April 1500
Almost seven years after the Cal de Seville had settled in Constantinople. The Jews of Turkey were still a dissimilar community. Spread throughout the Ottoman Empire, separate congregations of Romaniotes, Sephardim and a small number of Ashkenazim, functioned within their own domain. Each with its own rabbi, rituals, schools, cemeteries, courts and tax assessors.
Even with all of its diversity, Jewish self-government functioned very well. And at all times enjoyed approval of the Turkish Sultanate. Although separated from the Muslim majority, the role of Sephardic Jews, in Ottoman medicine, the arts, and printing, grew at an astonishing rate.
With the help of the Soncinos, the Halavis were printing many books in Spanish, Portuguese, and Hebrew. The printing of Turkish materials was limited, since the use of Arabic script was forbidden to non-Muslims.
The Ottoman Empire under Sultan Bayezid provided for the Jews of España, sanctuary, and economic vitality. Allowing 180
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Jewish enclaves within the empire to become the center of Jewish scholarship for most of the sixteenth century. The Sephardim would never forget all that the Sultans had done for them, not even in the distant future, when they would have to face a harsher realty.
Benjamin Ben-Halavi gently kissed his sleeping wife Regina, and hugged his newborn daughter to him. Thank God, he thought, this birth was easier for Regina than her first, three years ago, when their son Isaac was born. Benjamin’s concerns then for Regina had caused him much suffering. He recalled his father teasing him about worrying so much, but David did not hide his own concerns very well.
Holding his second child in his arms, he felt an immense happiness. Memories of his father and family overwhelmed him. Isaac’s Brit Mila, how proud and happy his father was . Life was continuing, the pain of past events almost forgotten. Only the sadness of Joshua—there had been no word of him for almost eight years—marred the small amount of happiness the family had managed. Then, too soon, David Ben-Halavi was gone, passing away peacefully with his family around him, his sorrows and worries left behind. His father’s loss devastated Benjamin, but with Regina’s help, along with the birth of his second child, he was beginning to overcome the deep sadness that had engulfed him.
His contemplation was interrupted by Mrs. Bejar’s voice and that of the midwife, Clara Zacut, as they discussed last night’s birth of the second Halavi child.
“Dime, Clara— tell me, Clara, the birth went well. Regina will be able to care for the baby tomorrow?”
“Se querer el Dio— God willing yes, Rebbeca. Regina is a healthy girl, the baby is fine, y toda esta bueno— everything is good. Although someone will have to help with Isaac.”
“Did you hear, Benjamin, everything is good, the baby, Regina. I will take Isaac with me when he gets up. Let Regina rest today. Y usted, como esta— and how are you, Benjamin?”
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“I am fine, Señora Bejar,” Benjamin answered, as he handed the baby to her.
“Many thanks to you and Señora Zucut, for all your help.”
“De nada— you’re welcome, Benjamin,” Señora Zacut answered, “I will return tomorrow, to see that everything is well.”
“Adios, Clara,” Señora Bejar called to her, as she gently rocked the baby.
“She is beautiful, Benjamin. She looks just like her nona—her grandmother. In seven days you will name her…Rachel, si?”
“No, she will be named Rebecca in honor of Regina’s mother .
If we have another girl , se querer el Dio, she will be named for my mother Rachel,” Benjamin answered.
Stirring from her deep restful sleep, Regina slowly awoke, calling softly to Benjamin, “Benjamin, where is my daughter?
Bring her to me. And where is Isaac?”
Answering Regina, Señora Bejar quickly placed the baby in her arms. “Isaac is asleep, I will take him with me when he wakes, today you rest.”
“Thank you so much, Señora Bejar. I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”
“It is nothing, Regina, feed your baby now. I will make something for you to eat.”
As soon as Señora Bejar left, Benjamin knelt beside his wife hugged and warmly kissed her, as well as his new daughter.
“You have made me very happy, Regina. The baby is well and healthy, how do you feel?”
“I am fine, Benjamin. Now I must feed my Rebecca.”
As Regina adjusted her position to begin feeding, little Isaac, yawning and tired, rushed to her side, hugged her, and his father exclaiming, “I have a new sister just like you promised, Papa, and Papu—Grandfather, is happy also.”
