by Brock Thoene
Stretching out his hand, Yeshua reached upward. The brightest star in the constellation called Aryeh, the Lion, appeared to balance on the very tip of his index finger.
As Emet observed, Yeshua drew his hand downward and the star seemed to follow, as if obediently coming closer at his summons. Or perhaps it simply brightened at his touch. Emet was unsure which.
“These are the stars,” Yeshua explained. “Witnesses to everything that has happened since the dawn of time.” When he lowered his hand, the star swung promptly back to its proper place and size. But Yeshua wasn’t finished. “And see this,” he said, creating a circle with his thumb and forefinger and offering it to Ha-or Tov to peer through. Yeshua indicated a patch of sky due south.
The lights in the heavens became distinct, glimmering with unimag ined color through this focus. Emet recognized Ha-or Tov’s protracted exhale as the sound of reverent amazement, though he’d never heard it before. “See the spirals! Like curling loops of . . . what? Jewels?”
The constellation Yeshua designated portrayed a reclining woman. Between her imagined outstretched arms Emet could see faint smudges, like what resulted when he brushed a brass lamp with his thumb. For an instant Emet couldn’t make out what caused Ha-or Tov to exult so.
Then Yeshua cupped his hand, and Emet rested his chin in the Master’s palm. Suddenly those smudges transformed into shimmering webs, decked with glistening drops of dew! Perhaps Ha-or Tov was right! Jewels! Before Emet’s eyes ropes of gems tightly coiled on the ebony fabric of the night! The touch of the wind made the lights dance and sparkle.
“Each spiral contains more stars than you can imagine.” Yeshua’s voice brushed Emet’s face like a gentle breeze. “Each is so great that this world would be lost inside it. Each is so far away that just to see its light is to peer back in time . . . some for years, some for ages, and some . . . back toward the very Beginning. There . . .” He pointed to a bright blue star and said to Ha-or Tov, “The gleam you’re seeing now left the star a long time ago. At the hour you were born that flash was conceived. Its light has been traveling through space to fill your eyes tonight. Before you were born that star was named for you. Ha-or Tov. ‘The Good Light.’ It’s shining for you.”
Avel and Emet drew nearer, each of them eager to know if they also had a birthday star. Yeshua nodded, then pointed to a jewel named Haver, which means “Friend.” This was Avel’s star. It was as golden as topaz. Constant in light and color, unwavering and true.
And the star named for Emet? Truth. It was a beacon, flashing blue to white and back to blue, calling Emet’s glance to its light again and again.
“And which is your star, Reb Yeshua?” Avel queried.
At that Yeshua strummed the fingers of his right hand across the panorama of the universe. Emet’s eyes widened in amazement as he heard a vast harmony, music emanating from the lights. It was the first song Emet ever heard. Countless voices sang these words:“You are worthy, O Lord,
to receive glory and honor and power,
for You created all things,
and by Your will they exist and were created!”
Avel and Ha-or Tov chewed their bread noisily. They seemed not to notice the music.
Evidently the ears of his companions could not hear as well as his, Emet reasoned. After all, Emet’s ears were new, created by Yeshua on the spot. Perhaps Ha-or Tov’s recently sighted eyes were also sharper than those of anyone. And maybe Avel experienced joy more keenly because his broken heart had just been healed.
“When was the beginning?” Emet blurted, wanting to know everything!
Yeshua replied, “It is written in the first line of Torah: ‘In the Beginning Elohim created the heavens and the earth.’ Everything was created by his will from nothing: bara, in the Hebrew language. Worlds were framed by the Word of God. Things you see were not made from things that are visible. The Beginning is across a gulf so wide you could never cross it, and yet it’s but a blink to the Father.”
And he told them how the heavens were hung thick with brilliances beyond imagining. The sun, known as Chammah, was really only one insignificant star among the host of innumerable stars. And the earth was merely one of several worlds that circled the sun.
Yeshua explained that the seven lights of the menorah were meant to teach men many things. Among the lessons, the order of its branches showed a picture of this tiny corner of creation: the sun, the moon, and the wandering stars, also called planets . . . the Greater and Lesser Lights that illuminated day and night.
