by Shlomo Kalo
Avarnam smiled pleasantly and assured him:
“He’s here! Writing a report on your visit, and your mission! But the moment he sits down at his desk and starts working, he becomes engrossed in the task in hand and detached from everything around him, and it’s not easy to draw his attention to anything outside his texts!”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t disturb him!” he said, trying to restrain Avarnam who was about to renew his onslaught on the door. “We can come back another time.” But his intervention was too late, and the door shuddered under the hail of blows.
Avarnam looked up at him and once again wrinkled his brow, as if pondering his next words, but at that moment there was the sound of cautious movements from inside and the door swung open. On the threshold stood a man, with beard and hair sparse and flecked with grey, stooped posture and bright eyes, blinking in the sunlight.
For a long moment the man stood immobile, not sure what was happening, and then turned to them, smiled, bowed courteously, muttered something that sounded like “Welcome!” between thin and tight lips, then asked in a throaty, yet clear voice:
“How can I help you?”
Avarnam answered him:
“This is the King’s envoy, who has come to inspect Jahanur. I’m sure you have already recorded the event in one of your scrolls.”
The stooping man bowed again, in token of assent.
And Avarnam continued:
“We were talking of that episode that forced our ancestors to leave Ur of the Chaldees on the plain and settle in the hills, founding our beloved Jahanur. And they have expressed an interest in hearing more.”
“Do they want me to read it to them from the old scrolls, which aren’t easy to read, or would they rather hear it in my own words, in the oral tradition as is passed down from father to son and from teacher to pupil?”
“We’d like to hear it from you!” he said.
“I’ll fetch some chairs and we can sit in the sun, which is pleasant at this time of year. It is dark inside, and the air dank and cold.”
The scribe turned and bowed three times – once for each of the guests, and disappeared again behind the door with its mezuzah, returning a moment later with four stools. Then he fetched a tray with four apples on it, and a scroll wrapped in leather that had lost its original colour and turned black.
“These apples,” he asked Avarnam, “were they grown here?”
“They were,” he answered, not without pride. “The truth is,” he added, “such fruit doesn’t usually grow in places like this. But not everything depends on climate and quality of soil. In fact, very little depends on climate and quality of soil. A man and his work – they are the essence. If a man’s work is done for the sake of Heaven – his labour is blessed and his fruit plentiful, and if a man’s work is not done for the sake of Heaven, his work is cursed and his fruit blighted.”
“There is no truth more holy than that!” he agreed.
“Part of the story,” the scion of the Jaharan family began, his voice lucid and carefully modulated – “was recorded in this scroll by our ancestors. Anyone who knows how to decipher the language that preceded Chaldee is free to make use of this text – without taking it away of course, which is strictly forbidden. The script isn’t easy to read, and the copying is in itself time-consuming. I myself have been making repeated efforts to transcribe the text onto fresh parchment, and even with the blessing and the help of God, the task will occupy a year of my time. Perusal is allowed only in my office, and with my help and supervision . One way or the other, the following is what is known to the people of Jahanur, regarding the ancient times.”
Jaharan Ben Jaharan pronounced a brief blessing, bit into the juicy apple, and munching contentedly, resumed his account:
“Many generations ago the inhabitants of ancient Ur of the Chaldees, our ancestors, were worshippers of idols, like other nations and races in that locality. Their lives were apparently uneventful, as they did not stand out from their neighbours in any way. Like them they lived by rearing sheep and cattle, like them they worshipped innumerable idols and knew no serenity in their lives, neither joy nor satisfaction. And there were some who quarrelled with others over matters of religion or the distribution of land, and sometimes disputes erupted and often these turned into petty wars between tribe and tribe, between settlement and settlement, household and household, family and family. These wars claimed victims, and the relatives of the victims swore to avenge the deaths of their loved ones, and so it went on and on. And the idol-worshippers of Ur of the Chaldees, like the idol-worshippers of other places, carved their images out of wood and brass and stone, and bowed down to them and worshipped them, and offered them sacrifices and poured out before them their bitterness of heart – and all this to no avail. Until one day the son of one of the most illustrious sculptors arose and did something unheard of: he smashed the idols that his father had made and said to him: If these are really gods, let them avenge their injury!
“The father, who at first was seething with wrath at the impetuous act of his young son, was suddenly assailed by fits of laughter, wild and resounding laughter, for he saw with his own eyes that this young son of his was wiser than all the citizens of Ur of the Chaldees, with their reverence for images, images which he himself had created. But the sculptor soon stopped laughing, realising that his neighbours, friends and relatives were liable to see this act of his son as a very serious matter, and would vent their wrath on him, even stone him to death. So the sculptor called his clever son, gave him food and water and ordered him to go out to the desert and hide for a few days, allowing time for passions to cool and the affair to be forgotten. The son obeyed his father, took his knapsack and went away to hide in one of the caves in the desert, to the east of Ur of the Chaldees.