* * *
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Nissim Behar, dressing quietly, glanced at the sleeping young woman. Beautiful and Turkish; a rayah made the sex so much more exciting. How I wish I could stay, Nissim thought.
Overlooking completely the danger of his actions, if revealed to the authorities. A dhimmis having carnal knowledge of a Turkish rayah, could mean death to both of them. But the more dangerous a love, the more exciting it seemed to him.
As if reading his mind the form on the bed shook the coverlet off, raised her head and spoke. “Nissim, if you leave me without saying goodbye, like you usually do, I will never see you again, and I mean it this time.”
“Afet, my woman of bewitching beauty. That would truly break my heart.”
“Then come and kiss me goodbye in a proper manner. So that I will know that you truly care.”
Leaping to her side, Nissim took her in his arms and smothered her with kisses. Feeling again the lustful urges in his loins. Laughing, Afet tried to push him away. “No, no, Nissim my Jewish God of love, you must go. And I must be at the palace in a short while.”
Nissim stopped, took her face in his hands, and looked into her eyes.
“When will I see you again, it must be soon.”
“I don’t know. You know how hard it is for me to prepare for these visits.”
“Promise me it won’t be too long.”
“I cannot promise you anything, Nissim. I am just a poor harem girl, my life is not my own.”
“Well you are not gedik—a girl in the Sultan’s eye. A favorite of the Sultan.”
“Nor will I ever be.”
Taking her in his arms, Nissim kissed her fiercely, released her and softly replied, “I will always be here for you, Afet…”
Hesitating, he almost revealed his true feelings. “But … now I have important business I must attend to.”
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Blowing kisses as he left, Nissim started out to his favorite coffeehouse, and his morning appointment.
As she dressed, Afet thought, Why do I continue to see him? It is an impossible situation. He can never make me his wife. I will never be anything but a serving maid, to the Valide Sultan—the Sultan’s mother.
As a beautiful young girl, Afet at the age of ten, caught the eye of one of the Sultan’s Vizier. Her family, poor and uneducated, willingly accepted the Vizier’s offer. Afet entered the Sultan’s harem, was taken to the Topkapi Saray, the Sultan’s palace. There she was thrust into a layered harem life. Unable to cope with harem politics, Afet with all her beauty, could not rise above servant girl status.
Spending seven years of pure misery, in her lowly status, it wasn’t until that fateful night one year ago, that she first became aware of Nissim Behar.
Helping as a serving maid at a state affair, Afet approached Nissim. As he reached for the glass of raki on her tray, their hands inadvertently touched. Looking into each other’s eyes, their hands still touching, sent a rush of emotions racing through both of them.
The very next day, Afet, leaving the palace on the pretext of having to shop for the special figs and dates the Valide Sultan craved, secretly met Nissim that afternoon, in a small room above a coffeehouse, whose trusted owner Nissim knew well.
The passions aroused at the initial, and subsequent encounters, brought immense pleasure and joy to both. Feelings which grew stronger each time they were able to meet.
As the relationship grew, so did Afet’s hopes that Nissim would eventually marry her. She thought Nissim’s influence at the court, and with the Grand Vizier, would resolve the problem of Turk marrying Jew.
Although mention of marriage to Nissim caused a stony silence on his part, and feelings of frustration for her.
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Quickly finishing dressing, Afet forced herself back to the present and the need to concentrate on her excuse for initially leaving the palace. Finding the shortest route back to the palace would be a problem. Today, being market day, she would have to hurry in order to return in time to perform her serving duties.
* * *
The air, cool and invigorating, cleared Nissim’s head. As he walked to the coffeehouse thinking he’d had a little too much raki last night. It was his way of hiding his true feelings for Afet; he loved her, and that was a problem. A problem he did not have time for now. The meeting with the Armenian spice merchant was very important. The means for shipping the cinnamon to Venice was due to arrive within days. Successful conclusion of the trade would mean a handsome profit for Behar & Co.Reaching the coffeehouse, Nissim looked about for Mustufa Hassim, the spice merchant. Not seeing him, he entered the coffeehouse. Greeted by a waiter, he was shown to his usual cushion and table.
