Canterbury, England. Winter 1290.

The darkness seemed thick enough to muffle even voices. Only a thin shaft of light peering out from behind a door broke the completeness of the night. A soft thud, and the door closed against its post, leaving two cold figures alone in the street. For a few minutes, nothing moved. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the shadowy forms made their way down a frost-covered alleyway, walking more from instinct than conscious thought.

Their journey led them through a labyrinth of crowded cobblestone lanes, ending in front of a wall indistinguishable from any other within sight. One of the men grunted as he raised a heavy latch, revealing an opening in the wall and admitting the two into a tiny courtyard. In two steps they came to another wall. This time they knocked on a closed shutter.

Almost before there was time to light a candle inside, a door was opened and the pair was drawn into the cold kitchen of the house.

"Reb Chaim!" came a voice from the far entrance to the front room, which obviously served as a kitchen. "Reb Chaim! And this must be your son Moshe!" The man coming to greet the newcomers was well past his physical prime. His beard hinted at his true age, but the wrinkles and sparkle in his eyes bespoke youthful vigor.

The two men now stood inside the door. Their coats were taken by the young girl who had admitted them. In a moment, the girl had disappeared with the coats somewhere to the back of the tiny house.

"Come in, Reb Chaim." The elderly man fussed to make room for his visitors. His pleasure on seeing them was obvious. "Come in. Please sit here at the table. Have you seen the new Rambam manuscript that was brought to us from France? Did you ever dream that he would have written such letters?" Their host chuckled with delight. "Just wait until my brother-in-law, Yosef from Lincoln sees it, he will never be able to look me in the face again! I've been saying just these things about Moshiach for years, but he would never listen to me!"

The one whom the old man had called Reb Chaim coughed and shifted in his chair. "I am sure that Rebbeinu Yosef will derive great pleasure from the new manuscript. Unfortunately I have not been able to see it for more than a minute, the general demand for it is high now."

"Come now, Reb Chaim, you should realize that you are no longer a young man. Exercise your rights and demand of those children that they give you your due priority. The whole thing will not take you more than an hour anyway, they won't suffer."

"God willing, I'll try to get to it. By the way, does the Rav happen to remember the opinion of the Rif we spoke of - I think it was last Pesach - who learns the machlokos between..."

"...Rebbe Meir and the Chochomim."

"Yes, that one. Well I was thinking..."

The old man's bright face had lit up still further. His fingers rose, as if by themselves, in anticipation of a good Torah idea. Then in a flash his expression changed. His hands fell limply to his lap and his round shoulders became still more rounded.

"I am afraid that we really must save your new thought for later," he said slowly. "There is something else I had wished to discuss with you."

The old rabbi looked toward a dark corner of the room. Reb Chaim and his son followed the gaze and only then noticed a young man standing silently in the shadow. The way he stood, almost cowering behind the oven, made him a strange sight in this house that was usually filled with laughter and light. The man wore a coat, which, while of good quality, didn't properly fit him. The clothes he had on underneath seemed to have only barely withstood a terrible ordeal. His face, partially hidden behind the curved stove pipe, expressed the insecurity he must surely have felt in these new surroundings.

"This is Menachem," the rabbi said softly. "He has just come to us from Gascony." The others looked, not fully understanding the significance of the introduction.

"Menachem," continued the old man, "came from the continent through no choice of his own. Just weeks ago, our own King Edward expelled all the Jews from his continental lands. Most of them simply went to France. Menachem," he paused, glancing again at the young man. "Menachem had no family in France and desired nothing more than to distance himself from his former homeland. The English Channel served the purpose."

"Reb Yakov!" gasped Reb Chaim, his voice choked with both shock and compassion. "Are you saying that all the Jews in Gascony have gone? But how could they have been pushed out, they have lived there for a hundred years!"

"This has not come without warning, Chaim," said the rabbi named Yakov. "We have long known that there were those in the English church, not to mention the King's own mother, who could not tolerate our presence. Since last year's failed attempt to launch a crusade, Edward has been seeking an outlet for his religious fervour. The fact that it happened to be in Gascony and not in England itself is simply a product of Providence."

"Are we safe?" asked Moshe, who now spoke for the first time. "Are we to be next?"

"That is what I called you here to discuss," said the rabbi, facing his friend Reb Chaim. "I think that now might be the time to give serious thought to your Moshe's idea of leaving England, we can have no real inkling when our turn will come."

There was a long silence in the room. As if to buy time, Moshe turned his head to face the side of the room where Menachem stood. "Where is your family, if not in France?" he asked. The young man looked scared and lost in his corner. Since they had come in, he had said nothing at all.

Almost inaudibly, Menachem answered. "All my family was killed as we tried to leave Gascony."

