Transgression

by R. S. Ingermanson

  “We have been summoned by that prince of fools, Hananyah ben Nadavayah,” said the man named Shimon. “We are to appear at the Chamber of Hewn Stone at the sixth hour. He claims that it is urgent, but we are not informed as to the reason.”

  Rivka checked her watch. It was just after nine o’clock. The sixth hour meant noon. That gave her some time yet.

  Yohanan frowned. “If it were really urgent, Hananyah would not schedule it at such an awkward hour. I am unable to attend. My young helper Gamaliel is sick at home. I have no one to mind the shop.”

  Shimon shrugged. “Very well, my friend. I think I, too, will find an excuse to avoid this meeting.” He turned and disappeared up the street.

  Yohanan studied Rivka with narrowed eyes. “There is more to you than I can see with my eyes, child. Who are you, and why are you here?”

  “My name is called Rivka, and the God of our fathers has sent me to defeat the plans of Hananyah.”

  “And what are his plans?”

  Rivka wondered how much she should tell him. She knew exactly what would happen today in the Sanhedrin. A fistfight would break out between the Sadducees and the Pharisees, with Paul in the middle. But how could that happen, if none of the Pharisees showed up?

  “There is a man named Saul, born in Tarsus, who studied with Rabban Gamaliel here many years ago.”

  “Not so many years ago,” Yohanan muttered. “Shimon and I studied beside him at the feet of Rabban Gamaliel. What of my fiery young friend?”

  “He is here in Jerusalem and he has been arrested—”

  “What?” Yohanan cried. “Why have I not heard?”

  “—and he will be tried today before the Sanhedrin on charges of desecrating the Temple.”

  “Saul?” Yohanan shrieked. “Never! He was a zealot for Torah. Surely this is a lie?”

  “It is a lie,” Rivka said. “But Hananyah intends—”

  “I know what he intends.” Fire lit up Yohanan’s eyes. “Hananyah never loses an opportunity to make fools of us Pharisees. Out! Out! We must catch Shimon and inform him.”

  Rivka backed out of the shop. Yohanan tumbled out behind her. He locked the shop, beckoned her to follow him, and began pushing north up the crowded street.

  “With respect, my father, I am needed elsewhere,” Rivka said. “If you could kindly direct me to the Chamber of Hewn Stone, I have been given a small task.” Nothing major. I just have to stop an assassin.

  “It is on the way, my child,” Yohanan said. “I will point it out as we pass. And may the God of our fathers bless you with every good thing for what you have done today.”

  Five minutes later, Yohanan pointed toward a large square on their left. “My daughter, the Chamber of Hewn Stone is that large building with the great wooden door. I must hurry. There is just time. We will need Tsadduk and his zealous friends.”

  And with that, he disappeared into the crowd.

  Rivka felt sadness wash over her. She would have liked to spend more time with this man. She had read Jacob Neusner’s two books on Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai. But the man behind the legends was so much more real than what you could learn from a book. And now she had no time to get to know him.

  She stepped into the square and looked around. Nearly empty, with clear lines of fire from many different directions. If you planned to assassinate someone, this would be a great place to do it.

  She saw no sign of Dr. West. An odd little nook nestled on one side of the square between two buildings. Deep shade nearly filled it, and a bench sat against one wall.

  Rivka sat down to watch and wait.

  Now what? It seemed a good moment to start praying.

  Father, it says in your Word that your strength is made perfect in weakness. Prove it, Lord. Right here. Right now. I’m ready, Lord. Ready to…come home to you, if that’s what it takes.

  God, I’m scared. Really scared. Help me do what I’ve got to do. And…take care of Ari. Maybe I won’t be able to, after this. He’s a very special son of yours. Special to me, anyway, and I know he’s special to you, too. Help him to know you, and to get back to our century safely.

  Chapter 27

  Ari

  ARI WANTED TO COVER HIS ears. The screaming that issued from the house of Miryam cut to his marrow.

  Baruch pounded on the door again. “Sister Miryam! It is Baruch! Let me in.”

