Baruch replied in an unruffled tone, “No doubt what has happened is that the parnassim has decided to excommunicate me and instructed you to deliver the cherem at a public synagogue ceremony almost immediately?”
“As insolent as ever, I see. I should be accustomed to it by now, but I continue to be astounded by the transformation of a wise child into a foolish adult. You are correct in your assumptions, Baruch—that is precisely their instruction to me. Tomorrow you shall indeed be placed under cherem and be excommunicated forever from this community. But I object to your sloppy use of the verb ‘happened.’ Do not fall sway to the sentiment that the cherem is merely something that has happened to you. Instead it is you that have brought the cherem upon yourself with your own actions.”
Baruch opened his mouth to answer, but the rabbi hurried on. “However, all may not yet be lost. I am a loyal man, and my long friendship with your blessed father mandates that I do everything in my power to offer you protection and guidance. What I want now is for you, at this moment, to simply sit and listen. I’ve instructed you since you were five, and you’re not too old for additional instruction. I want to give you a particular type of history lesson.
“Let’s go back,” Saul Mortera began in his most rabbinical voice, “to ancient Spain, the land of your ancestors. You know that Jews first came to Spain perhaps a thousand years ago, and they lived in peace with the Moors and Christians for centuries despite the fact that Jews met with hostility elsewhere?”
Baruch nodded wearily while rolling his eyes.
Rabbi Mortera noted the gesture but let it pass. “In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, we were driven out of country after country, first from England, the source of the accursed blood libel that accused us of making matzo with the blood of Gentile children; then France ejected us, then the cities of Germany, Italy, and Sicily—all of Western Europe, in fact—except for Spain, where La Convivencia persisted and the Jews, Christians, and Moors mingled amicably with one another. But the gradual Christian reconquest of Spain from the Moors signaled the tarnishing of this golden period. And you know about the end of La Convivencia in 1391?”
“Yes, I know about the expulsions and about the 1391 pogroms at Castile and Aragon. I know all of this. And you know I know it. Why are you telling me this today?”
“I know you think you know it. But there is knowing, and there is true knowing, knowing in your heart, and you have not yet reached that stage. All I ask now is that you listen. Nothing else. All will become clear in time.”
“What was truly different about 1391,” the rabbi continued, “was that, after the pogrom, Jews, for the very first time in history, began to convert to Christianity—and convert in droves, by the thousands, by the tens of thousands. The Spanish Jews gave up. They were weak. They decided our Torah—the direct word of God—and our three-thousand-year-old heritage were not worth the price of continued harassment.
“Such massive Jewish conversions were of world-shaking significance; never before in history had we Jews given up our faith. Compare this with the response of the Jews in 1096. You know that date? You know what I’m referring to, Baruch?”
“No doubt you mean the Jews who were slaughtered in the pogroms during the crusades—the 1096 pogrom in Mainz.”
“Mainz and elsewhere throughout the Rhineland. Yes, slaughtered, and you know who led the slaughterers? The monks! Whenever Jews are slaughtered, the men of the cross are to be found at the head of the pack. Yes, those fine Jews of Mainz, those magnificent martyrs, chose death over conversion—many held out their necks to the murderers, and many others slaughtered their own families rather than let them be defiled by the Gentiles’ swords. They preferred death to conversion.”
Baruch looked at him incredulously. “And you applaud that? You consider it praiseworthy to end you own existence and, incidentally, to murder your children in order to—”
“Baruch, you have much still to learn if you consider no cause worthy of laying down your own insignificant life, but there is too little time to educate you about such matters now. Today you are not here to display your insolence. There will be time enough for that later. Whether you appreciate it or not, you are at the great crossroads of your life, and I am trying to help you choose your way. I want you to listen attentively and silently to my account of how our entire Jewish civilization is now imperiled.”
Bento held his head high, breathed easily, and took note of how the rabbi’s fierce voice once terrified him and how little dread it held for him today.
