by Shlomo Kalo
“Get into the wagon, Azariah, I want to stretch my legs!” – he smiled into his friend’s gloomy face.
“It isn’t time for the change-over yet, and you’re not the one who’s after me. It’s Adoniah’s turn next!”
“Go on Azariah, you need the rest!” – his voice was gentle and clear, but also firm and decisive, as irresistible as his genuine smile, the smile of one who has never known the meaning of deceit.
Azariah touched his shoulder, a friendly gesture, responded to his smile with a smile of his own, and climbed into the wagon.
The time was early afternoon, and the sun was beating down with undiminished vigour, but he was unaware of its scorching. His heart was filled with joy and his impulse was to break into song, a song of praise to the Creator of all, his all-seeing Father in Heaven, who spoke through the lips of his servant David, son of Jesse: I said, you are God, and all of you sons of the Most High!
The commander of the convoy approached him, mounted on his powerful steed. It was evident that the heat of the sun was not agreeing with him. He had removed some of his armour, the visor of his helmet was open, secured with a goatskin strap, and his face was roasting. Both horse and rider were sweating profusely.
“This isn’t a fair sharing out of the walking duties!” he commented, adding: “I saw you yesterday, and I see you today. Where are your friends? What kind of friends are they?”
He looked up and answered him, his voice calm and even:
“It was my choice to walk!”
“Walking in the sun is not my idea of a pleasurable pastime,” – the Chaldean spoke fluent Aramaic, seasoned with occasional words borrowed from the Holy Tongue.
“Pleasure is not dependent on the sun,” he retorted in the same tone, turning away and looking straight ahead at the broad dusty road, the royal highway, built by the Egyptians and improved by the Chaldeans, nations locked in conflict for mastery of the world.
“What is it dependent on?” the Chaldean asked with some interest, clearly seeking some way of distracting his attention from the heat.
“The heart,” he answered him.
“How is it dependent on the heart?” the Chaldean queried.
“If there is no joy in the heart – even in Paradise man will be miserable, and if the heart is singing joyful songs to its God – then Hell itself will be turned into Paradise!” he declared.
The convoy commander reined in his thoroughbred mount and paused to reflect on the young man’s answer, turning it over in his mind. Then, with a light touch of his whip on the horse’s handsome neck he moved on, keeping pace with the young man as he stepped out with vigorous tread.
On the eastern side of the road appeared another ruined Jewish village.
The convoy commander’s horse was showing signs of distress, shying and bucking, rearing on his hind legs and whinnying repeatedly. It took considerable effort on the part of his rider, fine horseman that he was, to control and pacify him.
“Your horse is upset by what he sees!” the youth commented.
The Chaldean officer was more impressed than ever: “You understand horses too?”
“I do.”
“It’s as you say,” the rider admitted, going on to explain: “This horse was present at the massacre that we carried out in the rebel villages!” There was a hard edge to his deep, guttural voice – a ploy to mask his unease. “They didn’t heed the warnings, or listen to the voice of their God, speaking through their great prophet, Jeremiah!”
“The one who slaughtered these wretched peasants – was he listening to the voice of his God?” – asked the youth, fixing the Chaldean with a stern, reproachful look.
“King Nebuchadnezzar is our God, his voice we hear and his commands we obey!” the other snapped.
“Nebuchadnezzar is no deity but a man, flesh and blood, ruling by the grace of God. And if his actions are not acceptable to the One who bestows His grace upon him – he won’t be a king for much longer!”
“The penalty for speaking out against our King and our God is death by hanging!” – the Chaldean threatened, but the menace in his voice was overridden by his amazement at the young man’s reply. The more he spoke with him, the greater his wonderment grew.
“The man who kills for the sake of killing, is defying God!”
“How then are certain persons to prevail over others in battles and in warfare?” – the Chaldean shot at the young man, still walking alongside the wagon with confident mien.
