A Journey to the End of the Millennium

by A. B. Yehoshua

  But where was Ben Attar? And where were the other travelers? Jews and Ishmaelites, white, dark, and black-skinned, had been swallowed up by the wooden houses of the Jews of Worms who now emerged into the drizzle of eventide to assemble in the synagogue, which, even though it was still under construction and the whole western wall was missing, seemed to be as dear to the worshippers as though it were whole. They pressed together in the united brotherhood of a proud congregation, dressed in festive clothing and raising their eyes in satisfaction to three large oblong windows, above which were three circular lights like portholes, glazed with thick yellow panes, which, since they were not adorned with any image, of angel or man or even floral designs, shone into the darkness of the synagogue with the charm of three bright suns.

  Master Levitas insisted that the Andalusian rabbi and his son, who had emerged from somewhere or other with a pointed hat on his head, should be seated against the eastern wall, beside the holy ark, so that the rabbi could be impressed by the excellence of the congregation standing facing him—a congregation that would scrub away at its sins on Thursday and Friday, continue to afflict itself on the Sabbath of Repentance, and then mark a slight pause on Saturday evening to ascend the judgment throne and to decide between north and south, between Abulafia and Ben Attar. These two were now standing side by side, swallowed up in the worshipping congregation, shivering slightly in the cold damp wind that in Europe accompanied the evening prayer of the New Year, whereas in Tangier, their birthplace, they both recalled sorrowfully, it was always said under a warm, star-studded sky.

  Ben Attar customarily spent the first night of New Year with his first wife and the second night with his second wife. His first wife prepared the meal before the Day of Atonement, and he broke his fast afterward with the second wife. He built the tabernacle first at the first wife’s house, and he carried the small scroll to the second wife’s house at the Rejoicing of the Law. And so for the other festivals of the year, whose naturally double nature invited and demanded at least two wives, always fresh to help the man, who might otherwise be overwhelmed by the many complex regulations of his faith.

  But this evening, in the dark synagogue on the bank of the Rhine, where the service followed the abbreviated rite of Amram Gaon rather than the long Babylonian rite of Saadia Gaon, the worshippers had time to embellish the chants and repeat their favorite passages, and since they all knew the prayers by heart, they were not too troubled by the lack of light. Ben Attar stood holding a parchment text that he would have had difficulty reading even in daylight, let alone in the dark, wondering at himself. So many hours had passed since he had been separated from his wives, and yet he was in no hurry to be reunited with them, and had not even asked after them. Was this only because he was confident that their hosts would be treating them with generosity and respect, as he himself was treated, or because for the first time in his life he felt relieved that they were not with him, as though his soul were sated with them?

  In truth, throughout the many days that had elapsed since he had set out, not a day had passed without his two wives’ being within reach or at least within eyeshot. Surely the whole strength and purpose of dual love was that it forced each of the parties to be separated occasionally from their partner, so that they could digest thoroughly what they had been given before asking for more. But in the darkness of the swaying wagon driven by Abd el-Shafi’s tattooed arms, on the long road from the Seine to the Rhine, when he saw his two wives lying wearily side by side or occasionally, when the going was particularly hard, in each other’s arms, he had begun to fear that in the fantasy of his desire he would be liable henceforth to fuse them into a single woman, and so it was fitting now that he did not see them and did not even know where they were. Were they on the other side of the wall, in the little women’s synagogue? Or caged among curtains in the wooden houses raised on stilts, listening through the window to the chorus of frogs croaking across the wide marshes of the Rhineland?

