But I will also need a wise counselor who has been in the Shekinah, and I think Yoni is wise. I think it, but I do not know it. That is what I wish to learn in this week.
The women bring our food, and we recline on our cloaks and eat.
Andre tells the tale of the prophet Jonah who was eaten by a big fish. He tells the tale as the fish saw the matter, that Jonah had a foul taste, so the fish spit him out on the beach and then complained on the matter to HaShem, and HaShem said the fish had a point. Then Jonah complained that the inside of a fish smells worse than the outside, and HaShem said Jonah had a point. Then Jonah went to Nineveh and told repentance to them, and they repented and complained to HaShem that a prophet should not smell like the inside of a fish, and HaShem said they had a point.
I never heard the tale told with such a big foolishness, and yet I like the tale. Shlomi Dancefeet laughs so hard she falls on her back holding her sides. Imma laughs and laughs. It makes my heart glad to hear Imma laugh.
My brother Yehuda Dreamhead reclines next to Andre. They are both the youngest sons in their families and near in age, and I think they will be friends.
Thin Shimon sits with Yoni. Of all my brothers, Thin Shimon is the smallest. He was born small, for he was in Imma’s belly only seven months. Then Yehuda Dreamhead was born after eleven more months. Imma gave all her sons milk to the age of three, except Thin Shimon, because Yehuda Dreamhead took all his share. He grew up wiry, and so the whole village called him Thin Shimon. They call our cousin Fat Shimon, even though he is not fat.
Of all of my brothers, Thin Shimon is the cleverest. When the men in the village square make a riddle, Thin Shimon knows the answer first, always. When we work in Tsipori and there is a question on how thick to make a wall, or how wide to make window slits, we ask Thin Shimon, and he explains the matter so we all agree he is right. Thin Shimon is the cleverest man in all Nazareth. That is why he sits with Yoni.
As I watch them talk, I think Thin Shimon is not the hundredth part as clever as Yoni. That is not a knock on Thin Shimon, for he is more clever than any man of my village. But in every village of Galilee, I think there is one man as clever as Thin Shimon.
I do not think any village of Galilee has a man as clever as Yoni.
All around us, other groups eat and drink and laugh. Many hundred men are here, and many have women, and some have boys down to the age of ten.
The sun is gone, and the air is pleasant after the heat of the day. The stars wink to life in the black sky, and it is peaceful.
When all have eaten, the tales begin for the night.
A man stands and tells the tale of Father Noah and the big rain. That is a mighty tale of judgment, and when it is done, everyone shouts on him that he told it well.
Another man stands and tells the tale of Gideon, who fought the Midianites and won a mighty victory. That is another tale of judgment.
At the end of this tale, I feel there is a wrong thing here. These tales of judgment are told with wrong hearts that look for vengeance, not justice.
Another man stands and tells the tale of Mordecai and his cousin Esther and how they defeated the evil Haman and hanged him and his ten sons on a mighty gallows.
The night air feels dense and hot, and I find it hard to breathe.
Another man stands and tells the tale of the prophet Daniel, how he broke the law of the Medes and Persians by praying to HaShem, and the king’s evil counselors put him in the den with the lions. The Messenger of HaShem came and shut the lions’ mouths, and Daniel came out alive in the morning, and then the king threw all his counselors in the den with their women and children. When this tale is done, there is a big shout for vengeance on our enemies.
Yohanan the immerser reclines with three of his men listening to the tales. I wish he would say a word on the matter of vengeance, that it is not a thing to rejoice on.
But Yohanan grins on these tales.
All my heart is in a big confusion.
Another man stands and tells the tale of the seven brothers who were killed by the King of the North in the time of the Makkabi heroes. It is a long tale and hard, for the seven brothers were killed only because they loved HaShem and kept Torah and refused to eat the flesh of a pig. By the end of the tale, the air feels like the moment before a lightning.
If I took iron to flint for a spark, all the rage in this place would burn up fast like pitch.
