We are walking back to my father’s house from the synagogue. My heart is all in a big confusion. Rabbi Yeshua meant to make a move today, but he was prevented, on account of Yoseph the Rage. He puts a good face on it, but the truth is that the moment was ruined.
The only good that came is that Rabbi Yeshua gained honor. Before now, Capernaum had only our word that Rabbi Yeshua is a mighty man of HaShem. Now their own eyes saw an evil spirit run from Rabbi Yeshua.
But that is not what we looked for. HaShem is not concerned on one man with a spirit of rage. HaShem is concerned to raise up an army and throw off the Great Satan and make a new kingdom. Today, Rabbi Yeshua was to raise up that army, and he was prevented.
Yoni walks together with Rabbi Yeshua, holding his hand as he is a friend. Yoni is impudent. Zavdai should speak to him on the matter.
“Rabbi Yeshua, when will you raise up an army?” Yoni asks.
We all grow silent, for that is the question we are all thinking, but none of us would dishonor Rabbi Yeshua by asking. Yoni needs a good beating, that is what I think. But still I am glad he asked.
My woman Yohana comes running up the path from my father’s house, waving her hands at us. “No! Stop! Go back the way you came! There is summer fever in the house!”
I feel hot all over, and my chest aches.
The summer fever is a killing fever. We had it here ten years ago, and it took the tenth part of the village. It is caused by an evil spirit that lives in the north marshes. I hate those marshes, for they also have mosquitoes. They are bad mosquitoes, but the evil spirit is worse.
My father’s face is white. “Who has the summer fever?”
Tears leak out of my woman’s eyes. “My mother! She woke up this morning with a great ache in her head. Now her whole body is hot and she is sweating a big sweat. Do not bring the rabbi near the place.”
We should none of us go near the place.
“Take me to the woman,” Rabbi Yeshua says.
My woman shakes her head. “Rabbi, with respect, no. It is a fearful—”
“Take me to the woman.”
I push forward. “Rabbi, you do not see the summer fever in your village, but in Capernaum we do. My woman knows it well, for her father died of the summer fever. If she says her mother has—”
“Take me to the woman.”
Now everyone shouts all at once, for Rabbi Yeshua wades in water beyond his depth. A rabbi knows about Torah and the prophets and the writings. A rabbi does not know about fevers. It is a woman’s work to know about fevers.
Rabbi Yeshua begins walking toward our house.
Now I am angry on him, for he will risk his life, to no gain.
We all stand staring after him.
He turns and smiles on me. “Shimon the Rock, please, you will come with me.”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and my hands are sweating.
“Shimon the Rock, please, you will come with me.”
I do not wish to go into a house of fever. But I promised yesterday to follow Rabbi Yeshua wherever he goes.
“Shimon the Rock.”
I follow.
“Shimon!” my father calls after me. “You will not go with the rabbi. This is foolishness.”
It is foolishness, yes. But I made a promise.
Footsteps clatter behind me. Yoni catches me and takes my hand.
I scowl on him. “The rabbi did not ask you to come.”
“If the rabbi is not afraid, then I am not afraid.”
Rabbi Yeshua walks like a man who is not afraid. He goes in through the gate into our courtyard.
Yoni and I hurry to catch him.
“Where does she sleep?” Rabbi Yeshua asks.
I point across the courtyard to the guest room at the back of the house. “When people are sick, we keep them in there.”
Rabbi Yeshua strides across the courtyard like a soldier going to battle. I never saw such an eager man.
I hurry after him. “Rabbi, the woman’s name is Fat Miryam.”
“I know her name.” He pushes open the door.
Two maidservants kneel beside the bed. One wrings out a wet cloth into a stone basin. The other applies a cloth to Fat Miryam’s forehead.
The woman moans and struggles softly, but her eyes are shut.
I do not think she knows we are here.
Rabbi Yeshua kneels beside the bed and puts a hand on the shoulder of the maidservant. “Please, you will allow me to send away the fever.”
