Authors: Yoram Katz
I
t was a few minutes
before midnight. The few passers-by in a quiet street of Jerusalem’s German
Colony neighborhood, gazed curiously at the strange group of people standing on
the pavement in front of one of the one-story houses. This was Jerusalem, where
eccentrics and weirdoes are no uncommon sight, but the TV van parked nearby
drew some attention, and a small crowd of curious spectators was slowly
gathering to see what was going on.
The group which drew all this attention comprised
ten bearded men wearing black robes and black hats. This was the typical dress of
the Jewish
Hassidic
[viii]
ultra-religious
Haredi
[ix]
community.
Nine of them were deployed in a straight line on the pavement, facing their
leader, an old man whose body was covered in a black silk robe and whose head
was adorned with a huge white skullcap. As church bells from the old city
stroke midnight, the leader raised his hand.
“You all know why we are here,” he proclaimed. “In
the opposite house lives Jonathan Bennet, an evil and wicked gentile. He is a
foreigner who came as a guest to Holy Jerusalem and works for that blasphemous
institution which calls itself the Hebrew University. He has been constantly abusing
his welcome with words of heresy and libel. Time and again, we have warned this
hard-headed man to cease this sacrilege, but his pen keeps producing poisonous
words. He fabricates and spreads wicked lies about things holy to the people of
the
Torah
[x]
, presenting
his words as enlightened truth from Jerusalem.
“Since he refuses to heed our warnings, we have
taken counsel with the sages and have been instructed to assemble you, a group
of righteous men, to plead with the Almighty to send a curse upon the head of
this man. Here, in Holy Jerusalem, we shall pray for the death and destruction
of this evil blasphemer. We shall pray that no branch of the tree of life may
touch him, and thus we shall bring a blessing to the world.”
The nine members of the
group facing him nodded gravely in agreement. The leader then pulled out from
under his robe a stack of paper sheets, which he proceeded to distribute to the
others. “The words we are about to recite,” he declared, “are based on verses
from the Holy
Book of Zohar
and were compiled by the holy Kabbalist,
Rabbi Eliezer Pinchassi.” He then started reading ceremoniously in a mix of
Hebrew and Aramaic, with his nine comrades solemnly echoing every line.
“Here we stand in this
day and age,” he commenced.
“
Here we stand in
this day and age
,” answered the nine in chorus.
“In purity of thought…”
“
In purity of thought…
”
“On the spring and
fountainhead…” “
On the spring and fountainhead…
”
“From where the prayers
emerge…” “
From where the prayers emerge…
”
“And beg the Master of
the heaven and the earth…”
“That He will pass
judgment upon this evil man…"
“Who hath advocated
apostasy…”
“And hath libeled the
sages of Israel…”
“And hath fouled the
Holy Torah and Kabbalah…”
“Whose name is
Jonathan; son of Angela Bennet…”
“And each and every one
of us, born of a woman…”
“Hath the right to call
the guardians above…”
“And we are permitted
in this place…”
“To demand from the
angels of destruction, to put their sword unto him…”
“God shall not wish to
forgive him…”
“In his lies and
deceits and in his falsehoods, he shall die…”
“And in crimes he hath
committed, and in sins he hath sinned, he shall die…”
“In this day and age…”
“As is said in the
scriptures…”
“The righteous shall
rejoice when he sees the vengeance…”
“He shall wash his feet
in the blood of the wicked…"
“So that a man shall
say…”
“Truly, there is a
reward for the righteous…”
“Truly, there is a God
who delivers justice upon earth…”
“Because he hath
hardened his heart and cursed God and King…”
“And because he hath
preached his evil falsehoods…”
“God’s anger and wrath shall
be terrible…”
“Upon the head of this
man…”
“And may all curses
written in the Torah cling to him…”
“And God shall blot his
name from under the heavens, and may he die immediately…”
“Because he spoke ill of
the one God, our Lord…”
* * *
The TV announcer looked
amused. “We have with us in the studio our correspondent for religious affairs,
Yair Eshel,” he said to the camera and then turned to address the young man at
his right. “Yair, will you please explain to us the nature of the ceremony we
have just witnessed?”
“Well, Yaron,” replied
the young man, “this is a Kabbalistic ritual called ‘Pulsa Denura’.”