  It was a rich and insistent croaking that the leader of the prayers tried to drown out with his loud yet steady voice, steering the prayers confidently, without yielding to the whims of worshippers who tried to slow or speed the pace, to skip or repeat some passages. Rabbi Elbaz was confirmed in his belief that one who was accustomed to leading the prayers of such a pious and learned congregation every day with such confidence would also make a single and final arbite in the appeal that was ahead of them, even if he was not considered the greatest and best of scholars. The rabbi from Seville already felt as close to his chosen one, with his yellow beard and his bloodshot eyes, as though he had discovered a twin soul. But at the conclusion of the prayers, when Master Levitas hurried over to the rabbi and Ben Attar with an expectant smile on his face, hoping to hear from the two southern litigants some words of praise and admiration for the spiritual excellence of his native town, the rabbi cautiously refrained from revealing to his adversary even by a hint his intention of demanding a single judge instead of a panel of several judges. For the moment he contented himself with a cautious question about the character of the prayer leader, who was folding his prayer shawl slowly and reluctantly, as though he were sorry the prayers were over.

  It transpired that Master Levitas, who knew and remembered everybody, could tell him all about this man, Joseph by name, who although he was also called son of Kalonymos, like the majority of the folk of Worms who had come from Italy at the bidding of Emperor Otto, was only partly a Kalonymid, on his father’s side; on his mother’s he was descended from an ancient local family that had belonged, according to legend, to the legions of Julius Caesar, who had fought here more than a thousand years ago. He was a widower, but unlike Rabbi Elbaz he had not remained single but had speedily married a widowed kinswoman, so that they could raise their orphaned children together. Perhaps it was because there were so many children in his home that Master Levitas had chosen to house the youngest traveler with him.

  Now the rabbi understood why his son had not taken his eyes off the man, and why he had tipped his little black hat at the precise angle favored by his host. He suspected that the invisible hand of a good angel was touching him kindly, and his mind hastened to confirm the choice it had made. It would be good to plead his cause before a judge who, like Ben Attar, had had experience of two wives, even if not simultaneously. For a moment Elbaz wanted to join his boy as a guest in the house of his chosen one, in order to make a close study of the weak points of his mind and his character, but he gave up the idea, fearing that excessive propinquity might arouse suspicion. He decided, though, to offer this Joseph his little black horn during the service next morning, so that he might try to make the softer and darker southern sound on it.

  Before the North Africans went their separate ways to eat the festive meal with their respective hosts, the rabbi hurried to share his new thought with Ben Attar and seek his permission to place the case in the hands of a single carefully selected judge. The merchant, who had so far been obliged to bestow retrospective approval on the decisions the rabbi had imposed on him, was surprised at the suggestion, but after some thought he gave his consent, because he too had realized that the unruly simplicity of the makeshift court near Paris would be replaced here by the stern, united knowledge of a community that was sure of itself. Thus it would be better to be judged here by a single, humane person who was accustomed to stand and pray with the congregation behind him rather than in front of him.

  Then Rabbi Elbaz approached Master Levitas, whose eyes were searching the women coming out of their synagogue, looking for his sister, and gave him a first indication, not in his own name but in that of Ben Attar, the party to the suit, of their wish for the case to be heard in Worms by a rather restricted panel of judges, in fact by a single arbiter. At this the other, who had learned from his bitter experience in Villa Le Juif the same lesson as the rabbi—namely, that whoever selects the judges controls the verdict—pricked up his ears shrewdly, and apprehensively he asked the Andalusian rabbi, who looke
d just like a local Jew now with his black cloak and pointed hat, A single arbiter? Why? Surely we could benefit from the combined wisdom of several judges?

  But Rabbi Elbaz held his ground. On the contrary, it was precisely because this community contained such an abundance of scholars, who learned from each other but also scrutinized and threatened each other, that they should prefer the option of a single judge, who would take full responsibility for the final separation between uncle and nephew, south and north. But who would the single judge be? Master Levitas’s fears increased, though he was heartened by the gentle presence of his sister, who now, after the evening service, appeared charming and radiant among the townsfolk. Surely the boy was not to be charged with selecting him, as at Villa Le Juif? It turned out that the rabbi was demanding not any kind of ballot but merely the straightforward right to choose, which by any standards of justice and ethics should belong to the complainants, who, confident of the rightness of their cause, had risked life and limb upon the stormy ocean to come and make their protest. Even when they had won their case, they had generously agreed to submit to a further hearing, in the depths of the forests and swamps of Ashkenaz, in a wretched and benighted town full of sharp-witted, learned kinsfolk of the other side. Honesty and propriety decreed that they should be granted the right to choose the individual who would pronounce the final verdict.