“No sooner had the son disappeared from his father’s view, when the neighbours, his friends and relatives, having heard the sound of the idols breaking, came hurrying to discover the source of the terrible commotion – had some disaster occurred? And when they saw the shattered images, a great cry went up, and they flew into a panic and a rage, and began frantically wailing, tearing at their hair and their beards, ripping their clothes and scattering dust on their heads. And the rumour sprouted wings, and almost the entire population of Ur of the Chaldees came streaming to the door of the sculptor’s house. And they demanded that the sculptor come out and admit the sin he had committed, and submit to the judgment of the crowd and receive his just deserts, meaning – death by stoning. And the sculptor was terrified, although relieved to know that his son was safe, and he came to the door of his house and promised to tell them the whole story, from beginning to end, omitting no detail, however small. And then his neighbours and relations and friends and fellow-citizens could decide what was to be done with him – whether it was to be life or death.
“Hearing the measured words of the sculptor the crowd was hushed, and in the tense silence that reigned in the open space before the house, the sculptor gave his version of events, revealing that last night, just after midnight, he heard a terrible din coming from his workshop and a deafening uproar, and he was jolted from his sleep and hurriedly went down to the workshop to see what was causing the racket, and he approached the door of the workshop, and though his heart was scared to death, he forced himself to touch the door, and opened it a crack, and stooped and peered through the crack. And what was revealed to him there was so dreadful, so terrifying, he immediately closed the door again and was minded to flee for his life while he still could. But knowing full well that in the morning he would definitely be summoned by the burghers and sages of Ur of the Chaldees to explain what had happened, and he would need a plausible account, he steeled himself again, opened the door and saw – Heavens above! – all the idols fighting one another, locked in vicious combat: the god of vineyards detached his stone arm and killed the god of rice with a single blow, and the god of rain held his heavy stone head in his hands and battered all his envoys and min
ions until they were wrecked beyond repair, and then the god of the forest attacked the god of vineyards and knocked him to the ground with a single blow, to be felled in his turn by the god of frost, who was killed by the god of the bears. The god of pregnant and nursing mothers slew at least a dozen minor deities, with the half of his body that he wielded as a weapon, but before the witness could identify the victims, the goddess of mammon took on all those who were still standing and laid them dead on the ground, and then she turned and saw the sculptor peering in at the doorway, shaking with fear, and she stormed upon him in a rage, but as she had been seriously injured in the course of the battle, she collapsed on the pile of slain gods and gave up the ghost too.
“For a long moment there was silence in the crowd listening attentively to the words of the sculptor, until one of the renowned sages plucked up the courage to stand on a table and address all the citizens of Ur of the Chaldees, saying:
‘How ridiculous we have been in our worship of wood and clay and iron and stone, and then here comes this wise sculptor, and he shows us how foolish we are, how incomparably ignorant!’
“And all at once the inhabitants of Ur of the Chaldees burst into gales of laughter, loud and long.
“And the sculptor asked for permission to conclude his story, for it had a conclusion, and the crowd respected his wish and was hushed. The sculptor admitted frankly that he was neither sage nor prophet nor thinker; such things were the prerogative of his young son, whom he had sent to hide in the desert until such time as the passions had subsided.
“The crowd laughed again, and the elders and the sages and the worthies of the community decided to send a deputation to bring the wise young man back to their city, as he was a precious asset to his community and his people, deserving to be their leader and their mentor, whose every command should be obeyed.
“The burghers of the town were as good as their word, and a dignified delegation set out and found the wise young man hiding in his cave, and they brought him back with great honour to his city and to his father. And the wise young man did indeed become their leader and their mentor and their governor, his every command obeyed. And in the fullness of time the young man revealed to them the existence of one God – Creator of Heaven and Earth and of all that is in them, who bears them only good will and shows them the way they should walk if they are to be saved, and to be the happiest of all men.
“And the boy, who grew in stature and in wisdom, gave then certain laws, which later the Chaldeans tried to copy and to adopt for themselves. These laws spoke of purification of the heart from the unclean, and its cleansing from every idolatrous or malicious or covetous thought. And the people of Ur of the Chaldees began studying these laws and adhering to them. And then it became known to them, to their grief and deep sorrow, that their neighbours were looking at them with a jealous eye and plotting against them and thinking ill of them, and hating them and informing against them. And it was at about this time, that God, the true God, commanded the son of the sculptor who had grown up and was a man and a leader of his people, to leave Ur of the Chaldees, his hometown, and never to return, and go to a place that He, his God, would show him:
“Go from your homeland and your father’s house, God commanded, and the man, whose name was Abram, obeyed, and bade farewell to his fellow citizens and his community, who respected him greatly, and he told them that Ur of the Chaldees was no longer a place for believers in the true God, and they should apply their minds to this and move to another place, and God would bless them, and afford them His protection, and defend them against their enemies and against all evil.
“And so indeed it was – Abram left his homeland and his father’s house at God’s command and twelve families of Ur of the Chaldees, believers in his God, followed his example, went up into the hills and founded Jahanur, and served the true God with all their hearts and minds, with all their souls and strength.
“This is the story as it is recorded in our writings,” – Jaharan Ben Jaharan concluded, and held out to him the blackened scroll.