It was obvious that he could say no more. Reb Yakov completed his story. "The Gentiles waited until the family had sold their house at a ridiculously low price and had converted all their possessions into coin. Then, in a fit of religious zeal, the good Christians of his town attacked the Jews and killed dozens before the soldiers could be found to restore order. When it was over, Menachem was all alone in the world."

Menachem stood still on the spot he had taken as his own. His gaze was fixed pointedly at a spot on the floor before him.

There was another stretch of silence. Words would have seemed to intrude on Menachem's mourning. Suddenly, the refugee from Gascony began to violently shake his head from side to side. "Thank you," he said. "But I mustn't allow myself the luxury of this misery. Please, Reb Chaim, let us plan together. Perhaps I can be of assistance to you."

Reb Yakov nodded his head. He obviously approved of the attempt to break out of what could have become an ever-deepening cycle of mourning.

"Moshe," said Reb Yakov, "it seems to have been your idea, why don't you tell us where the plans are now holding."

"These weren't the conditions that I had thought I would be working in," said Moshe. He was, when he was standing, slightly taller than the others in the room. At thirty years, he had both a strong frame suggesting physical power and a bearing that was passive. "We may now face a deadline. Our time may be limited. Still, we have moved far enough along to muster the solid core needed for such a community. I have friends in London who told me as early as Succos that they were fully committed."

"How many are there?" asked Reb Yakov.

"We have at least fifteen families from here," said Reb Chaim, "and five more from Lincoln. From London, I really do not know about whole families, but there are several single men - those young friends of Moshe - who have expressed a strong interest."

"Do you know where you want to go yet?" asked Reb Yakov.

Reb Chaim smiled slightly. "Until recently, we had looked to Europe, perhaps Alsace or Germany. Alas, the way things have been going on the continent, it seems that we would be no better off there than here. We may have no choice but to look further afield."

"Where?"

Reb Chaim took a deep breath. "I am reluctant to even say the words in company - even in such discreet company. In truth, I am frightened by the very thought of what I am suggesting. But these are unusual times, and old answers may no longer help us."

"You want to go to the Arab lands?" asked Reb Yakov incredulously.

"No, that would be inadvisable even if we could find someone to transport us across to the Moslem world. No, our reckless vision is of a new land. Moshe and I have begun searching for some island or an empty region where we could build our own community, subject to no rule other than that of the Torah."

"To leave civilization entirely! What a thought!" Reb Yakov smiled mischievously. "That Yosef will fall into a deep faint when he hears this. He was never one for new ideas. `To whom will you sell your chometz?' he'll ask; `Who will you lend to with ribis?'" The old rabbi chuckled with pleasure at the thought of seeing his brother-in-law's face when he was told of the plan.

His face a jovial red, Reb Yakov looked back at his guests, a serious look falling over him "The truth is that Yosef is a very sharp man. For all the trouble I cause him, I do respect his opinion greatly - even before I actually hear it.

"And here is a perfect example of the value of Yosef's prudence. If I were to follow my instincts, I would jump up now and kiss each of you on both cheeks. On the surface, the idea has great merit. But age and Yosef have tempered me. What will you do without all the conveniences of civilized life? If you will want to eat meat you will need to do more than go to market Sunday and find a cow or a few chickens just waiting for you. Cattle farming does not start with shechita, you know."

"There are those among us who are experienced at all types of farming," said Moshe.

"That may be true of farming here, in northern Europe. But there are no empty islands in this part of the world. Wherever you will go there will probably be a different kind of soil, different feed for the cattle, even different species of animals. You will need to start fresh, with no natives to teach you the tried methods."

Now Reb Chaim broke in. "And have we had much help from our gentile neighbors in the past? We are an industrious people, I doubt such problems would stop us."

"That may be," said Reb Yakov. "I am only using this as an example. The point is that you will have to be prepared to overcome all manner of obstacles. The creation of new worlds is never easy."

"Is the Rav saying that we should abandon this plan?" asked Reb Chaim, disappointment in his voice. "Don't forget the Rambam in Hilchos Dayos..."

"I am not saying no," interrupted Reb Yakov. "I am just bringing up some of the issues that will have to be dealt with sooner or later. You know, I think that your fear of being caught in a blood-stained England has colored your judgement. You would always have been the one to stand firmly with Yosef in these matters - usually against me. What happened to your normally careful nature?"

"Rebbe," Moshe broke in, "these are unusual times. We must act with decision."

Reb Yakov softened his tone. "Of course you are right. I am only trying to be constructive." he turned again to Reb Chaim. "What was that Rambam you were about to quote?"

"The Halacha about moving away from evil people, even, if necessary, into a wilderness..."

"Yes. Quite. You know, I always wondered if the Rambam came to that Halacha from the Gemara in Kesubos: `A man's manners should always be mixed with those of the people...'"

