Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

  I give the girl a kiss and a kiss and a kiss and hand her over to her mother.

  The two stagger away, crushed under the weight of the sins of Israel.

  I turn to my servant Yehoshua. “Bring hammers and men not corrupted.”

  Aharon clutches on my arm. “What will you do? The people want—”

  I smite his cheek with the back of my hand. “Fool! For every wicked man who wants this false god for a moment of pleasure, there is a woman shamed for a lifetime.”

  Yehoshua returns with many men. They bring hammers and iron bars.

  “Destroy the bull-god.” I take a hammer myself, and together we smite the image of the bull-god of Egypt.

  Soon the abomination lies shattered on the ground.

  Men bring flat stones, and we beat the gold into sheets.

  More men bring round stones, and we grind the sin of Israel into dust.

  More men bring baskets, and we heap the dust in baskets.

  We carry the baskets to the water and pour out the sins of Israel.

  We round up the evildoers and force them to drink their sin.

  I am Moshe, prophet of Yah, and here is the ending of my tale.

  Yoni of Capernaum

  I am myself again, Yoni the son of Zavdai.

  I fall forward on my face. Tears flood my eyes, and my belly aches with my sobbing. The sin of Israel weighs on me like a blanket of great stones. I cannot breathe for the horror of it.

  I know what is the first Power.

  But I do not know how to fight such a Power.

  This Power has a hold on my own heart, for when I saw the women huddled around the bull-god, there was a thing in me that shouted to take a woman and use her for a pleasure. The first Power is inside me. The wrath of HaShem should fall on me, for I have a big wickedness in me.

  All around me, I hear the sounds of weeping.

  I wipe away my tears and open my eyes.

  The children are huddled to their mothers.

  The women are huddled to their men.

  The men wear pale faces, tight with horror.

  Rabbi Yeshua stands quietly watching us all. His face—I never saw such a face on a man. It is the face of our king David when he went to war. It is the face of our prophet Moses when he broke the tablets. It is the face of our father Abraham when HaShem told him to offer up his own son on the mountain.

  “HaShem calls me to tell repentance to the sons of Israel,” Rabbi Yeshua says. “Who will go with me?”

  I am terrified to tell repentance to the sons of Israel. If I tell repentance to Israel, I must tell repentance to myself, for I am a son of Israel and the first Power is in me.

  But if I do not tell repentance to myself, then the first Power will always have a hold on me and HaShem will never return as king and I will never enter the kingdom of HaShem until forever.

  There is a loud silence.

  “Who will go with me?” Rabbi Yeshua asks again.

  Shimon’s father, Yonah, clears his throat. “Rabbi Yeshua, you ask much. We have been gone many weeks to the feast in Jerusalem. Now is not a good time to tell repentance to Israel. Now is a good time to catch fish and earn money and wait for the rains to come and go. When spring comes, then will be a good time to tell repentance to Israel.”

  Rabbi Yeshua flinches as he has been slapped, but he says nothing.

  My father nods his head. “I cannot spare my sons to tell repentance to Israel. Not now. I need my sons for the winter. When spring comes, yes, I will send my sons to tell repentance with you.”

  Rabbi Yeshua says nothing.

  Little Yaakov’s face is red. “Our women and children cannot go to tell repentance to the sons of Israel. We must take them home before the rains begin. And we spent many dinars in Jerusalem. We live by the sweat of our labor. If we go now to tell repentance to the sons of Israel, our women and children will go hungry. Now is not a good time to tell repentance. When Pesach comes, we will go to Jerusalem and tell repentance.”

  Rabbi Yeshua’s face is stone.

  If he had asked them all to go to war against the Great Satan, they would not be begging off like this.

  My heart lurches like a drunkard, and my back is cold with sweat. I cannot say yes to Rabbi Yeshua, for my father said no, and how would I face my father after such a mighty dishonor?

  My eyes burn holes in Rabbi Yeshua, begging him to understand.

  He sees.

  He understands.

  He goes to stand before my father. “Friend, do you need both your sons for the whole winter to catch fish?”