My body is in a big tension. I do not like what I feel, all this rage.
I catch Andre’s eye. “Andre! Tell your tale of the fish!”
Andre makes a grin on me and jumps to his feet and tells the tale of Jonah the prophet and the big fish. He tells it the same as he told us earlier, but the crowd is not in a mood to make a laughter. They are in a mood to make a vengeance on goyim. They do not like this tale of how HaShem sent a man to make goyim repent.
Before Andre is the fourth part of the way through the tale, all the people make a grim silence on him.
He sees it and his face turns red and his knees quiver. He makes a quick work on the rest of the tale and sits down.
Nobody shouts that Andre told the tale well.
All around the camp, men avert their eyes. Some of them roll up in their cloaks and lie down to sleep. Others wander away to the big rock where men go to make a piss.
I make a big grin on Andre. “You told the tale well.”
Andre’s face burns.
Shimon the Rock looks like a man whose ox went in the synagogue and made haryo on the floor and all the people complained on the stink.
Big Yaakov yawns and says it is time to sleep. He stands and shakes out his cloak.
All my brothers do the same.
Shimon the Rock does the same.
Yoni looks as he is thinking hard on the matter.
I do not know what to say. I wish HaShem would show me what to say.
“Andre!” shouts a voice I do not know.
A man walks toward us, smiling, when all around the camp, people look away from us, scowling.
I wonder who is this man.
Andre jumps up and goes to meet the man. “Philip, are you well?”
This man Philip gives Andre a kiss and a kiss and a kiss. “That was a good tale, Andre. You should come tell it in our village square some night.”
I think I like this man Philip.
Shimon the Rock jumps up and goes to meet the man. “Philip, are you well? Is your mother well? I heard you took a woman. Did you bring her here?”
Philip makes a big grin. “I took a woman last spring and already she is with child, so I had to leave her home for Sukkot. My mother and her mother and sister are with her. You would approve on her, Shimon—she is a big-eyes. Are all these your friends from Capernaum?”
Shimon the Rock brings Philip to meet us. “Here is my friend Philip the fish-man from Bethsaida, the village where I was born. We learned to swim together when we were boys. He saved me once from drowning, but I almost got him drowned for a reward.”
Philip grins on us.
Shimon the Rock tells Philip that my brothers and I come from Nazareth and that I am a prophet and a tsaddik.
Philip greets us all with a strong right hand.
Shimon the Rock points to Big Yaakov and Yoni. “These are the sons of Zavdai, who is my father’s partner in Capernaum. Big Yaakov works with Andre in his boat, and Yoni works with me in mine. Yoni is not usually so dirty, but today Andre made a bad trick on him.”
Philip greets Big Yaakov with a strong right hand.
Yoni hides behind Shimon the Rock, scowling.
Philip goes around Shimon the Rock and greets Yoni with a strong right hand and a kind smile. “Friend, you should be wary on that Andre, or he will make a bad trick on you every day in the week. He made the same trick on me when we were boys, and my father gave me a beating for ruining my tunic. But let me tell you a secret on Andre Trickster.”
Philip leans down and whispers something in Yoni’s ear.
Yoni
grins on him.
I am certain I like this man Philip.
“Who did you come with from Bethsaida?” Shimon the Rock asks.
Philip tells the names of six friends he came with. “We stayed last night in Jericho and came to hear Yohanan the prophet today.”
“Why did you not bring them over here to greet us?” Shimon the Rock asks.
Philip looks as he does not know what to say.
I see what he is thinking. All Philip’s friends saw that Andre was shamed, and they did not wish to be seen with him. But Philip was not afraid to be seen with Andre.
I look all around us and see the camp settled down for the night.
My family and I shake out our cloaks and roll ourselves up in them.
Philip goes back to his friends.
Shimon the Rock and Andre and Big Yaakov and Yoni shake out their cloaks and roll up and lie down.
Soon, all the camp is sleeping.