"But that is just the opposite!"

"Yes, yes, but it is the understanding behind... No, we must leave that also for another time. We

have more pressing issues to deal with."

"Have you found such a place to go to?" asked Menachem, his interest growing.

"Not really," answered Reb Chaim. "But we have spoken to foreign sailors at port in Rochester who told us that there should be no problem finding islands to fit our needs. They claim that there is so much trade competition between the Venetians and Genoans that there is something new being discovered nearly every year."

"Could you convince enough people to set out with you to an unknown destination?"

"Well, first of all, we expect that by the time we will be ready to embark, the destination will no longer be unknown. Second, the conditions in England are grave enough to themselves provide much of the inspiration. We don't think that we will have to spend much time and energy convincing settlers."

"That may be," said Menachem slowly, "but who is to say that they will be making the right decision? I have personal experience with panicked escapes. To be honest, I have no idea what possessed me to come to England after the massacre. After all, the king who expelled us from Gascony is also the king of England. And besides, the history of England has at least as much Jewish blood spilt over its pages as any place in Europe. Just think of the York tragedy one hundred years ago. Was my move the right one? All I know is that this is where God led me."

"A frightened mind is a clouded one," mused Reb Yakov. Menachem nodded.

"What can we do?" asked Moshe. He was becoming excited. "We can't take away the fear that exists, yet we must act. We have no choice but to trust our senses. I have the will and the strong supporters it will take to build a new land for us. The obstacles waiting for us are there to be surmounted by our own hard work."

Reb Chaim looked toward his son. Years of constant book-study under shaking lamps and candles had left the old scholar markedly short-sighted. To better see his son's expression, he had to lean far over the table until only a foot or two separated them. Moshe's tone had somehow unsettled his father.

Reb Yakov loudly cleared his throat and spoke. "Really, we do not need to come to a conclusion tonight. I only asked you to come so I could demonstrate the urgency of the situation. If we are to do anything, it will have to be soon. Now, what about that Rif you mentioned...."

The conversation continued for a short while. When it was over, Reb Chaim and his son rose to go. Reb Yakov wandered out of the kitchen to find his guests' coats. The granddaughter who had taken them was by now fast asleep.

It was well past midnight when the two men returned to Moshe's house. There, Reb Chaim would remain for the night, not wanting to chance waking his wife.

"What did Rebbeinu Yakov say to you?" Moshe's wife asked when they arrived home.

"He told us some very bad news," answered Moshe. "The Jews of Gascony have been expelled. All of them."

Rivka caught her breath. She said nothing, but the men knew that she understood the implications of the news. They had discussed these matters many times before.

The day that Rivka had dreaded for so long had finally come. There lay ahead a terrible decision whose consequences bore down upon her shoulders like a yoke on a plough horse. Even if her voice would not be heard in the community at large, Rivka knew that if she strongly opposed the plan, neither her husband nor his father would actively pursue it. And they were the cornerstones of the whole project. The idea might well die right here in her kitchen.

"We have, say, forty families altogether," she said, almost to herself. The young woman paused, not at all convinced that she could live with what was being proposed. "Is it possible to survive in a wilderness with just three hundred people?"

"And what are our alternatives?" her husband replied. "Should we go back to France? How many Jews are left there to greet us? Just tonight, Rebbeinu Yakov described the devastation left in the wake of the last Crusades and how Paris is still empty of its Jews and Flanders is no better. There is no safe place left for us on the continent; no country where we can be sure of a home for more than a few years. How long can we continue paying the extra taxes and supplying `gifts' to the King, the priests and every other noble who comes around with his hand out?"

Now Reb Chaim joined in. He had obviously overcome his doubts and was trying to sway an undecided mind. "No, I now think that our Moshe is right. We have to break away from Europe, it has been nothing but pain and bloodshed for us."

"Rebainu Yakov mentioned one other thing," Moshe added. "He said that at court there had been more talk of expulsion. The monks have threatened that if something isn't done soon to curb the `rapacious Jews', they'll be unable to restrain the masses. Of course, the church itself has been having trouble making payments on the loans she owes us. No one would lose if we were to leave suddenly. So it could well be that we will have to go soon anyway. Why shouldn't we do it on our own terms, at our own time?"

"Look," the older man added, "we can't even walk out at night on our own Jewstreet without fear of being dragged down and beaten by drunken soldiers. Life wouldn't be easy in a new land, but at least we would be free to serve God without always looking over our shoulders to see which restrictions and massacres are about to strike us. Rivka, we know it's hard for you to picture yourself and the children moving, but you really do understand what we are saying. Please trust us."

There were a few moments of silence while the men waited for their arguments to sink in. In a quiet voice, almost inaudible, Rivka said one word: "Where?"