  Finally the door cracked ajar. Miryam peered out. “Brother Baruch! Thanks be to HaShem.” The door opened wider.

  Baruch stepped in. Ari hesitated a moment. He heard something unnatural in that scream—primal, animal. Did he really want to go in there?

  But Rivka was in there. If she could stand that horrible noise, so could he.

  The door began to close. Ari pushed his way in. Miryam shut the door behind him.

  Hana lay curled on the floor in a fetal position, her clothes in shreds, cradling her head in her hands and shrieking. Not words, just raw sound.

  It took a moment for Ari to realize that Rivka was not in the room. Before he could ask about that, Baruch stepped toward Hana, extending his arm as if in blessing.

  Hana’s eyes lit up with fear. She rolled away from him into the corner, screaming louder.

  Ari had once lived in a cheap apartment in Princeton. One day the Vietnamese man who lived in the unit directly above him went insane and began screaming. For a solid week. The landlord had been unable to evict the man, and Ari couldn’t eat or sleep or study. When the man’s family finally came to take him away, Ari had watched them bundle him into a car—screaming all the while, flailing his arms, foaming at the mouth.

  Hana looked worse than that man had.

  “How long has she been like this?” Ari asked Miryam.

  She shook her head and stepped nearer, cupping her hand to her ear.

  Baruch moved toward Hana. Ari could see his lips moving, but Hana’s ungodly wailing drowned out all other sound.

  But where was Rivka? The house had only two rooms. Ari stepped to the doorway and peeked into the other room. Empty.

  He began to feel worried. Rivka ought not to have gone out. What if she ran into Damien?

  The screaming rose in intensity again. What was Baruch doing to Hana? Ari turned back to look.

  Baruch stood above her, both hands extended in blessing. She twisted this way and that, writhing like a snake in a net, ripping at her tattered clothes.

  Ari felt a rush of embarrassment.

  Baruch waved his hands in the air far above her, as if brushing away unseen cobwebs.

  Suddenly, the screaming stopped. Hana’s body quit writhing.

  The silence struck Ari like a hammer. After the sustained noise, it felt almost painful.

  Baruch said something to Miryam in Aramaic, too rapidly for Ari to catch.

  Miryam rushed into the other room, returning a moment later with a cotton blanket. She laid it over Hana’s body, covering her.

  Baruch nodded to her. “Sister Miryam, please bring me olive oil.”

  “I have none,” she said.

  “Then borrow some from your neighbor.” He motioned to Ari. “Brother Ari, please come and help me.”

  Miryam hurried out the door.

  Ari stepped closer, anxiety welling up inside him. He did not want to get too close, especially with Miryam gone. “What is happening, Brother Baruch?”

  Hana’s eyes locked on him. “I know you,” she said in a low, rasping voice which sounded almost male. “Ari, who is no lion, but only a mouse, a double-minded man who walks in two lands, who looks for truth and believes a lie, I say to you—”

  “Silence!” Baruch said. “I forbid you to prophesy, you child of Satan!”

  Hana’s mouth went slack. She screwed her eyes shut, as though in pain. When she opened them, they glowed—the eyes of a seductress. “Baruch, my lover, my delight. Why have you not returned to my bed? Is it because—”

  “Stop!” Baruch said. He placed his hand on her head. “I command you to come out of her, you spirit of
adultery!”

  Hana’s body convulsed, and her face twisted in shock. She coughed violently.

  “Leave her!” Baruch said.

  She retched three times, and then lay still.

  The door opened, and Miryam returned with a small clay jar of olive oil. She held it near Baruch. He dipped his finger in it and brushed it on Hana’s forehead.

  “I anoint you in the name of Yeshua, Mashiach of Yisrael, who shall reign on David’s throne—”

  “No!” Hana screamed. She flung the blanket in the air and flailed her arms.

  “I forbid you to fight me,” Baruch said. “In the name of Yeshua, I forbid you!”

  Hana’s body relaxed. Miryam knelt beside her and rearranged the blanket.

