Second Touch (35 page)

In place of her heart there was a stone.

Yeshua never escaped the crowds for long, Avel thought. Even here in Magdala, where the Master enjoyed playing with the children at Miryam’s villa, the word quickly spread that He was present. People came to be healed in their bodies and went away joyful, thanking God. Others came, also requiring healing. The anger, hatred, envy, and jealousy bursting from them clearly showed their spiritual illness, but they would not admit their need. Anger made them blind to the mended lives all around them. Hatred stopped their ears to Yeshua’s words. Envy stifled the taste of the bread of heaven that came through in ¬everything Yeshua taught. Jealousy blunted their ability for Him to touch them and work any healing in them. They were worse off than the lepers. Spiritual disease of the heart robbed them of all their spiritual senses. Pharisees, secure in their private club of self-righteousness, made common cause with the traditional religious party, the Sadducees, about ¬only one topic: opposing Yeshua. Simon the Pharisee was again in the front rank of the attackers. “Once more I challenge you: Prove you are who you claim to be by giving us a miraculous sign. If you let us suggest a trial and you complete it successfully, we’ll have to admit there’s some validity to your claim.”70 Avel heard Yeshua sigh. “You know the saying, ‘Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning’? You are good at reading the weather signs in the sky, but you ¬can’t read the obvious signs of the times! Only an evil, faithless generation would demand a miraculous sign. But I tell you again, the ¬only sign I will give is the sign of Jonah.”71 Simon seemed almost disappointed. What was it he wanted? Why did he continue to demand a sign? The Pharisee cleared his throat, straightened his gloves and phylacteries, and left. Yeshua announced that He was leaving there to again cross the lake, heading for the northeast shore en route to another preaching location. Avel asked for and received a place for himself, Red Dog, Zadok, Ha-or Tov, and Emet in the Master’s boat. Yeshua rode in the bow, His face lifted to the spray. His eyes were closed. He’s praying, Avel thought. If the one who can open blind eyes, unstop deaf ears, and fix broken hearts still needs to spend time praying, what does that say about me? Avel’s mental soliloquy was interrupted by a controversy between the Zebedee brothers, John and Ya’acov. “I thought you brought it,” John suggested. “No,” his brother argued, “Remember? I told you to get the sacks off the porch of the caretaker’s house.” “I ¬don’t remember that.” “What?” Avel asked. John looked chagrined. “We forgot to bring bread for this trip.”

After what they had recently witnessed Avel wondered why any of the disciples would ¬ever worry about having enough bread!72 Yeshua made His way back toward the center of the boat. Balancing Himself against the tilt of the crate and the roll of the waves by hanging on to the mast, Yeshua spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “Be careful of the yeast of the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and Herod Antipas.”73 “He knows,” John hissed to his brother. “He knows we forgot the bread.” Shaking His head with amusement, Yeshua said, “Why are you so worried about having no food? Won’t you ¬ever learn or ¬understand? Are your hearts too hard to take it in? You have eyes—¬can’t you see? You have ears—¬can’t you hear?” The same spiritual problems as the Pharisees and Sadducees, Avel thought. “Don’t you remember anything at all?” Yeshua continued. “What about the five thousand men I fed with five loaves of bread? How many baskets of leftovers did you pick up afterwards?” “Twelve,” John mumbled. “And when I fed the four thousand with seven loaves, how many large baskets of leftovers did you pick up?” Shim’on, hauling on a line, eyed the trim of the sail and replied with certainty, “Seven. It was seven.” “Don’t you ¬understand even yet?” Yeshua asked them. “Everything means something,” Zadok rumbled. Yeshua applauded. “Just so,” He agreed. Avel approached Zadok with a question. “Yeshua mentioned all the numbers of bread and people and baskets as if it all meant something more. But what?” Gathering his wards around him in a circle, Zadok posed a return inquiry. “Five,” he said without prologue. “Who knows five?” “I do,” Ha-or Tov responded, waving his hand. “If you mean the same way the question is asked ¬every ¬Pass¬over. Five is Torah, the Law, the books of Mosheh.” “Good,” Zadok acknowledged. “Now, just like the ¬Pass¬over questions, boys. Think! Who knows twelve?” Avel got it. His arm shot up. “The twelve tribes? The twelve sons of Ya’acov?” Zadok nodded approvingly. “So. Five loaves, five books of the Law. Twelve baskets for the twelve tribes of Israel, eh? Y’ boys saw Yeshua feed the five thousand back around ¬Pass¬over. He gave the bread of heaven to us Jews, eh? And there was plenty left over. But now, think: Now he fed the four thousand. Mostly not Jews. Who knows four?” Frowns passed back and forth amongst the three students. “Four winds,” Zadok prompted. “To the four corners of the earth.” Ha-or Tov caught the image. “So. His words—his Omer—no longer just for us Jews, but he feeds all the nations of earth as well. Isn’t that what we saw these days just past? And finally: Who knows seven?” Avel scratched his head. Ha-or Tov sunk his chin in both hands.