  My father studies him with shrewd eyes. “Rabbi Yeshua, you ask much.”

  That is not yes, but it is not no, either.

  “I ask you for one of your sons. HaShem asks you for one of your sons.”

  My father’s face twitches. He drops gaze. He sighs deeply. “If HaShem asks for one of my sons, then HaShem must choose. Cast lots for my sons.”

  We do not have lots in our house. When we need to cast lots, we use finger-lots.

  Rabbi Yeshua looks to Big Yaakov. “Are you ready to match lots with me?”

  Big Yaakov nods.

  My father counts the count to cast finger-lots. “Aleph… bet… gimmel!”

  On the third letter, Rabbi Yeshua makes a number with his fingers behind his back. I cannot see his number, but most of the house can see it. Big Yaakov has also made a number behind his back, and I can see it because I am beside him. Big Yaakov made a five with his fingers. He brings his hands out and puts them on the table.

  Rabbi Yeshua brings his hands out and puts them on the table. His fingers make a two.

  The rule of finger-lots is that the numbers must match within two. Rabbi Yeshua’s two is not a match for Big Yaakov’s five.

  My father breathes again.

  I am sweating with a big sweat. Now it is my turn. I wish to go with Rabbi Yeshua. I am desperate to go with Rabbi Yeshua. But only the finger-lots will choose if I will go.

  Rabbi Yeshua shifts to stand before me. “Are you ready to cast finger-lots with me, Yoni?”

  “I … yes.” My voice squeaks for my fear.

  My father counts the count. “Aleph… bet… gimmel!”

  I see Rabbi Yeshua’s arms drop to make a number behind his back.

  An instant later I make a number behind my back.

  My father looks on my number. “Put your hands on the table, Yoni.”

  I put my hands forward. My fingers make an eight.

  Those who can see Rabbi Yeshua’s hands gasp.

  Rabbi Yeshua brings his hands forward.

  His fingers make a ten.

  It is a match within two. I fight a smile that threatens to crack my face apart. I knew it would be a match.

  My father’s breath hisses between his teeth. “HaShem has spoken. You may take Yoni to tell repentance to the sons of Israel. In the spring, when it is time to go to war, you will have my other son. You will have my sons-in-law. You will have me. We will fight the Great Satan, and we will win.”

  Rabbi Yeshua’s eyes are shining. He looks to Yonah. “Friend, I ask for one of your sons. HaShem asks for one of your sons.”

  Yonah cannot do less than my father did, for he would lose honor. He nods. “Cast lots for my sons.”

  Rabbi Yeshua casts lots with Shimon the Rock and loses. He casts lots with Andre and wins.

  Now we have two.

  Natanel the hireling says, “Rabbi, I will go to tell repentance with you.”

  Philip the fish-man says the same.

  Now we have four.

  Rabbi Yeshua goes to his mother. “Imma, HaShem asks for one of your sons.”

  She sighs deeply and nods. “Cast lots.”

  He casts lots with Little Yaakov and loses.

  He casts lots with Yosi and loses.

  He casts lots with Thin Shimon and loses.

  He casts lots with Yehuda Dreamhead and wins.

  Now we are five.

  That is not much f
or an army, but we are not going to make a war on the Great Satan.

  We are only going to tell repentance to Israel, and for that, five is as good as ten.

  But there is a deep thing here, and I do not know what is the meaning.

  In each family where Rabbi Yeshua cast lots, HaShem gave him the youngest son.

  The least son in every family.

  That means something.

  When we go to tell repentance to Israel, I will ask Rabbi Yeshua what it means, for that is a deep secret of HaShem.

  Also, I will tell him the only deep secret I know, which is how to cheat at finger-lots.

  Miryam of Nazareth

  I am more confused than I ever was. Yeshua makes a mighty disappointment on us all.

  Little Yaakov begged him to make a big army and go to war and smite the first Power and defeat the Great Satan. I begged him to come to Nazareth and smite the evil people there and make a justice on my name.

  But he means to do neither.

  He means to tell repentance to Israel.

  That is not a good sense.