  In the face of such powerful arguments Master Levitas had nothing to reply, although he wondered whether his elder sister, whose bright eyes held a fleeting smile, could fathom the purpose of the Andalusian rabbi, who had set forth his case so enthusiastically in the holy tongue. Over the festive dinner in the home of his host, the elderly rabbi of Worms, the rabbi from Seville saw that the right of choice that he had arrogated was already granted, and all that remained was to investigate the chosen candidate. Consequently, between discussions of a scriptural character, he attempted to extract some further information about Joseph son of Kalonymos. When he heard, by the by, that many years previously Joseph’s parents had wished to betroth him to Esther-Minna Levitas, but that her parents, being very particular, had preferred a whole Kalonymos to half a Kalonymos, his spirit trembled, as though it were being not merely touched but caressed by the good angel. It was possible that two different qualifications might converge, and that justice might be reinforced by a wish to be avenged for the affront of past rejection.

  Neither did Rabbi Elbaz disclose the next day, at the morning prayer, the secret of the single judge—not even to his employer, the merchant, who stood stiffly among the worshippers at the side of his beloved nephew, the curly-haired conditional partner, whose musical talents enabled him to join even in the most complex chants of the Rhenish congregation, so that the leader, Joseph son of Kalonymos, feared for a moment that he had a rival. But when they took out the scroll of the holy law and laid it upon the reading desk, and Joseph son of Kalonymos blew upon a massive twisted yellow ram’s horn the threefold blasts prescribed by tradition, a vague terror fell upon Rabbi Elbaz. It was as if the raucous, insistent sound of the German ram’s horn contained a new and urgent warning for him. However, he composed himself, particularly after the scroll was replaced in the holy ark and Joseph son of Kalonymos turned to him and invited him to grace the service by blowing the little black southern horn that the rabbi had managed to conceal from the eyes of the customs officer in Verdun.

  And so, slowly, with restrained excitement, the first day of the festival passed, and after it, in leisurely fashion, amid persistent drizzle, the second day too, whose afternoon service was followed immediately by the evening prayers for the Sabbath of Repentance. And still Ben Attar did not know, and may not even have wanted to know, in which of those black-beamed wooden houses raised on stilts his two wives were secreted. The gray autumn skies of the German town seemed to have soaked up the North African merchant’s constant dual love and filled his soul with a tangled despair that was apt to cloud his mind, so that for a moment there was a fear that he might leave everything behind him, take the strongest and best of the four horses that had faithfully brought them here from the Seine from the stable behind the synagogue, and gallop back alone to Africa.

  If at the outset Ben Attar had wanted to prove, as in Paris, his quiet ability to realize fully and in perfect equality his rights and duties as a husband, he had quickly understood, perhaps because of the way the local Jews had managed to isolate him from his wives right from the start, that it was not from the man that they were expecting proof here, but from the wives. But proof of what? he wondered again as he noticed his wives reappearing in the women’s synagogue on the two days of the festival. Was it religious piety, he mused in irritation, or was there also an intention of tarnishing their souls with fear and perhaps even guilt, as though the great love that had delighted and continued to delight them both had been illicit from the outset?

  From the moment that Master Levitas had placed before the community Rabbi Elbaz’s firm request to appeal to the decision of a single judge, the spirit of the Jews of Worms had flagged, since for several days they had been entertained by the thought that they would dispel the tedium of the ending of the festival and the Sabbath with a pleasant discussion of the fate of three women. But when they were assembled in their synagogue after the closing ceremony of the Sabbath, not to sit in judgment as a community but merely to be passive spectators, waiting to see which scholar the busy little rabbi would choose, they still did not imagine that he would place a further constraint upon them and adamantly insist that the hearing should be held behind closed doors, so that the judge who dared to sever north and south forever would not be supported by the presence of a fanatical assembly.

