The Kabbalist

by Katz, Yoram

  “Superstitious…” Srur looked at Luria in disgust. “I got this from my rabbi. It is a Kabbalistic charm.”

  “I always wondered how is it that so many businessmen of your… stature have got such admirable spiritual and religious needs.”

  Srur felt the sarcasm. “I pity people like you who have no faith in anything. But this is really none of your business, and if you try once more to patronize me, you will regret it.”

  “Sorry, I meant no offense.”

  “Let us sit down,” Srur now pointed to the small sitting corner with the luxurious white leather couches. The two men sat down. Srur sipped from his glass with relish, his eyes on Luria. “I wanted a word with you, Luria,” he said after a short silence.

  “Is that so, Ze’ev? What a coincidence. I am so glad I came, then. What did you have in mind?”

  Srur smiled. It was a humorless smile this time. “We have a common acquaintance who complained to me that you have been harassing him.”

  “A common acquaintance?”

  “Attorney Yigal Porat”

  “Porat?” Luria was beginning to see the light.

  “Attorney Yigal Porat has been working with me for many years now,” said Srur. “I consider him a personal friend.”

  “I have nothing personal against Attorney Porat,” said Luria. “And, of course, anybody is free to choose his friends, but just between us, I can tell you that I can’t stand the guy and I think he is a pompous ass.”

  “I want you off his back.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I want you to leave him alone.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He told me you were hired by his wife to pry into his private affairs. I am disappointed with you, Luria. Interfering with the family life of a married couple with children? How low can you go?”

  “I cannot comment on that, Ze’ev. This is a professional matter.”

  “I believe that some values are above everything, and I consider family to be one such value. Do you have wife and kids, Luria?”

  Luria kept quiet.

  “If you ever do, you will understand what I am talking about. Nothing is more sacred than the family. Now, let us return to Yigal Porat. I understand that this is your livelihood, and I am willing to compensate you for the damage. I will pay you 100,000 shekels, and you will leave his family alone. Let us consider this a contribution to the community; fair enough?” Srur got up, refilled his glass, and returned to his couch. He raised the glass to his lips, waiting for Luria.

  “This is not about money,” said Luria. “I am not sure you can appreciate it, but this is about professional integrity.”

  Srur put his glass down, the smile vanishing from his face. Luria noticed a dangerous flash in his eyes. “What kind of answer is this?” He raised his voice. “I am treating you with respect, doing my best to be courteous, giving you a generous offer, and you dare patronize me? Do you want me to give you the other options on my list?”

  “You mean, what is going to happen to me if I do not agree to this generous offer of yours?”

  Srur’s face was becoming red.

  Luria spoke softly now. “Just a moment, Ze’ev, please calm down. I have a counter offer for you, which I believe is at least as fair as yours.”

  Srur took a deep breath. “Speak up,” he snapped, his face still red, “but I am warning you that my sense of humor has exhausted itself for this evening. You no longer amuse me.”

  “I understand. I’ll be as grave as an attorney.”

  “Cut this bullshit and speak up!” Srur was rapidly approaching the limits of his patience.

  “Well, Ze’ev,” said Luria, “having considered your persuasive statements, I will deviate a bit from protocol and do something I have never done before. I’ll share with you some of the findings in Attorney Porat’s file.”

  Srur frowned. “I am not a lousy reporter and I am not interested in what Attorney Porat does in his free time. This is not my business, and what I am trying to explain to you, apparently with limited success so far, is that this is also none of your business.”

  “Well,” said Luria pleasantly, “I am not at all sure of this.”

  “You are not sure this is not your business?”

  “I am not sure this is not your business.”

  “You are testing my patience.” Srur’s calm composure was more threatening than ever. “And it is about to expire.”

  Luria was not going to be bullied. “Please let me finish, Ze’ev. You were so convincing and articulate, now let me explain. I am sure you will find my offer interesting.” Srur wanted to say something, but reconsidered. He gestured wearily with his hand to Luria to proceed.