My heart is still in a big turmoil. Little Yaakov and my brothers think I should make a move here. They think I should call up a big army and lead it out to make a war on the Great Satan.
But I do not think that is what HaShem wants.
I do not know what HaShem wants, but I am listening every moment to hear his voice in case he tells me.
I think when HaShem wishes me to call up a big army, he will tell me.
I am dying to hear the voice of HaShem clear on the matter.
Right now, he speaks in whispers so faint I can hardly hear.
I need to hear his voice clear, if I am to smite the four Powers.
I like these new men. Shimon the Rock is a tower of strength. Big Yaakov is a barrel of fierceness. Andre is a man who will always keep us laughing. Yoni has a mind like no man I ever met anywhere, not even that philosophos I built a house for in Tsipori.
And Philip.
Philip is a man who is kind.
I think I will be in a big need of kindness.
Tomorrow, I will ask Philip if he also wishes to come to the wedding feast of my sister.
Chapter Eighteen
Yoni of Capernaum
I wake up an hour before dawn, thinking I drank too much beer last night.
I unroll from my cloak and stand and look for the big rock where all the men go to make a piss. There is a little light in the east above the mountains of Moab, enough to see by.
My tunic feels as it is caked with mud. I think there is mud inside every strand of wool. It itches like sand fleas. I should put a scorpion in Andre’s ear for this.
While I make a piss on the rock, I remember that man from Bethsaida we met last night. His name is called Philip, which is a Greek name that means he likes horses. I wonder why they would name a baby that. It makes no sense to say a baby likes horses. The only thing a baby likes is drinking milk.
Andre was also born in Bethsaida, and he also has a Greek name. It means he is manly, but it makes no sense to say a baby is manly. Greek names sound like a big foolishness to me. In Capernaum, we do not give our sons Greek names. Even if Bethsaida is only the walk of one hour from us, it is another world, for it lies across the border. I heard they have many Greeks there. Anyway, Philip told me—
“Yoni!” says a voice behind me.
I finish making my piss and drop my tunic and look back.
Philip stands there holding a plant in his hands. “I looked long for this and found some growing south of the fords.”
I peer at it. “You are sure this will—”
“Come with me now. The others will be up soon.”
I hurry after Philip toward the river.
When we reach the edge, he puts the plant on a large flat rock. He kneels beside the rock and takes out his fish knife and slices and slices and slices the plant. He mashes it with the flat of his blade. “Take off your tunic, Yoni.”
I look all around in a big alarm. If I take off my tunic, I will expose my nakedness, and that is a dishonor on me.
Philip sees my face and gives me a kind smile. “Yoni, I cannot make your tunic clean while you wear it. Take it off.”
Still I do not wish to take it off. There is nobody here except Philip, but it will be a big dishonor to expose my nakedness.
Philips sighs and takes off his own tunic and throws it on the ground. “There, see, I am naked too.” His back is crisscrossed with old scars.
A shiver runs all through my blood. That is the back of a man who was beaten many times as a boy.
Philip does not look as he is ashamed to be naked. He holds out his hand. “Take off your tunic.”
I take off my tunic and hand it to him and shiver in the cold air. “What is that plant called? I never saw it before.”
“If you were a woman, you would know it is called borit.”
“You are not a woman, so how do you know it is called borit?”
Philip dips my tunic in the river and pulls it out. “Here, lay it out on the stone.”
I lay it out on the stone. “You are not a woman, so how do you know it is called borit?”
Philip takes a handful of borit and smears it on my tunic. He works it in hard with his hands, kneading it like a baker kneads dough to make rounds of bread. His hands are thick and tough like any fish-man’s hands. But I never saw a fish-man knead borit into a tunic.
I never saw anyone knead borit into a tunic, for washing tunics is women’s work. The women of Capernaum wash clothes in the lake in a closed-off place where the men are not allowed to come. I heard they work naked when the weather is hot.
Philip works and works. A thin layer of sweat springs up on his scarred back.