Rabbi Mortera took a deep breath and continued. “In the fifteenth century there continued to be tens of thousands of new conversions in Spain, including members of your own family. But the Catholic Church’s appetite for blood was still not satisfied. They claimed that conversos were not Christian enough, that some still harbored Jewish sentiments, and decided to send the inquisitors to sniff out everything Jewish. They asked, ‘What did you do on Friday, on Saturday?’ ‘Do you light candles?’ ‘What day do you change the sheets?’ ‘How do you make your soups?’ And if inquisitors found any traces of Jewish traits or Jewish customs or Jewish cooking, the kindly priests burned them alive at the stake. Even then they were not convinced of the cleanliness of the conversos. Every trace of the Jew had to be scrubbed out. They did not want the eyes of the conversos to light upon a true practicing Jew for fear of awakening the old ways, and so in 1492 they expelled all the Jews, every single one, from Spain. Many, including your own ancestors, went to Portugal but enjoyed only a brief respite there. Five years later the king of Portugal insisted that every Jew choose between conversion or expulsion. And, once again, tens of thousands chose conversion and were lost to our faith. This was the low point of Judaism in history, such a low point that many, and I among them, believe that the coming of the Messiah is imminent. You remember that I lent you the great three-volume Messianic trilogy by Isaac Abrabanel positing that very thing?”
“I remember that Abrabanel makes no rational case for why the Jews have to be at their lowest point for that mythical event to occur. Nor any explanation for an omnipotent God being unable to protect his chosen people and allowing them to get to that point, nor why—”
“Quiet. Just listen today, Baruch,” the rabbi barked. “For once, maybe for the last time, do exactly what I tell you. When I ask a question, just reply yes or no. I have only a few more things to say to you. I was talking about the lowest point in Jewish history. Where could the Jews of the late fifteenth and the sixteenth century seek shelter? Where in all the world was there a safe haven? Some went east to the Ottoman Empire or to Livorno, in Italy, which tolerated them because of their valuable international trade network. And then, after 1579, when the northern provinces of the Netherlands proclaimed their independence from Catholic Spain, some Jews found their way here to Amsterdam.
“How did the Dutch greet us? Like no other people in the world. They were entirely tolerant about religion. No one inquired about religious beliefs. They were Calvinists but granted everyone the right to worship in their own manner—except for the Catholics. Toward them there was not much tolerance. But that is not our affair. Not only were we not harassed here, but we were welcomed, because the Netherlands wanted to become an important commercial center and they knew that Marrano traders could help build that commerce. Soon more and more immigrants from Portugal arrived, enjoying a tolerance not seen elsewhere in centuries. And other Jews came too: waves of poor Ashkenazi Jews also poured in from Germany and Eastern Europe to escape the mad violence against Jews there. Of course these Ashkenazi Jews lacked the culture of the Sephardic Jews: they had no education nor skills, and most became peddlers, old clothes traders, and shopkeepers, but still we welcomed them and offered charity. Did you know that your father made regular and generous donations to the Ashkenazi charity box in our synagogue?”
Baruch, remaining silent, nodded.
“And then,” Rabbi Mortera continued, “after a few years, the Amsterdam authorities, i
n consultation with the great jurist Grotius, officially recognized our right to live in Amsterdam. At first we were meek and followed our old ways of remaining inconspicuous. Thus we did not mark our four synagogues outwardly but instead held our prayer services in buildings that resembled private homes. Only the passage of many harassment-free years allowed us to truly realize that we could practice our faith openly and be assured that the state would protect our lives and property. We Jews in Amsterdam have had the extraordinary good fortune to be living in the one spot in the entire world where Jews could be free. Do you appreciate that—the one spot in the entire world?”
Baruch stirred uncomfortably on his wooden seat and gave a perfunctory nod.
“Patience, patience, Baruch. Listen only a little longer—I am now veering very close to matters of urgent relevance to you. Our remarkable freedom comes with certain obligations that the Amsterdam city council has stated explicitly. No doubt you know what these obligations are?”
