Imma wraps her arms around me. She lunges up and gives me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss. “Little Yaakov! My defender!”
My brothers crowd around me, pounding my back, shouting a big shout.
Shlomi Dancefeet leaps up and down, clutching at my hand. “Little Yaakov the Brave!” she shouts. “Little Yaakov the Strong!”
The zonah stares on me as I am a mighty warrior.
It takes the fourth part of an hour for the shouting to end.
At last, my brothers step back and Shlomi Dancefeet stops her dancing and Imma releases her iron grip on my waist.
Yeshua nudges his way forward and puts both hands on my shoulders. His eyes are haunted.
I never saw such a lonely man as my brother in this moment.
He leans forward and gives me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss. “HaShem made you for great things.”
I do not know what to say.
I love my brother Yeshua.
I hate my brother Yeshua.
Both at the same time.
Chapter Three
Yeshua of Nazareth
On the day I reached the fourth year of my age, I learned there is a smirch on my name.
It was Shabbat, and my father said I was old enough to go with him and my grandfather to the synagogue.
I thought it would be the best day in my life, to sit with my father, Yoseph the tsaddik, and hear the scriptures read. To say the prayers.
Also, to see my grandfather expound Torah. My father’s father was a mighty man of honor in the village. His name was called Yaakov Mega, and he was president of the synagogue.
I was always a little afraid on Yaakov Mega, for he was a fierce man. He was counted wise by the village, for he could read the law and the prophets. Some said he had learned the whole Torah by heart. He could even write his own name.
Yaakov Mega looked down on me from his great height and said I must not make a disturbance in the synagogue and dishonor our family.
Abba said I would sit quietly and make an honor on our house.
Imma kissed me and told me to act like a man, not to squirm and shout like my baby brother. She went back in the house to feed Little Yaakov.
I took Abba’s hand and my grandfather’s hand, and we walked proud to the village square.
Our synagogue sits just to the east side of the square.
When we went to go in, one man of the village said no.
Yonatan the leather-man stood in the doorway with arms crossed on his chest. He said there was the smirch of the mamzer on my name, so how could I go in the synagogue?
All my heart was in a big confusion. I never heard the word mamzer before.
My father made a big scowl. “What smirch on his name? This is Yeshua, son of Yoseph, son of Yaakov Mega, son of David. He is a good boy and kind. Stand aside and let him enter.”
Yonatan the leather-man made a shrug on his shoulders. “He is a good boy and kind, and all the village loves him. But it is a matter of Torah. Our prophet Moses says no mamzer can enter the assembly, not to the tenth generation.”
I looked on my father and opened my mouth to ask what is a mamzer.
My father said, “He is my son.”
Yonatan the leather-man said, “He was born in the third month after you took your woman into your house. Explain the matter.”
I did not know what Yonatan meant about the third month.
My father’s face turned the color of a brick. “There is no matter to explain. Yeshua is my firstborn son.”
Yonatan the leather-man said, “Swear by The Name that you went into the chamber with your woman before the time and begat the boy.”
“He is my son.”
“Do you say you begat the boy?”
“He is my son.”
“You are a tsaddik, and all the village honors you for it. Do you say your woman enticed you before the time, and you went in the chamber with her, against Torah? You are a righteous man, and I will never believe that is how it befell, unless you swear by The Name.”
My father’s hand was hot in mine, wet with his sweat. He looked down on me with a big sadness in his eyes. “He is my son.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Yonatan the leather-man shook his head. “Yes, he is your son. The customs say he is your son if you claim him for your son. But still there is a smirch. Who begat the boy? Why will you not say? What if he is a mamzer? Then it is a big sin if we let him in the synagogue.”
All the village stood around us with mouths hanging open, staring.
I did not know what was wrong with me. I did not know what is a mamzer. I did not know what is a smirch. All I knew was that I wished to run away fast and hide.
My grandfather stepped close to Yonatan the leather-man and stabbed a finger on his chest. “You are not the father of the father of the boy. I am, and I should decide the matter. The boy is Yeshua, son of Yoseph the tsaddik, son of Yaakov Mega, son of David. He is no mamzer, and he will enter the synagogue. Stand aside.”
Yonatan the leather-man stood firm. “I did not say he is a mamzer. I said there is a doubt on the matter. Let Yoseph the tsaddik swear by The Name that he begat the boy, and that will make an end on the doubt.”
His face became a blur in my eyes.
All the village murmured behind me.
“That is a good boy and kind. He will be like his father, who is a tsaddik.”
“Yes, but would a tsaddik go in the chamber with his woman before the time?”
“He says the boy is his son. Therefore, the woman enticed him. We always knew she was lewd.”
“Yes, but why will he not swear by The Name that he begat the boy?”
Yaakov Mega looked all around the circle of villagers. His face turned fierce and bold. He held up his right hand. A gold ring gleamed on his finger.
A shiver ran around the villagers when they saw the ring.
Yaakov Mega said, “I invoke the Ring of Justice.”
I wanted to ask what is the Ring of Justice. I had seen his ring many times, but I always thought it was just a ring he got from his father.