  “Thank you, Ze’ev.” Luria was the epitome of courtesy. “First, I will show you some documents,” he added. “I would like you to go through them carefully and form your own impressions. Then, I believe you will be much more open-minded.”

  “Luria, I warned you. Do not play games with me!”

  “Believe me, Ze’ev, this is not a game.”

  Srur looked at him suspiciously. “I hope for your own sake that you are right.”

  Luria pointed to the corner of the room, where the Armani guy had left his briefcase. “With your permission?”

  Srur nodded his approval. Luria stood up, walked to the corner across the room and returned with the briefcase. He opened it, fumbled inside and pulled out a DVD.

  “What is this?” asked Srur.

  “The documents I referred to.” Luria handed him the DVD. “You are welcome to take a look.”

  Srur hesitated for a moment and then ripped the DVD from Luria’s hand. He rose and walked to his desk with his whiskey in one hand and the DVD in the other. He seated himself in his luxurious executive chair, put his glass on the desk and fed the DVD into the computer’s drive. For a while, he fumbled with the mouse, muttering something to himself.

  “May I help you, Ze’ev?”

  Srur glared at him. “Sit down, Luria, and don’t patronize me. I can make this thing work at least as well as you can.”

  Luria kept quiet and looked with interest at the man behind the computer. About a minute passed. Srur kept moving the mouse here and there and mumbling in frustration. Suddenly, he froze. He then took a long sip from his whiskey and hit a mouse button. Luria looked at his face inquisitively, waiting for his reaction.

  And then it happened.

  Almost at once, Srur's face became dark red. Having miscalculated his last sip, he choked on his drink and started coughing violently, spraying the computer screen with fine Johnny Walker Blue. The cough grew worse.

  The door opened, and the Armani guy appeared. “Are you OK, Ze’ev?” He inquired anxiously. Srur’s face grew scarlet as he continued coughing. He waved angrily with his hands, gesturing his man out of the room and growling unintelligibly.

  “Get out of here,” he somehow managed to discharge in a choking voice, his hands still waving madly. The man promptly closed the door and disappeared. After a while, Srur regained control but his face was still red. He kept staring at the data on the computer screen before him.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “A stinking son of a bitch.”

  “Well,” observed Luria, “may I assume that you are now more open to discussion?”

  Srur did not answer. He was mesmerized, with his eyes glued to the computer screen. “What a son of a bitch.”

  “Perhaps you would now like to discuss the sacred value of family life,” suggested Luria politely.

  Srur jumped out of his chair as if bitten by a snake. “Shut up!” he yelled. “Shut your big mouth, or I will personally break your neck. Whom do you think you are dealing with?”

  Luria feared he had really crossed the line this time. “Sorry,” he said humbly. “I meant no offense.” He stood up. “Do you want me to leave this with you?”

  Srur gestured to him with his hand to sit down. “Has anybody seen this… thing?” he asked hoarsely.


  “No. Just me.” Luria saw no need to involve Eitan in this.

  “Listen to me, Luria, and listen very carefully.” Srur was talking very slowly now. “You will destroy any copy of this material. If I ever find out that it has ended up in somebody’s hands, I will hold you personally responsible and then no medical insurance will help you. You will not use this stuff, and you will not mention it to anybody. It just does not exist. It never did. Is this all you have on this son of a bitch?”

  “No,” replied Luria, “I have some more material on him, but it has nothing to justify your interest.”

  “I have no problem with you using any other material,” said Srur. “After all, I would not want to interfere with this sacred professional integrity of yours. But this material has just ceased to exist.”

  Luria opened his mouth to say something, but Srur raised his hand. “Not another word,” he growled. “You have talked more than enough for one day. Now, get out of here and be sure to remember every word I said.”

  Luria stood up, picked his briefcase and walked out.

  Luria stopped to receive his gun from the Armani guy. On his way out, he passed by the reception desk. It was quite late, but Ronit was still sitting there, working diligently.

  She raised her eyes. “Good night, Mr. Luria.”

  “Good night,” he said quietly, keeping his head down, trying to avoid eye contact.