“That we do not defame the Christian faith and do not try to convert or marry Christians,” answered Baruch.
“There was more. Your memory is prodigious, but you do not remember the other obligations. Why? Perhaps because they are inconvenient for you. Let me remind you of them. Grotius also decreed that all Jews over fourteen years of age must state their faith in God, Moses, the Prophets, the afterlife, and that our religious and civil authorities must guarantee, at the risk of losing our freedom, that none of our congregation said or did anything that would challenge or undermine any aspect of the Christian religious dogma.”
Rabbi Mortera paused, shook his forefinger while speaking slowly and emphatically. “Let me stress this last point to you, Baruch—it is a crucial point for you to grasp. Atheism or flouting of religious law and authority—either Jewish or Christian—is expressly forbidden. If we show the Dutch civil authorities that we cannot govern ourselves, then we lose our precious freedom and once again submit to rule by Christian authorities.”
Rabbi Mortera paused again. “I have finished my history lesson. My major hope is that you will understand that we are still a people apart, that though we have some limited freedom today, we can never be fully autonomous . Even today it is not easy to support ourselves as free men because so many professions are closed to us. Keep that in mind, Baruch, when you contemplate life without this community. It may be that you are choosing starvation.”
Baruch started to respond, but the rabbi silenced him with a wag of his right forefinger. “There’s another point I want to stress. Today, the very foundation of our religious culture is under attack. The waves of immigrants continuing to flow in from Portugal are Jews without any Jewish education. They have been forbidden to learn Hebrew; they have been forced to learn the Catholic dogma and practice as Catholics. They are between two worlds with shaky faith in both Catholic dogma and Jewish beliefs. It is my mission to reclaim them, to bring them back home, back to their Jewish roots. Our community is prospering and evolving: we are already producing scholars, poets, playwrights, Kabbalists, physicians, and printers. We are on the brink of a great renaissance, and there is a place for you here. Your learning, your nimble mind, and your gifts as a teacher would be of tremendous help. If you taught by my side, if you took over my work when I am no longer here, you would fulfill your father’s dreams for you—and my dreams as well.”
Astonished, Baruch looked into the rabbi’s eyes. “What do you mean ‘work with you’? Your words mystify me. Keep in mind I am a shopkeeper, and I am under cherem.”
“The cherem is pending. It is not reality until I have pronounced it publicly at the synagogue. Yes, the parnassim holds ultimate authority, but I have great influence with them. Two newly arrived Marranos, Franco Benitez and Jacob Mendoza, gave witness, highly damaging witness, yesterday to the parnassim. They reported that you believe God is nothing more than Nature and that there is no world to come. Yes, that was damaging, but between you and me, I distrust their testimony, and I know they distorted your words. They are the nephews of Duarte Rodriguez, who remains incensed at you for turning to the Dutch court to avoid your debt to him, and I am persuaded that he has ordered them to lie. And, trust me, I am not the only one who believes that.”
“They did not lie, Rabbi.”
“Baruch, come to your senses. I’ve known you since your birth, and I know that from time to time you, like anyone else, can harbor foolish thoughts. I beseech you: study with me; let me purify your mind. Now listen to me. I will make you an offer that I would make to no one else on earth. I am certain I can grant you a lifelong pension that will permanently take you out of the import-export business and into a life as a scholar. You hear that? I offer you the gift of a life of scholarship, a life of reading and thinking. You can even think forbidden thoughts while you seek the confirmatory or negating evidence from rabbinical scholarship. Think about that offer: a lifetime of total freedom. It comes with only one stipulation: silence. You must agree to keep to yourself all thoughts that are injurious to our people.”
Baruch seemed frozen in thought. After a long silence, the rabbi said, “What do you say, Baruch? Now, when it is time for you to speak, you remain silent.”
