─ Chapter Nine ─ Reconciliation

― Chapter Nine ―

Reconciliation

Hannah had already been woken up twice by drunk people frolicking on the grassy slope that led down to the Thames.
It was a stuffy August night so she left her balcony door open though to let in some air but her interrupted sleep was a downside. Eventually she got back to sleep and dreamed of Akarsh caressing her cheek with his thumb at Stonehenge. It was a dream she had frequently and wondered if their paths would cross again. This loving fuzzy feeling receded deep into her unconscious as she entered a deeper restful sleep. An hour later just before three am she was woken up by the telephone ringing in the other room.

       ‘Hannah?’

       ‘Yes mum, is everything alright?’

       ‘It’s your father, (sobs) they think he’s had a massive heart attack. I’m at Manchester Royal Infirmary. Oh Hannah, I don’t know what to do. (sobs) His last words to me as we waited for the ambulance to come were “Get Hannah!” I don’t think he’s going to make it Sweetheart.’

       ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can mum.’

       ‘Drive carefully my darling.’

       ‘Is anyone with you?’

       ‘Yes, Martha, from down the road.’

       ‘Good, I should be there by seven.’

       ‘Okay Hannah, you’re such a sweet girl (sobs).’

       ‘Big hugs mum, bye.’

       ‘Bye (sobs) love.’

       Hannah replaced the receiver and froze for a few seconds in shock as a thousand thoughts whizzed around her mind like lightening. Adrenalin kicked in and she rushed from room to room packing, trying to think what to pack, knowing she would forget something and assuring herself that it didn’t matter if she did. She remembered the important things, locked the flat and made her way to her car. A young couple that were sprawled on the grass in a post-coital trance stirred and said “Nice morning for it!” She returned a distracted smile and continued her fast pace to the car park, her keys tightly grasped in her hand. She put a large bag in the boot, got in, closed the door, put the keys in the ignition and then buried her head in her arms on the steering wheel and cried her heart out. Her weeping was interrupted by a tap on the window. “You alright miss?” “Yes officer, I’ve just had some bad news about my father and I’m on my way to see him in hospital.” “Drive carefully, he’ll wait for you.”

       Twenty five minutes later she was approaching the M4/M25 interchange. Hannah had made good time. The kind constable’s words continued to echo in her mind “he’ll wait for you, he’ll wait for you, he’ll wait for you”. Somehow she knew he would though why he wanted to see her after all this time God only knows. God did. Hannah did. She could feel Folina’s presence in the seat next to her. Her hand was on Hanna’s shoulder. She was not distracted but felt profoundly reassured. “He’s waiting for you for a reason Hannah; open your heart.” Something was afoot. She could sense it in every fibre of her being. Energy pulsated within her. She felt alert and very focussed. The journey went fast and she soon found herself pulling into the car park at The Infirmary. After turning off the engine she paused for a little while and took some deep breaths. “For what I am about to receive may the Lord make me truly thankful.” She had no idea why this non-Jewish form of grace popped into her mind but it made her smile. She quickly located her mother and Martha, both looking drawn and haggard in one of the waiting rooms reserved for families experiencing crisis and sadness.

       ‘Oy Yoy Yoy. Darling, did you fly?’

       ‘The roads are not too busy at this time in the morning mum; took me just over three hours.’

       ‘Well, I’m so glad you’re here.’

       ‘How is he?’

       ‘He’s in the cardiac intensive care unit. They said that we should be able to see him shortly.’

       ‘But what about Herem?’

       ‘Tosh, tosh, my dear, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’

       ‘He asked for you Sweet Girl’, Hannah’s mother exclaimed holding her only daughter’s head with both her hands and kissing her forehead.

       ‘We are family, blood is thicker than Herem at times like these.’

       They all sat down and were quiet for a while.

        ‘You can come and see him now’, said a nurse as she approached the three sleep-deprived women.

       ‘I’ll stay here, go... go’, urged Martha.

       Hannah and her mother followed the nurse.

       ‘Don’t worry about the machines and drips, they are there to help him through the next few hours. He is stable and can communicate though he is very tired. We are monitoring him closely and the cardiologist will review him this afternoon to see if he can be moved to the cardiac ward.’

       ‘Thank you my dear, you are very kind’, said Hannah’s mother.

       They approached the bed and sat on chairs either side. His eyes were closed. To Hannah he looked weak and powerless. For once, he was. They each held a hand and looked at each other anxiously.

