Keeping the Mystery Alive: Jewish Mysticism in Latin American Cultural Production 9781644698976

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KEEPING THE MYSTERY ALIVE JEWISH MYSTICISM IN LATIN AMERICAN CULTURAL PRODUCTION

Jewish Latin American Studies Series Editor Darrell B. Lockhart (University of Nevada, Reno)

KEEPING THE MYSTERY ALIVE JEWISH MYSTICISM IN LATIN AMERICAN CULTURAL PRODUCTION Ar ian a H uber m an

BOSTON 2022

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Huberman, Ariana, author. | Lara-Bonilla, Inmaculada, translator. Title: Keeping the mystery alive : Jewish mysticism in Latin American cultural production / Ariana Huberman; with translations by Inmaculada Lara-Bonilla. Other titles: Jewish mysticism in Latin American cultural production Description: Boston : Academic Studies Press, 2022. | Series: Jewish Latin American studies | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Includes translations into English from Hebrew and Spanish. Identifiers: LCCN 2022019770 (print) | LCCN 2022019771 (ebook) | ISBN 9781618118349 (hardback) | ISBN 9781644698976 (adobe pdf) | ISBN 9781644698983 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Latin American literature--Jewish authors--History and criticism. | Cabala in literature. | Cabala--Latin America. | Jews--Latin America--Identity. | Latin America--Intellectual life. Classification: LCC PQ7551.7.J49 H83 2022 (print) | LCC PQ7551.7.J49 (ebook) | DDC 860.9/921296098--dc23/eng/20220705 LC record record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022019770 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022019771 ISBN 9781618118349 (hardback) ISBN 9781644698976 (adobe pdf) ISBN 9781644698983 (epub) Copyright © 2022, Academic Studies Press All rights reserved. Cover design by Ivan Grave. On the cover: Mirta Kupferminc, Travel Fantasies I (1999), Etching (31.5 x 23.6 in.) Book design by Lapiz Digital Services Published by Academic Studies Press 1577 Beacon Street Brookline, MA 02446, USA [email protected] www.academicstudiespress.com

Contents

Prefacevii List of Illustrations ix Introduction: Jewish Mysticism in Latin American Cultural Production: Beyond Borges 1 1. The Exotic in the Eye of the Beholder: Alejandro Jodorowsky’s Literature and Film 2. The Cycle of Life: Angelina Muñiz-Huberman’s Writings 3. In Search of Tikkun Olam: Mario Satz’s Literature 4. Wandering Souls in Isaac Goldemberg’s Narrative and Poetry Concluding Remarks

17 52 90 124 155

Bibliography  156 Index169

Preface

I entered the world of Jewish Mysticism like Alice in Wonderland, but I have no memory of falling through the rabbit hole. Ever since then, I have been following major themes as they appear in Latin American literature and art. My readings of these texts are conducted strictly from literary and cultural studies perspectives. Since I am not an expert in the field of Jewish Mysticism, I rely on the academic work of scholars who belong to the area of Jewish Studies initiated by Gershom Scholem, as well as on Hasidic scholarship. I explain my approach in the introduction. This book represents an attempt to share my own learning process of key aspects of Kabbalah and Hasidism that are recreated in Latin American literature and art. It has been a humbling and inspirational journey, and I am grateful for all the support I received along the way. I am deeply grateful to Haverford College for supporting the publication of this volume through the Faculty Research Grant, for the additional funds made available for editing and translation, and for the sabbatical year that allowed me to finish this project. Angelina Muñiz-Huberman and Isaac Goldemberg have been an important source of support by helping me stay abreast of their prolific publications, answering my questions, and for their kind encouragement over the years it took to complete this project. A heartfelt thank you goes to Darrell Lockhart, Latin American Jewish Studies series editor, and to David Michelson at Academic Studies Press for believing in this project. Thank you, Alessandra

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Anzani, for answering my many questions and making the process of publishing this manuscript a pleasure. I would like to extend a very special thank you to Ilya Nikolaev, Kira Nemirovsky and Sasha Shapiro for their support during the last stages of editing the manuscript. This book would not have seen the light without the invaluable help of Yitzhak Lewis whose rigorous comments, questions and suggestions made it possible for me to bring it over the finishing line. To my dear colleagues Naomi and Ken Koltun-Fromm, I’m grateful for entertaining my hallway inquiries and for their suggestions of Jewish Studies bibliography. Sarah Chava Wood, thank you for your invaluable help with editing and for your suggestions on Torah references. I am also grateful to Eli and Blumie Gurevitz for playing a key role in introducing me to the infinite wisdom of rabbis and scholars who offer contemporary perspectives on Kabbalah and for helping me connect with Eli Rubin who gracefully helped me find the final piece of the puzzle; to Rikki Altein and Rebecca Parmet who patiently heard me think things through during our weekly Tanya class. Rikki and Rabbi Tzvi Altein, thank you both for always taking my questions, for offering suggestions, and for guiding me on so many occasions. I also would like to extend a heartfelt thank you to Rogelio Sosnik for his steady and loving support through the years, and for always showing genuine interest in the process of writing this book. And to my dear friend Angeles Yoffe whose constant interest and curiosity in this project helped me keep it alive during times when life took over. To my cousin Rubén Saferstein for being a lifelong inspiration to cherish our heritage, and more importantly, for teaching me that life is worth fighting for with everything we’ve got. To my brother Pablo, Chichu, Tomi, Jazu and Luli, thank you for keeping the family tree so strongly rooted and always flourishing. Finally, I want to thank my beloved husband Michael for his constant support and encouragement, and to my daughters Mia and Abby for reluctantly sharing me in this process, you are my treasure. I dedicate this book to the loving memory of my parents, Juany y David, whose steady presence, love, and support gave me the chutzpah to get involved in this project in the first place.

List of Illustrations

FIGURE 1. Alejandro Xul Solar, “Pan Tree,” 1954, watercolor and ink on paper, 13.3 x 9.2 in., The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, United States, accessed March 25, 2022, https://emuseum.mfah.org/objects/66405/pantree. FIGURE 2. David Alfaro Siqueiros, “Árbol de la vida,” 1972, pyroxyline on Masonite, 39.4 x 31.5 in., The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, Israel, accessed March 25, 2022, https://www.mutualart.com/Artwork/ ARBOL-DE-LA-VIDA/888243A30AEB62F1. FIGURE 3. Carlos Tapia, “Árbol de la vida,” 2014, acrylic on cloth, 53.9 x 51.1 in., accessed March 25, 2022, https://www.donacianobueno.com/infantil/ el-arbol-de-la-vida/. FIGURE 4. Ana Mendieta, “Árbol de la vida,” 1976, color photograph, 8.07 x 10 in., Christies, accessed 25 March, 2022, https://www.christies.com/lot/ lot-ana-mendieta-1948-1985-arbol-de-la-4597549/? FIGURE 5. Roberto Montenegro, “Árbol de la vida,” 1922, mural, Mundo del Museo, accessed 25 March, 2022, http://mundodelmuseo.com/ficha. php?id=1389.

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FIGURE 6. Paul Klee, “Angelus Novus,” 1920, oil transfer and watercolor on paper, 12.5 in x 9.5 in., The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, Israel, accessed 25 March, 2022, https://www.imj.org.il/en. FIGURE 7. Anselm Kiefer, “The Angel of History: Poppy and Memory,” 1989, lead, glass, poppies, 78.7 x 196.8 x 157.4 in., National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC, United States, accessed March 25, 2022, https://www.nga. gov/learn/teachers/lessons-activities/modern-art/terms-past.html. FIGURE 8. Xul Solar, “Dos Anjos,” 1915, watercolor on paper, 14.1 x 10.6 in., accessed 25 March, 2022, https://www.wikiart.org/en/xul-solar/ dos-anjos-1915. FIGURE 9. Xul Solar, “Ángel del Karma,” 1924, watercolor and gouache on paper, 10.6 x 12.9 in., Revista de Artes, Buenos Aires, Argentina, accessed March 22, 2022, http://www.revistadeartes.com.ar/xxiv_pintura_xul_solar.html. FIGURE 10. Xul Solar, “Lu Diabo sabe piu Viejo, ke por Diabo,” 1962, tempera on paper, 11 x 14.9 in., Tacura Mansion (blog), accessed 25, 2022, https://3. bp.blogspot.com/-8gkap-JaZio/T1kLDV0SLQI/A A A A A A A AEE4/ vbi6TO0Nl88/s1600/Lu%2BDiablo%2Bsabe%2Bpiu%2Bviejo%252C%2Bke %2Bpor%2BDiablo.jpg. FIGURE 11. Xul Solar, “Domus Aúrea, Ianua Coeli Dios Plen,” 1962, tempera, 9 x 12 in., Zona Libre Radio 1 (blog), accessed March 25, 2022, https://zonalibreradio1. wordpress.com/2015/10/14/xul-solar-un-habitante-del-misterio-2/. FIGURE 12. Xul Solar, “Muros y escaleras” [Walls and stairs], 1944, tempera on paper, 13.75 x 19.7 in., accessed March 25, 2022, https:// camdencivilrightsproject.com/alejandro-xul-solar-muros-y-escaleras/. FIGURE 13. Mirta Kupferminc, “The Infinite Library,” inkjet print,” 2008, 39 x 27 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://www.mirtakupferminc.net/ wp-content/uploads/2019/11/In_the_palm_of_my_hand.pdf. FIGURE 14. Mirta Kupferminc, “To Reach the Sky,” 2017, photolithography Etching inkjet Print, 47.6 x 29.9 in. FIGURE 15. Mirta Kupferminc, “Out of Eden,” 2002, aquatint etching, 70.87 x 35.43 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://www.mirtakupferminc.net/en/ obra/pilgrimages/#&gid=1&pid=11.

List of Illustrations

FIGURE 16. Mirta Kupferminc, “After Babel,” 2000, aquatint etching, 47.2 x 35.4 in. FIGURE 17. Mirta Kupferminc, “On the Way,” 2001, etching, 16x 25 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://cdn.jwa.org/sites/default/files/mediaobjects/ Kupferminc_-_EN_CAMINO-_ON_THE_WAY-_2001%20%281%29.jpg. FIGURE 18. Mirta Kupferminc, “Ghosts at the Lodz Ghetto, (in Daniel Kufperminc’s memory),” 2000, etching, 23.62 x 35.43 in., accessed March 30, 2022, http://perspectives.ajsnet.org/migration-issue/ migrating-memory-art-and-politics/. FIGURE 19. Mirta Kupferminc, “Travel Fantasies I,” 1999, etching, 31.5 x 23.6 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://www.mirtakupferminc.net/en/obra/ pilgrimages/#&gid=1&pid=1. FIGURE 20. Mirta Kupferminc, “Travel Fantasies II,” 1999, etching, 31.5 x 23.6 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://www.mirtakupferminc.net/en/obra/ pilgrimages/#&gid=1&pid=2. FIGURE 21. Mirta Kupferminc, “The Journey,” 2018, etching-inkjet print, 11,8 x 19 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://www.mirtakupferminc.net/en/ obra/migrants-and-exile/#&gid=1&pid=2.

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Introduct ion

Jewish Mysticism in Latin American Cultural Production: Beyond Borges

This book delves into creative renditions of key aspects of Jewish Mysticism in Latin American literature, film, and art from the perspective of literary and cultural studies. Jewish Mysticism is a term that includes numerous currents of thought and practice of Kabbalah and Hasidism as I discuss at the end of this introduction. Many critics have studied the presence of Kabbalah in Jorge Luis Borges’ writing. This book introduces the work of other Latin American authors and artists who have been inspired by Jewish Mysticism from the 1960s to the present: Alejandro Jodorowsky, a Chilean writer and filmmaker who lives in France; Mario Satz, an Argentine writer who lives in Spain; Angelina Muñiz-Huberman, a Mexican author and scholar who was born in France; and Isaac Goldemberg, a Peruvian author who resides in New York City. Of special interest are Jodorowsky’s multi-media approach to Jewish Mysticism (literature, film, performance, and comics), an approach that borders on exoticism; Satz’s Kabbalistic exegesis; Muñiz-Huberman’s explorations of angels and of becoming one with the Divine in her writings; as well as Isaac Goldemberg’s various renderings of wandering souls. I look into representations of dybbuks (transmigratory souls), the presence of Eros as part of the experience of mystical prayer, reformulations of Zoharic fables, and the search for Tikkun Olam (cosmic repair), among other key topics of Jewish Mysticism. The work of Argentine artists Mirta Kupferminc and Xul

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Solar, and the Swiss painter Paul Klee is also part of this project. The purpose of this book is to open up these aspects of their work to a broad audience who may or may not be familiar with Jewish Mysticism. At the end of this introduction, I lay out the framework that is needed to dig deeper into these creative expressions. I offer a brief overview of the history of Jewish mysticism, and I discuss how the book is informed by the different fields of studies and practice that keep this tradition alive. However, since this book focuses on the creative development of kabbalistic elements, these elements can only be explained by Kabbalah sources in a limited way. In terms of the body of work studied here, you may notice that strictly speaking, this book is about Latin American Jewish literature and art, because it focuses on Jewish themes, whether the artists consider themselves Jewish (Satz, Muñiz-Huberman, Goldemberg, Mirta Kupferminc) or not ( Jodorowsky,1 Xul Solar). Moreover, they are inspired by their familiarity with Kabbalah at different levels. Some have been engaged in studies of Jewish Mysticism much more extensively than others.2 But they all approach Jewish Mysticism from a secular perspective. Notwithstanding, their work stands as proof that Jewish Mysticism is a powerful source of creative inspiration that can reach everyone, regardless of the person’s religious orientation or level of observance. Given the scarce critical work written on this subject in Latin America,3 this book’s theoretical framework relies on the publications of US and Israeli academic scholars as well as scholarship published by rabbis. In recent years,

1 According to Orthodox tradition, Alejandro Jodorowsky is technically Jewish because his mother was Jewish, but his relationship to his ancestry is very problematic as I discuss in his chapter. 2 Satz and Muñiz-Huberman studied from a large variety of primary and secondary Kabbalah sources, Goldemberg’ main source on this subject is Gershom Scholem, and there is no evidence that Jodorowsky’s treatment of mystical or historical Jewish themes is based on in-depth readings of these topics. There is a passing mention of him reading about Kabbalah (without any specific information), among other mystical traditions, in the following interview: Phillipe Azoury, “Alejandro Jodorowsky,” Vice, September 10, 2009, https:// www.vice.com/fr/article/ppnd9v/alejandro-jodorowsky-162-v3n10. Isaac Goldemberg was particularly drawn to Scholem’s On the Kabbalah and its Symbolism because he is captivated by interpreting symbols, and when it comes to Jewish mysticism, he is especially interested in the link between sin and exile, in a historical and mythical sense. Personal email exchange with the author, June 29, 2021. 3 There are very few examples of theoretical work done on this topic in Latin America. Angelina Muñiz-Huberman, Marcos Ricardo Barnatán, and Mario Satz have written books of essays on Jewish mysticism and I address them throughout the book. Additionally, Jeremy Phillip Brown studies the perverse misappropriations of Kabbalah by Catholic nationalist and Nazi sympathizers in Argentina and Chile in “From Nacionalista Anti-Kabbalistic Polemic to Aryan Kabbalah in the Southern Cone,” The Journal of Religion 99, no. 3 (July 2019): 341–360. 

Introduction

we have seen a growing interest in this topic as evidenced by the number of academic publications on Jewish Mysticism4 and of the panels and papers that have been presented at Latin American and Jewish Studies conferences. In what follows, I share an abbreviated overview of the extensive literature that exists about Jorge Luis Borges’s literature and Jewish Mysticism in order to introduce the work of other Latin American authors that have written about this topic and have not yet received the attention they deserve. In his book Borges and the Kabbalah (1988),5 Jaime Alazraki says that when he started his research in 1969, Borges was the only author in Spanish that wrote about this topic.6 However, there are studies that show the presence of Kabbalah in the Colonial literature written by Inca Garcilaso de la Vega and Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz.7 Alazraki points out Borges’ fascination with Kabbalah through his writings about the Sephirot, the legend of the Golem, and transmigration of souls. He also connects the blurred line between what is real and what is not within the mystical tradition. Alazraki proposes that, like a Kabbalist, Borges seeks to renew literature through re-readings and reformulations of what was written in the past.8 As a result, Borges puts the reader in the position of a Kabbalist deciphering the multiple levels of interpretation of his texts. Evelyn Fishburn furthers Alazraki’s line of thinking by delving into Borges’s “use of the Cabbalistic

4 Some publications on this topic include: Yuval Harari, Jewish Magic Before the Rise of Kabbalah, trans. Batya Stein (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2017); Daniel M. Horwitz, A Kabbalah and Jewish Mysticism Reader (Nebraska: University of Nebraska Press, 2016); Ariel Mayse, From the Depth of the Well: An Anthology of Jewish Mysticism (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 2014); A. Samuelson-Tirosh and H. Hughes, eds., Representing God (Leiden: Brill, 2014); Arthur Green, Speaking Torah: Spiritual Teachings from Around the Maggid’s Table, 2 vols., with Ebn Leader, Ariel Evan Mayse, and Or N. Rose (Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing, 2013); The Scandal of Kabbalah: Leon Modena, Jewish Mysticism, Early Modern Venice, Jews, Christians, and Muslims from the Ancient to the Modern World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011). 5 Jaime Alazraki, Borges and the Kabbalah: And Other Essays on his Fiction and Poetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 3. 6 Yitzhak Lewis suggests that Alazraki was only looking at “Jewish Kabbalah” but that if you consider the influence of “Christian Kabbalah” on Spanish language writers there is a lot more material. Edna Aizenberg argues that Borges too was more influenced by Christian Kabbalah than by Jewish Kabbalah, but researchers don’t notice this because he is always talking about Scholem. See: Edna Aizenberg, “A 21st Century Note on Borges’s Kabbalism,” Variaciones Borges, no. 39 (2015): 51–58. Personal exchange with Yitzhak Lewis, July 22, 2021. 7 María del Carmen Artigas, “Huellas cabalísticas en la obra poética de Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz,” Texto Crítico 2 ( July 1996). José Antonio Mazzotti, “El Inca Garcilaso Translates León Hebreo: The Dialogues of Love, the Cabala, and Andean Mythology,” in Beyond Books and Borders. Garcilaso de la Vega and La Florida del Inca, ed. Raquel Chang-Rodríguez (Lewisburg: Bucknell University Press), 2006. 8 Alazraki, Borges and the Kabbalah, 50–51.

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theme of the world as an infinitely speculative text whose meaning wanders, subject to permanent displacement by renewed meanings.” She looks into how, in his writing, Borges expected to be further interpreted. In her article “Borges, Cabbala and ‘Creative Misreading,” Fishburn proposes, through a series of close readings, that Borges invites the reader to “a Cabbalistic challenge.”9 Saúl Sosnowski’s book Borges y la Cábala (1976, 1986) discusses the connection between Borges and Kabbalah in relation to the divine power of the word.10 Sosnowski stresses Borges’ “faith in language as an instrument of creation,”11 but at the same time, he shows the difference that exists between the kabbalist’s faith involved in studying the Torah and Borges’ ludic approach. Moreover, Sosnowski suggests that Borges’ writing mirrors the Kabbalists’ belief that in the Bible, “nothing is gratuitous and nothing is left to chance.”12 In The Aleph Weaver (1984), Edna Aizenberg identifies as paradigms for Borges’ approach to reading and rewriting Kabbalists’ adoration and rewriting of the Torah, the exercise of commentary and innovation in Kabbalistic tradition, and the enigmas expressed with symbols. She admires Borges’ extensive knowledge and accurate application of Jewish myth and discourse.13 But Aizenberg, as well as Sosnowski, call attention to the secular aspect of Borges’ Kabbalistic exercise in his writing and remark on the influence of Kabbalah in Borges’ creative process. Naomi Lindstrom contributes an important point to the study of Borges and Kabbalah by clarifying the difference between exegetes who use literary tools to enhance their transmission of hermeneutic finds and the art of a writer like Borges whose expertise is literature. Lindstrom states that while his writing shares elements with midrashic, Kabbalistic, and other rabbinical forms of commentary, Borges’ literary journeys into the Kabbalistic realm seek first and foremost an aesthetic experience.14 Scholar Elliot R. Wolfson also discusses Borges’ “aesthetic virtuosity” to get at the heart of one of the core secrets of the tradition, “the belief that the phenomenal world is a dream from which one must

9 Evelyn Fishburn, “Borges, Cabbala and ‘Creative Misreading,’” Iberoamericana 14, no. 4 (1988): 401- 418. 10 His attraction to Kabbalah stems from his desire to transcend the limits of Western Culture. Saúl Sosnowski, Borges y la Cábala (Buenos Aires: Hispamérica, 1976), 103. 11 Ibid., 48. 12 Saúl Sosnowski, “Borges and the Kabbalah,” with Mirta Kupferminc’s etchings (Handmade book), 15. 13 Edna Aizenberg, The Aleph Weaver: Biblical, Kabbalistic and Judaic Elements in Borges (Potomac: Scripta Humanistica, 1984), 88–106. 14 Naomi Lindstrom, “Borges and Jewish Mysticism: Paradoxical Interrelations,”  Crítica Hispánica 15, no. 2 (1993): 107–117.

Introduction

awaken by waking to the dream that one is merely dreaming that one is awake.”15 Wolfson elegantly reveals how time is understood by Borges and kabbalists as an “‘inexhaustible labyrinth’ which exhibits the chaos and indeterminacy of the dream.”16 Finally, Yitzhak Lewis, in his comparative study of Borges and Rabbi Nachman of Braslav, traces Borges’ reading of Gershom Scholem and Martin Buber to conceptualize tradition, his notion of authorship, and the role of the intellectual. Lewis proposes that “Borges should be read as a ‘cabbalistic narrator’ rather than a cabbalistic interpreter.”17 While the bibliography that dissects the presence of Kabbalah in Borges’ literature is extensive, the aim of this book is to inquire into the presence of Jewish Mysticism in Latin American literature, film, and art that was produced after Borges. Some of the authors discussed here have evident points of connection with his literature, but their main source on Kabbalah is not Borges. In fact, for most of them Gerschom Scholem represents a clear point of departure, and this is also true for Borges.18 Chapter 1 deals with Alejandro Jodorowsky’s treatment of the strange and the supernatural in relation to Jewish Mysticism. One of the most intriguing aspects of his work is how naturally he weaves the strange and the familiar in his films, public performances, comics, and writings. Within his oeuvre, Jewish Mysticism appears alongside Mexican witchcraft and shamanism, Tarot, and popular Christian beliefs. In this chapter, I wonder whether he presents an “exotic” rendering of Jewish Mysticism in his work. Jodorowsky offers alternative interpretations of mystical journeys, often represented as a trance. He also portrays Jewish mystical and religious practices vis-à-vis other religions. The family tree and creative genealogies, which play a central role in his work, inspire the healing practice of his “psychomagic.” The last section of this chapter addresses the predominance of eros and danger in Jodorowsky’s representations of the mystical trance. In this chapter, I introduce the concepts of Devekut, transmigration of souls and exorcism, and the importance of genealogies in Jewish tradition.

15 Elliot R. Wolfson, “In the Mirror of the Dream: Borges and the Poetics of Kabbalah,” The Jewish Quarterly Review 104, no. 3 (Summer 2014): 362–379. 16 Wolfson, “In the Mirror of the Dream: Borges and the Poetics of Kabbalah”: 365. 17 Lewis, Writing the Margin, 88. 18 We learn in an interview conducted by Saúl Sosnowski that Borges read Gershom Scholem’s Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, Longfellow’s version of the Divina Comedia—which includes a section at the end about Kabbalah, as well as Trachtenberg’s Jewish Magic and Superstition. Saul Sosnowski, Borges, la letra y la Cábala (Madrid: Del Centro Editores, 2016), 269.

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Chapter 2 follows Angelina Muñiz-Huberman’s work which celebrates the cycle of life. From the early discovery of her Jewish identity to her vivid incursions into issues surrounding the end of life, this author’s prolific writing brings us to the Golden Age of Convivencia in the Iberian Peninsula during Middle Ages and early modern times, and back to Mexico in the twenty-first century. In this chapter, I pay close attention to how her investment in Jewish Mysticism represents a crucial influence in her approach to writing. She offers multiple iterations of the same stories and biblical passages. I discuss her essays, poems, and fables that center on Kabbalistic themes, such as mystical renderings of nature, Kabbalistic representations of the Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life, representations of angels, and the Shekhinah. I also delve into the presence of art and painting in her literature, as well as the connection in her work between illness, death, and creativity. In this chapter, I discuss how angels, the Tree of Life, and the Tree of Knowledge are understood by different groups that study Jewish Mysticism, as well as the meaning of the Sephirah Malkhut and the concept of the Shekhinah. The overall aim of chapter 3 is to show how Mario Satz’s multidisciplinary and truly prolific work has an underlying theme of Tikkun Olam. In his writing, he seeks to repair the chaos of this world. The Kabbalistic exegesis that takes place in Satz’s literature can be interpreted as the experience of traveling through a labyrinth. Satz methodically explores the labyrinth of language through different levels of meaning (literal, allegorical, spiritual) searching for a renewal of tradition. I discuss some of the central leitmotifs in his writing: Kabbalistic exegesis, the Tree of Life, the relationship between humanity and nature, and the trope of the labyrinth as part of the mystical experience. I also look into how Satz’ writings on Jewish Mysticism resonate with those of Jorge Luis Borges19, as well as with the art of Xul Solar and Mirta Kupferminc. In this chapter, I briefly introduce the hermeneutic practice of Gematria20 and I lay out the evolution of the significance of Tikkun Olam. In chapter 4, I discuss Isaac Goldemberg’s incursions between two worlds in his writing. Most critics focus on his formulations of identity that combine Jewish as well as non-Jewish cultural elements, a predominant occurrence in his writing. I chose to focus on mystical themes that appear in this author’s narrative writing and poetry. Some of these themes include references to

19 Mario Satz would prefer not to be compared to Borges, but the points of connection in their writing are too compelling to avoid it. Personal email exchange, Dec. 14, 2011. 20 Gematria uses permutations and combinations of the numerical values of Hebrew letters and words in order to reveal esoteric, hidden meanings in the Bible.

Introduction

magical thinking, the connection between the earthly and Divine realms, as well as between human beings and other forms of existence such as dybbuks, ghosts, and wandering souls. Many of the wandering souls that appear as ghosts in his poetry belong to the family tree and are situated in reference to a house. I discuss Goldemberg’s representations of the house where present and past members of the family reside in relation to mystical interpretations of the letter bet, and the sephirah Chochmah. Finally, I analyze the presence of wandering souls as they appear in Goldemberg’s poems in relation to Mirta Kupferminc’s etchings. This chapter revisits the fundamentals of Gematria, soul transmigration, and the importance of genealogies in Jewish tradition. I also discuss the historical evolution in the conceptualization of spirits of the dead within Judaism, and the belief in reincarnation according to some religious groups. The Latin American literary production that deals with Jewish Mysticism in addition to Borges is not limited to the authors discussed in this book. Other Latin American authors and artists have produced works with varying degrees of engagement in Jewish Mysticism. Marcos Ricardo Barnatán has written essays, poems, and narratives that refer directly or tangentially to this topic.21 He was born in Argentina but has resided in Spain since 1965. He is an expert in Borges’ literature and Xul Solar’s art. In fact, he discovered Gershom Scholem through Borges. His book La Kábala: una mística del lenguaje (1974) is one of the best introductions to the subject written in Spanish. He has also published Antología del Zohar (1986). Another writer that is important to mention is the Costa Rican author and artist Rosita Kalina, who published several books of short stories and poems that include riddles and codes that need to be deciphered, with allusions to the Kabbalah, as well as representations of the Golem.22 She has also created graphic illustrations of doors, tunnels, and passages made out of Jerusalem stone. Her daughter Ileana Piszk is an established artist who has produced paintings inspired by her mother’s writing on Jewish Mysticism. Juana García Abás is a Cuban poet whose poems in Circunloquio (2006)23 resonate with the Sefer Yetzirah and Gematria.24 Mexican author Esther Seligson traces the 21 Marcos Ricardo Barnatán, La Kábala. Una mística del lenguaje (Barcelona: Barral editores, 1974), 12; Antología del Zohar (Madrid: Edaf, 1986). See also El laberinto de Sión (Barcelona: Barral Editores, 1971) and El oráculo invocado. Poesía 1965–1983 (Madrid: Visor, 1984). 22 Some publications by Rosita Kalina that deal with Jewish mysticism include Detrás de las palabras (San José: Ed. Costa Rica, 1983) and Esa dimensión lejana (San José: Editorial Costa Rica, 1997). 23 Juana García Abás, Circunloquio (Habana: Editorial Letras Cubanas, 2006). 24 Stephen Sadow, “The Mystical Poetry of Juana García Abás.” Paper presented at the XVIII International Research Conference of LAJSA, Mexico City, 2017.

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history of the Jewish People through mystical references.25 Jenny Asse Chayo26 is a Mexican poet who has also been inspired by Jewish Mysticism. Her studies of Jewish thought at Hebrew University of Jerusalem inform her sensual and transgressive writing. From México as well, Rubén Bonifaz Nuño27 and Ernesto Kavi28 have written poems that reflect on central aspects of the Sephirotic tree, among other themes of Kabbalah.29 Other critics have studied the presence of Kabbalah in the early poetry of the Puerto Rican author Luis Palés Matos30 and the Brazilian writer Clarice Lispector,31 although her connection to this topic is less convincing. Another author that has been studied in relation to Jewish Mysticism is the Mexican poet José Gorostiza. The critic Monica Mansour offers a thorough analysis of the presence of Jewish Mysticism in Gorostiza’s Muerte sin fin (1939).32 In terms of art, and in addition to Mirta Kupferinc and Xul Solar who I discuss in this book, there are other artists who have been inspired by Jewish Mysticism. Art curator Irene Jaievsky points to the illustrations and prints by Esther Gurevich, paintings by Horacio Vodovotz, Leonor Coifman, and Patricia Krasbush, as well as the Golem series by Pedro Roth.33 Stephen Sadow also includes in this group paintings by Carlos Azulay and Adrian Levy in Argentina, Lazar Segall in Brazil, and Carlos Poveda in Colombia.34 The authors and artists that I selected as the main focus for this book are the ones that have the most significant volume of work related to this topic, but there is still a lot of ground to cover; the artistic production I just surveyed deserves critical attention.

25 Angelina Muñiz-Huberman, El siglo del desencanto (México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2002), 163. See Esther Seligson, La morada en el tiempo (México: lecturas mexicanas, 2011). 26 See Jenny Asse Chayo, Busco en mi carne el Nombre (México: Práxis, 1997) and El tránsito de la luz (México: Práxis, 2005). 27 See Rubén Bonifaz Nuño, Versos (1978–1994) (México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1996). 28 See Ernesto Kavi, La luz inpronunciable (Madrid: Sexto Piso, 2016). 29 Muñiz-Huberman and Huberman Muñiz, El atanor encendido, 50–76. 30 Miriam Castro de Moux, “Esoterismo y Cábala en la poesía temprana de Luis Palés Matos,” in La Chispa ’93: Selected Proceedings (New Orleans: The Louisiana Conference on Hispanic Languages and Literatures, 1993). 31 Gilda Salem Szklo, “‘O Búfalo,’ Clarice Lispector e a herança da mística judaica,” Remate de Males 9 (1989): 107–113. 32 Gorostiza, José, “Muerte sin fin,” in En la red de cristal, ed. Arturo Cantú (México: Juan Pablos/ Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana/Universidad Juárez Autónoma de Tabasco, 2005). Mansour traces this connection to the order of the Golden Dawn, an esoteric school that combines the teachings of the Zohar and Celtic rituals. Mónica Mansour, “José Gorostiza y la Cábala,” Nuevo Texto Crítico 3, no. 2 (2009): 141–156. 33 Personal email exchange with Irene Jaievsky, October 12, 2020. 34 Personal email exchange with Steve Sadow, September 6, 2016.

Introduction

In spite of the relative volume of literature and art that I have just introduced, Jewish Mysticism is, for the most part, uncharted territory in the field of Latin American Jewish Studies and that is what this book attempts to address. A question that has arisen at times when I’ve presented parts of this work at conferences has been the relevance of these authors’ publications on Jewish Mysticism for the Latin American canon. While all of the authors that I study were born or have lived most of their lives in Latin America and publish in Spanish, the materials that I discuss here do not relate directly to the Latin American context in which these authors grew up, and in the case of MuñizHuberman where she still resides (Mexico). The rest of the authors live abroad. They are transnational authors whose personal lives inform their literature. This does not question the place of these authors’ work in the Latin American canon, on the contrary, it makes them stand out, especially if we follow Borges on this point. In his famous essay “The Argentine Writer and Tradition” (1951),35 Borges criticizes early twentieth-century intellectuals for defining the Argentine canon as a field fit only for authors who write reproducing “Argentine” cultural aspects, topics, and linguistic regionalisms in order to belong to the national canon. In fact, he proposes that local flavor comes across more genuinely when the writer or artist does not have that purpose in mind. A good example is his famous short story “Death and the Compass” (1942). In this story, descriptions of an unnamed city with French, German, Jewish, Nordic, and Irish names of streets, neighborhoods, and other landmarks reveal a genuine sense of the Buenos Aires’ outskirts, according to the author.36 In “El escritor argentino . . .,” Borges asserts that anything an Argentine writer publishes belongs to the Argentine tradition.37 By extension, I believe that anything written by a Latin American author is Latin American literature whether written in Latin America, or abroad. They should also be considered as part of the Spanish (Satz) and French ( Jodorowsky) literary canon, which is not uncommon with transnational authors. A good example is William Henry Hudson, who is part of the Argentine, Uruguayan and British canons. In addition, the hybrid nature of Latin American culture, which

35 Jorge Luis Borges, “El escritor argentino y la tradición,” in Discusión (Buenos Aires: Emecé, 1957), 154. 36 Sergio Waisman, “De la ciudad futura a la ciudad ausente: la textualizacion de Buenos Aires,” accessed March 25, 2022, http://www.lehman.cuny.edu/ciberletras/v09/waisman.html#18. Waisman proposes that Borges translates Buenos Aires in reverse: by using European names instead of local ones, the reader has to translate them back in order to recover what is Argentine, this paradox allows Borges to capture the true flavor of the Buenos Aires outskirts. 37 Borges, Discusión, 157–161.

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consists of Indigenous, Spanish, Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Asian, and the rest of the cultural wealth brought by people born elsewhere to this continent has shaped the Jewish experience and cultural productions of Jews in Latin America discussed throughout this volume. I will now introduce a brief overview of the history of Jewish Mysticism and of its various fields of study and practice. Mystical thinking has been part of Judaism since its origins. The traditional view is that the basic concepts of Kabbalah were transmitted orally from Adam to Moses through a long line of progenitors including Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph that was transcribed and commented on in the Torah (the Pentateuch) and the Neviim (the prophetic books of the Bible) among other texts. As opposed to the traditional view, the academic scholarly view is that Kabbalah evolved from its original expressions in Merkabah mysticism as it developed from the second temple period in the first century BC to the tenth century CE.38 in the Middle East (Palestine, Egypt), until it was carried from the Balkans to (today’s) France and Spain in the Middle Ages.39 Early texts containing Kabbalistic thinking include Merkabah tracts, many of which are known as Hekhalot books, as well as the Sefer Yetzirah (Book of Creation), and the Sefer Ha Bahir (Book of Brightness), which appeared in the region of Provence between the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The Zohar40 (Book of Splendor) became a foundational text for the proponents of Jewish Mysticism in thirteenth-century Spain. It reveals the mysteries of biblical writing and the powers within the letters that spell out the name of God; it also tells the story of the great teachers of mysticism.41 The sixteenth century saw the revival of Kabbalah in the city of Safed, in the Holy Land, led by the transformational figure of Rabbi Isaac Luria.42 Hasidim have continued to study the Kabbalah since the last quarter of the eighteenth century. From their very origins, they have followed Luria’s principles. The rise of Hasidism (the name meaning ‘the pious ones’) sparked a serious divide that took place among Jews in early modern times. The conservative

38 Gershom Scholem, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (New York: Schocken, 1995), 40. 39 Ori Z. Soltes, Mysticism in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam: Searching for Oneness (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2008), 105. 40 The Zohar, Pritzker Edition, trans. Daniel C. Matt (Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 2018). Daniel Abrams argues against the idea of “a Zohar,” he calls attention to the evolving nature of these texts, and how sixteenth-century printers created the concept of a book of the Zohar. Daniel Abrams, Kabalistic Manuscripts and Textual Theory: Methodologies of Textual Scholarship and Editorial Practice in the Study of Jewish Mysticism ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2013), 85. 41 Marc-Alain Ouaknin, Mysteries of the Kabbalah (New York: Abbeville, 2000), 9–11. 42 Rachel Elior, The Mystical Origins of Hasidism (Oxford and Portland: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2006), 6.

Introduction

Orthodox (the Mitnagdim) viewed the Hasidic approach to Judaism with distrust.43 As Eastern Europe was going through a political reconfiguration, the Mitnagdim were mostly located in Lithuania, and the Hasidim located in the Kingdom of Poland, today’s Ukraine.44 The movement consolidated a century later in Europe around the charismatic Baal Shem Tov (Yisra’el ben Eliezer c.1700–1760), who was considered a healer and a miracle-worker. He invited the unlearned masses to connect to God through prayer and joy instead of through the study of Torah and Kabbalah.45 Even though parts of Kabbalah still remained esoteric and obscure, the Baal Shem Tov (Besht) revolutionized Jewry’s social order. The Mitnagdim sought an intellectual connection to God through Kabbalah and Talmud that only the learned elite could achieve, the Hasidim stressed a spiritual connection, an option that they considered more available and enticing for the masses. Talmudic studies were encouraged by the Hasidim, but they weren’t required to be in touch with their spirituality. For the Hasidim, work required of spiritual connection was and is an act of joy. Prayer—the acceptance of the will of God—must be offered with fervor and total abandon. The Hebrew word “Hasid” refers to one who is “punctilious in observing religious commandments . . . one who acts with special kindness (hesed) towards others . . . [and] one who follows the teaching and leadership of another person.”46 Moreover, it is believed that Hasidic mystics transcended the rote performance of the laws of the Ten Commandments because they believed that just as the Divine influences the earthly, the Divine can also be transformed by the mystical experience.47 They see the connection to the Divine as reciprocal. Hasidism popularized Kabbalah as part of their outreach to the masses. “‘Kabbalah’ comes from the Hebrew word meaning “tradition” or “received knowledge.” Scholem defines it as “the traditional and most commonly-used term for the esoteric teachings of Judaism and for Jewish Mysticism, especially the forms which it assumed in the Middle Ages from the twelfth century

43 That is why religious people believe that Kabbalah can only be transmitted to a small group of people who are considered highly educated and whose faith is unbreakable. Originally, the requirements to be able to study Kabbalistic texts included being male, at least 40 years old, and married. 44 Yitzhak Lewis, “Writing the Margin: Rabbi Nachman of Braslav, Jorge Luis Borges and the Question of Jewish Writing” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 2016), 157–158. 45 Adele Berlin, ed. The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 96–97. 46 Elior, The Mystical Origins, vii. 47 Ibid., 8–10.

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onward.”48 He explains that mysticism attempts to recover the direct connection between man and God interrupted by religious cataclysm. Mysticism seeks to transform the relationship between man and God from a dogmatic knowledge to an intuitive experience that is more alive.49 Teachings should be implied not asserted, and while it is grounded on Torah and tradition, it is continually evolving for it is open to interpretation,50 which explains why in Kabbalah there are so many schools of thought. Among the most common topics are religious ecstasy, unity between the soul and God, prophetic knowledge, the ascension of the soul to the celestial throne, as well as meditation, contemplation, and angelology.51 Academic scholar Boaz Huss identifies the first characterization of Kabbalah as Jewish mysticism in a reference by a Christian theologian named Franz Molitor during the first part of the nineteenth century. Jewish Mysticism became an established term among researchers of Kabbalah and Hasidism by the late nineteenth and early twentieth century.52 Martin Buber was central to claiming Kabbalah and Hasidism as expressions of Mysticism in the Jewish context. Huss explains that Scholem understood mysticism the way Rufus Jones and Evelyn Underhill defined it as a “‘direct contact between the individual and God’, or as a merger of the self into a higher union.”53 Huss traces the history and evolution of the academic field of Jewish Studies that Gershom Scholem established. He states that this academic field aims to show the presence of mystical elements in Jewish history, from the Middle Ages to early modern times in Kabbalah and Hasidism. Scholem studied Kabbalah from a philological, historical, and comparative perspective.54 He was interested in the history of Jewish Mysticism from a secular Zionist perspective, 48 Gershom Scholem, Kabbalah (New York: Meridian, 1978), 3. 49 Scholem, Major Trends, 8–10. 50 Angelina Muñiz-Huberman and Miriam Huberman Muñiz, El atanor encendido. Antología de Cábala, alquimia, gnosticismo (México: UNAM, 2019), 19. 51 Muñiz-Huberman and Huberman Muñiz, El atanor, 19. 52 Boaz Huss, “The Theologies of Kabbalah Research,” Modern Judaism 34, no 1 (February 2014): 6. 53 Huss is citing from Scholem’s “The Theologies of Kabbalah Research,” in Major Trends, 6. 54 In recent years, Boaz Huss has proposed that the category “mysticism,” which studies texts and experiences from different cultural traditions, and specifically those that are understood to be central to the field of Jewish Mysticism, should be studied as “cultural products that were created as a result of various political interests in distinctive historical, economic, and social contexts.” Boaz Huss, “The Mystification of the Kabbalah and the Modern Construction of Jewish Mysticism, Pe`amim 110,” Ibid.: 9–30. While this debate is central to the field of Jewish thought, it is not crucial to the aims of this project. I agree with Yitzhak Lewis when he points out that this debate does not speak to the aims of the literary critic. Lewis, Writing the Margin, 17–19.

Introduction

as a complement to Halakhah ( Jewish Law) to keep Judaism alive for Jews in the Diaspora.55 He believed that mysticism, while universal, existed within the context of a particular religion (i.e. Judaism, Christianity, Islam).56 While Scholem continues to be a central authority in the field he established, many of his views were later contested by the younger generations of scholars. Since the 1980s, the field has turned to analyze the mystical contents of Kabbalistic writings.57 A group of academic scholars led by Moshe Idel moved away from Scholem’s focus on the historical development Kabbalistic schools and various trends of Jewish Mysticism, instead they “emphasized experiential and ecstatic aspects of Kabbalah and Hasidism.”58 Idel organized his research around unique religious aspects of Jewish Mysticism such as the Golem and theurgy, and while the historical context was not abandoned, it ceased to be an organizing factor.59 In this book, I rely heavily on the work of Scholem because most of the authors that I discuss here were familiar with his books, and in some cases, Scholem was their main source of knowledge of Kabbalah (Goldemberg). Borges, Satz, and Muñiz-Huberman also studied from other secondary sources and directly from primary sources, but their writing does not take part in academic debates. Throughout the book I also refer to the work of contemporary rabbis and scholars who are invested in the esoteric content of Kabbalah and Hasidism (i.e. J. Immanuel Schochet and Adin Steinsaltz). The numerous approaches to Kabbalah and Hasidism that Scholem, his followers and detractors in academic circles engaged in differ greatly from the perspective of rabbis and practitioners who believe and teach the text to be true. Their writing reflects a level of spirituality that the authors and artists I discuss, while secular, often replicate. As Huss clearly demonstrates, not only are there differences on central issues between academics in the US and Israel, but also between academics who study Jewish mysticism, those who study, teach, and practice it, and Hasidic groups for whom Kabbalah is part of their daily lives. These groups often compete in terms of who has the authority to delve into Kabbalah. Huss states that “Scholem believed that academic research was the only means by which modern people could have contact with the transcendent reality that inspired Jewish mystical

55 Boaz Huss, “Ask No Questions: Gershom Scholem and the Study of Contemporary Jewish Mysticism,” Modern Judaism 25, no. 2 (May 2005): 143. 56 Boaz Huss, Mystifying Kabbalah, Academic Scholarship, National Theology, and New Age Spirituality, trans. Elana Lutsky (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 54. 57 Huss, “The Theologies of Kabbalah Research”: 4. 58 Huss, Mystifying Kabbalah, 3. 59 Ibid., 62, 79.

