The Eternal Jew’s Tale, #183, The Ahrida

In this episode, a look into the happy life of a typical Jewish community.

The Eternal Jew’s Tale
Twenty Second Era, Part 2, 1492 C.E., Constantinople

The Ahrida opens its arms to us. Days of Awe are drawin’ near, and as an honor, their esteemed rav, Moises, bestows his privilege on one of our sages from Aragon, Shmuel ibn Nahmias, to speak a d’var on the second day of Rosh HaShana. And here, a-scribed, be what he declares (as I later recalled):

“Behold! The Lor makes demands and who can comprehend the meaning? Expelled from Spain on Tisha b’Av,* Iberia’s Temple destroyed that day by another caesar from another Rome, their inquisitions of immoral hate disguised in fraudulent words of faith. Now seven weeks later a new year, and days of atonement to turn around. And we read that dread Akeda** where our beloved Father will sacrifice us. But now behold with your clear eyes these same words in this current age: it’s a rogue father who usurps the place of Aberham, and he meant to kill his holy son, us Iberian Jews. And not an angel but the devil’s own in Torquemada, the inquisitor. And yet an angel stays the hand and saves a remnant from the knife, or worse yet, the poison font to baptize us and drown our souls. But saved and brought to these Turkish lands by merciful Sultan Bayezid. May the Lor bless our sultan’s House, and may we all declare ‘amen’.”
* 9th of Av, a day of mourning, remembering destruction of our Temple by Babylon and Rome; ** Binding of Isaac, Berraysheet/Gen. 22:1-19

And all us Sephardim respond in a loud refrain, ‘amen, amen.’ But sharp our shock and great dismay. Many another prominent voice hisses or grumbles ‘sacrilege.’

On that day Rav Moises Capsali nearly has his house burned down by furious members of his community. Men and women, children too, with sticks and stones and clubs and lighted torches gather mob-mad at his door, shoutin’ words like these:

“You betrayed us!”
“Mehmet first, then Bayezid exiled us. Have you forgot?”
“Long before these beggars came, them sultans dragged us from our ancient homes, from Crete and Salonika and half the islands in the Sea.”
“Now, don’t you rewrite history and scratch our past out of your mind, and turn them despots into saints.”
“These Sephardim don’t know the truth. You still their voice or we’ll still you!”
“Keep them Sephardim off our bimah or we’ll ship you back to Spain with them!”

That Day of Atonements tore open wounds that the locals thought were healed and forgot. In truth, the sultan’s sürgüns* still seethe in traumas beneath the surface of daily life. But its welter of busyness can’t hold back the storm of losses and broken trust and cruel abuse of tyrants who claim their laws been spoke from the mouth of God, while down here on earth it’s more of the same, kings and sultans taking brutal steps and thousands are trampled like clods of clay. The turmoil now pits Jew against Jew, and Armenian against Jew and Greek, and Greeks most bitter in their demotion from head of the pack to ear-bit cur, all quick to forget common cause and the many kindnesses day by day. I guess them that live in a house of pain look from their window and its pain they see.
* forced migrations; ethnic transfers

Khokham* Verga, in such a light, usurps the bimah one Shabbat morn to condemn that selfish Romaniote** mob.
* sage; sometimes sarcastic; ** Jews that lived in the region since Byzantine times

“What kind of people curse their king and turn their backs on fellow Jews who were stripped of their honor and cast from their homes? Here the sultan opens his arms to welcome us in our poverty, seeing our worth tho we’re swaddled in rags, knowing we’re Jews and respecting that. Who would have us? Venice? France? Ravenna? Portugal? Any Teuton state? The Tarter embraces us with a noose. The Swede will dump us in a bank of snow. But the Osman Turk sends us his boats to bring us into his fecund land, proffers empty homes to us, lets us pray, gives us work, while our own people threaten us with torch and spear to drive us away. What kind of people have such leaden hearts? May God curse them with boil and plague.

Oh what a nest of boilin’ bees his brash assertions unleash on us, right there in our baet midrash. On this holy day first one, then three, then a crowd of men, while the women scream, rush up, like to tear him apart. And then the Sephardic men rush up to protect him. It’s a rumblin’ brawl. And there’s Rav Capsali square in their midst tryin’ to cool the boilin’ pot. I see his turban torn from his head and his prayer shawl trampled under foot. But Capsali’s daughter puts an end to the fight. She carries the Torah into the fray. Now Suleiman takes a shove from Daveed and almost tumbles the scroll from her arms. A shout rises up,

“It’s the Torah, man!”

And like icy water thrown in their faces, it’s shock and shudder and come to your sense. A quiet, full of appall and shame sweeps thru them all. Rav Capsali takes the scroll from Lyla most tenderly and places it safely back in the Ark. And two minutes later just a handful of us remain in the baet midrash, appalled. Says I to the rav with an impish grin,

“Be women allowed to lift a Scroll?”

He chuckles a moment and then he frowns,

“Tomorrow they’ll probably bash heads over that.”

Don’t think our conflicts just faded away after that shockin’ Shabbat outburst. For awhile people be afraid to show up in the baet midrash for daily prayers. But prayer be commanded and our observance strong.

Now, everyone knows that every day when people come to the baet midrash they always sit in the same spot. Ruvaen sits on the left side at the far end of the front bench and Shimone, he’s hunkered in the far back by the narrow door to the women’s space. But the conflict disrupted where everyone sits. Men come in and look around —

‘Where’s my buddy? He here yet? Oh, and there’s that jerk from Barcelona sittin’ next to my old spot.’

Like that. And next thing anyone knows, it’s Sephardim sittin’ on the rite side and Romaniote over there on the left. And there’s plenty of gripin’ and snipin’ still.

The battle’s more open out on the street where the conflicts ain’t just Jew on Jew, but Greek and Armenian as well as Jew, vyin’ tu gain the privilege of bein’ top dog Zimmi* servin’ the Turk.
* Turkish for ‘dhimmi’; the dhimma is the apartheid foundation of Islamic law

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In the next episode, one man’s attempts to get settled in a new land.