sweetened the souls of the two Jews and at their feet in the ashes of the dry grass of late summer the flames of the campfire had become a fragrant Cyclops’ eye, Abulafia wrapped his head in his scarf and laid it on a stone, thrust his legs out in front of him, and, still fingering the hidden purse of coins that had been given to him a few hours earlier and fixing his eyes on the glimmering sea of stars overhead, began to speak again of Paris. But this time he spoke not only about the town but also about a woman who lived there.
It transpired that it was not in vain that the nurse had insisted that Abulafia move to the street of the Jews, to whom he belonged by race and by faith, for only there could he have obtained the means to establish contacts with other Jews’ streets, in Tours and Limoges, An-goulême and Orléans, in Chartres and perhaps also in Paris. These were not always real streets, but sometimes merely narrow little alleys,or no more than the entrance to an alley, or a single house, or perhaps only a single room in which dwelled a solitary Jew. And so Abulafia’s eyes were schooled to discern in his surroundings not only the kings and dukes and counts who held sway but also the places where the Jews were scattered.
Slowly Abulafia was drawn back to his kith and kin, from whom in the early years he had distanced himself in the fear that they would try to marry him off and frustrate his dream of returning to his native town. He had already admitted to himself that this was not a concrete plan but a dream, and therefore he had nothing to fear from its being frustrated, because it is in the nature of a dream that it always remains in the power of the one dreaming it. Therefore, after moving to the street of the Jews in Toulouse and seeing that not only were there those who could exchange a word or two of Arabic with the nurse but some who would offer a smile or a caress to the bewitched child, his heart softened, and on his return from his journeys he would join the congregation in prayer, not only to recite—still with a raging heart—the memorial prayer for his wife, but also to question the Jewish worshippers about the roads to the north.
For the Jews, even those who had never traveled far from their town, always knew something about Jews from other towns, just as they always knew something that the gentiles did not yet know about themselves—for instance, that the devotees of the approaching millennium would be attracted particularly to goods coming from the desert, the sort of objects that Jesus and his companions in the Holy Land must have handled, for the faithful wished to make a welcoming home for the Son of God, who would soon descend from heaven with his apostles. Thus Abulafia, who could interpret the signs, no longer traveled from Toulouse to Agen or from Limoges to Bourges, but from one Jew to another, each of whom advised him not only about the new types of merchandise but about how to raise his prices. It was while he was traveling in this way, following the advice of the Jews, that he made the acquaintance in an inn in Orléans of a woman, Mistress Esther-Minna, the childless widow of a scholar who had passed away a few years previously in Worms, a small town called Vermaiza by the Jews, by the River Rhine in Ashkenaz. She had been invited after her husband’s death by her brother, Master Yehiel Levitas, a dealer injewels and precious stones, to reside with him and his family in Paris, both to lighten the gloom of her loneliness and so that she could occasionally assist him with her good sense on secret missions to the towns and villages in the surrounding country.
It appeared that it was not only because she was a widow and childless, nor only because she was exposed to him in the somewhat licentious air of a wayside inn, but particularly because she was some ten years his senior that Abulafia had given himself easily to a lengthy conversation, which led him to a deep association that he
It transpired that it was not in vain that the nurse had insisted that Abulafia move to the street of the Jews, to whom he belonged by race and by faith, for only there could he have obtained the means to establish contacts with other Jews’ streets, in Tours and Limoges, An-goulême and Orléans, in Chartres and perhaps also in Paris. These were not always real streets, but sometimes merely narrow little alleys,or no more than the entrance to an alley, or a single house, or perhaps only a single room in which dwelled a solitary Jew. And so Abulafia’s eyes were schooled to discern in his surroundings not only the kings and dukes and counts who held sway but also the places where the Jews were scattered.
Slowly Abulafia was drawn back to his kith and kin, from whom in the early years he had distanced himself in the fear that they would try to marry him off and frustrate his dream of returning to his native town. He had already admitted to himself that this was not a concrete plan but a dream, and therefore he had nothing to fear from its being frustrated, because it is in the nature of a dream that it always remains in the power of the one dreaming it. Therefore, after moving to the street of the Jews in Toulouse and seeing that not only were there those who could exchange a word or two of Arabic with the nurse but some who would offer a smile or a caress to the bewitched child, his heart softened, and on his return from his journeys he would join the congregation in prayer, not only to recite—still with a raging heart—the memorial prayer for his wife, but also to question the Jewish worshippers about the roads to the north.
For the Jews, even those who had never traveled far from their town, always knew something about Jews from other towns, just as they always knew something that the gentiles did not yet know about themselves—for instance, that the devotees of the approaching millennium would be attracted particularly to goods coming from the desert, the sort of objects that Jesus and his companions in the Holy Land must have handled, for the faithful wished to make a welcoming home for the Son of God, who would soon descend from heaven with his apostles. Thus Abulafia, who could interpret the signs, no longer traveled from Toulouse to Agen or from Limoges to Bourges, but from one Jew to another, each of whom advised him not only about the new types of merchandise but about how to raise his prices. It was while he was traveling in this way, following the advice of the Jews, that he made the acquaintance in an inn in Orléans of a woman, Mistress Esther-Minna, the childless widow of a scholar who had passed away a few years previously in Worms, a small town called Vermaiza by the Jews, by the River Rhine in Ashkenaz. She had been invited after her husband’s death by her brother, Master Yehiel Levitas, a dealer injewels and precious stones, to reside with him and his family in Paris, both to lighten the gloom of her loneliness and so that she could occasionally assist him with her good sense on secret missions to the towns and villages in the surrounding country.
It appeared that it was not only because she was a widow and childless, nor only because she was exposed to him in the somewhat licentious air of a wayside inn, but particularly because she was some ten years his senior that Abulafia had given himself easily to a lengthy conversation, which led him to a deep association that he
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