The Kabbalist (31 page)

“What was the reason
for this falling out?” asked Arnon.

“An academic dispute,”
answered Orlev brusquely.

“Would you be kind
enough to share this with us?”

“Jonathan developed a
ridiculous theory about the origins of Kabbalah and its ties with Christianity.
Between the two of us, I was the authority on Kabbalah, yet Jonathan would not
accept my opinion that this was a misconception and started publishing his
ideas on his own. He was refuting me in public. This highlighted other
disagreements we had and drove us apart.”

Arnon intervened. “Just
a moment, please. Jonathan Bennet… Isn’t he the scholar in front of whose house
a ‘Pulsa Denura’ ritual was held a few weeks ago?”

“Yes,” said Orlev. “Many
people disliked what Jonathan had to say. Among them were those lunatics in
black, a bunch of Hassidim who call themselves Kabbalists, without having the
faintest idea what Kabbalah really means… I have nothing to do with these misfits.
My dispute with Jonathan was purely academic. His basic assumptions were shaky,
and he would not listen to me. It made me furious, and it destroyed our
friendship. I now understand this was foolish of me… I acted like a child. I
loved Jonathan like a son, and I miss him terribly…” His lips started quivering
and he fought the tears that were coming to his eyes by pressing a handkerchief
against them.

Finally, he managed to
get hold of himself. “And now he is gone. My two most brilliant students… both
gone now. He was like family to me, and I wasted these last four years on a
stupid quarrel… what folly… what an old fool…” His voice broke up and tears
flooded his eyes again.

“Two students?” Arnon
did not understand.

“The other student was
Ruth, the professor’s late wife,” said Luria to him quietly and Arnon nodded.

The professor wiped his
eyes with his handkerchief and took a sip of water from his glass. “Ten days
ago,” he resumed, “Jonathan called me. He wanted us to meet. He said that what
had been going on between us two made no sense. He said that I meant a lot to
him and that no academic dispute could justify the pain we were inflicting on
each other. He took much of the blame on himself and insisted that we stop
acting like spoiled children.” Orlev raised his head and gazed at the group of
people sitting opposite him. “And he was right, of course. He was the wiser
man. You see… I was the older man… I was the one who should have been saying
these things… and years ago…” He sipped weakly from his glass again.

“I invited him to come
here on Saturday,” he continued hoarsely. “He was sitting where you are sitting
now, and we talked. We made peace and then we stood up and embraced. It felt so
good! And today… I cannot forgive myself…” The old man choked up and then
started sobbing.

Arnon waited patiently
until the crying subsided. “Professor Orlev,” he said, almost in a whisper, “can
you please tell us what happened this morning?”

Orlev raised his eyes.
“We made an appointment to meet at Jonathan’s home today at 10 AM. My son,
Naphtali, who spends much of his time in a special boarding house, is staying
with me this week. You see, Naphtali is a child with special needs…”

Arnon nodded. “I
understand.”

“I brought him along with
me,” said Orlev. “Jonathan had not seen Naphtali for years and was very glad to
see him. He made us some tea, and we sat down to chat. Perhaps it was Naphtali’s
presence that triggered it… Anyway, our chat turned to events which had taken
place many years ago. We talked about my late wife, Ruth. Jonathan knew her
very well, as they both used to be my students and research assistants at the
time. He told me how much he had appreciated her… and then…” He turned pale and
his voice faded away.

Luria rose to his feet,
afraid that the professor was going to collapse, but Orlev signaled with his
hand that he was all right. He raised the glass to his lips with two trembling
hands and sipped some water. He then slowly put it back.

“And what happened
then?” asked Arnon softly, after it looked as if the professor would stay
silent forever.

Orlev gave out a heart-wrenching
groan. “Jonathan said he wanted to talk openly about everything, so that we
could resume our friendship free from the shadows of the past. He started
talking about Ruth, telling me things that I did not know… things I did not
want to know… it was very hard for me. I asked him to stop… I said I had had enough,
that I did not want to hear anymore. But he went on and on… and then I lost
control. I stood up and slapped him. I demanded that he take back what he had said…
that he apologize for offending the memory of my late wife… he did not pay
attention… he kept on talking. He said that it had weighed on him all those
years…”

Arnon and his men
exchanged glances.

“And then… I don’t know
what possessed me… I slapped him again and again… Jonathan is much taller than
me and a very strong man. He stepped back to get away from me… and then it
happened...” He burst into crying.

“
What
happened?”
Asked Arnon when Orlev had calmed down a bit.

