The Righteous One

by Neil Perry Gordon

  He saw an elderly man sitting on a bench looking right at him. He was wearing a long black robe with a shiny black ribbon sewn along its edge. On his head sat a circular black hat with a black tassel hanging off its top. His beard was white, except for a golden yellow patch just under his mouth.

  The man gestured to Moshe to sit down next to him.

  “It is good to see you,” said the man in Yiddish.

  “It is good to see you too,” Moshe replied to the unusual greeting.

  “I know why you are here.”

  “You do?” Moshe asked with wide eyes expressing his surprise.

  “I recognize you.”

  “Have we met?” Moshe asked.

  “Oh no, we never met. But you’re tzaddik.”

  Moshe stared at the man, and asked, “Who are you, sir? And how do you know I am tzaddik?”

  “I am who you are looking for. My name is Rabbi Yitzhak Rubin,” the rabbi said with a warm smile. “And I’ve studied the ways of the mystics my entire life.”

  Moshe shook hands with the rabbi, and said, “My name is Moshe Potasznik.”

  “Ah, Moshe, I am happy to meet you. We should get started. There is a lot of work we need to do before it’s too late.”

  “What do you mean too late?”

  “Danger is lurking. Once the tzaddik has surfaced, the rasha will come.”

  Just then Aaron’s voice called out, “Moshe, is that you? We’ve been looking everywhere for you for the past hour.”

  Moshe looked down the path and saw Rabbi Shapira and Aaron walking toward them.

  “Rabbi Rubin?” Aaron asked, his arms spread wide in a question.

  “Yes, we just met,” Moshe said.

  “What an honor it is to see you, Rabbi,” Aaron said.

  “You know the rabbi?” Moshe asked.

  “Of course. He is the leading authority of Kabbalah in Safed,” said Aaron.

  “Come now, gentlemen, we have no time to waste,” said Rabbi Rubin, as he stood and led the three men down the pathway and out of the park.

  Chapter 15

  Arnold placed his suitcase in the trunk of the rental car and took a look at the map. The attendant drew a line straight up the coast to the city of Acre. Then the line turned inland toward Safed.

  “It’s about three hours, depending on traffic,” he told him.

  He folded the map and took a seat behind the wheel of his questionable rental car. It took a few turns of the key in the ignition for the engine to turn over. He shifted the gear into reverse and backed out of the space. First gear took a moment to engage and he was moving forward.

  As he drove through the rental car parking lot, he caught the eye of a man staring at him. He slowed down to watch the man through his rear view mirror quickly get into a car and pull out behind him.

  Arnold stopped to give the attendant at the gate his paperwork. He glanced again in the mirror and saw the man behind the wheel. The shadows made it difficult to make out much, except a red beard.

  Without concern, Arnold pulled out of the rental car lot and headed north, following signs to Haifa.

  About thirty minutes outside of Tel Aviv, Arnold found himself in dire need to relieve himself. He found a service station on the outskirts of a town called Netanya. After he took care of his business he washed his hands in a sink that barely offered a trickle of water and walked back to his car. As he reached for the door handle, he saw a car parked on the side of the road. Even with the glare reflecting off the windshield he was able to make out that the driver had that same red beard. He stopped to stare and wondered if this was just another coincidence, or perhaps he was being followed.

  There was only one way to know. Arnold got into his car and instead of heading north toward Haifa, he drove through the small streets of Netanya. He alternated looks between the road and the rear view mirror and as suspected, the man with the red beard was indeed following him.

  He wondered if this man was sent by Myron to follow him. But whoever it was, the last thing he wanted to do was to lead him directly to Moshe and Rabbi Shapira. Arnold took a deep breath and white-knuckle gripped the steering wheel and headed back north along the highway.

  Even though the January weather was cool, beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He rolled down his window, allowing the wind to cool his anxiety and looked again in the rearview mirror and saw the red-bearded man looking back at him. I need to lose him, before I get to Safed.