While waiting, Nissim decided to order coffee and Mustufa’s favorite, Kadayif Dolmasi, a shredded baked pastry, filled with nuts and honey. Nissim looked about the coffeehouse, cushions and low tables filled every nook and corner. Almost all were filled at this time of day. Not seeing anyone familiar he slowly sipped his coffee.
As he waited, Nissim reviewed the best ways to bring the cinnamon arrangement to a profitable conclusion. The warehouse where the spice had been stored was some five leagues from where the galley was to dock. Additional transportation costs would have to be incurred. Unless…
The scent of Afet’s perfume still lingering with him, forced his thoughts back to her. What can I do? I love her. But if I take her as a wife, my family would disown me. The Turks and Christians I do 185
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business with would no longer trust me. Mashallah, there is no solution. I must stop seeing her!
Thoughts of his family brought to Nissim’s mind stories his father, so many years ago, had related to him.
After being conquered by Muhammad II in 1456, by the reigning Sultan’s father, Constantinople, was a devastated, desolated skeleton of a city. The population decimated by siege, and hunger.
Not wanting to allow the defeated Christians to regain their former power, Muhammad II issued a decree of Surgun. Which forcibly relocated to Constantinople, the Romanoit Jews located in other parts of the empire. Traumatic as the decree was, it was eased by the Sultan’s assurance of security, to those being relocated.
Successful merchants and moneylenders, the Behars were forced to leave their business, and their comfortable home in Monastir, to make new lives for themselves in Constantinople.
Tales of his grandfather’s and uncles’ painful struggle to rebuild the success they had previously achieved were many.
Unwavering in their faith, in themselves, their abilities, and their religion, they became more successful than they ever could have imagined.
Now the Porte itself and all the prestige and influence it provided was accessible to the Behar family. But what good does it do me?
“Nissim, Nissim.”
The soft voice of Mustufa Hassim roused Nissim from his deep thoughts. Standing before him was a short rotund man wearing the dark blue hat of an Armenian Christian.
“Ah, Mustufa, forgive me. I did not hear or see you,” Nissim said. Rising from his cushion, he greeted Mustufa in a proper Muslim way, hugging him and kissing both of his cheeks.
“Do not concern yourself, Nissim. Deep thinking is good for the soul. But such deep thinking could only mean a woman!”
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Was it so obvious? Nissim thought. And quickly changed the subject.
“So, Mustufa, when exactly will the galley arrive and begin loading the cinnamon?”
“In one week, it will have to be loaded within five days, in order for it to set sail for Venice. There it will unload the cinnamon and take on the European cloth.”
They momentarily stopped their discussion as the waiter served the Kadayif Dolmasi and more coffee. Both men broke off pieces of the sweet Turkish pastry and began eating with great enjoyment. Business talk would not resume until both had finished, since Turkish hospitality frowned upon it. As they ate they spoke of the weather. The health of their families. The latest gossip of the Grand Vizier, and other mundane small talk.
After eating, they cleaned the sticky honey residue from their fingers with a scented moist cloth. And renewed their business talk.
“Everything is in order, Nissim. The only problem—which can be solved very quickly—is that of hiring a pilot for the return trip. Since the pilot going to Venice has decided not to return.”
Nissim, deep in thought, did not immediately answer. He simply stared at Mustufa, finally answering, “Then all the bills of lading are in order, the permits cleared, and taxes paid?”
Mustufa smiled at Nissim, shook his head slowly, and replied, “Nissim, you are not listening to me. Your mind is elsewhere.”
Nissim forced himself to concentrate. But his mind kept returning to Afet. He had known Mustufa for a long time, and considered him a friend. Briefly thought about telling him of Afet, but quickly changed his mind. Shaking his head, he quickly replied, “The problem of the pilot can be resolved easily enough, Mustufa.”
“Ah, welcome back, Nissim, I hope whatever is troubling you will be clarified by the time the galley arrives.”
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“You can be sure of it, Mustufa.”
Finishing their business, they left the coffeehouse. Agreeing to meet again in two days, before the galley carrying the cinnamon was to arrive.
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