Read Online The Spinoza Problem by Irvin D. Yalom - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Irvin D. Yalom
Ads: Link
whereupon Jacob turned, seized his hand, and tried to tug him. Franco pulled away and shook his head vigorously. Jacob replied and, after looking about to ensure that there were no witnesses in view, placed his huge hands on Franco’s shoulders, shook him gruffly, and pushed him along in front of him until they arrived at the shop.
For a moment Bento leaned forward, riveted to this drama, but soon reentered a meditative state and considered the riddle of Franco’s and Jacob’s odd behavior. In a few minutes he was pulled out of his reverie by the sound of his shop door opening and footsteps inside.
He bolted to his feet, greeted his visitors, and pulled over two chairs for them while he himself sat on a huge crate of dried figs. “You arrive from the Sabbath services?”
“Yes,” said Jacob, “one of us refreshed and one of us more agitated than before.”
“Interesting. The identical event launches two different reactions. And the explanation for that curious phenomenon?” asked Bento.
Jacob hastened to respond. “The matter is not so interesting, and the explanation is obvious. Unlike Franco, who has no Jewish education, I am schooled in the Jewish tradition and the Hebrew language and—”
“Allow me to interrupt,” Bento said. “But even at the onset your explanation requires explanation. Every child raised in Portugal in a Marrano
family is unschooled in Hebrew and Jewish ritual. That includes my father, who learned his Hebrew only after he left Portugal. He told me that when he was a boy in Portugal, great punishment would be meted out to any family educating children in the Hebrew language or Jewish tradition. In fact,” Spinoza turned to Franco, “did I not yesterday hear of a beloved father killed because the Inquisition found a buried Torah?”
Franco, nervously running his fingers through his long hair, said nothing but nodded slightly.
Turning back to Jacob, Bento continued, “So my question, Jacob, is whence your knowledge of Hebrew?”
“My family became New Christians three generations ago,” Jacob said quickly, “but they have remained crypto-Jews, determined to keep the faith alive. My father sent me to Rotterdam to work in his trading business as a youth of eleven, and for the next eight years I spent every night studying Hebrew with my uncle, a rabbi. He prepared me for bar mitzvah in the Rotterdam synagogue and then continued my Jewish education until his death. I’ve spent most of the last twelve years in Rotterdam and returned recently to Portugal only to rescue Franco.”
“And you,” Bento turned toward Franco, whose eyes had interest only in the poorly swept floor of the Spinoza import store, “you have no Hebrew?”
But Jacob answered, “Of course not. There is, as you just said, no Hebrew permitted in Portugal. We are all taught to read the scriptures in Latin.”
“So, Franco, you have no Hebrew?”
Once again Jacob interposed, “In Portugal no one dares to teach Hebrew. Not only would they face instant death, but their whole family would be hunted down. At this very moment Franco’s mother and two sisters are in hiding.”
“Franco”—Bento bent down to peer directly into his eyes—“Jacob continues to answer for you. Why do you choose not to respond?”
“He tries only to help me,” responded Franco in a whisper.
“And you are helped by remaining silent?”
“I am too upset to trust my words,” said Franco, speaking more loudly. “Jacob speaks rightly, my family is endangered, and, as he says, I have no Jewish education aside from the aleph, bet, gimmel he taught me by drawing the letters in the sand. And even these he had to erase by grinding his feet on them.”
Bento turned his body entirely to Franco, pointedly facing away from Jacob. “Is it your view also that, though he was refreshed by the service, you were agitated by it?”
Franco nodded.
“And your agitation was because . . .”
“Because of doubt and feelings.” Franco
For a moment Bento leaned forward, riveted to this drama, but soon reentered a meditative state and considered the riddle of Franco’s and Jacob’s odd behavior. In a few minutes he was pulled out of his reverie by the sound of his shop door opening and footsteps inside.
He bolted to his feet, greeted his visitors, and pulled over two chairs for them while he himself sat on a huge crate of dried figs. “You arrive from the Sabbath services?”
“Yes,” said Jacob, “one of us refreshed and one of us more agitated than before.”
“Interesting. The identical event launches two different reactions. And the explanation for that curious phenomenon?” asked Bento.
Jacob hastened to respond. “The matter is not so interesting, and the explanation is obvious. Unlike Franco, who has no Jewish education, I am schooled in the Jewish tradition and the Hebrew language and—”
“Allow me to interrupt,” Bento said. “But even at the onset your explanation requires explanation. Every child raised in Portugal in a Marrano
family is unschooled in Hebrew and Jewish ritual. That includes my father, who learned his Hebrew only after he left Portugal. He told me that when he was a boy in Portugal, great punishment would be meted out to any family educating children in the Hebrew language or Jewish tradition. In fact,” Spinoza turned to Franco, “did I not yesterday hear of a beloved father killed because the Inquisition found a buried Torah?”
Franco, nervously running his fingers through his long hair, said nothing but nodded slightly.
Turning back to Jacob, Bento continued, “So my question, Jacob, is whence your knowledge of Hebrew?”
“My family became New Christians three generations ago,” Jacob said quickly, “but they have remained crypto-Jews, determined to keep the faith alive. My father sent me to Rotterdam to work in his trading business as a youth of eleven, and for the next eight years I spent every night studying Hebrew with my uncle, a rabbi. He prepared me for bar mitzvah in the Rotterdam synagogue and then continued my Jewish education until his death. I’ve spent most of the last twelve years in Rotterdam and returned recently to Portugal only to rescue Franco.”
“And you,” Bento turned toward Franco, whose eyes had interest only in the poorly swept floor of the Spinoza import store, “you have no Hebrew?”
But Jacob answered, “Of course not. There is, as you just said, no Hebrew permitted in Portugal. We are all taught to read the scriptures in Latin.”
“So, Franco, you have no Hebrew?”
Once again Jacob interposed, “In Portugal no one dares to teach Hebrew. Not only would they face instant death, but their whole family would be hunted down. At this very moment Franco’s mother and two sisters are in hiding.”
“Franco”—Bento bent down to peer directly into his eyes—“Jacob continues to answer for you. Why do you choose not to respond?”
“He tries only to help me,” responded Franco in a whisper.
“And you are helped by remaining silent?”
“I am too upset to trust my words,” said Franco, speaking more loudly. “Jacob speaks rightly, my family is endangered, and, as he says, I have no Jewish education aside from the aleph, bet, gimmel he taught me by drawing the letters in the sand. And even these he had to erase by grinding his feet on them.”
Bento turned his body entirely to Franco, pointedly facing away from Jacob. “Is it your view also that, though he was refreshed by the service, you were agitated by it?”
Franco nodded.
“And your agitation was because . . .”
“Because of doubt and feelings.” Franco
Similar Books
