Transgression

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Baruch looked puzzled. “There is only one man Renegade Saul talks about. Did I not tell you? He teaches The Way of Rabban Yeshua.”

  Rabban? Ari shivered. That had to be Aramaic, but it was close enough to the Hebrew word Rabbenu that Ari understood it. Our Great One. Our Teacher. Our Rabbi. It was a term used by a community which universally recognized the authority of one man. All over the world, Ari knew, the Lubavitcher Hasidim recognized the alleged greatness of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, the late Menachem Mendel Schneerson.

  That didn’t prove the Lubavitcher Rebbe was really the Mashiach, as some of his followers had believed. But the title did provide powerful evidence that he had existed.

  That he was not a myth.

  Ari felt light-headed and realized that he had stopped breathing. He forced himself to take in a lungful of air. “Tell me about Rabban Yeshua.”

  Chapter 13

  Damien

  DAMIEN GROPED AROUND ON THE lake bottom, his lungs desperate for air. His foot kicked something fleshy. He whirled in the water and pulled himself toward the thing.

  A leg. Stu’s leg. Damien tugged himself along it to the torso. He snaked his hands under Stu’s armpits and pulled. Nearly weightless in the water, Stu’s body lifted easily.

  Damien gathered his legs and pushed off the bottom. His head broke the water, and merciful air rushed into his chest. The raft bobbed on the surface, two arms’-lengths away.

  He frog-whipped his legs frantically, all the while trying to raise Stu’s head above water. His own ducked under the surface, and water rushed into his mouth. He found that he was more buoyant underwater, and he used the opportunity to kick himself toward the raft. His heart hammered in his chest.

  But Stu’s heavier body would not stay above him. They rolled in the water, and Damien found himself breathing air again. Now he had the raft within reach. He grasped it with his left hand while he clutched Stu around the upper body with his right.

  It was impossible to haul himself onto the raft while holding Stu. Nor could he let go. His grip hardened, as he fought to keep Stu’s head above water. If he was still alive, he would be able to breathe. And if not…

  Damien shook his head in fury. Stu would live. He had to. Damien would not let him die.

  Then he was shouting. “Mom! Dad! Help! Help us! Help us now!”

  When Damien woke up in the morning, he found that his arms ached, his cheeks were wet, and his heart was steeled for what he had to do.

  * * *

  Ari

  “You will need decent clothes, if you are going to pray with us,” Baruch said. They sat on the floor in the sleeping room upstairs. Baruch owned remarkably little furniture. A thin bedroll on the floor. A wooden bench, on which he kept his clothes. A table and stool, with some papyrus sheets, an inkwell, and one pen. Some window slits high up on one of the walls let in a little light.

  Baruch handed Ari a worn four-cornered tunic made of wool. Each vertical seam ended in a ritual fringe, a cluster of blue threads, knotted together exactly like the fringes on the prayer shawl in Ari’s closet back home in Jerusalem. He hadn’t worn it in years.

  “Put this on,” Baruch said. “It is forbidden to pray in clothes that do not fulfill the commandments.”

  “Do you obey all the commandments?” Ari asked.

  “As many as HaShem gives me the strength to observe,” Baruch said. “Why do you ask?”

  Because you’re a Christian! Ari wanted to shout. You can’t keep the commandments!

  Which was true, and it was not.

  True, Baruch belonged to a sect which followed the teachings of the man he called Rabban Yeshua—Jesus of Nazareth. Therefore, Baruch was a Christian.

  And yet he was fully a Jew. He prayed the Amidah every morning and every evening. A mikveh—a ritual bath—filled up half of his downstairs. He observed Shabbat and the feasts as religiously as Ari’s stepfather. He kept every commandment that he could. And he believed that HaShem had raised Rabban Yeshua into a new life as Mashiach of Yisrael, and that he would soon appear to rule the earth.

  Baruch was as Orthodox as any of the Haredim who had made Ari’s early life so miserable. He was as Christian as any televangelist who had ever thumped a Bible on TV.

  Despite all this, Ari respected Baruch. He had a quick mind, a quicker wit, and eyes that reflected suffering without bitterness.

