Second Touch (25 page)

the Omer—contains the answer! The heavens declare the glory of God. The skies proclaim the work of His hands. Peniel looked up at the stars. “Yes. I ¬understood what that meant when I looked up tonight. Beautiful. He is a joyful, wonderful, creative God to share what he has made with us. Loving. I feel his love when I look up. ¬I’m blessed. Blessed that I can see it all.” Day after day the heavens pour forth speech like manna, raining Yahweh’s answers like bread from heaven. There is no language in which God’s words are not ¬understood. We in the wilderness ate bread from heaven . . . and yet we died! I tell you the truth: One is coming—no, He’s already here living among you—He is the true bread sent down from heaven! He is the WHAT! He is the WHO! Those who eat this bread will have eternal life. For God so loved the world He gave His ¬only Son that whoever believes in Him will never die.36 Do you ¬understand what ¬I’m telling you, Peniel? “I think I do. I hope so. I’ve seen his face. I believe he has come down to give us eternal life.” One last thing, and then I must go. Strange, is it not? When Yahweh promised to give bread from heaven, the Hebrew word for give is a palindrome. It is spelled the same backwards and forwards: Nun-Tav-Nun. It reads the same from either direction. Give is a word that never ends. Never runs dry. An eternal word. Past and present and future. God gives His ¬only Son as living bread, so we may feed on ¬every word and live with Him for eternity. God’s love for us is a palindrome. Think about it, Peniel. Meditate upon even the small things in Torah. Everything means something. “I will. I will. Thanks. And if you see Messiah tell him where we are. Tell him we’re looking for him. And if you ¬don’t mind, tell him we’re hungry.” I’ll tell him! Shalom! Shalom! Silence. Silence. The sounds of the night swirled around him.

Peniel did not know how long he slept. Dawn was breaking when he opened his eyes. Jekuthiel sat at a distance on a rock. His face was covered. “I’ve . . . been . . . waiting for you . . . to wake . . . up.” “Shalom.” Peniel greeted the leper. “There’s . . . a nest of . . . quails . . . just there . . . beneath that bush. Yes . . . eggs for . . . breakfast.”

“Tell me about your life, Lily,” Deborah whispered in the dark as the embers burned low. “Your parents. Your mother. Tell me . . . again. What was she like? Your mother.” So it had come to this. Deborah had spent the day talking about her family. Brother. Sisters. A mother who had wept at her banishment. A father who had turned away when she returned. And now Deborah wanted Lily to remember Outside. Remembering the past was a way of denying the present, of letting go of the

future. Lily had seen it a hundred times among those waiting in the dying cave. Talk. Talk about what was. To make you forget that what-will-be was out of reach now. Cantor was dead. Deborah and Baruch were dying. The baby would die soon after that, since there would no longer be nourishment for him. All hope was gone, Lily knew. All. Gone. “My family.” Lily turned her face to the cavern wall. Images of Mama and Papa and her brothers were clear before her. As clear as a painting. They smiled at her across a ¬Pass¬over table. All of them leaning forward as Papa unwrapped gifts he had brought from Yerushalayim. A new dress for Mama. Candlesticks. Slingshots for the boys. A wooden box inlaid with lilies for Lily. “Mama? She looked like me, I think. Her hair was gold. Eyes blue. Taller than me. But maybe I just remember her being taller because I ¬wasn’t grown.” “And your father. A good father was he?” “He loved the boys. Brought them slingshots from Yerushalayim. Taught them to kill crows in the fields. Yes. Papa was . . .” “And your mother? She’d hold you when you were frightened?” “Tell us stories before bedtime. Sing to us. Brush my hair. Yes. Brush my hair.” The words clearly choked Lily as she tried to capture the flood of memories that startled her like a bird rising up from a long-fallow field. “More. Tell me, Lily.” “Please, Deborah. I ¬can’t. It’s like losing them all over again. I ¬can’t!” “But your mother is kind? She’s good with children? with boys?” “Yes. Yes.” Deborah’s mind wandered. “We were once part of a great clan, Jekuthiel and me. Once we were. Our fathers were masons. Men of the quarries. Carvers and foremen at the Temple. Strong hands. Men of strong hands. We were rich once . . . Jekuthiel a journeyman. An artisan, they said, until . . .” “Yes. Yes.” Lily had heard it all a hundred times before. “But your mother. She would take in a baby boy? Child of a mason? Of a great clan?” So this was it. “You’re giving up.” “He’s not coming back. Jekuthiel and Cantor are both . . . somewhere else. God has forsaken us. We are the ones who are Outside. Outside the love of God. How can we think otherwise? Rabbi Ahava? He’s lying to us. We ¬aren’t loved by God! He has . . . forsaken us! Listen to Baruch breathing there. How long do you suppose he’ll last? A few weeks. I’ll try to live until he goes but then . . . and the same fate awaits the baby if . . . if . . .” “Your own family? Outside?” “Turned us all away. The great clan. Wouldn’t take in my boys. No. No. But your mother . . . a good person, you say? Would she?” “How?” “You’ll take him. Carry him alone.”