"Father and I contacted some Italian sailors on our trip to Rochester last week," answered Moshe. "It seems that they might be willing to take us out of the country. For a price, they'll keep it unofficial. Trying to obtain a travel license from the diocese of London might make life difficult for those we leave behind."

"But then where?" Rivka asked again.

"We discussed various possibilities with the Italian master," said Moshe. "He suggested one of the Greek Islands, or perhaps some recently charted islands off the west coast of Africa. These things will all be dealt with at a gathering of those interested in going. We would need to charter ships to get us to our new home, provisions for the trip, `gratuities', supplies...."

"And seforim," interjected his father.

"And seforim," Moshe agreed. "All this will require a good sum of money. We must arrange for an accounting of our assets. There is much to do."

"When?" asked his wife.

"Then you agree?" exclaimed Moshe. She nodded slowly. "We hope immediately after Pesach. We must act as soon as possible so as not to lose the advantage of time."

With this, Moshe put his hands on the table and apologetically got up to leave the room. Before he could get too far his father reached out and gently held his wrist.

"We haven't yet learned our regular seder."

"Oh!"

Both moved toward the bookshelf, already deeply engrossed in a Torah discussion as if they had had just a momentary break since their last session.

"Yeush shelo midaas...."

"Abaya...."

"Truma bitaos...."

Moshe's wife looked on. She never ceased to be amazed at how the exhaustion of a hard day would simply slip away as her husband, usually with his father, would leave the troubled shores of England and enter the kingdom of Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Eliezer, Abaya and Rova.

Reb Chaim, Moshe's father, had grown up in France, and after a promising childhood had studied in one of that country's great yeshivos. Soon after his marriage, he had been lured to the growing Jewish community of England by both the promise of opportunities for honest trade, and the hope that this island would prove to be a stable haven within which to raise his family. It didn't take long for the unfair taxes, restrictive "Jew-laws" and hatred of the English church and nobility to disillusion Reb Chaim on the first count. Now, it seemed, even the hope of a peaceful place to live was just a distant dream.

Reb Chaim's love for Torah-study was one thing, however, which could not be taken away from him. Throughout the worst persecutions, when life offered endless problems and no real answers, there was always strength and counsel to be had in a Gemara.

As a cold winter dawn rolled toward Canterbury, two figures, not quite of this world, sat singing to each other the ancient song of the Jewish sages.



CHAPTER TWO

The Canterbury shul was witness to an unusual gathering one night that winter. Reb Chaim and Reb Yakov sat before the Aron Hakodesh, and representatives from nearly every Jewish community in England sat or stood around them.

"...I am sure that this is not a new idea to you," Reb Chaim was saying, "but now our country seems to have entered a new stage in its official relations with the Jews; one that makes the idea all the more relevant. Our days here in this land may be numbered.

"Rebbeinu Yakov has advised me that it is now high time to begin serious discussions about our future lives. He is basing his opinion on more than just the tragedy of the recent expulsion in Gascony, but on information he has received of proceedings in the Royal court. What he has heard, has made him extremely uneasy." Reb Chaim paused for a moment to see if there was any need to elaborate. A quick glance at the attentive faces turned toward him, showed him that the message was having no problem getting through.

He continued. "The most important question we face if we are to leave England, is `where shall we go'? Many European countries would not consider giving us passage through their territory, let alone room to live. Even those who might let us in now - for whatever financial gain they think there is to be had - offer us no guaranty that our grace will last any length of time. Remember, that it was not long ago that our French brothers were allowed to live in Paris, only to be expelled within one year. At best, the Christian nations' tolerance for our people is precarious.

"In the course of our private discussions on the subject, we decided to contact certain foreign traders in the port of Rochester. We received two suggestions that we considered serious possibilities.

"I will first describe the destination we feel is our best choice. In speaking with navigators, we have confirmed the existence of a system of islands off the west coast of Africa. Some of these islands are inhabited by Berbers, others are, to the best of our knowledge, empty. Most are suitable for cattle raising and crop farming. Wheat, other grains, grapes and various vegetables are, in one location or another, viable, so all our basic needs could be met by our own industry.

"The major problem would be contact with the outside world. Ships are infrequent, and the Berbers, who in that part of the world are called Gaunches, are unpredictable and possessive. Even with all that, we feel that we can expect to find no better combination of resources and freedom from oppression. We recommend making one of these islands our new home.

"Still, before making any final decision, we should discuss the alternative. We were made aware of many small islands in the Aegean sea. There would almost certainly be something available there to fit our physical needs. Nevertheless, we are uncomfortable living so near the Greek mainland. Besides the obvious danger of outside domination over our lives, we must be concerned with the effect such a culture might have on our community.

"We, by which I mean Rebbeinu Yakov, myself and a few of our close friends here in Canterbury, recommend steering clear of the Mediterranean area. Still, the final approval must be given by at least most of those who will travel with us before we can begin to prepare definite plans."

