Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

  “They should look on me. They should look on you. Come up here with me. We should show them a sign.”

  “What sign?”

  “We will leap off together. HaShem will not allow you to be killed.”

  “Who told you such foolishness?”

  I continue chanting the psalm.

  “For he will rescue you

  From the snare of the trapper,

  The plague of ruin.

  In his feathers he will cover you,

  And under his wings you will trust.”

  Men far down below look up on me. They point on me. They call to friends.

  Yeshua steps toward me stretching out his hand. “Little Yaakov, HaShem says to come down.”

  “I will not come down to you. I will leap down to the streets below. If you do not leap with me, I will die and my blood will be on you. But if you leap with me, HaShem will save both you and me. You know he will.”

  My brother loves me. That is his weakness. I have put him in a box. If he does not make a move, I will die. Therefore, he must make a move.

  Yeshua seems frozen like a stone. His eyes say that I speak true. His eyes say that he knows HaShem will not allow him to die. His eyes say that I have won.

  All around the Temple court behind Yeshua, men look on me. Down below, men look up on me, shading their eyes against the sun.

  “Jump!” shouts some boy down in the street.

  But I will not jump without Yeshua. In my biggest voice, I chant the rest of the psalm.

  Soon, all the crowd chants with me, for all men know this psalm.

  Yeshua’s eyes show that his resolve grows weaker. He longs to come up with me. He knows that all Jerusalem would stand with him if he made a move. All Jerusalem would stand with us.

  “For his Messengers

  He will command

  To watch over you

  On every road.

  In their hands

  They will carry you

  So you will not smash

  Your feet on the stone.”

  All the crowd of men shout. “Jump! HaShem will bear you up!”

  Yeshua’s love for me is a fire in his eyes.

  “Come up with me, Yeshua! Is HaShem with us, or is HaShem not with us?”

  His face tells that he knows HaShem would not allow him to die. Yeshua will join me now. Here is our chance to make a move that will light fire to this city.

  I turn my back on Yeshua and face the city. Far below me, many ten thousand men watch me and shout, “Jump! Jump! Jump!”

  I wait.

  Down in the streets, many ten thousand men point fingers on me.

  But behind me, a sudden silence.

  I wait.

  More silence.

  I wait.

  Silence like Sheol.

  I cannot bear not knowing what Yeshua is doing to make this silence.

  I turn to look.

  Yeshua is gone.

  No, there he is, fifty paces away. He turned his back on me! He left me!

  The light of the Shekinah is on him like a pillar of fire.

  All the men in the courts behind us who were watching me have drawn off to look on him. That is a wicked trick.

  I come down off the parapet and take a step toward him. But no, I made a crowd down below in the streets. What of them?

  I am frozen in a big indecision. I think long on the matter, but I cannot see what to do.

  Yeshua is ahead of me, shining with the light of the Shekinah.

  The streets are behind me, far below, throbbing with rage.

  I take another step toward Yeshua. But that is a wrong move. I do not shine with the Shekinah, so what use to stand beside Yeshua?

  I turn back to the parapet and look down on the street below.

  I have lost my moment.

  The men below have stopped shouting. They have stopped pointing. They have stopped looking.

  I have become like one who is not.

  Even my brothers went away with Yeshua.

  They all left me when I meant to make a move.

  A rage rises in me, bigger than any rage I ever knew. My heart feels as it is molten iron.

  I stride toward my brother, hating him more than I ever did. “Yeshua!”

  As I walk, I see the Shekinah fade on him.

  I walk more and it fades more. “Yeshua!”

  By the time I reach him, the Shekinah is gone.

  “Yeshua!” I seize his shoulder and spin him around.

  His eyes are very weary. Sweat covers his face, as he has fought some mighty battle.

  The blood runs hot in my body, and my fists are strong as stones. “Why did you leave me? Do you not love me?”

  Yeshua’s voice is a croak in his throat. “In the days of our fathers, they tested Moses in the wilderness at the testing place, asking him to prove whether HaShem was with them or not with them.”

  Every son of Israel knows this story. The sons of Israel tested Moses and he struck the rock to make water. HaShem made water come out of the rock, and the people drank.

  Yeshua sighs deeply. “Torah forbids to test HaShem again, as our fathers tested him at the testing place. When they tested Moses the second time, he failed the test, and HaShem forbade him to enter the land of Canaan. HaShem says I will make a move when he tells me to make a move, not when the Accuser tells me to make a move.”

  Yeshua calls me the Accuser! My rage is like a flame in my stomach. I can stand this fool no longer.

  There is a stone on the pavement twice the size of my fist.

  I stoop to seize it.

  I stand to kill.

  I pull back my arm.

  All the world is red with the heat of my rage.

  I hammer the stone forward with all my strength at Yeshua’s face.

  I hate my brother now more than I ever did.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Yeshua of Nazareth

  I was never quick to act in a hazard. If a hornet flies at Little Yaakov’s face, he can catch it in one hand and crush it and throw it aside, all in the blink of an eye. Yosi and Yehuda Dreamhead are quicker. Thin Shimon is quickest of all.

