Everyone is leaving.
I would leave too, except I cannot feel my feet to walk out the door.
My father paces back and forth. His face is red and he is breathing hard.
Rabbi Yeshua’s face is calm, but his hands clench tight, and sweat shines on his forehead. He puts on a strong face, but he knows he did a wrong thing, making a scorn on HaShem.
Shimon the Rock and Andre and Big Yaakov all went outside already. I never saw Shimon so angry, not even last year when we went fishing and Andre put pitch on his oar handle. I thought that was a good joke, but Shimon did not think so.
Toma Trouble sits in the corner with his head in his hands, muttering something. Philip and Natanel the hireling talk in quiet voices and throw angry looks on Rabbi Yeshua.
“Rabbi Yeshua, you should go back to Nazareth,” my father says. “You made a big scandal on yourself. You made a big scandal on us.”
I saw a fight once between two drunkards. The first drunkard was loud and foolish and called the second drunkard’s mother a spreadlegs. The second drunkard put his fish knife in the first drunkard’s belly and pierced his guts. The first drunkard’s face turned white, and he fell on the ground and clutched at the blood oozing out of his belly. It took him three days to die, but he knew he was dead from the moment his guts were pierced.
That is how Rabbi Yeshua looks right now, like a man whose guts are pierced. His face is so white I think he will faint.
“What do you have to say?” my father says. “Why did you tell forgiveness to the man, when only HaShem can forgive sins? That makes a scorn on HaShem.”
“Because …” Rabbi Yeshua’s cheek twitches, and he takes many breaths, long and slow. “Because that is what HaShem told me to say.”
I close my eyes and try to make a sense on the matter. Rabbi Yeshua is a man. A man cannot forgive sins. Only HaShem can forgive sins. HaShem always forgives a man when he repents. All the scriptures say so. When a man repents, he goes to the Temple and makes a sacrifice, but the sacrifice is not the reason HaShem forgives his sins. Repentance is the reason. HaShem forgives any man who repents, whether he makes a sacrifice or no. The sacrifice is only a sign of the repentance. Then the priest tells the man his sins are forgiven, on account of his repentance, because Torah says it is so.
None of us saw the cripple-man repent, but Rabbi Yeshua is a prophet. I think he heard from HaShem that the man repented, even without seeing. I think he heard in his ear that HaShem forgave the man’s sins. I think that is why he told forgiveness to the man.
I do not know that is what happened, but I think that is what happened.
Still, Rabbi Yeshua made a big scandal. He made it sound as he forgave the man himself, when what he meant is that HaShem forgave the man, and then HaShem told forgiveness to Rabbi Yeshua, and then Rabbi Yeshua told it to the man.
Rabbi Yeshua should have told the matter more clearly. I think he knows it now, but still I should explain it to him to make sure on it.
I open my eyes.
Rabbi Yeshua is gone. My father is gone. Everyone is gone except Toma Trouble, who sits in the corner. He looks as he was hammered on the head with the thighbone of a pig.
“Where did Rabbi Yeshua go?” I ask.
Toma Trouble gives me a blank stare like a sheep. “He went out. Your father shouted him all the way out to the street.”
I tell Toma Trouble what I think is the explanation of the matter.
He tugs on his beard and narrows his eyes. “I doubt that is a right explanation.”
I scowl on him. “It could be right.”
“That is not a good logic, to say it could be right.”
I do not care if Toma Trouble misbelieves me. He always wants a logic on any matter. I do not have a logic on this matter. I have a guess. It is a good guess, but it is not a logic.
We go outside and find Shimon the Rock and Andre and Big Yaakov talking to my father.
I tell them what I think is the explanation of the matter.
It takes the fourth part of an hour, for they are not quick of wit, but I finally convince Shimon and Andre and my father that I could be right.
Toma Trouble and Philip and Natanel the hireling come to listen, and I explain the matter to them all over again.
At last they say yes, most of them. Toma Trouble still says it is not a good logic. Big Yaakov only scowls on me.
