But who will be the judges? Rabbi Elbaz asked Ben Attar this time, but the merchant, who knew nothing, merely descended excitedly but in silence along the rough stone steps leading to the hall, whose dusty floor was stained pink by grape juice oozing from a large wooden press into a deep round basin, from which the foamy liquid exuded a perfumed sweetness. The audience was already waiting there, most of them presumably people who worked in the winery, bearded, bareheaded Jews dressed in faded, shabby clothes, and nearby a group of bare-faced women, their unkempt hair covered by small headscarves, their feet unshod and stained from stomping grapes. Unruly children were running to and fro between the men and women on little errands, their guttural babble mingled with occasional words of Hebrew, whose sounds were completely distorted. But who will choose the judges? the rabbi asked again, still delaying his descent to the lower level, refusing to believe that they were liable so hastily, without real preparation, to miss a fateful, longed-for moment for which they had bobbed on the ocean waves for nearly sixty days.
Have the judges already been appointed? Relentlessly he seized hold of the corner of Abulafia’s black coat as the man shrugged his ignorance and gently guided his two aunts, who raised the hems of their colorful robes so that they should not sweep the dusty steps. He presented them to the proprietor of the winery, who in his turn proudly introduced them to a guest of his own, an oriental courier who had passed through the Land of Israel. A genuine Radhanite, this plump, alert man wearing a green turban was a dealer in precious stones who had arrived a few days previously from the east, bringing with him two large pearls, about whose value and price Master Levitas had not stopped speculating since the previous day. Both sides were now intermingled, and the Moroccan ladies were seated on wine barrels covered in soft tapestries next to the proprietor’s wife, a tall woman with a delicate, sickly face. It was simply impossible to proceed in such haste, thought Rabbi Elbaz, his heart tormented by doubts and stirred by compassion for the second wife, who sat silently, erect, her veil fluttered by a slight breeze that might herald the advent of autumn.
But on what basis were the judges chosen? he repeated, demanding an immediate reply from Master Levitas, who now opened a side door and produced three gaunt men dressed in dusty black caftans, bearing a large parchment roll and a small sheet of green glass. They were scribes specializing in writing scrolls of the Law, phylacteries and amulets for doorposts, brought in from towns in the region to constitute the court. Scribes? the rabbi muttered disappointedly. Men who try to discern what is written merely to copy it over and over again? But Master Levitas thought highly of them. They would be able to judge on the basis of what was written in books. But what books? And what was the point of books? Rabbi Elbaz protested vehemently. If the answer was written explicitly in a book, would it have occurred to him to leave his city and entrust himself to the ocean to demand justice for his employer? Would he have allowed Ben Attar to put his wives at risk for something that was written in a book? But the words of the foreign rabbi made no impression on Master Levitas, and dismissing him with a polite smile, he continued to steer his three judges down to the lower level. The indignant Andalusian had no alternative but to hurry to anticipate them, and leaping onto the small dais, he demanded, in a wild shout that seemed unlikely to issue from such a pleasant, dreamy personality, that the judges should be changed forthwith.
A silence fell. Everyone had heard the shout, but because of his strange accent only a few understood what he was asking, and one of them was Master Levitas, who hastened to silence him. But Abulafia, shaken to the core by the rabbi’s outcry, seized his brother-in-law’s shoulder to restrain him. Even though in a short while he would be called upon to defend himself against the charges brought by the southerners, a strange hope was stirring in his heart that the case for the defense would not succeed, and that the honesty of his good, wronged uncle, combined with the rabbi’s wisdom, would tip the scales against him, for then he would be able to renew his travels to the azure summer meeting in the Spanish March. Since he understood well the rabbi’s shouted demand for the replacement of these judges, who had certainly prejudged the case, he turned to his wife, the blue of whose eyes had been so sharpened by fear since morning that now in the afternoon they looked like gray steel, and gently he pleaded with her to ask her brother to display magnanimity toward the plaintiffs, who had risked their lives to come from so far, and agree to exchange the judges for more suitable people.
Suitable for what? She turned in surprise to face her young, tousled husband, and, weary from her sleepless night, she scanned with a pained look the three gaunt scribes, who, confused by the repudiation that had suddenly attacked them, clung to one another, rolling their eyes in umbrage. Suitable for what? Mistress Esther-Minna asked again angrily, joined by her brother and the disappointed proprietor of the winery, who since yesterday had been doing the rounds of the neighboring villages and estates to assemble the three scribes. But while Abulafia was insisting on explaining to his wife how it might be possible to find true judges, scholars of outstanding wisdom, who would satisfy the visitors, who sought even in this out-of-the-way place the spirit of the wisdom of Andalus, Rabbi Elbaz hastened to pacify the ruffled participants by explaining that it would be proper to make do with the spirit of the ancient sages, which was the true spirit that could transform, say, the whole congregation of simple, goodhearted Jews into a public tribunal that might judge and save either the plaintiff or the defendant, as was stated in so many words in the book of Exodus: to incline after the multitude.