"Have these African islands been properly explored yet?" asked one man.

"Do we know whether we can trust the reports of the navigators? Have any of them actually seen the islands? Perhaps we'll arrive and find desert or wild, dangerous natives," added another.

"Is it likely that the islands will be claimed in the future by a major power? We wouldn't stand much of a chance in the face of a French or Italian army."

"As far as the reliability of our information," began Reb Chaim after the barrage of questions had died down, "we have no choice but to do everything we can to seek out the most trustworthy sources and have faith in God for the rest. We're in His Hands.

As to the question of colonization, we feel that the European nations are still many decades away from showing any interest in the islands. When they do, we hope to have sunk deep roots into the land. At the very least, we should by then prove an indispensable aid to anyone trying to exploit the area's resources. If we are fortunate, our presence will simply encourage newcomers to concentrate on another - uninhabited - island in the region."

"The idea is exhilarating," said one young man from Penzance. "The thought of an autonomous Jewish nation after all these years of exile is very attractive, but is it practical? Can we really create a viable community so far from civilization? Do we have enough skilled people among us to overcome the obstacles of daily life in such a wilderness? Will we have reliable shochtim and sofrim?"

Reb Chaim looked at the man and smiled. "What do you think?"

He smiled back. "What you are saying is that you know nothing more than I do, and that I can answer the question as well as anyone."

Reb Chaim nodded.

"Which really means that none of us knows what will come of this experiment. Is it right to put our families at risk? Can we take such a chance?"

"The point I am making," said Reb Chaim, "is that none of us ‑ at any time ‑ knows the future. Taking risks is a regular part of life. If, after all our preparations the odds for success are reasonable, then we've done our part. We could now go ahead and trust in HaShem for the rest."

The young man thought a while. "I accept that," he finally said, "but I can already predict what my wife will say when she hears this." There were more than a few grins throughout the room.

Reb Chaim spoke again. "May I assume that there is general agreement to the idea?" Most of the men nodded their heads. "I realize that this does not mean that all of you will be joining us on the trip. Please let the other members of your communities know of the plans and try to tell us about any recruits as soon as possible. I think we can end the meeting now."

As the gathering began to dissolve, one man spoke up from the back of the shul: "Shouldn't we come to a decision regarding a destination now?"

Private conversations stopped and some people moved back to their places. All eyes turned to Reb Chaim, who still stood next to the Aron Hakodesh.

"Actually, there are two reasons why we cannot do that now. One is that we feel it should be the choice of those who will actually make the trip. The men here tonight have no right to make a decision on an issue that will so fundamentally affect the lives of others.

"Second, through our contact with foreign shippers, we have discovered that there may not be ships available and capable of undertaking such a mission. Remember, there probably will be no return cargo for the ships if we choose the Atlantic route. There is a good chance that we will have to adapt our decision to the availability of transport."

When there was no one who rose to pursue the issue, the meeting ended. The men broke off into smaller groups to take full advantage of a rare opportunity. Here were assembled Jews, many of them scholars of renown, from all corners of the Kingdom. How could such a gathering end without an exchange of Torah ideas?

For hours after finishing the official business, the joyous sounds of Torah-debate could be clearly heard from the small shul in Canterbury.



Over the next weeks, one or two at a time, they contacted Reb Chaim. By Purim, there were eighty families, more than three hundred souls who were fully committed to the trip.

In the end, however, Reb Chaim's suspicions proved correct. No ships could be found in any of England's major ports whose masters were willing to risk a journey to the Canary Islands. It seemed that their decision might have been made for them. Reluctantly, Reb Chaim began to resign himself to the prospect of adapting the community's structure to life on the Greek Islands.

A committee was appointed to find suitable ships and to strike a deal for their charter to the Mediterranean. The expense would be enormous; made even greater by the fact that Jews always ran up against "hidden taxes" in their business dealings. There was a definite price that accompanied the privilege of negotiating with Christians in Medieval Europe.

It was not until they had virtually come to an arrangement with a firm of Italians, that the African plan was reborn.

"Why don't you charter ships to Genoa?" asked the Italian master. "There is a much wider choice of transport there, and many more sailors who would be willing to take chances. The fact that your lords, the leaders of the English Church, have no influence in Genoa, would only help your chances; believe me, in Genoa, no one will care much what you do. And even if you do not find what you are looking for, you would not have been taken much out of your way, it is only a short trip from Italy to Greece."

Word was spread of the new possibility, and the change in plan was agreed to by the participants.



Great stacks of lead, tin and hides; sailors from half a dozen nations mingling with merchants and monks; the cries of hundreds of seagulls, sometimes blending in with, and sometimes being swallowed by the crash of crates and call of beasts of burden. This was the Thirteenth Century dock of Rochester. One of the most important gateways for people and goods into and out of the rapidly expanding Kingdom of England.