  32. Yeshayahu Orlev – Jerusalem, February 14th, 2010 (Sunday)

  Professor Yeshayahu Orlev’s house in Jerusalem was a little one-story Jerusalem-stone structure. Its entrance was concealed by an overgrown bougainvillea bush, which threatened to swallow the whole building. Luria rang the bell and the door was opened by a small, scrawny man, whose age Luria estimated to be close to eighty. His halo of white, thin and feathery hair was blowing in the slight wind, giving him the look of a Christian saint. An eagle-like beak of a nose and a pair of huge brown eyes gave him an owl-like appearance.

  “Professor Orlev?” inquired Luria politely.

  “Yeshayahu Orlev, please enter.” The man smiled and gestured them inside.

  Luria and Jeanne entered a living room, which could easily be mistaken for a library. The walls were surrounded by book cabinets and shelves, which climbed all the way to the ceiling. In the wall to their left, a large window opened to a small garden.

  Luria introduced Jeanne and himself.

  “It is very nice to meet you.” The old man spoke fluent English with a trace of an Israeli accent. “So you are Aryeh’s cousin.”

  “Yes, indeed, Aryeh recommended you to us as the world’s leading expert in ancient Jewish history and Kabbalah.”

  “Aryeh has a knack for exaggeration,” commented Orlev, but it was obvious he enjoyed the compliment. “He helps me occasionally with my research, and I have high regard for his capacities and willing to help. I was glad to respond to his request to meet you.” He fell silent for a moment and then looked startled, as if he had just remembered something. “But my manners… you are still standing...”

  He walked them to a low coffee table, around which stood a few old couches, apparently originating from different furniture sets, but nevertheless comfortable-looking. “Sit down please, what can I get you to drink?”

  “There is really no need...” Luria was beginning to say.

  “Oh, but I insist!” The professor turned to Jeanne. “What can I offer you, my beautiful lady? Liquor? Or may I suggest an excellent tea that I manually brew, using herbs from my garden?”

  “I will go for your tea, of course.” Jeanne smiled at him, and Luria saw that the old man was already smitten by her magic. “I will also love a cup of tea,” he said.

  “Excellent.” Orlev rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “Well, then, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be back soon.” He disappeared into the kitchen and a minute later they saw him through the window in the small garden, plucking leaves from a few bushes and pruning some herbs.

  Jeanne smiled. “What a nice man. I have no doubt his tea is going to be really special.”

  Orlev returned, carrying a tray with a glass teapot on a glass base heated by candles. He laid the tray down carefully and put a small plate with a slice of cake in front of each of them. Then, he placed three glasses in silvery metal sheaths upon the table. He proceeded to pour a fragrant greenish liquid into the glasses, and a strong, pungent aroma filled the room, aggressively puncturing the air, like repetitive boxer’s knockout blows. Jeanne sniffed the air with apparent delight while Luria found the intricate ritual quite amusing. Finally, Orlev laid the pot down, sat on his couch, and waited impatiently for his guests to taste his potion and comment on it.

  “Professor Orlev,” said Jeanne, having sipped from her glass, “this is definitely the best tea I have ever tasted. How do you make it?”

  Luria thought this was one of the most transparent acts of flattery he had ever witnessed but noted with admiration that Jeanne sounded absolutely sincere.

  The old man was enthusiastic like a little child. “This is my own recipe. I use five different herbs from my garden. I find it more refreshing and more stimulating than any cup of coffee.”

  “Extraordinary indeed,” Luria was quick to follow, having destroyed any remnant of the original taste with three spoonfuls of sugar.

  For a while, they sipped their tea in silence. Luria could not help noticing that the professor was looking intensely at Jeanne. Jeanne noticed this too. Orlev felt embarrassed.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “It is just that you remind me so much of somebody I once knew… forgive me, my dear.” He placed his glass delicately on the table. “So what is it that I can I do for you?”