       He stirred and gazing at them said ‘Don’t look so sad you too, I’m not dead yet!

       There was a strength in his voice that Hannah found unnerving because it revived memories of pointless arguments between them.

       ‘Oh David, you gave us quite a scare.’ She kissed he husband and gave his hand an intimate squeeze.

       ‘Hannah, I did not think you would come. Why should you? After all I have done to you, yet here you are.’

       ‘On angel’s wings Papa.’

       ‘I have been a totally misguided and stupid old fool Hannah. I have hurt you deeply, my only daughter. I was so proud and blind I had forgotten what is important about the Holy life that God, in his mercy, has granted to each of us.’ Tears trickled from his wrinkled eyes onto the lightly starched pillow. I had fallen in love with tradition and forgotten the heart of the Torah. I had turned from listening to God with my heart and soul to the drone of the supposedly learned rabbis. I was obsessed with the word of the law and had become numb to the call of Spirit. To my shame I encouraged the Herem to be imposed. I am not worthy to be called your father. I have caused you so much pain and my actions are unforgiveable. For some reason God has seen fit to spare this bitter and twisted man – for how long I know not. I am glad you have come. It is a beautiful thing that you do to come here. I do not deserve your presence.’

       ‘Father, I can’t deny that I have had bitter thoughts towards you. Your reasoning for cutting me off was cruel. I had no idea how you would be. I did not come to see you. I came for mum. She has shown me love and compassion. You have shown me religious bigotry. Your actions are unforgiveable. They are unforgiveable for a forgiveness that is motivated by the ego, but for a famous Jew who was also hated he said “Father forgive them for they know not what they do.” In the midst of pain a holy forgiveness wells up within the heart of God, within me. I forgive you Father.’ Hannah leaned towards him and looked him in the eye and said ‘I forgive you Father’ again before wiping his brow with her hand and kissing his forehead.

       Hannah’s mother was in bits. He looked to his wife, ‘Oh my darling, it is not only to Hannah that I beg forgiveness. It is to you too. You know me better than I know myself. If I make it out of here there is much we have to talk about. Things have to change. I have to change. You cradled me in my pain. My chest was squeezed in God’s vice and my life was draining away. I was ready to die but, somewhere deep inside me I knew that I would not, not yet. I began to feel the impact of my wrongdoing towards you both. I’ll tell you another time what I saw and heard. The process of restoration and renewal is only just beginning. There, I have said it. I have started to say it. Go home you two. Rest and refresh yourselves. The nurse approacheth,’ he croaked with an almost cheeky grin.

       ‘Time for you to rest Mr Portnoy.’

       ‘Yes I know and these two beautiful ladies need some time alone, some food and some rest.’

       ‘See you later Papa.’

       ‘Bye my love, good to have you back,’ said her mother.

       They embraced and then Hannah and her mother left the unit.

       Martha was relieved by their news and happy to hand over the baton of care to Hannah for her mother.’        

       ‘Bless you Martha. You are my constant rock. My dearest friend.’

       ‘Look after her Hannah, she is precious.’

       ‘I will Martha, thank you for everything.’

       ‘It’s nothing ladies, you are family. My beautiful Bubbalas! Zen ir bald!’

       ‘Shalom.’

       ‘Shalom.’

       Hannah drove her mother to the family home in Prestwich. They had quiet, thoughtful conversation during the short journey. As they went passed Victoria Station and into Bury New Road Hannah noticed the scaffolding at Strangeways Prison.

          ‘Is it right mum,’ she said, ‘that it’s going to cost more then fifty million pounds to repair Strangeways?’

       ‘Yes, it was the longest disturbance in English penal history. Mind you, those poor devils were locked up for twenty three hours a day so it was a bomb waiting to go off for years. Many people from within and outside of the Prison Service warned the Government but they did not listen. The smaller circle of wings inside the walls was the Borstal Allocation Centre with a tunnel through to the chapel in the adult prison where the riot started. I remember the lads in their brown jackets and trousers when I worked there as a volunteer serving tea during visiting hours. I know they had done wrong but they looked so frightened behind their bravado much of the time. The riot started on April fools’ day and went on for twenty five days. Our family friend Lord Justice Wolfe with Judge Tumin are conducting an enquiry into this and other riots right now. It takes a great Jew to dig deep to discover the root causes of such awful events.’

