Moshe was dreaming again. He stood next to his father and brother by the eastern wall of the synagogue. This was a place of honor, for Moshe's father was the Chief Rabbi of Cordova, just as his father and grandfather had been. But Moshe was not praying. His eyes wandered.
A sharp tap on his shoulder made him look up guiltily. His father looked at him with a stern gaze, full of disappointment and sadness. Moshe knew it was because he, the eldest son, could not learn Torah.
Every day his father would give away precious hours to learn with him. But at the end of the lesson, he would just sigh and shake his head. Yesterday it had happened again. Moshe had been sent away from his lesson. His eyes stinging with unshed tears, he made his way to the kitchen where Batsheva, their housekeeper, was frying cakes in hot oil.
"Did it not go well today?" she asked gently. "Not everyone is cut out to be a scholar. Maybe you take after your mother's side of the family."
"You mean my mother's father, the butcher?" Moshe asked.
"Yes, but that's nothing to be ashamed of. Your grandfather was a kind, honest, and G-d-fearing man, as generous as the day is long. Little wonder G-d sent him such an honorable son-in-law as your father."
The congregation was already rising for the silent prayer. Quickly Moshe turned the pages, wondering if his father had caught him daydreaming again. Moshe bent his head in prayer--and came to the words "Grant us wisdom, understanding, and knowledge..."
The words seemed to spring at him from the page. Perhaps G-d would grant him wisdom and understanding so that he would remember every word, and his father would be proud of him. Moshe resolved to try. During the lesson that morning Moshe concentrated on his father's words, "And G-d said, 'Let there be light, and there was light.'" Light. Through the open window, Moshe saw his familiar world. The fountain glistened in the sun, palm and myrtle trees swayed over the patio.
"Moshe!" his father's voice cracked like a whip. "If you don't understand, at least you could look at the holy letters! Can't you follow where I'm pointing?" Moshe shook his head miserably, "I can't."
"You can't because you don't try! Enough! Get out of my sight."
For a moment Moshe could not move. His father's words pierced his heart like a spear. Then he ran. To the very outskirts of the town he ran. He threw himself into the cold, clear water of the river there, reaching with strong strokes into the soothing waves. Then, exhausted, he dropped onto the river bank and dozed off. When he awoke, it was night.
Where should he go now? His father had driven him away. Moshe found himself wandering toward the synagogue. In the shadowy depth of the ark, the Torah scrolls glistened in their silver mantels. Suddenly the cold, hard knot inside his chest loosened, and his eyes filled with tears. "Please G-d!" he whispered. "Give me wisdom! Open my brain and let me understand Your holy Torah so my father can be proud of me! Please, teach me Your Torah!"
One by one he kissed the glowing scrolls, and carefully closed the doors of the ark. Then as a feeling of peace flowed over him, he recited the Shema, curled up on a bench and slept.
Dawn poured through the synagogue window. Had he really slept the whole night in the synagogue? Moshe murmured Modeh Ani, thanking G-d for returning his soul. Then, he realized what he had to do next. He would travel to the Yeshiva in Alisena and learn Torah from his father's teacher--the great Rabbi Yosef Ibn Migash. He would study until he could return home and make his father proud.
Moshe washed his hands, said the morning prayers with feeling, and hurried to the marketplace. The large square was filled with farmers unloading their wagons. "Sir, can you tell me which way is Alisena?" Moshe asked.
The farmer smiled. "That's just where I'm headed, son. You must be going to Yeshiva, little scholar that you are! Hop into my wagon."
The sun had already set when they finally reached Alisena. Inside the Yeshiva rows of men and boys were learning. "What do you want, boy?" said a tall youth smiling down at Moshe. "I, I came to learn Torah with Rabbi Yosef Ibn Migash," he stammered at last. "Come back when you are bar mitzvah. Now your mother must be looking for you." Suddenly a kind voice said, "Bring the boy to me. What is your name, son?"
"I am Moshe, son of Rabbi Maimon from Cordova."
"Ah, my student from Cordova! Your father sent you to learn here?" But the true story came out. When Moshe finished, he felt the lips of the tzaddik on his forehead. "May G-d bless you, my son!" Moshe felt a great weight had been lifted from him, and that something deep and good inside of him was opening up.
Years later he would say that at this very moment, the wells of Torah wisdom were revealed within him.
Excerpted from a forthcoming novel from Hachai Publishing by Rochel Yaffe.
