Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

  “I do not know. HaShem will show me where I should go.”

  “What will you do? You were to defeat the first Power, but I do not understand what is the first Power. You spent all winter telling repentance to Israel, and see what happened—Yohanan the prophet is taken. What more can you do?”

  “Telling repentance is good, but it is not enough. The first Power is the lying words of the Accuser. I will do battle with the lying words of the Accuser.”

  A shiver seizes me. He speaks as the Accuser is real, and not some idle tale. “I do not see—”

  Yeshua leans close and gives me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss.

  All my confusion runs away like smoke.

  “Imma, when HaShem commands to do a hard thing, he gives understanding to do it. I do not know what I am to do, nor how I am to do battle. But I trust HaShem to show me. That is what I learned this winter, that I can trust HaShem to guide me. That is what I learned again at Pesach. HaShem says that now is the appointed time. The kingdom of HaShem is upon us. Tomorrow I will go.”

  I seize his hand and hold it to my heart. I cannot see for my tears. “Take me with you! I cannot bear to stay here without you. Have mercy on an old woman and take me with you wherever you go.”

  Yeshua of Nazareth

  Imma’s crying rips at my heart. I do not wish to leave her here. The village hates her. Little Yaakov and the others can protect her from the village’s stones, but never from its scorn.

  Abba, can I not take Imma with me? Show me how I should answer her. She would be safer with me on the field of battle than here in Nazareth.

  I close my eyes and wait.

  The Shekinah draws near.

  Nearer.

  Nearest.

  I stand before the Throne. HaShem’s brightness is greater than it ever was. My eyes are destroyed for its brightness.

  ‘Abba, may I take Imma with me?’

  ‘My son, first you should ask where you will go.’

  ‘Where am I to do battle first?’

  ‘Capernaum.’

  My hands turn hot and my breath comes in gasps. ‘I am not … welcome in Capernaum. My friends threw me off. That is the last place I thought to go.’

  ‘You will forgive your friends.’

  ‘I … of course, I have forgiven my friends. But the heart of the matter is that they have thrown me off.’

  ‘You have forgiven them, but they have not received forgiveness.’

  ‘How am I to make them receive forgiveness?’

  ‘You will do battle with the Accuser.’

  ‘Yes, I know I will do battle with the Accuser. How long until I win?’

  HaShem does not answer.

  ‘Please, Abba, you must tell me. I will win, yes?’

  HaShem does not answer.

  ‘Is the Accuser … stronger than me?’

  HaShem does not answer.

  My heart quivers within me.

  The Throne disappears.

  In my mind’s eye, I see a long and dusty road.

  I must walk that road for many hundred miles.

  I must go hungry and thirsty, naked and cold.

  I must battle the Accuser at every step.

  I see the Accuser like a great bird of war, swooping on me, crying with loud screams, picking at my flesh to destroy me.

  I see Imma with me.

  I see the Accuser slashing at her soul with its claws.

  I smell the sweat of her fear.

  I hear the rage of her screams.

  I see her fall.

  I see the Accuser diving on her.

  I throw myself between her and the Accuser.

  I feel the claws of the Accuser tearing my body, tearing my mind, tearing my soul.

  If I take Imma with me, the Accuser will destroy us both.

  If I do not take her with me, the Accuser will destroy her alone.

  The vision fades.

  I am sitting with Imma, looking out over the precipice.

  Imma is crying.

  It twists my heart to hear her weep. I give her a kiss and a kiss and a kiss.

  “Yeshua, please, you will take me with you.”

  “Imma, you will never be free until you release the village.”

  “I will never be free until you confront the village.”

  I cannot confront the village. Not for myself. Not for Imma. If I confront the village, I am terrified I will crush it. But I love the village. Rather I should tear out my own eyes than confront the village. Yet if I do not confront the village, I am terrified they will crush Imma.

  “Will you take me with you, or will you leave me to die?”

