Evidently there are Benzimra Christians, too. There is everything. These guys, so very many years after fleeing, renouncing their countries and Christianity, to then see their sons marry Christians. An irony of destiny.
I wonder... my wife Raquel was martyred for this? But the worst is, that Raquel’s grandson had become a priest and tried to convince me to convert. And in 1450, more or less, he even got to the point of telling me that he would inform the Inquisition that I was a “Marrano”, that he would inform on me.
“For your own good,” he said.
“For my own good? Just what do you know about my own good?” I asked him.
“It is good to believe in God. Put your life in Jesus’ hands and you will feel redemption.”
“And then I will go kill those who don’t agree with me, like those who put their lives in Jesus’ hands and burned your grandmother alive.”
“They were wrong. People have to be convinced in a good way.”
“Do you mean to say that sending me to the Inquisition is a ‘good way’?”
“I mean to say that it would be better for you to convert to Christianity for your own good, so that I do not feel obligated, by my faith, and the laws of the church, to deliver you to the authorities.”
“You’ll give me at least a day to think about it, won’t you?”
“I will give you that because you are my grandfather, and because I take pity on your soul.”
“Perhaps Raquel was right, and I should have allowed your father to die in the blazes so I wouldn’t have to see you like this now...not to hear this conversation and the words that come out of your mouth.”
“In that way you saved my soul and that of my father who, unlike you, is a good Christian, not an old, recalcitrant Jew. What am I saying, old? You look younger than me, recalcitrant and obstinate. Haven’t you realized that Judaism is out? WE are the REAL Jews. The continuation of Moses, Look at the Jewish people. It has gone from grandeur to nullification, from gold to Shinola, from a shining light to darkness. Look at them, and look at us.”
“It would have been better to have died It would have been better to have been consumed in the fire than to see this.”
“You have time, until tomorrow.”
I remember this conversation Samuel, as if it had taken place yesterday. Evidently I immediately fled to the mountains and to Morocco. I understood that Portugal would not help us either. I understood that the Christians would never be our allies. Then I saw how the Jews were fleeing to Portugal, believing that there they would build a new Sefarad, but in fewer than ten years they realized that in the Christian world they were lost.
YEHUDÁ
One day I will get to Jerusalem. There my heart always beat. I learned it from my poems. Every letter I wrote in Hebrew, I saw myself distancing myself from this lavish land. But I know.
I know we Jews cannot live without Jerusalem. I know also that we will be thrown out of this Paradise. Today everyone says the road is dangerous, that we poets go insane, like Ibn Gabirol. Today they tell me it is inconceivable how I, a famous poet, with so many patrons, can want to leave. They tell me no exile was as good as that of Sefarad, that no country was as good for us as was Sefarad, not even Israel, not even Babylonia. That Sefarad is more ours than Jerusalem, and that the country could not exist without us.
Oh they tell me that there has never been such good poetry written, and knowledge begun to increase. And they tell me this and tell me that but my heart beats in Jerusalem, my heart is in the ruined Temple. I look East with my eyes, even when they are facing West. Oh, they tell me this and they tell me that, speaking of the end of our suffering, of the kindly life which awaits us.
But I know, my father, I know it is all false. I know it, my father. Tell me I am right. Tell me that I will live and die in Jerusalem.
To start this journey, I wrote my poems. The time has come for me to
I wonder... my wife Raquel was martyred for this? But the worst is, that Raquel’s grandson had become a priest and tried to convince me to convert. And in 1450, more or less, he even got to the point of telling me that he would inform the Inquisition that I was a “Marrano”, that he would inform on me.
“For your own good,” he said.
“For my own good? Just what do you know about my own good?” I asked him.
“It is good to believe in God. Put your life in Jesus’ hands and you will feel redemption.”
“And then I will go kill those who don’t agree with me, like those who put their lives in Jesus’ hands and burned your grandmother alive.”
“They were wrong. People have to be convinced in a good way.”
“Do you mean to say that sending me to the Inquisition is a ‘good way’?”
“I mean to say that it would be better for you to convert to Christianity for your own good, so that I do not feel obligated, by my faith, and the laws of the church, to deliver you to the authorities.”
“You’ll give me at least a day to think about it, won’t you?”
“I will give you that because you are my grandfather, and because I take pity on your soul.”
“Perhaps Raquel was right, and I should have allowed your father to die in the blazes so I wouldn’t have to see you like this now...not to hear this conversation and the words that come out of your mouth.”
“In that way you saved my soul and that of my father who, unlike you, is a good Christian, not an old, recalcitrant Jew. What am I saying, old? You look younger than me, recalcitrant and obstinate. Haven’t you realized that Judaism is out? WE are the REAL Jews. The continuation of Moses, Look at the Jewish people. It has gone from grandeur to nullification, from gold to Shinola, from a shining light to darkness. Look at them, and look at us.”
“It would have been better to have died It would have been better to have been consumed in the fire than to see this.”
“You have time, until tomorrow.”
I remember this conversation Samuel, as if it had taken place yesterday. Evidently I immediately fled to the mountains and to Morocco. I understood that Portugal would not help us either. I understood that the Christians would never be our allies. Then I saw how the Jews were fleeing to Portugal, believing that there they would build a new Sefarad, but in fewer than ten years they realized that in the Christian world they were lost.
YEHUDÁ
One day I will get to Jerusalem. There my heart always beat. I learned it from my poems. Every letter I wrote in Hebrew, I saw myself distancing myself from this lavish land. But I know.
I know we Jews cannot live without Jerusalem. I know also that we will be thrown out of this Paradise. Today everyone says the road is dangerous, that we poets go insane, like Ibn Gabirol. Today they tell me it is inconceivable how I, a famous poet, with so many patrons, can want to leave. They tell me no exile was as good as that of Sefarad, that no country was as good for us as was Sefarad, not even Israel, not even Babylonia. That Sefarad is more ours than Jerusalem, and that the country could not exist without us.
Oh they tell me that there has never been such good poetry written, and knowledge begun to increase. And they tell me this and tell me that but my heart beats in Jerusalem, my heart is in the ruined Temple. I look East with my eyes, even when they are facing West. Oh, they tell me this and they tell me that, speaking of the end of our suffering, of the kindly life which awaits us.
But I know, my father, I know it is all false. I know it, my father. Tell me I am right. Tell me that I will live and die in Jerusalem.
To start this journey, I wrote my poems. The time has come for me to
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