This man Rodinsky his neshamma [spirit] is connected to yours you must continue

This man, Rodinsky, his neshamma [spirit] is connected to yours; you must continue your search, it is this search that will lead you to the right path." His last words had made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. You are connected to the olam ha sod, the secrets of the earth, you are the one that peels back the layers of the earth, like an onion, to find the meaning. You are always searching for disappearing things; most of the time you do not find them, sometimes you do. "You are in some ways fragile, but have a strong nefesh [soul] and a thirst to discover the depth in things. Slowly, in disjointed English and carefully chosen words, he began to speak "You need to spend time in nature alone." Long pause. He stayed in this position for a long time.Finally he opened his eyes, threw down his hands on the table and looked straight at me.

After about 10 minutes he stopped, looked at me, took a deep breath, and then closed his eyes while resting his hands together as if in prayer. The rabbi wrote down this information then began to make as strange chart in pencil on a large piece of paper in front of him. Didn't he know already? I asked him my question, explaining nothing of my background or who Rodinsky was: should I come back to study in Israel, or stay in England? The only piece of information I added, when asked, was the date of my birth and the date of Rodinsky's death. He sat back in his chair, sighed deeply, and asked why I had come.

The rabbi was an impressive sight, wearing a glamorous purple silk robe, majestically set off by a long dark beard. The walls were lined with books and a few framed images of strange geometric patterns. But after Rodinsky I was very unclear about which country I wanted to live in and what path to take next.The rabbi's room was claustrophobically small and most of the space was taken up by a large table, behind which the rabbi sat. I had intended to be in London for a couple of months and then return to Israel. I had spent an eventful year in the country, leaving reluctantly for England to see my family, to exhibit some sculpture at an exhibition and to perform in the Slaughterhouse art show. The last time I had been in Jerusalem was only a few months previously.

She suggested arriving early.Jeremy had told me to think of a question to ask the rabbi, as this was the standard format for someone visiting a cabbalist My question was clear My return to Israel had been more than just a holiday. I could come and wait, and if I was lucky I would receive an audience. I was told the rabbi had an open-door policy between four and seven on Sundays. Jeremy gave me his details and I telephoned the following day A young female voice answered. When I told Jeremy about the date of Rodinsky's death and my birth he became increasingly excited and suggested I visit a rabbi he knew of in Jerusalem who specialised in the study of cabbala.I was too curious not to pay the rabbi a visit. He sat me down, serving me cups of strong Turkish coffee and asking many questions. Liz had told him about the Rodinsky research I was conducting, and he was curious to know more.

As soon as I met Jeremy and heard his clearly recognisable north London accent, we began to fire names at each other The London Jewish community is not so large. Liz was employed as a model-maker for an animation company in Tel Aviv, and she'd asked to meet me direct from work as she wanted to introduce me to her British boss. Dates of birth and death have great significance in cabbalistic thought, and I made a mental note to explore this during my forthcoming trip to Israel.The following week, on arrival at Ben-Gurion airport, I took the number five bus to visit my friend Liz. Not only did David Rodinsky die in the year of my birth, but he died a matter of days before I'd been born.