Even Master Levitas, who was a judicious and farsighted man, was confused by the rabbi’s surprising suggestion, but first he tried to read in his sister’s eyes her view about abandoning a dispute that he had seen as settled and sealed in favor of a motley assemblage of grape stampers, barrel rollers, and wine vendors. Before he had managed to catch her eye, he was startled by a softly yet clearly whispered question she put to the little rabbi. All of them? Including the women? And before he could contemplate toning down his sister’s outrageous question, Rabbi Elbaz had astonishingly replied in an enthusiastic whisper, The women? Why not? After all, they too were created in God’s image.
Is this rabbi’s mind completely addled, or will he really lead us on the right path? The North African merchant sank deep in thought, watching closely as his nephew’s beaming face approached his wives’ fine silk veils to whisper into their delicate, gold-ringed ears a translation of the surprising words spoken by a clever woman and a poetic rabbi. The news seemed to arouse neither fear nor panic in Ben Attar’s wives, but only such a great curiosity that they could restrain themselves no longer, and the second wife, closely followed by the first, stripped off her veil, the better to contemplate with kohl-darkened eyes the men and women of Villa Le Juif, who gazed back at them with smiling faces, little suspecting that the place where they were standing was soon to become the judgment seat.
All of them? How is that possible? It will be total chaos, groaned Master Levitas to his sister and the rabbi, suddenly united. The refined Parisian was joined by the proprietor of the winery, who was alarmed at the plan of converting his retainers into judges. And so, after a brief exchange of words, it was agreed by both sides that in accordance with the ancient spirit of the law, it would be sufficient to select seven judges, corresponding to “trial by seven good men of the city.” But since this was not a city and the foreign travelers had no idea who were the best folk among them, the judges would have to be selected by lot. To this end young Elbaz, who had sat himself down in a corner on a small barrel to inhale the fragrance of the wine maturing inside it, was brought forward, blindfolded, and sent out into the sunlight dancing on the treetops to choose seven people by means of a game of blind-man’s buff. A deep silence fell on one and all as the blindfolded child hesitated, then shuffled cautiously toward the tall woman with the sickly face, the wife of the proprietor, and slowly laid his little hands on her soft belly, as though he had decided even before
his eyes were bound to make her his first choice. At once, recoiling from this overbold gesture, he collided as he stepped backward with one of the scribes, who had positioned himself deliberately in his path to compel the boy to choose him. Only then did the world beyond his blindfold seem finally to become clear to the child, and discerning within the deep silence the bated breath of the crowd, he turned resolutely toward it. But for some reason the Jews recoiled from this blindfolded boy who advanced fatefully toward them, all but a fair-faced young woman, one of the wine stampers, who stood rooted to the spot as though inviting the young stranger to touch her. He did indeed touch her face gently with his little hand, until another woman, apparently jealous, took a few paces toward him, and the boy turned toward her, and his fingers fluttered on her bosom. Unperturbed by this contact, he turned to his right, where a third woman was waiting for him, and he held her too for a moment, and while Master Levitas’s sardonic laughter and his father the rabbi’s rebuke rang out, yet a fourth woman, a toothless hag, hurried to his side, yearning also to be touched. But the child, startled by the feel of her wizened face, instantly buried his hands in the folds of his little robe and refused to stir. His father was obliged now to come forward and remove him from the women who were converging upon him. He turned him around and led him back toward the small dais, and it seemed for a moment as though he would once more approach the tall woman with the sickly face and touch her belly again, but his father steered him gently toward the Radhanite merchant from the Land of Israel, who was sitting immobile, his thick black beard lying calmly on his chest, seemingly taking great pleasure in the scene that was unfolding around him. Slowly the boy drew forth a single hand from the folds of his little robe and very cautiously held it out in front of him, until he encountered the large beard.
Now that the seventh judge had been chosen, the blindfold was removed and a new worry gripped Master Levitas’s heart. Indicating the sunlight fading on the trees, he suggested that they should all, plaintiffs and defendants, witnesses and judges, join together in the afternoon prayer, which might also serve as a discreet hint to the Christian visitors that their presence was no longer appropriate.
2.
Then they all went to the well to draw water for the hand-washing. After that they stood for the afternoon prayer. It soon became evident that Abulafia’s heart was so inflamed by the occasion that he yearned to lead the service with his pleasant voice. At first the proprietor of the winery and Master Levitas tried to undermine his precedence by chanting faster or slower, but eventually they desisted, not because Abulafia’s singing was louder than theirs, but because concealed within it was a delightful, unique cadence that attracted the worshippers in Villa Le Juif to follow his lead. His wife too, her mind confused by the ease with which the panel of judges had been filled with women, gave a silent signal to her younger brother to abandon the contest and let Abulafia surrender himself to his chant, which she found instantly appealing, although she could not imagine where it came from. But Ben Attar, who had never before stood in prayer so close to his two wives and could sense their overwhelmed souls, immediately identified the source of his nephew’s tune as the muezzin’s call in the mosque in Tangier. How amazing, he thought, that after all these years he still tries to preserve in his chant the Muslim cadence of that seashore, although he has also blended it with another melody, which to judge by its rhythm and tune must be taken from some local peasant song.
