Accordingly, I have been struck over the years how Elliot Wolfson’s corpus reflects, in an almost occult manner, my own thought and writing. I am not exaggerating. There is something uncanny about this man’s words, something that finally escapes and overflows reason, something that makes me believe in a kabbalah—that is, a received tradition, not of a purely Jewish wisdom, mind you, although that is part of it too, but of our own modern and now postmodern comparative gnosis embedded in the comparative study of religion. Hence, also, Wolfson’s insistence that it is entirely traditional to
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