Slowly and carefully he untied the wrapper, which had stiffened over the course of the years, opened it and unrolled it until the first signs of writing appeared; this was one ancient language that even Denur-Shag had never taught. He rolled up the scroll again, wrapped it and handed it to Jaharan, who took it back into his office, and returned. Taking his seat again, he resumed:
“We have heard tell of what became of Abram, son of our little nation, and we know that he changed his name at God’s command to Abraham, meaning ‘Father of a great people’, and this is not recorded in our writings as we didn’t hear it from first hand, but it has been handed down from father to son and from teacher to pupil.
“There are sages among us,” Jaharan explained “who teach the young the right path that they should follow. And these sages have much to say regarding the revelation of the Son of God, who will bring about the salvation of the human race, and who will be chastised and rejected and persecuted by many. And from hearsay we know that a great prophet arose to preach to the race of Abraham, and he heard the voice of God, and gave them laws, called the Torah. According to this Torah, men are commanded not to covet and not to commit adultery and not to bear false witness, commandments that we too accept, the difference being that we place more emphasis on purity of heart, so that adultery for example is forbidden not only in deed or in word, but above all – in the heart, in thought. And we believe with absolute faith that if the heart has not been purified – the Torah and the laws are nothing more than idle incantation.”
He fell to his knees, bowing to the scribe of Jahanur and to the leader of the council and kissing the ground at their feet. Then he rose, shook their hands warmly and said:
“I wish there were many more like you!” – and taking his leave of Avarnam and Jaharan he mounted his horse and with Nejeen beside him, rode back to the King’s summer palace. In their hands they held the apples they had been given, steadfast proof that all they had seen and been told was the truth.
In the room that he had set aside for an office, the scroll that Avarnam had mentioned was waiting for him.
He untied the ribbon and opened it: in clean, and cursive script – to the extent that Chaldean letters allowed for cursive forms – were the names of all the inhabitants of Jahanur, divided among the twelve families. There were also detailed notes relating to the history of the community and giving the names of its founders. The exceptional form of religion practised in Jahanur was also mentioned, and summed up in a single sentence: “They believe in the one, Almighty God, Creator of Heaven and Earth and of all that is in them.”
He rolled up the scroll and placed it with the bundles they had brought with them.
An extensive veranda opened off the guest-room next to the bed-chamber, and they went out to inspect it. Like all the verandas of Babylon, this too was awash with flowers, their freshness testifying to the devoted care lavished upon them. They sat at a heavy table, of highly polished walnut wood, and with matching chairs. For a long time they were silent, trying to digest the riot of sensations stirring their minds. As the sun turned towards the west she began:
“How is it that this wonderful community of faithful upholders of tradition – and I say ‘faithful’ rather than ‘fanatical’ which is perhaps where they differ from our own people – has survived over the years untouched by destruction or neglect or the erosion of time, time which, it seems, has not changed it at all?”
Instead of answering her, he added a question of his own:
“If this community has indeed been preserved in this way, why has it not increased and multiplied, like any other community which has been spared from destruction, and grown inevitably into a great and populous nation? Think of our forefathers – seventy men who went down to Egypt, and their numbers grew and multiplied despite the yoke of servitude, and they returned to their land no longer a tiny band, but a race and a nation of some sixty thousand!”
She
answered him equably:
“That is because of the strength of their faith, and the grace of God that rests upon them! They have remained as they are, neither suffering destruction nor growing and multiplying – and this because they have no interest in carnal pursuits for their own sake, and all the satisfaction that they need they find in their love of their God, loving him with all their hearts and minds, all their souls and all their strength.”
“This marvellous community,” he began, as if his thoughts and his mood were identical to hers, and his speech an extension of hers – “is a symbol of great hope and an example to all humanity of the faithful way of life. This community will never cease to exist, and no one will ever dare to attack and destroy it, as that would be tantamount to making war on God Himself!”
“And King Nebuchadnezzar,” she said with no change in the tone of her voice, “did not send you here merely for rest and recuperation. This was a mission with a purpose!”
“That is indeed so!” he agreed. “Before I came here I read documents and scrolls, everything ever written about the community of Jahanur, and I found that it was all vague and elusive and unconvincing, because the compilers of reports simply did not have the mentality to comprehend the truth that the community of Jahanur embodies. And the King was exasperated by these unsatisfactory accounts, lines revealing less than they concealed, and when the opportunity arose to send someone on a tour of inspection, he took it.”
They both looked out at the calm, pastoral landscape of Jahanur, bright with the radiance of the sunset.
“It is the grace of God that lights everything here!” she declared, and he added, as if to continue this train of thought:
“As our friends here in Jahanur have pointed out, blessing prevails where man is worthy of it. Regrettably, it can’t be said of our compatriots that they have been blessed with that innocent and steadfast faith, faith for its own sake, that is rewarded by the grace of God!” There was bitterness in his voice and distant sadness. She turned to look at him, her calm gaze pouring into his eyes the unbounded freedom of her love, and he looked back at her, repaying her with the same love and the same freedom.