  Then he saw the sign for the city of Haifa. That’s it, he thought. I’ll shake free of him there. He desperately maneuvered the tight streets and roadways of Haifa, trying to shake his tail and every ten seconds checked out the rearview mirror for the red-bearded man. He hadn’t reappeared. It had been several minutes since he lost him in the winding streets of Haifa before Arnold exhaled and felt himself relax a bit. He even dared a smile and looked at himself grinning in the same mirror he was obsessing over just minutes before. He then pressed the accelerator to the floor and sped onward to Safed.

  Chapter 16

  Rabbi Rubin and Moshe sat together in the study of his small second floor walkup, off a confusing array of alleyways in the heart of Safed.

  “Do you live here alone?” Moshe asked glancing around at the apartment.

  “I’m afraid so. My wife passed many years ago, and my eight children are scattered across Europe and America, except for my youngest daughter who lives in Galilee. She tries to visit me on Sundays,” the rabbi said with a slight smile.

  Moshe listened, and wondered how a man of Rabbi Rubin’s age was able to take care of himself. The apartment, though small and cluttered with towering piles of books and yellowed newspapers, did not look dirty. Actually, Moshe thought, there was an odd sense of order to the place, which suggested that the rabbi actually referred to these volumes and publications for his studies.

  “I would like to know about your life, Moshe. I assume that you are not an observant Jew.”

  Moshe briefly touched his uncovered head and said, “I am ashamed to say that I am not.”

  “Don’t be, Moshe.”

  Moshe leaned forward and asked, “Rabbi, back in the park you said you recognized me.”

  The rabbi smiled. “Moshe, I’ve studied Kabbalah for over seventy years from the most renowned scholars here in Safed, and my teachers have learned from their masters, going back two-thousand years to the time of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai. Back then this land was under the brutal regime of Roman rule which Rabbi Shimon publicly spoke out against. The Roman governor responded by issuing a death warrant for the rabbi. Because of that he went into hiding in caves not far from here, where he learned through divine inspiration the secrets of the Torah. These secrets revealed the wisdom of the universe, and he collected these secrets in a book called the Zohar,” he said, pointing to a leather bound volume sitting on his desk.

  Moshe picked up the book and looked at the worn out inscription of Hebrew letters on its cover.

  The rabbi continued, “You ask how I recognized you. Those that are born righteous are encircled with a field of energy. I can see it as clearly as I can see the sunrise each morning,” he said, polishing the lens of his eyeglasses with an old worn cloth.

  “But I do not understand how I can be tzaddik when I do not actively practice Judaism.”

  “That is a very good question,” the rabbi said holding a finger in the air. “Before I answer, let me first ask you something.”

  Moshe nodded.

  “Do you still consider yourself a Jew?”

  Moshe exhaled deeply. “Of course I do, Rabbi. Even though I don’t go to shul, except on the high holidays, my belief in Hashem is strong. Oh, and I forgot to say that I am also Kohen,” Moshe said referring to the Jews who claim to be descendants of Moses’s brother Aaron.

  The rabbi clapped his hands together and said, “Ah, a Kohen and tzaddik. Moshe, you must not neglect who you are any longer. Your lack of devotion may have caused your connection to Hashem to be broken.”


  Moshe rubbed his chin and said, “I understand, but is it too late for me? I’m sixty years old.”

  “Hashem has chosen you, and thirty-five others, as an extension of his powers. As long as you still have a breath in your lungs, it is not too late. But you should know that tzaddikim have no extraordinary powers of their own. They are merely a conduit of the creator’s hand as a way to help those in need. But without devotion to Hashem, such privilege is dimmed, as you can attest.”

  Moshe nodded and said, “What do I need to do?”

  “Give yourself to the study of the Torah, and ask for Hashem’s forgiveness.”

  “That’s all?”

  “The act of contrition is the easy part. Obeying Judaic laws in daily life, however—that takes work. There is much to learn and to practice. Not just here while you’re in Safed, but when you travel back home to America, as well. You must also understand, Moshe, that even with such a reawakening of your devotion, there can be no assurances of reconnecting to the Almighty.”