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texts.”60 He understood secular61 academic research as a continuation of the Kabbalistic tradition, negating the validity of contemporary development of Jewish mysticism that continues to be practiced and studied among Hasidic, Sephardic, Mizrahi Jews, as well as by neo-Hasidic, and new age groups.62 Huss also suggests that some academic scholars (i.e. Arthur Green, Melila HellnerEshed) perceive themselves as spiritual guides, competing with these groups, and that is one of the reasons they avoid studying contemporary Kabbalah and Hasidism.63 On a positive note, key figures in the academic field of Jewish Mysticism such as Moshe Idel and Yehuda Liebes address contemporary kabbalism,64 and there are instances when academics of Jewish Studies, rabbis, and scholars collaborate actively, as is the case of the Institute of Jewish Spirituality and Society.65 Because I am not trained in Jewish Studies nor do I have a Hasidic religious background, I do not engage in their debates in this book, but I carefully designate the sources throughout in order to make sure that the reader can distinguish between academic scholarship and the work of rabbis who continue to develop the Kabbalistic tradition to the present day. My decision to rely on sources that come from these different disciplinary perspectives and practices is based on the fact that this is a book about the intertextuality of literature and art. The long history and strong tradition of studying intertextual connections in ongoing Jewish literary production66 dates

60 Huss, “The Theologies of Kabbalah Research”: 2. 61 In spite of the secular nature of this academic field, Huss explains that the term mysticism in Jewish studies continues to hold theological assumptions: “The use of the term ‘mysticism’ as an analytical category assumes that the contact with God or the metaphysical entity (i.e. “the mystical experience”) explains the behavior of human beings, the nature of their cultural productions, and their impact on historical events.” He proposes that this is true even for the generation that came after Scholem, including Moshe Idel, Yehuda Liebes, and Elliot Wolfson, who took the field in new methodological and theoretical directions (i.e. focusing on the ecstatic mystical experiences). Huss, “The Theologies of Kabbalah Research”: 7. 62 Boaz Huss, “Ask No Questions”: 145–147. In another article, Huss discusses the ideological issues behind the strong criticism of the Kabbalah Center by academic scholars of Kabbalah as well as by contemporary Kabbalists (Chabad, Haredi, Mizrahi). The Kabbalah Center is an organization that is known for attracting celebrities, secular Jews and non-Jews. He looks into this issue in the context of the widespread rise of New Age spirituality at the end of the twentieth century. Boaz Huss, “Kabbalah and the Politics of Inauthenticity: The Controversies over the Kabbalah Center,” Numen 62 (2015): 197–225. 63 Huss, “The Theologies of Kabbalah Research”: 14–17. 64 Huss, “Ask No Questions”: 149. 65 See the Institute of Jewish Spirituality and Society’s mission statement page: https://www. spiritualityandsociety.org. 66 A good example of this practice is Eli Rubin’s article “Traveling and Traversing Chabad’s Literary Paths: From Likutei Torah to Khayim Gravitser and Beyond,” In Geveb, October 9, 2018, https:// ingeveb.org/articles/traveling-and-traversing-chabads-literary-paths-from-likutei-torah-to-khayim-

Introduction

back to the Kabbalistic concept of God inscribed in the Torah. Daniel Abrams studies Kabbalistic manuscripts as “living documents,” pointing at the layers of readings, glosses and corrections that take place as these texts passed from generations to generations of scribes and commentators, that is why he proposes that these manuscripts “should be read dialogically, as texts that interact with each other.”67 This is something that everyone cited in this book agrees with, from contemporary academic scholars to Hasidic rabbis and scholars, and Jewish and non-Jewish authors and artists: texts talk to each other. It is also a phenomenon that is replicated in the artistic expressions that I study in this book. A final note on spelling and translations of original texts written in Hebrew and Spanish: I have made an effort to standardize the spelling of Hebrew transliterations throughout the text with the exception of direct citations which have kept the original spelling according to the authors’ choices. This includes instances when the transliterations of Hebrew use Spanish spelling (i.e., in Mario Satz’s texts).

gravitser-and-beyond. In this article Rubin traces the presence of Hasidic stories in modern Jewish literature. 67 Daniel Abrams, Kabbalistic Manuscripts and Textual Theory: Methodologies of Textual Scholarship and Editorial Practice in the Study of Jewish Mysticism, 2nd ed. ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2013), 7–12.

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The Exotic in the Eye of the Beholder: Alejandro Jodorowsky’s Literature and Film1

Alejandro Jodorowsky was born in 1929, in Tocopilla, a small town in the north of Chile. His parents and grandparents were Ukrainian and Russian immigrants. The Jodorowsky family had a lengthy conflicted history with their Jewish heritage. Alejandro’s father and several of his grandparents tried to distance themselves from a religious heritage that they associated with the Russian pogroms. The author describes his father’s hatred of religion in general: “Yo lo veía echar al W.C. cruces, estrellas judías, estatuillas de la virgen, repitiendo de una manera obsesiva: ‘eso no existe, eso no existe.’”2 His paternal grandmother Teresa had also disavowed religion after her oldest son died when the river Dnieper overflowed in Ukraine3 before the family emigrated to Chile. His family changed their Jewish last name of Levi to Jodorowsky, a gentile

1 A previous and much shorter version of this chapter appeared in David William Foster, ed., Latin American Jewish Cultural Production (Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2009). 2 “I would see him throw crosses, stars of David, and little figurines of the Virgin Mary down the toilet, while obsessively repeating: ‘that does not exist, that does not exist.’” Alejandro Jodorowsky, La trampa sagrada. Conversaciones con Gilles Farcet (Santiago de Chile: Ed. Universitaria, 1991), 25. 3 Alejandro Jodorowsky, Donde mejor canta un pájaro (Barcelona: Random House Mondadori, 2005), 15.

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Russian name.4 The author himself admits to renouncing Judaism5 and there are multiple instances in his autobiographical writing and films in which he depicts Jews and Jewish practices with open disdain and anger.6 Henri-Simon BlancHoang explains Jodorowsky’s open rejection of his religious heritage as part of his affiliation to the Surrealist Movement, an aesthetic movement that tends to blaspheme the sacred and sanctify the blasphemous, a strong theme throughout his oeuvre. In spite of this, Blanc-Hoang also notes Jodorowsky’s interest in his Jewish cultural context and how important it is in his cultural production.7 This is particularly reflected in his semi-autobiographical writing in which the love-hate tension that appears in Jodorowsky’s portrayal of his Jewish past is evident in his conceptualization of the weight the genealogical tree has on people’s suffering. This is central to his development of his psychomagic curative treatment as I will discuss later. Interestingly, the title of his autobiographical book is based on Jean Cocteau’s saying ‘un pájaro canta mejor en su árbol genealógico.”8 In fact, Jodorowsky’s definition of the genealogical tree is mixed. The author opens his autobiography “transformada y exaltada hasta llevarla al mito,”9 Dónde mejor canta un pájaro (2005), with this disclaimer: “Nuestro árbol genealógico por una parte es la trampa que limita nuestros pensamientos, emociones, deseos y vida material . . . y por otra es el tesoro que encierra la mayor parte 4 Jodorowsky, Donde mejor canta un pájaro, 28. 5 Alejandro Jodorowsky, La danza de la realidad (Buenos Aires: Debolsillo, 2005), 109. 6 A good example appears in his film Poesía sin fin [Endless Poetry] (ABKCO Films, Inc.: New York, 2016) in which a young Alejandro rebels against his family in a scene that takes place at his grandmother’s house. A large menorah is displayed in the living room, and there’s an Orthodox-looking person (possibly a member of the family) among the guests. While the family plays cards they discuss their expectations for Alejandro’s professional future. This makes him react against what he considers his father’s oppressive treatment towards him. He goes outside and starts chopping a tree in front of his family, an act of psychomagic symbolizing his breaking away from the family tree. While he is cutting down the tree, he yells insults to the family to a backdrop filled with klezmer music and Hebrew prayer chanting. After the angry tantrum, he leaves the family and moves into the house of two sisters who host artists. There he feels free to fulfill his dream of writing poetry against his family’s wishes. This film, as well as his book La danza de la realidad (Barcelona: Debolsillo, 2015), includes characterizations of Jews that are based on stereotypes (merchants with long crooked noses, parents with bourgeois professional expectations for their children, etc.). In the book, Jodorowsky calls Judaism “una anquilosada tradición” (“a stiffened tradition”—p. 96). Other examples of negative representations of Judaism appear in his autobiographical novel Donde mejor canta un pájaro (Barcelona: Debolsillo, 2005); some examples can be found on pages 28, 69, 97, 201. However, to put this in context, we need to refer to the author’s disclaimer at the beginning of this novel, calling his family tree both a curse and a treasure. 7 Henri-Simon Blanc-Hoang, “Alegorías del mesianismo en la obra de Alejandro Jodorowsky” (PhD diss., University of Florida, 2005), 20–24. 8 “[A] bird sings best on its genealogical tree.” 9 “[T]ransformed and exalted to the realm of myth.”

T h e E x o t i c i n t h e E y e o f t h e B e h o l d e r : A l e j a n d r o Jo d o r o w s k y ’s L i t e r a t u r e a n d F i l m

de nuestros valores.”10 His love-hate relationship with his genealogical tree is deeply connected with his portrayal of Judaism. Jodorowsky describes his family genealogy as including Kabbalists, imaginary friends, circus performers, and people who believed in witchcraft as well as popular superstitions from the old and the new world. When he was twenty-three, Jodorowsky left Chile never to return. First, he spent time in France, where he worked with two key figures of the European Surrealist movement: Spanish playwright and filmmaker Fernando Arrabal and French illustrator and author Roland Topor. In 1962, the three friends created the “Panic Movement” in reference to the Greek god Pan, a symbol of terror and humor. Fernando Arrabal describes the Panic Movement as “based on the explosion of reason.”11 Jodorowsky spent time in Mexico, where he was introduced to witchcraft and Shamanism. During his time there, he was also an avid reader and follower of Zen Buddhism.12 In Mexico, he shot his first film Fando y Lis in 1968. His 1970 film El topo (The Mole), a surrealist and existentialist Western, was also shot in Mexico and became a cult film in the United States. When he decided to live permanently in France, he worked several years with the French mime Marcel Marceau. Jodorowsky is also known for writing and performing Theater of the Absurd and other forms of performance art such as Happenings. During the sixties and seventies, he became well known for taking artistic techniques to extremes. In addition, he is recognized by many as an author of comics13 and for his curative practices as a psycho shaman and tarot reader. In Donde mejor canta un pájaro, Jodorowsky tells us about his first contact with “la magia y la locura”14 that took place one night when he found Cristina, his childhood nanny, moving her hands as though she were making a sculpture of the Virgin of Carmen in the air. Cristina explained to him that when she finished the sculpture, and everyone could see it, her dead son would come back to life. Other similar “awakening” encounters followed, including learning about

10 “Our genealogical tree is, on the one hand, the trap that limits our thoughts, emotions, desires, and material living . . . on the other, it is the treasure chest that holds most of our values.” Jodorowsky, Dónde major, 13. 11 Louis Mouchet, dir., La constellation Jodorowsky (San Francisco: Fantoma, 1994). 12 Alejandro Jodorowsky, The Spiritual Journey of Alejandro Jodorowsky: The Creator of El Topo, trans. Joseph Rowe (Rochester: Park Street Press, 2008), 13. In this book, Jodorowsky discusses his Buddhist learning from Ejo Takata, as well as the multiple mentors who introduced him to Shamanism and other esoteric teachings. 13 For a visual representation of his spiritual journey, see Alejandro Jodorowsky, The Panic Fables: Mystic Teachings and Initiatory Tales, trans. Ariel Godwin (Rochester: Park Street Press, 2017). 14 “[M]agic and madness.”

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Chico Molina’s magical secret mirror, and the art of Tarot introduced to him by Marie Lefevre in Chile.15 The author adds that the poetry that dominated the cultural scene in the fifties in Chile by José Donoso, Enrique Lihn, and Jorge Edwards also influenced his attraction for the magical.16 The impressive diversity of artistic expressions that Jodorowsky explored and mastered has caused some people to perceive him as a “charlatan [because he] . . . is too much of everything.”17 Jodorowsky himself uses the word charlatan when explaining why he decided not to cure illnesses with psychomagic “No queriendo pasar por charlatán, renuncié a curar enfermedades físicas”18 He has always been considered a controversial figure who pushed the limits of expression to the extreme, and this has caused serious pushback by critics.19 Recently, he was the focus of a public outcry for the contents of an interview from the 1970s in which he openly admits and even gloats over raping actress Mara Lorenzio during the filming of El Topo. Jodorowsky and his current wife explain that he was only trying to shock the journalist and that his claims were fabricated. Unfortunately, we don’t have the actress’s perspective. While it is possible that he made these claims in order to shock the journalist, which is characteristic of his work and persona,20 Jodorowsky’s claims are condemnable as they show a great disregard for rape victims.21 15 Jodorowsky, La danza de la realidad, 259–262. 16 Alejandro Jodorowsky, Psicomagia (Buenos Aires: Debolsillo, 2005), 29. 17 Quintin, “A Liar’s Autobiography,” cinema scope, January 4, 2022, https://cinema-scope.com/ features/tiff-2013-preview-jodorowskys-dune-frank-pavich-usa/. 18 “To avoid being perceived as a charlatan, I resigned from the cure of physical ailments.” Jodorowsky, La danza de la realidad, 353. 19 Yitzhak Lewis suggested that it would be interesting to consider Jodorowsky’s transgressive attitude as part of a larger “false messiah” persona, that is directly in dialogue with the likes of Shabtai Sevi, given antinomianism is a general feature of false messiahs, and perceived as charlatans by the Jewish community. For such individuals, transgression often goes hand in hand with Kabbalism. Personal exchange, April 20, 2021. 20 Helena O’Hara, “The Director Who Went Too Far: The Shocking Truth about the Exploitation ‘Classic’ El Topo.” The Telegraph, January10, 2020, https://www.telegraph.co.uk/films/0/ director-bragged-on-camera-rape-alejandro-jodorowskys-el-topo/; Colin Moynihan, “Jodorowsky’s Wife Defends Him after Museo del Barrio Cancellation,” New York Times, January 30, 2019, https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/30/arts/design/museodel-barrio-jodorowsky.html; “Museo de NY cancela expo de Alejando Jodorowsky por declarer que violó a una actriz,” Milenio, January 29, 2019, https://www.milenio.com/cultura/alejandro-jodorowskycancelan-exposicion-violar-mujer; “Alejandro Jodorowsky Speaks Out After El Museo Del Barrio Calls Off Retrospective,” Artforum, January 31, 2019, https://www.artforum.com/news/alejandro-jodorowskyspeaks-out-after-el-museo-del-barrio-calls-off-retrospective-78538. 21 Needless to say, the author’s actions, or words, or both, pose serious ethical problems in choosing to discuss his oeuvre. But given that this chapter is the result of many years of research

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One of the most salient and often disturbing aspects of Jodorowsky’s work is how naturally he weaves the strange and the familiar in his films, public performances, and writings. His work thrives on exploring what’s shocking, “strange,” “foreign,” rare, and different. This is why it is crucial to examine whether his penchant for the supernatural stems from an exoticist point of view. In his plays, films, books, and comics, the reader and the spectator are exposed to an endless array of strange characters and situations that range from the surprising and esoteric to the grotesque, disgusting, and violent. The author explains that his attraction to the strange and the supernatural stems from a strong desire to keep the mystery alive.22 He celebrates the esoteric by protecting what is hidden behind difference. This is a core concept that runs through this book and is why I chose to reference his quote in the title. Keeping the mystery alive is present in the various representations and renderings of themes of Jewish mysticism in Latin American literature and art. In a documentary about his life and works directed by Louis Mouchet, La Constellation Jodorowsky (1994), Jodorowsky says that if he managed to define himself, he would become history. He admits that he is attracted to that which he cannot comprehend.23 If, as he later says, what we have to learn is what hides behind things,24 that means that his passion is the creative process itself. This is further explained in the voice-over at the beginning of his film El Topo (The Mole), in which this concept is described as follows: “The mole is an animal that digs tunnels under the ground, searching for the sun, sometimes his journey brings it to the surface, and when he sees the sun, he is blinded.” This passage reflects how Jodorowsky’s works thrive in esoteric realms. To see the sun represents the experience of fully understanding; thus, if the moment we understand we become blinded, then the goal is to not get there. What matters is the search, not the arrival. Another example of this central aspect of his work is the author’s description of the dream that gave birth to the graphic novel series Jodorowsky created with artist Moebius ( Jean Giraud) titled El Incal. In Mouchet’s documentary, Jodorowsky describes the main character of this graphic novel series as “nuestro dios interior, el centro de nuestro inconsciente.”25 They portray the main character

before learning of the author’s reprehensible claims, and that Jodorowsky’s work represents an essential contribution to this project, I have decided to keep it in the book. 22 Jodorowsky, Psicomagia, 11. 23 Mouchet, La constellation Jodorowsky, chapter 2. 24 Ibid., chapter 9. 25 “[O]ur inner god, the core of our unconscious” (Mouchet, La constellation, chapter 5).

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with a luminous image as a source of creativity, the mystery that inspires a search that does not seek answers. That is why the incomprehensible is an excellent point of departure for his writing, movies, and public performances. However, since the incomprehensible and objectifying the Other can easily be merged, a discussion about exoticism is crucial in regard to this artistic body of work. Exoticism is a loaded term because it has historically set up unequal hierarchies between the observer and the observed, even as it celebrates difference. This is evident in nineteenth-century travel writing in which the travelers tried to make sense of foreign objects and concepts. However, Jodorowsky’s representations of the unfamiliar manage to avoid distinct hierarchies between the deviant and the normal by creating the illusion that the strange belongs to the realm of the familiar. He does not, however, normalize the supernatural. I contend that Jodorowsky’s fascination with the exotic redefines difference. Strange and familiar merge in a creative universe that both captivates and disconcerts the reader and the viewer. Some of Jodorowsky’s main sources of inspiration are Jewish Mysticism, Kabbalah, and Jewish popular beliefs. Since his body of work is very popular among non-Jews, and Jewish tradition has been historically perceived as Other, Jodorowsky’s use of these sources raises concern, especially as he is a Chilean author of Jewish descent who lives in France but who does not identify as Jewish, and who has used antagonistic tropes of his ancestors’ religion. In spite of this, however, Jewish tradition has a crucial place in his work, especially some aspects of Jewish Mysticism. His source of knowledge of Kabbalah and Hasidism is also a mystery. His book El maestro y las magas (2009), recreates his learning process in all things esoteric. He writes about his teachers and mentors in great detail, but there is no mention of Jewish Mysticism. A vague link appears in his creative memoir La danza de la realidad (2005) where he describes the training of one of his mentors, the Bolivian Oscar Ichazo who read the Zohar, and applied “cabalistic techniques” alongside taoistic, alchemistic, and sufistic principles in his spiritual repertoire.26 He also mentions reading about Kabbalah in an interview with Vice magazine,27 without providing any specifics. Given his apparent lack of serious studies in the subject, can we say that he falls into the trap of an outsider looking in? Mexican witchcraft, Shamanism, Tarot, and popular Christian beliefs also have an important place in his works. Can we conclude that his fascination with Jewish Mysticism results in an exotic rendering of this

26 Jodorowsky, La danza de la realidad, 276–277. 27 This interview is also cited in the introduction. Azoury, “Alejandro Jodorowsky.”

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aspect of Judaism? The nature of Jodorowsky’s treatment of the exotic vis-à-vis Jewish Mysticism needs further analysis. Cultural Studies scholar Graham Huggan suggests that the exotic is not a particular characteristic of people, objects, or places “exoticism describes, rather, a particular mode of aesthetic perception – one which renders people, objects, and places strange even as it domesticates them, and which effectively manufactures otherness even as it claims to surrender to its immanent mystery.”28 The exotic fascinates as something different and strange, as long as it remains contained in a literary text, a travel journal, a postcard, or a souvenir. This definition of the exotic centers on familiarizing what is different in order to make it safe. The observer uses the Other (person, object, place) in order to “normalize” the Self, as in the concept of Orientalism coined by Edward Said.29 The observer, attracted to the Other, establishes their perspective to be the “norm,” and that inevitably positions the point of observation as hierarchically superior to the observed object or subject. Huggan describes the most broadly accepted understanding of this concept, but there are other ways to think about exoticism. At the end of the nineteenth century, French poet and cultural analyst Victor Segalen was preoccupied with the declining appreciation of difference due to the rise of travel during modernity.30 Segalen wanted to save the essence of exoticism in order to get away from simple and conformist attitudes toward life.31 With the hope of distinguishing a sense of “true exoticism” that celebrated “authentic difference” he wanted to [t]hrow overboard everything misused or rancid contained in the word exoticism. Strip it of all its cheap finery: palm tree and camel; tropical helmet; black skins and yellow sun . . . Then strip the word exoticism of its exclusively tropical, exclusively geographic meaning . . . From there, move rapidly to the task of defining and laying out the sensation of Exoticism, which is nothing other

28 Graham Huggan, The Post-Colonial Exotic: Marketing the Margins (New York and London: Routledge, 2001), 13. 29 Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1979). 30 Victor Segalen, Essay on Exoticism: An Aesthetics of Diversity (Durham: Duke University Press, 2002). Segalen’s aversion to the gaze of the pseudo-exots of the late nineteenth and the early twentieth centuries resonates with Mary Louise Pratt’s description of eighteenth-century European male gaze “whose imperial eyes passively look out and possess.” Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992), 7. 31 Harry Harootunian, “The Exotics of Nowhere,” foreword to Segalen, Essay on Exoticism: An Aesthetics of Diversity, xiv.

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than the notion of difference, the perception of Diversity, the knowledge that something is other than one’s self; and Exoticism’s power is nothing other than the ability to conceive otherwise.32 If to experience authentic difference means to be able to “conceive otherwise,” the distinction between Self and Other becomes unsettled, because the hierarchically uneven positions are no longer secure. Self loses itself in Other, Other becomes Self. This is essential in order to celebrate “the feeling which diversity stirs in us.”33 Segalen was trying to reclaim the exoticism from the abuse by the explorers and travelers whom he called “pseudo-exots” with their commercial, political, and colonial agendas. When Jodorowsky focuses on Jewish Mysticism, we need to wonder if he celebrates authentic difference or if he falls for the pseudo-exoticism of the explorers who observed other cultures with an appropriating eye. The next section will show how this author’s unique perspective highlights difference in an effort that both educates the reader and celebrates the unusual. At first glance, Jodorowsky’s treatment of Jewish mystical themes brings to mind the exoticism of European travel writers who, since the eighteenth century, have attempted to domesticate foreignness in accordance with the logic of empire. Jodorowsky avoids some of the pitfalls of an exoticist imperial gaze, and his treatment of religious mysticism invites us to rethink difference as a critical category.34 Jodorowsky’s works provide strong intimations of a beyond from which Western reason is barred. His approach to this beyond is two-fold: On the one hand, he hints at it with surprisingly detailed and accurate information about alternative areas of knowledge and experience—Jewish Mysticism in this case; and on the other, he mysticizes the very subject he sets out to explain. It is this oscillation between strange and familiar that captivates and disconcerts Jodorowsky’s audience. The leitmotif of the circus is a good example to illustrate his problematic penchant for the exotic. In his biography, Jodorowsky describes his father Jaime as a child seeing a circus go by: Una mañana de primavera, arrastrado por dos caballos esqueléticos con penachos negros, pasó por nuestra calle, rumbo a la plaza pública, un furgón de circo pintado como carroza 32 Segalen, Essay on Exoticism, 18–19. 33 Ibid., 47. 34 Alberto Moreiras stresses the need to rethink the value and uses of difference as a critical category. Alberto Moreiras, The Exhaustion of Difference (Durham: Duke University Press 2001).

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fúnebre. Lo conducía un hombre disfrazado de esqueleto. Junto a él, una enana, vestida de ángel de Juicio Final, tocaba una melodía triste en una vieja trompeta. Atraídos por su aspecto tétrico corrimos a ver la representación. Esos volatineros sabían seducir al público. Un espectáculo alegre no habría podido competir con la Naturaleza emergiendo exuberante del letargo invernal. Entre la invasión de mariposas multicolores y flores lascivas, el alborozo abyecto de unos saltimbanquis no hubiera interesado a nadie. Pero así tenebrosos, desdentados, miserables restos del frío glacial, nos daban la oportunidad de sentirnos saludables, bien alimentados, a salvo.35 The narrator is fascinated by the dismal characteristics of this circus which makes him feel that his life, by comparison, is “normal.” This passage exhibits the dynamic that Huggan describes in regards to exoticism. It also echoes Orientalism. But the point of view in this passage is atypical in Jodorowsky’s work, where the strange is generally portrayed as the norm. For example, the film Santa Sangre, which recreates the protagonist’s memories of growing up in the circus, represents it as a sordid as well as a familiar place. This film portrays dwarfs, an alcoholic father, a deaf-and-mute girl and her abusive stepmother, and a tattooed contortionist. In Santa Sangre, the circus procession also serves as a “funeral” for an elephant, who is only killed at the end of the procession. We witness how the elephant is thrown to a garbage heap, dismembered, and eaten by a mob of marginal people who seem to have lost their humanity.36 While the procession stands for a ceremonious funeral for the elephant, the disposal of its body is horrific. In contrast to the cited passage in Donde mejor canta un pájaro, the ending of the procession is grotesque and violent. Why choose this ending for the elephant? The contrast between the funeral procession and disposal of the body is incomprehensible and “strange.” 35 “On a Spring morning, drawn by two scrawny horses with black plumes, a circus van painted as a funeral carriage drove through our street on its way to the public square. A man in a skeleton costume was at the wheel. To his side, a dwarf woman, dressed as an angel from the Day of Atonement, played a sad melody on an old trumpet. Captivated by its gloomy appearance, we ran to see the performance. These rope walkers knew how to charm an audience. A cheerful show could have never been able to rival Nature, as it emerged exuberant from the lethargy of winter. Amongst the rampant spread of multicolored butterflies and lascivious flowers, the abject joy of some tumblers would have interested no one. But in their tenebrous, toothless, miserable guise, they offered us the chance to feel healthy, well-fed, and safe.” Jodorowsky, Donde mejor canta un pájaro, 41. 36 This image expresses a strong critique of the subhuman conditions in which people live at the margin of society, especially in urban centers of the Global South.

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The abject factor in this scene, so characteristic of Jodorowsky’s aesthetics, is what needs to be questioned in light of Huggan’s definition of the exotic. Without a doubt, Jodorowsky’s portraits of the circus characters and the people devouring the elephant underline their otherness, but they don’t establish a norm by contrast. Santa Sangre does not allow the protagonist to take a contemplative distance. This sordid circus is his home. Nor does Jodorowsky normalize the supernatural. The abject aesthetics keep the audience aghast. His approach to the strange and unusual won’t allow the spectator to domesticate the “strange” or the “exotic,” as there is no return to “normal” at the end of the day. That is why his perspective is not Orientalist; the strange is woven into the normal. Robert Neustadt agrees: “Jodorowsky both asserts and deconstructs notions of difference and individuality . . . he narrates a heterogeneous world in which the notion of “normality” does not exist.”37

Jewish Mysticism and Exoticism As previously noted, in spite of the fact that Jodorowsky appears to have a very conflicted connection to his Jewish ancestry, Jewish Mysticism, and Jewish popular beliefs are among the most predominant sources of the supernatural in his autobiographical writing. A good example of this is his use of mystical thinking38 that focuses on predicting the future and in avoiding being harmed by malevolent forces, such as demons and other dangerous entities. Magical thinking has been part of Jewish life from its origins. I will further discuss this in chapter 3. A good example of the presence of mystical thinking among Jews in the eighteenth century is recreated in Donde mejor canta un pájaro. In this book, Jodorowsky writes about Salvador Arcavi, a maternal ancestor, arriving in Lithuania from exile. Arcavi finds himself at the wake of Elías ben Solomon Zalman, the Vilna Gaon (religious leader of the Mitnagdim) and a great teacher of Talmud and Kabbalah.39 There is a scene that takes place at the Vilna Gaon’s wake, where his disciples are absorbed in prayer. One of them, who is possessed

37 Robert Neustadt, “Alejandro Jodorowsky: Reiterating Chaos, Rattling the Cage of Representation,” Chasqui 26, no. 1 (May 1997): 73. 38 Mystical thinking is also behind the concepts of the dybbuk, gilgul, the golem, and the power of the evil eye. 39 Jodorowsky, Donde mejor, 69. This portrayal of Elijah ben Solomon Zalman, the Vilna Gaon, is historically accurate. He was a Talmudist who was also interested in Kabbalah from a rational perspective.

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by the spirit of the deceased Baal Shem Tov40 (Founder of Hasidism), is invited by the group to arise. At this point in the story, the Vilna Gaon comes back to life and asks Salvador Arcavi to tell him what he sees in the first seven words of the book of Genesis. Salvador becomes terrified because he can’t read Hebrew, so the Vilna Gaon’s disciple (who is possessed by the spirit of the Baal Shem Tov) encourages him by saying: “La primera y la última letra de la Torá forman la palabra corazón. No hay más conocimiento que el Amor. Tú puedes. Atrévete.”41 Salvador agrees and enters in a trance: . . . fijó su vista en las letras sin tratar de adivinar lo que decían. Eran seres y no signos. La primera palabra comenzaba con un arco descendente, una base horizontal y un punto: ‫בּ‬. Observó la forma vaciándose de sí mismo, dejando que sus ojos vieran sin la interferencia de su persona. Lentamente el arco y la línea se transformaron en un hocico abierto y luego, dentro de él, el punto vibró como un rugido de fiera, grito total, generador. Concentró su atención con tal fuerza que esa mancha diminuta creció y adquirió profundidad para convertirse en un túnel sin fin, garganta insaciable que comenzó a tragarse todas las otras letras. Al final, en la página sólo quedaba ese punto, enorme, hondo. Salvador sintió que el centro voraz lo absorbía extrayéndolo de su cuerpo. Se dejó tragar sin miedo y su alma penetró en ese corredor oscuro.42

40 As previously mentioned in the introduction, the Baal Shem Tov (Rabbi Yisrael ben Eliezer), also known as the Besht, was a Talmud and Kabbalah scholar and healer who is considered the founder of the Hasidic movement. He revitalized Judaism by reaching out to the poor and the unlearned and by teaching them direct connection to God through celebration and joy. The Mitnagdim viewed Talmudic knowledge and studying Torah as the essential in order to connect to the Divine, a luxury the masses could not afford. 41 “The first and last letters of the Torah form the word heart. There is no knowledge greater than love. You can do it. Go for it.” 42 “ . . . stared at the characters without attempting to guess what they said. They were beings, not signs. The first word started with a descending arch, a horizontal base, and dot: ‫בּ‬. He observed the form as he emptied himself, allowing his eyes to see without the interference of his personhood. The arch and the line slowly transformed themselves into an open snout and then, inside it the point vibrated as the roaring of a beast, a total, a generating roar. He focused his attention with such might that the tiny dot grew and acquired enough depth to become an endless tunnel, an insatiable throat that began to swallow all other letters. At the end, there was only that point on the page, enormous and deep. Salvador felt absorbed in the voracious center, as it extracted him from his own body. He let himself be swallowed without fear and his soul entered that dark corridor.” Jodorowsky, Donde mejor canta un pájaro, 71–72.

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When Arcavi returns from the trance, the entire community is celebrating him. The Vilna Gaon even offers him his daughter Luna in marriage. Soon after, Salvador opens his heart to her. His marriage to her immediately makes him part of the group. Salvador and Luna go on to share their visions and trances with the poor and manage to cure many sick people.43 Salvador Arcavi’s trance describes the potential intensity of the religious experience of unity with the Divine. It also recreates the level of depth and intensity that Kabbalistic reading requires. The student of Kabbalah digs deep into the multiple layers of meaning of each Hebrew letter, word, and concept. In Kabbalah, language connects the earthly to the Divine. As academic scholar Rachel Elior explains: The transition from the concealed to the revealed takes place through language; it is the revelation of God’s creative power. We comprehend his infinity through his creation, understood in the Jewish mystical tradition as the infinite flow of letters from the hidden summit of being to the lowest level in this world. . . . Each letter is a link between the higher worlds and the lower worlds. Mysticism unifies the earthly and the divine meaning of the letters and reveals their hidden significance.44 The mystics believed that the shape and the sound of each letter in the Hebrew language transmits the Divine into earthly realms, because the Torah was written in the sacred language of Hebrew, which is also spoken by humans.45 The significance of the connection between the earthly and the Divine through each Hebrew letter transpires in Jodorowsky’s description of Salvador Arcavi’s mystical experience. Additionally, in the cited passage, the letter Bet ‫ בּ‬represents a “dark corridor” leading to the strange and the supernatural in Jodorowsky’s writing. This makes it a good example of how the author weaves the strange with the familiar. There is also the weaving of strange and familiar in the Hebrew words and letters (strange) and the text’s Spanish words and letters (familiar). The mystical experience is framed within the familiar context of a wake and a potential marriage, a very typical occurrence in Jodorowsky’s creative work. If we read

43 Ibid., 72–73. 44 Rachel Elior, The Mystical Origins of Hasidism (Oxford: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2006), 41–42. 45 Ibid., 46.

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this scene in relation to Segalen’s perspective on the exotic, we can imagine the reader absorbed by the magic of this passage, enjoying the authentic beauty of this unique experience. By contrast, a pseudo-exotic reader would be drawn to Arcavi’s mystical trance because it deviates from official practices. However, following Huggan’s definition of the exotic, we can conclude that Jodorowsky domesticates Arcavi’s mystical/exotic experience by framing it within the familiar context of community integration. Thus, the exotic is in the eye of the beholder; and the beholder may very possibly have mixed perceptions in the context of Jodorowsky’s narratives. Another recurrent connection to Jewish Mysticism in Jodorowsky’s semiautobiographical writing and films is the character of the Rebe, who describes how he arrives into the Jodorowsky family’s genealogy in Kabbalistic terms: Comencé a atravesar las diez dimensiones maravillosas, queriendo llegar al pensamiento primero, que es el comienzo y el fin de todo . . . visité inmensas espirales de pura luz, gigantescas serpientes de fuego frío enrolladas en anillos concéntricos, ríos de amor . . .46 The “spirals of pure light” in this quote is a reference to the ten Sephirot. According to Kabbalah, the Sephirot are ten spheres and are understood as divine emanations of the Tree of Life. I will briefly introduce this concept here, but it will be further developed in the next chapter. For some, the Sephirot represent God’s attributes, for others, God’s actions.47 They also represent the essence of God, his emanations, or “ten creative forces . . . that connect the infinite unknowable God and our created world.”48 The ten Sephirot include: Keter (Crown), Hokhmah (Wisdom), Binah (Understanding), Hesed (Lovingkindness), Gevurah (Might) or Din ( Judgment), Tiferet (Beauty), Hod (Splendor), Netzah (Victory), Yesod (Foundation), and Malkhut (Sovereignty) or Shekhinah (the Divine Presence).49

46 “I began to traverse the ten wondrous dimensions, seeking to arrive at the primal thought, which is the beginning and the end of everything . . . I visited immense spirals of pure light, enormous serpents of cold fire coiled in concentric rings, rivers of love . . .” Alejandro Jodorowsky, Lágrimas de oro (Madrid: H. Kliczkowski, 2005), 51. 47 Byron L. Sherwin, Kabbalah: An Introduction to Jewish Mysticism (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2006), 58. 48 Harold Bloom, Kabbalah and Criticism (New York and London: Continuum, 2005), 9–10. 49 Ibid., 9–10.

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We learn in the previous passage that the Rebe wanted to arrive “first to thinking, that is the beginning and end of everything” describing his desire to connect with Ein Sof, the “infinite,” that cannot be known or represented.50 Ein Sof is one of the metaphors that Kabbalists use in order to refer to God without naming him, for they had abandoned the personal manner in which God is mentioned in the Bible.51 But while the passage includes references that clearly refer to the Sephirotic tradition in Kabbalah, by the end of the passage, Jodorowsky uses metaphors that include fantastic elements such as “serpents of cold fire” and “rivers of love.” This is a clear example of how this author’s writing is inspired by central themes in Jewish Mysticism but steers away from traditional representations—a style which characterizes Jodorowsky’s work. The character of the Rebe belongs to the author’s family’s mythology. The Rebe is transmitted from generation to generation: the author’s grandfather considered him an accomplice, his father an intruder, and Jodorowsky a teacher. The Rebe’s story is told from different angles in several of his texts. In the novel La danza de la realidad, Jodorowsky sums up the Rebe’s presence in his family genealogy in one page. His paternal grandfather, Alejandro Levi, created the character as a result of his schizophrenia, his father felt the presence of the Rebe in his dreams as a contagion of his father’s mental illness, and the author describes him as an imaginary friend. So, he was not fooled by his father invoking the Rebe every time he wanted to push his son aside: “Go play with the Rebe!” or “Ask the Rebe for help with your homework!”52, for example. Alejandro Levi first experiences the presence of the Rebe when he is a child. He is in Hebrew class repeating an interminable recitation of prayers when he faints Atravesando el muro de luz, un hombre vestido de negro como los rabinos pero con ojos orientales, piel amarilla y barba de largos pelos lacios, vino a flotar junto a él. ‘Tienes suerte muchachito’, le dijo, ‘no te sucederá lo que a mí. Cuando descubrí el Entremundo no hubo nadie que viniera a aconsejarme. Me sentí tan bien como tú y decidí no volver. Grave error. Mi cuerpo, abandonado en un bosque, fue devorado por los osos y cuando tuve otra vez necesidad de los seres humanos me fue imposible regresar. Me vi condenado a vagar por los diez planos de la Creación sin tener

50 Ibid., 9. 51 Scholem, Major Trends, 12. 52 Jodorowsky, La danza de la realidad, 21.

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derecho a estacionarme. Un triste pájaro errante . . . Si me dejas echar raíces en tu espíritu, volveré contigo. Y en agradecimiento podré aconsejarte – conozco de memoria la Torá y el Talmud – y nunca más estarás sólo. ¿Quieres?’53 [to which the narrator adds] ¿Cómo ese niño huérfano no iba a querer? Sediento de amor, adoptó al Rebe . . . Era un caucasiano que exageró sus estudios cabalísticos y por buscar los sabios santos que, según el Zohar, viven en el otro mundo, se perdió en los laberintos del Tiempo.54 When Alejandro Levi returns to consciousness, he is surrounded by his concerned teacher and peers. From this point on he is the only one who can see the Rebe, who has taken over his body and makes him recite Hebrew prayers in a deep voice. The town becomes afraid of Alejandro and believes him to be possessed by a dybbuk. This word stems from the Hebrew root that means to “adhere.” Although there are disagreements about the exact meaning of the word, it usually refers to a restless soul who has committed a sin and has taken over a human body in order to purify itself. It is the soul of a dead Jew that needs to rectify bad deeds in his life entering the body of another. The exchange that the transmigrating soul and the person it possesses is mutual, and there is a whole set of expectations of benefits and losses that come with that exchange.55 While dybbuks don’t represent the devil, the possession of a person by the devil has also been part of Jewish beliefs.56 When the possession is the result of a

53 “Stepping through the wall of light, a man dressed in black as rabbis do, yet with oriental eyes, yellow skin and a beard of long limp hair, came to float beside him. ‘You are fortunate, young man,’ he said, ‘what happened to me will not occur to you. When I discovered the world of the in between no one was there to offer guidance. I felt as well as you are and I decided to never return. A grave error. My body, abandoned in the woods, was devoured by bears and when I felt the need for human beings again, it was impossible to go back. I saw myself sentenced to wandering across the ten spheres of Creation without a right to become stationed. A sad migrating bird . . . If you let me take root in your spirit, I will go back with you. As a token of my appreciation, I will give you advice –I know the Torah and the Talmud by heart– and you will never be alone. Would you like that?” Jodorowsky, Donde mejor canta un pájaro, 18. 54 “How could an orphaned child not like that? Thirsty for love, he adopted the Rebe . . . He was a Caucasian who had taken his cabalistic studies to the extreme and who, while searching for the holy sages who according to the Zohar live in the world above, got lost in the labyrinth of Time.” Jodorowsky, Donde mejor canta un pájaro, 18. 55 Tamar Alexander, “Love and Death in a Contemporary Dybbuk Story: Personal Narrative and the Female Voice,” in Spirit Possession in Judaism, ed. Matt Goldish (Detroit: Wayne University Press, 2003), 311. 56 Yoram Bilu, “The Taming of the Deviants and Beyond: An Analysis of Dybbuk Possession and Exorcism in Judaism,” in Goldish, Spirit Possession in Judaism, 42.

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reincarnation,57 it is called a gilgul.58 Dybbuks, gilguls, and golems are popular mystical characters that are found in Yiddish literature. They became part of the cultural heritage in the context of the pogroms around the times of the First World War. In Jodorowsky’s novel Donde mejor canta el pájaro, there are several characters who are possessed by souls: the Hasid who incites Salvador Arcavi to read the passage from Genesis is possessed by the soul of the Baal Shem Tov; and the grandfather, father, and the author himself, who are possessed by the Rebe. The multiple iterations of the Rebe include both malignant and benevolent characteristics, as I will discuss further. When the Rebe possesses Alejandro Levi, the townspeople attempt to exorcize him.59 Exorcism in the context of Jewish tradition is discussed in the next section of this chapter. Eventually, life goes back to normal and the townspeople begin to ask advice from the Rebe through Alejandro. Their respect for the Rebe shows the veneration people feel towards spiritual leaders like the Baal Shem Tov. Interestingly, due to his shyness, Alejandro remains as unpopular as he was before the Rebe decided to reside in him. In Jewish Mysticism, spirit possession is generally expected to have a reciprocal benefit for the soul possessing and the possessed, but it seems that in this interaction the Rebe has more to gain from the possession, as Alejandro continues to be disregarded by his peers. It is evident that Jodorowsky’s representation of the Rebe and his spirit possession is anchored in Judaism. However, the character of the Rebe in his work sometimes departs from this context. This is especially true for his physical appearance. The “oriental eyes,” the “yellow skin,” and the “long straight beard,” are characteristics that belong to an Asian physical stereotype. These physical traits underscore the character of the Rebe’s Otherness. The decision to combine Asian stereotypical traits with Talmudic and Kabbalah expertise adds an extra layer of difference to the character of the Rebe. But if he represents the Other, who represents the norm? An Ashkenazi Hasid? A Christian? An Asian monk? As is typical in Jodorowsky’s creative work, the norm is not used as a point

57 The belief of reincarnation and transmigrations of the soul, which are part of Jewish Mysticism, is not shared by other groups including the non-kabbalistic Orthodox and Reform Jews. Berlin, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion, 23. 58 Gilgul means reincarnation. Gershom Scholem explains the intricate history of its development in Jewish mysticism. Reincarnation eventually also included the descent of souls into the body of animals when failing in the process of purgation. Gershom Scholem, “Gilgul, the Transmigration of Souls,” in On the Mystical Shape of the Godhead (New York: Schocken Books, 1991), 225. Jodorowsky integrates this in his description of the Arcavi, his maternal ancestors, owning lions that spoke Hebrew. Jodorowsky, Donde mejor canta un pájaro, 64. 59 It was customary for the exorcist to “use amulets, charms, incantations, threats and other means to restrain the dybbuk.” Sherwin, Kabbalah: An Introduction to Jewish Mysticism, 207.