  She does not know what she asks, and I do not know how to explain the matter. I bury both her hands in mine. “I will walk many hundred miles on dusty roads. I will sleep in the rain and the cold and the wind. I will be pursued by evil men. I will do battle with the Accuser. How can I take you with me on such a—”

  She throws her arms around me. “Take me anyway!”

  My heart is crushed within me. I have not said it right. There is no way to say it right. I open my mouth to say I cannot take her with me.

  I hear myself saying words I did not think. “HaShem says I should take you with me, Imma. So I will take you with me.”

  I never said such a foolish thing in all my life.

  I am going to war with Imma.

  Miryam of Nazareth

  When we come back to the house, Yeshua tells his brothers what he has decided.

  “Take me with you,” says Little Yaakov.

  “And me also,” says Yosi.

  Yehuda Dreamhead takes out his invisible sword and waves it in the air. “We will go to war!”

  Thin Shimon looks on his woman, who sits nursing their little son on the bench. He sits beside her and says nothing.

  Yeshua looks on them all and shakes his head. “I will go with Imma only.”

  Little Yaakov and Yosi and Yehuda Dreamhead begin shouting on him, all together.

  I do not wish to hear such a big roar. I take a waterpot and crook my finger on Thin Shimon. “Come walk with me to the spring one last time before I go away. I may be gone long.”

  Thin Shimon stands to join me.

  We walk out in the street together.

  We walk to the village square and pass by the village gate.

  We walk up the street to the end of the village.

  All that long way, the people of the village shout a greeting on Thin Shimon and throw looks of scorn on me.

  Thin Shimon is not brave of face, but I do not care. There is a thing I want, and only Thin Shimon can give it.

  We walk out of the village and past the leather-man’s piss-pool.

  He throws such a look of scorn on me as should kill a lion.

  I do not care. I piss on his scorn.

  We walk through the narrows and up the hill to the spring.

  I sit on a large rock and put down my waterpot and spit the path that leads back to the village.

  Thin Shimon wears a big scowl. “Yeshua should make a justice on you.”

  I shake my head. “He will never make a justice on me until he is brave of speech.”

  Thin Shimon raises an eyebrow. “Yeshua will never be brave of speech.”

  I say, “Your grandfather was brave of speech, more than any man of the village ever was.”

  Thin Shimon says, “Yeshua is not Yaakov Mega.”

  “But he could be like Yaakov Mega.”

  “I have heard tales on Yaakov Mega, how he was fierce and bold. Yeshua will never be fierce and bold.”

  “Yaakov Mega had a thing that made him fierce and bold, and he passed it to your father.”

  Thin Shimon’s eyes narrow. “The Ring of Justice? That did not make Abba fierce and bold. How will it make Yeshua fierce and bold?”

  “Your father never wore it. He hid it away for a safety, for fear of the bandits on the Tsipori Road. If he had worn it himself, he would have been fierce and bold. If he had pass
ed it to Yeshua, your brother would be fierce and bold.”

  “The Ring of Justice is lost.”

  I seize Thin Shimon’s shoulders. “So find it!”

  Thin Shimon stares on me. “How should I find it? Abba was clever and hid it well. After we put him in the tomb, we searched all the house, and it was not there.”

  “You are the cleverest man I ever knew, more than your brothers, more than your father, more than the whole village. If any man is clever to find the Ring, it is you!”

  Thin Shimon shakes his head. “How should I find it? Abba must have hid it somewhere near the village. Not more than a thousand steps from our house, but it could be north or south or east or west. That is a thousand thousands of places to search, and I am one man. It cannot be done.”

  My fingers bite into his shoulders. “Do not tell me it cannot be done! Yaakov Mega never said a thing could not be done. When Yaakov Mega set his mind on a thing, he did it. You are a clever man, more even than your father. Think like your father. Suppose you have a gold ring, a ring of great price. You must hide it for a safety, only not in your house. Where will you hide it?”

  Thin Shimon sighs with a big sigh.

  He will not do it unless I force him.

