Second Touch (33 page)

On a hill overlooking the Sea of Galilee, Lily milked the goat and fed baby Isra’el. When he was sated, Lily sipped a bit of warm, sweet liquid and felt grateful. Late-afternoon sun hammered the silver sheet of water. Russet sails of fishing vessels scudded across the surface like butterflies skimming a

pond. Beautiful. Lily had almost forgotten how beautiful. Beyond the lake, the Galil was greening with new crops of early summer. Vineyards dressed the terraced slopes in a bright green cloak of perfect symmetry. “Home.” Lily inhaled deeply. The scents were so familiar to her even after all these years, it was as though she had never been away. “Home.” She reckoned she would be at the farm by twilight. “Look, Isra’el.” She held the baby face forward so he could see the land. “This is where you will grow up. Someday you’ll be a man here. Their own dear boy. They’ll love you. ‘Such a quiet baby,’ Mama will say. She always appreciated sweet little ones like you. Mama will sing to you. Rock you to sleep at night. Papa will show you how to plant and harvest. He’ll teach you Torah. And with my heart, your voice will speak the words I long to say. You’ll call them Mama and Papa. And they’ll never know it’s me loving them back from behind your eyes. Me there with you when you laugh. Me wishing joy for them through you. They are good folks, Isra’el. They ¬couldn’t help it that I had to go away. Mama said she wished it was her instead of me. But it ¬wasn’t. I pray for her ¬every day.” Milk dribbled from his lips. He burped as she bounced him. Lily kissed the child on his velvet head. “It is a good place to spend a lifetime, Isra’el.” Bean rows would all be planted by now. Tendrils climbing the beanpoles. The cow would be fat from the spring grass. Chickens in the coop would lay eggs enough for a good meal ¬every day. And nobody in all the village made honey cakes like Mama! Lily smiled as she pictured it all. “Maybe there’ll be baby lambs in the lambing pens. If it’s a good year and Papa ¬didn’t have to sell them all.” Through the heat-induced haze Lily could almost see where their farm was situated. In a swale a half mile from Capernaum. Just behind the dark green of the landlord’s walnut orchard. Yes. There was the swath of green. The orchard. Home was just there. Hawk’s bell roused Lily from her reverie. He flared and balanced on the thin branch of a sage. His golden eyes studied Lily, as if to ask what she was waiting for. He bobbed up and down on the limb in an almost impatient gesture. “I see you,” she acknowledged. The bird mewed in response. “Yes. You’re right. It’s lovely here. It’s better here than our Valley. But we ¬can’t stay, Hawk. No. Just for a while. I wish . . .” ¬I’m praying again, Lover of This Land. Yes. I love it too. Home. Yes. You’ve carved it on my heart, I suppose. I just ¬didn’t remember how deep the etching. I ¬didn’t know that I would still bleed at the sight of it. Or at least I ¬didn’t let myself think about it. But the baby. He’ll grow up here. You’ll let him live. For all of us who won’t. I’ll think about him here and be happy. For Mama. Papa. For him. Yes. I won’t mind dying if I

can give them such a gift. It was getting late. They would have to get going if they would make it home before sundown.

Avel was thankful when Yeshua completed His journey to the swamps of the north and returned to the Galil. His relief was short-lived, however, because the Teacher and His talmidim ¬only passed through the ¬Jewish territory. The little band pressed on into the Decapolis, the federation of Greek-founded cities that lay partly between Galilee and Samaria, but chiefly east of the Jordan. Crowds of listeners, most Gentiles, gathered from all the cities of the region: from Hippos and Gadara, from Philoteria and Scythopolis, from Capitolias and even as far away as Philadelphia, way out on the border of Nabatea. “Suppose one of you has a friend,” Yeshua taught them, “and you go to him in the middle of the night and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread because another friend of mine who has been traveling has just arrived at my house, and I have nothing for him to eat.’ Now the one inside may answer, ‘Don’t bother me! The door is already shut, my children are with me in bed—I ¬can’t get up to give you anything!’ But I tell you, even if he won’t get up because the man is his friend, yet because of the man’s chutzpah he will get up and give him as much as he needs. Moreover, I myself say to you: Keep asking, and it will be given to you; keep knocking and the door will be opened to you. For ¬everyone who goes on asking receives; and he who goes on seeking finds; and to him who continues knocking, the door will be opened.”63 Among the thousands who came, there were few who openly opposed Yeshua. This multitude was not made up of ¬Jewish Zealots looking for a Messiah— King to free them from the Romans. Also not represented in this semipagan country were Pharisees wanting a controllable prophet to validate their peculiar and restrictive brand of ¬holiness. Nor were ¬Jewish Temple authorities on hand, jealously guarding their privileges. The people who followed Yeshua into the wilderness east of the Sea of Galilee were eager to see and hear the Healer and have Him touch their sick. Since the daughter of the Gentile woman was healed in Chadassa, the floodgates opened. Lame, blind, crippled, mute—all these physical ailments and more—were brought to Yeshua. He touched and healed them all. As if trying to pack two years of His talmidim’s training into the briefest space possible, Yeshua taught almost nonstop for three days. “Is there any father here who, if his son asked him for a fish, would instead of a fish give him a snake? Or if he asked for an egg, would give him a scorpion? So if you, even though you are bad, know how to give your children gifts that are good, how much more will the Father keep giving the Ruach HaKodesh from heaven—the Holy Spirit—to those who keep asking him?64 “Don’t work for the food that passes away but for the food that stays on into eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For this is the one