“Can you explain to us
what ‘Pulsa Denura’ means?”
“‘Pulsa Denura’ is an
Aramaic phrase meaning ‘a stroke of fire’. In this ritual, people gather with
the intention of casting a curse upon another man, hoping to cause or expedite
his death.”
“Where does this custom
come from?”
“This practice is
mentioned in the Talmud and in the
Book of Zohar
, which is considered
the most important Kabbalistic scripture. It is an application of Practical
Kabbalah, administered with wording based on verses from the
Zohar
.
Custom requires a
Minyan
- ten god-fearing, righteous Jewish men, over
the age of forty, in order to deliver the curse and mortally hurt someone who
has been conspiring against the Jewish people.”
“Is this for real, Yair?”
asked the announcer with a smile. “It looks like a voodoo ceremony or an
excerpt from a B-grade horror film…”
“Oh, this is real, all
right,” the correspondent’s expression was grave. “The ceremony takes place in
the late hours of the night, after all participants have fasted for a day.
Before the ritual, they bath in the
Miquve
- the Jewish ceremonial
bathing place, and then they dress in black and light candles.”
“So how does this
work?” wondered the announcer. “Can anybody just get up one morning and decide
to cast a curse against someone he does not like?”
“Well, it is not that
simple. The Kabbalistic tradition forbids casting this curse for someone’s
personal gain. It may be used only when a great evil threatens the people of
Israel.” The correspondent paused for a few seconds for effect. “But this is
believed to be an extremely hazardous business. According to Kabbalah, if the target
of the curse is unaffected, the curse shall bounce back upon the people who
have cast it. This may happen if the man does not truly deserve to be cursed,
or if the curser is not pure himself. The curse, once cast, must be fulfilled
either with the cursed or with the curser, and we are talking about a curse of
death.”
“Death?”
“Yes, Yaron, death or
at the very least a terrible catastrophe, which is to arrive within a year from
the day the curse was cast. As I have explained, all participants attend the
ceremony only after having bathed in a purifying Miquve. This purification
symbolizes the preparation for death, as the participants are to accept death,
in case the curse bounces off its object.”
“I see. And what is
this fuss all about, Yair? Who is the person these men were cursing?”
“There is a bitter
dispute between this community and a certain academic scholar, who occasionally
publishes articles that these Kabbalists consider blasphemous.”
“Who is this scholar?
What are his claims?”
“He is Professor
Jonathan Bennet of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Professor Bennet, an
Evangelical Christian, is a renowned scholar of Christian history and publishes
articles discussing links between Kabbalah and early Christianity. The
Kabbalists find these articles offensive. A recent article he had published in
the international press turned out to be too much for some of them.”
“Interesting. Can you
tell us about similar incidents in the past?”
The correspondent
looked at a sheet of paper he was holding. “There were quite a few; I will mention
several of them.
“In 1959, a group of rabbinical
judges in Jerusalem held a ‘Pulsa Denura’ ceremony directed against Gershon
Agron, Mayor of Jerusalem, who died two weeks later.
“A ‘Pulsa Denura’ was
cast in early 1995 by Haredi Jews against Eyal Ragonis, the architect of the
‘Andromeda Hill’ construction project in Jaffa. They claimed that the project
was to be built on the site of an ancient Jewish cemetery. A few months later, Ragonis
died of a sudden heart attack."
The camera caught the
incredulous face of the announcer.
The correspondent pressed
on. "On October 2
nd
, 1995, a ‘Pulsa Denura’ ceremony took place
in front of the home of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin in Jerusalem. Rabin was
murdered a month later, and many have argued that this ceremony contributed to
the atmosphere of incitement, which had paved the way for his murder.
“On July 19
th
2005, a ‘Pulsa Denura’ was held by right-wing extremists in the cemetery of
Rosh Pina, against Prime Minister Ariel Sharon, who was at the time leading the
Israeli unilateral withdrawal from the Gaza Strip. Sharon, as we remember very
well, suffered a stroke and entered a state of coma in January 2006, a state
from which he has not recovered.”
“It seems that
Professor Bennet has a good cause to be alarmed.” The announcer sounded less amused
now. “Isn’t this a criminal offense? Can’t the perpetrators be sued in court?”