  “I command you to tell me your name,” Baruch said.

  Ari almost laughed out loud. Baruch knew Hana’s name perfectly well. What was this about?

  “I am Truth,” Hana said, again assuming the low, rasping tone that she had used earlier. “I know all things, and I reveal them to my servant.”

  “You will leave her now,” Baruch said.

  “Let me stay and I will tell you about quarks,” Hana said. “I will explain how HaShem created the universe. I will warn you of the left-handed man with no sons. I will—”

  “No!” Baruch shouted, and panic lacerated his voice. “Come out of her and come out now! I command it.”

  Hana roared. Her head whipped back and forth in a frenzy. She retched again. Black bile squirted out of her mouth.

  “Come out of her, father of lies!” Baruch said. “Now!”

  She shook one last time, screaming a high, wailing note. Then she lay still, panting, her face a mask of exhaustion.

  Ari backed away from her, his mind spinning. Quarks? Where had she heard that word? Could she have overheard him talking to Baruch yesterday?

  Miryam turned and followed him. “Do not be frightened, Brother Ari. Brother Baruch knows how to deal with the evil spirits.”

  “Where is Sister Rivka?” Ari asked.

  “She went to buy something,” Miryam said.

  “When was this?”

  Hana screamed again, a cry of pure, unadulterated terror.

  Miryam dashed to her side.

  Ari suddenly felt claustrophobic. He could not stand being in this strange house with these primitive rites. A sick feeling clawed at his insides.

  He went outside, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

  God of our fathers, God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob, and God of Brother Baruch, bring Rivka back to me safely.

  Ari felt a sense of warmth enveloping him. The objective side of his mind told him that he was entering some sort of altered state. His intuitive side—that part of his brain that he used for doing physics—told him to continue praying and to do nothing to disturb this state. Something important was happening, though he did not know quite what.

  God of our fathers…

  Time flowed over him.

  Ari could not tell whether ten minutes passed or ten days, but at last he sensed himself returning to a normal state. He heard a woman’s voice speaking to him. Blessed be HaShem, it must be Rivka.

  With an effort, he opened his eyes.

  Sister Miryam stood before him. Concern etched her face. “Please come,” she said, speaking in slow and simple Aramaic. “There is trouble.”

  * * *

  Damien

  The sun hung well up in the sky when the cluster of Roman soldiers emerged from the gate of the Antonia.

  Damien had guessed the soldiers would take their prisoner south along the row of shops, so he had been walking north and south with the human currents all morning. But the Romans went west—the wrong direction. That put him at least fifty yards out of position.

  He tried to hurry after them, but he could go no faster than the crowd jammed around him. He couldn’t just shoot his way through. He didn’t have that many bullets.

  Finally, he reached the avenue leading west and dashed after the soldiers. This street was broader and less densely packed, but not so straight. He could not see the Romans.

  Cursing, Damien pushed through as fast as he could. At the first intersection, he followed his instincts and turned left onto a street less crowded. Wouldn’t the Romans be looking for the path of least resistance?

  The street rapidly thinned out as it led into a district with a number of warehouses and granaries. Damien picked up speed until he was running.

  The street curved toward the left, following the contour of the valley. Before long, Damien could see his way straight ahead for a hundred yards.

  There were no Romans in sight.

  No sense following a blind alley. He skidded to a stop, spun around, and ran back the way he had come.

  When he reached the main avenue, he turned west. The Romans must have continued straight down this avenue. They could have at most a two-minute lead on him. A man running alone could move faster than a group of men with a prisoner. Ergo, he only needed a little time to catch them.

  Five minutes later, he came to a wall, one of several that cut through the city. The avenue ran through a gate into a less-populated district. Had the Romans continued through? Or had they turned left onto the large north-south street that ran parallel to the wall?

  This was a time for logic. Rivka had told him that the Sanhedrin was composed of the elites of Jerusalem. Also that the rich people lived south of here. The Sanhedrin would most likely meet near where its members lived.

  Damien turned left and headed south.