on whom God the Father has put his seal.”65 The location Yeshua had chosen was even more deserted than around Chadassa. The closest village was miles off. Nor was the hillside where He spoke especially hospitable. Unlike the lush grass of a few months earlier, the scene now contained sparse vegetation, brittle after more than two months of the dry season. The more exposed hillsides were bare rock or dirt. Yet, as if His very words were food and drink, the crowds stayed. They acted unwilling to miss even half a day to trudge out to get provisions. The first day they ate figs and boiled eggs brought from home. The first night the assembly cooked over campfires. They prepared stews and soups and ate fresh bread purchased in Hippos. The second day they ate leftovers and trail provisions: rock-hard barley loaves, dried fish. The third morning they scrounged through knapsacks to find previously overlooked parcels of dried dates and fragments of matzah. By noon all the provisions had been consumed. Late in the afternoon on the third day Yeshua gathered His closest confidants on the hilltop. Avel, with Zadok, Ha-or Tov, and Emet, stood just outside this ring but near enough to hear the Master’s words. “I feel sorry for these people,” Yeshua said. “They’ve been here with me for three days and have nothing left to eat. If I send them home without feeding them, they’ll faint along the road. Some of them have come a long distance.”66 Avel’s stomach growled. Ignoring it, he looked over the throng. His eyes lit on two sitting on the ground in the front row: the woman of Chadassa and a smaller version of herself, clearly her daughter. Both beamed at Yeshua. “How are we supposed to find enough food for them here in the wilderness?” John asked, tugging anxiously at the knot of brown hair tied at the nape of his neck. Yeshua spoke patiently, as if reviewing a lesson He’d covered before but which had failed to take proper root in His talmidim’s ¬understanding. “How many loaves of bread do you have?” He inquired.67 Shim’on and John took stock among the others. Zadok contributed one barley loaf—all that remained of his supply for himself and the boys. “Seven,” Shim’on reported. “That’s all—seven. And a handful of fish.” “Tell the people to sit down.”68 The crowd did as they were told, but an air of expectancy ran through them. “Blessed art Thou, O Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who gives us this bread to eat.” When Yeshua had said this blessing, He broke a loaf, passed two fragments to a waiting disciple, broke another, passed them, and then did so again. Seven rivers of bread flowed down through the multitude like refreshing streams. Avel watched Yeshua’s hands. He gave and gave and gave.

No matter how many times He broke a chunk of bread, another piece large enough to be broken again remained in His hands. It was not the amount of the bread that mattered. It was the hands that broke the bread. To this was added the dried fish, plentiful and to spare since it also passed through the hands of the Master. Everyone tried to eat and talk at the same time. Some in the crowd remarked that now it ¬wasn’t ¬only the Jews who could claim a story about miraculous bread being provided in a wilderness. Avel himself carried two pieces of bread and two chunks of fish to the woman and her daughter from Chadassa. He could ¬only imagine what went through the woman’s mind as she compared her request for the crumbs from the Master’s table to this ample, abundant, overflowing supply of rations. “How many are getting their fill from seven little barley loaves?” Avel heard Ya’acov ask. “About four thousand,” Philip replied. Avel helped gather up the scraps after ¬everyone had all that could be wanted. The leftovers filled seven large baskets. These containers were not small tubs but great wickerwork barrels—the kind used on board ships to carry provisions for long voyages to distant nations. Yeshua blessed the crowd after that, then sent them home. He and His disciples hiked down the canyon, all the way to the shore. When they got there they found boats, arranged for by Miryam of Magdala. The vessels carried them across to her estate on the other side of the lake.