  “Well…” said Jeanne. “This is a complex story. I got hold of a written correspondence, regarding a relative of mine, Pascal de Charney. He was here with the French forces in 1799. We wanted to hear your opinion about some aspects of this correspondence.”

  The old man raised an eyebrow. “1799? He must have served in Napoleon’s expedition.”

  “Indeed he did,” Jeanne acknowledged. “We wondered if you could take a look at these letters.”

  “With pleasure,” beamed Orlev.

  Jeanne passed him the copies of the three letters and the professor frowned. “English translations? Don’t you have the originals? Or at least photocopies?”

  “I am sorry,” apologized Jeanne. “I thought it was too valuable information to travel with … I know this is silly of me.”

  “Never mind.” The professor was visibly annoyed but started reading. When he finished, he put the papers down and looked at Jeanne. “Remarkable,” he said. It seemed to Luria that the old man was trying to downplay his excitement.

  “We can understand from these letters,” said Luria, “that Pascal had been assigned a task by his father, and that he ultimately accomplished it by getting hold of some old scrolls in Safed.”

  “We were wondering what type of documents these were. There is, of course, a clue indicating a Christian context…” said Jeanne.

  “What clue?”

  Jeanne pointed to the professor the paragraph in Pascal’s letter referring to Philippe de Charney. “We had a few Templars knights and officials in our family,” she explained. “It seems that the task assigned to Pascal had something to do with this Templar heritage.”

  Orlev sat up on his couch. “Aha!” he cried. “The famous Templar treasure! The Holy Grail! The ultimate secret of Christianity!”

  The two looked startled.

  The old man let out a strange laugh, which sounded like the cooing of a pigeon. “My young friends,” he explained, “the legend of the Templar’s treasure has by now become a theme for popular fiction. Quite a few authors got rich from fairy tales about this treasure, which may have never existed. But this is really not my specialty. If you are looking for an expert on the crusades, Professor Bennet may be your man.” There was an apparent coldness in the way he uttered the name.

  “Profess
or Bennet?” Luria repeated the name.

  “Professor Jonathan Bennet, an ex-student and colleague of mine at the Hebrew University. He and I have our differences, but he certainly is an expert in the history of the crusades.”

  “Professor Bennet… I think I have heard his name before,” said Jeanne. “Isn’t he also an expert in early Christian History?”

  This innocent question must have hit a sensitive nerve. “An expert in early Christian History…” the professor was indignant as if Jeanne had said something rude. “Well, he certainly considers himself one, but he is wrong and misleading, and he is stuck with some misguided ideas.”

  Jeanne and Luria were baffled by the sudden fury of the kind old man.

  “For fairness and due diligence,” continued the professor, “I must tell you that Professor Bennet and I have published together a few papers about that tumultuous period of the first-century AD, and about the interrelationships between Judaism and Christianity. But, you see, Jonathan Bennet is a devout Evangelical Christian.” Orlev now raised his voice. “And when I realized that his beliefs were biasing his academic judgment, I broke off academic contact with him.”

  Luria and Jeanne exchanged glances, realizing they had inadvertently stumbled into the minefield of academic rivalry.

  “Madam.” The old Professor seemed reluctant to let go of the subject. “Since you have asked the question, can you define what you mean by ‘early Christianity’?”

  Jeanne thought this out for a moment. “I guess that means the movement that started with Jesus Christ and his apostles.”

  “Ms. de Charney, had you said Paul and his followers, I would have accepted it. But if you mean Joshua son of Joseph aka Jesus, then you are way off target.”

  “What do you mean? Do you deny the existence of Jesus?” Jeanne was puzzled.

  “Nothing of the sort, Ms. de Charney, this is not what I meant at all. Jesus was real, all right, but he was a devout Jew. He preached to Jews about Jewish matters and never meant to address anybody beyond this audience. He developed his ideas gradually, thriving on currents that existed in the Judaism of his time, and his known sermons were hardly original. The one who transformed Christianity from a secondary undercurrent of Judaism into a new, full-blown religion, was a man named Saul of Tarsus, aka Paul, who never knew Jesus personally, nor understood him.”