  All my heart is numb for the shock of it.

  Yohanan the prophet has been telling repentance to Israel already. A man who means to redeem Israel should do more.

  Much more.

  Yeshua smiles on me with kindness. “Imma.”

  I sigh with a big sigh. “You should come to Nazareth and smite the Evil Boy and his house and the whole village.”

  “Imma, will you come with me to tell repentance?”

  I remember the place we camped where the prophet Yohanan tells repentance. It is a place of scrubby bushes and thin trees and sandy ground. The nearest village has a hundred souls and is not close. Jericho is across the river and a walk of one hour. But winter is coming, and the rains will begin soon.

  I slept outside once in my cloak in the rain. That was a bad sleep.

  Our house in Nazareth is a good stone house with a dry roof. When it is cold, we make a fire and are warmed. We have food there, good food. If I go there, I will be warm and dry.

  But the village hates me. They mock me to scorn. They have made a mock on me thirty years. If I go there, I will be scorned and shamed.

  I do not know what to do. “Yeshua, you should come to Nazareth and tell repentance on them and smite them for their sins.”

  Yeshua opens his mouth to say something and then stops as he is frozen. He tilts his head and a light shines in his eyes, and I know the Shekinah is on him. He stands like that for many ten thousand years. At last he looks on me. “Imma, I will come to Nazareth and tell them repentance on a day HaShem has chosen. But that day is not today. Will you come with me to tell repentance beyond Jordan now?”

  I wish to say yes.

  I wish to say no.

  I do not know what I wish.

  Little Yaakov comes to sit beside me. “Imma, the rains will come, and you will be cold and wet. Stay with us in Nazareth, and I will defend.”

  I smell his sweat, and I know he is angry on Yeshua for making a bad move. Little Yaakov wanted him to call out an army and name him commander and go make a big war on the Great Satan. If Yeshua had done that, Little Yaakov would not run away from a little rain and a little cold. He would not wish to return to Nazareth.

  I close my eyes and think how it will be in my village if I return. When the small girls sing their songs, Little Yaakov will scowl on them and frighten them to silence. When the women spit my feet, Little Yaakov will call them zonahs and make a scorn on them. When the men put haryo in my path, Little Yaakov will fight them all. He will smite them with his rage. He will give me a big vengeance.

  Little Yaakov will make a justice on me now.

  I wish Yeshua will do it now, but he says he will do it only someday.

  I have been waiting all my life for someday.

  I wish for my justice now.

  I take Little Yaakov’s hand.

  Yeshua’s face flinches as I have slapped him.

  I am sorry if he is sad, but he does not know how much the village hurts me. Every day, every hour, they stab me with their hate.

  If he wishes me to choose him, he should make a justice on my name as he promised.

  That is my decision, and blessed be HaShem that I have one son who will defend.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Yeshua of Nazareth

  “There he is!” Yoni points far down the river.

  I squint in the afternoon haze, but all I can see is a group of men beside the Jordan River.

  Yoni shades his eyes with his hand. “Yohanan’s hair has grown since we saw him last. I think it reaches his calves. I am glad I am not under a Nazarite vow. Yohanan’s hair smells like dog haryo.”

  “That was not his hair you smelled,” says Andre. “That was the haryo on your upper lip.”

  Yehuda Dreamhead laughs on Andre’s joke.

  Natanel the hireling laughs on his joke.

  Philip does not laugh on his joke.

  I do not laugh on his joke either. I remember a day I had to wash haryo from my face. Also from Imma’s hair.

  It was not dog haryo.

  “Yohanan is telling repentance to the men of Israel,” Yoni says. “There are not so many as two weeks ago. I think there are only fifty men.”

  Andre says, “Not so loud, Yoni. You will frighten every desert fox from here to Arabia.”

  “I am not so loud as Yohanan,” Yoni says. “He shouts louder than any man ever did. My ears hurt for a week after I heard him. Yohanan will be glad on having us there to help him tell repentance. It will save his voice, and anyway, Rabbi Yeshua tells repentance better than he does.”