The girl stands and backs away. Her mouth twists and her eyes narrow in a way that says Rabbi Yeshua is a fool and worse than a fool.
Rabbi Yeshua takes Fat Miryam’s hand. “You will leave her now, you fever.”
Something shivers in my belly. I never saw such foolishness, to speak to a fever.
“Leave her now, fever!”
The servant girls both hiss their scorn.
“Now!”
Fat Miryam’s eyes flicker.
They open.
They look on Rabbi Yeshua.
Fat Miryam smiles.
A cold wind races down my spine.
The servant girls make little gasps.
“Rabbi Yeshua!” Fat Miryam’s voice booms in the small room, for she is a big woman with a big voice. “Are you … well?” She looks all around, and she grasps at her hair, for it lies uncovered in damp coils around her head. Shame floods her face.
I wish to turn my head away, for it is dishonor for a man to look on a woman’s hair, and it is shame to the woman.
Rabbi Yeshua reaches for a hair covering and slips it under Fat Miryam’s head. “Shalom, Mother Miryam. Do not be ashamed. I have a mother and sisters, and I have seen a woman’s hair. It is a gift of HaShem, yes?” He wraps her hair and knots the covering as swift as any woman, and then gives me a smile that says a woman’s hair is not a matter of scandal.
It may not be a matter of scandal for a tsaddik, but it is a matter of scandal for me.
Rabbi Yeshua takes Fat Miryam’s hand again. “Come, stand up. You are whole.”
That is more foolishness. To wake from a fever is one thing. To be strong after a fever is another. The summer fever leaves you weak for many hours.
Fat Miryam sits up in bed. She flings off the damp sheet that covers her. She stinks of sweat. Her tunic clings wet to her body like skin.
I turn my head away, for I do not wish to shame her.
Yoni’s face is more red than it ever was. He is not married and never saw a woman’s body.
Rabbi Yeshua speaks to the serving girls. “My daughters, you will give her a clean tunic, please, and bring her out to enjoy the Shabbat meal when she is ready.” His voice turns stern. “And you will tell no one what you have seen today.”
The girls’ eyes are bright moons of astonishment, but they nod meekly. “Yes, Rabbi.”
I do not believe them. They are both gossips, more than most women.
Rabbi Yeshua must be teasing the girls, for why should he not wish anyone to know the matter? In days of old, mighty prophets like Elijah and Elisha could heal the sick, but that was many hundred years ago. This is a mighty work of HaShem, and it is proof Rabbi Yeshua is a prophet of HaShem. It is a bigger proof than sending away a spirit of rage. People do not die of a spirit of rage, but people die of the summer fever. Rabbi Yeshua should ask the girls to tell the whole village. They will do it anyway, or I am a tax-farmer.
Rabbi Yeshua takes me and Yoni out of the room and back through the house and outside.
Our families wait in the path. Their mouths hang open and their eyes are tight. “Rabbi Yeshua, are you well?” my father calls out.
Rabbi Yeshua smiles on them. “I am well. The woman Miryam is well. The kingdom of HaShem is upon us. Come, let us eat the Shabbat meal!”
My woman runs to meet us. “Is she truly well, Rabbi?”
“She is truly well, and she will be truly hungry soon. Please, you will go bring out the Shabbat meal, for all of us are hungry.”
The men come to join us, and we all move toward the house. My father’s eyes are narrow and his face is tight.
Andre tugs on the sleeve of my tunic. “What happened?”
I explain the matter of how Rabbi Yeshua told the fever to go and how he took Fat Miryam’s hand and spoke strength into her body. I do not tell the matter of the hair covering or the wet tunic, for that is not fitting.
As I finish my tale, I see the older serving girl slip out of the gate.
All Capernaum will know the matter within the hour. Tonight, at the going out of Shabbat, it will not be only a few folk with evil spirits who come to this house. Many hundred people will bring their sick.
My head feels dizzy, and my legs are weak as water.
