Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

  “You should repent on your sins and do works of zekhut. You should take a good care on the widow and the orphan and the poor and the stranger.”

  I do not think that is a hard matter. My father taught me to give to the poor since I was a boy.

  Beside me, Yoni jumps to his feet and shouts in his squeaky voice. “That is not a new thing! All the sons of Abraham know to give to the poor already.”

  I cannot breathe. Yoni is out of place. He is small for his age and looks like a boy of ten, and it is not done for a boy to challenge a man.

  Yohanan’s face turns dark and he scowls on Yoni. “Do not be a fool and think you are a son of Abraham and have no need to repent! If you have two tunics and see a man naked, give him one. If you have bread and see a man hungry, give him half. If you have beer and see a man thirsty, give him a drink.”

  That is not a good sense. I have two tunics so I can wear the one when my woman washes the other in the lake. If I give one to a naked man, what will I wear when my woman washes? Then I will go naked myself, and that is a bad sense. If I give half my bread to some hungry man, we will neither one have enough and both be hungry, and that is a bad sense. Doing zekhut is a good thing, but there is such a thing as too much righteousness.

  “The ax is already set at the root of the tree,” Yohanan shouts. “If you do not repent and do works of zekhut, the fire of HaShem’s wrath awaits you!”

  Yoni’s breath hisses in his throat. Yohanan has touched his sore spot, for Yoni is terrified on the wrath of HaShem.

  I do not know what Yoni ever did to fear the wrath of HaShem. I am not sure if he ever sinned. He has nothing to repent on.

  Yoni falls forward on his face, gabbling in a big fear.

  His brother Yaakov lays a rough hand on him and shakes him. “Yoni! Do not make a dishonor on yourself.”

  Yoni thinks on the prophets overmuch, that is his problem. All the village calls him the Genius of Capernaum, and that is his curse, to be a genius. When I hear the prophets read aloud, it puts a terror in my heart until the reading is over, and then I forget. But Yoni knows how to read for himself, and so he reads the prophets, and he remembers all he ever read, and then he thinks on the matter overmuch.

  The prophets love to tell wrath and judgment on Israel. Jeremiah tells wrath and judgment more than all the others. In the days of Jeremiah, HaShem sent the armies of Babylon to burn our city with fire. That was the wrath of HaShem, but that is past. When HaShem comes again, his wrath will burn our enemies with fire, Babylon and Damascus and Alexandria and Rome. The smoke of their punishment will go up forever, as it did for Sodom. The wrath of HaShem is no more for us. In these last days, the wrath of HaShem should be for the Great Satan.

  Yoni’s voice rises higher and higher. All his body shakes with a big repentance.

  I do not like the look of repentance. It makes a man look foolish. Every man has some little thing he could repent on, if he thinks hard enough. I do not think that is what HaShem wants. A man should look to the future, not the past.

  The prophet Yohanan stands, and his face is like fire. “Enough talking. HaShem calls you to repent. And after you repent, you must immerse, and you will be clean for the life of the age. Who repented and wishes to immerse?”

  I am a son of Israel. I do not tell lies or rob or murder or use zonahs for a pleasure. I did not sin. A man who did not sin does not need to make a repentance, but he still needs justice. I am desperate for justice. If I immerse, I will be clean for the day of justice that is coming.

  All around us, men stand and move toward the river.

  I stand. “Yoni, you have repented enough. Come immerse in the river.”

  Yoni stands slowly. There is still a big terror in his eyes.

  Someday I should ask him why he is so afraid on the wrath of HaShem. He is a good boy, better than I ever was. What does he have to repent on?

  His brother Yaakov’s cheeks glow red. When Yoni makes a big foolishness, his whole family feels the dishonor.

  My brother Andre shakes his head and makes a grin behind Yoni’s back. He looks as he wants to make a joke on the matter.

  I give him a look like thunder. Andre always makes jokes on every kind of matter. Now is not a good time for making a joke. If he makes a joke on the matter now, I will box his ears until they come off.