Emet ventured, “Shabbat? Every seven days?” “Good,” Zadok praised. “Manna is given for six days in the wilderness and yet there was always provision enough to last for the seventh day. All creation—Jews and Gentiles—will be brought into the Sabbath rest and provision of the Holy One. Like manna poured down as bread from heaven, so Yeshua is poured out as the bread from heaven. But not just for us Jews . . . for ¬everyone, ¬everywhere . . . if they’ll ¬only receive him. For the twelve tribes of Israel and the nations of the four corners of the earth.” Avel was pleased with this explanation, but one thing still bothered him. “So, Master Zadok, what did Yeshua mean when he said, ‘Be careful of the yeast of the Pharisees and Herod’?” “That’s where this whole discussion started, ¬isn’t it?” Zadok acknowledged. “It’s this: Their pride, which is like yeast, makes these fellows all puffed up by their own importance, eh? In their pride they demand a made-to-order miraculous sign. They refuse the evidence of the powerful things Yeshua has already done. No wonder he calls them blind guides and warns us against being even the tiniest bit like them. And both Herod and the religious rulers have sent spies among the crowds. They plant doubts. They stir people up. Like yeast, it ¬doesn’t take much to ferment public opinion and turn it against the truth. Aye. Dangerous times.” The boat slid into shore, scraping its keel upon the sand. Avel raised his head above the rim of the boat and looked out at the harbor. Already there were hundreds gathered, waiting for the arrival of Yeshua. Surely the pride of the Pharisees was stung by all the am ha aretz who gathered on ¬every shore to hear the teachings of Yeshua. Had they all come because of a hunger in their souls? Or had they ¬only come for bread?

The oil was working! Simon assured himself and Jerusha it was making a difference. Morning and night he rubbed the slippery yellow fluid into his neck, face, and hands. The tingling caused by the chaulmoogra reawakened places that had felt dead to his touch. It had to be working! Simon’s right hand was still cramped. He stuffed the fingers of his right glove with rolls of linen to maintain a normal appearance. To any who inquired why he was so awkward with it he explained that it had been burned, which was true enough and deflected further inquiry. Simon had also discovered he could tolerate swallowing a dose of the oil if he ate bread and drank a glass of wine first. Then he could safely bear a small spoonful of the mix, even though it still made him feel ill. But he kept the tonic down, and that was all that mattered. Dressed in his Sabbath best, with Jerusha in the gallery looking on, Simon took his place at the front of the auditorium. “Blessed art Thou, O Lord,” Simon heard, “King of the World, who formest the light and createst the darkness; who makest peace and createst

¬everything; who, in mercy, givest light to the earth and to those who dwell upon it, and in Thy goodness day by day renewest the works of creation.” No more darkness of fear in Simon’s life. A few weeks’ treatment and all would be restored. Simon would advance in honor and position and wealth, and no one would ¬ever be the wiser. A day of renewal, without question. A day of mercy for which Simon owed many lambs, many sacrifices of thanksgiving when next he went to Jerusalem. At the back of the hall Simon spotted Levi Mattityahu, the former customs collector for the Romans and now a follower of Yeshua of Nazareth. Simon’s eyes narrowed. A tax collector and a blasphemer! This was intolerable. Something would have to be done when Simon returned to Capernaum. In Simon’s opinion, such a man should be politely but firmly told to go elsewhere to worship. Now that Simon was on the mend he’d be even more forceful confronting Yeshua. He made a vow before the Almighty that he would. “True it is that Thou art Yahweh our God and the God of our fathers, our King and the King of our fathers, our Savior and the Savior of our fathers, our Creator, the Rock of our salvation, our Help and our Deliverer.” Soon Simon would be able to give his full attention to dealing with the problem of Yeshua of Nazareth. Unless of course the cutthroats in the employ of Herod Antipas took care of Him first. The service proceeded through readings and sermon and eulogies until the time for the final benediction was reached. The president of the assembly summoned Simon to the bema. As a special way of honoring Simon, he was invited to offer the concluding blessing. “Thank you,” Simon murmured, “but because of an injury I cannot remove my right glove. It’s not fitting to lift up holy hands that way.” The chief of the gathering considered for a moment then said, “What if you remove the other glove ¬only? We all know of your great attention to purity, Simon. Please oblige us.” Why not, Simon thought. There’s never been any mark or blemish on that hand. I ¬only wear both so no one will be curious. He agreed to offer the final supplication. Clearing his throat, Simon let the left glove fall to the ground and raised his hands beside his shoulders. “May Adonai bless you and keep you.” A stirring ran through the audience. Not much, not loud. No more than the susurration of a spring breeze in the new foliage of the olive trees. “May Adonai make his face shine on you and show you his favor.” Some in the congregation waved and gestured. Simon’s sense of propriety was offended. What an affront to his dignity! What were these whispers that could not be restrained for a few moments more? Simon deepened the resonance of his voice, increased the volume. “May Adonai lift up—” Simon’s left wrist was grasped by the president of the assembly. With shock

