Work Text:
“The fixing of Neshama are reincarnation (gilgul) and intercalation (yibur). How so? The work of the Neshamah is 613 mitzvot, their completion leads to the resting of the soul, and if not, she comes back and is reincarnated, and she does not reincarnate whole, just the parts that need fixing.” (Assarah Perakim L’Ramchal 10:2)
—
Caleb didn’t know much of Kabbalah. It’s not easy to learn the mystic practices of a forbidden religion, even one that is part of your own culture. He remembers his mother was interested in it, did her best to find resources about it even in the heart of the empire.
Helped that most of Blumenthal was Yidden, truth be told. The rebbe had some knowledge that he could impart in secret.
He remembered the stories she told him as a child, of the soul and the cycle of rebirth posited by some of the sages. The uncertainty of the afterlife juxtaposed with the need to fix the current world—to gather the parts of the divine together and to take care of creation as Hashem desired. Even if that may cost many lifetimes.
As Bren, he’d never given much thought to reincarnation. He was more interested in his arcane studies, not so much in religion. He also understood the dangers of studying his religion while at the Academy.
Xhorhas brought those curiosities to the forefront of his mind.
—
Essek raised an eyebrow at the books Caleb laid down on the table. Not because of the titles—he could not read the titles—but purely because they did not seem to be in any language he even recognized.
“What language is this in?” he asked, reaching out towards one of the books, only picking it up once it was clear that Caleb wasn’t going to stop him.
Caleb only paused briefly before answering. “It is Yiddish.”
Essek looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve not heard of this language.”
To his surprise, Caleb just chuckled. “You probably wouldn’t have, schatz. Not many people have.”
“Can I ask what it is? Who speaks it?”
Caleb sat down next to Essek, pulling one of the books towards him, gently caressing the cover. “Yiddish was my childhood language. It’s the main language spoken in the town I grew up in, Blumenthal. It’s an offshoot of the language that preceded Zemnian, going back to before the Calamity.” He paused briefly, a thoughtful looking crossing his face. “It’s illegal to speak in the Empire.”
“Illegal?”
“We…my people are a religious minority, of an illegal religion. Only the Yidden speak Yiddish and the Empire doesn’t like that, so we were outlawed. My parents loved the Empire, they taught me to love the Empire, but they loved being Yidden and they imparted that on me as well. We never saw it as a contradiction.”
Essek shifted to face Caleb from the side. He reached out to just run his fingers through Caleb’s hair, worn loose for once. “What are these books about?” he eventually asked.
“Kabbalah, our mystic tradition. My mother was very interested in it, told me a lot of stories about it while I was growing up.” He went quiet for a minute, smiling a little ruefully to himself, but he started talking again. “Specifically I’m looking for the stories about reincarnation.”
“Oh?”
Essek’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion when Caleb turned to look at him.
“We…do not have a specific afterlife tradition,” Caleb said slowly. “There are many ideas about the World to Come, but none are universally accepted. One afterlife idea is reincarnation.”
Essek cocked his head to the side. “I never got the feeling you were one for religion.”
“I’m not. But being Yiddish is more than that, it’s…” He looked frustrated for a moment. “It’s hard to explain. We’re not a religion so much as a people, if that makes sense.”
Essek made a noncommittal noise. “More or less. What do you know of—reincarnation? That’s an idea for your people?”
Caleb smiled, leaning over to kiss the worry lines between Essek’s eyebrows. “This will probably be a long conversation, and I only know, at the moment, what I remember my mother telling me when I was a child.”
“Okay.”
“So…there are six hundred and thirteen mitzvot—commandments—that we are meant to complete. There are some that we can’t; there’s no Temple anymore, and there are some that just don’t get finished in a lifetime. So the idea is that a soul gets reincarnated in order to fulfill unfulfilled mitzvot, but only part of the soul is reincarnated, the part that needs ‘fixing.’”
By the time he was done talking, Essek was leaning towards him. His eyes were narrowed, as he did when he was facing a particularly interesting puzzle. “That’s fascinating, Caleb.”
Caleb just smiled excitedly. “Going to Xhorhas and learning about consecution made me think about it for the first time in years, and now that we have some down time and the world is not burning around us and—well I decided to do some reading and some research.”
“Of course.” Essek sat back in his chair. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Caleb did look genuinely sad to inform Essek that he couldn’t help. “None of these books have been translated into Common, at least none of the ones I was able to find. But I appreciate the offer.”
“Then,” Essek said as he leaned forward to give Caleb a light kiss on the forehead, “I will leave you to your research.”