  “Yoni, hush!” Andre says. “Rabbi Yeshua, warn Yoni to be silent. He dishonors Yohanan the prophet.”

  Yoni looks on me. “But it is true! When Yohanan tells repentance, he frightens me so much I feel the fires of the wrath of HaShem.”

  “You should be frightened,” says Andre. “If idle words were sins, you would have sinned more than any son of Adam ever did.”

  Yoni takes my hand. “It is not my fault I talk much. HaShem gives me many things to think on, and when I think on a good thing, I wish to say it. Anyway, I only told the truth. When Rabbi Yeshua tells repentance, I do not feel terrified of HaShem. I feel as HaShem has more mercy than wrath, and I wish to come to him, but I feel that first I must repent, and so I do it because I wish to do it, not because Yohanan shouted me to do it.”

  I clear my throat. “Yohanan is a prophet of HaShem. We will show honor to him. We will listen to him tell repentance. We will not speak until he speaks to us. We will not tell him how to tell repentance.”

  “You should show him how to tell repentance,” Yoni says.

  Andre scowls on him. “You should show us all how to honor a prophet of HaShem.”

  I stop in the road.

  The others stop and look on me.

  I wait a moment in silence until they are ready to hear. “I will show honor to Yohanan. I will not speak until he speaks to me. I will not tell repentance until he asks me to tell repentance. And you men also. A servant is not greater than his master. Therefore, you men will show honor to Yohanan more than I do. You will not speak until I have spoken. You will not say my way of telling repentance is better than Yohanan’s. HaShem has given him to tell repentance in his way. From this moment on, you will not say another word until Yohanan gives me leave to speak. Do you understand the matter?”

  Andre nods.

  Philip nods.

  Natanel the hireling nods.

  Yehuda Dreamhead nods.

  Yoni opens his mouth. Then he makes a big grin and nods.

  I begin walking in silence.

  My men follow behind in silence.

  I am glad of Yoni, for he said a thing I had not thought. Yohanan did not ask me to help him tell repentance to Israel. He may not wish for my help. I do not wish to make Yohanan angry on me. But I am called by HaShem to tell repentance to Israel.

  I do not kn
ow what to do, but HaShem will show me what to do.

  If I listen.

  We walk in silence for the fourth part of an hour before we cross the fords and join the people gathered around Yohanan. Their eyes are wide, and sweat gleams on their foreheads.

  Yohanan tells repentance in a great loud voice.

  We sit quietly near the back of the crowd and listen.

  Yohanan puts eyes on me once or twice, but his voice does not falter.

  I listen to him tell repentance.

  Yoni is right. Yohanan puts a big fear in my heart. He tells of the ax laid at the root of the tree. He tells of the generation of vipers who should fear the wrath of HaShem. He tells of the fiery destruction that will befall at the hand of the Great Satan.

  He tells repentance well.

  He tells repentance long.

  When he is done telling repentance, all the people stand and go in the river and immerse.

  It is a good message, but I do not feel a big need to immerse again in the river. I feel the Shekinah strong all around me. My men do not immerse in the river either.

  It is the going out of the day, and the people are hungry. There are less than a hundred, mostly men, but some women and a few children. They all have food, and they sit in small circles and eat.

  We brought food, some bread and dates and cheese and salted fish. We brought skins with wine and some with beer. We eat in silence. Yoni seems ready to burst with words, but he keeps his promise and says nothing. Andre grins on him like a wolf. The others hide their smirks behind their hands.

  When everyone has eaten, someone calls for music or a tale.

  A man stands and sings a psalm to HaShem. It is a good psalm, about sheltering under the wings of HaShem. About not fearing the terror by night or the arrow by day. About the Messengers of HaShem who guard us in the road, bearing us up so we do not strike our feet against a stone while we walk in the way of HaShem. About treading on the lion and the viper who stand in our way.

  When it is done, all the crowd shouts approval, for it was well sung.

  Another man stands and tells the tale of the prophet Daniel in the pit of lions. The tale is not told so well as it deserves, but it is a good tale, and when it is done, the crowd shouts approval.