“Not really, Yaron. To
quote from a statement of the state prosecution, which is based on former
verdicts of the Supreme Court, this ceremony by itself is not enough to
establish evidence of incitement to violence. The Public Prosecutor's office firmly
believes that this is a reproachful form of expression, yet it addresses God, not
men, and a prayer for the death of a human being, while being unworthy, is not
considered incitement for murder and falls within the domain of freedom of
expression.”
“Did you manage to get
Professor Bennet’s response?”
“Professor Bennet
directed us to the Hebrew University’s spokesperson. I have here the
University’s formal reply.”
A slide appeared on the
screen and was read by the announcer. “The university regrets that primitive
rituals of this type are being used in certain circles to intimidate and
threaten academic freedom in a society which upholds the independence of
academic research. While the university is the first to acknowledge that there
may always be room for controversy on any subject, this is definitely not a
proper way of expressing it.”
P
hilippe looked around.
Acre’s port was in total chaos. Crowds blockaded the piers with people
desperately trying to find a vessel to deliver them and their families from the
inferno. Some were offering all their worldly possessions for the privilege of
boarding one of the ships. A few young women offered themselves to the sailors
for a place on board, to avoid the worse-than-death fate of falling into the
hands of the Saracens. Quarrels broke out among the hard-pressed people, and
their shouts were deafening.
Philippe recognized the
Patriarch’s
galley
[xi]
and made
his way towards it. Many civilians crowded the pier where it was docked, trying
to board it and trampling over each other in the process. Philippe raised his
sword menacingly and cleared a path for himself.
The Patriarch was standing
on board, looking solemnly at the multitudes overflowing the pier. When he
noticed Philippe approaching, he turned to an officer standing next to him,
whispered something in his ear and pointed at Philippe. The officer gave an
order and two sailors hurried down the gangway and helped Philippe climb
aboard. A few minutes later he was standing at Patriarch Nicholas’ side. The
Patriarch extended his hand to him, and Philippe got down on his knees and
kissed it.
“Arise, my son,” said
the Patriarch. “I am glad to see you alive and well. De Severy asked me to take
good care of you. The terrible news about Grand Master de Beaujeu has caused me
much pain. He was a good Christian and a brave man whom we all admired and
respected. May our Lord bless his soul.”
“Forgive me your
holiness.” It was the Captain who came scurrying. “The galley is already packed
beyond capacity. We must raise the gangway and sail immediately. We cannot
board more people without risking our lives.”
The Patriarch looked at
the crowded pier. Many people were standing there, pushing and shoving in their
desperate attempts to climb aboard. Some raised their small children above
their heads, trying to invoke pity in the hearts of the armed sailors, who were
blocking their path to the gangway.
Tears came to the holy
man’s eyes. “Every additional man on board is one more soul saved,” he said. “Board
twenty more and give priority to families with children. Immediately after
that, raise anchor and set sail.”
“But your holiness, we
are risking the lives of all passengers!” Philippe heard the alarm in the
veteran seaman’s voice. “This galley was not built for such a load. A storm,
even the smallest one, will drown us all!”
The Patriarch gazed at
the sea. It was smooth almost as a mirror, with a light breeze blowing. “Grow
strong in your faith, my son,” he said. “Surely the Lord will extend to us some
grace and mercy on this day of hardship.”
The Captain shook his
head in desperation, mumbled something and was gone. Soon, the gangway opened
for a few minutes and twenty fortunate people with many children among them,
climbed aboard. The galley, its hull submerged very low in the water, started
on its way. The vessel moved slowly away from the pier, leaving in its wake a
mass of wretched humans wailing and crying. The swarm of people now started
flowing in the direction of the other ships still at anchor, which were all
already packed to full capacity.
The Patriarch shook his
head in anguish. “God is punishing us for our sins. For years we have been occupied
with hatred and strife. Genoese, Venetians and Pisans fighting each other …
Venetians inciting the heretic Sultan against their Genoese brothers… Knights
of the Hospital opposing their Templar brethren… No wonder the heathens are
gaining the upper hand now.”