“As Jonathan was
stepping back, he stumbled on a chair, fell, and his head hit the table. He dropped
to the carpet and did not move…”

“And what did you do
then?” Arnon demanded to know.

“I was crazed with
fear,” said Orlev. “First of all, I had to calm down Naphtali. He became hysterical,
and I was afraid he would have one of those seizures of his. I could not help
Jonathan anyway, and I had to get Naphtali out of there as soon as possible. I
walked him outside… somehow, I managed to seat him in the car and then I
immediately called for help. All this time I was trying to soothe Naphtali… I
drove straight home, gave Naphtali a sedative and put him to sleep… and then
the police came…”

Arnon and his detective
exchanged glances again. They appeared mystified.

“Professor,” It was now
the detective, who spoke slowly and deliberately. “In Bennet’s palm we found shreds
of paper, perhaps a part of a document. Do you have any idea what he was
holding?”

Luria was puzzled. He
turned to see Orlev’s response. If Orlev knew anything, it did not show on his
face. He shook his head. “I don’t know…”

“Professor,” The
detective kept pushing. “The safe in Bennet’s bedroom was broken into. Do you
happen to know what Bennet was keeping there?”

“I don’t know…” mumbled
Orlev, and then he groaned. “God, what have I done… this is like a nightmare…
and all of it is my fault…”

“Is that all?” The detective
was not easily discouraged. “Are you sure there is nothing else you can tell
us?”

Orlev looked at him in
wonder. “‘Is that all?’ What do you mean by that? A man is dead… and this is all
my fault!”

Arnon cleared his
throat. “Professor Orlev, do you happen to own a gun?”

“A gun?” Orlev was
shocked. “No, never.”

“Professor, are you
sure you have told us everything?” The detective tried once again.

“Just a moment,” intervened
Luria. “What is the meaning of all this? What are you two driving at?”

Arnon raised his hand
to silence Luria. “Professor, will you please answer?”

“I told you everything
I know,” said Orlev weakly.

“Then, Professor,” demanded
Arnon, “how would you explain the fact that Jonathan Bennet was killed by a
bullet to the forehead?”

A
s he had requested in
his will, Jonathan Bennet was buried in the Christian Cemetery on Mount Zion. A
large crowd gathered to escort Bennet to his final resting place. Luria was
there too, with Jeanne at his side, her face wrapped in a black scarf. There
were no relatives present and Luria wondered whether the man had any close
family at all. Virtually everyone there was from the academic world, including
a group of young men, whom
Luria assumed to be students
of the late Bennet.

An elegant man of sixty
or so, who was standing near them, turned to Jeanne and asked her something in
French. Jeanne smiled and they exchanged a few sentences, after which the man
thanked her and moved away.

“Who is this man?” wondered
Luria.

“I don’t really know,”
answered Jeanne. “He introduced himself as Anatole Lambert, a Frenchman. He
recognized me for a Frenchwoman, said he was an old friend of Bennet’s and
inquired whether I knew Professor Orlev. After I said I did, he pointed at the
professor over there and asked me to verify this indeed was Orlev. He explained
that they had not met in many years, and that he was not sure whether he could
identify him.”

Luria looked at Orlev.
The professor has made a remarkable recovery in the two days since the incident.
The police had many questions for him, but he was never considered a suspect.
The professor was now engaged in conversation with a man in a dark suit, whom
Luria recognized from his appearances in the media as the President of the
Hebrew University. Luria also noticed Lambert, the Frenchman whom Jeanne had
talked to minutes before, making his way through the crowd towards Orlev.

The Christian ceremony
ended. The President of the University gave a short speech and was followed by
Professor Orlev, who mourned his ex-student, colleague and friend. The
professor talked about a brilliant, groundbreaking researcher and said that
while they had their academic differences, “from a dispute with Professor
Jonathan Bennet, one could learn much more than from agreeing with many other learned
scholars.”

A few more people spoke,
but Luria was not listening and kept watching Orlev. With everything he knew
about the relationship between the two professors and about the tragedy of
Bennet’s death, Luria wondered what was really going through the professor’s
head.

The last flower
arrangements were placed upon the fresh grave, and the crowd started to
disperse. Luria saw Lambert, the Frenchman, advancing towards Orlev. The moving
crowd separated them, but the man was determined. Eventually, he reached the
professor from behind and touched his shoulder. The professor turned around.
First, it seemed, he did not recognize the stranger, but a few sentences spoken
by the Frenchman changed that. The professor caught his head with both hands in
a gesture of disbelief. He looked flabbergasted but immediately recovered and
shook the man’s hand warmly. The two started walking together and talking
enthusiastically. However, soon Orlev had to relate to other dignitaries who
came to see him, and the two men parted with a long and hearty handshake.