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of comparison. Assigning Asian traits to the Rebe represents a celebration of difference in Segalen’s terms because it undoes the opposition of Self and Other that is at the basis of Huggan’s definition of the exotic. Jodorowsky celebrates difference by keeping the incomprehensible as an essential part of his narrative. Whether he appears as advisor, intruder, or teacher, the Rebe opens a door towards the strange and the supernatural in Jodorowsky’s world. The in-between world the Rebe inhabits is at the same time a refuge and an escape; it is both strange and familiar. It is strange because it exists outside the realm of reality; and it is familiar in the sense that it belongs to the family genealogy. Jodorowsky’s depiction of his grandfather Alejandro Levi and his milieu seems to paint a portrait of Hasidic life that is relatively realistic. Yet, the physical description of the Rebe adds a layer of Otherness to this character that deviates from historical renditions. Furthermore, the Rebe also exists in a magical dimension that is not even related to Jewish Mysticism. In the second part of the novel, he becomes a transparent spider that enters Jodorowsky’s father’s mind with the intention to make him jump out of a car driven by a kamikaze activist against the Chilean military.60 This part of the novel relates the political conflicts during the Chilean dictatorship of the seventies and eighties. When he describes the Rebe as a Talmudist with Asian physical traits who is capable of becoming a transparent spider, Jodorowsky no longer inscribes him within the parameters of Jewish Mysticism or Latin American history. In these instances, Jodorowsky draws attention to the Rebe’s diversity by adding layers of difference that defy classification. At the beginning of this section, I expressed concern about Jodorowsky’s fascination with the strange and the supernatural in Judaism because it raises the suspicion that he is rendering an exoticist perspective to his ancestors’ tradition (in Huggan’s terms, or a pseudo-exoticist perspective according to Segalen). Despite the fact that the majority of Jodorowsky’s themes fall under the category of the exotic and the supernatural, I believe that his approach to Jewish Mysticism is not exoticist. Whenever he introduces strange and supernatural behaviors such as mystical trances, possessed people, and the character of the Rebe, he does not depict the Other in opposition to the norm. When he merges the strange and the familiar, he instills strangeness in what is familiar. He achieves this by portraying the strange and the supernatural within the familiar context of a wake or a potential marriage, and by making the Rebe part

60 Jodorowsky, Donde mejor canta un pájaro, 375–376. This part of Donde mejor canta un pájaro was originally a separate narrative titled El niño del jueves negro (Madrid: Siruela, 1999).

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of his own family history. Jodorowsky’s merging of the strange and the familiar speaks to his idea that the Self and Other belong together. His work thrives in the union of opposites. A good example of this phenomena is the Baal Shem Tov as inspiration for Salvador Arcavi’s induction into Jewish mystical practices. This is a particularly good choice because, as Elior explains, the Baal Shem Tov was capable of blurring the “ . . . borders between the divine and the human, between the fantastic and the real.”61 Jodorowsky’s work, which stems from this blurred line, celebrates unique aspects of Judaism. In his invitation to the reader to get acquainted with Hasidism, Kabbalah, Jewish popular beliefs, and his own genealogy, he explores mystical aspects of Judaism. But instead of stigmatizing the Jew as Other, he celebrates the strange and the supernatural as characteristics that enhance this tradition. Even though his approach to the “exotic” simplifies important aspects of Jewish Mysticism, his writing makes the supernatural connection between the earthly and the Divine more inviting. Since the supernatural has always been part of Jewish tradition, Jodorowsky’s treatment of seemingly exotic aspects of Judaism actually starts with a close rendering of these aspects of the tradition and then adds his own creative approach to “that which lies behind things.”

Transmigration of Souls and Exorcism Jodorowsky’s representations of spirit possession are inspired by both Jewish and Christian traditions. But while in Christianity people tend to be possessed by an evil spirit, in Judaism, Islam, and other traditions, spirit possession can also be carried out by neutral and positive souls.62 Jewish mystical traditions also include belief in transmigration of souls (often referred to as gilgul or reincarnation). This phenomenon is usually linked to the concern for the wellbeing of the human soul after death.63 In this context, it is usually the souls of dead Jews that reincarnate as another Jew, although there have been cases in which the souls of Christians have transmigrated to Jews,64 and some 61 Elior, The Mystical Origins, 66. Jodorowsky explains his love of opposites colliding in relation to Tarot: “El Tarot, semejante al Tao con su yin y yang, es un canto a la complementariedad de los opuestos: materialización del espíritu, espiritualización de la materia.” “The Tarot, similar to Tao with its yin and yang, is a celebration of the complementarity of opposites, the spiritualization of matter.” Alejandro Jodorowsky, Yo, El Tarot (Buenos Aires: Sudamericana, 2006), 10. 62 Goldish, “Preface,” in Spirit Possession in Judaism, 12. 63 I further discuss the afterlife according to various Jewish perspectives in chapter 4. 64 Bilu, “The Taming of the Deviants and Beyond,” In Goldish, Spirit Possession in Judaism, 48.

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Hasidic groups believe it is possible for sinners to transmigrate into animals.65 In Jodorowsky’s texts, the Rebe passes from generation to generation within his family: the author’s grandfather considers him an accomplice, his father an intruder, and Jodorowsky a teacher.66 The passage of the Rebe from person to person draws from several concepts of the Jewish mystical tradition. It resembles in part a gilgul (reincarnation), because he goes from person to person when the first one passes away. However the term ibbur (literally “impregnation”), temporary spiritual possession by a benevolent soul or even by an angel who comes to help the possessed through a situation or to impart mystical knowledge and teachings upon the possessed, also reflects the transmission of the Rebe. He resembles possession by a supernatural teacher (also known as a maggid),67 because his goal is to teach something important.68 Yet despite these similarities to the kabbalistic notions of gilgul and ibbur, Jodorowsky chooses to call the Rebe a dybbuk, the term for a permanent and malignant spirit possession, even though he is not a malignant spirit. 69 Maybe the term was chosen because it is the type of Jewish spirit possession that most people are familiar with. It is also the reason why the townspeople try to exorcize Alejandro Levi, the author’s grandfather, in Donde mejor canta un pájaro. Exorcism has always been part of Jewish tradition. After the fall of Jerusalem, when Jews scattered throughout the Mediterranean and Europe, they interacted with societies who also believed in spirit possession and exorcism.70 During the Middle Ages, these beliefs flourished. In the sixteenth century, reports of spirit possessions and exorcisms multiplied, especially in the city of Safed.71 By the nineteenth century, cases of positive soul possessions had vastly diminished and only possessions by dybbuks were registered. It is believed that the publication

65 Scholem, On the Mystical Shape of the Godhead, 225. 66 Jodorowsky, Donde mejor, 389–390. 67 There were specific techniques to help Kabbalists achieve the goal of having a dead teacher’s soul enter their body. Lawrence Fine, “Benevolent Spirit Possession in Sixteenth-Century Safed,” in Goldish, Spirit Possession in Judaism, 103. 68 Goldish, Spirit Possession in Judaism, 12. 69 The term dybbuk was introduced in the seventeenth century to refer to the possession of people by souls of the dead and it was only used by Ashkenazi Jews. Sephardic Jews continued using the early terminology referring to these as “evil souls.” Bilu, “The Taming of Deviants and Beyond,” in Spirit Possession in Judaism, 43. 70 Christians and Muslims in Palestine and Italy were suffering from what became known as the “age of the Demoniac.” Goldish, Spirit Possession in Judaism, 25. 71 During that time Safed was the main center for Kabbalah thanks to central thinkers like Isaac Luria and Hayyim Vital.

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of the play titled The Dybbuk, Between Two Worlds by An-Sky (1913–1916), influenced the interpretation of more recent cases.72 Even though the great majority of the stories about possessed people refer to the soul of a man entering the body of a woman73 this is not the case in Jodorowsky’s writing. As previously mentioned, Jodorowsky tells us in Donde mejor canta un pájaro that the first person to acknowledge the Rebe’s presence is Alejandro Levi who encounters the rebe when he faints in Hebrew class. When the child regains consciousness, he is the only one that can see the Rebe who has possessed his body and makes him recite Hebrew prayers in his “hoarse voice” (a typical representation of dybbuk possessions). That’s when the townspeople believe that he has been possessed by a dybbuk.74 Once he understands this, the Rebe becomes Alejandro’s advisor. The townspeople try to exorcize him with all kinds of potions and ceremonies. They use cow manure, immerse him in a cold river, and give him a steam bath and a spanking with nettle. The way exorcism is described in this novel does not reflect the way it was historically performed by Jews, which typically started with a conversation in which the rabbi would ask the spirit who he was, where he came from, why he possessed that person and, if necessary, he would ask the spirit to go away. He also requested that the possessed person pray and carry out good deeds. If these attempts were not successful in expelling the soul from the body of the possessed person, the rabbi would hit them, burn foul smelling incense, and make them inhale it.75 In Donde mejor canta un pájaro the attempts to exorcize the Rebe from Alejandro Levi represent an alternative and rather comic version of exorcism that reflects this author’s creative distant approach to the tradition. The multiple iterations of the Rebe’s character in Jodorowsky’s books and films portray different attitudes toward spirit possession. For example, after the first appearance of the Rebe to Alejandro Levi, his future wife Teresa tells him that the Rebe does not exist and that she thinks that he is losing his mind.76 However, she does not truly mind Alejandro’s spiritual guest because she considers it beautiful that he has invited the Rebe in.77 In La danza de la realidad, the Rebe is considered an imaginary friend with whom his 72 Ibid., 305. 73 See Scholem, Kabbalah, 346. 74 Jodorowsky, Donde mejor, 19. 75 Tamar Alexander, “Love and Death in a Contemporary Dybbuk Story: Personal Narrative and the Female Voice,” in Goldish, Spirit Possession in Judaism, 315. 76 For a study about mental illness and spirit possession see Zvi Mark, “Dybbuk and Devekut in the Shivhe ha-Besht: Toward a Phenomenology of Madness in Early Hasidism,” in Goldish, Spirit Possession in Judaism. 77 Jodorowsky, Donde mejor, 20.

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schizophrenic grandfather holds conversations.78 In this narrative, Jodorowsky mentions that the Rebe helped him in his adult life, to accept “otros planos de realidad.”79 We also learn that the Rebe was an important friend during the author’s childhood and that he helped him understand his genealogical tree.80 At one point the Rebe is portrayed as a “mere image,”81 as his own imaginary friend,82 and as his grandfather’s hallucination.83 In the film based on the book La danza de la realidad (2013),84 the author himself plays the role of the Rebe who advises young Alejandro through life. The Rebe transmigrates within each text and between texts, allowing the reader to see his various dimensions: he is a symptom of mental illness, a childhood memory with multiple nuances, a spirit possession, and a teacher. The transformations that the Rebe undergoes recall the complexity and historical evolution of the concept of transmigration of souls in Jewish Mysticism. The representations that appear in Jodorowsky’s writing only scratch the surface of how the in-between world is understood in Kabbalah as a space of infinite multiplicity. This is probably because Jodorowsky has limited knowledge of these issues. Notwithstanding, through the Rebe the reader gets a taste of the multiple planes of reality and the mystical forces that nourish Jodorowsky’s creative process. His depictions of the Rebe passing from person to person draws from the concept of transmigration of souls and reveal how he pushes the reader and spectator to go beyond their comfort zones in order to experience what they cannot comprehend. Jodorowsky explores the in-between world to promote personal, aesthetic, socio-political, and spiritual liberation. It represents what is “beyond” reason as it is generally understood in the West. The oscillation between earthly and spiritual realms represents a baseline for his artistic production and for his curative practices, such as Psychomagic and Tarot. Family trees and the lineage of the Rebe are a big part of these curative practices.

78 Jodorowsky, La danza de la realidad, 21. 79 “[O]ther spheres of reality.” Ibid., 31. 80 Ibid., 47. 81 Ibid., 30. 82 Ibid., 75. 83 Ibid., 21. 84 This film includes a narrative about the author’s upbringing. It portrays his father as an unstable, irascible communist who owns a lingerie shop. The film is set during the Chilean dictatorship of General Carlos Ibáñez. Quintín, “A Liar’s Autobiography: The Return of Alejandro Jodorowsky,” Cinema scope, https://cinema-scope.com/features/ tiff-2013-preview-jodorowskys-dune-frank-pavich-usa/.

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Genealogies, Family Trees, and Psychomagic Genealogies were celebrated in Jewish tradition from its very beginning in the detailed lineages that appear in the Torah. However, it wasn’t until the 1970s that we saw the burgeoning movement of Jewish genealogical societies that were created in the context of ethnic diversity appreciation. At that time, many Jews started to build their family trees as a hobby and as a secular and spiritual journey to connect with others. It fostered a feeling of connection to the larger community (of Jews and other genealogists). This practice also allowed people to connect to Jewish history, to defy forgetting, and to pay homage to Holocaust victims. Jewish genealogy is mostly a secular practice, but it is also perceived by some Orthodox Jews as a religious experience and a mitzvah.85 It responds to the commandment to honor the elderly and the dead, and as a gift to our children and descendants. The experience of rescuing a family member from oblivion has even been described as a “mystical feeling.”86 But it is not a topic that attracts many scholars in Jewish Studies.87 For his part, Jodorowsky’s mythified genealogy as represented in his work includes Kabbalists, imaginary friends, circus performers, and believers in sorcery and popular superstitions from the old and the new worlds. And while his work is ostensibly and culturally diverse, the central role of the character of the Rebe allows the reader to relate the treatment of genealogy to Jewish tradition. As the Rebe is transmitted from generation to generation in Jodorowsky’s novels and films, his story changes. His characterization in Donde mejor canta un pájaro is the most intricate. In this novel, we witness how Jodorowsky’s grandfather meets the Rebe as a child and how the Rebe becomes his guide through life. Then we learn that Jodorowsky’s father Jaime questions the Rebe’s actual existence, for he wonders if the Rebe is simply his father’s hallucination. After that, Jaime invokes the Rebe to ask for help. Since Jaime rejects his own Jewishness, he requests that

85 Leonard R. Kofin, “Compiling the Family Tree: Hobby, Commitment or Mitzvah?” Avotaynu 21, no. 4 (Winter 2005). A mitzvah is a good deed and a responsibility, and the fulfillment of a commandment. Rabbi Steinsaltz defines it as “a revelation of Godliness, a flash of divinity in the world. The human deed is the body of the mitzvah, the vessel, the physical conductor that attracts and captures the flash of divinity from above.” Adin Steinsaltz, Opening the Tanya (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2003), 265. 86 Dan Rottenberg, Finding our Fathers (New York: Random House, 1977), cited by Rachel B. Gross in “Objects of Affection: The Material Religion of American Jewish Nostalgia” (PhD diss., Princeton University, 2014), 9. The 1970s saw the emergence of multiple “how-to” manuals, but with the advance of technology in the past decades, the field of genealogy has grown many times over. Gross studies the “lived religion of Jewish genealogy.” 87 Rachel B. Gross and Eviatar Zerubavel are some exceptions.

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the Rebe change his appearance, for he despises eighteenth-century Eastern European Jewish garb. The Rebe decides to shave, to dress in an elegant gray suit, and to act as Jaime’s counselor on Chilean politics. This is a symbol of the assimilation that takes place in Jodorowsky’s family tree.88 Finally, we learn that Alejandro, the author’s narrative persona, receives the Rebe as a baby when his mother is breastfeeding him. The Rebe’s transmission takes place when his father blows air into the baby’s nose; making reference to God giving Adam life by blowing in his soul (Genesis 2:7). Jodorowsky explains: “Feliz de encontrarse en un cerebro que no le oponía resistencia, el caucasiano comenzó a relatar nuevos mandamientos:—No matarás a la muerte. No desearás la mujer del viudo y serás fiel a tu fantasma . . .”89 These commandments with their twists represent another example of how Jodorowsky’s works reinterpret essential aspects of Judaism. The transmission of the Rebe through Jodorowsky’s family history highlights the importance of the family tree in Jewish culture. The central plot of Donde mejor canta el pájaro is the story of the author’s conception. His narrative persona travels through the centuries influencing his ancestors’ lives to make sure his parents eventually conceive him.90 Furthermore, for Jodorowsky to be is to incarnate.91 He develops his understanding of reincarnation in the following passage in which the narrator finds himself in the in-between world, between physical and spiritual realms. He describes how he erroneously believed that he could choose when to re-enter the earthly realm: . . . allí donde el espacio y el tiempo son absorbidos por el impensable Ojo creador. En ese Esplendor, impidiendo la desintegración de mi conciencia, esperé a que el universo manifestado pereciera y volviera a nacer, para reencarnar, una época avanzada, donde el hombre hubiera vencido su inercia animal, pero cometí un error y me dejé atrapar por cierta luz anaranjada que me precipitó en un ovario ávido donde una época primaria que no correspondía para nada con las fechas de mi muerte . . . atrapado en el pasado, nací en Lisboa, en 1415, en el cuerpo del judío Isaac Abravanel. Tuve la suerte de formar

88 Jodorowsky, Donde mejor, 303–304. 89 “Happy to find himself in a brain devoid of resistance, the Caucasian began to articulate new commandments: Thou shall not kill death. Thou shall not lust for the widower’s wife and Thou shall be faithful to your ghost.” Jodorowsky, Donde mejor, 384–385. 90 Ibid., 376. 91 Alejandro Jodorowsky, La escalera de los ángeles (Barcelona: Obelisco, 2006), 48.

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parte de una familia de notables y eminentes talmudistas, entre los cuales aprendí numerosas lenguas, descollé en el estudio de la Ley y desarrollé los poderes de mi espíritu, llegando a ser nombrado Ministro de Finanzas por Fernando de España.92 In this passage, the soul that eventually would become Jodorowsky’s persona remembers and comments on his multiple previous reincarnations. The narrator describes himself as an ibbur, born into the body of Isaac Abravanel with accurate historical references to his life.93 There are other instances of reincarnation in this novel, as when, guided by the Rebe, the narrator returns to his mother’s ovaries and invites his father to impregnate his mother to start again with the hope to correct his family history.94 In this novel, the narrative voice representing the author’s soul resembles the Rebe, transmigrating through the in-between world into the different members of the author’s genealogy to assert the course of his destiny. His soul takes on the role of the author writing his own story. In fact, Jodorowsky’s creative interventions to his family tree represent a major leitmotif in his oeuvre. In the novel La danza de la realidad, the Rebe retells Jodorowsky’s narrative persona in a vision that he needs to change a negative family trend from being transmitted to future generations. He learns that, due to personal loss and suffering, his family members have emotionally abandoned their offspring for centuries. He concludes that, to him, family is a trap he needs to free himself from or die.95 This is one of the motivations behind Jodorowsky’s development of the healing practice that he calls “psychomagic.”96

92 “ . . . where space and time are absorbed by the unthinkable creative Eye. In that Splendor, while preventing the disintegration of my conscience, I waited for the manifested universe to appear and be born again, to reincarnate, an advanced epoch in which man would have overcome his animal inertia, but I made an error and I let myself be grabbed by an orange-like light that launched me, through an avid ovary, into a primal epoch that did not match the dates of my death at all . . . Trapped in the past, I was born in Lisbon in 1415, in the body of the Jew Isaac Abravanel. I was fortunate to be born to a family of remarkable and eminent talmudists, among which I learned many languages, distinguished myself in the study of Law, and developed my spiritual powers, being later named Minister of Finance by Ferdinand of Spain.” Jodorowsky, Donde mejor, 251. 93 Abravanel belonged to a prominent Jewish family in the Iberian peninsula during the Middle Ages. He was versed in Talmud, philosophy, and secular studies, including Renaissance writers. He was also a diplomat and a financier involved with the Portuguese crown. 94 Ibid., 583. 95 Ibid., 47–48. 96 The loss of his son Teo was a turning point for Jodorowsky to start working towards healing techniques that resulted in his psychomagic practice. Eric Benson, “This is not a Film. This is the Healing of my Soul,” New York Times Magazine, March 16, 2014. In 2019, Jodorowsky

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In contrast to his literary and cinematographic work where his goal is to explore the incomprehensible, in the practice of psychomagic (he has written several books about it and held gatherings for many years) he believes in achieving results. He wants to cure the illnesses of the world. Jodorowsky was inspired to this curative practice from an experience he had with a miracle worker in Mexico. He allowed her to operate on his kidney with a knife and a pair of scissors and believes that she cured him (no matter whether the actual surgery actually happened or not). That experience made him believe in magic as an act that transforms reality.97 Another explanation Jodorowsky gives of the origin of psychomagic is that, in his practice of Tarot, he has always asked his interlocutor to describe their family tree. Over time he realized that for a change to happen in the person’s life, they needed to carry out a concrete act in order to liberate themselves from their genealogical burden.98 The author claims that the psychomagician is not a witch-doctor, because instead of the respondent simply holding a superstitious belief, the person needs to participate actively in the healing technique.99 For the psychomagic treatment to work, the person needs to take a leap of faith so that “[t]he spiritual bird must free itself from the rational cage.”100 Thus, through the power of suggestion, the psycho magician helps the person become his or her own healer.101 Psychomagic is both a practice Jodorowsky engages in with his followers, as well as a central motive in his films and writing. An example of a psychomagic act appears in the first scene of Jodorowsky’s famous film El Topo (The Mole). The main character asks his son to bury his first toy and a picture of his mother in the desert. The burial of the toy and portrait is an act of psychomagic that marks a rite of passage for the child to become a man. Another good example appears in Louis Mouchet’s documentary La constellation Jodorowsky. The last part of the documentary includes what resembles a psychodrama session involving the documentary filmmaker and a group of attendees at one of Jodorowsky’s weekly meetings in Paris, which is open to the public (min. 58:14-end).

released a film about this titled Psychomagic, A Healing Art (ABKCO Films, Inc.: New York 2019). 97 Jodorowsky, La trampa sagrada, 38. 98 Jodorowsky, Psicomagia, 29, 145. 99 In his curative practices Jodorowsky eventually started including concepts that he learned from shamans, he calls this psychoshamanism. Jodorowsky, La danza de la realidad, 387. 100 Jodorowsky, Psicomagia, 12. 101  Ibid., 11.

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Jodorowsky invites Mouchet to choose different people to pretend to be his family members and to give them ideas to improvise his family dynamic. By the end of the session, we learn that Louis Mouchet has been affected by his father’s neglect. His father was an accomplished poet, so the psychomagic act that Jodorowsky recommends to Mouchet is to burn a book of poetry written by his absent father. According to Jodorowsky, these kinds of acts serve to produce a freeing catharsis that allows the person to leave their past behind. This is so because he believes that being part of a family is comparable to being “possessed.” He explains “If I’m going to understand myself I need to understand my family tree. Because I’m possessed, like in Voodoo, all the time by someone in my family . . . The family tree is a true nightmare.”102 So, how does Jodorowsky’s interpretation of genealogy compare to how it’s celebrated in Jewish tradition? At face value, it would be hard to assert that the way he depicts his lineage represents a mitzvah, even when he describes his genealogical tree as a treasure at the beginning of Donde mejor canta un pájaro. In fact, while critical, Jodorowsky still gives the family tree a central place in his autobiographical narrative and films. His creative genealogies speak loud and clear about the constructed nature of the family tree—which resonates with how Eviatar Zerubabel conceptualizes it: “Rather than simply passively documenting who our ancestors were, they are the narratives we construct to actually make them our ancestors.” This is because family trees reveal selective highlighting of ancestors and, as such, reveal personal agendas.103 Jodorowsky takes this approach to a new level both in his art and in his practice of psychomagic. He recreates genealogy as a point of departure for the individual to write his own story104 and, in this respect at least, he is connected to secular Jews who since the 1970s have been searching for their roots through genealogy. The Rebe’s ubiquitous presence may represent a failure to break away from the family tree, but his constant transformation may account for the liberation the author seeks.

102 In the documentary, Mouchet points out that Jung wrote about this, and Jodorowsky responds that you need to go further, that you need to fight the monster in order to reach the treasure. He proposes to try to make gold out of the excrement that is the family tree. 103 He believes that there are similarities in the logic that connects family and evolutionary trees. Eviatar Zerubavel, Ancestors and Relatives. Genealogy, Identity, and Community (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 10–12. 104 This is further explored in the film Poesía sin Fin [Endless Poetry, 2016], whose main character breaks from family tradition in order to write his own story.

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Mysticism, Eroticism, and Danger Up to now, I have addressed how Jodorowsky’s creative production tends to stress differences with a result that both educates the reader and celebrates mystical aspects in Judaism. This final section discusses his approach to other religious practices in comparison to those of Jewish Mysticism. For this section, I chose to dig deeper into the film Santa sangre (1989) previously mentioned, as it explores the complexities of the trance, which is an experience that various religions share. In Santa Sangre, religious faith appears in the form of fanatic fervor in confrontation with the institution of the Church. The followers of the Holy Blood sect represent the Other of traditional Catholic practice in Mexico, where the film takes place. This matriarchal congregation mixes Aztec religion and Catholicism and believes in the end of the world. The viewer’s introduction to Concha, the protagonist’s mother and matriarch of this sect, shows her defying a group of aggressive policemen who carry guns and clubs. Together with the landowner, the police are there to evacuate and demolish Santa Sangre’s temple. Inside this temple, they have a pool filled with the blood of the saint they adore: a young girl without arms who was attacked and raped by two brothers.105 She was not canonized by the Church. The followers of Santa Sangre built the temple where her blood miraculously is still fresh on the ground. The Catholic monsignor comes to intervene in the conflict between the police and the landowner, and the followers of Santa Sangre, but once he walks in and sees what the temple stands for, he calls this congregation an abomination. He argues with Concha that the blood in the pool is actually paint, thus challenging the basis for their claim to the girl’s sainthood. Ironically, the monsignor’s rational argument that aims at undermining Santa Sangre’s validity goes against the very logic of Catholic faith itself, a religion based in the belief of a Virgin mother and resurrection. However, the conflict here is not about the basis of this group’s faith, but between a legitimate institution with an enormous structure, and one that is considered too independent. The transgressive nature of Concha’s temple reflects the mixing of the strange and the familiar that is Jodorowsky’s signature. It reveals Catholic and Mexican cultural approaches to religion.106 This is evident in the presence of the pool with the saint’s blood, the popular votive paintings (ex votos) telling the story 105 As mentioned in the introduction, depictions of rape in Jodorowsky’s films and writings are particularly problematic in light of the controversial comments he made in a 1970’s interview in which he boasted of having raped the actress Mara Lorenzio during the shooting of the film The Mole. 106 Blanc-Hoang, “Alegorías del mesianismo”: 94.

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of the girl’s tragic end, the dozens of lit candles around the altar that contains the girl’s figure, and the rest of the objects that make the sanctuary essential for this group. Moreover, the religiosity that Jodorowsky portrays in this movie is transgressive because it attempts to shock with symbols that are either simply unexpected, as is the case of the raped girl saint, or usually related to the devil, as is suggested by the blood. The leader of the sect as well as her devotees experience fervor and complete devotion. Concha’s fervent faith is evident in her readiness to die in order to save the temple: “Go ahead, you’ll have to kill us all!” When the bulldozers begin to destroy her temple, Concha becomes consumed in a trance that starts with rage at the monsignor’s incapacity to understand the basis of her faith and she almost dies under the rubble. She holds onto the image of the young girl saint defying the bulldozers until the presence of her son convinces her to leave, as their link is strong enough to reconnect her to the consequences of her certain demise. The destruction of Santa Sangre’s temple shows Jodorowsky’s tendency to desacralize what is sacred and turn the earthly into the Divine. He desacralizes the process of saint canonization and turns the blood of a raped girl into Divine matter, which directly challenges traditional wisdom. The experience of the trance is an aspect of religion that seems to fascinate Jodorowsky.107 The fervent faith that Concha and the rest of the devotees to the armless young girl saint experience is comparable to Salvador Arcavi’s mystical trance. The followers of the armless girl remind us of Salvador Arcavi in Elías ben Solomon Zalman’s wake letting himself go with blind faith. It is clear that Salvador as well as Concha and her followers need this supernatural union in order to confront adversity. In Arcavi’s case, his motivation to achieve this union is leaving errancy behind, the supernatural union opening the door to belonging to the Hasidic group; in Santa Sangre, the leader needs this connection to the supernatural in order to stop, in her mind, the reality of the destruction of her temple. In both cases their experience of spiritual union with their object of devotion, rapture and mystical union are part of Catholicism as well as some forms of Jewish mystical practices. However, this kind of intense spiritual connection is not something acceptable to the monsignor in the film.108 In Catholicism,

107 W hen answering a question about the kinds of films he made, Jodorowsky describes his creative process as starting with “a state of trance.” Vincent Bernière, The Seven Lives of Alejandro Jodorowsky (Los Angeles: Humanoids, 2020), 52. 108 Scholem writes about the disconnect between man and God that takes place with the rise of organized religion and how there is no room for the mystical experience during this stage in religious history. Scholem, Major Trends, 7.

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religious leaders (priests, bishops, etc.) and the church itself, the building where prayer takes place, as well as its religious and popular iconography, are considered essential to the religious experience. This is also indirectly addressed in the film Santa Sangre, where the actual temple, the image of the girl saint without arms, and the pool of blood are central to the followers. The congregation cannot survive without these, and it cannot be rebuilt somewhere else because that is where the miracle of the fresh blood took place.109 It is interesting to note that for the followers of the sect of the Holy Blood, their spiritual connection is not directed to a religious icon, but to the image of a raped and murdered young girl, a symbol of violence against women which is particularly problematic given Jodorowsky’s life-long lack of respect for this issue in general, and for victims of rape, in particular. The girl’s rape is used in this film as a shock factor and it is therefore difficult not to read Jodorowsky’s choice of religious icon as insensitive or opportunistic. In spite of that serious blind spot, Santa Sangre does succeed in showcasing alternative religiosities and questioning the limitations of organized religion. Something else that needs to be discussed about this movie is Jodorowsky’s depiction of altered mental states as part of religious practices. His consistent portrayal of the connection with a superior being in an “ecstatic frenzy” requires further examination. His works reveal a fascination with how fervent faith allows believers to let themselves go as part of their spiritual journey. However, for observant Jews adherence to God is more commonly not a result of an “ecstatic frenzy,” but of Devekut, adherence to God, that can be achieved while continuing with daily activities.110 Rabbi and scholar Steinsaltz considers Torah study as the strongest way to connect to the Divine.111 Gershom Scholem also explains that the devout seek union with the Divine through daily mitzvot (deeds, commandments). He says that the: “ . . . impulse that originates from a good deed guides the flow of blessing which springs from the superabundance of life in the Sefiroth into the secret channels leading into the lower and the outer world. The devotee, it is even said, through his acts links the visible and practicable Torah with the invisible and mysterious one.”112

109 The need to protect the space where the temple stands resonates with the history of the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe which cannot be moved from where the Virgin ordered it to be built. 110 Alan Unterman ed., The Kabbalistic Tradition (New York: Penguin Books, 2008), 131–135. 111 He explains that “[a]lthough with all mitzvot one establishes a connection with God, only the comprehension and knowledge of Torah achieves the wonderful union that occurs between mind and the object of its contemplation.” Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, Opening the Tanya, 149. 112 Scholem, Major Trends, 233.

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He describes the experience of Devekut as the highest rank of devotion sought by the mystics113 but it doesn’t require a total loss of selfhood as expected in an ecstatic trance. He believes that Devekut could be experienced as extasis, but it goes beyond; it is an intimate, direct, and permanent union between God and the devout. In one of his short stories titled “Aventura,” Jodorowsky describes the mystical experience as: “un intento de ir aglutinando las partes para obtener la máxima aproximación al Todo: ir uniendo los mundos que parecen separados para llegar a disolvernos en lo real.”114 This can be read as an attempt to achieve Devekut as a direct and intimate union with “el Todo.”115 But in the last line he mentions the idea of dissolving into the real, which would require the devotee to let go of their identity. This is not typically part of the experience of Devekut, it’s not typically part of Jewish tradition.116 Moreover, Jodorowsky’s description of this mystical experience starts with the expression of intentionality, which differs from how some groups of religious Jews understand this phenomenon. Rabbi Steinsaltz predicates that Divine unity cannot be achieved through effort, it only happens as a result of “certain actions or situations in which the person becomes a vessel for the Shekhinah.”117 When it comes to the experience of ecstasy, scholar Yehuda Liebes describes passages from the Zohar “escritos con fervor extático.”118 In the context of Latin American Jewish Studies, Angelina Muñiz-Huberman mentions “estados de éxtasis y trances”119 as part of the experience of ascending the Chariot in Merkabah mysticism,120 and scholar Arthur Green explains it as follows: Attachment to God, for the Zohar, is erotic attachment, whether referring to the Kabbalist’s own attachment to God by means of Torah, to Shekhinah’s link to the upper “male” sefirot as God’s bride, or in the rare passages where Moses becomes 113 Scholem, Kabbalah, 174. 114 “an attempt to bind together the parts to reach the closest approximation to the Whole: to join together worlds that seem to be apart to arrive at dissolving them into the real.” Jodorowsky, La escalera de los ángeles, 68. 115 “[T]he Whole.” 116 Scholem, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism, 123. 117 Steinsaltz, The Long Shorter Way, 245. 118 “[W]ritten in ecstatic fervor.” Yehuda Liebes, “Zohar y Eros,” in Ensayos sobre cábala y msiticismo judío, ed. Yom Tov Assis, Moshé Idel, and Leonardo Senkman ( Jerusalem: Lilmod, 2006), 193. 119 “[T]rances and ecstatic states.” 120 Angelina Muñiz-Huberman, Las raíces y las ramas (México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1993), 29.

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the kabbalistic hero and himself weds Shekhinah, entering the Godhead in the male role.121 The erotic aspects of Devekut have been broadly studied. The examples that Green mentions in this quote are some of the instances generally accepted by scholars of the presence of eroticism in the Zohar.122 Eroticism has a ubiquitous presence in descriptions of spiritual experiences in Jodorowsky’s writing. This is true for trances which often include an erotic charge and loss of consciousness. He describes imaginary kabbalists, secular characters, and children that enter a trance in order to adhere to a superior force, as though they experienced “trances y visiones.”123 In that sense, his literature illustrates Yehuda Liebes’ position on the connection between eros and creativity, based on a platonic conceptualization of the relation between splendor as a creative source and love as a generic term for creativity. Liebes explains that sexual impulse is only one of its facets.124 Powerful mystical experiences in the form of a trance, often with an erotic component, is an aspect of Jewish Mysticism that deeply relates to Jodorowsky’s way of understanding the creative experience. However, there has been push back to the central focus that this aspect of religion has received in religious studies. Richard King calls attention to the “peculiar modern preoccupation of studies of mysticism.” with transcendental sensory experience in uniting with the Divine, and asserts that this experience is only part of the early Christian concept that represents the origin of this term.125 Earlier in this chapter, I discussed the multiple genealogies of the character of the Rebe, how he reincarnates from generation to generation in Jodorowsky’s semi-autobiographical narratives, and how he evolves into magical and fictitious versions. In Lágrimas de Oro (2005), Jodorowsky tells the story of the death of the Rebe. The story starts with Anan, the Rebe’s father, who takes him to a cave to live an ascetic life of constant meditation. Losing his mind due to the difficult 121 Arthur Green, A Guide to the Zohar (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2004), 80. 122 Moshe Idel defines Eros as “a complex of feelings, of ontological constructs and forms of behavior found in a certain culture, that inform the drive to establish sexual or emotional contacts, corporeal or spiritual, between two entities, in which at least one of them attracts the other. Kabbalah and Eros (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2005), 7. Kalman P. Bland, review of Language, Eros, Being: Kabbalistic Hermeneutics and Poetic Imagination, by Elliot R. Wolfson, AJS Review 31 (November 2007): 391–393. 123 “[T]rances and visions.” Jodorowsky, Donde mejor, 71–72. 124 Liebes, “Zohar y Eros”: 198. 125 Moreover, Richard King questions the very use of the term ‘mystical’ to refer to everything from a religious experience, to the magical and the occult. Richard King, Orientalism and Religion: Postcolonial Theory, India and “the Mystic East” (London and New York: Routledge, 1999), 14–15.

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life that they endure, Anan decides to look for blackberries and gets lost in the snowy slopes. His son, the Rebe, says: Seguí con la mirada la ascensión de Anan hasta que se lo tragó la niebla y luego, inmovilizando mi cuerpo esquelético, ignorando el frío concentré mi espíritu en el camino estrecho. No podía ir ni a derecha ni a izquierda ni retroceder. Yo era el que pensaba, ¿pero quién me pensaba? Yo era la conciencia, luego la conciencia de la conciencia, luego la conciencia de la conciencia de la conciencia . . . Fui tan lejos, me sumergí tan profundo en el abismo sin fondo, tensé tanto mi cuerpo para impedirle distraerme con algún movimiento, absorbí y quemé de tal manera su energía, tratando de atravesar la raíz del pensamiento, que el pobre no pudo resistir más y comenzó a sangrar por la nariz. Concentrado como estaba, al comienzo no me di cuenta, pero un calor húmedo comenzó a invadirme el pecho para llegar hasta mi sexo. Abrí los ojos, vi la mancha roja, sentí un estallido luminoso en el centro de mi cerebro y comprendí! Había por fin encontrado la puerta! . . . ¡Si la vida, la verdadera vida, la espiritual, puro aliento divino, consciencia fundadora, entraba por la nariz, era por la nariz por donde podía salir!

Abandoné primero las sensaciones que me ataban a los pies; enseguida abandoné las piernas, el tronco, los brazos, el cráneo; me concentré en la nariz, abrí su memoria genética, llegué hasta Adán y sentí su éxtasis cuando el Innominable (bendito sea) posó en sus fosas nasales los labios que se había creado para esa única ocasión y eyectó el soplo increíble que penetró cada molécula del cuerpo de arcilla, otorgándole el goce infinito de la existencia.126 126 “I followed Anan’s ascension until the fog enveloped him and then, immobilized in my skeletal body and disregarding the cold, I focused my spirit on the narrow path. I could not step left or right, nor could I take a step back. I was the one thinking, but who was thinking me? I was consciousness, but then the consciousness of consciousness, and the consciousness of consciousness of consciousness . . . I went so far, I submerged myself so in the bottomless abyss, I tensed by body so much lest I would lose my focus at any movement, I absorbed and burnt its energy so much trying to trespass the root of thought, that the poor thing could not take it any longer and started to bleed from the nose. Concentrated as I was, at first I did not realize it, but a humid warmth began to inundate my chest and reached my sex. I opened my

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This long passage describes a mystical trance in detail which ends with the soul leaving the body behind. Given that Anan is the Hebrew word for cloud, the fact that he “raises until he is swallowed by the fog” indicates the intention to create a visual metaphor. The mystical journey described in this passage is loaded with Kabbalistic and biblical references: the explosion of light, the Divine presence, finding the path and entrance to the Divine realm, God blowing into Adam’s nostrils to give him life. In this passage, as well as in other descriptions of mystical experiences that appear in Jodorowsky’s writing, the trance starts by the person losing himself in order to experience ecstasy. However, once the Rebe abandons his body later in the story, he acknowledges feeling for the first time being himself, which implies that the person needs to enter a trance for his soul to be free. Additionally, Jodorowsky describes the Rebe’s mystical experience, and God giving Adam life, using words that express eroticism and sensuality such as: heat, sex, lips, extasy, and the verbs to tense, burn, penetrate, eject. These words connect eros with spirituality, and if we follow Liebes, it can also be read as a representation of the author’s creative experience. This long passage from Lágrimas de oro also highlights the danger and fear that the Rebe feels during the mystical trance. He mentions tensing the body, burning an enormous amount of energy, and finally bleeding from his nose. This intensity, or feeling of abyss, reflects fear and attraction, and, at the same time, a door towards the Divine realm. In his study about eroticism, Georges Bataille points at temptation, fear, danger, and the enormous amount of energy that connects sexuality and the mystical trance.127 He concludes that “[s]exual excitement and ecstasy are always connected with an active sense of transgression.”128 Transgression, fear, eroticism, and danger overlap the mystical and the creative experience in the Jodorowsky oeuvre. The danger and fear involved in the mystical trance also represents the abyss produced by the unknown in the creative process.

eyes and saw the red stain; I felt a luminous burst in the center of my brain and I understood! I had found the door at last! . . . If life, if true life, spiritual life, pure divine breath, founding consciousness penetrated through the nose, it would be through the nose that it would exit! I first abandoned the sensations that tied me to my feet; immediately I abandoned my legs, my trunk, my arms, my skull; I focused on my nose, opened its genetic memory, arrived at Adam and felt his ectasis at the moment when the Unnamable (blessed He be) placed the lips that He had created for this occasion on his nose and ejected the unfathomable exhale that penetrated each molecule of the body of clay, granting it the infinite joy of existence.” Jodorowsky, Lágrimas de oro, 49–50. 127 Georges Bataille, Erotism, Death and Sensuality (San Francisco: City Lights, 1986), 239–240. 128 Ibid., 248.

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The passages that focus on trances discussed in this chapter show how the mystical experience includes both eros and danger in Jodorowsky’s works. For example, Salvador Arcavi feels fear when pushed by the Vilna Gaon into a mystical trance, and danger and eroticism define the storyline in the film Santa Sangre.129 This is particularly evident in the second central theme of the film: the codependent relationship between Concha, the leader of the Holy Blood sect, and her son. The power that she exerts over him puts him into a trance. Luckily, love saves him in the end when Alba, a childhood friend, comes to help him break away from his mother’s control over him, which is suggested to have been a delusion all along. The most disturbing parts of the mother-son relationship130 portrayed in this film take place during a trance; when his mind is taken over by delusion. In fact, mental health and spiritual ecstasy are visibly intertwined in Santa Sangre. In addition, much of the trance the son experiences has a highly erotic quality that resembles the Rebe’s mystical experience of leaving his body behind. But in Santa Sangre there is an evident desacralization of the religious experience which is not the case with the character of the Rebe. The film ends paraphrasing verses from Psalm 143: “I stretch out my hands to thee: my soul thirsts for thee like a parched land . . . Teach me the way I should go for thee I lift up my soul.” This quote describes both the mother’s diabolic control of her son’s soul through the actions of his hands, as well as his feelings towards his ultimate savior, Alba, who frees him from the trance/delusion. While Jodorowsky’s fascination with Hasidim, Kabbalah, dybbuks, transparent spiders, incestual desire, and armless saints may often remind us of a freak-show, there is no normalcy to return to. Jodorowsky’s stories end in unresolved and incomprehensible conundrums. He celebrates the esoteric, because the incomprehensible is both the source and the goal of his creative

129 A good example of how the film connects danger and eroticism is when the owner of the circus, who is noticeably drunk, throws knives at a contortionist who is visibly aroused by this. 130 When Concha catches her husband cheating on her, she attacks him and his lover with acid. As a response her husband cuts off her arms and then kills himself. Concha ends up literally embodying the girl saint she adores. As a result, her son, Fénix, ends up institutionalized. When he is a young adult, he manages to escape and moves in with his mother. She puts on a show titled “Concha and her magic hands,” in which she uses her son’s arms as though they were her own. During the show their bodies are attached, and as she describes the biblical story of the original sin, Fénix hands gesticulate in an escalating sensual manner. Her body language toward him is also very sensual. Even outside of the show his arms gesticulate as though they were hers. This becomes a very dangerous practice as soon as Fénix starts showing sexual interest in women. This is when his mother starts ordering “her hands” to murder these women.