  Baruch repeated his question. “Why do you ask? Of course I try to observe all the commandments. I am a Jew.”

  Ari pulled the tunic over his head. “I think that you are more a Jew than I am.”

  “That makes no sense,” Baruch said. “You are a Jew, or you are not a Jew. There are no halves in the kingdom of HaShem.”

  “In my country, some men do not observe the commandments,” Ari said.

  “You mean some goyim?” Baruch asked. “But of course goyim do not observe the commandments. HaShem gave the Torah to Yisrael, not to the nations.”

  “No,” Ari said. “I mean that there are Jews who do not follow the Torah.” For example, me.

  Ari expected Baruch to look shocked. Instead, he looked confused. “You are saying they are renegades? Apikorsim? They do not observe the commandments, and yet they are called Jews? Why do men in your country misuse language?”

  “A Jew is one born of a Jewish mother,” Ari said. “One who loves Yisrael—”

  “That is nonsense,” Baruch said. “A Jew is one who lives within the covenants which HaShem made with Avraham our father and with Moshe our teacher.” He wrapped a broad woolen belt around Ari’s waist several times and knotted it once, like a scarf.

  Ari was beginning to get impatient. “In my country, many Jews do not live within the covenants. They are—”

  “They are apikorsim,” Baruch said. “Renegades. Apostates. Men like Renegade Saul—may the living God deal justly with him!” He glanced up at the window slit. “It will be dawn soon. Let us go and pray, my brother. I thank HaShem that you are not a renegade, like those wicked men in your country.”

  By now, Ari’s head was spinning. He followed Baruch quietly down the stairs and picked up his backpack from the floor where he had left it the night before.

  “Leave it here,” Baruch said. “It is Shabbat, and you may not bear that.”

  Ari decided not to waste time arguing. He unzipped the pocket of the backpack, pulled out his emergency adrenaline kit, and slipped it inside his belt.

  “What is that?” Baruch asked.

  “It is medicine that would save my life, if I need it,” Ari said.

  “Then you must carry it with you,” Baruch said. “Torah requires it.”

  They went out into the dark street. Baruch locked the door behind them and they set off. The houses were built very closely together. Ari lagged behind Baruch by a step and stretched out his arms. His fingertips brushed the houses on either side of the street. A sense of awe welled up inside his chest. This city was his city, these stones his stones, these people his people. Strange, primitive, ignorant—yes. But still his. For no reason at all, he loved this place, these people. Even though he was an apikoros.

  “Will we meet Renegade Saul at your house of prayer?” Ari asked.

  “Of course not,” Baruch said. “I am told that he does not pray as we are commanded to do.”

  “Suppose he does it secretly,” Ari said. In some strange way, he was beginning to identify with Renegade Saul. Rivka would no doubt find that amusing. She would be less delighted to learn that her coreligionists were roughly the equivalent of the Haredim.

  They arrived at the house of prayer and went inside. A number of men already waited there. They greeted Baruch, who introduced them to Ari. Within a few minutes, they began the morning prayers.

  * * *

  Ari

  The day passed slowly for Ari. After the morning prayers, he and Baruch returned to Baruch’s house and ate the morning meal. Then they returned to the house of prayer for more prayers and readings from the Torah and the Prophets. As
a guest, Ari was invited to read. He declined, saying that he did not know how to chant the Hebrew. Nobody seemed surprised by this. Not all of them could even read Hebrew, much less chant it.

  The Shabbat worship service continued long past what Ari considered lunchtime. In the early afternoon, he learned that there would be no lunch. Apparently, the concept was unknown here. Baruch promised that they would be invited to a Shavuot feast at the home of one of his married friends. That came as a shock. The traditional celebration of Shavuot always fell on a Sunday. Apparently, that tradition hadn’t been born yet.

  They spent the afternoon talking. Ari carefully skirted the issue of Torah observance. Finally, Baruch went upstairs to use the chamber pot.

  Then there came a knock at the door.

  Ari opened it. Outside stood a man and a woman.