  But I am slow. If a hornet flies at my face, I stare at it in a frozen terror, and I see every beat of its wings as each instant is a thousand years, but I cannot move, and it stings me.

  I see Little Yaakov’s hand holding the stone. It is coming at my face. It has been coming at my face for many ten thousand years. I see it and I am paralyzed. It will crush my face. I should move. I wish to move. I cannot move.

  There is a blur to my left. A man-shape flying toward me.

  I cannot see it, but I know what it is.

  My brother Thin Shimon, throwing himself in front of me. Thin Shimon, whom I love. Thin Shimon, whom I should protect, is protecting me instead.

  He arrives just before the stone.

  It smites him in the forehead.

  There is a hollow thump, like a ripe melon being hit with a hammer.

  Thin Shimon’s body slams against me.

  I stagger back.

  I catch Thin Shimon.

  We fall to the pavement.

  Horror washes across Little Yaakov’s face. “Thin Shimon!” he screams.

  The stone falls from his nerveless hand.

  I kneel beside Thin Shimon.

  Blood leaks out from a gash in his forehead.

  His sightless eyes stare up at the sky.

  I feel for his heart.

  It quivers beneath my touch.

  I put my hand above his mouth.

  There is the faintest puff of air.

  He is alive.

  For the moment.

  Little Yaakov falls on his face, weeping. He loves Thin Shimon. He loves me also. Some fit of rage drove him to this thing.

  And now Thin Shimon is dying.

  I should do something.

  I do not know what to do.

  There is nothing any man can do.

  My brother has killed my b
rother.

  Yaakov of Nazareth

  My whole body is on fire. “Shimon!” I scream.

  Thin Shimon lies unmoving on the pavement.

  Black spots appear in my eyes. My head feels as it is spinning. My knees collapse beneath me.

  I fall on my face, weeping.

  I have killed my own brother.

  Some wicked spirit must have seized me. I am not the kind of man who kills his own brother. And yet I have killed my own brother.

  I hear voices all around me.

  “Look, he crushed his head with a stone.”

  “Call for the Temple guards.”

  “He should be killed himself.”

  It is true. I should be killed. I am a murderer. I had rage in my heart, only not on Thin Shimon. I had rage on Yeshua. I wished him dead. But I love Yeshua. He is good and kind, and it would be him lying sightless on the ground, except Thin Shimon prevented.

  But it should be neither of them. It should be me.

  Tears burn in my eyes. I clutch the stones of the pavement, tearing at them with my fingers. I would do anything to undo the thing I have done.

  I am evil. More evil than any man ever was. I should die now.

  But I will not die. Instead, Thin Shimon will die. We will carry him outside the city and bury him in some pit.

  Imma will die from the shock of it. She always said my yetzer hara was too strong. I always said Yeshua’s was too weak.

  It is not Yeshua’s fault. It is the way he was born. I would not care, if this matter of Mashiach had not come up. If they did not tell him all his life he would redeem Israel. It is a lie. He cannot redeem Israel. He is weak. He stands in my way. If he would stand aside, I would not hate him. That is the thing I can never forgive, that he will not stand aside.

  And now because of it, I have killed Thin Shimon, our smallest brother.

  If I could unmake that wound on his head, I would do anything.

  I hear Yeshua’s voice. “Abba, forgive him. Forgive our brother. He did not know what he was doing.”

  It is not true. I knew. I was filled with rage, but I knew. I wished to kill Yeshua. Instead, I killed an innocent man.

  “Abba, forgive!”

  HaShem cannot forgive. I am more wicked than Cain, who killed his brother Abel.

  “Abba, I beg you, forgive.”

  The pain of his words stabs my heart. It is not possible that HaShem should forgive.

  I will never forgive myself.

  I meant to kill.

  I did.

  Yeshua says more words to HaShem.

  I cannot hear his words. Black despair falls on me. It crushes me. I am not fit to live. HaShem, kill me now. Take me and kill me. It will not give us back our brother, but kill me, for I am a wicked—

  A shout goes up all around.

  The sound of it pierces my head like hot iron.

  More shouting.

  Men pressing forward.

  Laughing.

  They should not laugh at such a bad time. I clutch my ears with both hands. HaShem, kill me—

  “Yeshua, what have you done?” Yehuda Dreamhead laughs for joy.

  Yosi laughs for joy.

  Yeshua laughs for joy.

  Thin Shimon laughs for joy.

  What?

  Thin Shimon cannot laugh for joy. Thin Shimon lies dead on the pavement.

  Someone puts a hand on my back.

  Leans close to my ear.

  Whispers into my heart.

  “Little Yaakov, HaShem says this, that what you did for harm, he has undone for good. HaShem says he loves you like his own son. HaShem says he made you to be great in the kingdom. HaShem says he forgives.”

  Yeshua of Nazareth

  Thin Shimon sits up and shakes his head and blinks his eyes and smiles.

  My heart runs faster than a rabbit and my face burns hot as the sun and my head feels as it weighs no more than a feather.

  I healed my brother.

  I did not know I could heal. Scripture does not tell that Mashiach is to be a healer. And yet I heard the voice of HaShem, to lay hands on my brother and tell him to be healed.

