of the Jewish people.
There were the Zealots, the Essenes, the Sicariis and others. This multiplicity
of sects just goes to show the volatile trends during that period, the fertile
ground on which Jesus sprouted.”

“And you really believe
his death was something he consciously pursued in order to bring salvation to
his people?” Jeanne was still finding this unacceptable.

“I think so, yes.”
Orlev nodded passionately to emphasize his conviction. “He did this to achieve
salvation for
his people
. Mind you, not salvation for the
world
,
as later claimed by Paul, but salvation for the
people of Israel
. Jews,
especially under Roman rule, had little interest in the salvation of the gentiles.
In fact, Jesus explicitly forbade preaching his message to the gentiles and
Paul consciously violated his instructions. To use our modern corporate
culture’s language, I would say that Paul made a brilliant strategic move -
he
went global
.”

He had a mischievous
glimmer in his eyes. “All this gives a somewhat different outlook on the
Christian ethos, doesn’t it?”