Luria turned to Jeanne.
“I want to speak to this man.”

“What man?” Jeanne was
lost in her own thoughts. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“The Frenchman,
Lambert. He knows the professor. I want to speak to him.”

“What about?” wondered Jeanne.

“I don’t know, Jeanne,
but I, too, have my intuitions. The man knew Orlev and Bennet many years ago,
and we may learn something from him. It does not look like he knows anybody
here besides Orlev, and the professor has no time for him. I believe he will be
very pleased if a fellow countrywoman invited him to chat over a cup of coffee
or even lunch.”

*    *    *

“Jonathan Bennet was my
fellow student at the Hebrew University long time ago,” said Anatole Lambert.
“We actually shared a room in the dorms.”

The three were sitting
in a quiet Jerusalem restaurant. Luria was right. The man was alone in town and
desperate for company. Jeanne told him she was a history student who came to
interview Bennet and Orlev about a thesis she was writing, and Lambert did not
ask too many questions. He was thankful for the unexpected company in a foreign
country and was happy to have lunch with them. He turned out to be an open,
cordial man, as well as an enthusiastic consumer of good food and a great fan
of Israeli wine.

The main course was
already past them and the third bottle of wine was resting on the table, with
Lambert the main consumer of its predecessors. His mood was improving with
every glass.

“Are you a historian, too?”
asked Jeanne.

“Not really,” replied
Lambert. “I came here and studied for my bachelor’s degree because I was
interested in the country and its people, but I did not pursue this further. I
returned to France to study architecture, my real passion. I own a small
architecture firm in Paris.

Jeanne was impressed. “This
is a real change of direction. What brought you to Israel in the first place?”

Lambert sighed. “This
is a personal story. I would not want to bore you with it.” He suddenly looked
very tired.

“No, please,” implored Jeanne.
“We would love to hear your story.”

“OK,” said the Frenchman
and sighed again. The cheerfulness he had radiated before was deserting him
now.

He took a few seconds to
collect himself.

“It all started with
that damned war,” he began. “You see, I was born in France a couple of years
after World War II. I generally knew what happened, because they told us about
it in school, but my parents never talked about the war and I never asked too
many questions. When I was about sixteen, the papers started printing stories
about collaborators with the Nazis. It was not a subject the French liked to
talk about; we still don’t. It surfaced under the pressure of a persistent
newspaper. Lists were published, and one of the names mentioned was my
father’s.

“I could not believe it
was true. I was sure it was an obscene lie of sensation-hungry journalists. I
knew my father to be a French patriot who had served in the French Resistance.
That was what I had always been told. Well, in those days, everybody claimed to
have been in the Resistance…”

He fell silent for a
while and suddenly he looked old. “But you see. It turned out that this was
not
a lie. It was the plain truth and an especially ugly one. My father was
arrested and sentenced to many years in prison.”

“What had your father
done?” asked Jeanne.

Lambert’s voice broke
up. “In July 1942, the SS headquarters in Paris ordered a Jew hunt operation,
and delegated its execution to the French Police. Nine thousand French
policemen participated in this operation. Within two days, 13,000 detainees
were concentrated in the Paris Winter Stadium in the extreme heat of mid-July.
They remained there for a few days in appalling conditions, before being sent
to their deaths in the concentration camps.

“One of the witnesses
in the trial was a social worker, who had visited the stadium and saw the
detainees. It was almost twenty-five years after the event, and she was still
shocked at what she had seen there. She kept crying on the stand. I will save
you the descriptions and, anyway, they pale against those from Auschwitz that
were also heard in court.

“Yet, there was one
sentence she said which I never forgot. She said: ’There was no German in
sight. The cowards left all the dirty work for the French!’ You see, my father
was a senior police officer. He took orders from the SS… He did the dirty work
for the Germans. He played a major role in this… in this crime.”

His voice broke up again,
and he took a deep breath to calm himself. “And it is not like he did not know
where those poor victims were going,” he added hoarsely. “This, too, was proven
by the prosecution.”

He pulled out a
handkerchief, wiped his forehead and replaced it in his pocket. Luria stared at
him. The man looked utterly broken.