I still did not get an answer, so I ask again. “You are not a woman, so how do you know it is called borit? Also, who taught you where to find it in this wilderness? Did you walk far? Did you really save Shimon the Rock from drowning? Why did your father beat you when you were a boy? Why do the people of Bethsaida name Jewish boys with Greek names? Do you feel dishonored to have a goy name? How do you know how to wash a tunic when that is a woman’s work? Also, why are you not ashamed to expose your nakedness?”
Philip grins on me and picks up the tunic and carries it down into the river. “Come help me, Yoni Many-Questions, and I will answer one or two thousand of your questions.”
I step into the river.
I forgot how cold the water is. In the afternoons when the day is hot, the coldness feels good. In the morning, an hour before sunrise, it feels like a knife in my bones.
Philip dips the tunic once more in the water and then lifts it up and kneads it in his hands. “If you help with the scrubbing, the work will go faster.”
“But that is women’s work.”
“How do you know it is women’s work?”
“In Capernaum, only women do this work.”
“In Bethsaida also, only women do this work.”
“Therefore, it is women’s work.”
Philip grins on me. “How does that make it women’s work? What if there were no women, and men had to do it? Would it still be women’s work?”
I never thought on the matter that way. I knead the tunic in my hands. The borit feels slimy. The more I knead it, the more it foams. I knead and knead until my hands refuse to work.
Philip’s hands seem to be made of iron. He kneads the tunic all over, front and back. When all the tunic is covered in foam, he puts it beneath the water. “Knead it again, Yoni. Knead out all the foam.”
I seize it in my hands and knead.
We work and work on the tunic.
At last, Philip brings it out of the water.
I stare on it in amaze.
Philip has done a mighty wonder.
My tunic is clean.
Philip wrings out the tunic.
When I think there is no water left, he wrings again, and more water trickles out through his fingers.
Philip grins on me and hands me the tunic. “What do you think, Yoni Many-Questions? Even if there are no women here to make it clean, is it still c
lean?”
I ask, “Did your mother teach you that?”
“His sister taught him that,” says a voice behind us.
I spin to look.
Rabbi Yeshua stands on the bank. There is a look on his face I cannot read, and I thought I was a good reader of faces.
I run up out of the water. “Rabbi Yeshua, in your village, who washes the clothes? In our village it is the women, and I say that makes it a woman’s work. But Philip asks why that makes it a woman’s work. What do you think? If only women do a work, is it women’s work? Also, did you know that plant is called—”
“Friend, come up out of the water,” Rabbi Yeshua says.
I turn to look on Philip.
He stands where I left him, waist-deep in the Jordan, staring on Rabbi Yeshua as he is a phantasm. “Who told you the matter of my sister?”
Rabbi Yeshua grins on him. “Friend, come up out of the water.”
Philip wades toward us with his face in a big amaze. “Who told you?”
I think it is obvious who told him. “Rabbi Yeshua knows everything. He is a prophet, and HaShem tells him every secret thing you ever did.”
Philip’s mouth hangs open so far, I think he will step on his own teeth and fall in the river and drown.
Rabbi Yeshua helps me put on my tunic.
It is cold with river chill, but I know it will soon warm up. “Rabbi Yeshua, why did Philip’s father beat him when he was a boy?”
Rabbi Yeshua narrows his eyes. “If you wish to know Philip’s secrets, you should ask Philip.”
Philip comes up out of the water and puts on his tunic. “Rabbi Yeshua, is it true you are a prophet? Shimon the son of Yonah said so, and now Yoni Many-Questions says so, but I wish to know if you say so.”
Rabbi Yeshua grins on him and sits and pats his hand on the ground. “Sit with us and tell Yoni the tale of your sister Rivka.”
I never saw a man with a face so white as Philip the fish-man of Bethsaida. All the strength goes out of his knees. He sits beside Rabbi Yeshua.
I sit beside Rabbi Yeshua.
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