Yeshua explained that there was much more beyond what the human eye could detect, even the keen eyes of Ha-or Tov!
Deftly Yeshua’s hands skimmed the sky, as if to gather swirls of stars in his palms and planets on his fingertips, like the balls of a juggler in the souk.
Above the increased noise of the breeze in the terebinth, once again Emet heard distant voices:“When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers,
The moon and the stars, which You have ordained,
What is man that You are mindful of him,
And the son of man that You visit him?
For You have made him a little lower than the angels,
And You have crowned him with glory and honor.
You have made him to have dominion over the works of
Your hands . . .”
One by one Yeshua displayed a sample of heavenly miracles to the young talmidim in his care. There were pillars of glowing blue and pink vapors, moons that orbited striped planets, stars innumerable that spun around one another in a dance begun at Creation.
Avel whispered in dismay, “But how can we explain to anyone about this? Men believe the earth is flat! That heaven is a bowl turned upside down! That the stars are living beings, not orbs of fire warming worlds and lighting the night!”
Yeshua laughed, as if acknowledging what mankind thought it knew. He declared to the boys that anyone could see the glory of God, visible and tangible in creation. If only a person would take the time to look.
Thus Yeshua entrusted the trio of young humans with a vision of vastness and a glimpse of eternity in his teaching. Because they had never learned the puny ideas of man about the universe they did not doubt Yeshua’s word.
Every answer led to another question. “But where does God, the Almighty, dwell?” Ha-or Tov squinted deeply into space, as if hoping to spot the palace.
“And where do souls go when they leave?” Avel added with a quiet urgency.
Yeshua replied, “Your friend Hayyim is somewhere else, Avel.”
Avel was no longer surprised that Yeshua knew about him—or his past. “But where? And what is it like?” Avel insisted.
Yeshua seemed to search for the right words to explain. “No eye has seen; no ear has heard; no mind has imagined what the merciful Father has prepared for those who love him.” Yeshua touched Ha-or Tov’s brow. “When you were blind, did you imagine that all these stars lit up the sky above you?”
“No, Lord.” Ha-or Tov shook his head. “Some people tried to explain it to me, but I couldn’t understand what they meant. Light. The true beauty of it. Sight. It’s a new kind of music flooding into my soul.”
Yeshua smiled and turned to Emet. “And you, Emet. Before you heard music, before you heard human speech, or crickets in the brush, bullfrogs in the rushes, wind rustling the branches of a tree . . . could you imagine any of these things?”
For a minute Emet listened in wonder to the sounds emanating from the night. “No, Lord. They are like a new kind of color filling my ears. There were times . . . before . . . when I felt sound. It trembled beneath my hand, but I never knew what it meant!”
Yeshua touched Emet’s cheek. Finally he asked Avel, “When you were a mourner, burdened by sadness as real and heavy as a sack of stones on your back, did you ever imagine you could feel joy again?”
Avel laughed and replied, “No, Lord! I didn’t know what joy was! I saw others smile, but I didn’t understand what a smile felt li
ke inside! But now I know!” Avel leaned against Yeshua, who patted him on the shoulder.
“That’s right. Yes.” Yeshua had made his point. “Heaven is like that. You can’t see it. Yet it exists. It’s a real place! As tangible as . . . the stones of Jerusalem. As solid as the hills of the Galil. Things are happening there right now, while you and I sit tonight by the fire. There are moments when you hear a song or see a rainbow or grasp a word of comfort that lifts your soul, and you get a hint of heaven. But that’s merely a drop of water in the great wide ocean! And sadly, here on earth, you can’t have the total freedom of heaven’s joy because you are bound to the sorrows of what happens in this world. But have faith!”
“What is faith?” Emet asked.
“Faith is being sure of what you hope for and certain of what you do not yet see.”
“I hope I will see my friend Hayyim again,” Avel said.
Yeshua took the boy’s hand. “I promise you, he’s waiting to welcome you. After that you’ll recognize others. You’ll embrace the loved ones you ached to hold! You’ll gaze into their eyes and laugh again! Then there’ll be no more sorrow or suffering.”
