AVILA
Avila is a short distance from Salamanca. The hour drive on an excellent highway went by quickly. Rikki and I had lots to talk about in reminiscing about Salamanca and Segovia. I had no idea of what to expect from Avila. The guidebooks, of course, had a brief history of the town. We studied it enroute. We read that after the Reconquista of Castile by Alfonso VI in 1085, he set up a second line of fortifications consisting of Salamanca, Segovia, and Avila, and peopled the area with Catholics from the Asturias in northwestern Spain.
The town received its name from the Knights of Avila who gained fame because they figured prominently in the recapture of Saragossa, Cordoba, Jaen, and Seville in the 12th and 13th centuries. Therefore, the city’s complete name is Avila de los Caballeros – after those horsemen warrior knights. Avila reached its zenith in the 15th century, but shortly thereafter began a long and steady period of decline for two reasons. First of all, because its nobility left the area to join the court of Charles V (Carlos I) in Toledo, and second, because all of its Muslim population was expelled in 1609 resulting in a loss of most of its craftsmen and merchants. The population fell to 2000 people and never quite recovered.
Until recently, its city borders did not extend beyond the medieval walls. Its people have traditionally lived off the sale of two items – woolen blankets and yemas - pastries made from egg yolks.
By the time we had assimilated all of that, we had arrived at the city. From the northwest, the approach is spectacular. Like so many small Spanish enclaves, this one also sat on a mesa surrounded by deep valleys and fertile plains. We stopped at an overlook to take pictures, got back in the car only to stop again and again to see the city from one vantage point after another.
Avila is the only city in Spain with complete and perfect walls that surround it entirely. Large, semi-circular turrets, reaching some 30 feet in height, project out from the wall about every 100 feet making it look like a Hollywood set too perfect to be believable. This 11th century Romanesque construction contains 90 of these towers in a wall whose ramparts extend for over a mile and a half and which includes 9 gates – a good sized medieval city by any standard.
With no small sense of anticipation, we crossed the bridge over the Rio Adaja, entered the city, and drove eastward toward the center of the city where the main gate and the Ayuntamiento, the city hall, were located. There, we found a large square with parking spaces all around it. Although not a Plaza Major, since it was not enclosed all about, this plaza was for the most part surrounded by shops. It had the feel of the closest Spain could come to an outdoor strip mall with a walking park in the middle. We drove around the plaza twice before finding a parking space.
We had already been in Spain for over two weeks, yet this was the first time we had ever seen such a parking arrangement. One parks anywhere in the plaza, then goes to a small blue meter at the mid-point in the block, pays for as much time in five minute increments as one thinks necessary, deposits the requisite amount of pesetas into the machine, and receives a time receipt that mentions the date, area of Avila, and the time that the ticket will expire. This is placed in the car window. One can buy from five minutes to many hours with these advantages – you don't have to return to feed a curbside machine, nor need there be more than one machine for several hundred cars, nor need a parking lot manager open a slot box to see if parkers have paid. It seemed so sensible that I was taken aback that we hadn't figured out a similar system in our city ... or in our country, for that matter. Then again, it’s only 1993, give it time. It’s bound to happen.
Avila is the Safed (Tzefat) of Castile. It has a certain mystical aura about it. Indeed, there are at least four people who lived in the city who left a mark. The first had a profound influence on Judaism, the second was a scoundrel, and the third had a profound influence on Catholicism, and the forth was simply detestable. The first and third had more in common than they knew.
The first was Moses de Leon. Born in Guadalajara, he moved to Avila in 1290 where he wrote some 20 mystical works, two of which are known, HaNefesh, HaChochma (The Soul, The Wisdom) and Shekel HaKodesh (The Sanctuary Shekel). But his fame rests in his association with the most widely known work of Jewish mysticism, the Zohar (Book of Splendor). According to tradition, this mystical midrash on the Torah, which serves as the core of Jewish mysticism, is said to have been written by Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai in 2nd century Palestine. Now, according to Kabbalists, the Zohar was uncovered, discovered ... found in the Holy Land by Nachmanides, a Spanish commentator and Rabbi. (We'll meet him when we get to Barcelona.) Nachmanides sent it to Moses de Leon in Avila for safekeeping. Why Moses de Leon and why Avila for such a valued work, quien sabe?
