“Yes, I remember your strange notion that I secretly enjoy stories. Well, you won’t find many there”—Bento waved his hand toward his bookcase.
Franco walked over to peruse Bento’s library and glanced over the titles of the four shelves of books. “Oh, they’re beautiful, Bento. I wish I could spend months here reading your books and talking about them. But look here!” Franco pointed to one shelf. “What’s this before my eyes? Do I not see the greatest storytellers of all? Ovid, Homer, Virgil? In fact I hear them whispering to me.” Franco bent his ear to them. “They’re pleading, ‘Please, please read us—we have wisdom, but our unamused master ignores us so.’”
Bento burst out laughing, stood, and embraced his friend. “Ah, Franco, I miss you. Only you talk to me like this. Everyone else is so deferential to the Sage of Voorburg.”
“Ah, yes. And, Bento, you and I both know that the Sage plays no role whatsoever in the deferential manner in which he is treated.”
Another big guffaw from Bento. “How dare you keep the Sage waiting? Get to your story.”
Franco took his seat next to Bento and began. “When last we met at Simon’s home, I was just embarking on my study of Talmud and Torah and excited by the process of education.”
“‘Joyous study’ was your term.”
Franco smiled. “Precisely the phrase I used—but I expected no less from you. Three or four years ago, I asked the old caretaker of the synagogue, Abrihim, who was ailing and near death, about his memories of you, and he replied, ‘Baruch de Espinoza forgets nothing. Total retention.’ Yes, I was indeed joyous to learn, and my appetite and aptitude were so evident that Rabbi Aboab soon regarded me as his best student and extended my stipend so that I could continue on to rabbinical studies. I wrote you about that. You received my letter?”
Bento nodded. “I received it but was puzzled. In fact, astounded. Not by your love of learning—that I understand, that we share. But given your strong feelings about the dangers, the restrictions, the irrationality of religion, why choose to become a rabbi? Why join the enemies of reason?”
“I joined them for the same reason you left them.”
Bento raised his eyebrows and then smiled slightly in comprehension.
“I think you understand, Bento. You and I both want to change Judaism—you from the outside and I from the inside!”
“No, no, I must disagree. My goal is not to change Judaism. My goal of radical universalism would eradicate all religions and institute a universal religion in which all men seek to attain blessedness through the full understanding of Nature. But let’s return to this later. Exploring too many tributaries will impede your explanation of why Rabbi Aboab’s surveillance no longer matters.”
“So after my studies,” Franco continued, “Rabbi Aboab ordained and blessed me and appointed me his assistant. For the first three years things went well. I participated by his side in all the daily services and eased his burden by taking over many of the bar mitzvahs and the marriage ceremonies. Soon his faith in me was so great that he sent me more and more of the individual congregation members who wished guidance and counseling. But the golden period, the time when we walked into the synagogue arm in arm, like father and son, was foreshortened. Dark clouds appeared on the horizon.”
“Because of the coming of Sabbatai Zevi? I remember Rabbi Aboab as a fervent messianist.”
“Even before that. Things went awry when Rabbi Aboab began to instruct me in the kabbalah.”
“Ah yes. Of course. And I imagine that is when you ceased being a joyous student.”
“Exactly. I tried my best, but my credulity was stretched to the breaking point. I attempted to convince myself that this text was an important historical document that I should study carefully. Shouldn’t a scholar know the mythology of his own culture as well as others? But, Bento, your crystal-clear voice and your incisive method of Torah critique rang in my ears, and I was exquisitely attuned to the inconsistencies and to the insubstantially grounded premises on which the kabbalah rested. And of course Rabbi Aboab insisted he was not teaching me mythology—he was teaching me history, facts, the living truth, the word of God. No matter how hard I tried to dissimulate, my lack of enthusiasm shone through. Slowly, day by day, his loving smile faded; he no longer grasped my arm as we walked; he grew more distant, more disappointed. Then, when one of my students reported
to him that I had used the term ‘metaphor’ to refer to Luria’s description of kabbalistic cosmic creation, he publicly rebuked me and restricted my duties. I believe that he then placed informants in all my classes and enlisted observers who reported on all my activities.”
