My great-uncle was referring to the fact that life never gave Rebecca the chance to bring up her son. She died in childbirth shortly after coming home to Córdoba. But she defied fate. After that she never left Moishe’s side for even a second. He could always detect her presence, sense her eyes upon him, hear her voice, and detect her perfume. As soon as he shut his eyes, she was there—only in spirit, of course, but even so, bubbling with life. Rebecca kissed Moishe and embraced him, exhorted him to faithfulness and whispered wise words into his ears, hovered over him and protected him against danger.
AFTER MOISHE turned thirteen and celebrated his bar mitzvah—a sort of maturity exam for boys who are then accepted as adults in the Jewish community—Rebecca visited him in the night. Moishe could clearly sense his mother’s presence and hear her voice. She said that she wished to tell him something. She was not the one who had defeated the new sultan Muhammed II at chess and thereby saved Moishe’s life. An angel had revealed itself to her and guided her hand during the match. The angel had moved the chess pieces in accordance with an intricate system that had originated at the beginnings of time. It was based, so to speak, on a heavenly order that was imposed upon creation, attuned to the harmonious proportions of the nebulae and galaxies of the macrocosmos. That system has a key; with it the innermost workings of the world can be deciphered.
Rebecca promised that one day she would reveal that intricate system to Moishe. Then her voice gradually faded. Moishe leaned forward, listening eagerly, but he heard nothing more. It was so quiet in the room that the boy could hear the distant murmuring of the stars.
THE STORY I most want to relate about our distant relative Moishe de Espinosa, whom we refer to merely as “the Cabalist,” played itself out during the Jewish Passover of the year 1313 in the city of Córdoba.
At that time Moishe was still only a young boy, recently turned thirteen, but sometimes he felt as if he was a hundred years old. He lived with his maternal grandparents, and throughout his childhood he had been kissed and wrapped in the warm embrace of his grandmother. His grandfather Rabbi Abraham Orabuena was reputed both for his learning and for his passionate piety: He never touched food or drink before sundown and prayed to God so intensely that he would become drenched in perspiration and had to change his shirt three times a day—an unimaginable luxury in the fourteenth century.
From his maternal grandfather Moishe had learned Aramaic, Arabic, Latin, arithmetic, and mathematics. He had read books on religion, philosophy, history, and geography. The boy’s head was crammed with facts and information. He kept it all in his memory and never forgot a thing. He could read the Talmud and the Torah, even blindfolded. He was capable of judging a person’s character with a single glance. The instant someone opened his mouth, Moishe knew what he was about to say. He was proficient at relieving all sorts of physical ailments. He did this by applying his mental powers, never touching the afflicted individual or using magic incantations. His treatments relieved anyone with an aching back or belly, swollen arteries, obstructed circulation, the pains of rheumatism, or bloody stools.
Pious Jews often came to the boy for spiritual guidance. At times Moishe begged them to leave him in peace; he explained apologetically that he was not a real rabbi but just an ordinary adolescent, a young man also in need of guidance. But it was no use. People continued to pound on his front door.
Moishe’s reputation also came to the attention of the rulers of the city. Governor Manuel Manzanedos del Castillo dispatched one of his spies to the rabbi’s house to evaluate the boy’s unusual gifts and report back to the governing council of Córdoba. The man noted Moishe’s familiarity with Jewish thought and history and asked the boy what he considered most important to his people. Moishe answered—as he always did—that the law was the most important thing for the Jews, for God’s law was righteous and applied to all individuals; no one stood above the law, whether he be noble or a common servant.
In his extensive report the spy sought to furnish as much convincing detail as possible. He twisted Moishe’s words and asserted that the boy had criticized Governor Manzanedos del Castillo and his counselors for misapplication of the laws. This allegation provoked frowns and murmurs of concern among the proud gentlemen of Córdoba’s most aristocratic families. They discussed the report until late in the night. Given the influence the boy appeared to have upon his coreligionists, the implication was that a burning dissatisfaction with the rulers of the city had been kindled among the Jews. If the Jews took such criticisms to heart, they would become difficult to rule.