  “I understand, but that doesn’t explain why I had the gift when I was younger. My devotion was nothing more than it is now.”

  “One cannot understand every mystery, Moshe. Apparently there was a need at that time that outweighed your lack of devotion. Apparently that need has risen again.”

  Chapter 17

  The best part about Charlie’s Oyster Bar was that Solomon could walk there in minutes. Regardless of the weather, he would go every afternoon. Ralph, the owner, who bought the bar from Charlie a few years back, kept a table by the front window reserved for Solomon, thanks to his regular presence and generous tips for the past six years.

  As Solomon walked to Charlie’s along the dirt packed road, he felt his stomach begin to churn. He had never experienced such unease before and hoped that a stiff drink or two would soothe him.

  He had once thought of his dreams as his Excalibur, the legendary sword of King Arthur that wielded magical powers. That exuberant feeling had only been enhanced when he turned ninety. It had actually felt like a rebirth. But then he’d started having these disturbing dreams about the tzaddik, which not only caused his stomach to be upset, but also gave him a short fuse.

  He pondered that the cause of his anxiety was that these dreams only announced the appearance of the tzaddik, and not the reason for it. Perhaps future dreams would enlighten him as to why a threat to his very existence was now haunting him.

  That afternoon, Charlie’s was busier than usual. So busy, in fact, that Ralph had not realized that a young couple, visiting the island for the day, took a seat at Solomon’s reserved table.

  With patrons stacked two deep at the bar, Solomon entered. Every head turned to look when Solomon swiped his cane across the wooden table where the young couple sat. Beer bottles scattered, and the bar hushed in complete silence.

  “What the hell are you doing sitting at my table,” Solomon demanded.

  The couple, probably on a date, and no more than twenty-five years old, jumped to their feet, their clothes soaked in beer.

  “What the hell, old man?” yelled the young man.

  “Who are you calling old?” Solomon barked, and lifted his cane, threatening to strike again.

  Ralph ran over to settle the dispute.

  “I’m sorry, Solomon. I didn’t realize someone was sitting here,” Ralph said.

  “Ah, no harm done. Just clean up this mess, and bring me a whiskey,” Solomon said.

  The couple walked out of Charlie’s without paying.

  “Sorry about that, Ralph. Just put the damages on my tab,” Solomon said.

  With the bar crowd starting to thin out, Solomon ordered his third whiskey.

  “You all right?” Ralph asked. “I’ve never served you more than two drinks.”

  “I’m fine,” Solomon said gesturing to Ralph to pour.

  “Okay, Solomon. You just seem upset,” he said, topping off the tumbler.

  “Yeah, I’m upset.”

  “You want to talk about it?” Ralph said, sitting down on the stool next to Solomon.

  Solomon shook his finger at Ralph and said, “I am no one to trifle with.”

  “No, you are not,” Ralph agreed with a warm smile.

  “You, and everyone in here are living in the dark,” Solomon said, gesturing to the lingering patrons.

  Ralph turned to look at his customers enjoying themselves.

  “You all live a life of darkness. Any fulfillment or happiness is fleeting, while I live a life of endless joy, and infinite knowledge. While you wallow in a miserable existence, I have lifted the curtain and can see the light.”

  Ralph stared at Solomon for a minute. He stood up, patted Solomon on his shoulder and said, “You have a strange way of showing it, my friend.”

  Solomon got to his feet and stumbled a bit until Ralph steadied him.

  “Can I walk you home, Solomon,” Ralph asked, offering Solomon his cane.

  “Nonsense, give me that,” Solomon said grabbing his cane.

  “Okay, just be careful. I don’t want to find you lying in the bushes on the roadside tomorrow when I come to work.”

  Solomon flipped a hand, dismissing Ralph’s comment, and walked out the front door. His cane provided the extra support he needed to make his way home. Just as he arrived at the walkway leading to his front door a black car pulled up. Two large men wearing black suits got out.