Yaakov Mega said, “Yonatan, you make an injustice on the boy. Here is my judgment, and it is a righteous justice—that all the village together will decide the matter. All who accept the boy to go in the synagogue, show you accept by going in the synagogue yourself. Stand aside, Yonatan, to let them go in.”
Yonatan the leather-man did not stand aside.
There was a long moment of silence, crackled and frozen as the moment before a lightning.
Shimon the baker stepped forward. “That is a good boy who will grow to be a tsaddik when he is a man. Stand aside for me, Yonatan.”
Yonatan the leather-man stood aside.
Shimon the baker went in the synagogue.
Yoseph the iron-man went in the synagogue.
Hanan the sheep-man went in the synagogue.
Uncle Halfai went in the synagogue.
All the village went in the synagogue.
Last of all, Imma’s father went in the synagogue. He spat the dust at the feet of Yonatan the leather-man when he passed him.
Yonatan the leather-man stood with arms crossed, glaring on me and Abba and Yaakov Mega.
Yaakov Mega raised his eyebrows on Yonatan the leather-man. “The village has spoken with their feet. Will you be the one man alone?”
Yonatan the leather-man made a hard look on Abba. “Why will you not swear by The Name on the matter? Until you confess your sin, that you were enticed by the woman before the time and begat the boy, all our women will give us sideways eyes on the matter.”
My father said, “He is my son. That is the end of the matter.”
Yonatan the leather-man spat the dust. And went in the synagogue.
We went in too, but I do not remember one moment of that first Shabbat in the synagogue.
All I remember is that I felt the Presence of HaShem, the Shekinah, wrapping arms around me, holding me close, making a comfort on me.
But even the Shekina
h could not take away the smirch on my name.
When we left the synagogue and walked home, I did not walk proud. I felt a big hurt in my father’s heart. I felt a big anger hanging over my grandfather.
Imma gave us a great smile when we went in the house, but her smile fell off her face when she saw Yaakov Mega behind me.
I rushed to her and gave her a hug and said she was beautiful. Then I asked, “Imma, what is a mamzer?”
She pulled me onto her lap and held me close and sighed with a big sigh. “A mamzer is a son of adultery.”
I said, “What is adultery?”
All her body turned hard. “It is when some man does a wickedness on another man’s woman.”
I said, “Why did Yonatan the leather-man say I am a mamzer?”
Imma cried.
Abba took me from Imma and held me in his arms. “It is a lie, Yeshua. You are my own son, and no son of adultery.”
I said, “What does it mean to beget a son?”
Imma said nothing.
Abba said nothing.
Yaakov Mega said, “You remember the matter of the goats yesterday?”
I remembered that I saw our goats acting foolishly.
Yaakov Mega said, “That is begetting.”
I did not think that explained what is begetting. I opened my mouth to ask another question.
Yaakov Mega said, “We will not speak on the matter.”
I said, “But—”
Yaakov Mega held up his right hand to show the ring on his finger. “I invoke the Ring of Justice. Here is my—”
I said, “What is the Ring of Justice?”
Abba spoke in a voice hard and tight. “Do not question your grandfather, Yeshua. The man who wears the Ring of Justice has authority from HaShem to make judgment.”
I did not see why I could not even ask a question.
Yaakov Mega said, “Here is my judgment. We will not speak on the matter of begetting. We will not speak on the matter of mamzer. We will not speak on this matter of shame, until forever.”
So we did not speak on the matter ever again.
Ten years after that, Yaakov Mega died, and still we never spoke on the matter.
Another five years, and my father died untimely, and still we never spoke on the matter.
We had many goats, and soon I learned the matter of a goat begetting a kid.
Later, I learned the matter of a man begetting a son.
Later, I learned the matter of a baby born in the third month.
To this day, all the village agrees that Yoseph the tsaddik claimed me for his firstborn son.
In the eyes of the village, I am Yoseph’s son according to our customs.
But in the eyes of the village, there is also a smirch on my name, because they say Yoseph did not beget me. They say Yoseph is not my blood father. They say Yoseph the tsaddik claimed me for his son for a kindness. They say Imma played the zonah with some man of the village, and therefore I am a son of adultery.
A few say that makes me a mamzer.
Most say it does not.
It remains a matter of doubt, for Torah does not explain what is a mamzer. Torah thinks the hearer will know what is a mamzer, and so Torah only forbids the mamzer to go in the assembly, without explaining the matter.
I am permitted to go in the synagogue. That was decided long ago. It may be the village will change its decision someday, but I am no prophet, and I cannot foresee what will befall.
But no man of the village gives me his daughter to marry. It is not for mislike on me. All the village loves me. It is because there is a doubt on the matter of mamzer. There is a smirch on my name, and no man would give his daughter to a man with a smirch, because then his grandchildren would carry the smirch, until forever.
While my father lived, all the village called me son of Yoseph. Afterward, the leather-man began calling me son of Miryam. He means I am son of a zonah. A son of adultery.
As the memory of Yoseph the tsaddik fades, the whispers grow louder.
The smirch on my name is growing.
