Laughter greeted this. The group of men broke up in all directions. Soon only four of them were left—Ari, Gamaliel, Eleazar, and a slim young priest of medium height with bright, intelligent eyes and polished tefillin that looked very expensive. The priest put out his hand. “My name is called Yoseph ben Mattityahu.”
Ari clasped hands with him. “My name is called Ari the Kazan.” He looked at the three men, perplexed. “I do not understand. Why have you disobeyed Hanan? Do you not fear he will learn what you have done?”
Eleazar shrugged his massive shoulders. “What have we done? Nothing!”
“But ... he ordered you to beat me.”
Eleazar turned to the priest Yoseph. “Explain the law to him, Brother Yoseph.”
Yoseph’s eyes gleamed. “It is not permitted to beat a man on the Temple Mount. Therefore, Hanan ordered us to beat you elsewhere. But regrettably, Hanan ben Hanan is sagan only within the Temple Mount, and his jurisdiction ended when we came through those gates. Likewise, his authority over us as Temple guards extends only to the boundaries of the Temple. Therefore, his order to us, though given inside the Temple, has only the force of a suggestion when once we have left its bounds.”
Yoseph shook his head and winked. It was clear that he enjoyed bending words to his own will. “Hanan ben Hanan made an unwise suggestion, and we have chosen to ignore it. You have something we need, Ari the Kazan.”
Ari wondered what he could possibly have that these men needed.
“You will come to my house,” Gamaliel said. “We must talk about a matter of importance, but not here.”
Ari wondered if he had a choice.
Gamaliel led the way down the steps and turned right onto the crowded market street at the base of the western wall of the Temple Mount. Two thousand years from now, Jews would gather here to pray at the kotel, the Western Wall. Now it was just a market.
Ari cleared his throat. “You will be punished when Hanan ben Hanan finds out what you have done.”
“What can ben Hanan do to me?” Eleazar said in a light voice. “He answers to my father the high priest. Besides, flouting his honor raises my own. Just as your honor was raised today, Ari the Kazan. By this evening, all Jerusalem will know there is a man who dared stand up to ben Hanan. Your honor will be high in Jerusalem.”
“I did not do it for honor.”
“Then why?” Brother Eleazar sounded genuinely surprised.
“Because ... it is wrong to allow a fool such as Hanan ben Hanan to create dangerous machines. A man was hurt yesterday. I could have prevented it.”
An intense silence followed.
Ari turned to see all three men staring at him with open mouths.
They maneuvered up the crowded market street. By local standards, it was a broad avenue, at least four or five meters wide. On each side, small shops clustered. Olive oil merchants stood cheek by jowl with linen merchants, sellers of handcrafts in wood and ivory and tin, sandal makers, ceramics merchants selling unglazed red pots with abstract designs. The odor of roasting goat meat assaulted Ari’s nostrils. Salted fish. Goat’s cheese. Spiced vegetables not too different from the kim chi that a Korean friend at MIT had once coaxed into Ari’s mouth. And everywhere, people. Women in head scarves. Children racing through the crowd shrieking. Torah students. Old men. Everywhere, the smell of stale sweat and garlic and wool.
These were Ari’s people and this was his city and he felt perfectly at home and perfectly a stranger, both at the same time. Like the electron.
When the four men reached the Fortress Antonia, they took a left turn onto the broad avenue leading diagonally across the city toward the northwest gate. The street was crowded, but less so than the market street behind them.
Ahead, a noise caught Ari’s attention. People moved aside, left and right. Eleazar reacted quickly. “Out of the street! Soldiers ahead!” He pulled Ari to the right.
Ari looked stupidly up the street. Romans? So?
The street emptied swiftly as people scrambled out of the way.
A troop of Roman soldiers marched up the avenue toward them, their javelins poking fists at the heavens. Their arrogance appalled Ari. The servility with which the Jews moved aside appalled him more.
A woman screamed.
A small girl had wandered into the center of the avenue, oblivious to the oncoming soldiers.
Shocked, Ari could not think what to do.
Gamaliel sprinted toward the child.
The soldiers made no change in their pace.
Ari held his breath. Please, HaShem ...
Gamaliel reached the girl, scooped her up, and leaped out of the way.
The Romans tramped by, rank on rank, five to a row, looking to neither side. As if the Jews were worms—worth less than a glance.
Quickly, they passed.
Ari glowered after the soldiers, feeling rage wash through him.
When they were gone, Gamaliel rejoined his companions.
Ari looked at him with admiration. “That was well done, Gamaliel.”