Heaven. Stars and color revealed to the blind!
Heaven. Harmony and instruments heard for the first time by the deaf !
Heaven. Jubilation and peace overflowing the heart of a mourner reunited with his loved ones!
This was Hope, indeed!
On that night, however, the enormity of it, the color and music and joy of it, was beyond what one short lesson could convey.
But it was a beginning. A starting place. An explanation of a reality far larger than this world. A definition of faith. A reason to hope.
The moon peeked over a shoulder of the mountain, casting a streak of silver on the lake.
At the same moment the wind from the west increased its force, as if trying to hold back the light.
Yeshua raised his head, as if scenting the air. He stood, dusting off his hands and smoothing out his robe. “The wind is up,” he said. “They’ll be needing me.” Staring out at the water he added, “There: you see?”
Ha-or Tov nodded vigorously. “The boat . . . your talmidim? They’re rowing, but fighting the gale.”
By squinting his eyes and scrunching his face, Emet at last made out the object of their concern: a distant black speck disappearing and reappearing against the ripples of shimmering waves.
Breezes on the Galil blew up without warning into dangerous gales; harmless swells turned into life-threatening billows. Open fishing boats caught far out on the Sea of Galilee in such a storm had but two choices, neither of them good. They could struggle forward by rowing into the teeth of the gusts, shipping water over the bow and struggling for inches of progress. Or they could attempt to turn and run before the wind, risking being capsized or swamped.
Lives were lost every year on the lake in storms like this.
Yet Yeshua didn’t act anxious for his friends. Matter-of-factly he said to the boys, “I must go to them. Walk with me toward the shore.”
How could Yeshua provide any assistance to the endangered talmidim? Emet wondered. Was there another stronger vessel available somewhere?
As they approached the highway that skirted the eastern shore, Yeshua gave a rucksack of barley loaves to Avel, Emet, and Ha-or Tov. “Avel, you are the shepherd of your brothers on this journey. Travel by the light of the moon. Go south. Along the way you’ll meet a man you’ve met before. He’ll lead you on a donkey over Jordan. After you cross the river, travel no farther with him. Go straight to Beth-lehem, to Migdal Eder, the Tower of the Flock. There find the shepherd Zadok. The lamb is the key to understanding Torah. Stay with Zadok till I arrive.”
“Why?” Emet asked.
“Kings, priests, and prophets have longed to know the secret this old shepherd keeps hidden in his heart.”
“But when will we see you again?” Emet’s heart began to pound; panic rose in his throat.
“Look for the lamb.”
What could Yeshua mean? Emet wondered. The fields were full of lambs this season of the year.
“But how can we prove you sent us?” Avel asked.
Gathering the three boys once more in his embrace, Yeshua said, “Tell Zadok that Immanu’el sent you to him. Tell him Immanu’el is coming. Tell him that mourners are blessed, for they will be comforted. Don’t share this message with anyone else. It’s meant for Zadok alone. Be on your guard. There’s danger ahead. Wolves dressed in sheep’s clothing are traveling the same road you travel. . . . Now I must go.” Yeshua set his chin resolutely into the gale.
Go? Emet wondered as he and his friends reluctantly parted from their Rabbi. We have this paved road to follow, but what about him? No boat can sail into this wind.
Beams of moonlight carved an argent path across the water, creating a highway of burnished silver on the surface of the lake. Onto this thoroughfare of light Yeshua confidently stepped, striding out toward the center of the sea as if walking the broad avenue that connected Jerusalem’s Temple Mount with the western hill of the Holy City.
Could it be? Avel stooped and dipped his fingers in the water. Cupping his hands he lifted the liquid to show Emet and Ha-or Tov.
They watched Yeshua until he was out of sight. Ha-or Tov continued to report Yeshua’s steady progress long after he disappeared from Emet’s view. Then the three set out for Beth-lehem.
The wind howled across the Sea of Galilee from west to east. The moon, like a sail unfurled, set its course into the teeth of the storm. It was still more than a week until Passover and already the hills of the Galil were dotted with campfires of pilgrims moving south to Jerusalem.