       Hannah smiled and remembered with fondness when Uncle Harry, as Lord Wolfe was referred to, would drop by for tea. He always gave her his full attention in stark contrast to her father. He was one of her heroes, so if anyone could reveal what actually happened at Strangeways and provide a thorough, no holes-barred, analysis of the causes it was him. She decided she would follow his enquiry closely.

       They pulled into the drive of a large 1930s detached four bedroom house. Its front hedges were neatly clipped as were the edges around the recently mown front and rear lawns. It was more than ten years since Hannah had been in the house and it did not feel like home. She went to her room and it was as she remembered it; nothing appeared to have been touched though it was, of course, meticulously clean. She laid her things on the bed and went downstairs to the kitchen where her mum was sat at the table, crying. She put her arms around her, rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and said nothing.

       After sleeping for a few hours Hannah drove them back to the hospital. Her father was sat up in bed, less drips present and had some colour back in his cheeks.

       ‘Gosh Papa, you are looking better.’

       ‘I’m feeling it, thank God, I should be moved to the cardiac ward tomorrow – no beds until then.’

       ‘That’s good news my love,’ said Hannah’s mother in a relieved voice.

       ‘I meant every word I said to you this morning Hannah.’

       ‘I know Papa, I could see it in your eyes, ‘for now just concentrate on getting well will you.’

       His eyes welled up as he reached out to hold both their hands.

       For the next three weeks their lives revolved around visits to the hospital. Hannah’s father was moved to a cardiac unit where they did exhaustive tests. He had experienced a massive heart attack and there was considerable damage to the heart that required urgent triple by-pass surgery. This took place five days after his admission, a week in intensive care followed by a further ten days in the cardiac unit. He pulled through and was becoming stronger day by day.

       Hannah and her mother had a surprise visit at home two days after the surgery. Hannah was reading a Sufi book about the transformation of the heart by The Divine when the doorbell rang.

       ‘I’ll go mum.’

       ‘Uncle Harry!’

       They hugged warmly on the door step.

       ‘Look at you, a beautiful woman. Author and maker of peace. Shalom! Shalom!’

       ‘Mum, it’s Uncle Harry!’

       ‘Come in, come in – don’t leave him on the doorstep Hannah.’

       ‘Sorry, I am too excited for words!’

       Lord Wolfe and Hannah’s mother kissed and hugged and then they all sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. That is the place real talking was done. It was the heart of the home. It is the heart of every Jewish home. The place of provision and often a food factory for various religious events.

       ‘I had to come, David is my friend, you are family. God has given him a huge wake-up call. You know, he is one of the stubbornest men I have had the pleasure to know. He has done you deep wrong Hannah and when he comes home he has much to put right.’

       ‘You’ll stay for lunch,’ asked Hannah’s mother, though it was more of a command than a question.

       ‘Of course, how could I refuse your wonderful cooking.’

       ‘Hey, it will not be much, but it will be tasty.’

       It was a very tasty, very Jewish and very filling lunch. After the washing up, with Uncle Harry, wearing a very fetching apron drying up and Hannah putting away, Hannah’s mother excused herself saying she needed to lie down for a while; she knew they needed to talk. Lord Wolfe and Hannah remained in the kitchen and sat either side of the breakfast bar.

       ‘You have your work cut out with the Strangeways enquiry eh?’

       ‘Yes, Judge Tumin and I have decided to write to every prisoner and prison officer in England and Wales to ask some specific questions. It should never have happened. I have done several enquiries and, I must confess, to becoming a tad cynical with governments, whatever political colour they are. We investigate thoroughly, with earnest objectivity and make recommendations that are rarely implemented. The public can be forgiven for their lack of trust in the executive. For us in the judiciary we are totally independent though, at times, politicians attempt to threaten our judicial independence; it’s vital to our constitution so we defend it with great tenacity. The riot at Strangeways started in the chapel. Noel Proctor, the chaplain, is a remarkable spiritual man. The chapel would be a sea of blue and brown – over five hundred adult and young prisoners. It would be full every Sunday. He preached sense. He is a compassionate man and lived the Gospel behind bars. Of course cynics would say the prisoners just wanted to get out of their cells; who wouldn’t if you were locked up for twenty three hours a day with two other people in a cell built for two! But they actually enjoyed the services, whether they believed in God or not. Noel was Chapliain to the whole prison too and he ministered to the pastoral needs of the staff and their families with tact and sensitivity. It was his calling. The words of Christ were written in his soul: “I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.” He knew that if there ever was a riot it would likely start in the chapel. He prayed that it would never happen. Sadly, it did.’