Philippe nodded
morosely. The Patriarch was right. The ongoing quarrels among the various
communities and military orders were the cause for the fall of Jerusalem a
century before, and were now the cause of the disaster of Acre and the pending
fall of the whole Kingdom of Jerusalem. They could have used the time made
available by the distraction of the Mamluk Sultans of Egypt, who were busy
fighting the invading Mongols, to prepare for war. However, the Christians had not
learned the lessons of their defeat at the hands of Saladin a century before,
and kept on quarrelling among themselves. Their inability to rise beyond
pettiness and face reality was now being fully repaid.
A thought flashed through
Philippe’s mind. There was one man in Acre who understood all this and offered
solutions, but he never succeeded in convincing the others. This was the Grand
Master of the Knights Templar, de Charney’s revered idol - Guillaume de
Beaujeu.
* * *
Even before the fall of
Tripoli, two years back, de Beaujeu forewarned the leaders of that city from Qalawun,
the Mamluk Sultan of Egypt, in whose court he had planted spies. But the people
of Tripoli trusted the pact they had with the Sultan and when Qalawun appeared
in front of the city walls at the head of a 10,000-strong army, it was too
late. Tripoli fell, its treasures were plundered, its men were massacred and
its women and children were shackled and sold into slavery.
In Acre, people were
shocked. They counted on their good trading and business relations with the
Saracens to protect them, and now they realized they were in mortal danger.
King Henry, from his residence in Cyprus, sent an urgent cry for help to Pope
Nicholas IV. The Pope obliged him but the army he sent was an assortment of
unemployed, prisoners and other sorts of rabble. A few weeks after arrival,
this riffraff army started riots, which led to wholesale massacre of Saracens.
The Sultan used this incident as an excuse for resuming the struggle against
the infidels and vowed revenge. De Beaujeu wanted to compromise, but the
leaders of the various Acre communities accused him of treachery and cowardice.
Meanwhile, Qalawun
suddenly died in Cairo, but Al-Ashraf Khalil, his son and successor, carried on
his father’s work. In the spring of 1291, the army of the Sultan, 60,000
horsemen and 100,000 foot soldiers strong, left for Acre. They were accompanied
by engineers, rams, catapults and other machines of siege. The military force
in Acre facing them numbered 1,000 knights and 14,000 sergeants, soldiers and
able-bodied men. The leaders of the Acre communities, who had not too long ago
accused de Beaujeu of faint-heartedness and treason, now begged him to use his
connections with the Sultan. De Beaujeu, with the permission of King Henry, who
had just arrived from Cyprus with 2,000 soldiers, sent two of his officers,
Guillaume de Villiers and Guillaume de Caffran, the latter a fluent Arabic
speaker, to try and reason with the Sultan.
Al-Ashraf received the
small delegation in front of his tent, asking whether the two had brought him
the keys to the city gates. De Caffran answered that the city was not about to
fall easily. He offered to restore peace and redress any injustice done.
Al-Ashraf offered to let the inhabitants leave in peace for the capitulation of
the city and de Caffran promptly rejected this. While they were negotiating, a
huge stone, shot from one of the catapults inside the city walls, fell a small
distance from them. The enraged Sultan accused the two messengers of treachery
and almost killed them with his own hands. Only his officers, who rushed to
calm him down, rescued the two from immediate death and allowed them to return
to the city empty handed.
The last attempt at
saving Acre peacefully failed and the siege of Acre began.
* * *
‘But this cannot be the
end!’ The thought raced through de Charney’s mind. He raised his head. “Do not
despair, your holiness, we will be back,” he said, trying to convince himself
as well. “We will learn our lessons and God willing, the Kingdom of Jerusalem
will rise again.”
The Patriarch gazed at
him with his wise eyes, like a forgiving father eying a naive child. For a
moment, it seemed he was going to say something, but he just shook his head and
kept his silence.
The galley was drawing
away from the shore. With the low wind, it was moving forward mostly by its
oars, powered by slaves inside its belly. The sounds of the pandemonium on the
shore grew weaker and then turned into a soft murmur, to be eventually drowned
by the sound of the oars beating rhythmically against the water.
The two descended below
the crowded deck, into the Patriarch’s spacious cabin. There were already three
other men there, whom Philippe identified by their attire as clerics belonging
to different communities. It was obvious that the three felt ill-at-ease in
each other’s company. The Patriarch took his seat and signaled to Philippe to
sit beside him. “Monsignors,” he addressed the three men, “please meet Philippe
de Charney, a valiant and capable member of the Knights Templar, whom I expect will
rise high in the ranks of his Order.”