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endeavors. As a result, his work adds layers of strangeness to what is already strange or Other. Therefore, his fascination with the Other does not render them exotic (in Huggan’s terms), because in his creative world, the strange and the incomprehensible do not stand out to establish what is normal, they are there to keep the creative process alive. All the examples included in this chapter point to the place that Jewish Mysticism has in Jodorowsky writing, both in terms of themes and as creative tools. In the context of his work as a writer, filmmaker, comic book creator, and healer, Jodorowsky’s fascination with the supernatural, diverse approaches to mystical experiences, strange characters, and situations that go from the surprising and esoteric to the grotesque, unpleasant, and even violent, have as their purpose keeping the mystery alive.131 Because, as he states in Mouchet’s documentary, the author is drawn to that which he cannot comprehend. According to him, what matters in the aesthetic journey is the search for the perfect expression, not necessarily its achievement. Jodorowsky’s true passion is the creative process itself. His world thrives in tunnels searching for a sun that he hopes not to find. The mystical trance is one of the paths that he uses for this search. He is driven by transgression, and his work reveals a mixed appreciation of his ancestors’ Judaism stretched to extremes by his surrealist aesthetics. In the next chapter, I will delve into a body of work that is more intellectually invested in the kabbalistic tradition, that of Angelina Muñiz-Huberman. Like Jodorowsky, Muñiz-Huberman’s writing also goes beyond Jewish Mysticism, including bridges to the Christian mystical tradition and to painting. Her writing also takes creative freedoms from canonical approximations to Jewish Mysticism but is informed by her work as a scholar.

131 Jodorowsky, Psicomagia, 11.

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Chapter 2

The Cycle of Life: Angelina Muñiz-Huberman’s Writings

Angelina Muñiz-Huberman, a Mexican author and scholar, specializes in Medieval and Early Modern Spain. She has published numerous historical novels, poetry, short stories, and essays on Jewish Mysticism and Kabbalah. She also writes about Jewish identity, exile, crypto-Judaism, immigration, and Sephardic Jews in the New World, as well as pseudo-Christian mystics like Santa Teresa de Ávila and other figures from the Inquisition.1 Muñiz-Huberman was born in France when her family was en route to Mexico as refugees from the Spanish Civil War. They spent some time in Cuba and finally arrived in Mexico in 1942. As a result of her family’s journey to exile, the author finds foreignness to be a defining element of her Self.2 Foreignness also defines her approach to Judaism. She was six years old when her mother confessed to her that she came from a long lineage of Crypto-Jews3 and encouraged her to keep her Jewish

1 Marjorie Agosín, “Introduction,” in The House of Memory (New York: The Feminist Press at City University of New York, 1999), 11. 2 Angelina Muniz-Huberman, “The Girl in the Balcony,” in Where We Find Ourselves. Jewish Women Around the World Write About Home, ed. Miriam Ben-Yoseph and Deborah Nodler Rosen (Albany: SUNY Press, 2009), 172. 3 Crypto-Jews are people who continued to practice aspects of Judaism while outwardly professing another faith (mostly Spanish Jews who were forced to convert by the Inquisition).

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heritage alive.4 Her “fragmented” Jewish legacy has influenced her academic studies as well as her creative writing.5 Muñiz-Huberman describes her approach to Jewish and Christian mysticisms as attempts to answer the contemporary prevalence of confusion.6 Her writings dedicated to this topic stem from her interest in “worlds in crisis” and “that which is out of place” that she believes characterizes Kabbalists, mystics, the illuminated, travelers, and exiles. Many of her characters are marginal, outsiders looking in, unable to define themselves, and in that sense, they represent the Other.7 She describes her writing as coming from a “non-conformist” place and as an attempt to comprehend the world.8 This is a good point of departure for her writings on Jewish Mysticism. Among the texts in Muñiz-Huberman’s prolific bibliography, two of her books focus specifically on her investment in Kabbalah. Las raíces y las ramas (1993) is a compilation of essays that reflect on this topic. It starts with basic definitions of Kabbalistic terminology, and it delineates the origins of Kabbalah in Spain and how it evolved once Jews were expelled in the fifteenth century. The second part of the book looks into Christian and literary appropriations of Kabbalistic thought by Spanish authors. Herein, she focuses on representations of the “arts of memory,” and the theories of love, ecstasy, revelation, and melancholy in medieval and Renaissance texts. In En el jardín de la Cábala (2007)9 published fourteen years later, Muñiz-Huberman includes renderings of stories told by Isaac the Blind and other mystics that appear in the Zohar, bringing new light to their teachings. This book includes short and compelling tales, such as “Sentados en círculo” in which Kabbalah is shared with children

4 Angelina Muñiz-Huberman, “From Toledo to the New World,” in Taking Root: Narratives of Jewish Women in Latin America (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2002), 210. 5 Emily Hind, “Entrevista con Angelina Muñiz-Huberman,” in Entrevistas con quince autoras mexicanas (Madrid: Vervuert Iberoamericana, 2003), 124. Judith Payne explains that “Because the methods of transmission created gaps and mutations as the tradition passed on through generations, Muñiz-Huberman received a fragmentary vision of Judaism from her mother, which the writer later supplemented with formal study of Hebrew and the Cabala.” Judith Payne, “Writing and Reconciling Exile: The Novels of Angelina Muñiz-Huberman,” Bulletin of Hispanic Studies 74, no. 4 (Oct 1997): 434. 6 Angelina, Muñiz-Huberman, “Death, Exile, Inheritance,” in King David’s Harp: Autobiographical Essays by Jewish Latin American Writers, ed. Stephen Sadow (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1999), 52. 7 Hind, “Entrevista,” 120–121. 8 Ibid., 126, 128. 9 Seymour Menton points out that the word garden in the title of this book refers to the Garden of Eden. He also highlights several other appearances of this mention in Muñiz-Huberman’s books. Seymour Menton, “Angelina Muñiz-Huberman y la Cábala,” Alba de América 30, no. 57–58 (2011): 94–112.

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in a didactic manner. The author’s more recent publication with her daughter Miriam Huberman Muñiz, El atanor encendido. Antología de Cábala, alquimia, gnosticismo (2019) includes an introduction to key historical moments and concepts of Kabbalah and a selection of fragments from the tradition’s most essential texts Yetzirah, Bahir, and Zohar. These selections are followed by contemporary Latin American and European writings that resonate with Kabbalah. The book also includes readings that have been inspired by alchemy and Christian Gnosticism, as these were currents of thought that were considered to tread closely with Kabbalah. This closeness was the product of a medieval mindset that Arthur Green calls “cosmic spirituality”; an orientation that saw philosophical, scientific, and religious knowledge as belonging to a single whole.10 Notwithstanding, most of the creative writing I will be discussing in this chapter resonates specifically with Jewish Mysticism and represents its strong influence in Muñiz-Huberman’s process of writing. Her prolific bibliography includes several iterations of the same stories and biblical passages.11 Her careful rendering and revision of mystical concepts reveals new angles and interpretations, mirroring the practice of Kabbalists. Muñiz-Huberman takes this approach very seriously. She compares her task as a writer in search of perfection to a Kabbalist transcribing sacred texts with the fear that a mistake could destroy the universe.12 Words are powerful in Kabbalah, because, as she explains, it is “un método de contemplación religiosa y de análisis semántico. Es un sistema teosófico que aspira a conocer a la divinidad directamente (prescindiendo de la revelación) por medios lingüísticos.”13 She understands words as a key to access the mystical connection between human beings and the Divine.

Mystical Renderings of Nature Muñiz-Huberman has written a series of texts that recreate elements of nature in the context of Jewish Mysticism. The title of her book, Las raíces y las ramas

10 Green, A Guide to the Zohar, 101. 11 This exercise of rewriting and reinterpretation is an approach that she shares with the other authors and artists discussed in this book 12 Muñiz-Huberman, “Death, Exile, Inheritance,” 52. 13 “[A] method of religious contemplation and semantic analysis. It is a theosophic system seeking to know the divinity directly (doing without revelation) through linguistic means.” Muñiz-Huberman, Las raíces y las ramas, 14.

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(Roots and Branches) calls attention to how intimately connected nature, human beings, and God are in her writings on Kabbalah. In the history of Judaism, this connection has evolved over time. What follows is an overview of this development. Scholar Hava Tirosh-Samuelson explains that “the biblical tradition roots an ecological worldview in the belief that the natural world ultimately belongs to God, the Creator of heaven and earth. Human beings, created in the image of God, may use but not exploit or destroy natural resources.” She then lists the commandments that regulate human management of natural resources and points at Jewish law linking moral conduct to the treatment of land and animals.14 Jewish thought has been historically anthropocentric, interpreting the role of nature in the Bible as being at the disposal of humankind.15 However, some have pushed back against this longstanding mindset. This includes influential rabbis, activists, and environmental movements in Israel that have had an impact on legislation focused on ecological justice.16 In his book Kabbalah and Ecology (2015), Rabbi and scholar David Mevorach Seidenberg puts forth the position that nature embodies the Divine; it is both God’s Creation and the result of the “hidden process.”17 Even though the Torah does not go beyond stating that man is made in God’s image, Kabbalah presents a perspective that includes all elements of nature: . . . the system of the Sefirot . . . and the name YHWH, writ upon the human body and soul, are identified as what constitutes God’s image. Under the veil of esotericism, Kabbalistic texts use the same terminology to identify this divine imprint in various non-human creatures and more-than-human dimensions.18 Moreover, Rabbi Seidenberg makes the case that in Judaism all elements of nature have been created in God’s image (tselem) from ancient 14 Hava Tirosh-Samuelson, “Ecology,” in Berlin, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion, 227. 15 “Nearly all modern Jewish thinkers (including the Orthodox) adopt a modernist-humanist perspective that devalues the more-than-human world, where the value of the human being is defined over against the value of all other aspects of Creation.” Seidenberg cites Heschel, Rosenzweig, Burger, and Kook as exceptions to this perspective. Seidenberg, Kabbalah and Ecology, 113. 16 Hava Tirosh-Samuelson, “Ecology”: 228. 17 Seidenberg, Kabbalah and Ecology, 214. 18 The term “more than human” was coined by David Abrams specifically to avoid separating human culture from what we call “Nature.” It reminds us that our humanity is part of the landscape of Nature, and that the non-human other is a vital part of our lived consciousness.” Seidenberg, Kabbalah and Ecology, xix. This includes upper and lower physical and spiritual beings. Seidenberg, Kabbalah and Ecology, 207.

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theology until now. He bases his position on numerous examples from Midrash, Kabbalah, and Hasidism. His groundbreaking book counters anthropocentrism in Judaism and contends that the vast body of literature supports a more harmonious human-nature relationship as a reflection of being part of Creation.19 Rabbi Seidenberg is not the only rabbi and scholar who calls for a revision on humankind’s role vis-a-vis nature. Arthur Green also makes a strong case for environmental Halakhah ( Jewish law) to achieve harmony with nature.20 Their position resonates with the celebration of harmony between humans and nature as it appears in various ways in Muñiz-Huberman’s writing. First, I will discuss how she portrays nature and humankind as they embrace their mystical connection to the realm of the Divine through the Tree of Life. The Tree of Life is one of the most ubiquitous mythical symbols among a variety of cultures over time. Even though the meaning of the symbol varies greatly, it is generally related to the conception of humanity and its relation to divinity. The Tree of Life was venerated throughout history by groups as diverse as Egyptians, Celts, and Nahuas. Some cultures believe it is a source of healing and immortality; others, like the Buddhists, see it as a source of enlightenment.21 Darwin used the image of the Tree of Life as a visual aid to explain parts of the theory of evolution.22 The Tree of Life is also used to refer to the Sefirotic diagram, which is the most recognized symbol of Kabbalah. At the moment of Creation, God became manifested through the 10 spheres (Sephirot) or Divine emanations that conform to the Tree of Life, which is a “kind of map of divinity.”23 The Sephirot are linked together by the Divine energy that flows within them. In the Torah, the Tree of Life first appears in Genesis, connected to the Tree of Knowledge, also known as the Tree of Good and Evil. It belongs to the biblical story of the Garden of Eden. Eating the fruit from the Tree of life famously results in immortality.24 In her writing, Muñiz-Huberman 19 Ibid., xvii. 20 Arthur Green, Ehyeh: A Kabbalah for Tomorrow (Nashville: Jewish Lights, 2003), 116–117. 21 Mario Satz also discusses different cultures venerating a tree in antiquity. Mario Satz, Pequeños paraísos (Barcelona: Acantilado, 2017), 119. 22 Charles Darwin, On the Origins of the Species by Means of Natural Selection, or, The Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life (London: J. Murray, 1859), 16–117. 23 Seidenberg, Kabbalah and Ecology, 175. As previously mentioned, the ten Sephirot include: Keter (Crown), Hokhmah (Wisdom), Binah (Understanding), Hesed (Lovingkindness), Gevurah (Might) or Din ( Judgment), Tiferet (Beauty), Hod (Splendor), Netzah (Victory), Yesod (Foundation), and Malkhut (Sovereignty) or Shekhinah (the Divine Presence). Bloom, Kabbalah and Criticism, 9–10. 24 Paul Shalom, “Tree of Life,” in Berlin, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion, 751.

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confounds the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge (the original concept of the Tree of Death) following her readings of Gershom Scholem, who claims that the first Sephardic Kabbalists believed that God kept Adam far from the Tree of Knowledge to prevent him from eating the fruit, so as not to expose him to Satan’s negative influence. The moment he ate the fruit, impurity and death attached to Adam’s soul and caused the separation between the Trees of Life and Knowledge that produced his estrangement from divinity. Ezra ben Solomon of Gerona proposed that in the realm of the Divine, the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge are two trees, but they become one in the earthly realm. If both trees stay united, there is no danger, but the moment that they separate, they lose their power and Satan can tempt the people of Israel to sin. This is why maintaining unity is essential. Thus, the root of evil is in the separation of what was meant to stay united.25 When the separation takes place, the Tree of Knowledge becomes the Tree of Death. Scholem says that in the Zohar and in the texts that follow, there is not an absolute division between the two: The Tree of Knowledge . . . is a symbol of the final Sefirah, in which ‘good and evil’ . . . are united, operating through it in all the lower Sefiroth . . . The two trees are fundamentally one: they grow from a common root . . . So long as the two trees are connected, the Tree of Life retains control over the power of Severity, the harsh, critical power within the Godhead, which . . . following Sefer ha-Bahir, is conceived in the image of Satan . . . The nature of evil is therefore the separation and isolation of those things that should be united.26 When God’s wrath separates the unity of the Sephirot, it becomes Satan’s domain. This is the introduction in the Zohar of the other side (Sitra Ahra). This is also why good and evil remain a struggle for human beings,27 which resonates with the complex makeup of the Shekhinah as it is recreated in MuñizHuberman’s short stories and essays. I will further discuss this in the section “Representations of the Divine and Gender.” This long excursion into the Tree of Life in various cultures, as well as the other trees that appear in Torah and their symbolism, helps to frame Muñiz-Huberman’s multiple representations. In her book of essays Las raíces 25 de Gerona as cited in Scholem, On the Mystical Shape, 64–71. 26 Scholem, On the Mystical Shape, 70. 27 Ibid., 73–76.

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y las ramas, Muñiz-Huberman demonstrates the intimate connection that exists between the biological and kabbalistic aspects of the Tree of Life. She compares the organic union that exists between the roots, trunk, branches, leaves, and flowers with the integral nature of Torah.28 In this description, Muñiz-Huberman focuses on the nature of trees, and the role of the Sephirotic tree in Creation. In her story “El árbol sefirótico,” her description pivots towards creativity, and she writes: Un árbol es el árbol de la vida y es el árbol de la escritura . . . Es la sombra y es el fruto. Es el techo y el sustento. Es sobre todo, el origen de la narración. Sin árbol no habría historia, ni historias de la historia . . . Para los cabalistas, el árbol es la síntesis de la creación . . .29 Here she refers to the Tree of Life as a synthesis of Divine Creation, as well as the source of narration, because without it there would be no history of the Jewish people nor any stories about their history. The way Muñiz-Huberman portrays the Tree of Life in her essays and creative writing has several points of connection with Mario Satz, as it will be discussed in the next chapter. Both writers treat this topic from multiple perspectives and they interpret central themes of the Tradition for a contemporary audience. Like Muñiz-Huberman, Satz alludes to the Tree of Life as a source of creativity. An example of this in Muñiz-Huberman’s literature is when she represents the Tree of Life using visual images: “Las sefirot son diez espejos de diez colores diferentes que reflejan una vela encendida, imagen de la divinidad, es única y, sin embargo, se refleja desde distinto ángulo en cada espejo. Así cada espejo ilumina un aspecto de la divinidad y en su totalidad los diez representan el conjunto de las emanaciones o la luz plena.”30 This is a faithful representation of the Sephirotic tree which includes the ten emanations or qualities of the Divine. The visual quality of her description helps to see the Tree of Life as inspiration

28 Muñiz-Huberman, Las raíces y las ramas, 17. 29 “A tree is the tree of life and the tree of writing . . . It is the shadow and the fruit. It is shelter and sustenance. It is, above all, the origin of narration. Without a tree, neither history, nor the stories of history, would exist. For kabbalists, the tree is the synthesis of creation.” MuñizHuberman, En el jardín de la Cábala, 24. 30 “The Sephirot are ten multicolored mirrors reflecting a burning candle, an image of the divine, one which is unique, and yet reflected from a different angle on each mirror. And thus, each mirror illuminates an aspect of the divine and, together, they represent the complete array of emanations or pure light.” Ibid., 24–25.

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for creative endeavors. It also brings to mind a pictorial image that strays from Jewish Tradition. The author’s emphasis on the light and colors reflected in the mirrors as representations of the Sephirot reminds us of the canonical painting Pan árbol by Argentine artist Xul Solar. Several of his famous paintings recreate the Tree of Life from Kabbalah, which he calls the Pan Tree alluding to the pantheism that gave birth to so much of his work. His paintings of the Pan Tree are renderings of the Sephirotic tree, but they feature twelve spheres instead of ten and include references to planets in the solar system. Borges explains that Xul Solar modified the Tree of Life according to astrological concepts.31 This is one of many examples of how this artist combines different mystical traditions and magical expressions.32 His version of the Tree of Life combines two esoteric traditions from an aesthetic perspective of spiritual renewal.33 (Xul Solar, in reference to Kabbalah and Astrology, is discussed further in the next chapter.) In fact, the Tree of Life has been portrayed by many Latin American artists. Some examples and brief descriptions of art titled Tree of Life include David Alfaro Siqueiros’s painting that focuses on the tree at its center venerated by a group of silhouettes surrounding it. Carlos Tapia’s painting makes direct references to the biblical story, to temptation and danger, superimposing the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge in Eden. Ana Mendieta’s image features her silhouette burgeoning out of the tree. A mural painted by Roberto Montenegro represents the Tree in relation to Christian faith and medieval chivalry.34

31 Aldo Pellegrini, Collection of the Art Works in the Museum (Buenos Aires: Pan Klub Foundation, 1990), 35 32 He also does this in his writing through his invention of languages and signs Borges, Aldo Pellegrini, Xul Solar Catálogo (n.d.), 10–17. 33 Rafael Squirru, “Xul Solar, Esoteric Glimpses” in Xul Solar: Collection of the Art Works in the Museum (Buenos Aires: Pan Klub Foundation, 1990), 46–48. 34 Vasconcelos commissioned this mural and demanded that the artist change the original central figure, a mostly nude and vulnerable representation of Saint Sebastian, for this exaggeratedly masculine medieval knight. Roberto Montenegro, “Obra Museo,” Mundo del Museo, http:// mundodelmuseo.com/ficha.php?id=1389.

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Figure 1. Alejandro Xul Solar, “Pan Tree,” 1954, watercolor and ink on paper, 13.3 x 9.2 in., The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, United States, accessed March 25, 2022, https://emuseum.mfah.org/objects/66405/pantree.

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Figure 2. David Alfaro Siqueiros, “Árbol de la vida,” 1972, pyroxyline on Masonite, 39.4 x 31.5 in., The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, Israel, accessed March 25, 2022, https://www.mutualart.com/Artwork/ARBOL -DE-LA-VIDA/888243A30AEB62F1.

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Figure 3. Carlos Tapia, “Árbol de la vida,” 2014, acrylic on cloth, 53.9 x 51.1 in., accessed March 25, 2022, https://www.donacianobueno.com/infantil/el-arbol-de-lavida/.

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Figure 4. Ana Mendieta, “Árbol de la vida,” 1976, color photograph, 8.07 x 10 in., Christies, accessed 25 March, 2022, https://www.christies.com/lot/lot-anamendieta-1948-1985-arbol-de-la-4597549/?

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Figure 5. Roberto Montenegro, “Árbol de la vida,” 1922, mural, Mundo del Museo, accessed 25 March, 2022, http://mundodelmuseo.com/ficha.php?id=1389.

In these paintings, we can see the potency and versatility of the Tree of Life. This symbol connects literary and artistic productions from Latin America to universal culture in ways that go beyond the scope and purpose of this book and deserves further study. In Muñiz-Huberman’s work, several of her short stories, poems, and essays delve into specific Sephirot from the Tree of Life. For example, the author explains that the first Sephirah, Ein Sof, commonly interpreted as nothingness, is not so:

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. . . es el origen de la creación. De la nada absoluta se pasó al todo absoluto o ein sof y la creación también pasó de lo espiritual a lo material, y se representó en minerales, vegetales, animales, y por último, en el hombre. Así, el vacío o la nada se convirtió en el espejo de la existencia. Desde la cima de la montaña, el rabí Daniel Matatiahu35 reflexiona y cuando siente la brisa que lo envuelve, es un deleite para el alma y el cuerpo. Se olvida de sí, como si se desmayara, y no avanza más en su conocimiento, porque siempre habrá algo indescifrable y algo más que seguir buscando en el misterio de la creación toda.36 This is a good example of how the poetic and the pedagogic complement each other in Muñiz-Huberman’s writing. The explanation of the process of Creation, based on the mystical canon, is followed by a creative reformulation of how to understand the process spiritually. The passage also resonates with Rabbi Seidenberg’s position that all elements of nature are part of Creation and made in God’s image, and with Jodorowsky’s fascination with that which we cannot comprehend. Because it celebrates the mystery that is part of the search, the mystery that inspires the creative process. In the cited passage, Muñiz-Huberman describes how Ein Sof’s origin of Creation goes from ethereal to physical, from spiritual to material. Then she introduces Rabí Matatiahu connecting spiritually with the creative energy emanating from Ein Sof. His sensory experience celebrates his natural surroundings, relishing being part of Creation. This scene of harmony between human and nature is how it is supposed to be in the context of Jewish Mysticism, according to Rabbi Seidenberg. In fact, the mandate to live in harmony with nature is also explicit in Jewish law, as the Halakhah mandates that we only take from the environment what is needed, to not be wasteful or destructive, to be sensitive “ . . . towards the suffering we cause God’s creatures”37 A similar scene appears in Muñiz-Huberman’s historical

35 Rabí, meaning Rabbi, was the term used in medieval Spain. Today we use the term rabino in Spanish. The name Daniel Matatiahu does not reflect a historical figure, it’s a fictional name. 36 “It is the origin of creation. From absolute nothingness came the absolute All, or ein sof, and from being spiritual, Creation became material and manifested itself in minerals, vegetables, animals, and lastly, in man. And thus, emptiness or nothingness became the mirror of existence. From the top of a mountain, Rabbi Daniel Matatiahu sits in meditation and when he feels the breeze that envelopes him, it is a delight for his soul and his body. He forgets about himself, as if fainted, and he advances in his knowledge, as there will always be something undecipherable and something else to continue to search for in the mystery of the whole creation.” MuñizHuberman, En el jardín de la Cábala, 194–195. 37 Green, Ehyeh, 116.

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novel El mercader de Tudela (1998). In that instance, it isn’t nature that inspires the mystical moment, but rather a visit to the tombs of the patriarchs in Hebron, where the protagonist has a vision of the sephirot and the Creation of the world.38 In both En el jardín de la Kábala and El mercader de Tudela, Muñiz-Huberman recreates the dynamic between human beings and nature in harmony with the connection to an esoteric manifestation of the Divine realm. She recreates the connection between the earthly and the Divine through the Tree of life, celebrating the ideal of harmony between human beings and nature as part of Creation in the mystical context that informs her writing. In the passage about Ein Sof, and in many others, Muñiz-Huberman includes the spiritual experience as a complement to reflection as a way to decipher the mystery of Creation. But she also reminds us that we will inevitably run into the limits of understanding the enigma of Creation. These limits define the human being and, yet, the knowledge of these limits does not deter curiosity and the intellectual pursuit that is essential to the practice of Jewish Mysticism. Her literature offers a variety of ways to keep tradition alive, through literary renditions that interrogate and revise central concepts of Kabbalah.

Representations of the Divine and Gender At the other end of the Sephirotic tree is Malkhut, constituting the closest connection between human beings and nature. It is the Sephirah that gives birth to the physical world and stands for the Divine presence in the world. Chabad Rabbi and scholar J. Immanuel Schochet defines Malkhut as the origin of the revelation of the light of Ein Sof, which extends to and illuminates the world and creatures in a revealed manner. From this source, there extends to each individual entity the particular light and vitality suitable for it: informing, animating, and sustaining it.39 However, the survival of this connection depends on its being reciprocal. As Arthur Green explains it, “[l]ife is the result of this outpouring of energy from Malkhut, very much affected . . . by the course of human actions.”40 A harmonious relationship between the Creator, nature, and humankind is needed for the light to be sustained. The sephirah Malkhut represents the Shekhinah: the Queen, the Divine presence of God on earth which is often linked to femininity. The Shekhinah 38 Naomi Lindstrom, “Las narrativas visionarias en la producción de Angelina MuñizHuberman,” Transmodernity (Spring 2016): 10. 39 Chabad Rabbi Jacob Immanuel Schochet, Mystical Concepts in Chassidism (New York: Kehot Publication Society, 1979), 95. 40 Green, A Guide to the Zohar, 105.

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is associated with birth, maternity, and harmony between human beings and nature. Green defines the Shekhinah as God’s presence . . .fully immanent within the natural and physical world. . . . She is malkhut, the “kingdom” into which the King enters and in which perfect harmony and fulfillment are found. Most verbal images of the Shekhinah portray it in feminine terms or in aspects of nature, such as land, sea, and the moon—natural elements that are often linked to femininity.41 Green’s understanding of the Shekhinah is also how Muñiz-Huberman recreates this aspect of the Divine in her literature, as we will soon explore. But first, we need to address the larger debate on the issue of God’s earthly presence and gender because Green’s interpretation of the Shekhinah is used to support egalitarian Judaism and has faced dissenting positions. In her thorough analysis of “Gender in Jewish Mysticism,”42 Hava Tirosh-Samuelson summarizes the key positions in this debate. She mentions Elliot Wolfson’s criticism of Green’s effort to present Kabbalah as the basis for egalitarian Judaism. Following Lacanian psychoanalytic theory, Wolfson proposes that “kabbalistic symbolism did not posit a deity in which two equal potencies, one masculine and the other feminine, were seeking to reestablish the primordial parity and balance but rather a male androgynous deity whose feminine aspects will be restored to masculinity in the end of days.”43 Daniel Abrams also disagrees with Green. He denies the idea of the Shekhinah as a pivotal image of divine femininity in the Bahir, [and states that] the traditions collected in this text were not generated from a construction of femininity, but rather from a description 41 Green, Ehyeh, 55–56. 42 For a detailed analysis of the history of Shekhinah (from Gershom Scholem until Peter Schafer’s polemical interpretation of the Shekhinah in connection to the Virgin Mary) and the historic response of Feminism, see Hava Tirosh-Samuelson, “Gender in Mysticism,” in Jewish Mysticism and Kabbalah: New Insights and Scholarship, ed. Frederick E. Greenspahn (New York: New York University Press, 2011), 191–230. For more on the Shekhinah and the Virgin Mary, see Arthur Green, “Shekhina, The Virgin Mary, and the Song of Songs: Reflections on a Kabbalistic Symbol in Its Historical Context,” AJS Review 26, no. 1 (April 2002): 1–52. MarieTheresa Hernández studies the Divine presence of the Shekhinah in the rays of light that adorn the Virgin of Guadalupe of Tepeyac’s Cloak, and other aspects of the Kabbalistic tradition brought to colonial Mexico’s church by Conversos. The Virgin of Guadalupe and the Conversos. Uncovering Hidden Influences from Spain to Mexico (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2014), 72–75. 43 Tirosh-Samuelson, “Gender in Mysticism”: 202.

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of the sexual union that occurs within the divine theosophy .  . . Shekhinah being one of the many images that received a feminine valence in the mythic depiction of her coupling with her masculine mate above.44 These are some of the strongest voices in the ongoing debate around the feminine quality of the Shekhinah as the basis (or not) of egalitarian Judaism. While this debate is ongoing, interpreting Shekhinah as a feminine representation of God is broadly accepted. Tirosh-Samuelson reminds us that Gershom Scholem was the first to look into the origins of this notion. He traces it back to Gnostics’ influence in medieval Kabbalah. Scholem’s understanding of the Shekhinah as the feminine representation of God on earth and Green’s reference to the uses of elements of nature to describe her reflect how it appears in Muñiz-Huberman’s narratives. In her story titled “La Shejiná” she describes her as an exiled princess that magically floats with her feet not touching the ground, easily avoiding obstacles (a typical characterization of the Shekhinah): Por los caminos del destierro avanza una doncella, princesa despojada, a tientas. Carece de vista y, sin embargo, no tropieza con las piedras ni se golpea con las ramas de los árboles. Una luz interna la guía entre los obstáculos y pareciera que sus pies no se apoyasen en la tierra. Quienes también padecen el destierro la toman como guía y se unen a su caravana. Ella, entonces extiende su manto de lunas y estrellas para cubrir a sus seguidores.45 The people of Israel, with their long history of exile, are among her followers. She represents, and protects exiles,46 sufferers, sinners, as well as those more fortunate. She offers her followers happiness and empathy. In Muñiz-Huberman’s 44 Daniel Abrams distinguishes gender from Feminism. He pushes back against what he sees as a contemporary political agenda in feminist readings of the Shekhinah. Kabbalistic Manuscripts, 122–126. 45 “Down the paths of exile a damsel, a dispossessed princess, advances blindly. She lacks the sense of sight and yet, she does not stumble over rocks nor does she bump into the tree branches. An inner light guides her amongst obstacles and it would seem as if her feet did not touch the ground. Those who are also suffering exile take her as their guide and join her caravan. She then spreads her mantle of moons and stars to give cover to her followers.” Muñiz-Huberman, En el jardín de la Cábala, 173–174. 46 The connection of Shekhinah to exile reflects the idea that Malkhut “must link with Tiferet in order for the sefirotic system to function properly. Their separation is also compared to the exile of the Jewish people from its home.” Daniel M. Horwitz, A Kabbalah and Jewish Mysticism Reader (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society 2016), 115.

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story, the Shekhinah escorts the bride on her wedding day and the mother during childbirth. She is also the mourner’s companion. This is a telling example of how Muñiz-Huberman makes central concepts of the Tradition accessible for a general readership, while offering renditions of the Shekhinah that remain close to established notions. The story continues with an introduction to the dark side of the Divine presence: Podría ser la forma en que la presencia divina se manifiesta en todo suceso comunitario. Mas hay quienes dicen que por vivir bajo el signo de la luna posee también una parte oscura, cambiante, severa y se esconde bajo el Árbol de la muerte . . . Lo mas probable es que sea el punto invisible de la comunión entre el mundo terrenal y el mundo celestial.47 The dark side of the Shekhinah is associated with Eve in Genesis, when she is tempted to eat the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, the Tree of Good and Evil. Both aspects of Shekhinah reflect Muñiz-Huberman’s reading of Scholem. Scholem also explores the ambiguity between good and evil that ties Shekhinah with the female figure, and with Sitra Achra (the other side of godliness)48 as a ubiquitous presence in the Zohar.49 Another traditional female figure that is linked to darkness is Lilith, a central female demon who has received multiple interpretations. In the Talmudic and Kabbalistic traditions she is seen as Adam’s first wife, before Eve. Her name stems from Layla (night in Hebrew) and she is known to bring harm to men and also for stealing babies as revenge for being replaced by Eve as Adam’s wife. Her replacement is believed to have happened as a result of her refusal to be submissive, and therefore she is celebrated by Jewish feminists. But she often appears personifying evil inclinations in Kabbalistic literature.50 The ambiguity that surrounds these female figures is also a generalized understanding of the human struggle between good and evil for humans.51 This struggle is why the dynamic relationship between humans and the Divine—through the study of Torah, prayer, and/or 47 “It could be the way in which the divine presence manifests itself in every communal happening. Yet there are those who say that, living under the sign of the moon, it also possesses a dark, changing, severe side, and it hides under the Tree of death . . . Most likely, this is the invisible point of communion between the earthly and the celestial worlds.” Muñiz-Huberman, En el jardín de la Cábala,174. 48 Scholem defines Malkhut as a vehicle for God’s severity. Ibid., 73. 49 Scholem, On the Mystical Shape, 189. 50 Berlin ed., The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion, 450. 51 Ibid., 76.

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direct interaction with the environment—always entails a shadow, a dangerous side. This is also how Muñiz-Huberman defines Shekhinah in her book of essays Las raíces y las ramas.52 However, Muñiz-Huberman’s writing is focused on a different struggle: the search for deeper meaning in Kabbalah and literature. In Las raíces y las ramas, she states that in Zohar, Moises de León compares “las palabras de la Torá con una nuez a la que hay que ir pelando y quitándole las capas hasta llegar al meollo . . .”53 This is a direct reference to exegetic work and is also an invitation to Muñiz-Huberman’s creative world. In En el jardín de la cábala, she writes “De lo grande a lo pequeño, tal vez lo pequeño sea lo más importante . . . Hay cáscaras de nuez talladas que encierran un bosque, un castillo, una montaña.”54 The study of Kabbalah and the literature that is inspired by it demands opening walnuts, climbing mountains, and getting lost in the breeze to enter forests and castles that are hidden inside the shells.

The Role of Painting in Muñiz-Huberman’s Literature The arts present a thread that connects the four main authors in this book. In the first chapter, I addressed Jodorowsky’s films, comics, and theatre. I will look into the connection between the literature of Muñiz-Huberman and Mario Satz to Xul Solar’s paintings; and Mirta Kupferminc’s art will be seen in connection to both Satz’s and Isaac Goldemberg’s literature. What follows is a discussion of the role that painting plays in Muñiz-Huberman literature. Her writing not only refers to painters, but it also recreates the act of painting. In Muñiz-Huberman’s short story titled “La obra secreta de Andrius el pintor,” from Serpientes y escaleras (1991),55 the protagonist is an established painter known for his work on nature. Andrius’ paintings are inspired by Alea, a muse of sorts, somewhat real, somewhat imaginary. This story slowly walks the reader through the act of painting as a sensual experience. In another story from that book, titled “El iluminador de Alexandre,” Muñiz-Huberman describes the manual processes of making paper and of the artistry of copying manuscripts

52 Muñiz-Huberman, Las raíces y las ramas, 71–74. 53 “[T]he word of the Torah to a walnut that one must peel, taking off its layers until reaching its core.” Ibid., 18. 54 “From the large to the small, perhaps the small is most important . . . There are carved out walnut shells that contain a forest, a castle, a mountain.” Muñiz-Huberman, En el jardín de la Cábala, 188–189. 55 Angelina Muñiz-Huberman, Serpientes y escaleras (México: UNAM, 1991).

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during Medieval times in great detail. Alexandre, the main character, includes illustrations that he illuminates with gold powder. His deep involvement in his work turns literally orgasmic. Other writings explore the specific connection between painting, illness, and mysticism. These narratives delve into the relationships between physical ailments, creative inspiration, and mystical experience. These are some examples of how her writing brings the art of painting to life from different perspectives. Paul Klee reappears throughout her oeuvre and occupies a central place in her writing, not only because they share aspects of their biographies (Klee spent part of his life in Hyères, France where the author was born, and they both lived with Systemic Sclerosis), but also because mysticism is deeply rooted in their work. In Paul Klee’s case, the mysticism that marks his work responds to the aesthetic movements in painting and poetry extant in the 1920s in Germany and France.56 For Muñiz-Huberman, the central role mysticism plays in her creative and academic writing stems from her years of studying Jewish and Christian traditions. In spite of the generalized perception in the United States that modern art entails a point of departure from traditional cultures, bourgeois values, and religion,57 spirituality was an important source of inspiration for Paul Klee.58 The art critic Charlene Spretnak argues that for many painters in the Bauhaus like Klee, spirituality inspired their revolutionary break from the use of shape in modern and abstract Art.59 The spirituality that Paul Klee channeled in his art takes life in Muñiz-Huberman’s literature through her descriptions of him and the characters that Klee inspired in her writing.

Death, Illness, and Creativity Imminent death and illness are leitmotifs in the Muñiz-Huberman oeuvre. In the story “Otra muerte,” the narrator anxiously hopes for death’s arrival.60 In the poem “Danza de la muerte”61 she provokes, questions, invites, celebrates, 56 G. Di San Lazzaro, Klee: A Study of His Life and Work, trans. Stuart Hood (New York: Frederick A. Praeger Publishers, 1957), 215–216. 57 Charlene Spretnak, “We just weren’t taught that way,” in The Spiritual Dynamic in Modern Art (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2014), 2–7. 58 In one of the essays in her book Arritmias, Muñiz-Huberman describes Klee as an artist whose work was not entirely understood, 16. 59 Spretnak, “We just weren’t taught that way,” 10–15. 60 Muñiz-Huberman, Narrativa relativa, 80. 61 Muñiz-Huberman, El ojo de la creación, 41–43.

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and represents death as the inevitable winner. In “Somos todas las muertes,” she concludes “Moriremos / por el peso de las cenizas / el dibujo del humo / el intervalo de las alturas. / Moriremos / con la última muerte que se nos muera”62; and in “La obra secreta de Andrius el pintor,” Andrius languishes and invites death. He chooses his ending in order to have death find his oeuvre hidden in the basement.63 When they are part of a story in which the main character is a painter, illness and death heighten the creative experience. These characters experience a fight against time and the harmony and peace that brings acceptance. Being close to the end of life provides a spiritual space for a process of purification of the soul, as I will further discuss in the next section. In Muñiz-Huberman’s literature, illness and death inspire a creative impulse that is perceived as a mystical experience. Two of her most compelling texts in this vein are story number fourteen in Las confidentes (1997), titled “Paul Klee en Hyères,” and her novel Hacia Malinalco.64 These texts are two versions of the same story, which is a common occurrence in her work. Las confidentes is constructed as a long dialogue between two close friends. The section in which they discuss “Paul Klee en Hyères” starts as follows: “Un día descubres que eres mortal. Más bien, lo sabías de siempre. Pero un día es real. Te han puesto un plazo. La enfermedad no espera.”65 The interlocutor suggests choosing a painter who can guide her during her convalescence. She chooses Paul Klee and recreates his time in Hyères. This small town in the south of France, where the author was born, appears in many of her texts. Hyères marks her point of origin and departure, as it is portrayed in the poem “Hyères”: “El 29 de diciembre nací en Hyères / y cinco días después / empapaba de llanto el tren / que de nacer me llevaba a morir . . . Perseguí Hyères: / quién ha estado; quién lo invoca.”66

62 “We will die / from the weight of ashes / the figure drawn by smoke / the interval of heights. / We will die / with the last death that dies on us.” Muñiz-Huberman “Somos todas las muertes,” El ojo de la creación (México: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1992), 55. 63 Muñiz-Huberman, Serpientes y escaleras, 76. 64 Chapter 21 in Castillos en la tierra is titled “Las enfermedades.” It notes when the author was first diagnosed with Systemic Sclerosis. Castillos en la tierra (seudomemorias) (México: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, 1995), 161–166. 65 “One day you discover that you are mortal. Or rather, you always knew. But one day it becomes real. You have been given a deadline. Illness will not wait.” Muñiz-Huberman, Las confidentes (México: Tusquets, 1997), 141. 66 “On December 29th I was born in Hyères / and five days later / I drenched with my tears the train/ that from birth was carrying me to death . . . I chased after Hyères: who has been; who invokes it.” Muñiz-Huberman, “Ojo de la creación,” in Rompeolas, poesía reunida (México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2012), 115.

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Hyères haunts Muñiz-Huberman’s writing, as it stands for transit as a permanent residence, exile as home.67 Chapter fourteen of Las confidentes also describes Paul Klee’s approach to painting. Muñiz-Huberman writes that Klee painted objects’ luminosity as a mystical experience: “la luminosidad es de orden místico: eleva a los objetos: giran: levitan.”68 She details one of his stained glass windows in this vein: “El vitral abierto a la última experiencia mística: a la transparencia: al aire.”69 Moreover, Muñiz-Huberman’s portrayals of Klee’s artwork focus on a mystical experience that is often linked to the experience of knowing that one is approaching a certain death.70 Her description of Klee painting his last art pieces in Hyères while convalescing underscores his determination and his creative impulse.71 Klee paints with “la certeza del dolor: cuando cada órgano de su cuerpo está invadido por la esclerosis: cuando, para pintar, se amarra pinceles a los dedos ya engarrotados . . . No cesará de pintar hasta el día de su muerte”72 Paul Klee’s last days are described similarly in biographies of the painter: In the course of his last years all his energies were directed towards completing and perfecting his vast oeuvre. The progress of his illness does not seem to have diminished his productivity but on the contrary to have stimulated him. His subconscious told him that he had to hurry, that time was pressing and death—as we can see from many of his pictures—was a constant and inexorable threat.73 Klee’s stern determination to continue painting until his last day is also recreated in Galatea, the protagonist of Hacia Malinalco (2014). The creative impulse that Galatea shares with Paul Klee generates art and represents resistance to advancing illness. It also raises awareness among the readers that we 67 For more on this topic see Judith Payne, “Writing and Reconciling Exile: The Novels of Angelina Muñiz-Huberman,” Bulletin of Hispanic Studies 74, no. 4 (1997): 431–459. 68 “[L]uminosity is of the mystical order: it elevates objects: they twirl: they levitate.” 69 “The vitreau open to the ultimate mystical experience: to transparency: to air.” 70 When discussing Klee’s painting “Profundidad del bosque,” she calls it “the forest of death” because he knows he is going to die soon. Muñiz-Huberman, Las confidentes, 146. 71 This is also true for the protagonist in the short story “La obra secreta de Andrius el pintor.” In “Paul Klee en Hyères,” death is accepted as the tension between “ángeles y demonios,”147. 72 “[T]he certainty of pain: when each organ in his body is overtaken by sclerosis: when he ties brushes to his already stiff fingers to be able to paint . . . He will not cease to paint until the day of his death.” Muñiz-Huberman, Las confidentes, 147. In Hacia Malinalco, her husband offers the narrator to tie brushes to her fingers but she declines, 176. 73 G. Di San Lazzaro, Klee, 211.