“And now I understand why you could not contact Simon to correspond with me.”
“Yes, although recently my wife picked up Simon’s twelve-page Dutch translation of some of your thoughts about overcoming the passions.”
“Your wife? I thought you could not share with—”
“Place a bookmark at this point. Patience. We’ll return to it shortly, but, to continue with my personal chronology, my problems with the kabbalah were troublesome enough. But the real crisis with Rabbi Aboab concerned the supposed Messiah, Sabbatai Zevi.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“I imagine it has been a long time since you read the Zohar, but no doubt you recall the predictions about the coming of the Messiah.”
“Yes, I recall my final talk with Rabbi Mortera, who believed that the sacred texts predicted the arrival of the Messiah when the Jews were at their lowest point. We had an unpleasant interchange about that when I asked, ‘If we are indeed the chosen, why is it necessary for us to be at the point of greatest despair before the Messiah arrives?’ When I suggested that it seemed likely that the idea of a Messiah was designed by humans to combat their hopelessness, he was outraged by my daring to question divine word.”
“Bento, can you believe that I actually long for the good days of Rabbi Mortera? Rabbi Aboab is so extreme in his Messianic beliefs that Rabbi Mortera seems enlightened in comparison. Moreover, some coincidences have increased Rabbi Aboab’s fervor. Do you recall the Zohar’s prediction of the birth date of the Messiah?”
“I remember nine five—the ninth day of the fifth month.”
“And, lo and behold, it is reported that Sabbatai Zevi was born on the ninth of
Av
in Smyrna in Turkey in 1626, and last year he was proclaimed to be the Messiah by Nathan, a cabbalist of Gaza, who has become his patron. Rumors of miracles abound. Zevi is said to be charismatic, tall as a cedar, beautiful, pious, and ascetic. He is said to fast for long periods while singing psalms in a melodious voice the whole night through. Everywhere he travels
he seems to go out of his way to offend and threaten the entrenched rabbinical authorities. He was expelled by the rabbis of Smyrna because he dared to speak the name of God from the synagogue bimah and expelled by the rabbis of Salonica for holding a marriage ceremony with himself as the groom and the Torah as the bride. But he seemed little troubled by the rabbis’ displeasure, and he continued to wander through the Holy Land gathering ever greater numbers of followers. Soon the news of the Messiah’s arrival swept like a hurricane throughout the Jewish world. With my own eyes I saw Amsterdam Jews dance in the street when the news arrived, and many have sold or given away all their worldly goods and set sail to join him in the Holy Land. And not just the uneducated but many of our eminent citizens are under his spell—even the ever cautious Isaac Pereira has disposed of his entire fortune and gone to join him. And rather than restoring sanity, Rabbi Aboab celebrates and raises the enthusiasm about this man to a fever pitch. This despite the fact that many rabbis in the Holy Land threaten Sabbatai Zevi with
cherem
.”
Bento, his eyes closed, held both hands to his head and moaned, “The fools, the fools.”
“Wait. The worst is yet to come. About three weeks ago a traveler from the east arrived and reported that the Ottoman sultan was so displeased with the hordes of Jews pouring into the east to join the Messiah that he summoned Sabbatai Zevi to his palace and offered him the choice of martyrdom or conversion to Islam. Sabbatai Zevi’s decision? The Messiah promptly chose to become a Muslim!”
“He converted to Islam! So that’s it?” Bento’s face registered surprise, “Just like that. The Messiah insanity over is over?”
“One would think so! One would think that all the Messiah’s followers would understand they’d been duped. But not in the least—instead, Nathan and others have convinced his followers that his conversion is part of the divine plan, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Jews have followed him into conversion to Islam.”
“And what then happened with you and Rabbi Aboab?”
“I could no longer contain myself and publicly urged my congregation to come to their senses, to stop selling their homes and possessions, and to wait, at least wait a year, before emigrating to the Holy Land. Rabbi Aboab was irate and now has suspended me and threatens me with
cherem
.”
“
Cherem
?