“There is danger in dealing with people who believe that they possess the absolute truth,” declared the young Hidalgo del Solís, who wanted to show his resolution. He hoped eventually to replace the aging governor. “We have seen many examples of what happens when people think they can overthrow injustice and error and impose their truth. I suggest that we invite the torturer to investigate the Jews’ devotion to this young prodigy.”
Several privy counselors endorsed the young man’s views. The governor replied that submitting the boy to torture might enrage his community. He said that although he had many more important issues to handle, perhaps he himself should have a talk with Moishe and sound out his opinions.
Hidalgo del Solís retorted that even a thirteen-year-old Jew, burning with evil and fanatic zeal, could bring about disaster; this being the case, the council should immediately decide what to do about the boy. After a lively discussion the council voted to endorse the governor’s proposal, at least for the time being.
The rumor that Moishe was about to be arrested and tortured quickly spread through the Jewish quarter. Terror gripped the denizens of its narrow streets and doomsayers predicted that Jewish blood would flow during Passover.
GOVERNOR MANZANEDOS DEL CASTILLO was studying his notes when Moishe entered the room. The governor glanced up momentarily from his papers and ordered the boy to explain his views concerning God and the law. And to be quick about it, because the governor was a busy man working on more important matters.
Moishe responded calmly and with deference, not intimidated in the least. The words flowed from his lips like the springs from the Sierra Nevada mountains, those crystal-clear streams that run bubbling down the valleys. The governor had never heard anyone speak so beautifully. He looked up from his notes and scrutinized the wonder child whom the Jews considered to be a near reincarnation of the great prophets.
The boy still showed no signs of adolescence. His face had not a wisp of hair and his upper lip showed no trace of down. He was significantly smaller and shorter than the governor had expected. His only conspicuous feature was his immense nose. But everything about his manner—the certainty, earnest demeanor, firmness, and conviction—signaled maturity and moral stature.
Moishe reiterated his view that the law was more important than anything, for it was the supreme expression of the eternal wisdom of God the Almighty. “The law,” he said pointedly, “unites humanity, while views about faith, customs, habits, and prejudice hold us apart.” He commented that the reason the governor was everywhere accorded respect and admiration as well as affection and honor among the Jews of Córdoba and their neighbors was that in all his wisdom His Grace Manzanedos del Castillo was the guardian of the law.
The governor felt flattered. It had been a long time since anyone had expressed such respect for him. He was the grandson of King Ferdinand II of Castile, that scourge of the Moors who had conquered Córdoba in the year 1236. After a couple of ensuing Catholic decades the great metropolis—which under Caliph Al-Hakam had been the center of the Arab world with a library of more than a million splendid volumes—gradually had settled into the status of a sleepy garrison town. As with Córdoba, Manzanedos felt that his life was at a standstill. His advancing age had rendered him a shadow of his former self. In earlier days he had thrived on political intrigue, but now he was tired of it all. He was sunk in unbearable tedium. The only thing that interested him was the writing of
his autobiography. His standing in Córdoba wasn’t the same as before. People no longer accorded him the respect he had previously enjoyed, and he had an uneasy feeling that the youngest lords of the council secretly laughed at him behind his back.
Moishe’s words and above all his subtle view of the world impressed the governor and reinvigorated him. Manzanedos del Castillo had always found priestly sermons about God’s love amusing, given that in the strict interpretation of the injunction to love one’s neighbor one would be obliged to love those who did not believe in Jesus Christ—for example, the Jews and the Muslims. But that sophistry held no attraction for him, for he considered it perilous to regard enemies as anything other than enemies. No matter how he formulated the issue and pondered it, Manzanedos del Castillo found it difficult to embrace the concept of neighborly love.
So he asked Moishe, “Do you Jews hold the law to be more important than love?”