  Andre sees my face and hides his grin behind his hand.

  We walk toward the river.

  I take off the waterskin that hangs over my shoulder. I lay aside my pack that holds our food and money and my cloak. I take off my belt. I step out of my sandals.

  I wait a little and watch how people immerse so I can learn how they do it without showing their nakedness.

  The prophet Yohanan chose a good place, close to the fords but deep enough so the water comes to the neck of a tall man if he goes to the center of the river. The river flows green and murky, but it is Jordan, and that counts for much.

  When our fathers came out of Egypt to inherit the land, they crossed the Jordan River. To immerse in Jordan means the end of slavery. It means HaShem is with us, as in days of old, when he went before Israel in a pillar of fire.

  Yoni grins. “When we come up from the water, all things will be changed, yes?”

  “Yes.” A big hope rises inside me. This is a new thing in Israel. It is the end of the old age and the beginning of the new. That is a fearful matter. And also the judgment to come, but I hope that is overspoken. Yohanan is a prophet, and prophets always overspeak the matter of judgment.

  I step down into the river and wade out. My tunic clings to me. When I reach deep water, I fight with my tunic to pull it up over my head. I am a big man and I wear a big tunic. My face feels hot. I look down to see if my nakedness shows, but there is nothing but murky river. I hold my breath and plunge into the water, wondering what will happen.

  When I come up, I do not feel any different.

  I am sure I have done something wrong, so I immerse again.

  When I come up, I still do not feel any different.

  I immerse a third time and remain under until my lungs scream and my heart pounds and my head aches.

  I burst up out of the water and suck in the sweetness of the air and the brightness of the sun.

  Still I do not feel any different.

  I brush the water out of my eyes and look for my friends.

  Andre does not look any different.

  Yaakov does not look any different.

  Yoni’s face is shining.

  Chapter Twelve

  Yoni of Capernaum

  I hold my breath and plunge beneath the surface. It is cold and burns like fire and shines like light. I stay under as long as I can, enjoying the cold and the fire and the light.

  Heat wells up in my chest, a pillar of fire.

  Fear grips my heart. What is this thing? I never saw such brightness nor felt such fire. Is it … the Shekinah? That is not possible. The Shekinah appeared to prophets of old, and to the kings of Israel, and to our fathers in the desert when HaShem gave them the covenant on Mount Sinai. But it has been many hundred years since ordinary men saw the Shekinah with their naked eyes.

  If ordinary men now see and feel the Shekinah, then these are the last days, when prophets will return, and HaShem will be king of all the earth, and he will make a new covenant with Israel. All my breath is taken away. Today HaShem is returning to the land of Israel, calling his people to return from their long exile. Today.

  My head bursts out of the water, and I shout for my joy. The Shekinah has come. Not in a visible cloud, but inside my heart. I know it is true and it is good.

  It is very good.

  I pull my tunic down over my body and scramble out of the river. I must talk to the others and hear what they saw.

  Shimon comes up out of the water, rubbing his eyes and squinting on me.

  I grin on him. “Did you feel the Shekinah?”

  Shimon gives me a strange look. “Did you?”

  “Yes, of co
urse.” I turn to look for the others.

  My brother Yaakov comes out of the river. Yaakov is ten years older than I am—almost as old as Shimon—and he loves HaShem.

  “Yaakov!” I shout. “Did you feel the Shekinah?”

  Yaakov narrows his eyes on me and makes a big frown. He puts his feet in his sandals and his belt around his waist and his pack on his back and his waterskin on his shoulder.

  I do not know the meaning of this.

  Shimon’s brother Andre has a dark look on his face, and that is strange. He wore a big grin when he went in the river. I thought he meant to make a joke on the matter.

  I do not ask if he felt the Shekinah because I am sure he did not. My father says Andre makes too many jokes and HaShem is angry on him because of it.