23 Beth-Shemesh, “the house of the sun,” was a minor settlement on the Jordan near the Sea of Galilee’s outlet. From there the river began a straight— line passage of seventy-five miles. In reality its course was nearly twice that length because of its meandering. Eventually water pouring from the Galil reached the Dead Sea. The river called The Descender dropped to a quarter mile below sea level by journey’s end. From bubbling, chattering, fresh and clean, the waters flowed downhill. It gathered volume on the way, ¬only to stagnate and sink and come to uselessness. Peniel thought he knew how the river must feel. They had come so far from Jerusalem. As they had entered the region of Galilee his sense of accomplishing his mission increased. So too his anticipation. But now, on the very threshold of success, it seemed he was thwarted. Beth-Shemesh was deserted. Chickens scratched and chuckled in stone yards. Goats bleated in pens. A wisp of smoke rising from a single chimney tantalized but offered no clues. There was no one left to either explain, beg from, or offer clues as to Yeshua’s whereabouts. “Plague, do you think?” Gideon muttered. Amos had not deserted after all. He still had a flow of proverbs, but they

came less glibly to his tongue. He glanced over his shoulder at Jekuthiel. Perhaps the leper was the embodiment of whatever dread disease had carried off the inhabitants of Beth-Shemesh. “No,” Peniel disagreed. “No dead bodies, no new graves. And look around you: The animals are all fed and watered. These people left in a hurry, but not in distress.” “So?” Amos challenged. “An example is no proof.” Peniel was too tired and too anxious to tell the dwarf to shut up. It was important to make a correct decision here. They had expended a huge amount of energy over the past week, hurrying to catch up with Yeshua. Jekuthiel was almost entirely spent. Long days of arduous tramping left barely enough recovery time before the next morning’s demands. Nor were Amos or Gideon in much better condition. The dwarf seemed shorter in stature, as if the inadequate, bowed legs he had were wearing down. Gideon appeared more crooked and more lame than at the beginning. Up the east shore of the Sea of Galilee lay Bethsaida and Capernaum, perhaps another two days’ travel . . . if they lasted so long. If Yeshua had gone that way, then things might still work out. But what if He had gone the other way . . . turned toward the Plain of Jezreel, or gone up the west shore of the lake? Peniel was convinced Jekuthiel would never live to see Yeshua if they guessed wrongly. Gideon studied the cottage from which the tendril of smoke clung to a wall of cloud-trellised sky. “Food, anyway.” “You’re stealing?” Amos chided. “Stealing to give away for charity is still stealing.” “Look at it this way,” Gideon suggested as he barged into the hut. “¬I’m helping them perform a mitzvah. They’ll be blessed for it, and they had no struggle achieving it.” “If my brother steals . . . ,” Amos began another proverb, but then his stomach growled loudly. “Ah, well. When hunger ¬comes in the door, pride goes to the dung heap. Wait, Gideon. I’ll help you.” Jekuthiel was near a low rock wall. Instead of sitting and resting, he stood like a badly formed statue, frozen beside some marks drawn in blue chalk on the rough stones. Gideon emerged from the farmhouse. His cheeks were stuffed with bread. Both hands were filled with barley loaves. Behind him Amos had an armload of dried fish. “Has the leper finally lost his mind?” Gideon asked. “He looks stuck.” “Jekuthiel?” Peniel asked. “You all right?” A slow nod in response. “Do you . . . know how to . . . read?” he inquired. “Me? No. I can make out my name if I can feel the letters . . . but that’s all.” “You?” Jekuthiel shouted to the others. “Either . . . of you . . . read?” “What for?” Gideon replied. “What good is reading to a beggar? A vanity, that’s all. Doesn’t put one more copper in the bowl now, does it?” “He’s right,” Amos concurred. “Give a pig a chair, and he’ll want to sit at

table.” Gideon thumped the dwarf on the head with a barley loaf. “Then we’ll . . . have to do . . . this the . . . hard way,” Jekuthiel wheezed. “These . . . chalk letters . . . mention Yeshua.” “What?” Gideon demanded. “Where?” “My eyes . . . too bad to . . . make it out. Describe each . . . letter to me. I’ll see . . . what . . .” The leper wavered and staggered sideways. “Quick!” Peniel ordered. “A stool for him.” A painstaking hour passed, full of descriptions like “The next one looks like three fingers of a man’s hand and the one after that has a loop at the top and a straight line down on the left.” At last Jekuthiel asked for a drink of water. When he swallowed it, he took a deep breath and reported: “Yeshua . . . here yesterday. Tomorrow . . . near Shunem.” “Shunem? Which way? How far’s that?” Peniel wondered. “Does it say?” “Due west,” Gideon offered. “If we climb the ridge tonight and camp, we can reach Shunem by noon tomorrow.”