The Zohar is the seminal work of Kabbalah, coming at the end of a long tradition of mystical writings dating back centuries. The word Kabbalah means that which is received, i.e., knowledge passed down. What knowledge? Knowledge that aides in the search for an immediate awareness of and an intimate connection with the Divine. Kabbalah also attempts to explain the connection between such diverse elements as God and creation, good and evil, as well as the path one must negotiate so as to attain spiritual perfection – to stand as it were in the “Palace,” in the presence of Gd.
In Zohar, we are introduced to the explanation of how a material world can be created by an ethereal force. The known world came to be from a series of emanations deriving from the will of the “Ein Sof” – the Eternal, or that (essence) which is without end. The ten knowable attributes of God (crown, wisdom, understanding, glory, mercy, etc.) operate in the human world, but as pale reflections of the divine attribute ideals. Yet, acts by humans, such as mitzvot, prayer, mishpat (justice), and tzedakah, can have a powerful and salutary influence on the so called upper world. [For more on the topic, see the article in this blog under Lectures entitled “Jewish Mysticism: Part I.” Access the blog here: Beyond Belief]
After de Leon's death, Rabbi Isaac of Acre went to Avila to retrieve the book, but it was nowhere to be found. Yet, the mystical tradition along with the Zohar did re-emerge in the following centuries. Many if not most scholars are convinced that de Leon is the author of the work. Thus, he is the father of modern Jewish mysticism, whose spiritual heirs are the school of mystics in Safed in the 16th century, led briefly there by Ashkenazi Rabbi Isaac Luria, a.k.a. the Holy ARI.
The second Jew of Avila is the least well-known. In 1295, there appeared in this city that had had a Jewish community for several centuries, a man who called himself the “Prophet of Avila.” He must have been quite a spellbinder, because he convinced the Jewish community that he was a messenger from God. On a date announced by him, the community assembled in the synagogue to await the arrival of the Messiah. Surprise! The awaited Messiah did not arrive.
We have no idea what happened to our “prophet,” for he is never mentioned again. But we do know that the Christian community had a good laugh at this exercise in futility. In fact, they maintained that on that very day, as the disappointed Jews returned from the synagogue, crosses mysteriously appeared on the walls of their homes, and many took this as a divine sign and converted. Although the so-called “prophet” has no name, this story has remarkable staying power. Crosses suddenly appearing on walls? It's all a bit much to swallow.
What records there are indicate that in 1303, eight years after the “prophet,” there were still 50 Jewish families in the city. In 1366, their descendants were attacked during a brief riot, no doubt incited by an overly impassionate Easter sermon. Nine years later, in 1375, the community was forced to attend religious disputations between Juan de Valladolid, an apostate, and Moses HaKohn of the town of Tordesillas (which is just south of Valladolid and north of Avila). Such religious disputations were not meant to be fair debates. The Jew was forced to defend his heritage and his community, but was never allowed to denigrate by comparison the teachings of the church or of Christianity in the process. The Jew stood to lose his life if he refused to participate in the debate, and he stood to lose his life if he didn't abide by the ground rules. The other disputant had no such limits. The most the Jew could hope for in such unequal intellectual exhibitions was a draw ... and his breath.
I had to smile at the thought of Juan the apostate being from Valladolid. It vindicated my desire to get out of that town just as soon as we had arrived – bad vibes! As far as Tordesillas is concerned, it is possible that Moses HaKohn was one of only a very few Jews there, for little mention is given the place in Jewish annals. I can not believe that this disputation had much influence. It is not written about in any of the Jewish sources; it is not heralded by the church. Compared to the most famous of such debates – the 1412 Disputation at Tortosa (which is between Valencia and Barcelona on the eastern coast) that lasted over a year between the apostate Geronimo de Santa Fe (in this corner, wearing the black robe) vs. Solomon ben Reuben Bonafed (bearing a troubled mien) – the Disputation at Avila was just a preliminary bout between featherweights.