In the middle of this tumult, on a spring day in 1290, stood a crowd of some four hundred Jews. Each stood next to his baggage, livestock and dreams. To the edge of the crowd stood Reb Chaim and his son. Just a few feet away from them, the master of the Italian ships was arguing loudly with a monk.

"...Without a license?" screamed the monk, switching every now and then between English, German and Latin. "How can four hundred Jews leave England just like that without a license for travel? His Holiness would never hear of it on such short notice."

"And what if His Holiness never finds out?" offered the sailor, in a conciliatory tone. "What if this remains our little secret?"

"Secret? Do you think those Jews can just disappear into a ship one day and not be missed?"

"I've heard that His Holiness has not been the most observant of men in the past few months, particularly since he's been spending so much of his time in France. If you and I were to arrange a little compensation for the diocese in the matter, no one would be a loser."

"When did you acquire title to these Jews?" accused the monk, perhaps thinking to solidify his bargaining position. "I hear that some of them are from London, I wasn't aware of any negotiations involving their rights, and I expect that I should have heard."

The two men walked out of earshot and the rest of their conversation went unheard. After a few minutes, the monk could be seen walking off into town, the Italian now returned to Reb Chaim.

"Everything is arranged," he announced. "We can begin loading your belongings."

"What did that cost us?" asked Reb Chaim. "I'm sure the monk would never have overlooked the license for anything less than its real value - if not more."

"Actually, I convinced him to give of the goodness of his Christian heart...and perhaps the promise of a favor somewhere in the future." The captain now seemed a trifle embarrassed and changed the subject. "Have the men in your group take the heavy boxes to the side of that ship over there. The cattle you can divide among the other two ships. And for heaven's sake, do something about all those children. This whole thing could take twelve hours even without their interference."

The Jews were strangely quiet as the complicated job of loading their worldly goods began. Each family was leaving behind not only the comforts of home, but also the security of being part of civilization. England had been a welcome home to these people, despite the fact that the few thousand Jews who lived there were forced to pay almost as much tax as the millions of Christian citizens.

Now, they were about to embark on a journey whose end was clouded in questions and doubts. Could they possibly survive as a community of Torah observers, virtually cut off from fellow Jews in other lands? Could they survive at all?



"That crate," Reb Chaim was saying, "shall stay in my cabin."

"What does it contain?" asked the Italian captain.

"Many of our volumes of holy matters."

The captain was visibly impressed both to see such a large container of books - a fearfully expensive commodity in those days - and the reverence that the books obviously held for the rabbi.

"I had heard how much your people honor scholarship," he finally said. "But with space as valuable an item as it is on such a voyage, you really have shown rare dedication by allotting so much to your books. Do any other members of your group share your interest?"

"I can honestly say that everyone here shares my interest. These are not even my books, they actually belong to the various Jewish communities of England. Each of them was donated to our group because everyone understands that there will be no replacing them where we are going. These books and the words and spirit within them, are the very lifeblood of our nation. There will be at least one man whose sole responsibility it will be to accurately copy each of these volumes."

"What are they?" asked the captain. "Are they all Bibles?"

"Some are," answered Reb Chaim patiently. He wasn't enjoying the conversation, but he felt it was important to be at least civil; after all, this man had already served them well more than once. "By far the greatest number of books makes up our Talmud; the body of law and morality which complements the Bible. In addition, we have the works of more recent authorities, for instance Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, from Spain."

When there was silence, the Italian asked another question. "Why is it that no nation wants your people?" He paused for a moment. "You know, my father was a sailor too. He once transported hundreds of rabbis from France to the Holy Land. They too were hounded; spat out from their host country like bad meat. Even the Arabs are not so charitable toward you as they once were. What have you done to be so despised?"

Reb Chaim felt that the sailor was asking a sincere question, so he thought a moment before answering. "Our destiny is to be a nation apart," he began. "We cannot afford to be engulfed by any other people. Either we can erect our own barriers or wait for our God - who is a jealous God - to build them for us. It seems that we have been in need of a little assistance. Through the hatred of the nations, a wall has been built that is nearly impossible to breach."

The captain hesitated for a moment before asking his next question. "It is said that your people are vicious usurers, and that you take special delight in harassing the church whenever she falls into your debt. Is this true? Could this be a cause for the hatred?"

"Why are we usurers? Could it be because we have been denied access to any other livelihood? You know in England - not to mention France, Flanders and Germany - we are virtually excluded from entering the trade guilds. Recently, the King prohibited us from owning farmland. We must have some way to pay the huge taxes levied on us for the privilege of breathing the good Christian air of England. And we have to be able to feed our families. How would you do it?