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are only passing through life, like Klee and Muñiz-Huberman through Hyères.74 Paul Klee is an important point of reference in her novel Hacia Malinalco,75 but the story centers on the painter Galatea who works obsessively on a triptych, her last art piece. The triptych represents the three Christian mystical paths of atonement: the purgative path, where the soul purifies; the illuminative path, where souls may be disoriented but available for Divine union; and the path to unity, where the soul connects with God. Hacia Malinalco focuses on the last three weeks of Galatea’s life. Each chapter takes place on a day of the week stressing the fact that she is running out of time. Each version of the triptych portrays the sea, the sky, and the beach, exploring “[el] desdibujamiento de las fronteras entre los elementos, agua, aire, tierra”76 until the last version, which uses different shades of white to reflect union with divinity. Through the novel’s third person, omniscient narrator, we are privy to Galatea’s interior monologue that begins when she discovers her diagnosis. She decides to sleep, love, and live intensely during her last days. She wants to be close to her loved ones: especially Acis,77 her husband. The monologue then turns to the process of painting the triptych. What follows looks into the sections of the novel that are inspired by the three Christian mystical paths as a basis to later discuss them in relation to Jewish Mysticism. “Primera semana, o vía purgativa” (“First week, or the purgative way”): this week Galatea engages in the purgative path as a period of recycling aspects of her work that will help her produce the triptych. She confronts it as a creative space in which she searches to “ir a lo esencial: las líneas puras del dibujo: la espartana expresión.”78 During this stage, she aims to purify form in her art and soul. “Segunda semana, o vía iluminativa” (Second week, or illuminative path): this week Galatea feels that she is on track in the process of purification of her soul. “Tendrá ahora que concentrarse en esa luz que elimina todo lo demás.

74 The chapter “Paul Klee en Hyères” ends with a reflection that connects the painter with death, that of the fifty million people who lost their lives during World War II, and the narrator expecting her own death in the story. 75 Paul Klee, Hacia Malinalco, 16 and 56. Malinalco was a sacred place where the Nahuas sacrificed the “perfect warrior.” It is a mythical place that Galatea hopes to get to before she dies to bring her parents’ ashes (46). 76 “[The] blurring of borders between the elements, water, air, earth.” Muñiz-Huberman, Hacia Malinalco, 43. 77 The names of the protagonists make direct reference to the eternal love inspired by Ovid’s Metamorphoses. 78 “[G]o to what’s essential: the pure lines of drawing: the spartan expression.” Muñiz-Huberman, Hacia Malinalco, 26.

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Dirigirse a ella tan abismalmente como la mariposa al punto de la vela. Saber desechar lo oscuro y lo denso . . . Así como está venciendo la materia del cuerpo y éste se supedita al alma, . . . así habrá de apartar todo impedimento que la separe de su propósito.” She wants to direct her energy towards the “ . . . punto indefinido e inmarcable, del invisible lugar que es el Lugar.”79 Galatea lives the process of ascension of her soul in the act of painting as a way to arrive at the light. As a result, her triptych is evolving from sea-sky-beach to sky-sea-beach, until the last one, painted with un blanco prismático. La suma de todos los colores. Revelación. . . . Ahora deja que la luz la inunde y ese blanco de su cuadro es el resplandor interno que va iluminando sus repliegues. Ya no intenta detener la luz. El rayo que no cesa. Los monstruos y las opacidades se disuelven ante los haces luminosos. Ahí donde creía encontrar el terror, encuentra la transparencia y el sonido del cristal.80 Her descriptions of the intensity of the light and the color white recall mystical reflections in the Zohar and the Bahir.81 This is a key moment in the novel, when the mystical experience reaches its core intensity. When she finally finishes her triptych, she feels that “el alma alcanza el cielo. La elevación ha ocurrido.”82 “Tercera semana o vía unitiva” (Third week or the unitive way): this week Galatea expects she will not be able to unite with God until death. “Galatea ha unido Dios y muerte y piensa que sólo en la muerte encontrará a Dios. Será la manera de hallar la vía unitiva con la divinidad.”83 This suggests that her mystical experience represents more of a search with questions about God’s existence

79 “Now she will need to focus on that light that clouds everything else. To go towards it in such an abysmal way as the butterfly towards the candle. To know how to dispose of what’s dark and dense. As she is overcoming the body’s matter and it surrenders to the soul, so will she need to cast aside every impediment that will lead her away from her purpose. Ibid., 94–95. 80 A prismatic white. The sum of all colors. A revelation . . . Now she allows light to inundate her, and that white on her painting is the inner radiance illuminating her crevices. She does not attempt to stop the light. The ray that does not cease. Monsters and opacities dissolve before the shafts of light. She finds transparency and a crystalline sound where she thought she would find terror. Ibid., 100–102. 81 Personal email exchange with Angelina Muñiz-Huberman, July 9, 2017. 82 “[T]he soul reaches the sky. The elevation has happened.” Muñiz-Huberman, Hacia Malinalco, 121. 83 Galatea has conjoined God and death, and she thinks that only in death will she find God. It will be the path to find the unitive way with the divine.” Ibid., 170.

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than it does the mystical path of a believer. Galatea uses contrasting expressions that underscore her doubt, but also her hope of Divine existence. For example, Galatea says that in her last painting, the color white represents the color of God: it is a “luz encegecedora . . . [la] síntesis de la inexistencia. Lo blanco que todo cubre, color de Dios y de mariposa Papilio,”84 but then she asks herself “¿el alma en Dios?”85 She is open about not being religious: “En una religión sin religión y sin ser creyente, sin reconocer a Dios, lo siente y lo imagina.”86 Galatea’s mystical experience is not a religious process, but it is an intense spiritual experience that, as we will soon see, mirrors those described by deeply religious Jews nearing death. This spiritual experience coincides with the strong creative impulse triggered by the imminent end of her life. The day of her death, she finishes her last painting by holding the brush with her mouth—like Paul Klee on his last days tying a brush to his hand in order to be able to continue painting. The narrator describes this moment as follows: “El centro del alma se le revela a Galatea. La luz revelada irradia de la blancura al amor que es el alma. Gradas y escalas en ascenso hacia el Ángel de la muerte y la gran Unión. La perfección alquímica se produce en el interior iluminado.87 La Gran Unión es irrepetible, impronunciable. Intransferible.”88 She dies in Acis’s arms.89 Even though the mystical experience that these pages describe is intense, it does not confirm the union of her soul with God, and the reader is left with that doubt. While the question of what happens to the soul after death is not discussed much in the Bible, Kabbalah fills this void. Alan Unterman cites from the Zohar: When the spirit is about to depart, having taken its leave from all of the body, the Divine Presence [Shekhinah] stands above it, and the spirit immediately flies away from the body. Happy is the portion of the person who cleaves to Her [Shekhinah]. Woe

84 “[A] blinding light . . . synthesis of inexistence. The white that covers it all, the color of God and the butterfly Papilio.” Ibid., 176–177. 85 “The soul in God?” Ibid., 184. 86 “In a religion without religion, without being a believer, without recognizing God, she feels it and imagines it.” Ibid., 178. 87 For an intricate study on the mutual influences between Kabbalah and Alchemy from Jewish and Christian perspectives, see Muñiz-Huberman, El siglo del desencanto, 180–186. 88 “The core of soul is revealed to Galatea. The uncovered light radiates from the whiteness to the love that is the soul. Ascending steps and stairs towards death’s Angel and the great Union. The alchemical perfection takes place in the illuminated inside. The Great Union is unrepeatable, unpronounceable. Untransferable.” 89 Muñiz-Huberman, Hacia Malinalco, 185.

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to the wicked person who is far from her and does not cleave to Her.90 Galatea’s experience painting her last work of art before death finds echoes in stories by tzadikim on their deathbeds. These are stories that were first transmitted orally by their disciples and eventually were compiled in written form.91 We find here expressed certain concepts that relate to a state of union with the Divine after death. The following commentary from Deathbed Wisdom of the Hasidic Masters (2016) shows the importance that union with God has for Kabbalists and Hasidim at the moment of dying: The concept of unification is so fundamental to Hasidism that it can be thought of as an underpinning to every story in this book. It helps us understand that the experience of death for the tzaddik is one of serving to further this unification. The dying person is gathered to God, like a drop of rain falling into a lake.92 In spite of some obvious differences, Muñiz-Huberman’s description of Galaea’s spiritual journey at the end of her life echoes this description. But her secular outlook greatly differs from Hasidic thought. In fact, it is hard for some Hasidim to see the point of secular mysticism disconnected from religious observance, because they understand union with God to be directly connected to religious practice and the study of Torah.93 The position that reaching a state of union with the Divine can only be achieved through mitzvot (God’s commandments, religious duties) is a particular view of the Jewish mystical tradition that is debated by academic scholars including Scholem and Huss. Notwithstanding, this union could not be achieved through art, because in Judaism it is problematic to speak of objects (the triptych in this novel) in relation to Divinity.94

90 Zohar 3: 1269–127a. Naso cited in Unterman, The Kabbalistic Tradition, 241. 91 The original book was edited and published by Benjamin Mintz in 1930. My comments are based on a version of the text from 2016 with commentaries by two rabbis that assisted at the end of patients’ lives. Rabbi Joel H. Baron and Rabbi Sarah Paasche-Orlow, Deathbed Wisdom of the Hasidic Masters (Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing, 2016), xviii. 92 Ibid., 165. 93 Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, The Long Shorter Way, Discourses on Chasidic Thought (New Milford: Maggid Books, 2014), 244. 94 For a lucid analysis of the debate about modern art and the issue of veneration of objects, see the preface in Zachary Braiterman, The Shape of Revelation (Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 2007), xvii-xxx.

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To conclude this section, I’d like to return to Paul Klee and Galatea painting their last art piece as death fast approaches. Their urgency to paint against the limitations posed by advanced illness can be interpreted as an intense impulse of life which Muñiz-Huberman portrays as a profound mystical experience. The mystical search to be one with God is an experience cherished by people who would not typically be discussed together: Hasidim at the beginning of the eighteenth century (and today), modern artists at the beginning of the twentieth century in Europe, and a writer in Mexico in the twenty-first century. The next section discusses another rare topic for Jews today: angels, which are as predominant as painting in this author’s writings.

Angels in Latin American Literature and Art In spite of the fact that angels are not a focus of the contemporary practice of Judaism, they have populated Jewish texts throughout time. According to Gershom Scholem, angels were prominent in Merkabah literature. Later on, different systems of angels appear in the writings of thirteenth and fourteenthcentury authors. This is in addition to the “traditional angelology” that includes Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel among others.95 Rachel Elior summarizes the different ways angels appear in Jewish literature as follows: These celestial beings are variously referred to as “holiest of the holy ones,” “congregation of elim [=godlike beings],” sons/children of elim, “sons of heaven,” “holy angels,” “chief princes,” “priests of the inner sanctum” (korev) servants/angels of the Countenance,” “spirits of knowledge,” “lords,” and “host of angels.” They perform the sacred service in the supernal Heikhalot96 and are associated in many ways with the order of Creation, the cycles of the universe, the traditions of priesthood, the sevenfold cycles of the Temple cult and their mythological origins.97

95 Scholem, Kabbalah, 118–119. 96 Heikhalot, which means temples, palaces, or halls, is the term that refers to an early form of esotericism, also known as Merkavah mysticism that appears in literature believed to have been written in Babylonia between the Third to the Seventh centuries. “The main theme is the ecstatic ascent to the celestial realms and palaces, climaxing with the vision of the throne of God.” This body of literature is also considered Gnostic because of some similarities with hellenistic themes. Berlin, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion, 338. 97 Rachel Elior, The Three Temples: On the Emergence of Jewish Mysticism (Oxford and Portland: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2005), 165.

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Chabad Rabbi Zalman Posner defines angels as “noncorporeal ‘bodies,’ . . . dimensions of spirit [that] characterize non-physical ‘beings’ or states, giving them personhood, as it were . . . the malach, the spiritual being, the total servant or messenger of G-d—unfailing, perfect.”98 Rabbi Steinsaltz describes angels as messengers of God that can do no harm “ . . . the angels are . . . creatures outside the realm of good and evil, even though they are much higher than man. It is unthinkable to allow angels the freedom of choice.”99 However, in secular Jewish literature and art, interpretations of angels appear more conflicted and sometimes inhabit realms between good and evil. They are vessels of multiple meanings. The symbolism of angels shifts and evolves in the writings of Angelina Muñiz-Huberman.100 In Las raíces y las ramas, she discusses Rambam’s conception of the universe as a series of concentric spheres with souls with independent intelligence. She compares these spheres with angels or the Divine intermediaries in Jewish tradition.101 In her poem appropriately titled “Ángel,” she offers a more fluid and abstract definition. She defines an angel by what he does not do, or what he doesn’t have: no cruza el mar sino vuela no sube la montaña sino se posa . . . la verdad es que tampoco tiene voz la música que lo anuncia no es suya sino de las altas esferas del amor música que no es suya ni tampoco suena música de campanilleros antes de empezar . . . sin forma, sin color, sin recipiente: lo que se puede decir de él, es lo que no es.102

98 Chabad Rabbi Zalman I. Posner, “On Jewish Mysticism,” in To Touch the Divine (Brooklyn: Empire Press, 1989), 15–18. 99 Rabbi Steinsaltz, The Long Shorter Way, 23. 100 Angels are also prominent in Esther Seligson’s novel La morada en el tiempo (México: lecturas mexicanas, 2011). 101 Muñiz-Huberman, Las raíces y las ramas, 62. 102 [I]t does not cross the seas but flies it does not climb the mountain but alights truth is, it does not have a voice either the music announcing him is not his but of the high spheres of love a music that is not his, nor sounds

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This is the language used to describe God in negative theological terms.103 Extending this description to angels highlights the fact that even though Angels in the Bible are meant to aid God, sometimes they act in an adversarial or independent manner.104 Also, by putting the emphasis on what the angel is not, he becomes a vessel of significance, which is how Muñiz-Huberman refers to Paul Klee’s famous drawing Angelus Novus105 in her book Arritmias (2015).106 As it is widely known, Angelus Novus owes his notoriety as the Angel of History to Walter Benjamin.107 Benjamin was the first owner of this artwork and he learned much about angels from his friend Gershom Scholem.108 Klee’s drawing has inspired much Jewish thought and philosophy, as well as Jewish literature. It has also inspired many forms of visual art, and music— including classical, pop and rap interpretations.109 The Angelus has traveled far and wide, from Germany to France, to the US, and to Israel, and, through Muñiz-Huberman’s writing, his aura also reaching Mexico and beyond. The Angelus is the best known of the several dozens of Angels that Paul Klee produced.110 Klee did not discuss his angelology during his lifetime, but they all share a common factor, they are “hybrids, or crossbreeds.”111

a music of bell ringers before the start . . . without form, without color, without container: only what he is not one can say of him. (Muñiz-Huberman, Rompeolas, 323–324). 103 Yitzhak Lewis’ suggestion. Personal exchange, April 20, 2021. 104 Berlin ed., The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion, 51. 105 The drawing is actually an “oil transfer and watercolor on paper and cardboard.” Paul Klee Catalogue Raisonné (Bern: Beneli, 1999), no. 2377, cited in Alex Danchev, “Angelus Novus: The Angel of History,” in On Good and Evil and the Grey Zone (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2016), 57. 106 Angelina Muñiz-Huberman, “Un ángel de múltiples interpretaciones” [An Angel of Multiple Interpretations], Arritmias (México: Bonilla Artigas Editores, 2015), 26. 107 Muñiz-Huberman writes about Benjamin’s last days with Paul Klee’s “Angelus Novus” in his possession in El último faro (Sevilla: Ed. Espuela de Plata, 2020), 240–241. 108 Danchev, “Angelus Novus”: 52. 109 Carl Djerassi, “One Angel (by Paul Klee),” in Four Jews on Parnassus—A Conversation (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 75–106. 110 See Zentrum Paul Klee, ed., Paul Klee: The Angels (Bern: Hatje Cantz), 2013. 111 Danchev, “Angelus Novus”: 48.

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Figure 6. Paul Klee, “Angelus Novus,” 1920, oil transfer and watercolor on paper, 12.5 in x 9.5 in., The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, Israel, accessed 25 March, 2022, https://www.imj.org.il/en.

In a volume by the Zentrum Paul Klee, dedicated to his Angels, Christine Hopfengart calls them “personifications of transition.” She believes they express Klee’s fluctuating moods as his illness progressed, transitioning from life to death. She posits they are “in between . . . human and angelic forms of existence.”

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Some are playful, while others come closer in tension with evil.112 The theme of Lucifer and fallen angels is a Christian leitmotif that taints the assumed purity of the angels in transition that we are discussing here. Gregor Wedekind, in the same volume, says that he believes that “the angels’ hybridity results from their contact with the sphere of humans.113 Klee’s conflicted angels are particularly significant to Muñiz-Huberman’s writing, because her literature is populated by undefined, or not easily classifiable, beings. In Arritmias, Muñiz-Huberman includes a story that brings Klee’s work to life, called “Angelus Novus.” She introduces this painting as central to the work of Benjamin, Adorno, and Scholem. Then she includes her own interpretation of the Angelus following Benjamin’s. But she goes beyond: he is the angel of history, of contradiction, of irony, of void, he is the angel of all angels, a messenger, indecisive, solitary, sure of himself, lost among men, in no man’s land, a traveling angel, a human-angel, angel-human, trapped, without a destiny, without hope. In sum, “[u]n ángel de múltiples interpretaciones”114 Muñiz-Huberman’s text ends citing the ninth thesis from “On the Concept of History,” Benjamin’s lucid interpretation of Klee’s painting as the Angel of History, with eyes wide open to the horrors of the Great War—in an impasse between past and future, thrown towards the future by a storm sent from paradise that forces him to move on, “The tempest we call progress.”115 Angelus Novus is scarred by humanity; he has become a vessel of all interpretations, a mirror of humanity’s good and evil, he has a life of his own. Her text resonates with Danchev’s interpretation of Anselm Kiefer’s sculpture titled “The Angel of History: Poppy and Memory” (1989). It is made out of lead and dried poppies. Kiefer’s is one of the many artistic interpretations Benjamin’s reading of the Angelus has inspired. Danchev writes: “Kiefer’s leaden angel cannot fly; it is a vector of ideas.”116

112 Christine Hopfengart, in Paul Klee: The Angels, 11–14. 113 Gregor Wedekind, “With a View to Something Higher: The Para-Spiritual Art of Paul Klee,” in Paul Klee: The Angels, 108. 114 “An angel of múltiple interpretations.” Muñiz-Huberman, Arritmias, 26. 115 Ibid., 26–28. 116 Danchev, “Angelus Novus”: 55.

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Figure 7. Anselm Kiefer, “The Angel of History: Poppy and Memory,” 1989, lead, glass, poppies, 78.7 x 196.8 x 157.4 in., National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC, United States, accessed March 25, 2022, https://www.nga.gov/learn/teachers/ lessons-activities/modern-art/terms-past.html.

This resonates with Muñiz-Huberman’s assessment of Klee’s Angelus Novus. But Kiefer’s version of the Angelus seems defeated, the plane is anchored down by its weight; it is a rather pessimistic reading of the Angelus captured in midflight. He is weighed down by the horrors of history and cannot move forward with the wind of “progress,” resisting it. Similarly, Muñiz-Huberman says that the “angel of multiple interpretations” has cried over the ruins of history and now rests within Klee’s lines. She reminds us that he’s seen it all and he no longer reacts, he remains calm. Now it rests in Jerusalem.117 Here she brings Klee’s Angelus Novus to life, outside of the canvas. In her novel El mercader de Tudela, Muñiz-Huberman introduces the Angel of Truth. He appears in Benjamin bar Yona’s dreams. Ahí apareció una figura indescriptible, de suma belleza y de tranquilidad irradiada. No podría decir que se trataba de una

117 The art piece is in permanent exhibit at the Israel Museum thanks to Gershom Scholem’s widow.

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figura humana ni angélica, ni siquiera abstracta o geométrica. Era como una combinación de las cuatro en una. . . . Aunque la figura se movía suavemente, también parece recordar que aparecía detenida, como pintada en una tabla de plata y oro.118 At the end of the dream the angel talks the character out of his Torah studies and into becoming a traveling merchant.119 Even though the angel of truth has a specific mission, he is introduced as what he is not, undefined, a hybrid. This is reminiscent of the angel in the previously mentioned poem “Ángel” in Rompeolas, who is “sin forma, sin color, sin recipiente: / lo que puede decirse de él, es lo que no es.” 120 In El mercader de Tudela, he is also described as “Ángel de la duda,”121 and “Ángel sin alas, pero que vuela. Sin voz pero que habla. Etéreo.”122 He is softly moving but seems stopped (as in midair). These descriptions render him as conflicted, echoing the Angelus Novus. It is not surprising that MuñizHuberman, a Jewish Mexican author, finds inspiration in Klee’s Angelus because her prolific oeuvre is defined by a sense of search that feels at home in-between, caught in contradictions, in conflict. We previously mentioned Xul Solar’s famous Pan Tree in reference to MuñizHuberman’s representations of the Tree of Life. Another important point of connection between the painter and the author is Paul Klee. The artistic production of Argentine artist Alejandro Xul Solar has often been compared to that of Paul Klee. Xul’s Solar’s oeuvre includes paintings, artifacts, languages, musical instruments, and games. He is well recognized for drawing inspiration from mystical themes. Astrology, Tarot, and the I Ching are central spiritual currents in his art, as well as Jewish Kabbalah which he studied in the context of the history of religions.123 Many critics comment on the spirituality of his work. Borges referred to him as a visionary.124 Xul Solar was a contemporary of

118 “There appeared an indescribable figure of much beauty and radiating calm. He would not be able to say that it was a human nor an angelic figure, not even if abstract or geometric. It was a combination of all four in one . . . Although the figure moved gently, he also seemed to remember that it appeared still, as if painted on a board of silver and gold.” Muñiz-Huberman, El mercader de Tudela, 13. 119 Ibid., 11. 120 “[W]ithout form, without color, without container: / only what he is not one can say of him.” Muñiz-Huberman, “Angel,” in Rompeolas, 323–324. 121 “The Angel of Doubt” 122 “Angel without wings, yet flying. Without voice yet speaking. Ethereal.” Muñiz-Huberman, El mercader de Tudela, 95 123 Artundo, Alejandro Xul Solar, 90. 124 Jorge Luis Borges, “Conferencia 1968,” in Xul Solar: Catálogo de las obras de Museo Xul Solar, ed. Mario Gradowczyk (Buenos Aires: Fundación Pan Klub-Museo Xul Solar, 1990), 15, 17.

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Paul Klee and their watercolors bring up comparisons in terms of their use of numbers, letters, arrows, and other graphic elements. They were both somewhat misfits in their generation, as their work was at the crossroads of realism and abstract expression. But Xul Solar was more interested in esotericism. While we can assume that the Argentine artist was familiar with Klee’s work as he lived and traveled through Europe, including Munich, between 1912 and 1924, his art was not influenced by Klee’s, because the spiritual and formal similarities had been present in his work for years before his time in Europe. There are different positions on whether they met or not in Munich.125 Regardless, there was a striking affinity between them. They shared a heterogeneous imagination that did not entirely fit the avant garde. Both Klee and Xul Solar were interested in German Romanticism, Kabbalah, and mysticism.126 One example of this affinity is the predominance and variety of angels in their work. Angels take many forms in Xul Solar’s paintings. While stylistically, not all these angels resemble Paul Klee’s art, the uncanny tension of the Angelus Novus caught in mid-flight finds echoes in Xul Solar’s paintings. For example, Dos Anjos portrays two angels who seem conflicted, with anger in their eyes. They are surrounded, as though they were trapped by fluid, fiery shapes. Their flight is interrupted, yet they are looking forward, determined to get through obstacles. From their hands and heads irradiates a source of energy, and they reflect a luminosity that inspires optimism. They may be able to make it through. But the image focuses on the conflict, the interruption, the tension between intent and obstacle.

125 Estela Ocampo says that they almost coincided in Munich, that Xul Solar arrived a few months after Klee departed. However, she cites Emilio Pettoruti stating that they met once at a library in Munich where they coincided in 1918. Estela Ocampo, “Paul Klee invita a Xul Solar,” in Kalias. Revista de Arte 21–22 (Valencia, 1999), 258–261. 126 Ocampo, “Paul Klee invita a Xul Solar”: 261.

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Figure 8. Xul Solar, “Dos Anjos,” 1915, watercolor on paper, 14.1 x 10.6 in., accessed 25 March, 2022, https://www.wikiart.org/en/xul-solar/dos-anjos-1915.

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Different from Klee’s Angelus, the obstacle is in front of them, not behind them. The conflict is not part of history but is in the present time. The art critic Fernando Demaría describes Xul Solar’s art as introducing the Angel in Hell.127 In spite of the lack of stylistic affinity in this piece, the conflicted aura of the Angelus is present in Dos Anjos; these angels are caught, if not in hell, at least in conflict. Xul Solar’s “El ángel del Karma” introduces a very different type of angel. This piece has a stylistic affinity with Paul Klee’s art that is quite predominant in Xul Solar’s work. The geometric lines in this painting imply movement. The arrows are a symbol of the angel’s influence on the human figures, a karmic response to human’s actions. In fact, this angel is pure action. The conflict in this painting is the human’s. The angel does not appear conflicted as it does in Klee’s Angelus.

Figure 9. Xul Solar, “Ángel del Karma,” 1924, watercolor and gouache on paper, 10.6 x 12.9 in., Revista de Artes, Buenos Aires, Argentina, accessed March 22, 2022, http://www.revistadeartes.com.ar/xxiv_pintura_xul_solar.html.

127 Fernando Demaría, “Xul Solar y Paul Klee,” Lyra de la moderna plástica argentina 216, no. 18 (1971): n.p.

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Finally, Xul Solar’s famous painting titled Lu Diabo sabe piu Viejo, ke por Diabo128 offers a different version of conflicted angels. This version is rather static, with the exception of the snakes that are crawling upwards. Two of the figures are looking towards the right of the canvas, while all the others are looking forward. They are quite “abstract and geometric,” to quote MuñizHuberman’s description of angels in the previous citation from El mercader de Tudela.129 One angel tries to reach up with his hands while a snake approaches him in a menacing way. These angels are stuck between good and evil—the evil represented by the snakes and the red triangular figures with horns. Compared to Dos Anjos, the previously discussed painting, these angels are trapped in a more dire situation. Nothing in the painting suggests hope of breaking through, in part because of the geometric lines but also because there is no source of energy that promises movement.

Figure 10. Xul Solar, “Lu Diabo sabe piu Viejo, ke por Diabo,” 1962, tempera on paper, 11 x 14.9 in., Tacura Mansion (blog), accessed 25, 2022, https://3.bp.blogspot. com/-8gkap-JaZio/T1kLDV0SLQI/AAAAAAAAEE4/vbi6TO0Nl88/s1600/Lu%2B Diablo%2Bsabe%2Bpiu%2Bviejo%252C%2Bke%2Bpor%2BDiablo.jpg.

128 “The Devil knows better because he is old, not because he is the devil.” The title is written in one of the languages created by the artist: the Neo Criollo. 129 Mario Satz also writes about angels in the context of Jewish tradition: “Los rollos de la Ley están llenos de ángeles dormidos, envueltos en sus embriones de letras de luz. Cuando un versículo nos abre, y desata algo en nuestro interior, un ángel canta su despertar. Mario Satz, Oraita, Cuentos Jasídicos (Madrid: Miraguano, 2007), 108. “The Scrolls of Law are filled with sleeping angels, enveloped in their embryos of luminous letters. When one verse opens itself to us and unleashes something in our interior, an angel sings his awakening.”

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In Muñiz-Huberman’s writing and Xul Solar’s art, the angel becomes “a vessel of meanings.” Their artistic representations contribute to Latin America’s growing body of art and literature inspired by Klee’s Angelus Novus. In secular artistic expression, the angel is more malleable than in contemporary Kabbalah, but even in that field angels vary. Rabbi Steinsaltz advances the idea that angels: “ . . . are beings in the world that is the domain of emotion and feeling [the world of formation];130 and that the substantial quality of an angel may be an impulse or a drive, say, an inclination in the direction of love or a seizure of fear, or pity, or the like.”131 Interestingly, the bond that connects Muñiz-Huberman and Xul Solar’s depictions of angels in the context of Jewish Tradition is sealed by Paul Klee, a non-Jew. Benjamin’s interpretation of the Angelus Novus as the Angel of History, caught between past and future, inspired the painting’s many artistic echoes. They are angels in conflict, and Benjamin argues that “as hybrid beings positioned between heaven and earth, angels symbolize the eternal conflict between the spiritual and the secular.”132 Therefore, while the angels in MuñizHuberman’s literature and Xul Solar’s paintings do not necessarily represent the meaning angels have in the Torah, they are a clear sign that angels continue to evolve in Jewish culture. Benjamin’s insight on Klee’s Angelus Novus captures the transformative essence of angels in Judaism. In this chapter, we have seen how Angelina Muñiz-Huberman’s essays and creative work reflects, but also strays from, established scholarship in Jewish Mysticism, Kabbalah, and Jewish popular beliefs. This is also true for Mario Satz’ writing, as I will discuss in the next chapter. He is, in his own words, committed to a gradual renewal of tradition. He explores the field of Jewish Mysticism from personal, aesthetic, sociopolitical, and spiritual perspectives.

130 R abbi Steinsaltz describes the four worlds (or spiritual realms in Kabbalah) as Atzilut (Emanation)—the realm of the Divine Sephirot; Briah (Creation)—The realm of the Chariot (Holy Intelligence); Yetzirah (Formation)—the realm of Angels (Holy Speech); and Asiyah (Action)—the realm of man (Holy Deed). Steinsaltz, The Long Shorter Way, xxi. 131 Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, The Thirteen Petalled Rose (New York: Basic Books, 1980), 8. 132 Reto Sorg, “The Angel of Angels: Paul Klee’s Angelus Novus,” in Paul Klee: The Angels, 115.

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In Search of Tikkun Olam: Mario Satz’s Literature

Mario Satz has dedicated a significant portion of his impressive list of publications to Jewish Mysticism and Kabbalah. He was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina in 1944. In 1970, he moved to Jerusalem to study Hebrew, the Bible, Middle Eastern history, and anthropology.1 In 1978, he settled in Barcelona where he studied Spanish philology. Satz’s humanistic writing incorporates ancient and modern traditions in a variety of disciplines, including biology, botany, Kabbalah, anthropology, astronomy, and philosophy.2 He has published numerous books of poetry, essays, fables, and novels, as well as translations with commentary of canonical texts from the Jewish tradition. His profound knowledge of Middle Eastern history and religions supports his comparative approach of Kabbalah in Judaism with Christianity, Hinduism, and Sufism, the mystical dimension of Islam, as well as in relation to pre-Columbian myths and the Gnostic tradition. He has also published an annotated version of El cantar de los cantares3 (2005), and a novel based on the life of King Solomon entitled La abeja del Rey Salomón (2007), among other texts related to the Hebrew Bible.

1 Victorino Polo García, “La novela argentina contemporánea. Aproximación a la narrativa de Mario Satz,” Anales de la literatura hispanoamericana 21 (1992): 460. 2 Ibid.: 463. 3  The Song of Songs.

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Satz’s creative writing is characterized by a creative approach to Kabbalistic exegesis, searching through layers of meanings and building networks of interpretation. His writing is cathartic, voluminous, labyrinthic, and often dense.4 His erudition is evident in a great number of universal references present in his prose, which is stylistically complex. In addition to Kabbalah, his writing also focuses on comparative religions, the environment, Chinese philosophy, pre-Columbian myths, ornithology, cosmology, astronomy, anthropology, music, and Laughter Therapy (Risoterapia)—among other disciplines and categories of knowledge.5 Many of these topics appear in his novels Sol (1975), Luna (1977), Tierra (1978), Marte (1980) and Mercurio (1990) which are part of his Planetarium series. Among all of his publications, Latin America has a prominent role in this series of novels. Several of his books are entirely dedicated to Kabbalah and related topics. In Arbol verbal (1983, 1991), for example, Satz writes about the origins of the Tradition and the meaning attached to the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. He also explains the connection between Kabbalah and the concepts of harmony, infinity, Eros, heresy, prophecy, the meaning and implications of the Tree of Life, and the significance of the Baal Shem Tov. Jewish Mysticism is also at the core of Satz’s creative writing, representing a thematic source, as in the texts that recreate the intimate connection between nature, human life, and the Divine realm that informs the concept of Tikkun Olam. In some of his texts, narrators and characters teach Kabbalah, as, for example, Rabí Meír Hamishpat in “El arco iris del silencio” in Tres cuentos españoles, and Lionel Safrán in three of his novels: Sol, Luna, and Tierra. Other texts draw themes from the lives of Jews in medieval Spain, and some reflect Kabbalah and Hasidic mysticism. This is the case for Tres cuentos españoles (1988) and La palmera transparente (2000).6 Satz considers himself an enthusiast of Hasidism. He writes “Mi temprano interés por los místicos de cualquier religión y cultura me inclinan en esa dirección, pues todo lo que naturalmente . . . conduzca al éxtasis me parece el camino más elevado que un alma pueda recorrer.”7 But this is not the only aspect of Kabbalah and 4 An exception to this are his books for children which are exquisite and more accessible, as well as some of his shorter stories. 5 Satz tends to include technical terminology from biology, botany, anthropology, astronomy, philosophy, and Kabbalah in his texts. Polo García, “The novela argentina contemporánea”: 463. 6 This collection of parables, short stories, and teachings was written in homage to everyday Jewish men and women in Medieval times. La palmera transparente, Parábolas, historias y enseñanzas de la Kábala (Madrid: Edaf, 2000), 20. 7 “My early interest in mystics of any religion or culture leans me in that direction, as everything that is conducive to ecstasy is to me the most elevated path that a soul can tread.” Mario Satz, Oraita, Cuentos Jasídicos (Madrid: Miraguano, 2007), 12.

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Hasidism that he develops in his literature. He also explores a variety of themes that go beyond the experience of mystical ecstasy. Jewish mysticism informs a considerable portion of his literary production, as I will discuss throughout this chapter. In the previous chapter, we mentioned the interrelatedness that exists between the writings of Angelina Muñiz-Huberman and Mario Satz. Even though they have never collaborated, they share several areas of interest. Beyond the fact that they are both readers of Gershom Scholem, as well as of Medieval and Early Modern Spanish literature—particularly on the points of connection between Jewish and Christian mysticisms, other specific affinities come through in their literature. For example, Satz’s parables in La palmera transparente recall MuñizHuberman’s pedagogical approach in En el jardín de la Cábala. Satz, however, takes this approach a step further by including detailed references from the Kabbalistic tradition in the parables’ footnotes. While his stories are his own fictional renderings, the annotations tend to be more faithful to biblical and/or historical teachings. In general, as discussed in the previous chapter, Muñiz-Huberman also takes creative liberties in her renderings of Kabbalistic concepts, but she doesn’t include in the text explanations of the aspects of the tradition that she recreates. Both authors use the image of the walnut in reference to biblical and Hasidic stories in their writings, and as a metaphor for their own stories.8 MuñizHuberman uses the image of the walnut shell to refer to the layers of exegetic work required to crack open in order to get to the crux of concepts. Relatedly, she also refers to the walnut as a metaphor of the creativity needed to uncover the hidden treasures within. In Satz’s collection of stories, appropriately titled Alrededor de una nuez (Around a walnut) (2010), there is a story titled “El interior de la nuez” (“The Interior of the Walnut”) set at the end of the fourteenth century in the city of Burgos (today’s Spain) in which a secret group of Kabbalah students discusses the multiple meanings of the walnut and its symbolism as klipot or shells. In Kabbalah, the opposite of holiness, evil, is also referred to as klipa, meaning literally “shell” or “bark.” The klipa conceals within it a spark of holiness, which is the vital force by virtue of which the klipa exists, analogous to a fruit surrounded by a shell or peel. In order to release the holy spark, the encumbering shell must be removed.”9 The image of the walnut that both Muñiz-Huberman and Satz refer to in their stories echoes this concept, for they reveal metaphorically the

8 Mario Satz, Alrededor de una nuez, Apólogos e historias de la kábala (Madrid: Miraguano, 2010), 14. 9 R. Moshe Miller, “The Other Side.” Chabad.org, accessed March 25, 2022, https://www. chabad.org/kabbalah/article_cdo/aid/380687/jewish/The-Other-Side.htm

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creativity and knowledge (both expressions of the Divine spark) within the shells of the walnut. In Satz’s story, “El interior de la nuez,” whenever the members of the study group10 meet, they bring a walnut as a symbol of search and aspiration. Their teacher, Rabí Ezra, explains to the students that in Song of Songs 6:11, King Solomon went to meditate in the Walnut Orchard (which is the name of the group in this story) and that is when he discovered the similarities between the structure of the walnut and our brains.11 Calling attention to the shape of the seed as a brain refers to the knowledge, the Divine spark that is revealed when removing the shell (klipa). This is also a good example of how Satz brings together biology and religion, as we will further discuss in this chapter. Angels represent yet another bridge between these two authors. While the topic of angels is more prevalent in Muñiz-Huberman’s works, Satz has written about angels as well. There are two stories in Alrededor de una nuez that focus specifically on this topic. The story titled “Un poco menos que a los Ángeles”12 is about a Hasidic teacher who discusses with his disciples the nature of angels, which he defines as follows: “ . . . un ángel es un enviado de la fosforescencia divina, una partícula de luz que navega en un mar de sombras llevando el mensaje de lo inextinguible.”13 The disciple questions the teacher and they discuss the differences between humanity and angels. At the end of the story, we learn that the teacher has scars where once there were wings.14 The same volume contains “Ver un Ángel.”15 This story is about Rabí Arie Sorie de Grodno, who wished to meet an angel when he was a child. When the angel appears to him in childhood, he is so fascinated by the angels’ zaphire diadem, golden sandals, and colorful wings, that when given the opportunity to make a wish, he asks for the adornments. He misunderstands these items for the inner beauty of angels, which Satz describes as “oceans of light.” At the end of the story, the Rabí tells his disciples that this encounter taught him that it is more important to give than to ask.16 There is also a short story in Oraita, cuentos

10 The orchard is a central image in Kabbalah, Satz also mentions it when he refers to Spanish Kabbalists as “los compañeros del jardín o huerto del nogal” (the peer group from the walnut garden or orchard),” in El tesoro interior. Grandes maestros de la tradición occidental (Buenos Aires: Troquel, 1992), 98. 11 Satz, Alrededor de una nuez, 50. 12 “A little bit less than the angels.” 13 “An angel is an envoy of the divine phosphorescence, a particle of light that navigates in a sea of shadows, carrying the message of the inextinguishable.” Satz, Alrededor de una nuez, 113. 14 Ibid., 113–114. 15 “To see an angel.” 16 Satz, Alrededor de una nuez, 129–130.

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jasídicos (2007) titled “Desatar al hombre, desenrollar al ángel”17 that suggests that tapping deeply into the meaning of a verse in Torah awakens a singing angel.18 Lastly, in “El panadero y los ángeles” from La palmera transparente, a baker uses the leftover dough every night to bake a replica of himself in the hope that angels would come down to eat the bread. In this way, he believes, they would replace his sorrows and vanities with happiness and virtue.19 Finally, both Muñiz-Huberman and Satz are inspired by nature from a kabbalistic perspective. They portray the Tree of Life connecting man and nature to the Divine, and the existence of a Divine spark in all elements of nature, as we discussed in regards to Rabbi Seidenberg’s book Kabbalah and Ecology in the previous chapter. Satz’s writing focuses more specifically on aspects of biology and the environment, using the numeric value of words (Gematria), but they both highlight the importance of harmony between humankind and nature within Judaism. They also both write about the Tree of Life in multiple cultures, referring to it as a creative source, in the sense of Divine Creation as well as the activity of creative writing.

The Tree of Life, the Environment, and Tikkun Olam Mario Satz discusses the significance of the Tree of Life from multiple perspectives in a number of his books. For example, in Pequeños paraísos. El espíritu de los jardines (2017), he refers to the Tree of Life in Kabbalah as Tselem, an image of the Divine, and describes it as “el modelo más íntegro de perfección espiritual.”20 In his book of essays “Qué es la kábala” (2011), he proposes that: “El Árbol de la Vida no es otro que la misma Torá, de la que se nos dice: es un ‘Árbol de la Vida para los que se abrazan a ella.’”21 He develops this idea further in La palmera transparente, where he includes a story that takes place in Odessa at the end of the nineteenth century. The character Rabí Haim Leib Raze and his disciples are on their way to a wedding when they run into a group of Cossacks that demand an arm wrestle in order to gain passage without being attacked. The Rabí accepts

17 “To untie the man, to unwind the angel.” 18 Satz, Oraita, 108. 19 Satz, La palmera transparente, 195. 20 “the most complete model of spiritual perfection.” Ibid., 123. 21 “The Tree of Life is no other than the Torah, of which we are told it is a ‘Tree of Life for those who embrace life.’” Mario Satz, “Qué es la Kábala”: 45. Satz also relates the Torah scrolls with a tree in his essay “El libro del universo” comparing them to the rings you can see in tree trunks after they have been cut. Satz, El tesoro interior, 145.

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the challenge but asks to touch one of the Torah scrolls that they were bringing to the wedding. The Rabí puts “su índice derecho encima de la madera de uno de los árboles de la vida en torno a los cuales dormían las letras.”22 Then he offers the Cossack that finger in order to carry out the challenge. Against the background of the Cossacks’ laughter and his disciples’ fear, something incredible happens: when the Cossack firmly grabs onto the finger that the Rabí used to touch the Torah, the tent in which the challenge was to take place, bursts into bright and beautiful colors. The Cossacks escape terrified at what they interpret as an act of magic, but the Rabí explains to his surprised disciples that Rabí Asher de Alejandría wrote: “si estás cerca del Árbol de la Vida impregna uno de tus dedos de su color y esparce su gracia entre el poder y la debilidad. El terror nunca es bello, pero la belleza puede, eventualmente, ser terrible.”23 This citation reveals the power that beauty has over physical violence. The magical effect produced by the rabí reminds us of Muñiz-Huberman’s description of the Tree of Life in the previous chapter, where the lights of the sephirot are reflected in mirrors. At the end of the fable, Satz includes an exegetic interpretation that reveals the source of inspiration of his story: Los cilindros de madera que sujetan y sostienen los rollos de la Torá son llamados popularmente, atzei jaim, árboles de la vida. Por otra parte, como dedo se dice en hebreo etzba, vocablo que contiene doblemente las palabras color, tzeba, y árbol, etz, es de suponer que el maestro había apelado a un juego de palabras . . . de los tantos que conoce la Tradición—con el fin de llevar a cabo su truco de ilusionista.”24 This story is a good example of how Satz combines his knowledge of Kabbalah and creative writing to illustrate key concepts of the Tradition. In one of his essays, Satz describes an aspect of the Tree of Life which relates to his readings of Gershom Scholem: that the tree’s roots are in the sky, stemming

22 “[H]is index finger on the wood of one of the trees of life around which the letters reposed.” Satz, La palmera transparente, 66. 23 “If you are close to the Tree of Life, coat one of your fingers with its color and spread its grace between power and weakness. Horror is never beautiful, but beauty can eventually be horrible.” Ibid., 67. 24 “The wooden cylinders that bind and hold the scrolls of the Torah are commonly called atzei jaim, trees of life. On the other hand, as the word for finger in Hebrew is etzba, a term that contains both the words ‘color,’ tzeba, and ‘tree,’ etz, one must infer that the teacher would have sought a play on words . . . out of the many known in the Tradition—in order to perform his magician’s trick.” Ibid., 67.