Cherem
? Franco, I must make a ‘Franco’ observation—something I learned from you.”
“And that is?” Franco looked at Bento with great interest.
“Your words and your melody do not match.”
“My words and my melody?”
“You describe such portentous events—Rabbi Aboab rebuking you publicly, withdrawing his love, sending observers, restricting your freedom, and now
cherem
. And yet, even though you were horrified by witnessing my
cherem
, I see no despair in your face, no fear in your words. In fact you seem—what? Almost buoyant. Whence comes your lightheartedness?”
“You observe accurately, Bento, though, if we had spoken even a month ago, I would not have been so buoyant. But just recently a solution occurred to me. I’ve decided to emigrate! At least twenty-five Jewish families who believe in my way of being a Jew will, in three weeks’ time, set sail with me for the New World, to the Dutch island of Curacao, where we will establish our own synagogue and our own way of religious life. Yesterday I visited two families in The Hague who had left Rabbi Aboab’s congregation two years ago, and they too will most likely join us. This evening I hope to enlist two other families.”
“Curaçao? Half the world away?”
“Believe me, Bento, though I am full of hope about our future in the New World, I am also greatly saddened to think that you and I may never again meet. Yesterday on the
trekschuit
ride I daydreamed, and not for the first time, that you came to visit us in the New World and then chose to remain with us as our sage and scholar. But I know it is a dream. Your cough and your congestion tell me you cannot make the journey, and your contentment with your life tells me you will not make it.”
Bento stood and paced about the room. “I am too aggrieved even to sit still. Even though our meetings are perforce infrequent, your presence in my life is vital to me. The thought of a permanent farewell is such a shock, such a loss, I can find no words to speak of it. And at the same time my love for you raises other thoughts. The dangers! How will you live? Are there not already Jews and a synagogue in Curacao? How will they accept you?”
“Danger is always present for Jews. We have always been oppressed—if not by Christians or Muslims, then by our own elders. Amsterdam is the one spot in the old world that offers us some degree of freedom, but
many foresee the end of that freedom. Multiple enemies gain strength: the war with the English is over but most likely only briefly, Louis the XIV threatens us, and our own liberal government may not long withstand the Dutch Orangists, who want to create a monarchy. Don’t you share these concerns, Bento?”
“Yes! So much so that that I have put aside my work on the
Ethics
and am now writing a book about my theological and political views. Religious authorities have influence over the governing bodies and are now meddling so much in politics that they must be stopped. We must keep religion and politics separate.”
“Tell me more about your new project, Bento.”
“Much of it is an old project. You remember the biblical critique I offered you and Jacob?”
“Every word.”
“I am putting these on paper and shall include all those arguments and so much more that any reasonable person will come to doubt the divine sources of the scriptures and ultimately come to accept that everything happens according to the universal laws of Nature.”
“So you’re going to publish the very ideas that brought about your
cherem?
”
“Let’s discuss that later. For now, Franco, let’s return to your plans. There is more urgency there.”
“More and more, our group has come to believe our only hope is in the New World. One of our merchant members has already visited and selected some land that we have purchased from the Dutch West Indies Company. And yes, you’re right: there is already an established Jewish community in Curacao. But we will be on the opposite side of the island on our own land, teach ourselves to farm, and create a different type of Jewish community.”
“And your family? How do they react to this move?”
“My wife, Sarah, agrees to go but only under certain conditions.”
“Certain conditions? Can a Jewish wife set conditions? What conditions?”
“Sarah is strong-willed. She agrees to go only if I agree to take seriously her views about changing the way Judaism regards and treats women.”
“I cannot believe what I hear. How we regard women? I’ve never heard such nonsense.”
“She asked me to discuss this very topic with you.”
“You talked with her about me? I thought you had to keep your contact with me secret even from her.”
“She has changed. We have changed. We have no secrets from one another. May I deliver her words to you?”
Bento nods warily.
Franco cleared his throat and spoke in a higher key. “Mister Spinoza, do you agree it is just for women to be treated as inferior creatures in every manner? In the synagogue we must sit separately from the men and in poorer seating and—”