  A third man, tall, thin and well-dressed, approached Solomon and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Blass. Please get in the car.”

  “Fuck you,” Solomon blurted and lifted his cane in an attempt to strike the man.

  He felt someone from behind him grab his arm and halt his swing in midair. A moment later he was shoved into the back seat of the car, in between the two large men.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he yelled.

  “Just settle down. You’ll find out soon enough,” said the tall thin man seated up front.

  Chapter 18

  Myron stopped at the first pay phone he could find in the terminal at the Ben Gurion Airport. He had arranged with a private detective in Tel Aviv to tail Arnold once he left the airport, and report on his final destination when Myron arrived. He also asked the detective to provide him with a gun when they met. Myron felt naked without carrying a piece on him, but knew bringing one on an international flight was not a good idea.

  When he reached the detective’s office a woman answered.

  “Hello, this is Myron Blass, I’ve arrived in Tel Aviv. Have you heard from Dov?”

  “Ah, Mr. Blass. I have been expecting your call. Dov has indeed called in. He said you are to proceed to Safed and meet him at the Hotel Canaan, where a room has been reserved for you.”

  Myron knew that Arnold was hiding something when he questioned him at his office. He had him followed and sure enough, Arnold was seen boarding a flight to Tel Aviv the next day. Apparently Moshe and the rabbi had already gone, and Arnold was on his way to warn them about Myron’s visit to his office.

  Myron rented a car and headed up the coast towards Safed. He needed to decide what he was going to do when he reached Safed. Apparently his father considered this so-called tzaddik a threat that needed to be neutralized.

  Myron had tried to comprehend the mysteries of Kabbalah, but could never grasp its meaning, or practical use in everyday life. His father would tell him that only someone versed in Kabbalah could see beyond the one percent of what everyday humans experience. He told Myron that there is a curtain that we live behind, and once this curtain is lifted we then can discover the remainder of the ninety-nine percent of life, where the Light shines bright, and fills us with extraordinary happiness.

  Several hours later, Myron arrived at the Hotel Canaan and checked in. Along with his room key, he was handed an envelope with his name written on it. He opened it up and read:

  I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby at 8 tonight - Dov.

  An hour before his meeting with Dov, Myron did his best with the clumsy han
dheld spout in the smallest stall he had ever tried to shower in. He changed into a casual shirt and navy blue sports jacket, and walked down the six flights along the narrow winding staircase leading to the lobby.

  He was a few minutes early, but Dov Levi was waiting for him.

  “You must be Mr. Blass. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Dov,” he said, reaching out with his hand.

  Standing before him was a young Israeli man wearing a tight shirt that amplified a muscular physique. His blue eyes were set off by his red hair, and tightly cropped red beard.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Dov,” Myron said and shook hands with the man.

  “I know of a place where we can get some dinner and talk. Would that be all right with you?” Dov said.

  “Please lead the way.” Myron gestured to the entryway.

  Café Max was built into a cave. Myron marveled at the freeform rock walls decorated with strings of lights and candles flickering about. A young man playing guitar sat on a stool upon a small platform.

  “The food is decent, and the music is nice,” Dov said.

  Myron scanned the place, and said, “I like it. Good choice.”

  Dov told Myron that he served in the Israeli Army and was a Captain in the Sinai War against Egypt in 1956.

  “I’ve since retired, and started my own detective agency,” Dov said.

  Myron leaned in and asked, “Do you have the gun?”

  Dov opened the flap of an army issued backpack and handed it to Myron. “It’s one of mine. There’s ammo in there too.”

  Myron hooked the backpack onto the back post of his chair and asked, “Have you found Moshe and the rabbi?”

  “Not yet, but I know Arnold Lieberman is here, and I assume, according to your story, so is Moshe. Safed is a small place, Myron. They cannot stay hidden for long.”

  “So you followed Arnold here, to Safed?”

  Dove shook his head and said, “I lost him in Haifa. But where else would he end up? If, as you say, they are searching for some Kabbalist rabbi, then Safed is the obvious place.”