It may have been for this reason that the three Christians who had mingled with the Jews so as to enjoy the spectacle of two pretty, veiled women who belonged legally and naturally to a single man did not depart when the Jews began to pray, but lingered to wonder at the familiar melody, blending the Jews’ Latin with an additional curling cadence. When Levitas saw that the three of them insisted on staying, he abbreviated the interval between the afternoon and evening prayers and gave a sign for the evening prayer to commence even before the first star appeared, in the hope that when they reached the Hear O Israel and the silent darkness filled with the profiles of motionless Jews standing in total separateness, with eyes closed and hands in front of their faces, looking like curious woodcocks, some vague dread might finally cause the uninvited guests to leave. Indeed, by the time torches were lit at the end of the service and the bunches of grapes suspended from hooks all around cast fantastic shadows on the walls, not a single stranger remained in the hall to seek entertainment from the Jews.
Perhaps it was the mood of earnest solemnity descending upon the Jews of Villa Le Juif after the two beautiful services had stamped upon the departing day a double seal of music and holiness that breathed fear into the four women selected by the game of blind-man’s buff. When the president’s wife, the tall mistress of the winery, was invited to mount the wooden dais, followed by the pleasant-faced oriental merchant, with the scribe close on his heels, looking gaunt and dusty in his black cloak but also earnestly determined to represent his two disqualified colleagues faithfully, the four women judges, who apparently failed now to understand the meaning of their desire for the touch of the dark boy, stood huddled in a corner, clinging to one another and too frightened to climb onto the dais. At this point Mistress Esther-Minna intervened. Desiring an additional female element, her faith in the justice of a verdict decided by three judges notwithstanding, she was filled with enough indignation and fury to echo in Abulafia’s heart for the rest of his life, depriving him of any hint of regret that he might have doubled the number of his wives if he had not migrated from the south to the north. And so, with a gentle voice that concealed no little sternness, she induced the three young women and the elderly vintager to relax their hold on each other and join the three people who were already seated importantly on wine casks spread with old fox skins, with a torch blazing in front of them.
Everything was now ready. It was not the “seven good men of the city” demanded by writ who were seated upon the dais but merely seven ordinary men and women selected by a form of ballot, but this was simply because for close on a thousand years now there had been no wholly Jewish town but only small, dispersed communities, driven onward from one place to the next by troubles and dangers. There was nothing now to prevent Ben Attar from rising to his feet and setting forth his plea, for which he had come such a long way, although now, after the double service, it seemed to have shrunk. This may have been the reason that he seemed still to hesitate, sunk in thought, until Rabbi Elbaz was obliged to give him a sign of encouragement. Indeed, ever since the merchant and his entourage had entered the inner court of Villa Le Juif that afternoon and from there proceeded into the hall of the winery, his spirit had seemed to be failing. It was as if he had not imagined that he would really and truly come face to face with that repudiation, which from the vast distance separating Africa from Europe had seemed to him like the panic of Jews chiefly fearful of Christian opinion, or that only two days after disembarking from his ship he would be summoned before a strange, hastily convened court in the dark hall of a remote rustic winery. For the first time since he had conceived the idea of the journey, he experienced a vague fear of defeat.
Surprisingly, however, he felt pity not for himself, nor for his two wives, who had been forced to leave their children and their homes, but for his Ishmaelite partner, Abu Lutfi, whom Ben Attar now imagined sitting in the darkness of the ship’s hold close to the solitary camel, praying to Allah for the success of his Jewish partner, although he would never, ever understand, however many times it was explained to him, why a Jewish merchant who lived with his wives and enjoyed the respect of Jews and Ishmaelites alike should care about the repudiation of faraway Jews living in dark forests on the shores of wild rivers, in the heart of a remote continent.
This feeling of guilt and compassion toward the Arab, who had given and would continue to give his own strength and money to a journey with whose purpose he could not identify, now charged Ben Attar with such powerful feelings of shame and sorrow that he sternly scrutinized the face of his nep
hew Abulafia, who was smiling at him with a kind of strange perplexity. Abulafia was standing before him not only as a defendant but also as an interpreter, who would be called upon to render his opponent’s words faithfully. For a moment Ben Attar was filled with anger against his nephew, whom he had so lovingly reared, for his inability to stand up to his new wife, and for involving him not only in a long and wearisome voyage but also in this sad and unjust rift. So fiercely did his anger burn that he dispensed with the services of his nephew as interpreter, and in a deep voice that at once commanded silence in the hall he spoke a few hesitant words in the ancient tongue of the Jews, in the hope that those who understood would communicate his meaning to the others present. After a few sentences, however, he realized that it would be better for him to abandon his atrophied, jerky Hebrew in favor of fluent and colorful Arabic, which not surprisingly conveyed the full force of his distress.
A Journey to the End of the Millennium Page 16