Of course, the Jewish community did not for long escape with impunity. They also suffered during the riots of 1391 and again at the appearance of the mamzer Vicent Ferrer in 1412. In 1490, the Inquisition established an office in Avila, and put over 100 Conversos to the torch. And to think, Auschwitz is a mere 500 miles and 500 years away. In the history of the Jews, the past and the present often meld. Bigotry is written on a portable floppy disc; hatred is encrypted on a hard drive.
Yet, as in some other cities of Spain, the Jews of Avila did manage to hang on to some life, some sense of community, and to some property throughout the 1400s. The old Juderia was not far from the main gate in the northeast corner of the city, and the new Juderia was in the southwest corner of the city close by the bridge over the Rio Adaja. There were several Jewish cemeteries and a few synagogues in the 1400s. Tradition has it that the Chapel of Mosen Rubi in the old Juderia was once the main synagogue. Mosen Rubi de Bracamonte was a French Jew who settled in Spain after the Jews were expelled from France in 1396. It is said that Rubi's daughter, Juana, built the synagogue in 1462. But, there is no historical verification of that to date.
The second mystic, and the one for whom Avila is most famous, was a woman born Teresa de Cepeda y Ahumada (1515-1582). According to just about everyone's tradition, she was born to Jewish parents. How that is possible I do not know considering that her birth in 1515 was 23 years after the Expulsion of all Jews from Spain. It does, however, make for a good story.
Regardless, at the age of 18, she suddenly announced her intention to take the veil, and entered a convent. Then, after two decades of quiet contemplation, she had a mystical vision of the reality of God. Based on this, she petitioned and was allowed to reform her Carmelite nuns who, she maintained, had become lax and undisciplined. She formed the Discalced Order of Carmelites – nuns who were barefooted or wore sandals instead of shoes – and supervised the spread of the Order to 17 other locations. She was an outstanding administrator ... for a mystic.
Teresa's soul-mate was a priest 20 years her junior, yet her spiritual and intellectual equal, with whom she would share her thoughts and insights. Juan de la Cruz, the poet, and Teresa de Avila, the mystic, were both accorded sainthood by the church after their deaths. Teresa was to become the first woman accorded the title doctor of the church for her profound teachings. But the irony here is that during her life and for a long time afterward, she hovered between sainthood and disgrace. For her writings are about the soul through which we can each come to know God intimately and immediately. Now, a church predicated upon the proposition that no one gets to God save through the intercession of priests who receive confession and administer the sacraments, must have wrestled a bit to bestow sainthood on this nun.
Saint Teresa of Avila had written brilliantly. Ironically, some 3000 miles away, at the very same time, in the city of Safed in Israel, Rabbi Isaac Luria (ARI) was also expounding his teachings ... which were refinements of the Zohar by Moses de Leon of Avila in Spain. The ARI was teaching about the ways in which we come to an immediate and intimate knowing of God. Teresa and Luria – their vocabulary of spirituality was dissimilar, their conclusions were not so much. Santa Teresa de Avila lived as a Catholic, but she thought and wrote like a Jewish mystic!
We stopped outside the convent named for her. Novitiates ... in sandals ... were entering. The guidebook said that this place was once owned by Teresa's parents. Could it have been one of the old synagogues of Avila? But, no sandals and no permiso de entrada, we couldn’t check it out.
We walked the streets of Avila drinking in the cool air and enjoying the sunshine. It was mid-afternoon, and there was one place that we wanted to see before we left. It had to do with that forth Aviliano. It opened at 4:00pm, so we had an hour to spare. We sat at a table in an outside café and ordered cafè con leche. I can't begin to tell you how consistently good the coffee in Spain is. Freshly ground when ordered, it is steamed through an espresso machine and emerges dark and strong into a smallish cup. Topped with steamed milk, it is like dessert.