“Deborah . . . how?” “You’ll get up one morning and you’ll go. Outside. You’ll just carry my baby Outside. Carry him home to your mama, where he’ll have a life. She’ll rock him to sleep like she did you. She’ll sing to him. Let him lick the bowl when she makes honey cakes. And you’ll see your mama one last time.” “What makes you think I want to?” “Because . . . because . . . you’ve been talking in your sleep. Talking about her. Oh, Lily! Please! There’s no other way for him to live.” ¬I’m praying again, Silent One. How can I look past my own grief to see if perhaps this might end happily? And in the seeing find the light of hope that could keep my broken heart beating? I am a tree, tangled in a dense forest of others like myself. Branch intertwined with branch. All of us stand together. Evergreen. Seasons come and go. Living. Longing. Dying. Never changing. One falls and another sprouts to take its place. Evergreen, tangled, sorrow thrives in the soil of our hearts.

Simon carefully folded the latest communication from High Priest Caiaphas and tucked it into his pocket. He was aware of Jerusha watching him from the doorway. The servants were off to market. The house was empty, except for the two of them. “You’re going out to hear Yeshua today?” she said quietly, hopefully. “You’ll ask him? Ask him to help you?” Simon drew himself erect and snapped, “Ask him? Never! I’ll be there in an official capacity. A representative of the Sanhedrin. To interrogate. To observe.” “But, Simon!” Jerusha pleaded. “What if? What if he could help you? Help . . . us?” “If he could have helped me, he would already have done so. If he was who he claims to be, then he would take one look at me and . . . and . . .” “And know how you’re hurting. How desperate, how afraid you are.” Simon’s fist crashed down on the table. “Enough! I will not hear more about it. The oil is helping. ¬I’m better ¬every day! I’ll never ask that charlatan for help! Not ¬ever! Or ¬don’t you know? Have you forgotten? There’s an edict against him issued directly by the rulers of Israel! You think I’d approach Yeshua for help and risk being cast out by our own authorities? Look at those who have been banished! Look . . . even Zadok . . . Zadok is among the outcasts now! He follows Yeshua openly.” “Many others follow him as well. Oh, Simon! Let me go! Let me go to Yeshua. Ask him on your behalf! Ask him to meet with you in secret!” “Never! You’ll not go near him or his little band of fishermen, Jerusha! Do you ¬understand? I’ll lock you away before you disgrace the House of Zeraim by approaching a false prophet in public! You go against the Sanhedrin’s edict, and we’ll be dragged before the rulers in disgrace! The Law is the law!” She lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. “And how long, Simon . . . how

long until these laws, which are the very god of your idolatry, command that you be cast out from Israel? How long until you’re discovered and . . . and . . .” Simon roared and leapt to his feet. “You dare to challenge me in this? You dare?” “I love you!” “If you love me, you’ll keep silence. And if Yeshua is anyone . . . any sort of prophet, he’ll look at me and know. He’ll do something without my having to ask or grovel! I’ll wait and see what he does. I’ll know if he’s a man from God by how he treats me, a respected ruler of Israel. By what he does! Hear me, Jerusha! I’ll not bend my knee to him! I will not beg! I’ll rot away before I ask Yeshua for help!”