Nakdimon ben Gurion, wrapped in his cloak, sheltered in the lee of a boulder. There was a voice in this cloudless tempest. It howled a warning in Nakdimon’s ears.
Metatron! Metatron! Metatron!
Was Yeshua of Nazareth the manifestation of Elohim’s Presence? The Being who moved in and out of the Cloud of Unknowing that surrounded the omnipotent God’s throne? Disguised for His visit to earth, the one called the Angel of the Lord promised Abraham a son in his old age and made a blood covenant conveying a blessing on all the earth through Abraham.
He had wrestled Jacob on the riverbank and named him Isra’el.
He had spoken to Moses from the burning bush and led the children of Israel out of bondage through the sea and into the Promised Land.
If Yeshua was that One, someday He would drop his mortal disguise. And then men, seeing the truth of who and what He was in reality, would melt in terror.
Nakdimon himself had felt a sort of terror and awe when he witnessed the miracles and again when he heard Yeshua speak. Here was molten gold confined in the common cauldron of humanity: beautiful, glowing, consuming fire. All that and more in the disguise of a carpenter from Nazareth. Could it be? Could it? A carpenter from Nazareth?
Nakdimon would take the report back to his uncle, the great rabbi Gamaliel bar Simeon. Gamaliel was one of the few who might be capable of unraveling the perilous enigma of Yeshua without getting burned. He might separate the Glory from the kettle and say, Here is truth!
One must not be wrong about a matter of such magnitude. If it was true that Yeshua had stepped out from behind a star and descended from the Cloud of Unknowing to bring a gift from Elohim to mankind, then mankind had better not stumble over the gift! And yet that was exactly what the rulers of Israel seemed to be doing. Their plots to discredit Yeshua were legion. False witnesses. Spies. Talk of murder.
Nakdimon shuddered. He was hopeful and yet also terrified at the potential missteps.
The wailing of the wind died suddenly like a whining child commanded to be still. Only the sparking embers illuminated the small band of sleepers. A lull descended, as if no cricket or nightbird dared reply.
Nakdimon sat up and stared at the stars. So many. The air scrubbed clean by the wind. He imagined thrones and corridors, stairways rising up from the darkness into points of ex
quisite light. Had Yeshua come from some place beyond the edge of all that?
Pervasive peace. Calm.
“We had better get it right!”
“Peace! Be still! I Am! Be still and know! I Am!”
Nakdimon’s traveling companions did not suspect that the enormous man was a member of the council of seventy elders who ruled Israel. He appeared common enough, more like a drover with ordinary clothes, black beard, broad shoulders, and a bullneck.
It was best they not know his rank, he reasoned. After all, beneath the skin he was no different than they. He had also come far to see and hear Yeshua of Nazareth firsthand.
He had arrived in Galilee a skeptic.
Now he believed.
But what boundaries defined his belief? That Yeshua was a man of extraordinary powers and wisdom couldn’t be denied. But Israel’s history and writings told many stories of such men. None of them was the Anointed One, the Prophet, Priest, and King, the awaited Messiah.
Was Yeshua that one? Or should they look for another? Yeshua had refused the crown offered to him by an exultant mob.
Why?
He had a ready-made army he might have commanded to overpower the currently ruling tyrants of Rome and Herod Antipas. He chose not to.
Why?
Instead he had slipped away into the hills. None had seen him since.
Nakdimon, along with his fellow travelers, had witnessed the feeding of thousands of men, women, and children who had paused on their journey long enough to listen to the Master’s teaching. And yet the loaves and fishes merely temporarily assuaged a physical hunger. Nakdimon’s heart hungered to know more, to hear more!
And what had Nakdimon taken away from his encounter with Yeshua? Besides the facts of what he had seen with his own eyes? Perhaps it was not what he had taken, but what he had left behind.
He no longer grieved for his wife, his dear Hadassah. He had let her go, heard her bless his life one last time. It was enough. She was somehow born again. Somewhere else. Living. Smiling. Talking. But no longer here! Yeshua had let Nakdimon glimpse that. And in the certainty that Hadassah was happy and safe, Nakdimon had finally become free to live again.