  The man said something in Aramaic.

  “I’m sorry,” Ari said. “Do either of you speak Hebrew?” He smiled at the man, then at the woman.

  She blushed violently and turned away to face the street.

  The man’s face stiffened. Ari wondered what he had done wrong.

  “Who is at the door?” Baruch asked as he came down the stairs.

  Ari stepped aside. Baruch went out and greeted the man. He did not speak to the woman.

  All of them came into the house. Ari retreated into the corner.

  Baruch turned to him and beckoned. “Come, Ari, my brother. The woman has a headache, and we must pray for her. Please do not look the woman in the eye again. It is not done in Jerusalem, although you tell me the customs are different in your country.”

  Ari stepped closer, wondering what would happen next. What would he do if Baruch asked him to pray?

  Baruch spoke to the man. The woman pointed to her temples and her forehead and spoke in a quiet voice, looking only at her husband.

  “She has had pain for many hours,” Baruch said. He took the husband’s hands and laid them on the woman’s head covering. Then he laid his own hands on top of these. “Ari, you may put your hands on mine. Of course, you must not touch the woman.”

  Ari did as he was told.

  Baruch began praying in Aramaic.

  Ari listened intently. He was beginning to catch a few words of the language. It wasn’t so different from Hebrew—the two languages were closer than German and English, he decided.

  After a few minutes, Baruch stopped praying and asked the man a question. The woman answered to her husband.

  Baruch nodded. “It is good, Ari,” he said. “Do you feel the Presence? The Shekinah is here. She will be healed.”

  Ari felt nothing at all, but he decided not to say anything. The woman seemed to be in a relaxed state and that would certainly help her. What harm would it do to play along?

  There followed a long period in which Baruch prayed in a quiet voice. Then he asked the man another question. The man repeated this to his wife. Ari didn’t see why. She had obviously heard Baruch ask it the first time.

  The woman responded in a drowsy, detached voice.

  Hypnosis, Ari thought. Or some sort of altered state. Really very interesting. It was amazing how the mind could heal the body, if you let it.

  “She says that the pain has diminished very much,” Baruch said. His own voice also carried a dreamlike quality. “The Spirit is here, Ari. Do you feel it?”

  Ari didn’t. “Yes.” Some sort of spirit of good feeling had fallen on the group. Except himself, of course. He felt nothing at all, but he had not expected anything. From what he had read about this sort of thing, the expectation led to the reality. It wasn’t any big mystery. The mind was the body. The body was the mind.

  Baruch continued praying, very softly. Ari noticed that his eyes had closed and his eyelids fluttered. An altered state.

  And then, suddenly, it ended.

  Baruch opened his eyes and smiled. He and Ari each pulled their hands away at the same time. The husband took his hands away also, and then threw his arms around Baruch and kissed him on both cheeks.

  For a moment, Ari feared that he might get a kiss, too. However, the husband still did not seem to have forgiven him for his previous breach of etiquette. The man took his wife and escorted her to the door.

  Baruch followed them out into the street. When he returned, his step was light and springy. “So, my friend. Are you ready for evening prayers?”

  Was there any choice? Ari shrugged and nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Baruch locked the door, and they set off. The streets were crowded. Ari stayed close to Baruch. He was tired of the enforced tedium of the day. Tomorrow, they would see some action. Tomorrow, Baruch would help him find Rivka. Ari already had a plan. Somebody in Jerusalem must have seen Rivka wearing her denim cutoffs. Ari had seen enough of the city to know that nobody would forget a woman dressed like that, with naked legs and arms. Somebody knew where Rivka was. He needed to find that somebody.

  Once he had found Rivka—well, he had a lot to tell her. She wasn’t going to be happy to hear it, either. Her apostle Paul—rejected by his own people as a renegade. And her fellow “Christians” were ultraorthodox Jews who followed their Rabban Yeshua as tightly as any Hasidic sect followed its tsaddik.

  Where did Damien fit into all this? Why had he brought them to this place, this year?

  They reached the house of prayer and went in.