       ‘I would love to meet him, he sounds like an amazing person. I know what you mean about the lack of political will to doing what is right. I have had countless meetings with politicians and religious leaders. Their positions seem so fixed in the hardest of stone it’s almost impossible to see a way to peace; yet I believe it will come. I’m playing a tiny part in it all.’

       ‘Not so tiny from what I hear Hannah.’

       ‘What do you mean.’

       ‘An old chap like me has access to all sorts of people, ministers of state across the world, religious leaders from different faiths, unknown noisy and quiet revolutionaries who are doing so much good. I can help you if you like.’

       ‘Of course Uncle Harry, that would be wonderful.’

       ‘Your father has access to some people that I do not, are you aware of that?’

       ‘No.’

       ‘When he is well enough you two will go on a journey of profound reconciliation, together. This goes way beyond Herem my dear, you will see. It is a reconciliation of the heart. It is a transformation of the heart.’

       ‘How did you know?’

       ‘I can see the book over there. It is a book full of wisdom but takes you beyond the words into a mystical journey of consuming love.’

       ‘How wonderful, a kindred spirit.’

       ‘Eleanor Goodheart has been a close friend of mine for many years. I am a staunch supporter and advocate of Castlethorpe.’

       Hannah was flabbergasted and could hardly contain her joy and astonishment.

       ‘You are one dark horse, I love you Uncle Harry!’

       She hugged him.

       ‘I have to go soon I can see my driver is getting restless, but there are still some things to say. I have followed you closely since you were a child. Hannah, you were destined to do what you are now doing. Your mother told me about meeting Eleanor on a train and your conversation in Richmond Park. These coincidences are very important on the spiritual path. I have read and re-read your books. I wept as I watched you speak at the United nations. That’s my Hannah and I breathed deeply with pride at the influence you had and will continue to have. As William Cowper penned in his hymn: “God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform.” Help will come to you along this path you tread in many different guises at just the right moment. We will meet again Hannah. Say bye to your mother – look after her. She has her own reconciliation journey with your father ahead of her. He’s a daft ol’ bugger but he has a heart, you’ll see. I must go, I have a meeting with the soon to be retiring Principal of Castlethorpe, he said with a cheeky smile.

       He held both her hands in his, hugged he and then left. Hannah sat quietly and treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart, just like a new mother had done over two thousand years ago.

*

       A few days before her father’s discharge Hannah was with her mother at the hospital. Sensing she wanted some time alone with her father Hannah said she would go for a walk in a nearby park and get some lunch.

       She found a welcoming café near the Infirmary and settled down near the window watching the world pass by as she stirred her coffee. She did not notice a slim, good-looking man take a seat opposite her. He took out his tingsha bells and gave them a very soft ting.

       Hannah was taken aback.

       ‘Akarsh! What are you doing here?’

       ‘Drinking pineapple juice, and you?’

       ‘It’s a long story.’

       ‘I have time.’

       ‘No, you first.’

       ‘I have a contract with the Infirmary about installing some special experimental diagnostic software in some new computers they have purchased. I have been here a week and will be for a couple more weeks by the look of things.’

       ‘Sounds fascinating.’

       Hannah’s heart was beating faster than usual. She blushed. Akarsh touched her cheek with his thumb like he had done eight years before at Stonehenge.

       ‘You are beautiful Hannah, and now I most apologise for being so forward.’

       ‘No need Akarsh, your tender touch comes from your heart.’

       Hannah told him what had happened to her father and how a journey of reconciliation had begun. They talked for two hours before realising the time.

       ‘Gosh, mum will be wondering where I am. I better get back. Can we meet later?

       ‘How about seven at The Iron Gate near St Ann’s Church?’

       Hannah giggled and said ‘we have a date.’

       ‘We do indeed.’

       Hannah entered the cardiac unit and greeted her parents.

       ‘That was a long lunch Hannah, you look flushed, been walking in the wind?’

*

       Akarsh arrived at six fifty pm and found a table outside in the corner of the patio. Jorge suddenly popped into his mind so he calmed himself and sent Jorge energy. “Thanks Akarsh, I needed that” resonated throughout his mind. He knew that evening would be the time to talk about telepathic links and Kabbalah with Hannah.