“At first I could not
believe it,” resumed Lambert, “but the evidence was conclusive. My father’s
defense was that he had been following orders, and that he was unaware of what
was going to happen to these Jews. The trial became a nightmare for me, but I
forced myself to sit there and listen to everything; an act of masochism, I
guess. They brought in Jewish witnesses who had somehow survived the tempest
and came back to point an accusing finger at my father. There was a woman who
had lost her husband and two children… and there were many more… it was
horrible. I could not stand it… and then I could not stand him. And my mother…
she knew all this time… she tried to explain to me that those were different
times, that everybody made mistakes and that one should leave the past behind
and look forward… that even if he had done what they said he had, he was still
my father who loved and needed me…”

He wiped his face with
a napkin. “You have no idea what goes through the mind of a boy who has just
found out that his parents… the most important people in his life… are monsters
and liars. I did not know what to do.” Again, he pulled out the handkerchief
and wiped his eyes. “You see what this is doing to me. Even today, after more
than forty years, I am still shaken when I think about it…”

“And what did you do?”
asked Luria. “How did you cope with it?”

Lambert sighed. “At
first I did not know what to do. I left home and severed all ties with my
parents. For the first two weeks, I stayed with a friend whose parents were
very sympathetic. I was confused… I felt dirty, as if I was to blame for the
terrible things my father had done. It was 1967, just after the Six-Day War, and
Israel was in the news. A few weeks before, everybody was saying that the Jews
were once again under a threat of annihilation, and then it ended with an
overwhelming victory, which took the whole world by surprise. This was a
life-changing event for me. Suddenly, I realized what I had to do. I decided to
come here to know the people, learn their history and help as much as I could.
I wanted to atone for what my father had done, so I came to Israel. I spent two
years in a kibbutz; I studied at an Ulpan to learn the language and spent another
two years as a volunteer helping Holocaust survivors. Then I decided I really wanted
to understand this people, for whom my father had been just a small link in a
chain of unending suffering. I enrolled as a student in the Department of
Jewish Thought at the Hebrew University, where I met Jonathan Bennet.”

He took a sip of wine
from his glass.

“Jonathan and I shared
a room in the dorms during our first year at the university. We had something
in common - we were both foreigners who had arrived here for ideological
reasons. Sure, he was a devout Christian American, and I was an atheist
Frenchman, but we learned to get along wonderfully. We were like brothers. We
hardly parted during that first wonderful year. Then, Professor Orlev singled
him out and made him an assistant of his, and next, of course, Ruth stepped in.”

“Ruth?” inquired Luria.
“You mean…”

“Ruth Shoham studied
with us. She was an outstanding student and a striking beauty.”

He paused and looked at
Jeanne. “Actually, my dear, you remind me very much of her.” Jeanne blushed.

“Anyway,” continued
Lambert, “Jonathan was a brilliant student, too, and looked like a Greek god.
Ruth was a secular Jewess, born to a family of Holocaust survivors. She was
very proud to be Jewish but her attitude toward religion was bordering on the
cynical. Jonathan was an Evangelical Christian and they both had a passion for
Jewish studies. Both were brilliant and beautiful. It took a year for these two
to discover each other, but when it happened… it was like a fire. It was the
kind of love they write novels about. These two just could not part.”

“Jonathan Bennet, the
Evangelical Christian and the Jewish Ruth Shoham…” beamed Jeanne. “It sounds so
romantic. A Romeo and Juliet story.”

“This is not a bad
analogy,” agreed Lambert. “And like Romeo and Juliet, it ended in tragedy.”

“What happened?” asked
Luria.

“These two were a pair
of doves, but their love had no future. You see, Ruth had a strong sense of
being Jewish. She was the only child of Holocaust survivors, and she told
Jonathan that she loved him but that she would marry only a Jew. She said this
was a debt of honor she owed her people and her parents. She claimed that
anything else would be an act of betrayal to the suffering her parents and her
people had endured. Jonathan told me that. It nearly drove him crazy. He could
understand her; it actually made her more appealing to him. However, he was a
devout Christian, and conversion to Judaism was not a viable option for him.
And then, the professor entered the picture.”

“Professor Yeshayahu
Orlev?” asked Jeanne.

“Yes. These two were
his brightest students and like all his students, they admired him. He was about
forty five, twenty years or so older than us. He made both Jonathan and Ruth
his assistants and in time, the old bachelor professor started showing a
different kind of interest in the gorgeous Ruth. She liked him and patiently
tolerated his flirtatious moves, but he was no match for Jonathan.”

“So what happened?”
Jeanne wanted to know. “We know that she eventually married the professor.”

“Time went by. I completed
my bachelor’s degree and went back to France to go on with my life, yet I did maintain
a correspondence with Jonathan. He and Ruth maintained their doomed
relationship. They were young and did not want to make tough decisions. They were
now both working on their master’s degree.”