17 It was unseasonably hot on the north shore of the Sea of Galilee. Perspiration dripped from Zadok’s brow. The old man wiped his face on his sleeve and urged Avel, Emet, and Ha-or Tov ahead through the packed crowd. Red Dog pressed himself hard against Avel’s left leg. Avel clung tightly to Zadok’s belt as the shepherd cut through them. Ha-or Tov hung on to Avel’s tunic. Emet hooked his fingers in Ha-or Tov’s sleeve. Outside the village of Capernaum, beside the main highway, was a disused winepress. Around it a large congregation gathered. On one side of the road, stretching from it down toward the lake, was a vineyard. Neatly strung vines hung heavily with ripening clusters. Opposite the grapes, an olive grove marched in orderly precision up and over a nearby hill. Zadok and the three boys caught up with Yeshua and those who flocked to hear Him teach. From far off Ha-or Tov, who once had been blind, spotted Yeshua, seated on the stone ledge bordering the winepress. “There he is!” shouted the boy. Ha-or Tov’s joyful cry matched the exuberance of his curly, red hair. Avel focused where his friend pointed. Yes. Yeshua. The Teacher was deeply involved in a discussion. Most of His audience were am ha aretz. A few were richly dressed Pharisees. “We won’t interrupt him, boys,” Zadok warned as they approached near enough to hear the discussion. Avel tugged Zadok’s sleeve. Though ¬everyone else’s attention centered on Yeshua, Judas Iscariot fixed his focus on Avel and detached himself from the group around the Teacher. It was clear Judas had not noticed Zadok, ¬only the boys. “Master Zadok,” Avel said urgently. “That man—Judas—was with bar Abba. Before we came to live with you, we saw him with the rebels.” “Aye?” Zadok sized Judas up. “He looks too soft to be much trouble.” “He . . . he scares me!” “Us,” Ha-or Tov corrected. “He scares us.” Emet nodded vigorously.

“Only way to meet trouble,” Zadok instructed, “is head-on. But y’ boys just stay here beside me.” Red Dog bristled and growled as Judas came near. “Get by, dog,” the old shepherd instructed the animal. “I can handle this fox without your help.” Red Dog stood down, taking his place close at Avel’s heel. Judas’ jaw clenched as he neared the boys. He stopped short as Zadok stepped between him and Avel. “Looking for someone?” Zadok challenged. “Shalom.” Judas cleared his throat nervously. “Chief Shepherd Zadok, ¬aren’t you?” “Was. Was Chief Shepherd in Beth-lehem.” Zadok peered at the well-groomed disciple in warning. “Now me and my boys, we’ve come to join Yeshua. Aye. Me and my boys.” One of Zadok’s brawny hands rested on Avel’s shoulder and another on Ha-or Tov, while smaller Emet was sandwiched in between them. “But then,” he added, “y’ have met my boys before, ¬haven’t y’?” “Yes, well . . .” “They tell me y’ were in the camp of bar Abba. Hadn’t heard that before.” Judas stammered again. “I-it’s been a while.” Zadok continued, “Makes no difference to me . . . so long as a man’s true and trustworthy. There’s many who want the kingdom restored to Israel. My boys were in bar Abba’s camp themselves before they came to their senses.” Judas began again. “Bar Abba wanted to force Yeshua to proclaim his kingship. I was . . . a sort of go-between. Nothing more. A messenger boy. But of course Yeshua won’t hear of it. And since the violence, I won’t have anything to do with bar Abba anymore.” Zadok glared into Judas’ eyes. After a moment Judas turned his gaze away. “Just so y’ heard me,” Zadok added. “These boys are mine, eh? Yer background’s yer own affair. But trouble these little ones and y’ answer to me.” “Trouble? No!” Judas protested. “I recognized them. Just wanted to say it’s fortunate they escaped bar Abba’s men unharmed. Some of the rebels are utterly ruthless and bloodthirsty, not to be trusted.” Judas glanced at Avel. “That’s all. Not to be trusted . . . some of them.” “Thanks for the warning,” Zadok drawled. “Come on, boys.” Zadok herded the trio closer to Yeshua. The ongoing discussion bordered on hostility. “You must show us a miraculous sign,” prompted a Pharisee whose leather gloves were a clear enough sign that he did not wish to be contaminated by those he stood among. At the sight of the Pharisee, Zadok halted mid-stride and blanched. “So, Simon ben Zeraim has found his way to the Teacher. It’s certain he’s not here to be taught.” Avel glanced up at the old man. Was that anger in his voice? “Yes,” a sturdy farmer agreed with the Pharisee. “If you want the people to believe in you, show us a sign. What’ll you do for us?”