  I stand and dip my waterpot in the spring and set it on my head. “Tomorrow, Yeshua and I go to Capernaum. I made a beg on him to give me a justice, but he will never make a justice on me, and I will die in my shame. Only I refuse to die in my shame. I demand a justice, and Yeshua will not give it unless he wears the Ring of Justice. So here is my oath before HaShem. I swear by The Name that I will not return home to this village until you find the Ring of Justice. Only you are clever enough to find it. I demand that you find it.”

  Thin Shimon stares on me in a big shock.

  I never talked to him that way before.

  But I have no choice.

  I will not live with my shame in this village one more day.

  Thin Shimon’s eyes turn inward.

  I have seen that look on a man’s face before.

  That is the face Yaakov Mega wore when he set his mind on a thing.

  Thin Shimon is clever. He will think on the matter and think and think and think until he knows where my lord Yoseph hid the Ring of Justice.

  When he finds it, he will give it to Yeshua.

  Yeshua will become fierce and bold when he wears the Ring of Justice. He will curse the Evil Boy.

  That is the only way I will ever have my justice.

  That is the will of HaShem, and I will not rest until his will is done.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Shimon of Capernaum

  I shake my head again. “Yoni, none of us wish to discuss the matter.” He is so impudent today, I could strangle him.

  “You should admit you were wrong! King Herod made no trouble at Pesach. Rabbi Yeshua was not taken. We would have heard if he was taken, but we have not heard. Therefore, he was not taken, and we ran like fearful women.”

  My neck feels hot. I am no fearful woman. I am a wronged man. I will have vengeance against the goyim someday, but when the time is right, not when the time is wrong. “Zavdai, please tell your son to silence himself.”

  “Yoni, be silent.” Zavdai’s voice is weary. It is a sore trial to have a genius for a son. More than a sore trial to have an impudent one.

  We are mending nets in our boats, which are tied fast at the stone pier at Capernaum. We will not go fishing tonight, for Shabbat begins at the going out of the day. The late afternoon before Shabbat is a good time to mend nets. It is not a good time to talk of foolishness.

  We are all tired of Yoni telling that we ran like women. We did not run like women. We ran like men who have sense. A few fish-men are no match for many soldiers of Herod.

  Yoni says, “If Yeshua comes here, he will ask why we were not at Pesach, and we will all be shamed.”

  “Yoni!” Zavdai roars.

  Yeshua will not come here. I am certain he hates us, for we threw him off. If he came here, he would be a fool.

  Anyway, Zavdai told Elazar to tell Yeshua he is not welcome in Capernaum, on account of the smirch. If he came here, he would be twice a fool.

  Anyway, we are only a walk of three hours from King Herod’s palace in Tiberias. I see Tiberias from where I sit. If Yeshua came here, he would be three times a fool.

  I should forget I ever knew Yeshua, for he will forget he ever knew me.

  “Rabbi Yeshua, what are you doing here?” Yoni shouts.

  I refuse to listen to Yoni make a bad joke on us, worse than Andre ever made.

  Footsteps crunch on the gravel on top of the pier.

  I do not know who could be coming here, but it is not—

  “My friends, have you caught anything today?”

  My heart leaps in my chest. It is a cheerful voice.

  A teasing voice, for no man can catch fish while he is mending nets.

  Yeshua’s voice.

  All my skin goes cold. I am shamed he is here. I will not look on Yeshua. We dishonored him by running. We dishonored ourselves.

  Yoni springs out of the other boat and runs up the pier. “Rabbi Yeshua!”

  His words are daggers in my heart. I lost the right to call Yeshua Rabbi. I ran when I smelled danger. I made Yoni run too.

  “Yoni, it is good to see you!” Yeshua’s voice is warm as a mother’s touch.

  “Rabbi Yeshua, have you come here to live?”

  I wish Yoni would silence himself. Yeshua cannot come here to live.

  “No, I have come with Imma to rejoice in Shabbat with my good friends, the ones I love.”

  Friends. The word stings my ears like a nettle. I did not behave like a friend.