Now I see why Rabbi Yeshua did not wish the girls to spread the tale. That will make it sure that Rabbi Yeshua will have no peace for many days.
Now how will he raise up an army?
Rabbi Yeshua is not wise if he lets himself be turned aside by foolishness such as evil spirits and fevers, when he should be bringing in the kingdom of HaShem.
Yeshua of Nazareth
‘You call yourself a prophet, so do the work of a prophet. Tell these people their sins.’
I am more weary than I ever was. This evening, after the going out of the Shabbat, all the village came to the House of Yonah, the father of Shimon the Rock. They called my name, begging me to heal them or send away evil spirits.
That was hours ago. Now it is very late and there are still a hundred people here, all desperate to speak to me.
The woman standing before me is the age of my own mother and has a blistered hand that has festered. Pus oozes out of the sores, and there is a red streak running up her arm.
My stomach clenches inside me, and I think I might vomit. “Imma, what happened?”
“I … splashed boiling oil on it last week.”
‘She did it last Shabbat, when it is not permitted to cook. She is a lawbreaker, and this is her just punishment. You should tell her the wrath of HaShem.’
“Imma, how many days ago?”
Her face reddens and she cannot look my eye. “It was two days before Shabbat.”
‘Now she lies. That is no repentance. HaShem will not forgive her. HaShem will not heal her. You should tell her a liar and send her away.’
“Imma.”
Tears run out of her eyes.
‘False tears of false repentance! Tell her away. She is not worthy of healing.’
I lean close to give her a kiss and a kiss and a kiss.
She twists her head away, for she hears the lies of the Accuser. She is shamed by them. “Rabbi, no, I should not have come. I … did a wrong thing, and HaShem is punishing me.”
“No, Imma.”
‘Evildoer! Lawbreaker! Liar! She should die in her sins.’
She turns and pulls away from me.
I wrap my arms around her.
She struggles in my arms. “No, Rabbi, leave me.”
I bend down to whisper in her ear. “HaShem loves you.”
She is weeping now.
“HaShem loves you, Imma.”
Loud cries of anguish.
Angry muttering in the crowd.
“See how he hurts the woman.”
“That is lewdness, to clutch at her.”
“Somebody should break his teeth.”
I whisper a secret word in her ear.
She spins in my arms and clutches me, wailing her grief.
I hold her close, kissing the top of her head.
‘What are you doing? You are wicked. You are full of lewdness. What was that word you spoke in her ear?’
I feel strength going out of me.
I think my knees might buckle beneath me.
At last she ends her weeping.
She pulls back from me.
She holds up her hand.
The redness is gone.
The pus is gone.
The blisters are gone.
Her eyes light up. “Blessed be HaShem! The rabbi healed me!”
All around us, a hiss of excitement.
She moves away from me through the crowd, holding her hand above her head, shouting for joy.
‘You should have told her repentance. She will go and sin again.’
I am more weary than I ever was.
A dozen people press closer.
“Rabbi, a moment!”
“Rabbi, I have been waiting long!”
“Rabbi, just one word, please!”
‘You see what foolishness this is? They will wear you out, to no gain. You should raise up an army and leave these sick to die in their sins.’
My feet are numb. A dark cloud dances before my eyes. I feel myself falling from a great height into blackness.
‘You are no prophet. You are no son of David. You are not doing the work of HaShem. You are not …’
Chapter Fifty
Yoni of Capernaum
An hour before dawn, I wake.
Something is wrong.
Rabbi Yeshua is just slipping out into the courtyard.
I throw on my cloak and run to see where he is going.
Already he is in the street. Last fall when I followed him, he went south on the road along the lake. Today he walks west into the hills above the lake. There are vineyards that way and olive groves and many ten thousand fig trees.
I follow him at a great distance, beyond the edge of hearing.
He climbs uphill for the fourth part of an hour. It is quiet here. A pink glow in the east tells that day will come soon.
Rabbi Yeshua sits under an olive tree with his back against the trunk.
