The Eternal Jew’s Tale, #161, Abarbanel 1

In this episode Don Isaac wants to learn about Saadia’s mystical philosophy.

The Eternal Jew’s Tale
Twentieth Era, Part 3, ~1480 C.E., Portugal
The Abarbanel Cycle, 1

And then he turns to Don Aberham:
“Doctor Zacuto, professor and sage, you have mastered geometry and theoretics of the seven spheres, but the greatest wisdoms be practical. Your almanac and your astrolabe be such wisdoms. History’s arc will surely bend to your bright light. Come with me when I return to Lisbon and King Alphonso’s court, to speak with the king and his ministers. I will urge them to bring you here to oversee our foreign trade, and build a fleet of sailing ships to conquer the seas and to conquer lands. Say, does my offer appeal to you? Will you come to Lisbon with me?”
Greatly flattered and richly wooed, how could Zacuto say ‘no’ to him?

And then he turns his eye on me. Like an angel of the Lor he seems, and his stature increases like flames as they leap from a stoked furnace. My face burns. And I understand Manoah* now, whose fear seemed foolish beforetimes.
“Tell me, sir, and dissemble not, what do you know of the soul’s ascent?”
* Judges 13:20-23

I never expected such a request, so my answer stutters and stumbles a bit.
“My own ascents have been precious but few. Every time I returned from them I been changed and the world been changed. But the details are different every time, as the faces of God be infinite. And I’d reckon my wife, Batkol here, would assert the same, but her ascents been more painful and more complex, at least accordin’ to the notes she wrote.”

“I thought I perceived some light in you, but I need to hear what you saw and felt, explicits of your experience. Would you two like to join me, as well, and be my guests in my Lisbon home?”

Excited, we prepare for a short trip to the greatest city in all the world, expectin’ a cornucopia of food and fashion, grandeur and ease, while we reminisce on our visions and dreams. Lisbon weren’t but four days away with a pleasant pace on pleasant roads. But no, no, no time for that! Don Isaac urgin’ most vigorously by shout and by bashin’ his cane on the roof, that the driver whip the horses on, none of this dilly-dallyin’ trot, but gallop, by damn; the king awaits. And between his threats that the coachman will hang, he’s bearin’ down like a hangin’ judge on us, demanding the most minute and specific details dredged from our souls. If he had a torture machine in the coach, he would have used it to extract more facts.

And now Rosh HaShana is come and gone, and Sukkot too, and all we own been shipped up here; we ain’t goin’ back. O, how we miss our quaint little home in Sagres. A tiny haven it were. Thick stone walls and a thatched roof, south and west lookin’ out on the sea, curtains a-flutter in the cool breeze, all our desires satisfied. Not like this Lisbon, all clatter and clash. Not that we’re livin’ in drear and want — yea, far from that — but great be our lack of moments of peace, of breathin’ fresh air. As if we’re still in that hell-bent coach, mad-dash ahead, batter and bounce, upset stomachs and achin’ backs.

I’m now the personal secretary of the treasurer of Portugal, and Batkol’s equally been employed as amanuensis and rabbi’s aid. But, of course, she can never be alone with him; a rabbinic law forbids. But that could hardly be the case. From right after dawn till the end of day a swarm of attendants assail Abarbanel.

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In the next episode, a peek into the daily life of Don Isaac Abarbanel, Treasurer of Portugal.