Gamaliel flashed a broad smile. “HaShem gave me speed.”
They came to a branch street and turned right, walking rapidly now. This was the New City, and the streets here were broader than in the older part of Jerusalem, the houses more spacious. It was the residential district for a growing middle class—merchants and builders and men who dealt in wholesale of barley and olive oil and grapes.
Shortly, they stopped at a house. Gamaliel took out an iron key, inserted it, turned a quarter turn, and pulled. An iron latching mechanism clicked on the other side of the door. Gamaliel pushed the door inward and reversed the operation to withdraw his key.
Rivka stood before them, gaping.
Chapter Seven
Rivka
* * *
RIVKA STARED AT THE FOUR men in front of her, astonished. “Ari! What are you doing here?”
Ari looked astounded that she had spoken to him in public.
Rivka bristled. She was sick to death of being treated like a ... woman. Like a child.
Ari’s face tightened, and then he gestured to the men. “Rivkaleh, these are friends of mine. You have met Gamaliel already. And these are his friends, Eleazar and Yoseph, who are now also friends of mine. My friends, this is my woman Rivka. She is a seer of exceptional intelligence, and we come from a far country where it is the custom to speak to women. Please, you will honor this custom if you honor me.”
Rivka smiled at the three men, looking each of them directly in the eye as if she had every right in the world to speak to men.
Gamaliel’s face reddened. He looked at her for an instant, then averted his gaze. “I greet you, seer woman, friend of Rabbi Yohanan.”
The giant, Eleazar, flicked his eyes over her with an interest that Rivka found ... uncomfortable. “Shalom, Rivka the Kazan.”
The young priest, Yoseph, looked right past her, refusing to make eye contact at all, and muttered something unintelligible.
Shuddering, Rivka recognized him. Last summer he had told Ari to take her home and beat her well. Rivka wondered if he remembered. Probably not.
Ari’s face had burnished to the color of a brick.
Rivka felt like an idiot. She could pretend all she wanted that she was the equal of these men, but if they didn’t get it, she only made herself look foolish. She was blowing this badly. Every man in the city played the game of honor, a game with vastly complex rules. Even after a lot of coaching, she and Ari still understood only the rudiments. In America, people’s worth was measured by their money. But this society measured personal worth in units of honor, an elusive quantity that changed by small increments from moment to moment. And the simple fact was that only a man could have honor. A woman did not have honor any more than she had a beard, and pretending could not change that.
“Ari the Kazan, we must talk,” said Eleazar. His quick glance toward Rivka made his meaning clear. Dismiss your woman so that we can get on with it.
Ari did n
ot look ready to dismiss her.
Shame cut through Rivka. “Ari, perhaps I should be going home now. I came to visit Gamaliel’s grandmother and—”
“Savta!” Gamaliel shouted. “Savta, have you been speaking with the woman of Ari the Kazan?”
Another rule, Rivka guessed. A man could speak to his grandmother in public. Ridiculous—a grandmother but not a wife.
Midwife Marta appeared, a scowl on her face. “I—”
“Rabbi Yohanan says she is a seer woman,” Gamaliel said. “You will make her feel at home while I speak with Ari the Kazan.”
Marta’s eyes widened, and a toothless smile creased her face. “A seer woman? Rabbi Yohanan says so?” She took Rivka’s arm. “Come with me, child. Why did you not say so?” Gently she guided Rivka into the kitchen.
Rivka wanted to call her a liar, a fraud, a hypocrite. But of course she could not. One look at Marta’s face told Rivka that the old woman was perfectly sincere. Just like that, because Gamaliel told her, Marta believed Rivka was a seer woman. This was a crazy, stupid, ridiculous world and anyone who—
“So. Rivkaleh.” Marta led her to the same table where they had sat earlier. “A seer woman! That is wonderful! When do you wish to begin learning the arts of the midwife?”
If Rivka wasn’t so happy, she would have shrieked.
Ari
* * *
Ari followed Gamaliel and the other two men into a sparsely furnished sitting room. It had two flat couches made of wood—something rare enough in this city that Ari had never seen even one. Gamaliel must be quite well off.
Eleazar sat on one couch and motioned to Ari to sit on the other. Gamaliel and Yoseph remained standing, one on either side of their leader. A matter of honor.
Eleazar studied Ari. “You are a priest, Ari the Kazan?”
Ari nodded. “I was born in a far country and my fathers in a yet farther country. The name Kazan in that country means cohen. But I lack written documents.”