  Ari sat quietly on a bench and closed his eyes. You are a filthy, stinking, stupid man, Damien West. If you harm a single cell of Rivka’s body, I will forget that I am a pacifist.

  Chapter 14

  Rivka

  RIVKA STUDIED THE NORTHERN PORTICO of the Temple Mount. Incredible! What she wouldn’t give for her camera and a hundred rolls of film. 9

  She pointed at a stone stairway leading up from the outer court of the Temple onto the roof of the porticoes, forty feet above them. “Dr. West, you see the head of the stairway? That’s where Paul will stand when he gets arrested.”

  “You really think it’ll be this next week?” Dr. West asked. “I wish I had my video camera. When we go home, nobody’s going to believe we saw the old coot himself.”

  His tone was jovial, but still it annoyed Rivka. “Don’t call him an old coot. He died before he got to be what we would call old, and no coot ever had as many friends as he did.”

  “Well, he was quite the uptight preacher, from all I’ve heard,” Dr. West said. “And you’re the last person I’d expect to be defending him. Wasn’t he an anti-Semite and an antifeminist and basically anti-fun? That’s the way I learned it in college.”

  “Antifeminist?” Rivka said. “The guy who said, ‘There is neither male nor female in Christ Jesus?’ Sorry, I don’t think so. It’s true that he expected men and women to fill different roles in society, but have a look around you, Dr. West. How many female rabbis and priests do you see? Within his culture, Paul strikes me as pretty liberated.”

  “Whatever,” Dr. West said. “But you’re not denying that he was anti-Jewish.”

  “I am too denying it,” Rivka said. “But I can only answer one of your absurdities at a time.” She was trying to be nice and having a hard time of it.

  Dr. West’s laugh had an edge to it. “So answer.”

  “Okay, for starters you need to go read the books of Romans and Galatians. That’s where he explains most clearly his views on the law and freedom in Christ and all that.”

  “So you’re telling me that’s where he declared his independence from Judaism?”

  “No, you’re the one saying that,” Rivka said. “Let me finish. Do you have any clue why he came to Jerusalem this weekend?”

  Dr. West shook his head. “I’m not even sure what I’m doing here, much less a guy who’s been dead for two thousand years.”

  “Paul came for the feast of Shavuot,” Rivka said. “That’s Pentecost in English. He came to do what every Jew wants: to celebrate one of the great feasts in Jerusalem. Next week, he’s going to stand before the Sanhedrin. Guess what he’s going to t
ell them?”

  “I’m dying to find out,” Dr. West said.

  Rivka ignored his sarcastic tone. “When we get home, you can read about it in the Book of Acts, chapter 23. Paul’s going to tell them, ‘I am a Pharisee, the son of a Pharisee.’ Does that sound like the words of an anti-Semite?”

  “Um, I’m not quite sure what a Pharisee is,” Dr. West said. “Sorry, Miss Meyers, the last time I went to Sunday school was a long time ago, when I was a kid.” He tilted his head apologetically. “Go on, this is all very interesting.”

  “The Pharisees were one of the sects of Judaism, kind of analogous to the modern Orthodox. There were other sects—the Sadducees, the Essenes, the apocalyptists, and so on. Most of them died out after the Jewish revolt, when the Temple burned. For people in this century, that’s all coming up in less than a decade. The Pharisees will survive and transmute into Rabbinic Judaism.”

  “I understand,” said Dr. West. “But what does this have to do with our man Paul?”

  “Right now, in this city, many of the believers in Jesus are Pharisees or sympathetic to the Pharisees. That’s Paul’s biggest problem, and he’s probably only just finding out about it.”

  “I don’t get it,” Dr. West said. “If he’s a Pharisee, why is he catching flak from the other Pharisees?”

  “Because he preaches to Gentiles,” Rivka said. “He’s not anti-Jewish; he’s pro-Gentile. He wants the nations to receive what the Jews have had for ages: a knowledge of the God of Israel. Right now, that doesn’t set too well with Jews. Gentiles are unclean.”

  Dr. West looked skeptical. “I thought you Jews were all a bunch of bleeding-heart liberals. Democrats and all that.”