"And as far as being "vicious" at our business, I can't speak for all Jews, but those of my family who engage in money‑lending do so with the utmost integrity and compassion. Indeed, there are those of our Rabbis who maintain that were the world a different place and the Jews had alternate sources of income, we wouldn't be allowed to lend to Gentiles with interest. The less contact we have with outsiders, the stronger are our barriers."

"Those monks have the vilest things to say about you," mused the captain. "Yet I see that you have treated me well so far in our venture. I will withhold judgement for now. Perhaps you'll yet win a friend of this hardened Italian.

Meanwhile, we must see to the loading, otherwise that old drunken Bishop may come back to England and find you here and cook you for his supper."



The barefooted seamen were heaving packages as if they already felt a good sailing wind coming on and were afraid to miss it. Reluctant cows and oxen were dragged up narrow ramps and then sent below decks, not to see the light of day for weeks. In a matter of hours, the belongings of the Jewish group had disappeared into the depths of the three ships. Now, as night drew closer, the impossible task of satisfying hundreds of travellers in unsatisfactory accommodations began.

The plan was to place all the men and older boys nearest to the deck in each ship to be close if they should be needed by the crew and as a precaution, just in case of trouble. The women and young children were further below. Still, with all the preparation and planning for the trip, nothing worked out quite the way it was supposed to. Somehow, the women of one ship took offense to being placed particularly close to the livestock.

If they could survive the trip, many reasoned, what extra hardships could colonizing a new world bring?



There would be no minyan for mincha that afternoon; it would be suicidal to arrange a mass prayer session right on one of the busiest docks of Christian England. Each man had slipped away, one at a time, to some secluded corner to ask of his Creator those things he felt he needed. It probably never occurred to any one of them to even ask for the right to pray together in public. After all, this was golus, and no Jew could ever forget it.

Still, somewhere beneath the fears for the immediate future and the black cloud of a permanent leave‑taking, was the hope that, wherever they might end up, perhaps it would be a place of real freedom; freedom such as hadn't been tasted by their people for hundreds of years.



Early the next morning, the ships' lines were cast. One after the other, the three vessels moved out of the Rochester harbor, down the River Medway toward the Thames Estuary and out into the open sea. From the deck of the lead ship, Reb Chaim and a few of the leaders of the newly born kehilla, gazed back at their old home.

"Let this be our last nostalgic indulgence," said Reb Yomtov softly. He had been one of the Dayanim in London. "From now on we must look only ahead. In our new land, wherever it will be, we must not attempt to recreate the England of our memories and dreams. If we try, we will surely fail. Rather, we have to strive to build a home where God has a place, where the only factor of importance in our decisions is His Will. Our first concerns must be the teaching of Torah to our children and the continued study of it by ourselves."

Reb Yomtov looked around to see who had been listening to his spoken thoughts. When he saw that he had the attention of the community's leaders, he continued. "I know that this has not been the custom in our lands, but I feel that ours is a situation that requires a change. I think that we should institute a system whereby the community as a whole undertakes to support those scholars most outstanding in their understanding of Halacha. It is just in a smaller group such as ours, that allowing the burden of Torah teaching to rest solely on the shoulders of each individual is risky. Who knows how long a kehilla - cut off from the rest of the world - can remain loyal to the mitzvos without being guaranteed leaders who are talmiday chochomim?"

"It's not really a new idea," added Reb Chaim, "after all, in the times of the Gemara, a town wasn't considered important unless it had a core of ten men fully devoted to Torah learning. I don't feel that this would be at all a controversial issue."

No one expressed any dissent to Reb Yomtov's idea. Then Reb Efraim, the youngest of the group, but a scholar of great potential, spoke up. "I am bothered about the shape our new community will take. How are decisions going to be made? Is it wise to leave the day to day running of the kehilla in the hands of scholars? Shouldn't there be someone whose sole responsibility it would be to manage the public affairs of the community?"

England was now just a strip of land on the horizon, and the shores of Normandy beckoned. A stiff wind blew through the bones of those standing on the deck. Reb Chaim felt suddenly lonely under the mantle of leadership. When Reb Yakov had announced that he was too old and weak to join the travellers, everyone had looked immediately to Reb Chaim for guidance. Now he felt the full weight of responsibility for the lives of these four hundred Jews. But there was no one for Reb Chaim to turn to for help except HaShem Himself.

"These are subjects worth clarifying," Reb Chaim finally said. "Still, no one of us has the power to decide these issues without first consulting the members of the kehilla. Many of our brothers are quite well learned and have valid opinions of their own, and anyway, each of them is a volunteer, and is therefore at least as responsible for his destiny as we are. It could well be that in the end, the people will independently choose to subject themselves to the decisions of the Torah scholars in some way or form. Until then, however, we must be careful not to impose our ideas on them."