       It was a very warm summer’s evening. In fact temperatures as high as ninety five degrees had been recorded in Oldham so 1990 was set to break records. More heat of a different kind was being felt by Great Britain’s Prime Minister and by the end of November the Iron Lady would be forced to resign with a tearful farewell from number 10.

       Hannah arrived at seven pm, they hugged naturally and sat down. Hannah pulled out a plain light blue silk fan and cooled herself.

       ‘Phew, it’s another hot one! The Infirmary has a good air conditioning system, thank goodness.’      

       ‘What would you like?’

       ‘D’ya know, I’d love a proper Pimm’s with all the bits and lots of ice please, like they do at Wimbledon.’

       ‘Coming up.’

       He returned a few minutes later and presented Hannah with her proper Pimm’s.

       ‘Now that is a work of pure art. Seems a shame to drink it.’

       ‘It is wonderful to see you again Hannah.’

       ‘You too Akash. I wonder why we did not connect sooner. After all we have Jorge as a mutual friend.’

       ‘Who knows, the last eight years have been very challenging and taken me into stuff that I had no idea about.’

       ‘Tell me more.’

       ‘I come from a big family – four brothers and three sisters. I’m the second youngest child. Our parents fled from Iran in 1978 and have lived in the UK ever since. They still fear for their lives due to the determined efforts of some fanatical political and fundamentalist extremists. One brother and two sisters are also here. The rest are in Lebanon, Toronto and Israel. I can’t count the number of cousins, uncles and aunties I have!

       I was brought up in a strict Muslim household. At first I hated religion but in my teens I came to love The Divine and gradually started to sift what was real and what was superficial tradition. My mother strictly observed the teachings of our sect but father was open to a more broader interpretation of the Koran and embraced the teachers of many different forms of Islam. This made him unpopular but he refused to be labelled as belonging to only one form. “There is one God, Allah. God is neither male of female. It is the same God. Each person follows a different path, whether they know it or not. Love, joy  and peace are central to all paths.” He was a wise man and I love him to bits.

       Over the years I have witness deep religious hatred and bitterness between Jews, Muslims, Christians, Hindus, Sikhs and Buddhists. A sad blindness appears to fuel such deep-seated antagonism. Yet within them all there is an esoteric thread that preserves the truthful essence of each. I have wept many tears over the murder of family members and friends. I have even considered killing myself as the pain of loss and lives destroyed totally overwhelmed me.’

       He welled up. Hannah touched his arm with affection and attention. He placed his hand on hers and allowed his head to rest on her shoulder. They said nothing for a while. A spiritual and emotional bond was taking root between them. He continued to tell several stories of his travels all over the world – meeting people, researching, asking questions and standing shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of people from different faiths and cultural backgrounds. His father had funded his travels though now he was financially independent due to the successful computing consultancy he had established. The personal computer was on the verge of causing a global revolution and Akarsh was riding the crest of the wave with a very sensible business head on his sexy shoulders.

       Hannah looked into Akarsh’s deep brown eyes with profound respect, wonder and a fair amount of physical lust.

       ‘I fancy you Akarsh.’

       ‘And I fancy you Hannah’

       They had another drink and talked for another hour before agreeing going back to Akarsh’s hotel. The sex was amazing because both of them had developed tantric techniques that deepened the physical pleasure they shared. It was now about eleven thirty pm. Akarsh was out on the balcony smoking a cigarette. Hannah joined him.

       ‘Want one?’ Hannah took a puff of his as a sample.

       ‘Yes please, they don’t assault the throat!’

       ‘That’s why I like them.’

       ‘Wow, you can blow smoke rings, I’m impressed,’ said Akarsh.

       ‘Something I learned from a ninety eight year-old man in Lebanon a few months ago.’

       ‘A lady with many talents as I have just discovered!’

       They giggled with a tinge of shyness.

       ‘Why do cigarettes taste so good after sex?’

       Akarsh offered no answer for a while then said ‘Dunno, they just do.’

       ‘Fancy a walk?’

       ‘You bet, I’m very hungry – how about a pizza?’ suggested Hannah.

       ‘I know this excellent little Italian about fifteen minutes’ walk from here, Pinocchio’s, Pablo, the chef, makes the best pizzas I’ve ever tasted.’

       They showered, restrained themselves, got dressed and headed off for a late night meal. Hannah and prepared her mother about the possibility of her not coming home and agreed they would meet up at the hospital the following day.

       ‘Will they still be open?’

       ‘Sure, they never close before two am.’

