Second Touch (40 page)

228 Sun hammered on the anvil of Mount Tabor where Yeshua taught. People stretched out on the slopes like a vast field of wildflowers.    Avel, Emet, and Ha-or Tov sat in the shadow of Zadok. Emet dozed with his head on Red Dog. They were lucky, Avel thought, to be on the left outside flank of the crowd, still close enough to hear Yeshua. “Protect your hearts and minds from false prophets. They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves.” Yeshua gestured at the apple orchard halfway to the summit, where a small group of Pharisees stood talking urgently with their heads bent together. “By their fruit you’ll recognize them. Do you pick grapes from thornbushes? or apples from thistles? Every good tree grows good fruit, nourishing others freely. But a bad tree produces inedible fruit. Wormy to the core. It’s impossible for a bad tree to give good fruit. And ¬every tree that ¬doesn’t bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”77 Voices. Voices. All around, the news about Simon the Pharisee was whispered. “Aye. It’s true. So falls the tree of the House of Zeraim. Simon the Pharisee, son-in-law of the old shepherd! A leper! That’s who!” “At last he’s got what he deserved. After all those he’s turned away! I

always knew he was hiding something. Cut down to size now, that one is!” “So, there’s justice in the world after all.” “Now he’s sent packing by his own kind! Driven from his own family and society. He won’t be around to pester Yeshua ¬ever again!” Avel studied Zadok’s expression as this triumph was relayed from one man to another on the knoll of the hill. The old shepherd did not seem pleased at either his own vindication or the destruction of his bitter son-in-law. Instead Zadok stared at his gnarled hands for a long time as though they too were covered in the blood of another. At last Zadok looked up. The old shepherd’s gaze, like a questing dog’s, seemed to run across the space, turn, come back. Again and again he stared, almost in disbelief, at a woman and a youth in the crowd opposite. The boy and the woman, expressions desperate with longing and sorrow, raised hands in tentative greeting across the gulf. Yeshua’s warning continued. “Not ¬everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven. Only those who from clean hearts do the will of my Father who is in heaven. And what is his will? That you love one another as I have loved you! Many who seem to be righteous in this life will say to me on that last day, ‘Lord, ¬didn’t we prophesy in your name? And in your name drive out demons? And in your name perform many miracles?’ And yet, they did not do the will of my Father because they ¬didn’t love others. Refused to forgive. Clung to bitterness until it became a millstone round their necks pulling them down into the depths of the sea. So I’ll tell them plainly on that day, ‘I never knew you. And you never knew me. Depart from me, all you who hold fast to the evil which has taken over your hearts!’ ”78 Avel sat up attentively as the woman and the youth began to inch forward through the seated throng. Her eyes seemed riveted on Zadok as she stepped over this one and that in a desperate effort to reach him. Staff in hand, Zadok rose majestically to his feet. Rooted like an oak on the edge of the crowd, he followed her progress and that of the young man. Zadok lifted his chin as she approached. Yes, his expression seemed to say. Yes! Come on, then! Don’t be afraid! I’ve always been here. Waiting for you. Yeshua gazed approvingly toward the old shepherd and spoke these words to the multitude:79 “Therefore, ¬everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like the wise man who built his house upon the rock.” Nearer the woman came. Nearer. “Pardon me. Pardon . . . I must . . .” Shielded in Zadok’s long shadow, Avel remained seated, watching as the old shepherd’s face clouded with emotion. Yeshua smiled enigmatically as He taught. “The rain came down. The streams rose. The winds blew and beat against that house. But it ¬didn’t fall . . . no . . . it ¬didn’t fall . . . because it had its foundation on the rock.” Halfway home. Zadok muttered a word. A name. “Daughter. Jerusha?”

Her lips moved in an inaudible response. “Papa. Papa. Papa. Help me. Help . . . us . . .” And Yeshua nodded once in unspoken approval as Zadok stretched out his arms in welcome, drawing her in. So Yeshua taught the multitude about families. About love. Sorrow. Anger. Separation. About kindness . . . forgiveness and reconciliation. “But ¬everyone who hears these words of mine and ¬doesn’t act on them is like the foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell . . . and it fell with a great crash.” With a groan, Zadok enfolded the woman in his arms. “Daughter! Daughter! My own Jerusha! Oh!” Then, with a laugh, Zadok playfully doubled his fist and tapped the youth in a manly greeting. “And y’! Look at y’! Jotham! What a strong buck y’ are!” Jerusha wept. “Papa! Oh, Papa! You know! You know? Oh, Papa! They’ve driven him away. Yeshua is the ¬only hope left for us. Can you help Simon? Help him come near enough Yeshua to ask?” “Gladly, daughter. Gladly. Y’ have my help. Simon has my help. Always. I’ll do what I can to help . . . If ¬only he’ll let me.”