  I did it, and now he is healed.

  I cannot believe what I have seen. What I have done. What HaShem has done in me.

  Little Yaakov is still on his face weeping, repenting. He does not need me to tell him repentance. If ever a man repented, it is Little Yaakov. But repentance is not enough.

  And now I see a new thing.

  All the repentance in the world cannot change that a man lies dead on the pavement. Unless HaShem had restored him, Thin Shimon would be in Sheol now, sleeping the long sleep with our fathers.

  When HaShem restores, the time for telling repentance is over.

  The time to tell forgiveness has begun.

  I put a hand on Little Yaakov’s back and lean close. “Little Yaakov, HaShem says this, that what you did for harm, he has undone for good. HaShem says he loves you like his own son. HaShem says he made you to be great in the kingdom. HaShem says he forgives.”

  Little Yaakov lifts his face off the pavement. Dirt and loose stones are buried in his face.

  He looks on me.

  He looks on Thin Shimon.

  His eyebrows leap up and his mouth falls open. “Thin Shimon?”

  Thin Shimon stands. He gives Little Yaakov a strong right hand and pulls him to his feet. “Little Yaakov!”

  Then they both seize me in their arms. They give me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss.

  “HaShem made a mighty move,” Little Yaakov says. “You said he would make a move today, and he did.”

  I feel as some great stone is lifted off my shoulders.

  It is true.

  HaShem made a move today.

  It is not the move I expected. I do not know what it means.

  But HaShem made a move, and my life will not be the same again, forever.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Miryam of Nazareth

  “Imma! Come walk with me.”

  I am afraid to walk with Yeshua, for I fear he means to tell me what I do not wish to hear.

  We are back home in Nazareth after Pesach. Little Yaakov has changed. He is kinder now to his woman. He does not look on me as I am a sinner. He no longer seems ready to explode for his rage. I do not know how to think on the matter, but I am glad Little Yaakov is changed.

  Yeshua is changed also. He seems more confident. He goes away each morning to speak with HaShem. I think HaShem tells him big plans on how to make a war on the Great Satan. I wish HaShem also will tell him how to make a justice on my name.

  I wish Yeshua had made a war on the Great Satan while we were still in Jerusalem. Instead, we came home to the scorn of the village. They do not scorn Yeshua. They love Yeshua, for he is a tsaddik. Almost all love him.

  But all the village scorns me. The heat of their scorn is like the heat of the sun, which I feel on my face even with my eyes closed. I hate the village, and I will always hate it.

  Yeshua takes my hand and smiles on me.

  We walk up the street.

  The children playing in the dirt call out a greeting to Yeshua, but they look on me as I am an evil tale and run away.

  We walk through the village square.

  The village elders sitting in the village gate call out a greeting to Yeshua, but they look on me as I am haryo and spit the dust.

  We pass the ovens of Shimon the baker.

  Shimon the baker calls out a greeting on Yeshua, but he looks past me as I am not.

  My hand squeezes Yeshua harder than it ever did.

  My son stops and looks on me. He looks on Shimon the baker. He turns around. “We will go another way today, Imma.”

  We walk back through the village square toward our house. We pass our house and take the path that leads south from the village. The path is far, more than a mile, but it will lead us to a mighty place I love, the lookout at the precipice. From there, you can see the whole Jezreel Valley, spreading south
toward Samaria, west toward the Great Sea, and east toward the Jordan.

  We walk in silence. Yeshua is thinking hard on some matter.

  I do not wish to break his thoughts. It is enough to feel the strength of his hand in mine and the warmth of the sun and the cool spring breeze and to know I am safe from the scorn of the village. This way is downhill from our house, and so it is easy. When we come back, it will go harder, but I will not think on that now.

  When we reach the precipice, we sit on large stones and look out over the valley.

  Yeshua smiles on me. “You looked happy just now.”

  “This is a happy place.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “You were happy here once?”

  That is a knife in my heart. I nod, for I do not trust myself to speak.

  “Tell me.”

  “You will say it is a big foolishness.”

  “Tell me.”

  “When I was small, my father and mother brought us here sometimes for picnics. My younger sister would play chase with me, and my older sister would tell me tales. And my father would run with me in circles.”

  “In circles?”

  “He would take my hand and turn and turn and turn in place while I ran around him in circles. I ran and ran until the whole world was spinning. Then he took both my hands and swung me around and around, high in the air, as high as an eagle. I felt as I was flying.”

  Tears run down my cheeks. I remember how I felt as I was free. I felt as I was happy. I felt as I was innocent. After the Messenger came, I never felt free or happy or innocent again.

  Yeshua sighs deeply and looks out over the valley before us.

  I look to the east. There is Mount Tabor, standing like a bowl turned upside down on a table, only a walk of two hours from here. My sons went there once as boys. They came back as men.

  Yeshua sighs again and looks on me. “Imma, you are more beautiful than yesterday. How is it possible?”

  My heart breaks in shards. Tears run out of my eyes. “When are you leaving?”

  “HaShem says I am to go tomorrow.”

  I fight for my breath. My face is hot and my belly is cold and I want to leap for joy and weep for sadness. “Where will you go?”