I hide in a vineyard and watch him.
He is not moving. He is speaking to someone. I cannot hear the words, but I think he is speaking to HaShem. I think HaShem is also speaking to him.
His face looks tired. He should be tired. Last night he healed many people, but it took long, because he spent too much time with each person. He also sent away many evil spirits. I thought he would wear himself out, and I was right. When he finally collapsed, it was me who caught him and shouted for Shimon the Rock and Big Yaakov to help. We carried him to my room so he could sleep. But I did not get a chance to ask him questions or explain the matter of strategy to him.
I am desperate to know what he says to HaShem. I am desperate to hear what HaShem speaks in his ear.
I push through the vines to the next row. I still cannot hear him, so I push through to the next row, and the next, and the next, and the next.
At last I can hear.
“Yoni, come out from your hiding.”
My face feels as it is on fire.
“Yoni, I wish to speak with you.”
Sweat is all down my back.
“Yoni, I will answer one of your questions if you come out.”
Rabbi Yeshua knows my weakness. I hurry to join him.
He pats the ground beside him.
I sit there and lean against the trunk of the olive tree.
“You are up early, Yoni.”
“Rabbi, where did you learn to heal people? Why do you not use foul herbs to drive away evil spirits? Why did you not bring your brothers when you came to Capernaum? Is it true there is a prince of evil spirits called the Accuser? What did you tell that woman last night to make her cry? Does a tsaddik feel desire to lie with women? How long until we destroy the Great Satan? Is it true that before That Day, HaShem will send his wrath to punish us for our sins? Why did HaShem create—”
Rabbi Yeshua laughs long. “I offer you a drink and you want the whole well! Which of your many ten thousand questions shall I answer?”
I like it when Rabbi Yeshua teases me. He does not do it with cruelty like Big Yaakov or my sisters. But I cannot decide which question he should answer. I want them all.
Rabbi Yeshua’s eyes narrow. “Explain your question on the matter of the wrath of HaShem.”<
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I think he is teasing me, for who does not know about the wrath of HaShem? I study his face.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Explain the matter, and I will tell you what I told the woman last night to make her cry.”
So I explain the matter. In ancient times, our fathers went after other gods, idols that our prophet Moses warned against. HaShem sent many prophets to tell our fathers repentance. Sometimes, they repented, and sometimes they did not. Finally, HaShem sent the prophet Jeremiah. Our fathers punished him and mocked him and refused to listen.
Whenever our fathers did a wickedness, HaShem raised up his wrath to punish them. Sometimes the wrath of HaShem was an earthquake. Sometimes it was a big storm. Sometimes a fire or a flood or a plague. Sometimes a wicked king. In the time of Jeremiah, the king of Babylon became angry on us and came to make war, and HaShem gave us into his hand.
The king of Babylon broke down the walls of Jerusalem. He burned the Temple with fire. He leveled the city. He killed our mighty warriors. He used our women for a pleasure and also our girls to the age of three. He cut off the man parts of our young men. He took our people as slaves to Babylon. That was a bad wrath.
Rabbi Yeshua has been studying his hands while I explain the matter. When I finish, he says, “All that was long ago. What is the wrath of HaShem that you fear now, today?”
I am astonished that he should ask such a question. “The king of Rome is a mighty king. What if he becomes angry on us and comes here to punish us for our sins? What if he burns our city and our Temple? Yohanan the immerser said the ax is laid at the root of the tree. He says the wrath of HaShem is coming to punish us. The prophet Malachi says HaShem will send his messenger before the great and terrible day of HaShem, when he destroys the wicked, root and branch.”
Rabbi Yeshua’s eyes are thin slits in his face. That is the way a man looks when he hears a thing he does not believe.
He should believe. I have seen the wrath of HaShem, and it is a terrifying thing.
“HaShem loves you,” Rabbi Yeshua says. “I told the woman last night that HaShem loves her more than she loves her own children, and the proof is that her hand was healed.”
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