  He made rapid progress. This street was not so crowded. The buildings here appeared to be combination homes/workshops for small tradesmen—sandal makers and leather workers and weavers. Damien ran past a bakery and a small synagogue and reached the end of the street. Ahead of him, another internal city wall ran east-west. To the left were more workshops. To the right a gate cut through the wall he had seen earlier. Beyond that, another gate led south into the wealthy district.

  Damien zigged right through the first gate, then zagged left through the second. He took a moment to size up the situation. Foot traffic headed south on a very large avenue. To the right stood a large palace. To the left, a nearly empty street.

  Nowhere could he see any Romans.

  Damien spotted a beggar sitting in the dirt by the gate. He decided to try his Hebrew. It couldn’t hurt. “Eyfo Romaim?” he asked.

  The beggar stared at him vacantly.

  Damien tried again, accenting the words differently.

  The beggar ignored him.

  Damien slid a hand into his belt and grabbed a coin. He waved it in front of the beggar’s eyes. “Eyfo Romaim?”

  The beggar’s face lit up. He pointed east, along the nearly empty street, and jabbered something.

  Damien dropped the coin in the dust and ran. If the beggar had lied, he would come back and kill him.

  Five minutes later, he learned that the beggar had told the truth. As he arrived in a small square at the foot of the hill, he saw the Romans disappearing into a large hall with a thick wooden door.

  Damien took a minute to estimate his chances of shooting his way in. He decided the probabilities were low. But no matter. According to the Bible, Paul would be in there only a short time before starting a big fight between the two main factions on the Sanhedrin. In the uproar that followed, he would get hauled out by his armed guard.

  The square was quiet and nearly empty. Damien could loiter here as long as he needed. He took a cue from the beggar he had seen and sat down in the shade with his back against the stone wall of the Sanhedrin’s building. He draped his workman’s headgear over his face and peered out at the world.

  Go ahead, Rivka Meyers. Try to stop me now. Try to see through my disguise. Try anything. I win.

  * * *

  Rivka

  In the shadows of the little nook, Rivka felt her whole body stiffen. Roman soldiers coming down the hill! She stood an
d walked toward them.

  There! In among the soldiers walked a short man, his head and face obscured by his headgear. Damien hadn’t killed him yet. Thank God!

  The soldiers reached the great wooden door of the Chamber of Hewn Stone. One held the door open. The others entered.

  Rivka retreated to the safety of her nook in the shadows. Bare minutes later, a huge, dark man in workman’s clothing and Reeboks raced into the square. He looked around, smiled, and sat down with his back against the wall of the building—midway between Rivka and the door.

  Rivka began praying.

  Chapter 28

  Ari

  ARI SQUINTED AS HE DUCKED back inside Miryam’s house. What sort of trouble could Hana be in, that Baruch needed his help?

  In fact, she looked normal. She sat on a stool at Miryam’s table with the cotton blanket wrapped around her, staring at a chunk of bread in her hands without interest. Baruch hovered behind her, as though afraid that something terrible would happen if he let her out of his sight.

  “What is going on?” Ari said. “And how long has Sister Rivka been out shopping? I am worried about her.”

  Hana’s face tightened. “The bad man came to kill Rivka last night. He did a wicked thing to me, and then he tried to make me lead him to her.”

  “Is that why…” Ari hesitated. Is that why you’ve gone crazy? But that wouldn’t be polite.

  “He hurt Hana,” Baruch said. “He would have killed her and Rivka both, but Hana escaped him. This morning, she came here and warned Sister Rivka. Soon after that, Sister Rivka went out, and now it has been some hours.”

  “And the truth-tellers lied to me,” Hana said.

  “The evil spirits,” Baruch said. “You should not marvel that they lied to you, Hana. You should wonder that they ever told the truth. They tell the truth only when they must, to steal your friendship, but they lie whenever they can, to bring you to ruin.”

  Or to bring Rivka to ruin. Ari felt his throat tightening. Hana had told him yesterday that Damien would try to kill Rivka. He had laughed at her. But she had been right. “So what is the trouble then?”