“We should ask Rabbi Yeshua if that is how it was,” says Toma Trouble. “Until I hear it from him, it will be only the boy’s opinion on the matter.”
I do not like his tone.
“Where is Rabbi Yeshua?” Toma Trouble asks.
Rabbi Yeshua’s mother stands nearby, wringing her hands. “He ran away up toward the hills. I do not know where.”
I say, “I know where. He went up there to speak to HaShem once, and I followed him.”
“Go find him and ask him on the matter,” Toma Trouble says. “If a man asks him hard questions, it is a big dishonor, but a boy can ask as many questions as he likes and it is only foolish questions.”
I should remember to put a scorpion in Toma’s cloak some night while he is sleeping.
The others all nod their heads.
“Go, Yoni,” my father says. “The rabbi does not mind your foolish questions.”
I do not wish to go. I am afraid I am wrong. If I am wrong, then Rabbi Yeshua made a scorn on HaShem and I will have to throw him off.
Rabbi Yeshua’s mother takes my hand. “Please, you will find my son.” Tears stand in her eyes, and she looks as she will start wailing.
So I go. I am afraid of what I will find, but I am more afraid of having a wailing woman. That would make another scandal.
One scandal is already a heavy load. I do not think even the Genius of Capernaum can carry two.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Yeshua of Nazareth
‘You think you can forgive sins? You are a fool. Only HaShem can forgive sins.’
‘I … I did what HaShem said to do.’ I hurry up the path that leads to an olive grove where I can be alone. I need to speak with HaShem. I do not need to speak with the Accuser.
‘Only HaShem can forgive sins. If you think to forgive sins, then you make a scorn on HaShem and you have left the path of truth.’
‘I did what Abba told me.’
‘Why do you call him Abba? You are not the son of HaShem. Israel is the son of HaShem, but you are not Israel. The anointed king of Israel is the son of HaShem, but you are not the anointed king of Israel.’
‘I am the son of Adam, and Adam is the image of HaShem.’
‘There will be a big scandal on account of what you did.’
‘I did what HaShem told me. If it is wrong, then you accuse HaShem, not me.’
‘You do not have the power to forgive sins.’
‘I told forgiveness on behalf of HaShem.’
‘You do not speak for HaShem. Who told you that you speak for HaShem?’
‘HaShem told me I speak for him.’
‘You are a liar and the son of a liar.’
‘Let us see if I speak for HaShem. HaShem commands you to be silent. Now what do you say to that? If you are not silenced, then I do not speak for HaShem.’
Silence.
Cold sweat covers my back. HaShem keeps showing me new things. Today, he showed me forgiveness of sins is part of the kingdom of HaShem. When a man’s sins are forgiven, the kingdom of HaShem grows and the kingdom of the Accuser shrinks. But I do not understand why HaShem told me to tell forgiveness first. If he had said to tell healing first, I would have done it, and then I could have told forgiveness later and it might not have made such a big scandal.
As it is, I made a mighty scandal, and now all my men are angry. The scribes from Magdala called me a liar before they left. I am sick in my heart. I did what HaShem told me. Why did he tell me such a hard thing?
I reach the olive grove. The day is hot and the air feels steamy and I wish I will sleep and never wake up.
I am before the Throne.
The Messengers shout with great shouts. HaShem is dancing again. I have seen it now many times, and always it fills me with a big joy.
The Accuser is angry because I set a man free. Free from sickness and free from the guilt the Accuser speaks in his ear. The battle took strength from me. It gives me strength to see HaShem dancing.
For a time, I know nothing but the joy of HaShem.
I am at peace.
The Accuser is far from me.
“Rabbi Yeshua? Rabbi Yeshua!”
It is a woman’s voice. I do not know this voice. I wish to be with HaShem. I am worn down by the battle. I do not have strength for another battle so soon.
“Rabbi Yeshua, help me!”
Slowly, I open my eyes. It is a hard thing to be torn from the Throne.
A young woman stands before me, clutching her hands and weeping. She is very beautiful. A few wisps of hair peek out from under her hair covering.