  Thus they were reluctantly made to put up a double curtain in the synagogue, to separate the public from the space reserved for the court. But for all his stubbornness, the rabbi could not prevent them from improving the light by increasing the number of candles and lanterns, so they would not miss seeing the litigants as they were summoned into the small, hidden space next to the holy ark. True, it was not as it had been in the large space of the winery in Villa Le Juif, where the torchlight had cast mysterious, enlarged shadows into the corners of the hall so that the judges, sitting on wine casks, could imagine that they were floating in the depths of hell, where all mortals, men and women alike, are split into their dual human nature; here in Worms the Andalusian rabbi wanted to define a small, well-lit space, where the parties to the dispute and the witnesses would be pressed close together with each other and with the arbiter, whom it was now time to detach from the assembly of Jews filling the synagogue.

  Even though the candidate, Joseph son of Kalonymos, was sitting apparently absent-mindedly in a corner, half listening to the chatter all around him, it seemed that he had had a premonition that he would be chosen, not so much from the readiness with which he handed his candle to the man sitting next to him or the alacrity with which he rose to his feet, but rather because he had remained wrapped in his prayer shawl after the evening prayers. He may have wished to excuse himself to his friends for being chosen, as though the judge’s seat that he was being summoned to occupy were merely the natural extension of the lectern where he regularly officiated, as an ordinary elderly man, undistinguished from his fellow men and sounding the ram’s horn as occasion required.

  A stir of disappointment ran through the faithful public as they divined how cleverly the Andalusian visitor had chosen from among them a lenient judge, who, although his strength was in his voice rather than in his intellect or his book-learning, could not be disqualified, for who could claim that one who was deemed fit to represent the congregation by leading the prayers was not fit to represent it by serving as arbiter? But there were a few men, among whom naturally was Master Levitas, who knew and remembered that the man who had been selected was not only a widower who had had experience of two wives, albeit consecutively and not concurrently, but had also been a candidate for betrothal to Mistress Esther-Minna, and who suspected that wha
t had been denied him in the past might well stir his antagonism in the present.

  Master Levitas darted behind the curtain, where Rabbi Elbaz was already escorting an embarrassed Joseph son of Kalonymos to his seat and standing Ben Attar and Abulafia facing each other, wishing to exploit the momentum of the amazement he was causing and to open the proceedings at once, apparently counting on a lightning hearing that would be conducted in the holy tongue alone. But Levitas, grasping with alarm the sudden deterioration of the situation and the possibility that because of his own and his sister’s excessive self-confidence the sly rabbi from Seville might succeed in securing a verdict against them again, in the heart of their native country, burst into a frantic discourse in the harsh local German dialect, leavened with flattened Hebrew words. Whether he did this to save precious time or to foil the rabbi’s understanding, he addressed himself boldly to the judge, who all the time kept anxiously tightening his grayish prayer shawl around his shoulders.

  The whole of Master Levitas’s impassioned speech concerned only one demand: that his sister, Mistress Abulafia, should be brought into the hearing, for she counted herself as a party to the case no less than her husband. Although the suggestion made Joseph son of Kalonymos’s heart quake, he did not grant his consent before turning to the foreign rabbi who had chosen him, questioning whether the wife could be brought in, even though she was apparently not a member of the partnership herself. For a moment the rabbi seemed taken aback, but even though he saw no way of opposing the request, he still refused to make a concession for nothing, and so, without knowing why or wherefore, he suddenly sought to balance her presence with that of the three Ishmaelite sailors or wagoners, for it was thanks to their toil no less than to divine favor that the parties had arrived here safely.