The boy answered without hesitation. “Christians’ most familiar prayer begins with the words ‘Our Father, which art in Heaven’ and ends with ‘Deliver us from evil.’ It follows therefore that evil is regarded as part of human nature, born with us, but God can free us from evil if he wishes to heed our prayers. From time to time certain men, convinced that they are acting out of love according to the will of God, assume for themselves the roles of saviors and attempt to deliver us from evil. The consequences have always been tragic and have caused even more evil, suffering, and sudden death. Throughout history my people have regularly been subjected to so-called loving efforts to save us from our supposed evil, and we know where that sort of love leads. For that reason we hold that God’s law stands above all because it instructs us how we should live together here on earth. And it dictates that no one stands above the law.”
“But the law does not free us from our innate evil,” Manzanedos del Castillo quickly replied.
“We Jews,” said Moishe in a friendly but decided tone, “do not believe that humanity is born evil. According to Talmudic teachings, the newborn child bears no moral guilt. We are born virgin, so to speak. Our personality is shaped by our experiences, and these are affected by the family and by the place in which we live, as well as by those who rule us. Any person can make a mistake and fall into evildoing. That is why it is essential always to preserve our memories. By recalling the past, we can avoid repeating our bad deeds. It is a Jewish obligation to remember, so that we can reconcile ourselves with one another and help God to mend the world.”
Manzanedos del Castillo was not certain that he fully understood the boy’s reasoning. All that talk about remembering was sufficiently in line with his own preferences that he heard himself muttering in agreement. He believed that there certainly must be a higher world order and a lower one, and that those orders were not in tune with each other in every way. Some were born as Jews and bore a curse; others were Catholics and constructed a kingdom. But God’s law had to be respected by all. Suddenly he could also see his own role in creation as the guardian of the law in Córdoba. He felt pleasantly satisfied with that state of affairs, for he liked to examine issues from various perspectives as an honorable man without preconceived opinions.
“Young man,” Manzanedos del Castillo said, “I willingly acknowledge that I have always considered you Jews to be an odd feature of Córdoba. But now that you so eloquently have reassured me of the respect and admiration of my Jewish subjects, I am convinced that you respect our laws. As a gracious gesture to demonstrate that I have no direct dislike for you as a group, I will send to the Jewish community ten young healthy lambs that you may prepare in accordance with your ritual laws and distribute among the poorest of you for the holiday meal at the upcoming Eastertide.”
NOT LONG after that, my great-uncle told us, people in Jewish quarters throughout Europe were recounting the legend of the fearless orphan boy who all alone saved the Jews of Córdoba from persecution.
THE FIRST EVENING SEDER of Passover in the Jewish quarter of Córdoba was always a festive occasion. Rabbi Orabuena would sit in the synagogue with his community as the sun neared the horizon, expectantly awaiting the beloved commemoration of the liberation of the Jews. That narrow space, so crowded and stifling, was filled with the holy presence of God and the angels. The people’s hearts were full with special longing. Men sang hymns and women murmured evening prayers. In the midst of this expectant optimism with its promises of freedom and well-being, the rabbi delivered a brief sermon. He praised the virtues of the faithful departed, those who are now seated on the golden thrones of glory in heaven as the mysteries of the Torah are revealed to them. The rabbi’s forehead gleamed with perspiration. Moishe listened, awestruck. Many faces were streaked with tears. Everyone in the congregation sensed that the mysteries of the Torah were as one with the mysteries of the world.
After the service Moishe and his grandfather took their places in the garden outside the synagogue. Members of the community surrounded them, thanking the boy for protecting the Jews of Córdoba and praising the rabbi for offering such a stirring sermon. Eventually the boy and his grandfather excused themselves and began to make their way homeward. They looked up at a cloudless heaven full of gleaming stars. A cool breeze was blowing. Their spirits were at peace as they contemplated the heavens.
“Wherever truth may lie,” the rabbi said, “one thing is certain: Heaven is infinite and mighty.”
“Grandfather, it takes thousands of years for the light of the stars to reach our eyes,” Moishe said. “Those stars twinkling and glittering up there are suns far larger than the earth. Each has its own planets, presumably worlds of their own. Maybe those faint traces above us are a swirling mass of millions of heavenly bodies. Just imagine, Grandfather! If only one could discover the secrets of the spheres; if only it were possible to predict precisely every eclipse of the sun and moon and the appearance of every new comet!”