After we buried my father, I asked Imma once who begat me. Only once.
She would not tell. She commanded never to speak on the matter again.
She said a day would come when HaShem would speak to me and explain the matter.
She said that when HaShem sends me to do a great thing, he will tell me the matter.
All my life, I have known that some man of HaShem foretold I would do a great thing for our people. We do not speak of it openly, but all the family thinks I will redeem Israel. And the sign I am about to redeem Israel is that a prophet will rise in Israel.
Elijah the prophet, who runs before Mashiach.
I do not see how a man with a smirch on his name can redeem Israel. The smirch must be taken away. I think the prophet must help me remove the smirch.
I have a secret I never told Imma, for it would crush her heart.
All my life, I have longed to know my blood father.
I loved Yoseph the tsaddik, who claimed me for his son.
The village says I am son of Yoseph, and this is true, but it is not enough.
I wish to know my blood father.
Yaakov Mega said I am son of David, and this is true, but it is not enough.
I wish to know my blood father.
Yoseph the tsaddik said I am son of Adam, and this is true, but it is not enough.
I wish to know my blood father.
Imma says HaShem loves me like a father, and this is true, for his Presence always surrounds me, but it is not enough. I would do anything to know my blood father.
All the words they say are smoke. I am desperate to know my blood father.
It is a walk of four days from Nazareth to Jericho. I have walked it in three. I am in a fever to see this prophet of HaShem, this Yohanan the immerser.
I will ask him how I am to redeem Israel, for the scriptures do not explain the matter.
Also, I will ask how to remove the smirch on my name, for I do not think I can redeem Israel when there is a smirch on my name.
Also, I will ask who is my blood father, for even if the smirch is removed, the question burns in my heart. Until I know my blood father, I am more lonely than any man ever was, whether I recline at the evening meal with my family or whether I stand with many ten thousand men of Israel in the Temple of the living God.
I wish to know my blood father.
I have begged HaShem all my life to explain the matter to me, but I am no prophet, and I do not hear the voice of HaShem.
I have felt the Presence of HaShem all my life. The Shekinah feels like a fire shining through a blanket. It is good, but it is not enough.
This prophet Yohanan must help me.
I wish to see the naked fire of HaShem.
I wish to hear the word of HaShem.
I wish to know my blood father.
Chapter Four
Yeshua of Nazareth
An hour before the going out of the day, I reach the place where Yohanan the prophet teaches. Many dozen men are going down into the river. Also many dozen women. I heard that men and women immerse here all together, and I wondered how it was done, for it is a big wickedness to expose your nakedness.
Now I see how it is done. They take off only their sandals and belts and go down in the water still wearing their tunics.
The Jordan River is slow as a desert turtle, and murky and green. You can walk in to the depth of your chin. Then you pull up your tunic over your head, and no eye can see your nakedness. You bend your knees and immerse all your body below the surface. After you immerse, you pull your tunic back on over your head and cover your nakedness.
When you come up out of the water, your tunic is clammy and greenish and clings to your body.
The water looks vile.
I do not think I wish to immerse. I came to ask the prophet for a word from HaShem.
I look all around and see a small man standing beside the river. He has stringy muscle
s and uncut hair that hangs below his waist, and he wears the ugliest tunic I ever saw. It is made of the cloth we call saq. I think he made it himself from the hair the camels rub off on the date palm trees in the spring. He looks like I always thought Elijah must look, for Elijah wore a tunic of saq. I think this must be Yohanan the prophet. The Shekinah glows faintly all around him like a pillar of fire. But the fire is masked.
My heart clenches. I need a man with the unmasked fire of HaShem. I walked far to hear a word from HaShem, and if this Yohanan cannot give me a word from HaShem, then I have left Imma crying at home to no gain.
Yohanan scowls on me. “Did you come to immerse? You should repent first of your sins and show works worthy of repentance.”
“I came to hear a word from HaShem.”
“Here is a word from HaShem. He will send a mighty judgment on Israel. Death and destruction and fire at the hand of the Great Satan. You will die in your sins unless you repent. You must repent soon. The ax is already laid at the root of the tree.”
“I wish to know how to redeem Israel.”
“You cannot redeem Israel unless you come from the House of David.”
“I am a son of David.”
Yohanan looks on me with hard eyes. “Even David could not escape the judgment unless he repented, for he had many sins. You should repent your sins and learn the way of zekhut.”
Zekhut means righteousness. Zekhut means to take care of the widow and the orphan and the poor and the stranger and the prisoner and the zonah. I have done zekhut all my life. I look on Yohanan and shrug because I do not know what more zekhut I can do.
Yohanan makes a bigger scowl on me. “What is this shrug you make? If you have two tunics, do you give one to the naked?”
“You say so.”
“If you have bread, do you give half to the hungry?”
“You say so.”
“Have you done zekhut all your life?”
“You say so.”
Yohanan stares on me long, his eyes burning with an angry fire.
I step close to make a beg on him. This is not what I came for, to hear a word from the Accuser. I came to hear a word from HaShem. My heart pounds like a mason’s hammer in my chest. I must have a word from HaShem.
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