“What is it, my sister?” I stand and step toward her.
I never saw such a beautiful woman. She wears a thin tunic, too tight for her body. Her hands reach up to cover her face, and great sobs wrack her soul.
“Rabbi … I heard you can heal.”
“HaShem heals. He is the one who gives me power to heal.”
“I have a swollen part in my bosom, and I am afraid. My mother had it, and she died of the wasting disease.”
I ask, “Which bosom has the swollen part?”
‘Stop looking on the woman’s bosoms. You have no right to look on them.’
‘HaShem says I must look on them to know how to heal her.’
‘Liar. You wish to lie with the woman. That is why you look on her bosoms.’
‘I …’
‘You have nothing to say? You wish to lie with her. That is half the loaf already. Why do you not lie with her? She is beautiful and you are far from the village and nobody sees. You could take her by force. She is some zonah who is nothing. She is not even from Capernaum. Nobody knows her. You could lie with her now, and who would know?’
‘I …’
‘What? Are you not a man?’
‘I am a man.’
‘Does your yetzer hara not burn within you to lie with this woman?’
‘My yetzer hara is strong.’
‘Then take the woman. She will not say no. She lies with fifty men in a month.’
A thick fog clouds all my mind. Little Yaakov always says he has a mighty yetzer hara and I have none. He is wrong. HaShem gave me a mighty yetzer hara. I think it is more mighty than any man ever had. It burns strong inside me now. I am a man, and here is a beautiful woman. I would not be a man if there were no urge in me to have her.
But I have the Shekinah inside me also, burning fierce. It burns and it burns.
Bit by bit, the fog lifts from me.
“Rabbi, can you heal me?”
I look on the woman and think on my mother. I think on my sisters. I think what they would do if they were starving and had no family, no man to feed them.
I take the woman’s hand. “Sit with me and tell your tale.”
We sit with our backs to the olive tree.
The woman’s name is Hana, and she comes from Magdala. Her father worked in a salting house, packing fish to be sent to Tiberias and Damascus and Caesarea and Rome. Hana had two sisters and no brothers. Then her mother died of the wasting disease. Then her father sliced his hand on a fish knife at the salting house, and the wound festered. A spirit of death came in through the wound. His hand turned red. His arm turned red. The spirit of death grew and grew, and his arm swelled up with it. After two weeks or three, the spirit of death took him.
Hana and her sisters had no brothers or uncles or cousins to take care of them.
After two days going hungry, they made a pact. One of them would become a zonah to earn money to feed them all. It was a hard choice, but otherwise they would all die. They drew finger-lots and Hana lost and she became a zonah. That was five years ago. Hana’s sisters are married now and give her money to eat, so she is a zonah no more, but she is ruined, and no man will ever take her for his woman. And now she has this curse from HaShem.
“HaShem hates me on account of my sin.” Hana buries her face in her hands.
I do not know what to say, so I hold her hand and weep with her. She reminds me of my own sister Shlomi Dancefeet, who was born after our father Yoseph died. Shlomi was fortunate, for she had five brothers and an uncle and a cousin to watch over her. But what if she had not?
What if my little Shlomi Dancefeet grew up in a family with no man to earn bread? She is not crippled, so she cannot beg. She could sell herself as a slave, but there are evil men who buy girls as slaves so they can lie with them. She could live free and be a zonah.
I would still love Shlomi Dancefeet if she were a zonah. She is my sister. Being a zonah would not change that.
I kiss Hana’s hand. “HaShem loves you.”
Hana wails. “HaShem hates me.”
I kiss her hand again. “HaShem loves you.”
She shakes with great wracking sobs. “HaShem does not remember me. I am like a lost coin.”
I kiss her hand again. “Two years before I became a man, my father went to Sukkot alone and left us ten dinars to live on until he came back. My mother kept the coins in her belt. On the second day, she counted and saw there were only nine, and her heart was crushed. A lost dinar meant we would all go hungry three days. The lost coin filled all her mind. She could think of nothing but that one lost coin.