“The one whose faith is true faith, and whose God is the living God, has no need to take human lives and burn down people’s homes to prove himself the victor!”
“How can that be?” – the Chaldean’s bemusement was sincere and he listened attentively to the words of the youth, leaning towards him in the effort to learn something of his wisdom.
Disregarding his question, the youth went on to say:
“Crowds will come flocking to such a man with joy and jubilation, and they will greet him with singing and dancing, and urge him to consent to being their leader, and they will make him their king, and he will be to them a governor and a mentor, ruling over them with justice, with truth and with love! His victory will be absolute and his praise – eternal praise!”
“You mean – a king who rules with the consent of his people, and not by virtue of royal and noble birth?” asked the Chaldean.
“I mean – a king who rules with the consent of the living God, who is love!”
“There are no such kings!” the rider declared, unconsciously tugging at the reins of his pampered horse, and the horse whinnied uneasily, rearing and stamping the hard ground with his hooves, before calming down again and submitting to the will of his master.
“There are no others!” the youth asserted, adding: “He who takes the lives of human beings and burns their dwellings to subject them to his rule – his faith is not true faith, and his God, not the living God!”
The Chaldean soldier was silent. He too was silent. What more was there to say? What he needed to say, he had said. The good seed was scattered. Whether it would flourish and prosper and grow tall, and ripen and bear fruit – this depended on the quality of the ground on which it fell.
They walked on, about the distance of half a parasang, in unbroken silence, side by side, the Chaldean horseman and the Jewish youth on foot.
The convoy commander took a long-necked jug from his saddle-bag, leaned towards the youth and said:
“Be my guest, take a drink of this pure water, fresh from the spring. My equerry filled this jug a little while ago,” and he handed it to the youth.
He took the jug, raised it in his right hand and drank from it in the ploughman’s fashion – letting the water trickle from a height straight into the mouth, without the lips touching the jug. The water was cold, fresh and sweet to the taste, Galilean spring-water, renowned throughout the land of Judah.
“Thankyou!” – he returned the jug to its owner.
“And now I must make haste and see how matters are proceeding at the head of the column! It has been a pleasure talking to you,” the Chaldean added, “and I am sure we shall meet again in the palace of King Nebuchadnezzar! My name” – he introduced himself – “is Or-Nego. May your God go with you!” And he spurred his horse and galloped away at the side of the long column and disappeared from view, kicking up behind him clouds of powdery, cloying dust, that hung suspended in the air.
Day followed day, according to well-established routine: setting out, on foot or on horseback, before the sunrise, a brief halt in the middle of the day, a snack at noon, overnight camp beside a lake or a river, washing of beasts and of people alike, evening meal around campfires, curling up and sleeping, reveille before the sun has risen and the last of the stars has faded, meticulous inspection of wagons, horses’ hooves, cargo, weaponry, then the saddling and harnessing of horses, and the cycle of the day begins again.
They swallowed up the land, crossing over Judah and Galilee, climbed up to the h
eights of Ashur and left them far behind, proceeded slowly along the steep and narrow roadway to the forbidding Taurus mountains, and here one of the older horses perished, and one of the milch-cows fell into a deep crevice and was lost. From the Taurus mountains they saw the eternal snow on peaks far away to the west, and began the slow descent towards their destination, the kingdom of Babylon and the city of Babylon, the greatest city in the universe whose king, so it was said by all, had conquered all the nations of the world or cast his fear upon them, and there was no land and no people that did not pay him tribute in goods and in slaves.
The second week passed and then the group of young men realised that there had been no improvement in Gershon’s condition; on the contrary – his health had deteriorated and he was a state far worse than that of before; his injured leg was swollen and he was plagued by fever, suffering hallucinations and muttering incoherently, sometimes turning to his God in prayer, sometimes staring blankly at the young men, eyes wide open but seeing nothing.
Adoniah suggested they appeal to the convoy commander, and ask him to send one of the surgeons in the service of the Chaldean army, to examine the invalid and pronounce whatever judgment he would pronounce. The suggestion was accepted.