       Akarsh was greeted like the prodigal son and then the waiter turned to Hannah and said “And what have you done to be blessed by such a beautiful lady? Avanti! Avanti! We have the perfect table for you both amico.” They settled themselves and then looked at the menu. Thankfully it was air-conditioned to a comfortable temperature. They ordered pizzas and some DOC red wine.

       ‘So, when did you first realize that you had telepathic or psychic connections with other people?’ asked Hannah, playing with her half-full crystal wine goblet.

       ‘About six years ago. I was in Toronto visiting my brother. He lives in a large town house in The Beaches. We were wandering along the boardwalk, looking out at the lake when I could hear a voice inside me saying. “Akarsh, be careful what you say to him. He has changed, you sense it, trust your feelings. He has made friends with some dangerous people. He won’t hurt you but be on your guard.” I knew it was a friend I had met in Jerusalem. I could hear the words inside me as clear as a bell. It was amazing and quite scary but then, on reflection, I realized I had been receiving images, thoughts and single words from different people for some time but did not pay them much attention. This time it was different and, as it turned out, the warning was vital at that very moment. A jogger passed us by and stopped a little further on. She turned around and spoke to my brother in an Arabic dialect I was unfamiliar with. My brother looked upset but would not tell me why. I later discovered he was in deep debt and had become involved with a group of radical Muslims who were prepared to give him money for information about the company he worked for. We have not spoken for a long time. He got into all sorts of trouble.’

       ‘That is amazing.’

       ‘What about you?’

       ‘Well, as you know, I have experienced lots of tense situations and there were several occasions when I heard assuring words and phrases from voices of people I recognised but could not quite place. Every time it helped me to stay composed, alert and to behave in a particular way that diffused tension and prevented anything bad happening. On the way up here I sensed Folina was in the car with me. I felt her touch my shoulder. It was real but when I turned I could not see her.’

       ‘She was there Hannah, fleetingly, but Folina was with you, literally with you. I can’t explain it all yet but I sense we will soon. I think that everything you have told me about other beings, what is happening with The Seven and Castlethorpe is just a small part of what thousands of human beings are experiencing – a quickening of our evolution as human beings. The seven are playing a special part and I sense I am to join you Hannah in your work! Gifts and special abilities, vision are just tools, they help us to evolve. Connecting with other beings used to be normal then it receded. It is returning. We are not alone. Earth is not the only inhabited planet. We are Divine in love with the Divine.

       The esoteric element present in all religious and spiritual traditions is one of the ways that our evolution is accelerating. If it were not for Sufi, Gnostics, Essenes, Zen, Occult, Indigenous peoples, Kabbalah, Theosophy and many others we would be experiencing a spiritual famine right now. They have preserved the truth despite many attempts to suppress them. They now breath new life into people who are genuinely seeking and can accelerate awakening and deepen our love for everything that lives, which is everything, and our desire to serve.’

       ‘Tell me about Kabbalah.’

       ‘Me a Muslim tell you, a Jew, about Kabbalah? In some ways it’s bonkers to say but, for us, right now, its completely okay, isn’t it.’

       ‘Oh yes. I know little about Kabbalah. As a child my mum told me never to get involved with it. It was dark magic. So, fire away hon.’ She giggled that she said “hon” which Akarsh picked up, gave her hand a gentle squeeze and smiled.’

            ‘Okay, here goes. Kabbalah has been described as “The Soul of Judaism” which I’m sure you are aware of. Inside your body breathes a person - soul. Inside the body of Jewish practice breathes an inner wisdom. Just as Jewish practice is received through an unbroken, ancient tradition from the revelation at Sinai, so is its soul. Kabbalah, then, is the received wisdom, the native theology and cosmology of Judaism. Another name for Kabbalah is much more revealing, “Torat ha-Sod.” Commonly, that is mistranslated as “the secret teaching.” The proper translation, however, contains the opposite meaning: “the teaching of the secret.” Kabbalah is not a secret or magic teaching. The secret teaching means that we are trying to hide something from you. The teaching of the secret means that we are trying to teach something to you, to open up and reveal something hidden – within your very soul!