His hands were hidden within the length of his sleeves. The torn shred of robe was flung across his face. Simon the Leper reached the edge of the crowd around Yeshua. He hesitated just out of reach of recognition . . . and downwind of detection. Simon had so many enemies. Could he ¬ever hope to approach the Teacher? Yeshua’s talmidim would bar Simon’s way for his previous hostility. Those Simon had abused and misused would jeer him. His own brother Pharisees would stone him away to banish the taint of his leprosy. Yet what other choice did he have? Over and over again, Simon proved himself to be an enemy of Yeshua. How could he ¬ever expect help, even if he got close enough to ask? But what other hope was there? “Don’t condemn others,” Yeshua taught the crowd, “and God won’t condemn you. God will be as hard on you as you are on others! He will treat you exactly as you treat them.” The breeze, heaven-sent, carried Yeshua’s words to Simon. A knife in the heart! When had Simon ¬ever considered the needs, the feelings, the concerns of others? Were the words a final condemnation? Could Simon hold despair at bay long enough to make the attempt? Was any path not blocked? Simon scanned the crowd. His eyes were drawn to a trio who stood opposite him, behind Yeshua. Jerusha, Jotham . . . and his father-in-law, Zadok. Zadok’s arm was draped around his grandson’s shoulders. Was this the end of all hope? Had his wife and son made common cause with the father-in-law Simon had despised and rejected?

“Treat others as you want them to treat you. This is what the Law and the Prophets are all about,” Yeshua continued.80 The message was one of forgiveness and compassion. Simon noticed that Zadok and Jerusha listened, nodded gravely. Was there room for hope? “Go in through the narrow gate,” Yeshua said. “The gate to destruction is easy, and the road that leads there is easy to follow. A lot of people go through that gate. But the gate to life is very narrow. The road that leads there is so hard that ¬only a few people find it.” Zadok! Zadok was the narrow gate, the hard road. The ¬only choice. Simon circled the throng, fearful of being denounced as a leper. Then, before he was ready, Simon was face-to-face with Zadok. The old man’s glaring eye lit with recognition. Jerusha gasped as if Simon were a ghost. His back to the crowd, Simon thrust out his hands to his father-in-law. His hands. “Help me,” he said. “Zadok! Please, help me to him!” One hand was contorted, knobby, blackened; the other, red-spotted, angry, fevered . . . tsara’at. “I have . . . I am . . . tsara! I have no right to claim your help. No right at all . . . except . . . I have nowhere else to go.” Simon held his breath. Zadok grasped his hand. Embraced him. “Son. My son. Oh! My son! How I prayed for this day! Come on, then. Come! I’ll take you to him.”

Dragonflies cruised lazily up and down the dry creek bed. Sunlight, fragmented by overhanging willow leaves, shattered the sand ¬underfoot into shards of bright and pale spearpoints. Insects ticked in the brush. The hum of bees around the elderberry flowers merged with the drone of human voices from just up the hill. Peniel squinted up into the translucent green canopy. He marveled at the interplay of sharp edges and muted forms . . . and was roughly yanked back to a different reality. “Pay attention,” Eglon demanded, squeezing Peniel’s right elbow. He kept his hand there. “No slipups, see? There won’t be any second chance. You get me close enough to do this right or your friends are dead. If ¬I’m not back by nightfall, they’re finished.” Peniel nodded once. He ¬understood. Amos’ life. Gideon’s life. Peniel’s eyes. These were forfeit if he failed his part in Eglon’s quest to assassinate Yeshua. Peniel was the betrayer, the failure, the worse-than-useless destroyer. His mother had been right after all: Peniel should have died. He would never amount to anything. He was now poised to be remembered as the most ungrateful wretch. The most false friend in all of history. No more time to think about it now. When Peniel and Eglon climbed the