  More footsteps.

  I keep my head down, minding my mending.

  Footsteps stop above me. A shadow appears in the boat at my feet.

  Still I refuse to raise my head. How would I look his eye? How would I explain why we ran like … like men who abandoned a friend? Shame wells up in my heart, and sweat runs down my sides.

  Yeshua steps into my boat and kneels in the bottom and peers up into my face. “Shimon the Rock! I think I am even more glad to see you than you are to see me!”

  My heart lurches within me like a boat in a storm. That was well said. Yeshua did not shame me. Yeshua is glad to see me. Hot joy rushes through my soul.

  I put down my net.

  I raise my head to look on him.

  He sits on the other bench and smiles on me.

  I fall on my knees before him and my eyes blur and my voice cracks. “I … beg forgiveness. I sinned against you and—”

  “Shimon the Rock.” Yeshua’s voice rumbles over me, quiet and strong.

  “Y-yes?” I do not dare call him Rabbi.

  He grips me by the shoulders. He raises me up. He gives me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss. “It is good to see you, friend.” His eyes show no sign of anger.

  Only joy.

  My heart fills up with lightness. I never felt such a big freedom. Such a big joy. “It is good to see you … Rabbi Yeshua.”

  “Your woman and your sons are well?”

  “They are well.”

  “And you are well?”

  I do not know if I am well. There is still a bad matter that makes me sick in my heart. I do not see how to think on the smirch on Rabbi Yeshua’s name. “Rabbi, there is a matter Yoni told that I wish to—”

  “Imma says I am the son of David.”

  I think the word of a woman will not stand against his own village.

  “Abba said I am the son of David.”

  I think the word of a dead man will not stand against his own village.

  “HaShem says I am the son of David.”

  Now I am in a box. I know Rabbi Yeshua is a true prophet of HaShem. If he says HaShem calls him son of David, I will follow after him with a sword in my hand.

  But if we mean to throw off the Great Satan, all Galilee must follow after Rabbi Yeshua with a sword in
their hands. But Galilee will not if his village will not. And his village will not because they say he has a smirch on his name.

  I do not see how that makes a good sense, to follow after a man with a smirch.

  The scriptures do not tell that Mashiach will have a smirch on his name.

  Here is what I know on the matter of Mashiach.

  The scriptures tell that Mashiach is to be the anointed king who sits on the throne of David.

  But the scriptures also tell that the throne of David is never to stand empty.

  And yet it stands empty.

  Now that I think on the matter, I do not see how that makes a good sense, that the throne of David stands empty when the scriptures say it will never stand empty.

  That is what Yoni calls a paradox. I hate paradoxes. I think a thing should be plain and simple. The matter of David’s throne is not plain and simple. The matter of the smirch on Rabbi Yeshua is not plain and simple either.

  Here is what I know on the matter of Rabbi Yeshua. He is a tsaddik. He is a prophet of HaShem. He did a mighty wonder in Cana. He told a tale of repentance that shook my bones. He came and found me and told me forgiveness when I ran like a woman.

  I love this man. I trust this man. It may be I am a fool to love and trust him, but I do.

  But Yoni is not a fool, and he loves Rabbi Yeshua also and trusts him.

  I know that does not answer the paradox. But Yoni has many hundred paradoxes that are also not answered, and still the world goes on. A man can live all his life without answering one of Yoni’s paradoxes.

  I study Rabbi Yeshua’s face.

  There are new lines of sorrow under his eyes. He is more scorched by the Accuser than before.

  “Rabbi, has HaShem spoken to you on the matter of the smirch?”

  He shakes his head. “HaShem has spoken to me on the matter of the kingdom of HaShem. I am sent to tell the kingdom of HaShem. And HaShem has spoken to me on the matter of you. I am sent to ask you men to follow after me. Shimon the Rock and Andre and Yoni and Big Yaakov, I ask you to become fish-men who will draw in your nets and bring many in Israel into the kingdom of HaShem.”