“More times than I can remember,” Baruch responded in a calm voice, “my father spoke of his friendship with you and his high regard for you. He also told me of your high opinion of my mind—‘limitless intelligence’ were the words he attributed to you. Were these indeed your words? Did he cite you correctly?”
“Those were my words.”
“I believe the world and everything in it operate according to natural law and that I can use my intelligence, provided I employ it in a rational mode, to discover the nature of God and reality and the path to a blessed life. I’ve said this to you before, have I not?”
Rabbi Mortera placed his head in his hands and nodded.
“And yet today you suggest that I spend my life confirming or negating my views by consulting rabbinical scholarship. That is not and will not be my way. Rabbinical authority is not based on purity of truth. It rests only on the expressed opinions of generations of superstitious scholars, scholars who believed the world was flat, circled by the sun, and that one man named Adam suddenly appeared and fathered the human race.”
“You deny the divinity of Genesis?”
“Do you deny the evidence showing that there were civilizations long predating the Israelites? In China? In Egypt?”
“Such blasphemy. Do you not realize how you jeopardize your place in the world to come?”
“There is no rational evidence for the existence of a world to come.”
Rabbi Mortera looked thunderstruck. “This is exactly what Duarte Rodriquez’s nephews quoted you as saying. I had thought they were lying at the orders of their uncle.”
“I believe you did not hear me, or did not want to hear me, when I said earlier, ‘They did not lie, Rabbi.’”
“And the other charges they made? That you deny the divine source of the Torah, that Moses did not write the Torah, that God exists only philosophically, and that ceremonial law is not sacred?”
“The nephews did not lie, Rabbi.”
Rabbi Mortera glared at Baruch, his anguish turning to anger. “Any single one of these charges is cause for cherem; together they deserve the harshest cherem ever issued.”
“You have been my Hebrew teacher, and you have taught me well. Allow me to repay you by composing the cherem for you. You once showed me some of the most brutal cherems issued by the Venetian community, and I remember every word of them.”
“I said earlier you would have time enough for insolence. Now, I see, it already begins.” Rabbi Mortera paused to collect himself. “You want to kill me. You want to destroy my work utterly. You know that my life work has been the vital role of the afterlife in Jewish thought and culture. You know about my book, The Survival of the Soul, which I placed into your hands at your bar mitzvah. You know of my great debate with Rabbi Aboab about that matter and my victory?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You shrug that off lightly. Do you have any idea of the stakes involved? If I had lost that debate, if it were decreed that all Jews have an equal status in the world to come and that virtue would be unrewarded and transgression would have no penalty, can you not foresee the repercussions upon the community? If they are insured a place in the world to come, then what is the incentive to convert back to Judaism? If there is no penalty for wrongdoing, can you imagine how the Dutch Calvinists would regard us? How long would our freedom last? Do you think I was playing a child’s game? Think of the implications.”
“Yes, that great debate—your words have just demonstrated that it was not a debate about spiritual truth. No doubt that is why the Venetian rabbinate was confounded. Both of you argued for different versions of the afterlife for reasons that have nothing to do with the reality of the afterlife. You attempt to control the populace through the power of fear and hope—the traditional cudgels of religious leaders throughout history. You, the rabbinical authorities everywhere, claim to hold the keys to the afterlife, and you use those keys for political control. Rabbi Aboab, on the other hand, took his stand to minister to the anguish of his congregation who wanted to offer help for their converso families. This was not a spiritual disagreement. It was a political debate masquerading as a religious debate. Neither of you offered any proof for the existence of the world to come, either a proof from reason or even proof from the words of the Torah. I assure you it is not to be found in the Torah, and you know that.”
“You obviously did not assimilate what I’ve been telling you about my responsibility to God and to the persistence of our people,” Rabbi Mortera said.
“Much of what religious leaders do has little to do with God,” Baruch replied. “Last year you gave a cherem to a man who bought meat from a kosher Ashkenazi butcher rather than a Sephardic butcher. You think that was relevant to God?”