"But Reb Efraim has a point," protested Reb Yomtov. "The Gemara does advise a man not to live in a city whose leaders are Torah scholars. Can we concentrate on the needs of the people?"

"Doesn't that involve a risk?" asked Reb Chaim. "Suppose those who, in the end, hold power move away from Torah?"

"Don't we have a loyal enough group for you?"

"Perhaps," answered Reb Chaim, his voice subdued, "but what about the future...?"

"Reb Chaim," said Reb Yomtov quickly. "I did not mean to attack you personally, I just felt that you might be showing too much concern in this issue. You must know, though, that your opinion carries the most weight among us. Even if we might disagree from time to time."

"I know," said Reb Chaim. "Anyway, the coming weeks will bring many opportunities for us to speak and learn together." He began to move toward his quarters. "Right now I have to go search for my Moshe. Good day."



The wind had picked up, lending a gentle roll to the ship's deck. Reb Chaim carefully negotiated his way along the narrow passageways of the lower decks. It wasn't long before he reached the edge of a group of young men engaged in serious conversation. In the middle of the crowd was Moshe. With men leaning on both sides of the passage, bracing themselves against the movement of the ship, Moshe couldn't immediately squeeze through, but he broke off his conversation right away.

"What can I do for you."

"You are a practical man, I wanted to hear what you think of our future," said Reb Chaim with a nod to the others whose conversation he had just interrupted. They were already moving away to beyond earshot.

"Do you want me to predict what will become of us? You know I can't do that."

"No, Moshe, I want to hear what you have to say about our destination."

Moshe thought for a moment. "Well, to be honest," he began, "I feel that we should really be staying in the Mediterranean. If we fail, at least we will have people close by to go to for help, we will be within reach of civilization. I don't think you like these ideas," added Moshe with humility in his voice, "but you asked my opinion."

"I asked for your opinion, and I truly want to hear it. Tell me more about the Greek Islands."

"Well, the potential for profitable trade is much greater near Greece. That area of the world is heavily travelled and it would take very little for us to gain a reputation as a good stop along the regular shipping routes. In addition, the islands in the region have a proven productive capability and fertile soil. Going to the middle of the Atlantic, on the other hand, is a gamble. Who knows if our agricultural techniques will work on such foreign soil?

"For these and more reasons, I think that Greece is the logical choice."

Reb Chaim thought silently. Now and then he looked up at his son. He saw before him a handsome man possessed of a full, muscular frame and hands that never seemed to stop moving. If he wasn't gesticulating, Moshe was always busy absentmindedly working with a knife. Over the years, Moshe had produced countless ingenious little devices and tools with hardly a thought. He could be sitting engrossed in a volume of Torah, or be engaged in an energetic argument with a crowd of younger students, but his hands would forever be taken up with something.

The roll of the ship had increased in violence. It was becoming difficult to maintain the concentration needed for a conversation. Coming from all sides of the two men were the noises of a ship at sea. The calls of the seamen above as they prepared for the growing storm and the cries of the children below merged into one claustrophobic symphony.

But Reb Chaim's mind was far away - not even on the conversation. Long ago, he had worried about what influence such strong physical abilities might have on his son's spiritual development. With time, and Moshe's intellectual maturity, the concerns had subsided. But in Reb Chaim's mind, there was always a dark sense of foreboding just over the horizon.

Reb Chaim shook his head. "Aren't you worried about the dangers that might exist on an island so close to Europe?" he asked. "Didn't the Rambam write of how important it is to distance oneself from evil influences? If we had our own island, we could for the first time in a thousand years be able to avoid unnecessary contact with gentiles.

"As for the economic gain we might enjoy living in the Mediterranean, our sages have repeatedly warned us of the dangers of wealth. Perhaps we would be better off in the long run having to work harder for our bread, but thereby avoiding the temptations of affluence. HaShem will provide for us wherever we find ourselves in the end; our job is only to find the place where we can best grow in our avodah."

"There is one decided religious advantage of Greece over the Canaries," said Moshe, almost as an afterthought. "We will be only a week's sea journey away from the Holy Land. We must be careful to establish some escape route."

"You are right," said Reb Chaim, "we must be careful. But we have the right - indeed the obligation - to rely on HaShem to an extent. He will provide us with the means to survive. The important thing is to try to fulfill the words of our Torah as much as is humanly possible. We want the foundation of this community to be built solely on the will of the Torah."

"You have asked my opinion, Father," said Moshe, "so I feel compelled to give it. In my mind, anyone who will take responsibility for the existence of our colony must be ready to examine every possibility. If there is even the slightest potential danger, then another path must be chosen."

Once again, Reb Chaim looked at his son. All he saw in the young man's face was a reflection of the busy hands whose motion continued unchecked below.


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