  I think Andre makes many jokes because he is the youngest and smallest son and that is his way of making a revenge on those who are bigger than him. I do not see why HaShem should be angry on him for that. Our father Jacob was also the youngest son, and he made a good joke on his brother Esau, but HaShem was not angry on him. Esau was angry on him, but that is not the same as HaShem being angry on him.

  My eyes search up and down the bank of the river.

  More men come out of the river. Some with happy faces. Some with puzzled faces. Some with faces that are merely wet.

  I do not see any that glow with the Shekinah.

  Some women come out of the river also. One of them has a face glowing with the light of the Shekinah. Her wet tunic clings to her body. She has large, round bosoms, almost as big as Aunt Miryam’s.

  I shake my head and turn away, but I know I will think on her bosoms for a week. I should think on something else. I should think on the matter of the Shekinah.

  The prophet Yohanan comes up last out of the river. His face shines and his eyes burn with an inner fire and his great long ropes of tangled hair bristle with the Shekinah. The Shekinah is no surprise to him. He has done this many times.

  I see now why people come here. Most people do not see or feel the Shekinah when they immerse. But they see the faint glow of the Shekinah on Yohanan when he immerses.

  That is a wonderful sight, but it is not enough for me. I would not wish to be warmed at the embers of another man’s fire. I wish to be scorched by the fire HaShem kindles in me.

  I have felt the Shekinah, and that is good. But I think it is not enough. I do not wish to feel it only once and never more again. I wish to have the Shekinah with me always.

  Now and forever, I want the fire of HaShem inside me.

  Yoni of Capernaum

  In the evening, all the people bring out their food and spread their cloaks on the sandy ground and sit and eat.

  We brought food in our packs, bread and cheese and olives and dates we bought in Jericho. We also have waterskins filled with beer.

  The men next to us brought no food. I tell the matter to Shimon three times, and at last he says we must share with them, so we share. After we finish eating, Shimon grumbles that we will run out tomorrow, instead of having food for two days. I think that is good. Then someone will share with us.

  In Capernaum, after people eat their evening meal, they gather in the village square to tell tales and sing songs and chant poems.

  It is the same here. A man stands and tells the tale of how the prophet Daniel was thrown in the lions’ den.

  That is one of my favorite tales.

  An old man stands and sings a psalm. It is a good psalm, but his voice is thin and cracked and he does not sing it well and he forgets some of the words.

  I do not see how you can forget the words of a psalm.

  Another man stands and tells the tale of how the sons of Israel came from Egypt and camped in this place and crossed the Jordan and burned Jericho and made a big war on the Canaanites and killed them all or chased them away.

  It is a long tale, and I have heard it told better many times. Soon I am bored on it and forget to listen because I am thinking on the matter of the Shekinah.

  There is a mystery here, a paradox, and I must solve it. The Shekinah was here, and yet not all men felt it. What is the meaning of that? When HaShem returns from his long exile, all men will know it. When he appears in his fullness, all men will feel the Shekinah. Why did only a few men feel it today?

  That is one paradox, but there is another.

  I think Aunt Miryam would have felt the Shekinah. She has told me all my life how she longs to feel the Shekinah. When she was a child, she used to feel the edges of the Shekinah. If she had come today, she would have felt it, like that woman I saw coming out of the river.

  But that is a strange matter, that I saw the Shekinah on a woman. The men of my village say women are ignorant and gossips and lewd. How can someone who is ignorant and a gossip and lewd feel the Shekinah? That is not a good sense.

  I think many women are ignorant, but so are many men.

  I think many women are gossips, but so are many men.

  I do not know if many women are lewd. I do not know any lewd women. I have seen zonahs in our village, but they do not look lewd to me, they look hungry. When I look on them, I feel as I am lewd. I have wrong thoughts, and then I must think on some other matter to forget them. I think when the men of our village say women are lewd, they mean that they think lewd thoughts when they look on the women. But that is not the same as the women being lewd.

  Aunt Miryam is not ignorant nor a gossip nor lewd. She is good and kind and does zekhut all the time, even if nobody sees. Also, she is my best friend in all the world, only I cannot say so, because everyone says a man cannot be a friend on a woman.