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from the infinite source.25 In his introduction to the basic concepts of Kabbalah, Scholem reminds us that this is also how the tree appears in other mythologies, and Satz adds that, given its numeric value in Gematria, the Tree of Life “bebe directamente de la luz,”26 this is why the tree represents the tree of Israel, or “su pilar esencial.”27 Satz explains in his book Los alumbrados (2004) that if we invert the number that refers to illumination . . . es decir si en vez de leer 312 leemos 213, la palabra hebrea que le corresponde es abir, fuerte, valiente, íntegro, de donde la experiencia de la iluminación sirve, también, para mediante inversión especular- transformar nuestra debilidad en fortaleza, nuestra desazón en sazón.28 Thus, he interprets the light that shines through the Tree of Life to turn weakness into strength, as an invitation to repair the Self. In Árbol verbal, Satz offers a detailed explanation of the composition of the Sephirotic Tree29 and then dedicates a complete chapter to its archetypical value. He proposes that through Kabbalah we can learn about the past and about the role of humanity on earth. Given that the Sephirotic tree unites the earthly and Divine realms, it represents a model to follow in order to transform lives. This is in line with the idea of finding the Divine spark30 in us, in order to transform weakness into strength, which Satz believes is an exercise that should be undertaken in daily life.31 Also in this book, he threads two sources of knowledge that predominate in his oeuvre: biology and Kabbalah. For example, he uses the scientific term photosynthesis as a metaphor for personal and spiritual improvement. Humans need to carry out . . . un conjunto de actos, una arborescencia de acciones cuyo fin más elevado consiste en la transformación del anhídrido carbónico en oxígeno; en una purificación ambiental que transmuta las más elementales partículas de nuestra vida en

25 Schloem, On the Mystical Shape, 42. 26 “[D]rinks directly from the light.” Satz, Qué es la kábala, 47. 27 “[I]ts essential pillar.” Ibid., 49. 28 That is, if instead of 312 we read 213, the corresponding Hebrew word is abir, strong, valiant, honest, where the experience of illumination works also to transform our weakness into strength, our despair into perfection by virtue of specular inversion.” Mario Satz, Los alumbrados (Madrid: Miraguano, 2004), 51. 29 Mario Satz, Árbol verbal (Buenos Aires: Kier, 1991), 28–29. 30 We will discuss the Divine sparks in the context of Creation later in this chapter. 31 Ibid., 125.

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frutos vivos y apetecibles . . . la vida del justo, la vida del hombre espiritual, será premiada con los frutos de este árbol.32 Transformation is the path to improve not only the human spirit but also the environment, and Satz connects them skillfully in his poetic narrative. In the story “El arco iris del silencio” in Tres cuentos españoles, Rabí Meir describes what it feels like for a human to be in harmony with nature: Cantaban los pájaros y las amapolas, entre los trigales, enrojecían los prados. A medida que su ajado pero todavía resistente cuerpo de viejo lo llevaba más lejos de la Gerona en la que había nacido, renacía cerca de las hierbas que tantas cosas buenas le habían enseñado. Porque el hombre nace, al menos dos veces por la vía femenina: de la madre comprende el amor; a través de la naturaleza, la sabiduría.33 This passage recreates Rabí Meir’s sense of renewal when walking through wheat fields, surrounded by flowers and birds. The reader is invited to join him in his appreciation of nature as a maternal source of knowledge. Biology is one of the central lenses by which Satz looks at the points of connection between human beings and nature. His writing aims at a sense of harmony, especially given that we are made of the same fabric: DNA. He puts forth the idea that cell theory, based on the discovery of DNA in the 1950s, confirms the Kabbalistic belief that supports that “en cada punto del universo están contenidos todos los demás puntos, pues la parte es el todo y el todo es la parte . . . Hoy sabemos que en lo biológico al menos cada célula de nuestro cuerpo contiene la información del cuerpo total, o sea que la parte es el todo y el todo es la parte.”34 Just as DNA represents a map of the person’s body, every 32 “[A] number of acts, an arborescence of actions whose highest goal is to transform carbon dioxide into oxygen; in an environmental purification which transmutes the most elemental particles in our lives into living, luscious fruits . . . the life of the just, the life of spiritual men will be rewarded with the fruits of such tree.” Ibid., 126. 33 “The birds were singing and the poppies reddened the fields among the wheat. As his worn but still enduring old body took him away from his natal Gerona, it was reborn by the grass that so many good things had taught him. Because man is born at least twice from a feminine source: from his mother he understands love; through nature, wisdom.” Mario Satz, Tres cuentos españoles (Barcelona: Sirmio, 1988), 38. 34 “[E]ach speckle the universe contains all other points, as the part is the whole and the whole is each part . . . Today we know that, biologically, each one of our cells contains the information on the rest of the body, in other words, that each part is the whole and the whole is each part.” Satz, Pequeños paraísos, 138.

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element on earth is linked to the Divine. This is one example of how Satz’ literature resonates with Rabbi Seidenberg’s position about all living organisms being made in God’s image. Satz also refers to the nervous system as a metaphor of our connection to nature and the Divine. He shows how, by means of creative alliteration, the Hebrew expression for neurons relates to the concept of the Tree: En hebreo se llama a la neurona ta shel etzeb, siendo la palabra etzeb la versión hebrea de ‘nervioso’, ‘nervio’, pero, si alitero sus letras hasta llegar a ba-etz, doy con la expresión ‘en el árbol’ . . . de donde las células de nuestro cerebro constituyen un vasto bosque de entidades que se reflejan unas a otras, incrementan sus sinapsis y relacionan constantemente sus contenidos o la información que almacenan.35 This passage compares neurons to trees, and uses the idea of a forest to describe the network of cells in our brains. Moreover, he suggests that cells represent a bridge between humans, nature, and the Divine: El Creador es uno y no hay nada fuera de Él, y ante la unidad, ¿qué cuentas tú? Tú el que que ya ha sido él, el probable y remoto organismo en el que todas las células serán las mismas y distintas, y yo, yo soy, en este preciso instante y en cada una de mis células, vosotros, nosotros, ellos. Todas las personas reunidas en un único e impronunciable verbo.36 In this passage, Satz focuses on cells as a bridge between humans, all of Nature’s organisms, and the Creator. We are all united by Creation, DNA being the proof of that connection, over time, through space, and through multiple

35 “In Hebrew, neurons are called tal shel etzeb, with the word etzeb meaning ‘nervous’ or ‘nerve’ in the Hebrew version. But if I alter these letters and arrive at ba-etz, I see that it takes me to ‘in the tree’. . . from which we can infer that the cells in our brain constitute a vast forest of mirroring entities, which increase their synapsis and relate their contents or the information that they store.” Mario Satz, Meditaciones kabalísticas. Fuego negro, fuego blanco (Barcelona: Editorial Kairós, 2015), 130. This is a good example of Temurah, the hermeneutic technique that seeks to reveal occult meanings through the permutation of letters. 36 “The Creator is one and there is nothing outside of him; and given this unity, what do you matter? You, the one that He has already been, the probable and remote organism in which all cells are distinct and the same; and I, in this precise moment and in each one of my cells I am you, us, they. All people gathered in one unpronounceable verb.”

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dimensions (spiritual, material, etc.). The use of the second person in this text invites the reader to feel involved, to become aware of the mutual responsibility that implies being made of the same fabric, and by the same source. These examples draw from biology to trace a direct link between humans, all aspects of nature, and the Divine realm. In his story “Al lado del Árbol de la Vida” Satz writes El Baal-Shem contó: -una vez fui al Paraíso y mucha gente me acompañó. Pero a medida que yo me acercaba al jardín la gente iba desapareciendo. Cuando efectivamente, caminé por el Paraíso, ya quedaban muy pocos. Por fin, cuando me detuve al lado del Árbol de la Vida y miré a mi alrededor, me pareció que estaba solo.37 This passage suggests that only true tzaddikim (righteous men) like the Baal Shem Tov can stand next to the Tree of Life. But we can all aspire to get there. Satz’s writing strongly encourages the reader to seek harmony between human beings and nature because it reflects our part in Creation, and our connection to the Divine. This is what Seidenberg calls “nurturing the Tree of Life”38 An optimistic outcome of this call to action would look like David Alfaro Siquieros’ painting appropriately titled “The Tree of Life,” with the tree surrounded by a group of people (see Figure 2), an outcome that would resonate with the Baal Shem Tov’s teachings. Satz’s investment in humanity’s ethical fellowship with the environment is rooted in Jewish history. He dedicates an entire section of his book of essays, El ábaco de las especies (1994), to the biblical cosmology of the environment.39 He explains that in Judaism the story starts with the mandate to work and protect the Garden of Eden, as laid out in Genesis 2:15: “And the LORD God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it.”40 In his writing, Satz blends traditional agrarian practices with their modern manifestations. For example, he creatively assigns a Kabbalistic numeric value to the modern

37 “The Baal-Shem related this: —once I went to Paradise and many people came with me. But as I was approaching the garden people were disappearing. When in fact, I walked through Paradise, there were very few left. Finally, when I stopped by the side of the Tree of Life and I looked around, I got the impression that I was alone.” Satz, Oraita 51. 38 Rabbi Seidenberg, Kabbalah and Ecology, 352. 39 “Hombre y tierra en la cosmología Bíblica,” Satz, El ábaco de las especies 115–131. 40 King James Bible. 1611 Edition (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 2005).

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Hebrew word for agriculture, hakla’ut,41 in order to prove the importance of conserving and protecting nature in the tradition. He also describes the practice of Shemitah, the year of rest that the land gets every seven years as mandated in Leviticus 25:1–7, which is practiced in Israel today. It is important to note that while shemitah is praised by spiritual-environmentalists, the way it is practiced in Israel today is also criticized by environmental activists because this practice entails throwing out a lot of produce. He also offers a historical overview of the origins of the current environmental crisis, in which he attributes to the centuries of pillaging in the New World with the arrival of Europeans to these lands, calling attention to the false dichotomy of culture against nature. Satz points to the fact that all peoples start venerating nature before greed and power corrupt their treatment of the environment. Finally, he makes a strong call for humanity to embrace and protect nature. He warns the reader: En la medida en que el ser humano o adam continúe ignorando que el sello secreto de su espiritualidad lo tiene la adamá, tierra de su carne, limo de sus huesos, substancia de su médula, fibra de sus tendones, caldo de su sangre, humor de sus venas, moléculas de sus miembros, en la misma medida errará por el universo entero como uno de esos artefactos espaciales en desuso, triste y solitario hasta la muerte. Nuestra misión es la de guardar y labrar el Paraíso, Edén . . .42 This portion of Satz’s writing references our anatomy as a metaphor for the intimate connection between human beings and nature, to raise awareness and to invite the reader to take responsibility for protecting nature using biblical references to Eden, the archetype for harmony between humanity and nature. The following passage makes this idea explicit: Si pudiéramos imaginar por un momento sus árboles cargados de pájaros multicolores, veríamos que, como menciona el salmo, siempre están verdes y sus hojas no caducan (de hecho caducar

41 Satz, El ábaco, 545. 42 “So long as human beings or Adam continue to ignore that the secret seal of their spirituality is held in Adamah, earth of his flesh, lime of his bones, substance of his marrow, fiber of his tendons, stock of his blood, humor of his veins, molecules of his limbs, so long will he err around the whole universe as one of those spatial artifacts fallen in disuse, sad and lonely until death. Our mission is to guard and plough Paradise, Eden . . .” Satz, El ábaco de las especies, 131.

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sería un verbo inoperante en el Paraíso); y si acaso soñáramos con sus animales, estos convivirían allí en paz con nuestra especie.43 Reflecting on the Hebrew word for garden, gan, creatively using Gematria, he reaches a similar conclusion. He states that kabbalists interpret the expression “ganjá, ‘tu jardín,’”44 a garden that we can tend, and wonders “¿qué es, en esencia, un gan o jardín? Desde el punto de vista numérico es el equivalente de he-jil, ‘dar a luz, parir mediante un temblor o vibración. Esta virtud creadora, materna, del alma. . . . [representa el] microcosmos humano como reflejo del macrocosmos divino.”45 This passage highlights our soul as an extension of the Divine. Therefore, how we tend the garden that in essence is our soul represents an effort to mirror Divine Creation. Moreover, a person that is aware of this, that it is “traversed by the ray of understanding,” can truly make a difference in taking care of nature: “De un lado la vida, del otro la muerte, rocío y estiércol. Y en medio él, una semilla pequeñita, polen amarillo y arrugado, un fruto seco, una criatura humana atravesada por el rayo de la comprensión.”46 Awareness represents the beginning of a more harmonious relationship with nature, but a small seed holds a fruitful future. Satz posits that the Garden of Eden, locus of the first step towards the disconnect (the original sin) that eventually developed into our current environmental crisis, could be restored if humanity, albeit “dried and wrinkled like a seed,” were to understand and work towards Satz’s interpretation of Tikkun Olam (repair the world), in reference to the environment, which, as we will soon see, reflects a contemporary understanding of the concept. However, Satz describes our relationship with nature as ambiguous. By delving into the complexities of biblical cosmogony through Kabbalistic exegesis and a comparative approach to

43 “If we could imagine her trees laden with multicolored birds for a moment, we would see that, as it is mentioned in the psalm, they are always green, their leaves never expiring (in fact ‘expire’ would be a inoperative verb in Paradise); and should we ever dream of her animals, they would coexist peacefully with our species.” Pequeños paraísos, 15. Satz is referring here to Ezekiel 28:13. 44 “[G]anjá, your garden” 45 “What is, in essence, a gan or garden? From the numerical point of view it is the equivalent of he-jil, to birth, to give birth through a tremor or vibration. This creative, maternal quality of the soul . . . [represents the] human microcosmos as a reflection of the divine macrocosmos.” Satz, Pequeños paraísos, 141. He also develops this idea in the chapter “El alma es un huerto,” in El fruto más espléndido del Árbol de la Kábala (Madrid, Miraguano, 2005), 111. 46 “Life on the one hand, and on the other death, dew and manure. In between, a tiny seed, a yellow and crumpled pollen, a dry nut, a human creature traversed by the ray of understanding” Satz, Tres cuentos españoles, 44–45.

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universal traditions, he raises awareness among his readership, and in that sense, he is doing his part in responding to the command to tend and protect the land. Literature has long been a means to give nature a voice. Satz talks about poetry in Jewish tradition as “el doble de la naturaleza o bien la naturaleza hablando en voz alta.”47 According to Satz, this is also true for German romanticism, English literature, and today’s Green Movement. His understanding of the human potential to be in harmony with nature is expressed in his belief that there are Divine sparks in all elements of nature, including in human beings. In a short entry in his text Oraita. Cuentos Jasídicos, which is titled appropriately “Chispas divinas en todas partes,”48 Satz writes that to “demostrar que no hay entidad, por humilde que sea, que no contenga Su radiación, incluso el espino. Las chispas de lo divino brillan en todas partes.”49 In Los alumbrados we read about the sparks which result from the Divine presence looking for a channel to manifest itself as a central preoccupation of Jews in Safed in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.50 The Divine sparks mentioned here, are a central part of the Lurianic Kabbalah’s theory of Tikkun Olam. Tikkun Olam is a key concept in Judaism that stresses our responsibility to improve Creation. It has also been re-interpreted over time. According to Scholem, the term Tikkun means “extinction of the stain, restoration of harmony—that is the meaning of the Hebrew word Tikkun which is the term employed by Kabbalists after the period of the Zohar, for man’s task in this world.”51 Tikkun Olam first appears in the Mishnah52 “in the sense of the proper ordering of the world” and has been interpreted to deepen understanding of Jewish Law. Scholem explains that: “In a sense the tikkun is not so much a restoration of Creation—which though planned was never fully carried out—as its first complete fulfillment. Thus, fundamentally every man and especially every Jew participates in the process of the tikkun.”53 The term takes a deeper, more esoteric meaning in Kabbalah: “in Lurianic Kabbalah, the term refers to the mystical process of repairing the primordial catastrophe of the breaking of the vessels by which the fallen world of chaos ultimately becomes the redeemed ‘olam ha-tiqqun.’”54 Based on the teachings of 47 “[A]s nature’s double or as nature speaking out loud.” Satz, El tesoro interior, 137. 48 “Divine sparks everywhere.” 49 “[T]o demonstrate that there is no entity, however modest, which does not contain His radiation. Divine sparks shine everywhere.” Satz, Oraita, 23. 50 Satz, Los alumbrados, 74. 51 Scholem, Major Trends, 233. 52 Mishnah is the oral exegetic tradition that preceded Talmudic law. Its written version represents the first part of the Talmud, the basis for Jewish law (Halakhah). 53 Gershom Scholem, On the Kabbalah and Its Symbolism, trans. Ralph Manheim (New York: Schocken Books, 1996), 117. 54 Berlin, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion, 740.

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the Zohar and previous Kabbalists in sixteenth-century Safed, such as Moses ben Jacob Cordovero, Rabbi Isaac Luria55 proposed that Creation was the result of a contraction (tzimtzum56) of the Divine light before emanating the original beam of light in the process of Creation57 (“Let there be light” Gen. 1:3). The primordial catastrophe, shevirat ha-kelim,58 that Scholem mentions results from “the fracturing of the vessels or channels into which the powerful Divine light was pouring during the process of creation.”59 This explosion disseminated Divine sparks which are trapped within shreds of the original broken vessels (shells, klippoth).60 It is our task to reveal and reconnect them; to repair, to put together the world.61 In Kabbalah and Ecology, Rabbi Seidenberg describes the historical evolution of Tikkun Olam in modern times, showing the different texts and positions that shape the contemporary understanding of this concept as “the idea that human beings have an imperative to perfect or fix the world through tangible action in the social realm.”62 He shows how the conversation has gone from the imperative to do good in terms of social justice, to the more recent understanding that we need to protect and repair the environment. In fact, his book represents an effort to restore humanity’s capacity to respect and appreciate all elements of nature, the “organic unity of Creation” in order to respond to the environmental crisis in which we find ourselves.63 Rabbi Seidenberg stresses that a deeper appreciation and a better connection to all God’s creatures “fulfills not just an ecological goal but also a deeply felt Jewish goal, emerging from the literal sense of tiqun òlam, cosmic repair—the goal of repairing not just the damaged human world but also the Earth itself.”64 He states that “Nurturing the Tree of Life [is] the theological equivalent of

55 For an explanation of the profound impact that Rabbi Isaac Luria has had on the history of Judaism, see Scholem, Kabbalah, 74–75. 56 According to Chabad Rabbi Schochet, Tzimtzum means both “contraction; condensation” and “concealment; occultation.” He explains that “[t]he doctrine of tzimtzum refers to a refraction and concealment of the radiating emanation from the G-head.” Mystical Concepts in Chassidism, 49. 57 Berlin, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion, 151. 58 “The breaking of the vessels.” 59 Paraphrased from Scholem’s Major Trends in “Breaking of the Vessels,” Berlin, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion, 151. 60 For an explanation of the different kinds of klipot, their potential (or not) for elevation to holiness, and how the prohibitions in the Torah derive from the impure klipot, see Chabad Rabbi Schochet, Mystical Concepts, 147–149. 61 For a more detailed analysis and historical context for the Lurianic theory of the Breaking of the Vessels, see Scholem’s Major Trends, 268–269. 62 Seidenberg, Kabbalah and Ecology, 95. 63 Ibid., 95. 64 Ibid., 342.

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biocentrism. This challenge, so central to a Jewish theology of Nature, must become our practical and not just our theological concern.”65 Most of Satz’s writing included here anticipates Rabbi Seidenberg’s thesis in Kabbalah and Ecology, as well as his call to action. This is evident in Satz’s previously cited books, but with particular emphasis in El ábaco de las especies where he gives an overview of humanity’s ethical fellowship with the environment within the context of Judaism. His reliance on aspects of biology to discuss the Tree of Life, and his analysis of Kabbalistic interpretations within a historic overview of the concept of the cell, add a novel perspective to his multiple renderings of the complex relationship between humankind and nature in biblical cosmology. Satz’s writing invokes Tikkun Olam from an environmental perspective that relies on two main ideas: that all creatures of God are made of cells, and that all elements in nature carry Divine sparks. His writing inspires the search for harmony through healing the material and spiritual world we all share.

Infinite Labyrinths and Connecting Ladders Mario Satz’s belief in the interconnectedness66 of all aspects of Creation carries over into other aspects of his oeuvre. His writing reflects a Kabbalistic training and perspective that finds links between words, concepts, religions, and cultures. It also reflects on the labyrinthic nature of texts. This resonates with another reader of Gershom Scholem: Jorge Luis Borges. Satz shares many affinities with Borges, such as the use of specialized vocabulary, technical and cultivated terms, and a labyrinthic writing style.67 In this section, I discuss how Borges’ tropes of the labyrinth and the infinite find echoes in Mario Satz’s literature as well as in Xul Solar’s and Mirta Kupferminc’s artwork. The motif of ladders is of particular relevance for this analysis. I will also examine the historical intersections between Kabbalah and astrology, which represent another good example of the interconnectedness between cultures and religions that these authors and artists explore in their work. Satz is an avid reader of Borges, and they are both devoted readers of the “universal library.” But they approach shared topics using distinct lenses. The practice of textual exegesis represents a major current in Satz’s essays, short stories, and poems, and his writings reveal his extensive study of the canonical texts of Kabbalah, representing 65 Ibid., 352. 66 For example, Satz says that the interconnected quality of Kabbalistic thought has been confirmed by the invention of holograms and multidimensional images, El libro de la Claridad. Sefer Ha-Bahir (Barcelona: Obelisco, 2005), 5. 67 Polo García, “The novela argentina contemporánea”: 463.

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the spiritual as well as a disciplined exercise practiced by Torah scholars from antiquity to the present day. Kabbalah is also central to Borges’ literature, but his treatment of this tradition is not exegetical, it stems from a very different perspective, as Edna Aizemberg and Saúl Sosnowski demonstrate. According to Sosnowski, Borges understands the practice of Kabbalah as a “metaphor for the act of thinking,”68 and Edna Aizemberg expands on this metaphor: Borges believes that literature is in large measure the metaphoric exploration of philosophical issues, he has adopted the formula of enigmas-expressed-through-symbols which the Kabbalists used in their writings, and like them created a corpus symbolicum to give voice to the essential ideas or perplexities of his works.69 The structure of this corpus symbolicum is the labyrinth. The labyrinth is one of the most recognizable tropes in Borges’ literature. John Updike describes it as resembling a detective search that seeks to obscure intersections in world history, because Borges’ writing is filled with encyclopedic allusions and philosophical genealogies.70 Moreover, it is broadly established that Borges plays with blurring fact and fiction, sending any potential fact-checking critic or reader to lose their way in his infinite library. Sylvia Molloy shows how Borges alerts the reader of this danger, if they read carefully enough.71 Satz shares with Borges a penchant for the text as labyrinth; for example, he describes each verse of the Bible as echoing the rest.72 In his famous story “The Garden of Forking Paths,” Borges makes the point even more directly, stating that: “The book and the labyrinth [are] one and the same,” and in “The Library of Babel,” he expands on this idea: “The universe (which others call the Library) is composed of an indefinite, perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries.”73 This will be discussed in relation to Mirta Kupferminc’s artistic representations of this story. Literary critic Ivan Almeida points out that Borges’ narrative labyrinths represent a permanent condition that a subject cannot, or decides not to, escape. The labyrinth is a space his characters tread

68 Borges in Saul Sosnowski, Borges, la letra y la Cábala (Madrid: Del Centro Editores, 2016), 21. 69 Aizenberg, The Aleph Weaver, 88. 70 John Updike, “El escritor bibliotecario,” Borges y la crítica (Buenos Aires: Ceal, 1992), 64–66. 71 For a fascinating study of Borges’ treatment of facts in his writing, see Sylvia Molloy, “Postulating a Reality: Selecting a Reality,” in Signs of Borges (Durham: Duke University Press, 1994), 58–76. 72 Satz, El libro de la Claridad, 5. 73 Borges, Fictions, 65.

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indefinitely, not in a chaotic, but in a methodical way. He proposes that Borges’s labyrinths represent our world’s capacity for Divinity because, following Spinoza, if a substance is infinite it must be an extension of God.74 But Borges’ labyrinths do have limitations. “The Library of Babel” is “‘total’—perfect, complete, and whole—and [. . .] its bookshelves contain all possible combinations of the twenty-two orthographic symbols (a number which, though unimaginably vast, is not infinite).”75 The narrator’s assertion that the number of combinations of symbols is “not infinite” can be read as a typical Borgesian gesture to problematize totalizing concepts. But, we can also interpret it as a secular respectful restraint vis à vis human capacity for replicating infinity, which is practiced in Kabbalah. The concept of the infinite is central to the library understood as a labyrinth, and it is also an important concept in Kabbalah. Satz applies the notion of the infinite in Kabbalah by the letter Alef and the concept of Ain Sof, as the unknowable manifestation of Divinity which transcends what is visible.76 Ain Sof is present in the elemental bond between entities in the universe. The live thread of the infinite lies in that bond. However, Satz adds that it is exactly in the fleeting moment that the path to knowledge is revealed and that Kabbalists refrain from reaching the infinite.77 He explicitly states that self-restraint represents the respect Kabbalists have for God’s entity, in order to avoid linking the finite (their knowledge) with the infinite (God’s knowledge). Satz’ impressive bibliography leads the reader through multiple approaches to central themes of Kabbalah, as though they were characters in Borges’ Library of Babel. Like the characters in that story, the reader can easily get lost in Satz’s literature trying to connect the dots. In his story “La herencia de Yoshúa,” he presents a different version of the labyrinth trope. In this story we read about a gift Yoshúa receives from his father as he is being rescued from the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. The gift is a small box fashioned from cherry wood that includes a silk thread inscribed with the Hebrew alphabet, and a few leaves from different trees representing the making of a sukkah.78 The father says that the gift will connect and sustain his family, his ancestors, and maybe his descendants. It stands in for the 74 Ivan Almeida suggests that “Borges’s labyrinth consists in the impossibility of leaving entirely the dream, the library, fiction. Building labyrinths is men’s paradoxical capacity to build the infinite. This is true for the ‘verbal labyrinths’ best exemplified in Sheherazad’s telling the story of A Thousand and One Nights in A Thousand and One Nights.” Ivan Almeida. “Borges, o los laberintos de la inmanencia,” accessed March 25, 2022, http://www.borges.pitt.edu/bsol/ pdf/laberinto.pdf, 6–18. 75 Borges, Fictions, 69. 76 Satz, Árbol verbal, 43–44. 77 Ibid., 49. 78 A sukkah is a booth or hut made of wood and leaves, that is built every year to celebrate Sukkot, the Jewish Harvest festival. It is expected to be a temporary structure.

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shared experience of the Jewish people throughout history.79 We learn in the story about sharsheret ha-dorot, interpreted in this story as the infinite chain of eyes that go over a biblical passage connecting the Jewish people eternally. This historical bond reproduces the Divine’s infinite quality on Earth. In this labyrinth, lives are linked by reading, affected throughout history up to the present. Satz believes that “hallar la verdad es encontrar la búsqueda, ir de lo abierto a lo abierto, pues la verdad nunca es estática.”80 The story ends with Yoshúa giving up his precious box to the Museum of the Holocaust in Jerusalem which represents a return of the object to its place of origin. When the secretary opens it, he can read the Hebrew words etz ha-jaím, Árbol de la Vida,81 the Tree of Life that connects the dots, that brings us together as part of Creation, linking the physical and spiritual realms. In addition to Satz and Borges, the concepts of the labyrinth, the infinite, and Kabbalah are also present in Xul Solar’s art. This is not surprising, given the intellectual kinship that existed between Borges and Xul Solar, which has been broadly documented and discussed both in the press and in academic circles. It was the subject of an art exhibit at the Americas Society Art Gallery in New York City in 2013.82 Their friendship spanned over forty years with varying degrees of closeness and collaborative work. They met in the early 1920s, and were active contributors to the avant-garde generation of painters and poets, such as Oliverio Girondo, Ricardo Güiraldes, and Emilio Pettoruti.83 Borges was fascinated by the constant, endless curiosity that motivated Xul Solar to create not only paintings and artifacts, but also musical instruments and games. He admired the artist’s endless creativity in his invention of languages and the use of codes and symbols in his work. He called Xul Solar the only true “citizen of the universe” that he had ever known.84 Borges was particularly fascinated with the polytheistic mysticism that enriched Xul Solar’s work. Many critics have commented on the spirituality of his work, but Borges called him a visionary.85

79 Satz, “La herencia de Yoshúa,” in Alrededor de una nuez, 75–76. 80 “[T]o find truth is to find the search, to go from what’s open to openness, for truth is never static.” Satz, “Actualidad de la Kábala, del signo tripartito al holograma.” n.p. 81 Satz, Alrededor de una nuez, 76. 82 Gabriela Rangel, ed., Xul Solar and Jorge Luis Borges: The Art of Friendship (New York City: Americas Society Art Gallery, 2013). 83 Beatriz Sarlo, “El caso Xul Solar. Invención fantástica y nacionalidad cultural,” in Xul Solar (Madrid: Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, 2002), 45. Their lives start to take different paths due to divergent political affiliations. Annick Louis, “Xul, Borges, o los placeres de la afinidad colectiva,” in Xul Solar: Visiones y revelaciones, ed. Patricia M. Artundo et al. (São Paulo: Pinacoteca do Estado de São Paulo, 2005), 84. 84 Jorge Luis Borges, “Conferencia 1968,” in Xul Solar: Catálogo de las obras del Museo Xul Solar, ed. Mario Gradowczyk (Buenos Aires: Fundación Pan Klub-Museo Xul Solar, 1990), 13. 85 Ibid., 15, 17.

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Astrology, Tarot, and the I Ching represent the main spiritual currents in his art, as well as Jewish Kabbalah. He studied it in the context of the history of religions.86 Of note, astrology specifically influenced Xul Solar’s artistic representations of the concepts of the labyrinth and the infinite. In the previous chapter, we looked at Xul Solar’s famous painting Pan Árbol (Figure 1) as a version of the Tree of Life portraying twelve planets in lieu of the ten Sephirot. Satz reminds us that there are points of connection between astrology87 and Kabbalah. On the one hand we have: los treinta y dos senderos que fluyen y confluyen a lo largo y ancho del Árbol de la Vida, los cuatro mundos . . . y los tres ejes verticales, constituyen un equivalente . . . de los doce signos, sus correspondencias ígneas o aéreas, las casas, las oposiciones y conjunciones. Incluso hay quien ve correspondencias entre los sefirots . . . y los planetas . . .88 but since there is no clear agreement, Satz chooses not to review connections that are too specific.89 Hava Tirosh-Samuelson agrees that there are similarities. She says that “During the fourteenth century a few Jewish philosophers, especially those who cultivated the study of astrology and astral magic, viewed kabbalah and philosophy as compatible schemas that give different names to the same entities.”90 It is broadly believed in the context of Jewish history that the stars’ influence in the life of humans coexists with the understanding that God is above nature, and can thus overrule astrological determinism.91 This is also a

86 M. B., “El paraíso de Xul Solar,” in Artundo, ed., Alejandro Xul Solar, 90. 87 For more on the complex history of astrology in Judaism, see Harari, Jewish Magic Before the Rise of Kabbalah, 445–460 and “Astrology,” in Berlin, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion, 80–81. 88 “The thirty-two paths that lead and converge along and across the Tree of Life, the four worlds . . . and the three vertical axes, which constitute an equivalent to the twelve signs, with their igneous or aerial correspondences, the houses, oppositions and conjunctions. There is even a correspondence between the sephirot and the planets.” Mario Satz, El fruto más espléndido de la Kábala (Madrid: Miraguano, 2005), 174–182. For a reading of this topic in Kaplan’s version of Sefer Yetzirah, see the chapter “Kábala y Astrología” in Satz, El fruto más espléndido. 89 Angelina Muñiz-Huberman also studied historical references that precede the equivalency of the Sephirot and astrological symbols in her study of Enrique Cornelio Agrippa’s occult philosophy. El siglo del desencanto, 183. 90 Hava Tirosh-Samuelson, “Arabic into Hebrew: The Hebrew Translation Movement and the Influence of Averroes upon Medieval Jewish Thought,” in The Cambridge Companion to Medieval Jewish Philosophy, ed. D. Frank and O. Leaman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 218. 91 Suggestion by Sarah Chava Wood in a personal exchange on November 29, 2020.

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broadly known Maimonides’s position, who highlighted the Talmudic saying: “Israel has no constellation [zodiac sign].”92 Expressing the belief that Jews were directly under the power of God.93 In spite of that, it is considered that magical thinking is an essential part of both belief systems. Indeed, while Scholem claims that magic is not part of Kabbalah, several scholars have made the case that magic has been part of the Jewish mystical tradition starting in the early texts of Hekhalot and Merkavah literature.94 Joshua Trachtenberg is considered the pioneer in studying magical thinking in Judaism. His book Jewish Magic and Superstition was originally published in 1939, and reprinted with a foreword by Moshe Idel in 2004.95 Trachtenberg points out that the role of the stars in determining the destiny of humans, an ancient belief that was shared by many cultures and endorsed by Ptolemy, the most important astronomer of the Middle ages,96 also appears in the Bible and was discussed in the Talmud for centuries. Of particular concern was how the stars affected people, not whether they were affected or not, which was believed to be the case. Trachtenberg explains that “[i]t was generally accepted that every man has his star in heaven (often regarded as complementary to his “deputy” angel) whose history is conterminous with his own, that the special

92 Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Shabbat 156b. 93 Yitzhak Lewis’s suggestion in a personal exchange, April 20, 2021. 94 Yuval Harari explains that “Publication of magic findings, including or beside the Jewish mystic/magic ancient text of Hekhalot and Merkavah literature, reveals the existence of a developed and scholastic magic that is specifically Jewish. This culture could no longer be marginalized as a set of folk superstitions or a foreign influence that had gained access to Judaism by exploiting the ignorance of backward social strata.” Harari, Jewish Magic, 68. He argues with Gershom Scholem’s position to show how central magical thinking is in these early mystical traditions. Harari points out that magical thinking is necessary to understand the complexity in the relationship between humans and angels in Hekhalot and Merkavah literature. Ibid., 114. 95 In the foreword to Trachtenberg’s book, Moshe Idel says that in spite of some shortcomings, this book is the most thorough study of Jewish magic in the Middle Ages. The main aspects of the book that needed updating were some terms used at the time of publication (like superstition, or folk religion) because they are misleading in suggesting that only the unlearned believed in magical thinking. He also points out the fact that this book does not deal with the influence of Arabic magic in Judaism. Idel says that while some Kabbalists, like Abulafia, denied the role of magic in Kabbalah, “Kabbalah in most various forms, presupposes a magical understanding of the universe.” Then he shows how magic is included in a large number of major writings by the elite. Moshe Idel, Foreword to Jewish Magic and Superstition: A Study of Folk Religion, by Joshua Trachtenberg (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), xi. The golden age of adopting magic (including from medieval Arabic magic) in Kabbalah is 1470–1570, but the history of this synthesis continues today with Hasidism, which relies heavily on magical thinking. Ibid., xvi-xvii. 96 Trachtenberg, Jewish Magic and Superstition, 252.

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character and position of that star at his birth determine the general outline of this career . . . therefore a study of the heavens can disclose the future.”97 Xul Solar’s famous Pan Tree painting is not his only artistic creation inspired by Kabbalah. In fact, Kabbalah informs Xul Solar’s entire aesthetic outlook, for his art facilitates “access to the routes of the unknown.”98 This may explain the predominant use of stairs and ladders in his work, and even in personal life. Borges remembers walking up the steep steps at the entrance of Xul Solar’s home and thinking it seemed like an “entrance to an unknown paradise.”99 There was another set of steps to Xul Solar’s study that were made of wood. Borges thought they were as magical as the ones that appeared in his paintings.”100 A good example of this appears in Xul Solar’s painting Domus Aúrea. On the left of the canvas there is a ladder next to a set of steps. A hand appears reaching down from above, and it seems to be inviting the smaller hand you see at the bottom of the stairs to access the Divine realm.

Figure 11. Xul Solar, “Domus Aúrea, Ianua Coeli Dios Plen,” 1962, tempera, 9 x 12 in., Zona Libre Radio 1 (blog), accessed March 25, 2022, https://zonalibreradio1. wordpress.com/2015/10/14/xul-solar-un-habitante-del-misterio-2/.

97 Ibid., 250. 98 Aldo Pellegrini, “Xul Solar,” in Gradowczyk, ed., Catálogo de las obras del Museo Xul Solar, 41. 99 M. B. “El paraíso de Xul Solar”: 59. 100 Described in Mercedes Mainero, Con/en/por Xul. Un mundo a descifrar. N.P.

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Figure 12. Xul Solar, “Muros y escaleras” [Walls and stairs], 1944, tempera on paper, 13.75 x 19.7 in., accessed March 25, 2022, https://camdencivilrightsproject.com/ alejandro-xul-solar-muros-y-escaleras/.

In his painting Muros y escaleras (Walls and Stairs) from 1944, there is a human figure raising their hands up to the Divine realm. It is the culmination of an assent. Several other figures follow suit.101 The presence of stairs and ladders in Domus Aúrea and in Muros y escaleras, interpreted as a spiritual assent, finds echoes in Hasidic thought, where prayer represents a ladder for the person seeking to reach higher, rising level by level, to God.102 Chabad Rabbi Nissan Mindel uses the metaphor of the ladder to teach about prayer. He states that “The highest level on the ‘ladder’ of prayer is reached when we are so inspired as to want nothing but the feeling of attachment with G-d.” 103 The ladder has been interpreted as a symbol of prayer in reference to the biblical story of Jacob’s ladder (Genesis 28:10–22), uniting the earthly and Divine realms. The angels going up and down the ladder represent the prayers and blessings from God. In Meditaciones kabalísticas (2015), Satz includes fifteenth century Rabí Eleazar de Narbona’s teaching about the process of getting

101 Fernando Javier Arqueros, “Muros y Escalaras,” ars Comunicándonos (blog), January 14, 2011, https://arsushuaia.blogspot.com/search?q=Muros+y+escaleras. 102 Personal conversation with Rabbi Tzvi Altein August 12, 2020. 103 Nissan Mindel, My Prayer (New York: Merkos L’Inyonei Chinuch, 2004), 3–4.

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closer to the Divine as steps in a ladder. Each step requires a transformation of our heart.104 However, the symbolism of Xul Solar’s ladders and stairs go beyond Judaism. Octavio Paz explains that his “[s]earch for a union with totality is expressed in his work in gathering signs (numbers, letters, words) and symbols that belong to different civilizations, philosophies and religions. For Xul Solar, all religions were one.”105 Ladders and stairs represent access: to knowledge, to spirituality, to God, to the Library of Babel and its indefinite number of galleries. Ladders are also directly related to Kabbalah. Scholar Ori Soltes explains how “the ladder of the sephirot delineated in the Zohar . . . suggest aspects of the aspectless Creator, aspects of the creative process, and aspects of the Creation itself.”106 This is further explored by Mirta Kupferminc, a contemporary Jewish Argentine artist, who has directly engaged with the main issues discussed here. This is particularly true for her series of exhibits titled “Borges and the Kabbalah: Paths of the Word” that she put together in collaboration with literary critic Saul Sosnowski in 2006. The exhibits were inspired by Sosnowski’s Borges and the Kabbalah.107 I discuss this essay in the introduction of this book, and earlier in this section. This fruitful collaboration between an artist and a literary critic produced a book-object which includes Sosnowski’s writing, selections from Borges, and twenty-nine original images by Kupferminc.108 The exhibits also featured installations, and other works of art in connection to the book. In a video about “Borges and the Kabbalah: Paths of the Word,”109 the artist explains her interpretation of Borges’ story, “The Library of Babel” as an infinite collection of texts representing paths to seek knowledge. She explains how any combination of the pages in the book-object from the exhibit would reveal hexagons representing the library in Borges’ story. These hexagons

104 Satz, Meditaciones kabalísticas, 81. 105 Patricia M. Artundo et al., “Xul Solar,” in Visiones y revelaciones (Sao Paulo: Pinacoteca do Estado de Sao Paulo, 2005), 21. 106 Soltes, Mysticism in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, 302. 107 Though the exhibit emerged from Sosnowskí’s original essay, he wrote new material for it. The exhibit also included quotes from Jewish sources and from Borges. In 2016, Sosnowski published an artisanal book titled Borges, la letra y la Cábala which includes some of Kupferminc paintings from the exhibits, and the prologue to the second edition of his original essay, in addition to other essays. 108 Sosnowski and Kupferminc produced twenty-five copies of this handmade book. Rahel Musleah, “The Arts: Multimedia Ghosts,” Hadassah Magazine, April/May 2010, https:// www.hadassahmagazine.org/2010/04/18/arts-multimedia-ghosts/. 109 Kupferminc, exhibition installation; GitterArts, “Borges and the Kabbalah: Paths to the Word,” Vimeo, November 9, 2009, video, https://vimeo.com/7527948.

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are an allusion to the infinite nature of the Library of Babel. In her art piece titled The Infinite Library Kupferminc uses pages reproduced from this exhibit’s book-object to show the formation of the symbolic hexagons, to which she also adds a circular shape at the bottom of the piece covering part of the hexagons. It is a source of access that invites us to enter.

Figure 13. Mirta Kupferminc, “The Infinite Library,” inkjet print,” 2008, 39 x 27 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://www.mirtakupferminc.net/wp-content/ uploads/2019/11/In_the_palm_of_my_hand.pdf.

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This invitation echoes Xul Solar’s hand at the top of the ladder in his painting Domus Aúrea, and the human figure reaching up at the top of the building in another of his paintings, Muros y Escaleras. These art pieces represent an open invitation to a spiritual and intellectual journey. In Kupferminc’s work, Borges’ Kabbalah can be interpreted as a metaphor for the search, the book as a source of inspiration, and the word as the steps in the stairs that connect each hexagon, each part of the Library of Babel.110

Figure 14. Mirta Kupferminc, “To Reach the Sky,” 2017, photolithography Etching inkjet Print, 47.6 x 29.9 in.