and anger he stopped his recital. “Tsara’at!” the leader muttered, wrenching Simon’s hand downward. “Unclean!” Then louder, so the whole world could hear, he bellowed, “Unclean! This man is tsara!” How could this be? What could it mean? Simon was baffled. “What?” He tried to wrench his hand away from the hostile grip. A synagogue attendant grabbed his other shoulder, held him like a thief in the marketplace. “What?” The leader of the synagogue twisted Simon’s left hand around so he could see its back. A large white spot was emblazoned there. It was twice the size of a Temple shekel, swollen, and rimmed with an angry red border. It ¬wasn’t there this morning, Simon thought stupidly. “It’s just a burn,” he yelled. “It’s not tsara. I burned both my hands. Do you hear me? It’s a burn!” No one was listening. Grabbed by the other shoulder by another attendant, Simon was force-marched off the platform and toward the exit. His feet ¬weren’t moving fast enough to keep up. His knee slammed into a pillar as the guards swung him past it. Men crowded aside to avoid any contact, made the sign against the evil eye, shook their fists at him. In their looks he saw fear, loathing, revulsion . . . scorn. As Simon was hauled beyond the women’s gallery he glanced up. Only on Jerusha’s face did he see sorrow. Then she buried her countenance in her palms. “I ¬don’t know,” Simon heard his friend Melchior say to someone as Simon was hustled outside. “Did he touch the scroll? We’ll have to burn it, you know. It’s defiled. Burn the bema cloth too, just to be safe.”

25 The action after Simon was dragged from the synagogue passed in a blur. The two attendants transported him by the sleeves, one on each side, as if he were an unruly goat between a pair of tethers. Even worse, they shouted to ¬everyone they saw, “Tsara’at! Unclean!” “It’s a mistake,” Simon repeated, shrieking. “Why’re you doing this? You’re wrong!” “Unclean!” they called still louder. “He concealed it! He even recited from the bema, knowing he was accursed!” A crowd followed from the synagogue, joined by others in the street who heard the commotion. Am ha aretz, commoners too impious to even be in synagogue on the Sabbath, pointed at him and commented. A swelling wave of remarks accompanied the flap of sandals: “He’s cursed for certain.” “A Pharisee? One of that holier-than-thou tribe?” “He must have done something ¬really awful to be smitten that way.”

“It’s always some sexual sin, I hear. Some perverted heathen practice, no doubt.” Simon blustered at them, “Don’t you know who I am? I’ll have you in court for this! I’ll own you before ¬I’m through! Your children’s children will still be my slaves!” His threats ¬only made the attendants yank harder. At one point Simon’s feet tangled in the hem of his robe and he fell. They hauled him along the cobbles of the market square, scraping his knees and the side of his face. “Where are you taking me?” he demanded. Where indeed? At the outskirts of town there was a primitive winepress cut out of solid rock, its floor twelve feet below ground level. Simon was rolled over the edge and tumbled in. He landed heavily, with a shock that numbed his right arm and his already bruised knee. Simon tried to scramble upright but could not. He fell over again. “This ¬isn’t right!” he insisted, his emotions bordering on hysteria. “Why are you treating me this way? You’re supposed to call a priest. ¬I’m not tsara just because you say so. Don’t you know it has to be a priest!” The rim of the threshing floor was ringed with onlookers. The chief of the synagogue arrived in time to hear the question. “We’ve sent for the priest,” he said. “But we’re not taking any chances with the likes of you. You ¬weren’t treated this way because you’re tsara; it’s your arrogance! You knew you had something wrong, and you tried to hide it! You even sat in synagogue with all your neighbors, pretending, concealing the truth!” Simon had no response. It was true. Anyway, he ¬couldn’t defend himself in front of this mob. But a priest would be a learned man—one who would know the force of law and the privileges of wealth and power such as Simon possessed. He could talk to such a man, reason with him. “All right,” Simon admitted. “But there’s no reason to cage me here like a wild animal. Let me go home. I’ll wait there for the priest. Let me go home.” One of the synagogue’s wardens appeared with a winnowing fork in hand. “If you so much as jump up, I’ll skewer you,” he menaced, waving the wooden— tined tool in Simon’s face. “Jepthah, you and Amnon get rocks. If he tries to escape, we’ll stone him and bury him where he lies.” There was an intimidating murmur of agreement to this suggestion. This ¬couldn’t be happening. It was a nightmare. Simon ben Zeraim was a model citizen, respected businessman, esteemed exponent of the purity of the Law. How could it be that Simon found himself in a pit? that he was surrounded by irate villagers who were prepared, even eager, to smash Simon’s head like a melon? It seemed like an eternity before the priest arrived. Simon sat on the rough foundation of the winepress. He rubbed his aching arm and leg, but ¬every time the surrounding mob caught sight of the sore on his hand, there were repeated calls to just stone him and have done with it! The appearance of the cohen was not as reassuring to Simon as he’d hoped. The man’s name was Eli ben Sholom, and he was a Sadducee. He was one of the