  People in my village say there is a world of men and a world of women, and women should not go in the world of men, they should stay in their own world. But that is not a good sense. If a woman does not belong in the world of men, then how can a woman be part of the world of HaShem?

  In days of old, there were women who prophesied. Deborah was a prophet of HaShem who led the armies of Israel and made a big victory. Huldah was a prophet of HaShem, and we name the gates of the Temple after her.

  There is a wrong thing here. The men do not see it is wrong. The women do not see it is wrong. Even Aunt Miryam does not see it is wrong. She thinks she is wicked because she is my friend. I do not think she is wicked.

  That is a big paradox, that women can be part of the world of HaShem, but they cannot come in the world of men, and nobody says no to it. Why does nobody say no to it?

  So now I have two paradoxes.

  The evening passes and the tales end, and I do not solve my paradoxes.

  All the people roll up in their cloaks and lie down on the ground and sleep.

  I lie on the ground, rolled up in my cloak, staring on the sky and listening to the snores of Yaakov and Shimon and Andre, and trying to make a sense on my paradoxes.

  I think HaShem is doing a new thing. HaShem never spoke to all men the same. In times past, he chose certain men and not others.

  When Israel was young, HaShem spoke to men he chose, thick-tongued men like Moses, or wild men like Samson, or mighty warriors like Yiftakh, who was the son of a zonah. HaShem also spoke to women he chose, Deborah and Huldah and Miryam the sister of Moses.

  When Israel grew old, HaShem spoke only to prophets and priests and kings and other men of a big renown.

  When the new age comes, HaShem will do a new thing. When he brings Israel out of her long exile and makes her young again, all will see the Shekinah. All men and all women, the same. There will be no world of men and world of women. There will be only the world of HaShem. And I will not have to hide that my best friend is a woman.

  But the kingdom of HaShem is not yet. Now, at the in-breaking of the kingdom, HaShem shows himself only to those with Wisdom. That is why he shows himself to Yohanan the immerser. That is why he shows himself to me, even though I am hardly more than a boy. That is why he shows himself to that woman I saw with the large bosoms. Also, in the kingdom of HaShem, I will look on
women with large bosoms and not think lewd thoughts.

  The kingdom is in-breaking, but it is not yet. That is why I can see the Shekinah, even if I sometimes think lewd thoughts.

  That is the meaning of the paradox. Both paradoxes.

  I feel glad in my heart that I solved two paradoxes in one day. That is why the village hazzan calls me the Genius of Capernaum.

  I think HaShem will be pleased I have solved my paradoxes.

  I think Mashiach will be glad of having my help to solve his paradoxes.

  I think I will have a special place in the kingdom of HaShem when he comes in power.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Yeshua of Nazareth

  “You will not really begin the war of HaShem at my wedding feast, will you?” My sister clutches my hand, and there are tears in her voice.

  We stayed last night in Jericho and this morning we are walking toward the place where Yohanan the prophet immerses people. My brothers are in a fever to get there, but our women walk under a cloud of sadness.

  I stop walking and turn to face Shlomi Dancefeet. “Do you think HaShem is concerned on your wedding feast more than rescuing his children who suffer?”

  Tears well up in her eyes. “Do you think HaShem is concerned on killing evil men more than the joy of his children who love him?”

  I hear my brothers muttering behind their hands. They think HaShem is eager on the matter of killing evil men, and they are glad on it.

  Imma wears a hard look on her face. She fears my brothers are right, and she is angry on it.

  There is nothing in me to love killing evil men, but I must not say so. My brothers already think I am a scandal, unfit to be Mashiach. I can read it in their eyes, and my ears are sharp to their grumbling words.

  They are right. I am a scandal. I am unfit to be Mashiach. If HaShem wishes me to redeem Israel, he will have to make a miracle. He will have to give me a rage on evil men, more rage than he gave Little Yaakov. That will be a big rage.