“My mother was large with child, so she made me and my brothers and my sister take all the mats and pots out of our house. She gave me a broom and made me sweep the dirt floor, but I could not find the coin. She made Little Yaakov sweep. She made Yosi sweep. She made Little Miryam sweep. None of us could find the coin. She beat the floor with a stick until a great cloud of dust filled the house, but still we could not find the coin. She made us sweep and sweep and sweep in every corner. The cloud of dust went out in the street and filled all the village. All the people came to look, and they scowled on her and said she lost the coin on account of her sin.
“Then at last Yosi found the coin. It was black, covered with dirt. Yosi gave it to Imma, and she shouted with a great shout. She took the coin and washed it. She polished it with her own sleeve until it gleamed. At last it was the brightest coin of the ten. She kissed it and shouted for her joy and showed it to all the village, and she was glad, for her lost coin was found. And she loved it more than all the others, because she had to make a big search to find it.”
Hana’s hand grips mine so tight I think she will break my bones. “But … HaShem did not lose me. I lost him. I went away far from him. HaShem is angry on me.”
I kiss her hand again, for I hear cracks in her voice. “There is a man in our village whose name is called Yehuda the sheep-man, for he has many sheep. I heard he has a hundred sheep, and he knows every one by name. He loves his sheep more than any sheep-man ever did. Every morning he takes them out to the meadow to graze. He watches over them all the day. In the evening, he brings them back to the village and counts them into the pen.
“One night he brought them home early, ahead of a big storm. He counted them into the pen, and his heart nearly failed him to see one was missing.
“Yehuda the sheep-man locked up the ninety and nine and lit an oil lamp and took his staff and went looking for the one. The village called him mad, for it was only one sheep, one little ewe lamb. But he knew that ewe lamb by name, and he went out calling her.
“He searched in the meadow, but she was not there. The rains began.
“He searched on the stony path that leads down to the road, but she was not there. The wind howled its fury.
“He walked on the road while the rain and wind beat his face. He walked until his cloak was soaked through, and at last he saw a fire among so
me trees.
“He crept through the trees to see who makes a big fire on a stormy night. It was a gang of bandits. They had stolen his ewe lamb and were making ready to kill her and roast her and eat her.
“Yehuda the sheep-man ran into the clearing, shouting with a great shout, so mighty that half the bandits fell down stunned. The others took up swords to fight Yehuda the sheep-man.
“He had only his staff, but he was filled with a big rage on the bandits. He swung his staff on their swords and broke them all like reeds. He smote those evil men until they all fled or fell before his fury. The ewe lamb cowered before him on account of his rage, but his rage was not on her. His rage was on the bandits.
“He picked up his ewe lamb and kissed her many times and put her on his shoulders and ran all the way home through the howling storm.
“All the village heard his shouting over the rage of the storm. They came out to see this wonder, a sheep-man who left ninety and nine sheep safe at home to find one who was lost.
“Yehuda the sheep-man shouted with a great shout for all the village to see his lost ewe lamb who was found. He said, ‘See, this lamb of mine was lost, and now she is found, my dear little Hana, the lamb of my heart.’”
Hana weeps loud. “HaShem is not angry on me?”
“HaShem is angry on those who did evil on you. HaShem loves you more than all the others. HaShem forgives you every sin you ever did.”
Hana’s body shakes all over. She cries and cries until she is done. When she is done, she looks on me and smiles.
“HaShem tells your bosom to be healed. HaShem tells the swollen part to return to normal. HaShem says you will live and not die.”
Hana looks on her bosom. She puts her hand on her bosom, pressing hard. “Rabbi, the swollen part is gone!” She leaps to her feet. She dances for joy. She sings to HaShem.
I stand and give her a kiss and a kiss and a kiss. “You are the lamb of HaShem’s heart.”
Hana’s smile is wide as her face. “Rabbi, you should come to Magdala and tell such a tale to my friends. Please, will you come to Magdala? Please?”
Son of Mary Page 35
