Solomon Cohen
Description of a Character for a Novel
He lives a quiet life. He wakes at 5:50 in the morning and is at his library desk by 6 am. He stays there until 10 am. His wife and daughters know not to disturb him. He is in correspondence with dozens of the most learned men of his age. He has sent them his books, and they have sent him theirs. A prominent scientist has asked for his help on a matter of saving refugees’ lives. It is the great delight of his life to be in touch with such a man, though none will truly know it until after his death. His death at 55 will come as a great shock to the many who knew him. His study, which is his library, is beautiful to behold. It is the center of his home, which is the center of his life. From that book-bound palace flows all the beauty of his soul. He is the leader of his community. That is how his people choose their leaders. By intellect evinced through words. He believes in the word. In the particular ferocious feeling of the ancient language he holds in his heart. He believes all his people should be fluent in it. He is temperamental, given to moods, both extravagant gestures and overly proud denunciations. His letters are sometimes sent before he has a chance to rethink a hastily written scathing remark. His energy is tremendous. He is a double-barreled man: he is both a great administrator and a great intellect. If any criticism strikes to the heart of his life it is that he has sacrificed some of the pursuits of the latter for the exercise of the former. But he believes in practicality, in the application of ideas to the world. The ivory tower means nothing to him without the people who built it, who support it. That is the purpose of an idea, he believes. To help mankind thrive on this earth. He is a modern man and believes the ancient traditions were ancient man’s way of responding to ancient problems. We must respect the traditions of our forefathers, but we must not follow them blindly. He reserves much of his criticism for those who follow teachings blindly. They hurt their own cause. But he does not expel them from his flock. Many people, many minds. Like his congregation he too is many-minded. His oldest daughter suspects an uncomfortable truth: that her father wishes he had had a son. But he has never said so, has loved his two daughters dearly, though at times it has been difficult for the family. His professional obligations often take him far from home. When they were young he spent two years leading his order’s national organization. It did not go well. The terms were two years long, and the functionaries knew that all they had to do was outlast him. He had no real power, nor the time to amass it, and so could effect no national change. He despises mediocre minds, the men who prioritize their own petty concerns over the concerns of their people. But that is the way of all organizations. He understands this and has taken efforts to combat it in his own congregation. Every visiting scholar is invited to Friday night dinner at his home. They are merry affairs. He holds court in this way and all conversations inexorably lead to his favorite topics: how to ensure the continuity of their people, and the means by which they might heal their divisions.