riverbank, they were among the outer fringes of the crowd, near a knot of Pharisees. Peniel heard Yeshua speaking. “When you fast, ¬don’t try to look gloomy as those show-offs do when they fast,” Yeshua instructed. “I can assure you that they already have their reward.”81 “He’s talking about us.” One of the religious brotherhood sniffed. “Scandalous. Somebody should do something about him.” Eglon’s laugh rumbled from deep in his chest, like the warning growl of a savage dog. It was happening too fast. Peniel had no time to think, no chance to plot a warning and an escape. Did even the flitting of the words through Peniel’s pounding head send out an alarm? Eglon compressed Peniel’s arm tighter and forced the young man forward quicker. “Here we go,” Eglon said, nodding toward a pair of Yeshua’s talmidim confronting them. “Shalom,” one of them said, holding up a cautionary hand. “We try to keep the space around the Teacher clear so all can see and hear.” “He . . . he sent for me,” Peniel lied nervously. “¬I’m Peniel . . . Peniel. The blind beggar of—” “Nicanor Gate! Of course you are! Come, brother, and welcome. And your friend is welcome too. Sorry for the delay. We’ve heard rumors that Herod Antipas has assassins after the Master, so we try to be extra careful. Just a moment and I’ll tell him you’re here.” Someone else had received a private meeting with Yeshua. A man dressed in an expensive but ragged robe stood before the Teacher. In an arc back of him were a sternly erect white-haired man, a woman, and an adolescent boy. Peniel watched the supplicant drop to his knees at Yeshua’s feet.

Simon, kneeling at Yeshua’s feet. Humbled. Apprehensive. Simon, head bowed, spoke to Yeshua without daring to lift his face. He wanted to fall, face downward, at those feet. Simon wanted to grasp Yeshua’s ankles and cling to them, to hold on as the patriarch Ya’acov had refused to release the Angel of Adonai. Trembling, fearful, but no longer stubborn. Or prideful. “I gave you no . . . no . . . kiss of welcome,” he stammered. “I offered no water for you to wash your feet. I thought the core of my life was righteousness . . . righteousness. I criticized you harshly for not knowing Miryam’s sin. Didn’t see that you both saw—and forgave. I ¬didn’t value mercy more than justice . . . until now.” Simon thrust his hands out of his sleeves, held them in the glaring sunlight, revealing his leprosy. “I asked for . . . I demanded a sign from you! While I never showed my true heart to anyone,” he admitted. “But these are my true hands . . . washed but still unclean!” The cry of unclean wrung

a groan from his innermost part, as if a portion of his soul tore like the fabric of his robe. Jerusha stifled a sob. “This is my true heart: I am a leper! Inside and out, I am unclean.” “Father!” Jotham said, agony in his voice. Simon heard Zadok’s soft remonstrance, holding back Jerusha and Jotham. Simon’s plea, not theirs. Simon’s teshuvah, his turning about . . . not theirs. “There is nowhere else for me to go,” Simon concluded simply. “I . . . I need to be forgiven. Oh, Lord! Clean the inside of the cup as well as the outside! You can heal me if you want to!” A beat . . . a pulse . . . a breath . . . a lifetime! Kneeling, Yeshua grasped both Simon’s hands in His own. He looked into Simon’s reddened eyes, childlike in their fearfulness. “I want to.” Yeshua pressed His lips against each of Simon’s palms in turn, then lifted him to his feet. Whispered in his ear. Then Yeshua gave Simon more than the first touch of mercy. More than the coin a passing stranger gives a lowly beggar . . . more than a kind word . . . more than reserving instead of passing judgment. The Master enfolded Simon in His arms, embraced him, adopted him. The second touch of kindness Simon had refused to give Yeshua, he now received from Yeshua multiplied a thousandfold. The second touch of forgiveness. Yeshua offered, “I take your leprosy from you.” The Teacher thrust His own hand inside the folds of His robe and drew it out, whitened and shriveled. Tsara’at! Simon stared in wonder and horror at Yeshua’s fingers. Cried out as he read the name hacked into the wound of Yeshua’s bleeding palm! Then Simon glanced at his own hands. They were healed, clean, pure. His own hands as he remembered them. Feeling restored! Well and strong! Able to draw a bowstring and send an arrow to its mark! Yeshua spoke gently. “Go now. Tell no man what has happened. Only take the offering to the Temple as Torah commands. Show yourself to the priests. This is sign enough.”82

Peniel stopped. Resisted Eglon’s forward movement. The knifepoint pricked his back, goading him on. From the group closest to Yeshua, exclamations of amazement rang out. The talmidim were distracted by the miraculous occurrence. Their attention no longer centered on holding back the crowd; they too looked toward Yeshua. Only a few paces separated the assassin from his target. Eglon relinquished his grasp of Peniel’s arm, shoving him out of the way. A pair of eager onlookers surged into the gap. Peniel was a pace ahead and

to one side. Eglon, momentarily blocked, pushed harder to clear a path. Peniel opened his mouth to shout a warning. But fear stifled him. Fear for Amos and Gideon. Fear of being blinded again. The words of alarm died, unspoken, on his tongue. Then Peniel saw Yeshua’s face clearly, saw the Teacher’s eyes connect with Eglon’s. Brown eyes, flecked with gold, full of compassion, met dark orbs of cold fury and merciless concentration. Eglon lunged forward, brandishing the dagger.