With a hint of slyness in his manner Simon suggested, “After all, our ancestors ate manna while they journeyed through the wilderness! As the Scriptures say, ‘Mosheh gave them bread from heaven to eat.’ ”37 “I know what he wants,” Avel hissed to Ha-or Tov. “We saw Yeshua feed all those people with our barley loaves and dried fish. They want him to feed them again.” “Shh!” Zadok cautioned. Then, bending near Avel’s ear, the old shepherd admitted, “Some folk want him to feed them every day. Back to the wilderness, ha! Never work again, they mean! Paradise on earth.” Yeshua spoke. “I tell you the truth. It ¬wasn’t Mosheh who gave them bread from heaven. Manna was a gift from my Father. And now he offers you the true bread from heaven.”38 “What’s this? What’s this?” challenged the Pharisee. Yeshua replied, “The true bread of God is the one who ¬comes down from heaven and gives life to the world. To life!”39 A ripple of confused questioning ran through the crowd, mixed with appreciative laughter. The word for bread, lechem, sounded very much like the toast L’Chaim, “to life.” “By the lechem of God, God offers L’Chaim to the world,” whispered Zadok admiringly. “A wordplay. Quite a good one. He’s tying the opposition in knots.” Simon the Pharisee continued the discussion. Undisguised disgust was in his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘The bread of God is the one who ¬comes down from heaven’? What’s that supposed to mean?” It occurred to Avel that the Pharisee wanted to goad Yeshua into performing a magic trick. The second interrogator continued, “Sir, give us that bread!” The farmer concurred. “Yes! Give us that bread ¬every day of our lives!”40 Zadok nudged Avel, and when the boy looked up, the old man gave a solemn wink. But Yeshua had His own agenda for this debate, Avel noted. Continuing, the Teacher stated, “I am the bread of life. No one who ¬comes to me will ¬ever be hungry again. Those who believe in me will never thirst.”41 Yeshua continued to expound on this theme, but ¬only the nearest rank of His audience heard Him because of the muttering of the rest. The uproar that followed Yeshua’s connection of Himself to the bread of life included angry shouts. Simon, the well-dressed Pharisee, said loudly enough for ¬everyone to hear, “Who’s this? What? Does he think he’s Mosheh leading us through the wilderness? He’s a nobody! Yeshua, the son of Yosef the carpenter. We know his father and mother. How can he say, ‘I came down from heaven’?” Avel studied the features of the obviously wealthy Pharisee, noting again that Zadok continued to pay particular attention to the same man. Raising his voice to be heard over the tumult, Yeshua added, “I assure you, anyone who believes in me already has eternal life. Yes, I am the bread of life. Your ancestors—” Yeshua confronted the Pharisee again, head-to-head