110 Kupferminc’s stunning lithograph, titled To Reach the Sky, reproduces the Tower of Babel. This large lithography includes a photographic transference, overlapped by drawings. In Genesis 11:1–9 we read the story of the Tower of Babel, in which God produced the dissemination of peoples by creating multiple languages so that the workers could no longer communicate with each other to finish the Tower. The tower symbolized a level of human empowerment that represented a threat to God. This biblical story has been associated with the practice of translation, and “the power of language and speech.” Todd S. Berzon, “Jews and the Material in Antiquity,” in Frankel Institute Annual (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2018). The biblical Tower of Babel story was the inspiration for the Borgesian trope of the Library of Babel containing all possible combinations of letters and numbers.

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These authors and artists showcase the centrality of the trope of the labyrinth as a symbol of spiritual and intellectual search in Latin American art and literature. In their narratives, Mario Satz and Jorge Luis Borges create labyrinths of knowledge that rely on Kabbalistic notions. Xul Solar illustrates the trope of the labyrinth through the use of ladders and stairs111 and Mirta Kupferminc completes the group by connecting Borges and the Kabbalah through her interpretations of the trope of the labyrinth and the infinite in her art.

Urban Wanderings in Satz’s Novels The trope of the labyrinth is also central in Satz’s novels. His series Planetarium includes Sol, Luna, Tierra, Marte and Mercurio.112 The original trilogy is more connected at the plot level, but Marte and Mercurio also share many of the themes that conform to the series. Kabbalah is an important component of all five novels.113 In Sol, the labyrinth comes to life by the characters’ daily wanderings in Jerusalem, the travel connecting different cities in the text. Throughout the novel, the narrator uses second person narration, speaking to Shahar, a woman he loved and lost. His name is Mario and he is a poet like the author. Mario travels to Jerusalem to try to forget Shahar, and the novel is the result of this cathartic exercise. In Tierra, we discover that the novel Sol is the content of a letter that Mario sent to Shahar. In the letter, Mario remembers their travels around the world looking for Max Fernando, Shahar’s brother.114 Max Fernando was a Kabbalist, assumed to have been killed by a sect that targeted anyone who discovered their work.115 Mario and Shahar were also involved with Kabbalah, and that informed their journey in search of Max Fernando.116 The travel that takes place in these novels also involves a journey towards their own spiritual evolution.117 Their spiritual leader, Lionel Safrán, is a Kabbalah erudite who

111 I discuss the presence of ladders in Kupferminc’s etchings in the next chapter. 112 Mario Satz would like us to read the series paying attention to the cosmology that they represent. Additionally, the original trilogy in this series owes its structure to the music of impressionists such as Chopin and Scriabin and to Bosch’s triptych. Personal email exchange with Mario Satz on May 21, 2015. 113 Polo García, “The novela argentina contemporánea”: 459. 114  Sol suggests a complex romantic relationship between the narrator and Shahar in which Mario believes that he is taking the place of her true love: her brother, Max Fernando. In Tierra Mario’s suspicion is confirmed. Luna is written from Shahar’s point of view and Tierra has a different narrator, Diego Benítez, a friend of both Mario and Shahar. Diego inherits the manuscripts of the first two novels. 115 Mario Satz, Sol (Barcelona: Noguer, 1976), 35. 116 Ibid., 53–54. 117 Polo García, “The novela argentina contemporánea”: 459.

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plays a central role in the Planetarium’s first three novels. Safrán is of personal importance to the author, because the character was based on a professor of Kabbalah the author studied with in New York in 1967 that he considers essential in his academic training.118 Mario wanders through the urban labyrinth that Jerusalem represents guided by his memories of Shahar. His insistence in reproducing the itineraries that Shahar and he traveled together can be interpreted as the suffering of a wandering soul; and yet, there is joy in reliving memories of his time with her. Mario transmutes the past into the present until the end of the novel, when he manages to accept the loss and leave the past behind. At one point, he overlays Jerusalem with cities he visited with her: Ahora que camino por los lugares en los que has estado, ahora que recorro tu descripción de la Ir Atiqah, de la Ciudad Vieja . . . siento que te conozco mejor. Aquí están Latacunga y Quito, La Paz, Cartagena (algunos balcones moriscos); aquí están los cestos cargados de uvas maduras, los mangos, las telas verdes y amarillas . . . Jugo de tamarindo en recipientes de bronce y las mismas mesas y sillas pequeñas que conocimos en Ibiza. La ciudad contiene todo lo que vivimos juntos, y por momentos siento lo que los kabalistas llaman Shekhinah, su Presencia Divina, flotando sobre mi pocillo de café turco en el Citadel.119 The novel appeals to our senses: the tamarind juice, the Turkish coffee, the bronze jars, and the colorful fabrics are cultural references that juxtapose urban experiences from Latin America, Spain, and the Middle East. These descriptions make the cities come to life. In addition, the juxtapositions allow the cities to travel through space and time, revealing the history of Jerusalem, a city that has been the heart of so many civilizations and a watershed of world events.120 Mario’s wandering through the city of Jerusalem, guided by the memories of his travels with Shahar, reveal the underlying labyrinth that connects peoples 118 Personal email exchange with Mario Satz, January 30, 2010. 119 “Now that I wander in the places where you have been, now that I walk through your description of Ir Atiqah, the Old City . . . I feel that I know you better. Here are Latacunga and Quito, La Paz, Cartagena (with some Moorish balconies); here are the baskets full of ripened grapes, mangoes, green and yellow fabrics . . . Tamarind juice in bronze containers and the same small tables and chairs that we knew in Ibiza. The city contains everything that we lived together, and at times I feel what Kabbalists call Shekhinah, his Divine Presence, floating over my cup of Turkish coffee in the Citadel.” Satz, Sol, 21. 120 This is vividly evident in excavation observation sites spread throughout the Old City of Jerusalem.

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and histories in the world in an infinite manner, as understood in his definition of Kabbalah. In an unpublished summary Satz wrote about his book Qué es la Kábala, he explains that “para los kabalistas, todos los aspectos de la realidad son producto de una combinación nominal determinada [y por lo tanto] . . . la Kábala nos descubre la armonía subyacente entre los seres y las cosas del mundo.”121 This interpretation of Kabbalah is echoed in Sol, when the narrator describes himself as “una suerte de encantador pre-lógico que se apasionaba por encontrar símbolos y señales en todas partes . . . prisionero del cómo, de la comparación continua de las cosas.”122 Mario looks for signs in the city as though he were interpreting Kabbalistic symbols in biblical texts. It is not surprising, then, that wandering through the city of Jerusalem makes Mario feel the presence of the Shekhinah. The multi-sensorial and spiritual journey that he goes through in the novel Sol reflects the Kabbalistic themes that are so central in Satz’s oeuvre. Each itinerary through the city generates a different combination of sensory experiences, inviting the reader to make a unique interpretation of the urban space. If we think of Jerusalem as the text, the sensory core represents the letters, and the labyrinthic itineraries represent possible kabbalistic readings of this millenary city. At the level of the plot, the novel’s descriptions of labyrinthic wanderings through urban centers allow the reader to piece together Shahar’s brother’s destiny. But in a broader sense, it invites the reader to participate in the spiritual search that his wandering represents. At its core, Satz’s writing searches for questions that lead to questions, and openings that lead to connections. His writing represents an infinite labyrinth, to return to Borges’ trope, sprinkled with mystical concepts that inspire the reader’s curiosity and their need to continue asking questions.

Numerology of the Heart Gematria is the ancient art of interpreting meaning through permutations and combinations of the numerical values of Hebrew letters seeking the meaning hidden in words. It is also used to find connections between words of similar numeric value. Mario Satz’ creative use of this hermeneutical reading method

121 “For the Kabbalists all aspects of reality are a product of a certain nominal combination [and therefore] the Kabbalah unveils to us an underlying harmony between the beings and the objects of the world.” 122 “[A] sort of pre-logical charmer who passionately seeks symbols and signs everywhere . . . a prisoner of the how, of the constant comparison between things.” Satz, Sol, 45.

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for mystical exegesis is very predominant in his essays and in his creative writing. In one of his texts, he compares Gematria to cutting diamonds: “Las letras y los números adquieren el irisado color de los diamantes silábicos: las facetas se yuxtaponen pero la transparencia se expone.”123 Satz’s writing seeks to expose the precious transparency of meaning in the body of the texts, in the footnotes, and in separate commentary at the end of texts. In the last section of this chapter, I look at the different ways Satz explicates the meanings of love and representations of the heart in Kabbalah, and how they relate to Tikkun Olam. In his book of essays Árbol Verbal, Satz writes that the heart is central in explaining the practice of Kabbalistic exegesis: . . . la kábala suma las 22 letras del alfabeto a los 10 sefirots, totalizando el número 32, que a su vez se convierte en Lev ‫לֵב‬ corazón. En cada latido, entonces, estaría implícito el método armónico a través del cual descorremos el velo del lenguaje y los números para sumirnos en la contemplación inefable del universo fantástico y maravilloso que nos contiene.124 This passage interprets the numeric value of Hebrew letters and the Sephirot as a beating heart, and each heartbeat contains the method by which we may uncover the wonders of our universe through Kabbalah. Therefore, Gematria is presented here as the heart of Kabbalah. In Alrededor de una nuez, there is a story that focuses on the heartbeat titled “El latido y la luz.” In this story, Rabí Gabriel Toledano decides to examine the beating of the heart in different fields of studies. After examining the perspectives of the humanist Miguel Servet and the scientist William Harvey (a pioneer in matters of blood circulation from the early seventeenth century) and how the heartbeat is portrayed in the Zohar, Rabí Gabriel concludes: Cuando supo que cada veintidós segundos la sangre completa su circulación por todo el cuerpo no le asombró esa cifra, ni tampoco que el número de latidos por minuto oscilara entre

123 “Letters and numbers adopt the iridescent color of syllabic diamonds: the sides juxtapose one another, but transparency is exposed” Satz, El libro de la claridad, 7–8. 124 “The Kabbalah adds the 22 characters of the alphabet to the 10 sephirot, totaling the number 32, which in turn becomes in Lev ‫ לֵב‬heart. In each heartbeat is thus implicit the harmonic method through which we draw the veil of language and numbers in order to submerge ourselves in the ineffable contemplation of the fantastic and wondrous instrument that contains us.” Satz, El árbol verbal, 29.

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los sesenta y ochenta, ya que la letra sámaj que posee el primer valor alude a lo secreto, y la pé que encarna el segundo señala la boca. ¿No decía la Torá que lo que sale de la boca del corazón proviene? Ciertamente esas letras juntas forman la palabra saf, taza, y ¿qué es el corazón sino la taza en la que se vierte el Ser?125 This passage uses Gematria and Historical Western science to reach the conclusion that the heart contains the essence of being. Satz includes a footnote with the numeric calculation of the pulse (heartbeat) in Hebrew ‫ב ְּפעִימה‬, which renders the number 207 = or, ‫ אֹור‬, light. This story illustrates the author’s penchant for multiple approaches to exegesis. In this case he uses them to demonstrate the secret role the heart and blood circulation play in the Hebrew language. In these texts, historical western science holds a weight similar to Gematria in informing Satz’s literary and spiritual endeavors. But Gematria allows him to reach deeper spiritual perceptions. In Senderos en el jardín del Corazón (2014), Satz focuses on the concept of love: Que el amor es mimesis del fuego, hipérbole de sus danzas, modelo de sus encuentros y consumaciones, podemos detectarlo en la palabra hebrea que lo nombra: AHABÁ, ‫אהבה‬, entre la corriente inconmensurable de la Aleph y el vaso temporal de la bet, respira así la letra HEI, ‫ה‬, signo del espíritu, oxígeno de la lengua . . . Entonces, cuando el Zohar nos explique por qué la Torá comienza por una BET, ‫ ב‬, oiremos nuevamente la BRAJÁ, ‫ברכה‬, la bendición que celebra el amor, y el amor que anuda lo viviente.126

125 “When he knew that every twenty-two seconds blood completes its circulation cycle through the entire body, he was not surprised by such number; neither was he by our number of heartbeats, which oscillates between sixty and eighty per minute, given that the letter sámaj, which holds the first value, alludes to what is secret, and the letter pé, which embodies the second, refers to the mouth. Didn’t the Torah say that what exits through the mouth originates in the heart? Certainly those letters together compose the word saf (cup) and, what is the heart if not the cup into which Being is poured?” Satz, Alrededor de una nuez, 53. 126 “The fact that love is mimetic of fire, a hyperbole of its dances, example of its encounters and consummations can be detected in the Hebrew word that names it: AHABÁ, ‫אהבה‬, between the incommensurable current of the Aleph and the temporal vase of Bet, breathes thus the letter HEI, ‫ה‬, the sign of the spirit, of oxygen in the tongue. Therefore, when the Zohar explains that the Torah opens with the letter BET ‫ ב‬, we will again hear the BRAJÁ, the blessing that celebrates love, and the love that binds everything that lives.” Mario Satz, Senderos en el jardín del corazón. Poética de la Kábala (Madrid: Kairós, 2014), 25.

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This example of Kabbalistic exegesis of the term AHABÁ considers love a starting point, as well as a core aspect of Kabbalah. Moreover, this poetic interpretation, based on permutations and combinations of the letters that conform the word love in Hebrew, opens a window into a deeper understanding of the experience of love as the vehicle for Creation to connect with the Divine. The following example shows Satz creative use of Gematria to explain the role love played in Creation: Habida cuenta que el principio es un principio de amor, y que, sumados uno y otro el amor y el principio, llegamos al número del Tetragrama otra vez (bereshit, 13 = ‫ בראשית‬+ ahabá, ‫ = אהבה‬13 = 26 = ‫ )יה ו ה‬es posible inferir que, durante la génesis del universo, el infinito sin principio ni fin, no dual y eterno, entró mediante el amor en el tiempo de la dualidad hallando una morada, dicen los kabalistas, en la segunda letra alfabética, la bet (‫) ב‬.127 This is a good example of Satz’s creative and non-systematic nature of his approach to exegesis, in which he stops calculating when he has reached a number that supports his interpretation, and keeps calculating permutations if it doesn’t. In this passage, he extrapolates from bet as a reference for home to the role the heart played in the Creation of the physical world. Through love, the Divine finds a home in Creation. Satz bases his interpretation of love on the platonic conceptualization and the connection of human beings to God following León Hebreo (Isaac Abravanel). Hebreo depicts the universality of love in his Diálogos de amor (1535), where he writes about every form of love connecting all the elements of the universe. Satz’s interpretation of Tikkun Olam centers on humanity’s responsibility to take care of non-human nature because we are made of the same fabric (DNA) and by the same source, God. Following that perspective, love represents another point of connection between all aspects of Creation that reminds us of our daily responsibility towards all God’s creatures, the world we live in, and God: “El amor, lazo universal, causa toda la

127 “Given that the beginning is a beginning of love, and that, one and the other added, the love and the beginning, we again arrive at the number of the Tetragram (bereshit, 13+ = ‫בראשית‬ ahabá, ‫ = אהבה‬13 = 26 = ‫)יה ו ה‬, it is possible to infer that, during the genesis of the universe, the infinite without beginning or end, non-dual and eternal, entered through love into the time of duality finding a dwelling, say the Kabbalists, in the second alphabetic letter, the bet ( ‫ ”)ב‬Satz, El fruto, 21.

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creación y medio para el retorno a la divinidad.”128 Love is the Divine link that keeps us focused on completing the work of God on earth. In that sense, Satz’s conceptualization of love reflects his understanding of Tikkun Olam. Satz also addresses the concept of love through cultural translation. In his essays, he glosses the expression “poner el corazón” (to put your heart into it) with examples and literary illustrations that can be understood even if the reader is not familiar with Kabbalah, or Jewish tradition. For example, he explains “poner el corazón” as a specific way to pay attention: “Estar ‘atento’ o ‘despierto’ posee en hebreo la connotación de ‘pon el corazón en lo que haces’, SIM LEB, ‫שים לב‬. Es oír bien sus latidos, percibir cómo su fantástico goteo atrae el rocío estelar.”129 This passage invites the reader to be deeply present in order to hear their heartbeat, to reach a deeper focus. In Meditaciones kabalísticas, Satz uses Gematria to define the expression “poner el corazón” as to be connected as much as possible to the Divine Presence.130 In the story “Pon el corazón,” in La palmera transparente, he further elaborates on this idea. It starts with a description of a class taught by Rabí Abraham de Trípoli to his disciples, in which the rabbi says: “de todas nuestras actitudes conscientes, ninguna es comparable a la de poner el corazón en lo que pensamos, sentimos y hacemos.”131 The dialogue between the teacher and his disciples continues, and responding to a request for more clarity, he decides to illustrate it with a concrete example, comparing the idea of putting your heart into it to the flavor of a plum, the sweetness refers to the attention that we need to pay to others and the sourness the need to stay alert. At the end of this story there is a paragraph in italics that explains the Hebrew expression sim lev using Gematria to highlight the importance of both action and rest in the spiritual process, it reads: La expresión hebrea sim leb, prestar atención, puede entenderse también como poner el corazón en lo que estamos haciendo. Por otra parte si leemos bal, no, negación, en lugar de leb, cuya afirmación se sobreentiende, estaremos anteponiendo lo 128 “Love, the universal bond, the cause of all creation and the means to return to divinity.” Andrés Soria Olmedo, “Introduction, León Hebreo,” in Diálogos de amor (Madrid: Tecnos, 2002), 26. 129 “In Hebrew being ‘attentive’ or ‘awake’ has the connotation of ‘putting your heart into what you do’, SIM LEB, ‫בל םיש‬. It is to hear its heartbeat carefully, to perceive how its fantastic drip attracts the stellar dew.” Satz, Senderos, 15. 130 Satz, Meditaciones kabalísticas, 26. 131 “Of all of our attitudes, none compares to that of putting our heart into what we think, feel, and do” Satz, La palmera transparente, 220.

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estático de la bet a lo dinámico de la lámed. Al mismo tiempo, si la letra lámed indica un ascenso, una subida, y la bet promueve una estabilidad, de donde, y en el camino de realización, primero hay que ponerse en marcha y por fin, aprender a reposar.132 Finally, Satz compares the significance of the heart in Jewish Kabbalah, the Christian gospel, Hinduism, and Egyptology. In the Christian gospel, he focuses on the “transmutación del corazón de piedra en corazón carnal”133 that appears in Ezekiel 11.19 and calls attention to the sacred heart in the Christian tradition. He points out that in the Hindu tradition, the most important part of the body is the skull, but in the Judeo-Christian tradition, it is the heart that has that role. He also connects the symbol of the heart in Egyptian hieroglyphics, which looks like a glass, to the blood vessels in Western anatomy.134 Kabbalistic exegesis informs Satz’s writing in a variety of ways. There are cases when the effort is straightforward, but often poetic language is part of the explicative effort, especially when his creative writing illustrates biblical exegesis. There are times when the exegesis is geared towards cultural translation or from a comparative religions perspective for a wider readership. Overall, his creative approach to Gematria helps to illuminate concepts, such as the important role that love and the heart play in Jewish tradition. All of these textual strategies are part of Satz’s search for a renewal of Jewish tradition. His prolific writing thrives in the interconnectedness and cyclical nature of words, texts, concepts, religions, and cultures. The labyrinth that his literature generates reveals a deep investment in the Kabbalistic tradition. His writing seeks points of convergence between each element of nature, between the human being and the language of the Creator, seeking harmony. He believes that youth is a time of counterpoint and harmony is part of adulthood, a time for searching, for spiritual enlightenment, to put together the parts in order to get the whole. In this chapter, I have explored the multiplicity of topics and writing methods that Satz uses in his search for harmony, to put together the pieces, to repair the material and spiritual worlds: Tikkun Olam for humankind, the environment,

132 “The Hebrew expression sim leb, to pay attention, can also be understood as putting our heart into what we are doing. On the other hand, if we read bal, no, negation, instead of leb, where affirmation is understood, we will be putting the static quality of the bet before the dynamic character of the lámed. At the same time, if the letter lámed indicates ascension, rising, and the bet promotes stability, it then follows that on the way to realization, one must first initiate movement and lastly learn to repose.” Ibid, 220. 133 “the transmutation of the heart of stone into a carnal heart.” Satz, Senderos, 12. 134 Ibid., 14.

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and the Divine, and Tikkun Olam as a source of inspiration. The last chapter of this book will look into Isaac Goldemberg’s literature. Goldemberg also uses Gematria as a vehicle in the exploration of the bridges between the earthly and the Divine, although not as predominantly as Satz. Similar to Satz, Goldemberg’s novels and poems are inspired by a diversity of cultures, with Jewish Mysticism representing a unique creative force.

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4

Wandering Souls in Isaac Goldemberg’s Narrative and Poetry

Isaac Goldemberg is an established Peruvian poet, playwright, and fiction writer of Jewish and Catholic descent. He was born in Chepén, Peru in 1945 and moved to Lima during his childhood. In 1962, he studied agronomy in Israel and lived in a kibbutz for two years. He then moved to Barcelona to study medicine but decided to quit his studies and to return to Lima. Soon after, he moved to New York where he has lived since 1964. He was professor at New York University (1971–1986), and Distinguished Professor of Humanities at The City University of New York at Hostos Community College (1998–2019), where he was the founder-director of the Latin American Writers Institute and the founder-editor of Hostos Review, a bilingual publication that features the writings of Latin American and Latinx authors who live in the United States. Goldemberg’s books have been translated into several languages and have received widespread attention by both scholars and general readers. Notably, his first novel La vida a plazos de don Jacobo Lerner (1976) has surpassed its tenth edition and continues to be widely read. Among the Jewish themes that are present in Goldemberg’s literature are religious rituals, such as the celebrations of Bar Mitzvah and Passover, as well as the Kaddish prayer for mourning. He includes aspects of Yiddish culture, of the experience of foreignness and exile as part of being Jewish, and the long history of Jews as People of the Book. He also writes about the inherited responsibility

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to sustain Jewish history and memory (such as the Holocaust and the IsraeliPalestinian conflict). Jewish mysticism appears in his literature through playful recreations of Gematria, references to magical thinking, and the connections between earthly and Divine realms and between people and other forms of existence (i.e., ghosts, spirits, dybbuks). Notwithstanding his writing’s investment in specifically Jewish themes, cultural hybridity is the most representative aspect of Goldemberg’s writing. He celebrates identity configurations that combine Jewish and non-Jewish cultural aspects, including references to indigenous, Spanish, and Catholic traditions, among others. He makes this clear in his introduction to El gran libro de América judía (1998), a herculean effort that brings together the voices of many Latin American Jewish authors. This 1,236-page volume only connects the texts with their authors in the table of contents that appears at the end of the volume. This is in order to create the sense of a unified voice throughout the text. The introduction to this book also draws from the writings of several authors without specifying which parts are written by which author. This unique approach is intentional and self-critical, reflecting Latin America’s hybrid culture. In fact, the multiple voices speaking as one throughout the volume question its very point of enunciation: “¿Cuál ser americano? ¿Qué Latinoamérica? ¿La caribeña? ¿La incaica? ¿La del samba? ¿La de la cueca1? ¿La patagónica? ¿La europea? ¿La andina? ¿La de la selva? ¿La azteca? ¿La africana? ¿La judía?”2 This book problematizes these cultural categories while concomitantly revealing how they thread together the fabric of Latin American culture. This is also true for this project. While my focus is on a specific area of Jewish Latin America, the presence of Jewish Mysticism, this book seeks to highlight the hybrid nature of our cultural productions. Hybridity is the best known aspect of Goldemberg’s writing. The poem titled “Hagadá” threads together both cultural sides of his ancestry: De esta parte mi abuelo sigue siendo el huaquero3 viejo que viene de sacar huacos del mundo de arriba

1 Cueca is a traditional Chilean dance. 2 “Which American being? Which Latin America? The Caribbean one? The Inca? Samba’s America? The America of the cueca? The Patagonian? The European? The Andean? The rainforest? Aztec Latin America? African? Jewish?” Isaac Goldemberg, ed., El gran libro de América Judía (San Juan: Ed. de la Universidad de Puerto Rico, 1998), 16. 3 A thief of valuable objects from archeological digs.

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del mundo de abajo Ay ayayai la curvatura de su poncho al viento Ay ayaiai el eco quebrado de su quena. Por las veredas de mi tierra la historia de mi padre da una vuelta caracolea su galút4 en torno a mi tienda de campaña Ay ayayai los meridianos de su sombra Ay ayayai de su shofar el eco de una quena . . . Ay ayayai el curvo silencio de tus palabras yiddish Ay ayayai el eco quebrado de mi palabra quechua.5 This poem showcases a counterpoint between the author’s Quechua and Ashkenazi Jewish heritages. He uses rhythms, sounds, and objects that carry heavy cultural significance in both groups. His maternal grandfather, a “huaquero,” represents a bridge between “the world above and the world below,” a central theme also in Jewish Mysticism. The poem also refers to his paternal grandfather’s experience of galút, his exile from Eastern Europe, and a sense of alienation in the Diaspora. The poem places the historical injustices that each group has endured in echo of each other, like the shofar6 and the quena.7 They appear as points of origin and in tandem, linked by the complaint “ayayai” that accentuates the rhythm in the poem. The structure invites the harmonic interaction between both cultural heritages.

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The forced exile of Jews. My grandfather is still the same old urn digger still plundering graves from the world above from the world below Ay ayayai the curve of his poncho in the wind Ay ayayai the broken echo of his quena Along the byways of my country my father’s history makes a turn his galut pirouettes around my tent Ay ayayai the meridians of his shadow Ay ayayai from his shofar the echo of a quena . . . Ay ayayai the curved silence of your Yiddish words Ay ayayai the broken echo of my words in Quechua. Isaac Goldemberg, La vida al contado, trans. Stephen A. Sadow and J. Kates (Hanover: Ediciones del norte, 1992), 89. 6 A Shofar is a ram’s horn that is sounded during the celebration of Rosh Hashanah, and on Yom Kippur. 7 A quena is a flute typical of the Andes.

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Numbers and Letters All four authors, Alejandro Jodorowsky, Angelina Muñiz-Huberman, Mario Satz, and Isaac Goldemberg share the creative use of Gematria in their writings, but some include it more than others in their texts. Mario Satz explains that Gematria does not represent a rigid approach, as there are multiple ways one can combine the values of letters, but one still has to follow the basic principles. The flexibility Satz assigns to this hermeneutic reading method illuminates how he understands Kabbalah as a whole: “La Kábala que me atrevo a llamar un arte antes que un sistema cerrado, vive de sus elasticidades y paralelos. En todo caso se parece a un juego, un juego divino.”8 Goldemberg’s inclusion of Gematria in his writing is not as ubiquitous or sophisticated as it is in Satz’s work, but its “elasticity” also drives playfulness in his poetry. Goldemberg alludes to Gematria in a variety of ways. In an autobiographical text, he describes writing with Hebrew letters as making him enter a special state of trance, full of magic.9 In his poem “Arte Po/ética con Dios en el medio” he addresses Gematria in relation to the concept of God and humanity. The poem starts with a reference to mystical numerology as a way of understanding every aspect of Creation: Detrás de todo hay una matemática, diríase una turbulencia del tiempo y sus cifras . . . Toda poesía hermana al humano con la economía de las palabras. Y todo Dios y todo humano cohabitan en el mismo tiempo y en el mismo espacio, donde todo es manejado por el todo poético.10 8 “The Kabbalah that I dare call an art rather than an enclosed system, lives off its elasticities and parallels. It is, in any case, like a game, a divine game.” Satz, Qué es la Kábala, 17. 9 Isaac Goldemberg, “Life in Installments,” in King David’s Harp: Autobiographical Essays by Jewish Latin American Writers, ed. Stephen Sadow (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1999), 147. 10 Behind everything there is a mathematics, you could say a turbulence of time and its ciphers. So since every God is as much words as reason, all poetry is not a mere succession of events. All poetry joins the human being through an economy of words. And every God and every human dwells in the same time and the same space, where everything is managed by the poetic whole.

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These lines suggest that poetry stands for the higher power that links humans with the numerical value of words (Gematria) replacing God’s role with poetry as a creative force that frees life from predetermination. If Goldemberg was writing in a traditional context, openly challenging God’s existence would represent a defiant gesture, but Goldemberg’s secular embrace of Judaism resembles Borges’ understanding of Kabbalah as an art of writing.11 This poem first celebrates literature’s powerful creative potential, then it moves on to invite the creation of a God that would not be ruled by Gematria. Goldemberg urges the reader to avoid reducing . . . Dios a una sola letra de ningún alfabeto. A ningún accidente gramatical. Tampoco a ningún número que sea potencia exacta de otro o que sea exactamente divisible por sí mismo y por la unidad. Diseñar un Dios no regido por el azar, ni por la creación a partir de la nada ni de Su cuestionada existencia.12 The invitation to create a God is a clear secular statement, followed by a direct critique of Gematria as a venue for determinism. But this is a rigid and inaccurate understanding of the hermeneutic technique. As previously mentioned in regards to astrology, even though there are traditional views that see a determining factor between the stars or the numerical value of people’s names, and a person’s life, Gematria is not meant to be used to prescribe the destiny of people. Just as with Jewish approaches to astrology, learning from the stars’ positions in the sky, or the numeric value of words is the first step

Isaac Goldemberg, Libro de las transformaciones (Lima: Fondo Editorial de la UNMSM, 2007), 69; Jonathan Tittler, trans., in Dialogues with Myself and My Others (Phoenix: Cardboard House Press, 2016). 11 Suggestion by Yitzhak Lewis, Personal exchange April 20, 2021. 12 Reduce “God to one lone letter of no alphabet. To no grammatical accident. To no number either that may be an exact power of another or exactly divisible by itself or by the unity. Design a God not ruled by chance, or by creation based on nothing or on His questioned existence.” Goldemberg, Dialogues with Myself and My Others, trans. Jonathan Tittler (Phoenix: Cardboard House Press, 2016).

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towards interpretation and debate. As Mario Satz explains, Gematria is a flexible system of interpretation that opens up the text; it doesn’t dictate outcomes. Goldemberg’s poem represents Gematria in a way that helps convey the idea that humanity needs to question the concept of God as a source of determinism. In this poem, Goldemberg explores humanity’s search for harmony and guidance, and proposes the infinite creative power of poetry as the answer. While it is clear that the existence of God is questioned in this poem, we are also invited to “Recordar que a quien vivió le será reclamada / la armonía infinita”13 and the search for harmony is at the core of Jewish Mysticism. In his introduction to Libro de las transformaciones (2007), Roger Santiváñez says that Goldemberg seeks to “superar las fronteras de la geografía política y explayarse en un ámbito plenamente humano y universal.”14 The mystical aspects of Goldemberg’s literature go beyond the limits of Jewish tradition, but they are also deeply marked by it.

Earthly and Divine Spheres In the first chapter of this book, we explored the in-between realm in relation to Jodorowsky’s character of the Rebe. Goldemberg also delves into this fascinating aspect of Jewish Mysticism. One of his approaches to in-betweenness is in reference to cultural heritage and identity. This is the focus of his poem “Autorretrato”: Yo y mi judío a cuestas Observándonos de espaldas Y sin embargo Oreja a oreja: Él imperturbable Diríase desdeñoso de la muerte Dando campanazos contra el tiempo En su misión de ir rodando Por el abismo de la historia Él su rostro adolescente Rezagado en los espejos Tatuado del pie al alma Yo y mi judío a cuestas Calcamoniados hasta la corva nariz 13 “Remember that whoever lived will be reclaimed/ infinite harmony.” Goldemberg, Libro de las transformaciones, 69–71. 14 “[O]vercome the borders of political geography and expand on a fully human and universal realm.” Ibid., 18.

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Que se nos gasta En olfatear el Reino de la Tierra.15 The poetic voice’s mixed heritage unfolds. It is evident that he has a complex, yet intimate, relationship with his Jewish descent. Both heritages appear attached, but turned away. His Jewish side is not afraid of death, as he moves forward through the “abyss of history,” a reference to the long history of survival and resilience of Jews. But time and space are elusive in the in-between world, where the poetic subject and his Jewish side find themselves at the conclusion of the poem. The body is indelibly marked by youth, tattoos, and a crooked nose16 which wears off by trying to smell, to get close to the physical domain. In Kabbalah, the “Kingdom of this World,” Creation, relies on the Divine light that flows through the Tree of Life, through the ten Sephirot. The last Sephirah, Malkhut, receives the Divine light emanated through the Sephirot and extends it through the earthly realm. Without the influx of Divine light, life on the “Reino de la tierra,” the earthly realm, will wear both sides of the soul out. This poem goes beyond exploring the tensions of the poetic voice’s cultural heritage; it alludes to the in-betweenness that Malkhut represents, which connects the Divine emanations and the Kingdom of this World. This is also true in Goldemberg’s poem “Tránsito” from Libro de reclamaciones (2018). It starts with a vignette by Rose Mary Salum that reads “La noción de gravitar entre una frontera y la otra, requería de mí una narrativa que me reacomodara en el mundo.”17 If this vignette were followed by one of Goldemberg’s 15 I and my Jew on my back, watching each other from behind and nonetheless ear to ear: he imperturbable, one might say disdainful of death tolling bells against time in his mission of rolling down the abyss of history he his adolescent face, left behind in mirrors tattooed from foot to soul I and my Jew on my back, covered in decals up to the hooked nose we waste in sniffing the Kingdom of this World. (Goldemberg, La vida al contado, 16). 16 For an insightful analysis on antisemitic rhetoric in relation to the shape of the nose, see Sander Gilman, The Jew’s body (New York: Routledge, 1991). 17 “The notion of gravitating between one border and another required of me a narrative that would reshape me in the world.” Goldemberg, Libro de reclamaciones (1981–2016), trans.

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multiple poems related to immigration, or to being between ethnic or cultural backgrounds, then Salum’s lines could be interpreted as referring to frontiers between geographic territories. But her lines introduce a poem that takes place in a different type of contact zone: the in-between world that connects the earthly and the spiritual realms. The souls that inhabit this space: “Se doblegaban en la realidad ajena. / Carecían de la ingravidez de las aves / para su finita limitación / . . . Ignoraban de dónde venían. / Se habían despojado de la vestimenta de los vivos, / y pájaros habían brotado de las fosas.”18 “Tránsito” is an enigmatic poem that allows us to peek into what happens between the two worlds. Transmigrating souls in the shape of birds fly between life and death, but they are weightless. Without memory, these troubled souls give into “la realidad ajena,”19 choosing the “finita limitación”20 of the living because they won’t be able to rest in peace until they resolve their transgressions. The poem continues: “No les bastaba los signos / que pensaron era el azar de los muertos. / Habían escrito sobre letras ya escritas, sobre la certidumbre / que arroja el asombro de la vida / Necesitaban más luces y más sombras, / las que obedecían al ojo de la desconfianza.”21 As the poem suggests, certainty is not part of the in-between realm where wandering souls thrive in ambiguity and dimness, where we have to stay alert and continue to learn, and where it is, sometimes, possible to change destiny.

Dybbuks and Other Spirits Goldemberg’s famous novel La vida a plazos de don Jacobo Lerner (1976) recreates a traditional spirit possession22 by a dybbuk that unfortunately is not able to Stephen A. Sadow and J. Kates (Palma de Mallorca: Los Papeles de Brighton, 2018), 67. 18 “They yielded to the reality of others. / They lacked the weightlessness of the birds / for their finite limitation. / . . . They did not know where they came from. / They had stripped themselves of the clothing of the living, / and birds had sprung from the graves.” Goldemberg, “Transito,” in Libro de reclamaciones, 67. 19 “[T]he reality of others.” 20 “[F]inite limitation.” 21 “It was not enough for them the signs / which they thought signified the fate of the dead. / They had written over letters already written, / over the certainty / launched by the astonishment of life. / They needed more lights and more shadows, / the ones that sprung from doubt’s eyes.” Ibid., 67. 22 The notion of transmigration of souls in the context of Judaism is discussed in chapter 1. Here is a brief overview. Spirit possession and transmigration of souls is a belief shared by many traditions and cultures. Christianity mainly deals with malign possessions which are numerous in the New Testament. However, in Judaism, Islam, and other traditions, spirit possessions can also be neutral or benign. For example, when tzadikim pray with the hope to be possessed by a maggid to access higher levels of learning, or when a kind soul possesses a person in order to offer guidance through a specific time in their lives, this is called ibbur Goldish, ed., Spirit Possession in Judaism, 12. Dybbuks are the souls of people who died an

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change the protagonist’s destiny. This novel has received great acclaim by the most established contemporary writers in Latin America. As a product of the nueva narrativa movement, it is highly experimental. The novel uses many innovative literary registers and techniques. This includes chapters written from each of the main characters’ points of view and linguistic registers, as well as having the narrative interrupted by a fictional version of a community publication, parts of fictional historical accounts, among other types of text. This novel tells the story of Jacobo Lerner, a Jewish Ukrainian immigrant in Peru struggling to attain a sense of belonging in his new home. It is structured as a self-reflection from his deathbed that shows how his life decisions caused him to wander unattached and unable to find happiness. This happened because he chose to become estranged from the Catholic social fabric to which his child, the child’s mother, and her family in Chepén belong. He also fails to fit into the Jewish community in Lima because he fails to marry a Jewish woman; his lovers, Virginia and Juana, are not Jewish. He is also considered an outcast for owning a brothel.23 In the last section of the novel, Jacobo Lerner is possessed by the troubled soul of a friend from the Old World who also emigrated to Peru: León Mitrani, whose death may not have been natural, and his body did not receive a proper burial. The protagonist is aware of this: “Jacobo estaba convencido de que el alma migratoria de León Mitrani había hallado oscuro refugio en su cuerpo.”24 His experience of spirit possession is described in the novel as a slow process that destabilizes his privileged life as a successful, albeit shady, businessman in Lima. Jacobo Lerner is a good candidate for this phenomenon because he suffers the guilt of having left his child’s mother, Virginia, when she became pregnant, for abandoning their son, and for having distanced himself from the community, his brother, and the synagogue. But his connection to Jewish life takes a sharp turn when he becomes possessed. At that point he leaves the brothel in the hands of his friend Abraham Singer, and dedicates his days and nights to Torah studies. He starts attending the synagogue daily and begins to feel at peace: “Con el tiempo la vacuidad de su vida pasada fue llenándose de un sentido que apenas

untimely death that typically possess a person who is considered to have sinned. For these types of spirit possessions that cause great suffering, Jews used to engage in the practice of exorcism. Historically, no cases of exorcism were recorded until the sixteenth century, at which point they multiplied enormously. This is true for all three Abrahamic religions (ibid., 13.) Reports of these events disappeared in the early twentieth century. The spirit possession and exorcism practiced on Jacobo Lerner, in Goldemberg’s novel, is directly related to Jewish tradition. Both in Christianity and Judaism the soul and the spirit are used interchangeably, but in Judaism the soul has different levels, as I will address later in this chapter. 23 Goldemberg, La vida a plazos, 217–218. 24 “Jacobo was certain that the migrant soul of León Mitrani had landed an obscure refuge in his body.”

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comprendía y al cual se entregó sin titubeos, porque era como sumergirse en un pozo de aguas reconfortantes y cálidas.”25 Mitrani’s soul helps him to return to the practice of Jewish rituals and that gives him a sense of fulfillment previously unknown to him. However, peace does not last. As it is typical of the literature that deals with the myth of the dybbuk, Mitrani starts to speak through Jacobo. He publicly scolds his co-religionaries for their materialistic lifestyle and warns about judgment day. Goldemberg’s decision to portray someone who did not practice much religious observance, scolding others as Mitrani used to do, is amusing because it highlights the contrast between the souls of the host and the guest, especially as, until this point, the novel has described Jacobo as mainly concerned with his earnings and social standing. As the deterioration of Jacobo Lerner’s psychic state/possession advances, his brother decides to take him to a doctor who recommends admitting him to a mental health institution for recovery. This is where Jacobo starts having Mitrani’s memories.26 After three months without improvement, his brother decides to ask for help from Rabbi Schneider. The rabbi is happy to help, excited with the prospect of conducting an exorcism, for he hadn’t done one since 1915 in Poland. It is significant that Goldemberg would choose that date because Ansky’s famous story/play The Dybbuk was first published in 1914.27 The rabbi hosts Jacobo in his house, and he invokes Mitrani’s soul “pronunciando oscuras fórmulas cabalísticas”28 for seven days and nights. Jacobo first gets worse and almost commits suicide, but Rabbi Schneider manages to get Mitrani’s soul out through Jacobo’s little toe, leaving a thin thread of blood as evidence. Then he tells Jacobo that this has been the price he had to pay for a deep guilt. Goldemberg’s description of Jacobo Lerner’s spirit possession by a dybbuk,29 and the practice of exorcism by Rabbi Schneider follows Jewish cultural and historical practices very closely.30 Dybbuk stories typically follow a similar pattern in that the person

25 “Over time, the emptiness of his earlier life began to fill with a meaning that he could barely comprehend, and to which he surrendered without hesitation, as it was like submerging oneself in a well of warm, comforting waters.” Goldemberg, La vida a plazos, 219. 26 Ibid., 231. 27 For an excellent compilation of essays discussing the vast impact that Ansky’s play Der Dybbuk has had in Latin American culture, see Susana Skura and Melina di Miro, eds., El dibuk-Entre dos mundos. Un siglo de metáforas (San Salvador de Jujuy: Universidad Nacional de Jujuy, 2019). 28 “[U]ttering obscure kabbalistic formulas.” Goldemberg, La vida a plazos, 233. 29 Belief in spirit possession was particularly strong and broadly accepted during the seventeenth century. It was crystallized by the famous story which later became the play Der Dybbuk by Sh. Ansky in 1914. 30 The author also explains that Jacobo Lerner’s spirit possession takes place in the context of what he calls a “misticismo secular—que no deja de tener sus matices religiosos” [secular

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that becomes possessed has transgressed, that the possessing soul speaks through them, and that when the malignant spirit is expelled, it leaves a wound on the person’s feet.31 Additionally, in the history of Jewish exorcism, there is evidence that the patient generally gets better and returns to live a religious life. But sometimes the victim dies, as is the case with Jacobo at the end of the novel. We don’t know the actual reason for Jacobo’s death, but the author suggests in an interview that it could be the result of the exorcism.32 Throughout history, stories that include dybbuks have had a pedagogic effect because they model an experience of reparation for the possessed person through a return to religious life. Both the possessing soul and the recipient of the transmigrating soul benefit from the experience because together they rectify their sins.33 But given that Jacobo Lerner dies shortly after, he does not seem to be redeemed by the experience.

