My slow wits had made me miss the opportunity of shaking a real Jewish hero by the hand. When you go to visit your mother, try to seek him out. As a Catholic there will be plenty for you to talk about.
Mirka sends greetings and invites you to visit us in Paris. We have moved to a new apartment and now live very pleasantly in the vicinity of the Mouffetard Market, a 15-minute walk from the Jardin du Luxembourg.
There will be a room waiting for you, but warn us if you are coming because we often have various people staying.
My very best wishes to you, dear Ewa.
Yours,
Paweł
15. April 1986, Santorini
L
ETTER FROM
E
WA
M
ANUKYAN TO
E
STHER
G
ANTMAN
Dear Esther,
Our plans have been disrupted somewhat because when we flew to Athens, Grisha bumped into a friend of his in the hotel. Syoma is another mathematician and ex-Muscovite and urged us to change our itinerary and sail to Santorini instead of Crete. I was not keen at first, because I at least know something about Crete and had never before heard of Santorini, but then Alex surprised me. He was wildly enthusiastic and said he had read about it being a remnant of doomed Atlantis, so, after wandering around Athens for two days, we got on a boat and seven hours later were in Santorini. I can’t say Athens made any great impression on me. I found it rather disappointing. The ancient history is completely removed from modern life, with odd fragments of the ancient world here and there. There were a couple of pillars immediately in front of our hotel windows but the whole neighborhood was covered with dreadful five-story developments exactly like the one my friend Zoya lives in near the Timiryazev Academy of Agriculture in Moscow. The people, too, seemed to have nothing in common with Homer’s Greeks. An Eastern people, more like Turks than Europeans. It contrasted with Israel, where you have a sense of continuity with the past, and that the old ways of life have not been lost and even the people, their noses, eyes, and voices, remain the same.
That was my initial impression, but when we got to the Santorini islands, they simply took my breath away. The main island is shaped like a narrow sickle with a large bay in the middle, the remains of a volcano crater. It is said not to be completely extinct and to have minor eruptions from time to time, once in 100 years perhaps. We sailed up to sheer cliffs some 400 meters high, on top of which the city of Thira, a lot of little white houses, is perched. That same sheer rock face goes down an enormous depth. Just imagine, this is the inside face of a volcano which erupted 3,500 years ago. The island is a fusion of remnants of the volcano and of the island itself. We have been here three days already and it still quite takes my breath away. It is an enchanting tiny island. We rented a car and drove right round it on our first day.
Yet again I have to admire Grisha. He is knowledgeable about absolutely everything. He explains the geological strata to me and shows me the way they are layered. He spent half a day working something out on paper, complaining at not having brought his computer, and said that it was right that a tidal wave could have have reached Crete and destroyed the Palace of Knossos. I can’t say I saw the need for him to calculate that when it’s in all the guidebooks. You know, I have always loved traveling and now I’m certain that there is no better occupation. It is such a pity you weren’t able to join us. You absolutely must visit Santorini.
You know I prefer an outing to the shops to hiking in mountains and forests, but there is something special about this place. For the first time I have had the feeling of seeing for myself the greatness of the Creator. It’s not something you are aware of in everyday life, but here it’s as if your eyes have been opened. I have not felt it even in Israel where, of course, all the discoveries are about history, which you begin to see as a river whose banks change constantly but which flows imperturbably on. Here, however, nature is so powerful that it rules out any possibility of there being no God. I am not putting that well but I know you will understand what I mean. The hand of the Lord is here and can’t be overlooked. It is the hand of a Creator who has no interest in petty squabbles about what people ought to believe. It is such a pity your husband won’t be able to see this now.
I’m also delighted by my boys, Grisha and Alex. They have climbed every rock. I tend to sit on the balcony and look out, or on the beach. The sand here is volcanic, almost black, but then on another beach it is red or white. It’s magical. My boys have bought lots of books and are learning Greek! Alex says he wants to learn Ancient Greek as well.
Meanwhile, Grisha and I are enjoying something like a honeymoon and all these things taken together are making me happier than I have ever been in my life. I have bought lots of books and postcards, too, and Alex is snapping away with a new camera so you will shortly receive a full report. I lie in the hot midday sunshine when all sane people have gone indoors, but it has taken three days for me to lose that perpetual coldness in my back.
My very best wishes. I’m so sad you didn’t come with us. I am sure that if you were here it would be even better.
Yours,
Ewa
PS. When I think that instead of taking this magical trip I ought really to be sitting with my mother in Haifa and listening to her cursing, I feel a little ashamed, but, I have to admit, not regretful.
16. 1960, Akko
F
ROM
J
ULIEN
S
OMMIER’S DIARY
Someone phoned yesterday evening to ask if I could teach him Arabic as a matter of urgency. I thought wanting to learn Arabic in a hurry was really funny. He was keen to start straight away but I asked him to wait at least until today.
Quite early this morning, an hour before our appointment, there was a knock at the door and I opened it to a monk in the brown cassock of a Carmelite. He was quite short, with big hazel-brown eyes, and he had a smile as bright as the sunshine. Introducing himself as Brother Daniel, he immediately started thanking me for being so splendid in agreeing to teach him.
I had not yet had my breakfast coffee and suggested we might put the lesson on hold a little longer and first have some coffee. Yes, yes, of course! We were talking in Hebrew and he told me he had come to Israel from Poland about a year ago to minister to a small group of Catholics here. The community didn’t have a building of its own but an Arab church had agreed to let them use it for services at certain times.
“They are such lovely people, these Arabs, and I felt that, living in Haifa where there are so many Arab Christians, it was somehow not right not to speak their language. I have been learning languages in a rush all my life, by ear or from a textbook, but Arabic really does need at least an introductory six or eight lessons,” he said cheerfully.
I stared at him in amazement. Was he naive, overconfident, or just plain stupid? When I started learning Arabic, I had my nose in my books for over two years before I began understanding the spoken language, and he thought six or eight lessons would do the trick. I let it pass.
At first I thought he was quite garrulous, but then I realized he had a mild form of the Jerusalem syndrome. This is a state of agitation which affects believers of all faiths when they first come to Israel. In 1947 I myself felt I was walking on coals. My feet were on fire. I can imagine how much more acute that feeling must be for a Jew if I, a Frenchman, had that sense of agitation for several months.