A Spanish version of the donut is also very popular. Called churros, the dough is extruded through a metal template and drops into a large vat of hot fat. As it fries, the dough is swirled, curled, and turned with a wooden stick. It ultimately absorbs ten times it's weight in grease. Still hot, it's eaten by dipping about an inch at a time into a cup of rich, hot chocolate. After two or three bites of a churro, one's hands are as those of a person who has just lubed a fleet of old cars. Some of our friends succumbed to “churriosity” just once ... and repented for hours
Of all the sights in Avila, I had come to see one in particular – the Monastery of Santo Tomas. It is located outside the walls, southeast of the city in a newer part of town that developed around it. Actually, the monastery was built in the late 1400s by Ferdinand and Isabella who dowered it with largess. They used it often as their summer residence. It also served as a small university, and ... it was the seat of the Inquisition.
There are two decorative features of note on this building: long rows of ball-like ornamentation, and the oxen yoke and feathers. I have no idea what the rows of ball ornaments stand for, but in Spanish, the word for yoke is yugo and feathers are fletchas. And the initials for these two words are the same as the initials for Isabella and Ferdinand – thus, these objects became the symbols of their monarchy.
We entered the smallish, very dark sanctuary of this Dominican church, and groped our way down its only aisle. At the railing, we could see what appeared to be a marble sarcophagus directly behind the altar. In the light now seeping dimly through a high window, I could barely make out the sign. It read: “Juan, hijo de los Reyes Catholicos.” So this was their only son who had died as a lad of 19. While they and their daughter Juana la Loca are interred in Granada, Juan lies here. The only thing their burials have in common is a sarcophagus designed and executed by the same Italian artist, Domenico Fancelli. But this was not what I had come to see. I was actually looking for the namesake of this place, a certain Santo Tomas. It was his sarcophagus that I wanted to find.
Several ladies entered the church, walked purposefully toward a metal box mounted on one of the side walls, and dropped coins in. Suddenly lights went on in the sanctuary, and spotlights played on the exquisite reredos mounted high up on the front wall. It was as simple and elegant an artistic piece as we had seen in all of the churches in Spain. Again, Avila had shown us a novel idea – coins to light the paintings – a variation on their parking meter concept. The closest we have come to that idea in Denver (so far) is late night tennis court lighting.
Santo Tomas had come often to Avila to meet with Ferdinand and Isabella. There is evidence to believe that here in this monastery he prevailed upon them to reinstate the office of the Inquisition, and that it was here that he was proclaimed the Inquisitor General. There are those who attest that it was here in this monastery that he also convinced the Catholic monarchs to order the 1492 Expulsion of all the Jews of Spain.
Yes, it was here in a small cell in this monastery that the “Saint” of the Inquisition lived. Yes, here resided the Dominican priest and Inquisitor General, Santo Tomas ... otherwise known as Tomas de Torquemada. And, according to tradition, it is here in 1498 that he died and was laid to rest in a sarcophagus in the sacristy of the monastery cloisters. We asked one of the priests where we might find his sepulcher. He referred us to a sheet of paper obviously printed on site, which professed that Santo Tomas's body had been carried off during the five centuries since his death and that only a few body parts remained on the premises.
That was good enough for me. Quietly, Rikki and I made our way to the very center of the monastery – a charming plaza area replete with water well and gardens. There I placed my hands upon the wall which joined this central space with the off-limits section of the monastery where those who have taken their religious orders reside. With full intent and purpose born of a desire to do this ever since I first read about the Inquisition, and with a certain sense of spiritual joy, I began to jump up and down at the site named for this evil priest, the mentor in spirit of Adolph Eichmann.
And now, I had accomplished my purpose. For in truth, while I had come to Avila to pay my respects to Moses de Leon, father of the Zohar, and to Sister Teresa, the sainted leader of the discalced Carmelites, I had come here especially to dance on the grave of the notorious Tomas de Torquemada, Father of the Inquisition ... who, I can say with delight, rests not in peace ... but in pieces.