The 13th Tablet

After printing out a map of central Safed and a few other documents, they made their way to the Abuhav shul. They walked through charming meandering streets covered in snow, with colourful posters on the walls, old women opening window shutters, young Jews walking to shul. People were preparing for Chanukah everywhere around them. What Mina enjoyed most though, were her own muffled footsteps. It felt like she was walking in a dream, where no-one could hear her arriving nor leaving, except for the occasional crunch in the frosty snow. Looking up, she noticed many houses had domed roofs, the shape of which was emphasised by the weight of fallen snow. Having passed the main square, they arrived at an open courtyard. They walked through a narrow lane, framed on either side with tall walls and finally arrived at the entrance of the synagogue. They were surprised at the height of the building; it was at least four storeys tall. As they passed through the entrance, out of the silent courtyard and into the warmth of this place of learning, they felt blood rushing through their bodies again. It was like walking through a small orchard of stone trees, with beautiful cupolas and finely carved pillars dividing the internal spaces of the building. At the centre of the mosaic floor was a platform from which the Torah scroll was read. Mina’s trained eye immediately noticed the unusual elements of their surroundings; the ceilings were painted blue, to remind the visitors of the celestial vision; there were three holy arks instead of one. Mina picked up a crumpled leaflet at the entrance that gave a few explanations to visitors. One of the arks enshrined a sefer Torah, a Torah scroll that was over five hundred years old, brought back by Rabbi Isaac Abuhav from his native Portugal.

A young Ethiopian Orthodox Jew came up to them and told them in his broken English that the women’s place of worship was elsewhere. Mina told him that they just wanted to visit the synagogue and possibly talk to the person in charge of the archives.

‘You wanting administrator?’

‘Yes,’ she answered.

As he walked off, Jack turned to Mina.

‘I’ve never seen a black Jew.’

‘Huge numbers of Ethiopian and Russian Jews have emigrated to Israel in recent years. The law is such that all Jews can emigrate here, almost no questions asked. The Jewish diaspora is amazing. They’re come from everywhere, from China to South America.’

‘Wow. So they can just return from wherever they have lived for centuries?’

‘Yes, it’s called the Aliya, the Law of the Return.’

‘Too bad it doesn’t work for the Palestinians too…’

‘Jack, I’ve got more reasons than you to feel for the Palestinians, but I think you’re being naive on that count. Anyway, I’ve come here for information and not to insult people so please back me up. Shhh. He’s coming back.’

The young man had returned with a jolly looking man in his late forties, so corpulent he seemed to roll down the stairs.

‘Shalom. My name is Ezra and you are?’

‘Shalom. My name is Miriam and this is Josh. We’re from New York and we’re visiting Safed for Chanukah. Your synagogue is a real jewel.’

‘Thank you.’

He beamed with pleasure and kept looking at Jack, as if he expected him to speak. Mina realised that being a woman she was less likely to get answers than Jack, but it couldn’t be helped. She said to Ezra, ‘I’ve also come here to do some research for my PhD.’

‘How fascinating. What are you working on?’

‘Well, I’d be interested in any information, texts, documents of any sort you may have on or by Benjamin of Tudela. You see, I thought since your synagogue was the oldest in Safed, you may have old records that other synagogues don’t.’

‘Benjamin of Tudela? I don’t think so. But, there is someone in Safed who might be able to help you. Old Eli, Eli Ben Mordechai. I remember he was obsessed with Tudela for some time, but I can’t recall why.’

‘Is he in Safed?’

‘Yes, at the Ari shul, the old one where Ari prayed, the Sephardi one.’

‘Would it be possible to meet him?’ asked Mina.

‘Of course, I can arrange for you to meet him tomorrow morning. Would 10 o’clock suit you?’

‘Yes, that would be perfect.’ Mina said. They thanked him profusely and left the synagogue. They would have to rush if they wanted to book a room for the night. They retraced their steps through the Old Town to Bar-Yochai Street. Back in the van, they drove up Jerusalem Street, past the upper end of the citadel park and parked as close as they could to the guest house. They hurried down a narrow path of the Artists’ Colony and arrived at a wrought iron gate.