The Eternal Jew’s Tale, #160, Two Sages

In this episode… Zacuto and Abarbanel.

The Eternal Jew’s Tale
Twentieth Era, Part 3, ~1480 C.E., Portugal

5240 be the Hebrew date; 1480 by Julian’s count. Days crawl. Years fly. The moments crash through us. We don’t feel a thing. But the ceaseless winds of it etch our faces and carve our minds into memories, then to efface it’s own slow work. But somewheres, every detail of thought exists eternal in some treasury.

The world is heavin’ in total flux. People on the move everywheres. Ideas seeth and boil and froth, questioning governments, questioning God, dissecting the world into tiny bits. Art that once lay flat on a page now looks like you can step right in to its wide open and rich colored space. From Tuscany come manuscripts finer than any has ever been, and even the Five Books* perduced by Jews**. And books pile up like gold in banks — many cities have their own printing press — and we Jews ain’t been left behind. In Tuscany and Liguria there must be whole teams castin’ fonts in Hebrew, and more teams lay the type, turnin’ the presses, bindin’ the books — Torahs, Talmuds, analytics too.
* Torah; ** such as by Obadiah b. Moses

But here in Portugal the only press be the weight of war, and doubt, and debt, and constant conspiracies against the king. Our king, Alphonso has hid himself in a monastery, and won’t come out. When Navigator Henrick still breathed air, Portugal’s fortunes billowed full. These twenty years since he’s been dust, our dreams and treasuries run dry.

Yet here in Sagres work perceeds. From Cartagena that brilliant Jew, Aberham Zacuto has come to teach his new almanac to compute the precise latitude anywheres on the faceless sea. And from Lisbon comes that princely Jew and treasurer for King Alphonso, Isaac of the Abarbanels. Could Zacuto’s almanac perdict such a conjunction of brilliant stars?

Today I sat in a seminar taught by Zacuto for us makers of maps, plus a shippin’ magnate and three of his men, and Isaac Abarbanel himself. His message was simple: he has found the key to unlock wisdom’s untapped vaults. His almanac and astrolabe, they be the keys to the world’s treasuries. Venice and Florence, their day is past. The Osman Turks don’t have a clue. Iberia or Portugal? Which will it be to unfurl their sails and capture all the orient’s wealth?

Long we discussed money and maps, trade winds and planets and ship design, til finally it’s just the three of us Jews, the Dons — Isaac and Aberham — and a pawn, me. I invites them back to my humble home to bless our bread and eat without worry of shellfish and pork or meat and milk or unkosher plates. Don Isaac smiles with a brotherly love tinged with pity and perhaps disgust, imaginin’ what our kitchen be like — maybe no pork but insects and mice, which will make our table surely pasul* — and counters my offer with one of his own:
* unclean according to Jewish law

“Perhaps, Rav Saadia, you and your house and our meritorious guest from afar, Rav Zacuto from Salamanca, would deign instead to eat with me. Knowing the customs and tastes of this land I never travel without a cook and all that is needed to conform to our law.”

“You be the prince over all our land, so as you wish, so it must be.”
I says with a bit of a flourish and bow, hopin’ to conceal the jagged tones of shame and conceit and envy and gall. And was there not thankful relief from work, along with my gluttonous curiosity? What the feast that was waitin’ for us? Probably better than my day-old stew. Well, I hope that he can only hear my wish to honor his eminence, but a man of his power and experience can, no doubt, smell the aroma of me. But what he smelt he kept to himself.

His people had commandeered an estate, and there must be at least a minyan* of them, but that’s countin’ women, who, of course, don’t count, and I wonders, did they *bring an oven with them*? But that’s just my gall and envy talkin’. I expected the glare of opulence — silver utensils and gold plates; brocaded linen table cloths; crystal goblets, purple wine; thick woven rugs from the Orient; fine tapestries from Frankish looms; secretaries, three or more; and maybe musicians to entertain.
* 10 men required for a prayer quorum; *-* see oven of Achnai midrash

Don Isaac, I learns, is not such a man. From crockery bowls with wooden spoons, we ate a simple cod saute simmered with garlic, onions, and wine, and served with crusty, soft-centered buns. And after that, lightly cooked greens, cabbage, bibers, and chopped mint drizzled with oil and coarse salt. We drank a bubbly, faint green wine and finished with figs and beba grapes. The servants ate their dinner with us, then cleared the table and then returned to join us in *birkat hamazon*. After that Don Isaac taught the meaning of verses from the comin’ week, Torah portion Devarim*, and why this portion always percedes the mourning fast of Tisha b’Av.
*-* blessings after eating; * Devarim/Deut. 1:1 – 3:22

A man of power; a man of wealth; but a rabbi and teacher above all that. And above them all, a man of God.

While sippin’ a lemon and honey tea after our meal, as candles burnt low, he turns to Batkol and says to her,
“Please forgive that I had to decline your husband’s offer to eat at your home. Surely a meal cooked in a home is better than one at the side of the road. But see, I have so many folk who must be fed anyway. So having you two join me hear saves you long labor and much expense and adds but little to my peoples’ work.”

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In the next episode, a discussion of mystical ascents.