       This is true for all esoteric and mystical elements in religion. Now, you might point out, if the secret is taught, it is no longer a secret. A revealed secret, it would seem, is an oxymoron. That would be so if we were discussing an artificial secret, one that is secret only because it is shrouded in secrecy, because others don’t want you to find out. True secrets, even once taught, explained, illustrated, analysed and integrated into your consciousness, remain just as mysterious as before. No - vastly more mysterious, for as the island of knowledge expands, so too its beach upon the infinite sea of the unknowable. Life teems with such mysteries: What is love? What is mind? What is life? What is existence? How do they come to be? From where do they emerge? What is your soul, the person within your body? You experience all these at every moment. They are you. And yet, the more you gaze upon the depths of their mysteries, the deeper their waters become. The deepest of all secrets are those best known to all, that which we learn as small children, take for granted the rest of our lives, live with daily - and yet never manage to unravel or grasp with our cognitive mind.

       Kabbalah plunges into these secrets and pulls their depths into the open. It provides metaphor, parable, understanding. It shines light and opens our eyes. It inspires and guides us to use this wisdom for healing and growth in everyday life. That is why the experience of learning Kabbalah is one of “Yes! I knew that truth all along! My heart knew, but my mouth was unable to speak it!” The truths of the Kabbalah belong to every sentient being. Yet, most of all, Kabbalah provides a sense of the beyond; the knowledge of that which cannot be known, the wisdom of mystery, the understanding that we do not understand. Kabbalah is the knowledge of wonder.

       The Kabbalah itself is in danger, for once it has lost its integrity, immediately it is no longer “the received wisdom.” It may be wise, it may be beautiful, but it is no longer Kabbalah. That is why, for most of time, Kabbalah was transmitted from teacher to select and trusted student, in utmost confidence. When it was written, the writings were purposely cryptic and arcane, in whispered riddles, parables and darkened allusions. At times, restrictions had to be reaffirmed to censure all but a select few from studying Kabbalah. Only in the past few hundred years have master teachers begun to reveal these truths openly. The Chassidic masters uncovered a light and provided a set of metaphors that allow all to approach that light, bringing the Kabbalah into the domain of even the simplest soul. This also is true of all esoteric threads!

       The thing about teachers and guides can become very fraught. Translating Eastern ideas to Western minds can be problematic. There are cultural barriers to overcome. Yet still, a guide is indispensable, and great care must be taken to preserve the purity of the teachings.

The waters of this spring must be kept pure; they must remain living waters. Who is that guide? How do you know that you are receiving pure waters, straight from the original spring? For one thing, pure water reflects clearly. If the teacher’s life does not reflect their teachings, their waters are impure.

       It’s true that you do not need to be Jewish to imbibe the sweet wine of Kabbalah or to learn its healing paths. But the soul of Kabbalah is unlike a human soul - never can it be ripped from its body, for the marriage of soul and body is complete. Jewish practice and Kabbalah are one. If you are told, “This has nothing to do with Judaism,” you are being told a lie.

       Hannah, you may be able to experience the truth and essence of Kabbalah in a way I never will. I’m not sure but this is a hunch. It may also be true that I may experience the truth and essence of Sufi in a way that you never will. This may also be wrong and that we both experience the Divine and the labels, methods, histories, psychologies and practicalities melt away as we see anew.

       Yes, I have studied Kabbalah for years but what I have said is the most important and it resonates with all mystical and esoteric traditions, however they have evolved. My final word is that personal computers will revolutionise what we know about all these traditions and create a deeper thirst for truth and a diminishing loyalty and alignment with one particular tradition. This technology also creates an increased risk of misinformation so we need more and more people who are gifted with spiritual wisdom and spiritual discernment.’

       ‘Like Val’s work!’ declared Hannah.

       ‘Yes, indeed.’

       Akarsh’s words had flowed effortlessly. They had charged the atmosphere and left Hannah gob-smacked and open-mouthed. A lovely silence settled between them. Hannah knew that the baton had been passed. She collected herself and the raised her glass.

       ‘A toast to esoteric traditions, with all their hidden wisdom and truth. May the ancient schools that preserved them be blessed. May we, the recipients of such truth walk humbly with boldness and Divine love.’

       ‘Cheers Sweetie,’ responded Akarsh with a twinkle in his eyes.

       ‘Can we have the bill please.’

       Akarsh paid and Hannah let him with gladness. They linked hands and walked back to the hotel. Hannah’s thoughts wandered along the paths of reconciliation she would tread with her father and rich memories of close friends in other lands.

       ‘Remind me to tell you about my dear friend Yossi Stern,’ said Hannah.

       ‘Yossi Stern?’

       ‘Yes, dear Yossi.’