Or-Nego heard him out in silence, and when he had finished, spurred his horse and rode away along the line of the column. Half an hour later, one of the Chaldean surgeons presented himself, asking to see the patient. Daniel pointed to the interior of the wagon. The surgeon went inside, leaned over Gershon, examined his wound, his leg that was swollen and turning blue, saw the seeping discharge, laid a hand on his sweating brow, withdrew in silence and climbed down from the wagon.
“There’s no hope for him!” he told the young man. “Even if we amputate the leg, it would do him no good. The best treatment for him is a quick and merciful, painless death. His suffering will be over, and the progress of the convoy not impeded.”
The surgeon reported to the convoy commander, and the latter came and asked the young man, solemnly, what he proposed to do with the casualty.
“We shall try to cure him!” was the brief reply.
“Do you have some treatment at your disposal that the surgeon does not?”
“We have.”
“And that is?”
“Prayer.”
The Chaldean gave him a quizzical look.
“He’s holding up the convoy!” he declared.
“By God’s grace he will be well enough to walk with the rest of them.”
“And if not?”
“Then do with him as you see fit.”
“Will three days be long enough to cure him?”
“Ample!” he replied.
The Chaldean turned his horse and sped back to the head of the column.
The surface of the road had changed and was rockier than before. Clouds of dust, rising in plumes in the wake of the charging horses and befouling the air, were a thing of the past.
When they halted for the night, he approached his companions, telling them of his conversation with Or-Nego and suggesting they pray together for the recovery of Gershon. They agreed, but with reservations. Adoniah reckoned there was no point bothering God in a hopeless case such as this, and his two friends, Matthew and Gabriel, supported him, albeit hesitantly. Uziel was silent, as if not caring either way. Azariah, Mishael and Hananiah supported Daniel enthusiastically.
“Let us pray!” – he said and knelt, putting his hands together and lifting them up towards the lofty, starry sky.
The youths stared at one another in amazement. His three friends, Azariah, Hananiah and Mishael, followed his example, kneeling, joining hands obediently and lifting them up to the sky and the great stars, twinkling with their enchanted light. Uziel also did likewise, kneeling and putting his palms together, but not raising them heavenwards. While Gabriel hesitated, Matthew and Adoniah sprang to their feet.
“This is nothing but idolatry!” cried Adoniah in a croaking voice, turning his back on the group. Matthew followed his lead and they both disappeared in the dark.
He did not respond to Adoniah’s comment, did not even hear it. Nor did he pay any attention to the departure of Adoniah and Matthew, or to the way that Uziel was not raising his hands, while Gabriel was not putting his hands together but simply kneeling, as if unable to make up his mind.
“I pray, my Father in Heaven, in Your mercy and Your compassion and Your kindness and Your love – please heal your servant Gershon Ben Caleb Ben Judah, deliver his soul from torment, deliver him!” And this he repeated three times. He lowered his head and let his hands fall limply to his sides, then sank into a deep silence, that neither Heaven above nor the earth beneath could have broken.
Long moments passed. He rose finally, turned to his friends, standing there immobile, like shadows bereft of the life-force, and said to them:
“By the grace and the love of God, Gershon is cured!” And he turned, and walked to the camp.
They found themselves a place beside one of the campfires that had been well stoked, spread out their mats, curled up in their blankets, and fell asleep, shielded from the fierce chill of the night by the bright flames of the fire.
Not one of them dreamed, but all were aware of something limpid, intensely pleasurable, filling their entire being, and their lips eased into smiles and their faces lit up as they slept. And when the reveille was sounded and all were awakened, the youths emerged from beneath their blankets, washed hands and faces, covered the embers of the fire with dust, picked up their mats and climbed into the wagon, happy and invigorated – and saw no sign of Gershon.