Mystical Genealogies and the Family Tree In The Fragmented Life of Don Jacobo Lerner, families are depicted in the earthly realm and in a rather negative light, for the most part. But in Goldemberg’s poetry, families are painted with a more varied palette. This section looks into references to family genealogy that appear in the form of wandering souls, ghosts, and spirits. Interestingly, they often appear in relation to the trope of the house. Literary critic Miguel Ángel Zapata mentions that the house, as well as time, are central themes in Goldemberg’s poetry; he relates these themes to Borges and Vallejo, two of Goldemberg’s most important literary influences.34 Time is a central factor in Goldemberg’s representations of the house and the home in terms of the continuation of lineage. His poems reveal multiple levels of interpretation of this trope,35 and of the family tree in relation to Judaism. In chapter 1, I discussed the history of genealogies in Judaism, its central place in the Torah, the growing number of genealogical societies that have emerged

mysticism—that still includes religious nuances]. Goldemberg, La vida son los ríos, 290. 31 Alexander in Goldish, ed., Spirit Possession in Judaism, 312. 32 Goldemberg, La vida son los ríos, 290. 33 Alexander in Goldish, Spirit Possession in Judaism, 314. 34 Miguel Angel Zapata, “Goldemberg: La desarticulación de la memoria,” in Isaac Goldemberg, La vida son los ríos (Lima: Fondo Editorial del Congreso del Perú, 2005), 367. 35 The house also symbolizes faith in Judaism. “God remembers His love and faith to the house of Israel.” Psalms 98:3; see Likutey Moharan, 94. This is explained in two footnotes included by Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, translator of the Lost Princess & Other Kabbalistic Tales of Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (Woodstock: Jewish Lights Publishing, 2005), 131.

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since the seventies from a secular perspective, and the significance genealogies have for Jews after the Shoah. In addition to being part of Jewish history and culture, genealogies also appear in connection with the symbol of the home. In one of Mario Satz’s studies on Kabbalah, he discusses the Tree of Life, God’s manifestation through the Divine emanations or Sephirot, and the connection of each Sephirah with a letter of the alphabet. In that text, Satz relates the second Sephirah, Chokhmah or wisdom, with the letter bet, which means house in the Spanish transliteration of the Hebrew word Beit. Chabad Rabbi and scholar Moshe Miller defines Chokhmah as “the germinal, highly condensed revelation of G-dly light in the highest level of immanence that is in the life force of all of Creation.” It is “the instrument of Creation.”36 Argentine author Marcos Ricardo Barnatán, mentioned in the introduction, also puts forth that “‘Jojmá’ (Sabiduría) desempeñó un papel importante en la creación del mundo”37 Satz’s points to a passage in Genesis 12:3 in relation to Chokhmah and adds: “‘Y en ti . . . serán benditas todas las familias de la tierra.”38 This is where “los seres vivos, sus especies y familias”39 where genealogies are blessed.40 These interpretations of the Sephirah Chokhmah reveal a strong link between the letter bet, the house, and the origin of genealogies in Divine Creation, and by extension, they highlight the importance of belonging to a family tree in Judaism. In this section, I will discuss representations of the house in Goldemberg’s poetry. The houses that appear in his poems are inhabited by both corporeal and intangible family members. Sometimes they are wandering souls in the form of ghosts that stay in the house after the person is dead. Ghosts and ancestor spirits are part of a different form of in-betweenness in Goldemberg’s poetry: these non-corporeal presences are related to the concept of the afterlife, the world to 36 Moshe Miller, “Chochma: Wisdom and the Potential to Be,” Chabad.ORG, accessed March 25, 2022, https://www.chabad.org/kabbalah/article_cdo/aid/380785/jewish/Chochma. htm. 37 “‘Chokhmah’ (Wisdom) carried out an important role in the creation of the world.” Barnatán, La Kábala, 18. 38 “And within you, all families of the earth shall be blessed.” In Senderos en el jardín del Corazón, Satz connects the Sephirah Chochmah with the Patriarch Abraham: “Si todas las familias de la tierra le deben su bendición como ‘padre (que fue) de muchos pueblos’, el retorno a su seno, real o simbólico, no puede ser sino buscar amparo en la matriz, retomar una y otra vez los orígenes de lo creado. En tal sentido la BET es una base a partir de la cual, en cuanto casa, ‫ ַּבי ִת‬, el buscador puede medir su destino.” [If all the families on earth owe him their blessing to the “father (who he was) of many peoples,” the return to the breast, real or symbolic, cannot be without seeking protection in the matrix, return once and again to the origins of creation. In that sense the BET is a base from which, in terms of house, ‫ ַּבי ִת‬, the seeker can measure his destiny.] Satz, Senderos en el jardín del corazón, 28. 39 “[L]iving beings, their species and families.” 40 Satz, El fruto, 21.

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come, Olam Haba, which will be discussed in the last section of this chapter on wandering souls. While ghosts belong to many cultures and traditions,41 Goldemberg’s poetry introduces the spirits of family members in ways that can be associated with aspects of Jewish tradition (as part of genealogies, celebrating Shabbat in the home). In the poem “Crónicas,” from the book La vida son los ríos (2005), the poetic voice addresses his deceased mother, hoping that one day he will be able to bring back her presence: . . . un día me entrará la imagen de tu muerte en una sola palabra para descubrir que el cuerpo vence distancias más allá de toda la fantasía que me embarga cuando trato de situarte en un lugar magníficamente detenido intacta niñez año tras año y seguiré pensando que tú sigues viviendo detrás de todos los fantasmas que aún habitan la casa.42 The emotional, physical, temporal, and geographic distance described in this poem turns the memory of the mother into an image, a word, a body that could “conquer distances,” and wander through the house, among other ghosts—possibly of other family members who have passed away. The family home comes alive with memories and wandering souls that make up the family 41 See Ronald C. Finucane, Appearances of the Dead: A Cultural History of Ghosts (New York: Prometheus Books, 1984). 42 “ . . . the image of your death will one day enter me in a single word to discover that the body bridges distances beyond all the fantasies that surge inside me when I try to place you in one spot perfectly still childhood unchanged year after year and I’ll keep believing that you go on living behind all the ghosts still alive in our house. Goldemberg, “Crónicas,” in La vida son los ríos, 137.

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genealogy. But differently from what happens in Goldemberg’s first novel, La vida a plazos de don Jacobo Lerner, wandering souls and ghosts that appear in this poem are welcomed, not rejected. Family members, wandering souls, and ghosts cohabit in the home in harmony, even when they coexist in silence. In the following poem, titled “Shabbat,” the family is getting ready for its arrival: La casa se hunde como una palabra en el silencio la hospitalaria abuela reposa en la penumbra como un ídolo Mi padre reza con su voz de patriarca y Centinela Mi madre enciende el horno (aún queda tiempo) Amasa nuestro pan con sus silencios.43 The silence that floods the house brings to mind the family members as ghosts in the previous poem. There is a slightly unsettling unity in the shared silence, as though each person were in their own world. The poem creates a mixed sense of what it’s like to be with family at home. Notwithstanding, these two poems render homes that give family members a sense of belonging. This is true for physical and intangible presences. Regardless, these houses allow them to establish roots. In the poem titled “Casas,” Goldemberg writes, ‘Están construyéndome mi casa’ dijo el joven judío andariego que ahora está viviendo de gratis en mi casa Y verdad que es grande el peso de sus muebles en los siete metros de mi sala Dijo: ‘Cuando ya tenga mi casa seré

43 “The house sinks like a word into silence Grandmother in her hospitality reposes in the shadows like an idol My father prays with the voice of a patriarch and a watchman My mother lights the oven (there is still time) She kneads our bread with her silences.” Goldemberg, “Shabbat,” in Libro de reclamaciones, 154.

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un árbol con raíces.’44 The house anchors this wandering Jew. It allows him to grow roots and reinsert himself in his family tree, and poetry is a good vehicle for this, because as Goldemberg writes: “Las palabras, / como los árboles, / por pequeñas que sean / siempre echarán raíces”45 In this poetry, writing is a means to grow roots, to multiply branches, and produce leaves. It also responds to the mitzvah, the responsibility, to be fruitful and multiply. The Divine command stands no matter how fragile or distrustful some branches in a genealogy may be.46 The issue of the fragility of the limbs in family trees is also addressed in another poem titled “Diáspora.” In which the family tree resembles an urban plan. However, while the grid includes all the family homes, the focus is on the father’s house: Todavía quedaban en la ciudad todas las casas. Pero la que menos quedaba era la casa del padre. Él dijo que guardaría su casa hasta el último día de sus días. Mas tarde, mucho tiempo mas tarde, volvía del destierro para ponerle candado. Y el hijo, sin que fuese suya, se quedó con la llave. Tiempo hace ya que la casa fue vendida al olvido. Hoy el olvido tiene su llave, idéntica a la memoria del padre. Esta será su trance—dijo—, mi memoria. Más tarde, mucho tiempo más tarde, mudó su casa. Pónganla aquí—dijo—donde estuvo la casa.47 44 “‘They are building my house’ said the young wandering Jew who is now living free of charge in my house And it’s true that his furniture weighs heavily in the seven meters of my room He said: ‘When I have my house I will be a rooted tree.’” Goldemberg, Hombre de paso, 62. 45 “Words / like trees, / however small / will always grow roots.” Goldemberg, Diálogos conmigo y mis otros, 20. 46 Jodorowsky’s curative method psicomagia focuses entirely on the weight that the family tree has on our lives. This is discussed in chapter 1. 47 All the houses are still in the city. But my father’s is the one that remains least.

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This poem describes the conflict and distance that exists between the poetic voice and his father. The key to the house represents the son’s memory of his father, as well as his place in the family lineage. The father denying the son access to the house is perceived as an attempt to interrupt his sense of belonging to the family tree. Ironically, the same key that connects him to the memory of his father, allows him to continue being part of the genealogy. The poetic voice renews the vitality of the family tree when he decides to fill the void that had previously interrupted the genealogy: placing his own house where his father’s house was, now “sold to oblivion” in order to build a stronger lineage for future generations. But the family tree’s fragility is not only the father’s fault, in some poems, it is the grandfather who starts it. The following poem centers the continuity of the family tree on his grandfather: “ . . . el abuelo como alma en pena por la casa / disimulando el hastío de sus huesos / El abuelo noche en vela / armando casas de cartón / para generaciones venideras.”48 The grandfather, exhausted and suffering from insomnia, resembling the lost souls in previous poems, builds cardboard houses for his descendants. His pastime may be read as seeking to multiply the branches of his genealogy. But the houses he is building are made of temporary materials that express fragility for the future of his family tree. These poems point at different forms of fragility of the family home, but in “Inventario” it is literally falling apart: He aquí que nadie sabe quién se ha muerto He aquí que se ponen presurosos a cegar puertas y ventanas como si ya nadie viviera en esta casa He aquí que me voy perdiendo en los rincones sosteniendo paredes que se caen de su peso He said he would guard his house until the last day of his days. Much later, a time much later, he came back from exile to lock it up. And he left his son, whose house it wasn’t, with the key. Time long ago sold the house to oblivion. Today oblivion holds the key, just like my father’s memory. This will be his crosspiece—he said—, my memory. Much later, a time much later, he moved his house. Put it over here—he said—, where the house used to be. Goldemberg, Libro de reclamaciones, 124; translated with the title “Houses” by Stephen Sadow and J Kates, in In Harmony (New York: World Congress of Poets, 2004), 301. 48 “Grandfather all over the house like a tormented soul / disguising the boredom of his bones / Grandfather keeping watch at night / building cardboard houses / for future generations.” Goldemberg, “Crónicas,” in La vida son los ríos (Lima: Fondo Editorial del Congreso del Peru, 2005), 154.

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. . . He aquí que con toda la gravedad de un hombre extraño busco hospedaje en esta casa.49 The walls caving in could symbolize the death of family members, branches of the family tree that fall off as though made out of cardboard. But why would the poetic voice choose to seek refuge there? Given that he describes himself as a stranger, we can read this as a yearning to belong to a lineage that, in this case, is falling apart. In Goldemberg’s poetry, the desire to connect and give continuity to the family tree persists and survives beyond any level of structural fragility. In fact, the house represents a strong source of inspiration for multiple forms of belonging to the family tree: creative, alternative, his own. Another poem, also titled “Inventario,” starts by discussing the family’s dysfunctionality and ends by opening the door of the house to options: En esta casa de dos puertas (una cerrada: la otra falsa) Hay una guitarra y soy manco Un alfabeto y soy ciego Una red de caminos y soy cojo Un desván de palabras y soy mudo Un pozo de ecos y soy sordo La guitarra ha de enhebrar su propio canto El alfabeto su propio mito Sus propios ecos las palabras Sus propios puentes los caminos.50

49 It so happens that no one knows who has died It so happens that they are rushing to seal up doors and windows as if no one no longer lived in this house It so happens that I keep getting lost in all its corners holding up walls forced down by their own weight . . . It so happens that with all the burden of a stranger I seek refuge in this house. Goldemberg, La vida son los ríos, 147. 50 In this double-doored house (one is closed, the other false) There is a guitar and I am one-armed There is an alphabet and I am blind A web of roads and I am one-legged A garret of words and I am mute

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The beginning lines are very pessimistic, but they highlight the assets the house provides, even if the poetic voice cannot take advantage of them. Then the poem turns the focus on the mythical power of the alphabet and the power of words to move forward, to write your own story. This house is bet, Chochmah, wisdom. It is the frame that the family tree needs to build bridges and roads, where genealogies are blessed. In this section, I discussed the trope of the house as a metaphor for the family tree in Goldemberg’s poetry to show how the presence of ghosts and ancestors’ spirits are related to the importance genealogies have in Jewish culture and how they relate to Jewish Mysticism. The poetic voices position and reposition themselves in relation to their ancestors, the living, the dead, and the wandering souls. The image of family trees in these poems resonates with the great interest there is among Jews to rebuild genealogies after the Shoah, and also as a reflection of the history of Jews wandering and spreading throughout the world in the Diaspora. These poems also show the mystical value of the house as a space where the genealogies seek protection and blessing. Dealing with the silence and fragility of genealogies, supporting walls when they fall, sharing the home with ghosts of family members, and choosing to set their own houses in spaces left abandoned give the family history continuity. These poems portray a constant search for belonging and for a continuity of the family tree that does not necessarily take away the sense of “foreignness” which is also part of the Jewish experience.51 But more importantly, Goldemberg’s poetry makes us hopeful that if the family tree can be malleable, then all genealogies are possible. It is just a matter of allowing ourselves to find echoes in our own words, so as to build our own bridges and roads.

Wandering Souls In this final section, I will overview historical perspectives of what happens to the soul after death52 according to different schools of thought in Judaism in order to

A well of echoes and I am deaf The guitar must thread its own song The alphabet its own myth Echoes of their own the words Bridges of their own the roads. Goldemberg, La vida son los ríos, 140. 51 I discuss Jewishness and foreignness in On Gauchos and Foreigners. Glossing Culture and Identity in the Argentine Countryside (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2011). 52 For an in-depth study from a Hasidic perspective of the “soul’s life and journey,” see Pinson, The Jewish Book of Life After Life ( Jerusalem: IYYUN Publishing, 2015) .

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put in context the various renderings of wandering souls that we have discussed in Goldemberg’s literature throughout the chapter. I will also discuss them in relation to Mirta Kupferminc’s art. Belief in ghosts and spirits of the dead flourished in many cultural contexts (Ancient Greece, the Medieval Christian imaginary, English literary tradition, etc).53 They have also been part of Jewish history and culture.54 There are multiple perspectives in Judaism about what happens after death, but there is general agreement that souls go to Sheol, the neutral underground space where the dead go regardless of their level of sin during their time on earth.55 After undergoing judgement, souls have to purge their sins before moving on to the world to come, Olam Haba. It is believed that the soul stops wandering after one year.56 Just like belief in Sheol and Olam Haba, positions on whether the soul survives and gets reincarnated57 or not have changed over time. Kabbalists introduced the concept of the gilgul, the transmigration of souls, which is behind the proliferation of dybbuk possession cases among Hasidim in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.58 Some contemporary Orthodox and Hasidic groups continue to believe in the concepts of immortality of the soul, as well as of reincarnation and resurrection.59 Modern Jewish thinkers and Reform Judaism hold the view of immortality as a metaphor.60 Attention to the presence of spirits, souls, and ghosts among the living was particularly widespread in sixteenth-century Safed, the leading center of Jewish Mysticism at the time. Rabbi Isaac Luria was thought by his students to have been able to see the souls of the dead, not only above their graves in the cemetery but also in rocks and trees around the sacred city. The clean air of Galilee was believed to help souls travel to the tombs of the patriarchs in Hebron for safe passage to Heaven. Most people could not see the souls as they struggled to transmigrate into animals, minerals, and plants; souls were only perceptible when they possessed humans.61 At the time, it was believed that only tzaddikim 53 See Ronald C. Finucane, Appearances of the Dead: A Cultural History of Ghosts (Berkeley: Junction Books, 1982). 54 “Regardless of their formal differences, Jews and Christians of the Middle Ages shared a great many beliefs about demons, angels, ghosts, and magic, on the popular level.” Finucane, Appearances of the Dead, 66. Yuval Harari explains that magic was not the result of Christian influences in the Middle Ages, rather it had been part of Judaism from very early on, as the ancient texts of Hekhalot and Merkavah literature demonstrate. 55 Berlin, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of Jewish Religion, 22–23. 56 Finucane, Appearances of the Dead, 66. 57 Belief in the physicality of the soul stems from neoplatonic influences. 58 Bilu,“The Taming of the Deviants and Beyond” in Spirit Possession in Judaism: 43. 59 Rav Dovber Pinson offers his views on the immortality of the soul, reincarnation, and resurrection in The Jewish Book of Life After Life, 75–78 and 161–165. 60 Berlin, ed., The Oxford Dictionary of Jewish Religion, 22–23. 61 J. H. Chajes, Between Worlds: Dybbuks, Exorcists, and Early Modern Judaism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 31–35.

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were able to see the spirits of the dead.62 However, that changed with the spread of belief in evil spirits among the people in shtetls (small Eastern and Central European towns inhabited with a large Ashkenazi Jewish population). Since the late Middle Ages and the early modern era, Kabbalah considered the soul63 to be composed of three parts: the neshamah that moves on through purgatory and eventually to heaven, the nefesh that travels between both worlds, and the ruah that stays with the body. Joshua Trachtenberg explains that “the three terms were used interchangeably, so that it is uncertain whether the reference is to the ‘soul’; in heaven, or the ‘spirit’ on earth. But this much is abundantly clear: the belief is that a spirit continues to inhabit the earth long after the body has moldered in the grave and comes into frequent contact with the living.”64 Even though conjuring spirits was strongly admonished in the Middle Ages,65 Trachtenberg points to the abundance of ghosts in writings and personal stories that support this belief. Apparitions of spirits in dreams or otherwise could help or harm the living; nonetheless, they were mostly dreaded. Many popular beliefs stemmed from these interactions.66 The notion of evil spirits67 was not only held by the people or just part of folklore, it was also accepted as a fact by some Talmudic authorities.68 In spite of the predominance of the supernatural in the Hebrew Bible, the extensive literature on transmigration of souls and the ubiquity of evil spirits in Jewish folklore, the presence of ghosts in the Torah is for the most part absent or restrained.69 There are only a few mentions which are related to prohibitions and condemnations. Theology professor Sze-kar Wan says that the words ghost and spirit appear sixteen times in the Torah mostly in connection to a medium or necromancer, with the exception of Isa 29.4 which “suggests Sheol is where spirits of the dead belong,” 62 Soltes, Mysticism in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, 201. 63 Rabbi Steinsaltz teaches that the human soul is considered part of the Divine: it is “a manifestation of God in the world.” R. Adin Steinsaltz, The Thirteen Petalled Rose (New York: Basic Books, 1980), 51. 64 Trachtenberg, Jewish Magic and Superstition, 61. 65 Ibid., 45. 66 Ibid., 66–67. Isaac Bashevis Singer is best known for bringing folk beliefs to life in his writings. He was unique in writing about demons, the occult, and the supernatural, which was looked down upon by those who subscribed to the rationalism of Jewish thought and Orthodoxy. Frances Hernandez, “Isaac Bashevis Singer and the Yiddish Literary Tradition,” Bulletin of the Rocky Mountain Modern Language Association 25, no. 4 (December 1971): 122–126, 123. 67 Belief in demons (shedim) also existed in late antiquity, but their place was on earth; they coexisted with humans and were good at hiding, thus causing harm unexpectedly. Harari, Jewish Magic, 392–395. 68 Trachtenberg, Jewish Magic and Superstition, 25. 69 Rav Pinson explains that Torah does not mention the afterlife, that the afterlife is part of the oral tradition. Pinson, Jewish Book of Life after Life, 16.

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and attempts to summon the dead were harshly punished.70 Wan proposes that the harsh punishment had the aim of curtailing the common practice of ancestor worship, and the belief that the spirits of ancestors resided with the living in family clans. It was this belief that was behind the conceptualization of ghosts in Ancient Israel. Jews shared the belief “[t]hat communication between dead ancestors and their living descendants was possible”71 with neighboring peoples. Wan contends that this notion had to be debunked in order to strengthen monotheism and to consolidate the land of Israel. Before then it was common practice to consult dead ancestors when intending to contest land ownership, as well as on matters that pertained to God. He proposes that in order to achieve this, they had to cast as a foreign belief that “these ghosts could be spirits of dead people, for the dead either rest in the ancestral land that is Yaweh’s or are safely locked up in Sheol. These spirits, one might conclude, must be independent demons.” Thus, this belief in spirits residing among the living became what foreigners, not Jews, believe.72 However, Hasidic thought connects the concept of ghosts to the Guf Ha-Dak, a transparent version of the physical body that the soul embodies at the beginning of the afterlife.73 This could be related to the souls of the dead that Luria claimed to see in Safed, and the evil spirits people feared in the shtetls. In sum, while conjuring the spirits of the dead is forbidden in the Torah, belief in spirits of the dead continued and strengthened in early modern times, first among Kabbalists in Safed, and then by the Hasidim throughout Eastern Europe who held dear the notion of transmigration of souls, that could be benign or malignant, as well as neutral manifestations. Belief in spirits continued to be part of Jewish folklore as well as in some of the Talmudic writings and Hasidic thought. Recreations of this belief are present in modern day Latin American literature and art. Spirits of the dead are numerous in Goldemberg’s writings. The Fragmented Life of Don Jacobo Lerner includes the transmigration of a dybbuk74 and the practice of exorcism by a rabbi. Mitrani’s soul haunts Jacobo Lerner, taking over his thoughts and actions until it leaves his body. His poems portray ghosts and spirits of the dead that yearn to belong, to linger among the living and to continue building the family tree. Their yearning to belong also connotes a sense of exile and 70 Sze-kar Wan, “Where Have All the Ghosts Gone? Evolution of a Concept in Biblical Literature,” in Rethinking Ghosts in World Religions, ed. Mu-Chou Poo (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 59. 71 Ibid., 62. 72 Ibid., 63–65. 73 Simcha Paull Raphael, Jewish Views of the Afterlife (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2019), 211. 74 A dybbuk is a troubled soul that enters the body of a person who has sinned; his spirit possession represents a form of punishment. This concept is more thoroughly explained in the first chapter.

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foreignness, a central Jewish experience throughout history. Goldemberg’s poems include the spirits of family members that are often inside a house, bringing to mind Joshua Trachtenberg’s assertion in his chapter on spirits of the dead that “[t]he ties that bind man to his home and his associates are insoluble—even death cannot part them.”75 In other poems, suffering souls choose ambiguity and shade, yet they remain alert, ready to learn, seeking resolution to their wandering, tracing their own paths to continue their genealogy. Thus, while belief in ghosts and soul transmigration are no longer part of Jewish daily life as it was in the shtetls of Eastern Europe, they are still very much part of our literature and folklore. The wandering souls that we have discussed in Goldemberg’s poetry resemble the ones that appear in a series of etchings by Mirta Kupferminc. These etchings include lines of restless wandering souls. Kupferminc, the Argentine artist examined with respect to the work of Mario Satz and Jorge Luis Borges in the previous chapter, had a ten-year retrospective in New York City in 2009 titled “Wanderings.” Part of that exhibit included a series of etchings that feature traveling figurines the artist refers to as “ghosts” that continually haunt her.76 Some of them look tortured and suffering, others are playful and happy. Manuela Fingeret compares them to the figurines in Hieronymus Bosch paintings.77 In the exhibit’s catalog, Marianne Hirsch and Leo Spitzer describe these detailed ghosts as: “tall and thin, short and fat, human and animal, or they are hybrid imaginary creatures, mermaids, snails and tortoises with human limbs. They wear every conceivable costume—tall hats and hairdos, turbans, wigs, tefillin, feathers, long robes, striped bathing suits, frilly tutus.”78 These tiny figures of various shapes, in different types of clothing and positions climb around the edges of a hand and on the sides of silhouettes. They walk around a doll and on the roofs of buildings in the Warsaw Ghetto. In some of these etchings, tiny men and women are marked by Stars of David, as a reference to the Holocaust (the artist’s parents were survivors). They carry prayer shawls, Torahs, different kinds of luggage, ladders, books, uprooted trees, and houses, among other things. The artist describes them as “in a constant state of pilgrimage and exile.”79 When thinking about these etchings as a whole, the theme of exile and uprootedness is uppermost.

75 Trachtenberg, Jewish Magic and Superstition, 61. 76 See Rahel Musleah, “The Arts: Multimedia Ghosts,” Hadassah Magazine, April/May 2020, https://www.hadassahmagazine.org/2010/04/18/arts-multimedia-ghosts/. 77 Manuela Fingeret, “Honoring life,” in Mirta Kupferminc, Wanderings (New York: Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, 2009). 78 Marianne Hirsch and Leo Spitzer, “Mirta Kupferminc’s rootless routes,” in Kupferminc, Wanderings, 2009. 79 Cited by Musleah in “The Arts: Multimedia Ghosts.”

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The long history of displacement of the Jewish people is ubiquitous in Kupferminc’s art: starting with biblical references to exile from paradise in Out of Eden, and the end of linguistic unity in After Babel, followed by allusions to exile in the images of ghosts walking with uprooted trees in On the Way, or on top of a boat in The Journey. This theme is also present in Ghosts at the Lodz Ghetto (in Daniel Kufperminc’s memory) which portrays pain and loss during the Holocaust. Travel Fantasies I and II offer some hope for these wandering souls who appear holding ladders, to climb or to build. These ladders reveal purpose in the journey of a people in search of a home, before the establishment of the state of Israel. They also recall the ladders discussed in Xul Solar’s work in the previous chapter, a reference to spiritual assent that people experience in the act of prayer (see figures 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 and 20). Moreover, Kupferminc’s wandering souls bring to mind the Christian myth of the wandering Jew.80 There have been numerous studies on the development of this myth through the ages, both in Eastern and Western cultures. In most cases, the punishment of perpetual wandering is received for having offended a deity through an act of arrogance. The most common version in Christian mythology entails a shoemaker from Jerusalem who did not allow Christ to rest in front of his shop, and is therefore punished by Jesus to walk upon the earth until Jesus’s return on Judgment Day. The legend carries a moral teaching: it inculcates the power of His word, but it also stands as revenge against Jews accused of the killing of Christ, a belief propagated by the Church to justify antiSemitism. During the legend’s long journey, the Eternal Wanderer goes from being used to propagate anti-Semitism, to being devoid of any connection to the Jews. He also has been a symbol of the endurance of the Jews,81 and a redeeming figure for marginal people.82

80 Some of the most recognized and complete studies on this myth are: George K. Anderson, The Legend of the Wandering Jew (Providence: Brown University Press, 1965); Galit HasanRokem and Alan Dundes, The Wandering Jew: Essays in the Interpretation of a Christian Legend (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986); and Edgar Knecht, Le mythe du Juif errant (Nancy: Presses Universitaires de Grenoble, 1977). 81 George K Anderson. The Legend of the Wandering Jew (Providence: Brown University Press, 1965), 10; and Edgar Kneck. Le mythe du Juif errant (Nancy: Presses Universitaires de Grenoble, 1977), 320. 82 Some Latin American writers “have rescued the image of the ‘Wandering Jew’ as an embodiment of resistance and as witness to survival.” Sosnowski relates Jacobo Lerner’s failure to belong and his incapacity to attain dignity with the motif of the Wandering Jew. Saul Sosnowski, “Latin American Writers: A Bridge toward History,” Prooftexts 4, no 1 (1984): 71–92. But in the case of Jacobo Lerner, his wandering and his spirit possession are clear cases of punishment.

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Figure 15. Mirta Kupferminc, “Out of Eden,” 2002, aquatint etching, 70.87 x 35.43 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://www.mirtakupferminc.net/en/obra/ pilgrimages/#&gid=1&pid=11.

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Figure 16. Mirta Kupferminc, “After Babel,” 2000, aquatint etching, 47.2 x 35.4 in.

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Figure 17. Mirta Kupferminc, “On the Way,” 2001, etching, 16x 25 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://cdn.jwa.org/sites/default/files/mediaobjects/ Kupferminc_-_EN_CAMINO-_ON_THE_WAY-_2001%20%281%29.jpg.

Figure 18. Mirta Kupferminc, “Ghosts at the Lodz Ghetto, (in Daniel Kufperminc’s memory),” 2000, etching, 23.62 x 35.43 in., accessed March 30, 2022, http:// perspectives.ajsnet.org/migration-issue/migrating-memory-art-and-politics/.

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Figure 19. Mirta Kupferminc, “Travel Fantasies I,” 1999, etching, 31.5 x 23.6 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://www.mirtakupferminc.net/en/obra/ pilgrimages/#&gid=1&pid=1.

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Figure 20. Mirta Kupferminc, “Travel Fantasies II,” 1999, etching, 31.5 x 23.6 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://www.mirtakupferminc.net/en/obra/ pilgrimages/#&gid=1&pid=2.

In addition to the Jewish history of displacement and exile and the myth of the wandering Jew, Kupferminc’s etchings mirror the vast presence of spirits of the dead that has persisted in Jewish culture (Hasidic, folkloric) until today. Similar

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to the ghosts that appear in Goldemberg’s poems, it is hard to interpret these wandering souls as benign, neutral, or malignant because they are portrayed in transition, which could also signify in the process of transforming. Some of Kufperminc’s etchings can be read as visual renderings of Goldemberg’s poems. For example, in his recent poem titled “Casas,” he writes: Silba la luz detrás de la vigilia y su silbido se refracta en los espejos83 que sueñan al soñador soñando perdido en imágenes futuras, yendo y viniendo sin encontrar la casa de su errancia, y no se percata de que la lleva a cuestas.84 In Jewish tales it is typical for spirits to appear when a person is dreaming. In this case it is the dreamer that wanders in search of his home, without realizing that he is carrying it. This is an image that appears in several of Kupferminc’s etchings, including On the Way and The Journey.

83 The reference to the mirrors resonates with Kupferminc’s representations of Borges’ infinity trope. 84 The light whistles behind the wakefulness and its whistling refracts inside the mirrors that dream the dreamer lost in his dream in future images, coming and going without finding his wandering house, and without realizing he is carrying it on his back. Isaac Goldemberg, Sueño del Insomnio, trans. Sasha Reiter (New York: Nueva York Poetry Press, 2021), 97.

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Figure 21. Mirta Kupferminc, “The Journey,” 2018, etching-inkjet print, 11,8 x 19 in., accessed March 30, 2022, https://www.mirtakupferminc.net/en/obra/migrantsand-exile/#&gid=1&pid=2.

These written and carved images are haunting. They convey a strong sense of loss, but their movement also hints at possibilities. In an article about the exhibit, Rahel Musleah describes them in an optimistic light as “a spectral lineage of a family tree spreading anew.”85 This idea is also expressed with regard to the spirits of the dead that linger in houses in Goldemberg’s poems, where the poetic subject often wishes to reconnect with lost family members, longing for family harmony in the home and for a continuation of their genealogy. But this is also where Goldemberg and Kupferminc differ. While in the selection of Goldemberg’s poems discussed in this chapter the spirits of the dead seek a resolution of their wandering, Kupferminc’s figures never stop moving; they don’t grow roots. Hirsch and Spitzer say that sometimes “the tree branches merge into their heads, the roots wrapping around their legs and arms. But mostly they are not so encumbered by their load and by their wanderings”. Maybe this is because they hint at another form of wandering that Jews have also experienced throughout history: the chosen uprootedness that entails seeking new destinies, including choosing Diaspora, which is how I interpret Kupferminc’s etchings Travel Fantasies I and II. Finally, this kind of wandering

85 Musleah, “The Arts: Multimedia Ghosts.”

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can also be interpreted as a metaphor for the always evolving field of textual interpretation that informs Jewish Mysticism—a kind of wandering that is fueled by a tradition that never stops wandering through infinite layers of textual interpretation. It is a gift that the Jewish mystical tradition has given to the Latin American literary and artistic canon.

Concluding Remarks

The purpose of this book has been to share what I have learned by following mystical themes as they shine through contemporary Latin American literature and art. Throughout the book, I rely on multiple disciplines (literary criticism, film, history, art criticism, Jewish Studies, contemporary Kabbalah scholarship, etc) to discuss the different levels of engagement these secular authors’ and artists’ have with central themes from Jewish Mysticism. The predominant themes in their work include representations of the Tree of Life, the relationship between human beings and nature as part of Creation, seeking union with the Divine, angelology, genealogies, transmigration of souls, and Tikkun Olam. I also discussed creative applications of the hermeneutic reading method of Gematria that these authors use to explore these themes. I chose authors of Latin American origin, most of whom live abroad, who have published literature in Spanish since the 1960s inspired by these topics. Their transnational life experiences are not a central focus here, but they play a role in the tendency these authors share to connect the dots between different cultural expressions. Xul Solar and Mirta Kupferminc contribute a visual perspective to esoteric aspects of Jewish culture (i.e. ladders, wandering souls). This book centers on what their treatment of Jewish mystical themes reveals about their respective creative processes. Their artistic interventions offer a fascinating new dimension to the cultural production of Latin America. They are also testament to how much the field has grown since Borges entered the Kabbalah garden. But more work needs to be done in this area. There are other Latin American authors and artists mentioned in the introduction that deserve further attention. It might also prove fruitful to look into how these cultural products relate to literature and art inspired by Jewish Mysticism produced in the US and Israel. Finally, the works by the authors and artists featured in this book reflect the central place that intertextual dialogue has in Jewish mysticism. This is true for the multiple genres and time periods in the history of this long tradition. It is also true for Latin American literature and art. Intertextual dialogue is at the core of Jewish and Latin American cultural production. Finding my way through its infinite library has been the central inspiration behind this project, and I hope a point of departure for many more to come.

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Index

Abrams, Daniel, 10, 15, 55, 67–68 Asse Chayo, Jenny, 8 angels in Art, 78–89 in Judaism, 6, 93–94 angelology, 12, 78, 80, 155 art Latin American. See Latin American art European, 19 astrology, 84, 128 Kabbalah and, 59, 104, 108 Baal Shem Tov, 11, 27, 32, 34, 91, 99 Barnatán, Marcos Ricardo, 2n3, 7, 135 Borges, José Luis, 1, 3–7, 9, 13, 59, 84, 104–7, 110, 112, 114–15, 117, 128, 134, 145, 152n83, 156 contact-zone. See Pratt, Mary Louise Creation, 31n53, 55–56, 58, 65–66, 78, 94, 98–99, 101–4, 107, 110, 112, 120, 127, 130, 135, 155 Creator, 19, 51, 55, 66, 98, 112, 122 environmentalism and, 100 death and illness creativity and, 71–78 union with the Divine and, 77 after, 34, 76–77, 141–42 Devekut, 5, 45–47 eros and, 47 trance and, 46 daily life and, 45 dybbuks, gilgul, ibbur, 1, 7, 26n38, 31–32, 34–35, 50, 125, 131, 134, 142 ecstasy, 46, 49–50, 53 religious, 12 mystical, 92 Elior, Rachel, 10–11, 28, 34, 78 environment, 65, 70, 91, 94, 97, 99–101, 103–4, 122. See also nature environmental crisis, 100–101, 103

Eros, 1, 5, 46–47, 49–50, 91 exegesis, 1, 6, 91, 101, 104, 118–120, 122 exoticism, 24 exorcism, 5, 32, 34–36, 133–34, 144 family tree, viii, 5, 7, 18n6, 37–42, 134–35, 138–41, 144, 153. See also genealogies García Abbas, Juana, 7, 90–91, 104, 115 Gematria, 6–7, 94, 96, 101, 117–123, 125, 127–129. See also numerology genealogies, 5, 7, 38, 42, 47, 105, 134–36, 141, 155. See also family tree, houses Gender and the Divine, 57, 66–68. See also Jewish Feminism, Shekhinah God, 3, 10–12, 14–15, 19, 21, 27–30, 39, 44–46, 49, 55–57, 65–69, 74–80, 98–99, 103–4, 106, 108–109, 111–12, 114, 120–21, 127–29, 134–35, 143–44. See also Creation Golem, 3, 7–8, 13, 26 Goldemberg, Isaac, 1–2, 6–7, 13, 70, 123–44 Gnosticism, 54 Green, Arthur, 3, 14, 46–47, 54, 56, 65–68, 101, 116 Hasidism, 1, 10–14, 22, 27–28, 34, 36, 56, 77, 91–92, 109 Hebrew Alphabet, 6, 8, 11, 15, 18, 27–28, 30–32, 36, 49, 53, 69, 90–91, 95–96, 98, 100–102, 106–8, 117–22, 127, 135, 143 hermeneutics, 47. See also Gematria Holocaust, 38, 107, 125. See also Shoah home, houses, 73, 84, 120, 132, 134–39, 141, 145–46, 152–53. See also family tree, genealogies Huss, Boaz, 12–14, 77 Idel, Moshe, 13–14, 46–47, 109 illness and death, 72 infinite, the, 30, 104–8, 115, 120n127. See also Labyrinth

170

Index

Jews, 3, 10, 13–14, 18, 26, 31–32, 34–36, 38, 40, 42, 45–46, 52–53, 76, 78, 80, 91, 102, 109, 114, 124, 126, 130, 132, 135, 138, 141–42, 144 in Latin America, 10, 52 as foreigners, 14, 35, 52, 141 Jewish tradition, 1–15, 17–18, 20–24, 26, 28–35, 37–40, 42–44, 46–47, 51–56, 58–59, 65–69, 71, 74, 76–80, 84, 88–92, 99, 102–4, 106–9, 112, 121–30, 132–36, 141–44 history, 22, 38 feminism, 79 folklore, 136 literature, 46, 79, 102, 121, 129 Jodorowsky, Alejandro, 1–2, 5, 9, 17–47, 49–51, 65, 70, 127, 129, 138 comics, 21 film, 25, 41–45 literature, 26, 32, 36, 40, 46–47 performance, 19 psychomagic, 35, 39 Kalina, Rosita, 7 Klee, Paul, 2, 71–74, 76, 78, 80–85, 87, 89 and Angelus Novus, 80–85, 87, 89 Kabbalah, 1–5, 7–8, 10–14, 22, 26–30, 32, 34–37, 46–47, 50, 52–56, 59, 66–68, 70, 76, 78, 84–85, 89–96, 99, 102–110, 112, 114–18, 120–22, 127–28, 130, 135, 143, 155 exegesis, 1, 6, 91, 104, 118, 120, 122 history, 10, 12, 55, 90, 134, 155 Kupferminc, Mirta, 1–2, 4, 6–7, 70, 104–5, 112–15, 142 Labyrinths, 104–6, 115 and Borges, 104–6, 115 and Mario Satz, 104, 115 and Xul Solar, 104 and Mirta Kupferminc, 104 and the infinite, 104–6 and stairs and ladders, 110–111 Latin American art, vii, 2, 5, 21, 59, 78, 115, 144, 154–56 culture, 9, 125, 133n27 film, 1, 5, literature, vii, 1–2, 5, 7, 9, 21, 54, 78, 115, 124–25, 144, 154–56 poetry, 8, 20, 42, 90, 127–29, 134–36, 138 Liebes, Yehuda, 14, 46–47, 49 Literary canon Argentine, 9 Latin American, 9

European, 9 Jewish, 79–80 Luria, Isaac, 10, 35, 103, 142, 144 Lurianic Kabbalah, 102–3 Magic, Superstition and Kabbalah, 3, 5, 29, 41, 50, 95, 108–9, 127, 142–43. See also Joshua Trachtenberg Mitnagdim, 11, 26–27 mitzvah, 38, 42, 138 Muñiz-Huberman, Angelina, 1–2, 6, 8, 12–13, 46, 51–59, 61, 65–85, 87, 89, 92–95, 108, 127 Mysticism, 32–34, 46–47, 71, 74, 77–79, 85, 107, 112, 134, 141–43 Jewish, 1–15, 21–24, 26, 28–30, 37, 43, 51–54, 65–68, 74, 89–92, 123, 125–26, 129, 141–42, 154–56 Christian, 53, 92 Muslim (Sufism), 90 and Nature, 104 nature, 25n35, 54–56, 70, 91, 94, 97–104, 122, 155. See also environment and Judaism, 6, 65–68, 94, 104 and anthropocentrism, 56 numerology, 117, 127. See also Gematria Orientalism, 23, 25, 47 Orthodox, 2, 11, 32, 38, 55, 142 Paradise, Eden, 56, 59, 82, 99–101, 110, 146 poetry, 7, 42, 52, 71, 90, 102, 127–29, 134–36, 138, 140–41, 145 Latin American. See Latin American poetry Pratt, Mary Louise, 23 psychomagic, 5, 18, 20, 37–42 Satz, Mario, 1–2, 6, 9, 13, 15, 56, 58, 70, 88–109, 111–13, 115–23, 127, 129, 135 Schochet, Jacob Immanuel, 13, 66, 103 Scholem, Gershom, 2–3, 5, 7, 10–14, 30, 32, 35–36, 44–46, 57, 67–69, 77–78, 80, 82–83, 92, 95–96, 102–4, 109 Seidenberg, David Mevorach, 55–56, 65, 98–99, 103–4 Seligson, Esther, 7–8, 79 Sephirot, 3, 29, 56–59, 64, 66, 89, 95, 108, 112, 118, 130, 135. See also Tree of Life Shekhinah, 6, 29, 46–47, 56–57, 66–70, 76, 116–17 Shoah, 135, 141. See also Holocaust

Index

Sosnowski, Saúl, 146n82 and Borges, 4–5, 105, 112 and Mirta Kupferminc, 112 souls, 133 and dybbuks, 1, 131 and ghosts, 134–35 and wandering, 134–37, 141–46, 152 and spirits of the dead, 34, 144 and transmigration, 1, 3, 5, 7, 34, 37, 131, 142–44, 155 and spirits possession, 32, 35n69 and the in-between world, 130–31 Steinsaltz, R. Adin, 13, 38, 45–46, 77, 79, 89, 143 Surrealism, 18–19, 51 Talmud, 11, 26–27, 31, 40, 102, 109 Tikkun Olam, 1, 6, 90–91, 93–95, 97, 99, 101–5, 107, 109, 111, 113, 115, 117–23 Tirosh-Samuelson, Hava, 55, 67–68, 108 Trachtenberg, Joshua, 5, 109, 143. See also Magic, Superstition and Kabbalah

trance, 5, 27–29, 33, 43–44, 46–47, 49–51, 127. See also Devekut Tree of Life, 6, 29, 56–59, 64, 66, 84, 91, 94–96, 99, 104, 107–8, 130, 135, 155. See also Sephirot and Tree of Knowledge, 56–59 and Tree of Death, 57 tzaddik, 77, 99, 142 Urban centers (cities), 25n36, 115–17 wandering Jew, 138, 146, 151 Wolfson, Elliot, 4–5, 14, 47, 67 Xul Solar, 1–2, 6–8, 59–60, 70, 84–89, 104, 107–8, 110–12, 114–15 and Borges, 59, 107, 110 Yiddish (Idish), 32, 124, 126, 143 Zohar, 7–8, 10, 22, 31, 46–47, 53–54, 57, 66, 69–70, 75–77, 102–3, 112, 118–19

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