Philippe blushed and
tried to protest, but the Patriarch silenced him with a wave of his hand. The
three men stood up and bowed their heads politely. Philippe returned the
gesture.
"Monsieur de
Charney," said the Patriarch, "let me introduce my distinguished
guests, Monsignors Giuseppe Secola of Venice, Andrea Simeone of Genoa and
Alberto Silvestre of Pisa. They accepted my invitation to join me on this
galley."
The guests bowed again
and so did de Charney.
“Interesting, de
Charney,” noted the Patriarch, hardly able to disguise the bitterness in his voice,
“we were just having this conversation on the deck, and here we have
representatives of the leadership of the most prominent communities of our
beloved, fallen city. I do wonder whether they are starting to realize where
hatred and strife have brought us.”
A shadow passed over
the faces of the three men.
“We were discussing the
situation,” explained the Patriarch. “We both agreed that God is punishing us
for our follies and for our lack of brotherly love. Instead of uniting against
the enemy in the face of danger, we have engaged in petty squabbles. We are all
guilty, and we are all being punished for it today.”
“How do you mean, your
holiness?” asked Secola, the Venetian.
The Patriarch eyed him
like a teacher would a backward student. “I mean, for example, the War
of Saint Sabas.”
* * *
Saint Sabas was a building
in Acre, which stood on top of a hill separating the Venetian and the Genoese
quarters. The two opposing communities, representing two rival Italian
city-states, quarreled over its control. One day, the Genoese, supported by the
Pisans, seized the building by force. They then fell upon their Venetian
neighbors and started a riot. This conflict was part of a 200 year struggle
between Genoa and Venice for dominating trade with the Levant, which now escalated
into a full-scale war.
The conflict then spread
to Tyre, where the Venetians joined forces with the Pisans, who had switched
sides. They also acquired the support of the Knights Templar and the Teutonic
Knights, while the Genoese recruited the Knights of the Hospital to their
cause, so that eventually, every community had aligned itself with one side or
the other. The situation deteriorated into street fights, and then to naval
battles. Even after a truce was brokered by the Pope in 1261, the skirmishes
continued intermittently.
* * *
Secola, the Venetian, could
hardly contain his rage. “Yes, the Genoese dragged us into a war we had to
fight back and win.”
Simeone rose from his
chair furiously. “I must protest...”
The Patriarch raised
his hand. “This is enough, Monsignors. Your behavior is just proving my point,
but we have to put all this behind us. What’s done is done and we must not
discuss this subject anymore. I apologize for having brought it up."
Simeone tried to get
back into his seat, but at that moment, the whole room trembled violently, and
he fell. All five men were tossed to the floor, and started rolling from side
to side, banging against furniture and walls. From the corner of his eye,
Philippe saw Secola’s head hit the massive leg of the table and heard the dull,
sickening sound of the blow. Secola lost consciousness, and his body was now
being tossed around like a lifeless dummy, rolling from one end of the room to
the other, with the rocking of the galley. Philippe tried to crawl towards the
door but the swinging, which kept getting stronger, made movement difficult and
kept him smashing into all kinds of objects. Eventually, he managed to get to
the door and open it. The Patriarch was struggling behind him, and Philippe
extended his hand and pulled him outside. Somehow, the two managed to crawl up
the stairway and reach the deck.
They found the deck in
total chaos. The sea, which was still and smooth when they left Acre, was now
raging. A storm was blowing fiercer and stronger, and the galley rolled from
side to side like a seesaw. The extra load caused the ship to lie very low in
the water and with the amplitude of the swinging steadily growing, the waves
started licking the sides of the deck as it tilted towards them. Presently, the
line of oars on the high side of the galley rose above the waterline. The oars
hit air, causing some of the rowing slaves to lose their balance and fall
backwards, perpetrating even more havoc. On the packed deck, people were
running from side to side to keep away from the water, and many fell down to be
trampled upon by the hysterical mass.
The swinging grew worse
and with it the screams of horror from the crowd. Philippe saw a woman, with an
infant in her arms, falling and sliding all the way down the sloping deck, her
slide broken only by the railing on the other side. She lost consciousness, and
the small infant was torn out of her hands and shot into the waves.