“The man has disappeared!” cried Gabriel, who was the first into the wagon. And Uziel was quick to add:
“I expect he went out to relieve himself, and fell into one of the gullies and got himself stuck there, and even if some wild beast hasn’t attacked him, you can be sure he’s given up the ghost by now, returned his sinful soul to his Maker!”
“Or perhaps he went to the waterside to wash his hands and face, and give joyful thanks to his Creator, Hallelujah!” – an unexpected voice rang out behind them, responding to Uziel’s words, a voice that made their hair stand on end.
“The invalid has risen from his sickbed, and lives by the grace and the compassion of God!” exclaimed Hananiah, pointing to Gershon who stood before them steadily on both his legs, a broad smile on his face and eyes sparkling with youthful light. The youths regained their composure and all of them, including Matthew and Adoniah who had popped up from somewhere, cried with one voice:
“Hallelujah! Praise be to the Lord Most High! Hallelujah!”
His eyes filled with tears, and he moved away from the group, found a secluded spot behind a bush and sat for a long while in silence, his whole being suffused with gratitude to the living God.
When he returned, he found the young men gathered around Gershon, intent on discovering, to the last detail, when and how the change had come about, when and how the debilitating fever had left him, and his rotting leg had healed and he had been utterly cured of all his ailments, his pains at an end, and his soul delivered.
And he was happy to oblige them, willingly answering all their questions, giving a full and detailed account of the miracle, how it had happened and when, and in what circumstances:
“I was in the grip of a fever, not knowing where I was, not knowing who I was, and great sinner that I am, I called upon the Holy One Blessed be He and begged Him to let me die, just so I should be spared further torment, the throbbing agony creeping up my leg, my head that was spinning like a wheel, my heart beating like a drum in my chest!
“I didn’t expect, and it never occurred to me, there would be a change for the better, and I didn’t imagine I had the right, or could find the courage – to appeal to the Lord my God to restore me to life!
“How I longed to stop being, to stop suffering, to die! And my pain grew worse, until all of a sudden, in a way I shall never be able to explain to myself, it stopped, all at
once, as if it had been cut by a knife. It was over, finished, fading and disappearing as if it never had been.
“I was born again! At first I didn’t believe it. I thought it was just a hallucination, a dream! I’m dreaming a dream that isn’t real, I told myself, and I hope I’ll never wake up! But what kind of dream is it – I asked myself – if I can feel my right hand holding my left, pinching my arm, and the pain, the exquisite pain! – spreading through all my limbs? So I’m awake! Awake and not suffering, not in torment! A miracle has been done here, a miracle!
“The Holy One Blessed be He – He has taken pity on me. Unbelievable! Well, I said to myself – let’s have a look and see what’s left of my rotting leg. And very carefully I unwrapped the cotton bandage, and already seeing in my mind’s eye the vile discharge and bracing myself for the stench. And here is the leg! No discharge and no stench, no sign or trace of gangrene – all thanks and praise to the God Above! The limb is whole and healthy, as if it never was infected at all!
“So there it is my young brothers, my friends and my children! Praise and glory to God the most High, Hallelujah!” – and Gershon was leaping and cavorting, dancing before the group of young men, who were still staring in disbelief, and constantly touching his thigh and stroking his shin, as if refusing to believe the evidence of his senses.
And when Gershon and he came face to face, with no one else close by, Gershon said to him:
“I suppose this came about through the merit that I earned with that act of charity of mine, saving my brother-in-law from exile and coming in his place, and taking on myself his suffering and his anguish.” If Gershon expected to hear approbation of this statement, he would be disappointed.
After a long moment Daniel looked up and gave Gershon a cool and incisive look, and answered him:
“That act of charity of yours, I’ve changed my mind about it. That wasn’t an act inspired by faith.”
“How is that?” – Gershon was bemused.
“If you had trusted in your God with flawless trust, you wouldn’t have needed to deceive anyone. You would have turned to Him, your Father in Heaven and your God, and sought His mercy, and His grace and His love – and your brother-in-law would have been saved!”