“The man who can interpret the Holy Scripture, especially the revelations of the prophets, will find the answers to all questions,” the rabbi commented. He clasped his hand to his chest.
Moishe did not notice his grandfather’s sudden difficulty in breathing. The boy’s eyes shone like jewels; they sparkled with fire and with the promise of the night. In the darkness the universe seemed full of impenetrable mystery.
AGAIN THAT YEAR, as always before, Abraham Orabuena’s company of friends and their wives gathered in his house to celebrate Passover. The rabbi’s wife and several other women had spent many hours preparing the Seder meal to commemorate the beginning of the eight days of Pesach. The festival of the unleavened bread recalled and celebrated the origins of the people of Israel and their departure from Egypt. The purpose was for all Jews to relive once more their escape from slavery under the Pharaoh and the creation of a free people.
In honor of the Seder festivities the rabbi had donned a splendid prayer shawl and placed a richly embroidered kippah skullcap on his head. A long table set for eighteen stood in the living room, and the house was filled with the warmth from baking and the heavenly smells from the kitchen. At each holiday festival Rabbi Orabuena took care to have exactly eighteen guests at his table, for in the tradition of the Jewish mystics the number eighteen signifies life.
The guests sat on comfortable cushions chatting, laughing, and entertaining one another with a lively flow of gossip. The rabbi sat at one end of the table. Everyone knew that feast days brought forth his robust sense of humor and he was always delighted at the laughter that his jokes provoked. But this year as that holy evening began, he was unusually quiet and preoccupied.
The rabbi’s wife lit two candles and recited the prescribed blessing. The rabbi rose. Everyone at the table watched him. Carefully and with a slight stiffness in his movements, he read the blessing of the wine. Then, according to tradition, came the moment for the hosts to open the outer doors to invite the Prophet Elijah into the house to proclaim the arrival of the Messiah.
They opened the doors. To the astonishment of all, a ragged Je
wish traveler stood outside. He did not look like an ordinary beggar; he had the aspect of a wise man. But his clothes were tattered. Moishe saw the stranger and recognized him immediately as one of the thirty-six righteous men. They lived lives of poverty but their dignity and humility made possible the continued existence of the world.
“An unexpected guest!” exclaimed the rabbi’s wife. She invited the stranger into the house.
“Pesach sameach. I wish you all a good Passover,” the man greeted them politely, bowing his head humbly as he entered.
“Pesach sameach, stranger,” the rabbi answered. “Come join our table and tell us what has brought you to our part of the world.”
“I do not come to share the Seder meal. I am here to say one thing, no more.”
“Tell us, then,” replied the rabbi.
“Makbenak.”
When the man pronounced the word Rabbi Orabuena’s face suddenly altered. He burst into tears. His eyes, his cheeks, and his grizzled beard were all wet. His lips moved, but no words emerged. The guests at the table sat in stunned silence. Before anyone found the presence of mind to speak, the stranger left the house.
“Worthy Rabbi, tell us: Who was this man and what did he want?” said one of the guests.
The rabbi took out a large handkerchief. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. With a broken voice he replied, “We have just witnessed a miracle.”
“A miracle?” another guest repeated his words in disbelief. “What do you mean, dear Rabbi?”
An unusual silence ensued. Everyone in the room stared expectantly at the rabbi. Moishe felt a sudden shiver. He had an intuition of what was about to happen.
The rabbi stared up at the ceiling. He knew that the spirits of his forefathers were watching over him. He felt the nearness of God. With his inner eye he could see the Almighty sitting upon the throne of glory, looking down upon him. With his inner ear he could hear the angels singing psalms. He knew that the Book of Life in which all men’s deeds are written had been opened, and his allotted time had come to an end. The rabbi fell forward onto the table. Pereira the physician immediately rose from his place among the guests to help him.
The Elixir of Immortality Page 13