Eleazar shook his head. “So you are issah. It is a shame.”
Ari felt bitterness in his throat. Issah. A priestly family of uncertain lineage. Usually, it referred to families in which a woman had been captured by enemy men in wartime. Her sons thereafter could not be proved to be legitimate sons of a priest—even those born years later. Ari felt no shame to be issah. The shame was in a foolish system which classified men so.
“We are three men of one havurah—one fellowship,” Eleazar said. “We are called the Sons of Righteous Priests, and we look for Mashiach. Are you also looking for Mashiach?”
Ari shook his head. He must be honest. Of course there would be no Mashiach. But his people would suffer for the next twenty centuries because of a man called by that title. “I will not look for Mashiach until I see his face.”
A broad grin split Gamaliel’s face. Ari had never known anyone so cheerful and easy to please.
Eleazar nodded and smiled, his thick black beard bobbing up and down.
Even the quiet priest Yoseph seemed delighted.
Ari wondered what he had said.
“Very well, Ari the Kazan,” Eleazar said. “And when Mashiach comes, he will need an army, yes? And men? Machines of war?”
Ari felt cold wash over him, bathing him with ghostly fingers.
“Yes?” Gamaliel said. “You agree when Mashiach comes, he will need these things?”
“Yes.” The Americans had a saying about pigs and wings, but Ari could not remember it.
Eleazar’s eyes brightened and he smiled at both Gamaliel and Yoseph as if Ari had made a huge concession. “Ari the Kazan, you are learned in the secrets of the universe. It is as clear as the wart on the nose of ben Hanan. But you are unskilled in the construction of machines. You must learn this skill. Mashiach is coming, and when you see him with your eyes, it will be too late to learn the skills you will need. You will learn the secrets of the catapult and the siege tower and all other weapons of war. When Mashiach comes, you will join us.”
Ari did not know what to say. Boys, dreaming of war, please find a clue, as the Americans say.
“Yes?” Gamaliel said. “When Mashiach comes, you will join us?”
Ari smiled. There would be no Mashiach, but how could he explain that? “Yes,” he said. “If Mashiach comes, I will join you.” The safest promise imaginable.
Eleazar leaned forward and his eyes burned with a hidden fire. “Ari the Kazan, we will make sure you have what you need to learn the construction of machines. We have men in our havurah with skills in working metal, but they do not know the secrets of the universe. You will teach them these secrets and they will instruct you in the working of bronze and iron. Yes?”
Ari felt an odd constriction in his throat. They would teach him skills? Give him a chance at honest employment? And all he had to do was teach them physics?
And they will take what they learn into the Temple, despite the protests of fools such as Hanan. They will make the world a better place.
“Yes,” Ari said in a strangled voice.
Eleazar stood up and his face shone. “Mashiach is coming, Ari the Kazan. You will be ready for him.” Not a request but a command.
Gamaliel and Yoseph smiled and exchanged triumphant glances.
Apparently this extremely weird interview was now over. Ari stood up too, wondering if he had won or lost.
Ari
* * *
On the way home, Ari allowed Rivka to walk beside him. He was tired of this Jerusalem foolishness, and anyway he had much to tell her. He explained to Rivka about his confrontation with Hanan ben Hanan.
“I lost,” he concluded. “I explained all about the theory of the crane, and Hanan did not understand any of it, so he ordered me to be beaten.”
Rivka clutched his arm. “You were so brave.”
“I was meshugah. Had I known he would order me beaten, I ...” Ari wondered what he would have done. He sighed. “I am not sure what I would have done. But ben Hanan is a fool and—”
“Ari, don’t say things like that!”
Ari looked down at her, amused. “What should I not say?”
“You called him ben Hanan. That is highly discourteous. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“No. How do you know?”
“I read something about it in the Talmud once. Didn’t you ever read any Talmud?”
“No.” Ari scowled. “Talmud is foolishness. Eleazar and Gamaliel called him ben Hanan, therefore I also. Why is this considered rude?”
“I don’t know, but it is. He lost face in their eyes when you stood up to him.”
“But he won. And therefore, I lost.”
“Maybe, but you gained honor. Big time.”
“I do not understand.”
“Honor has nothing to do with winning and losing. Remember Saddam Hussein in 1991?”
Ari scowled. “He missed me with his SCUDs.”
“He lost the Persian Gulf War, would you agree?”
“Of course. Your President Bush should have finished him at once.”
“Hussein lost. Bush won. So whose honor went up in the Arab world?”
Ari thought about that for a moment. “Hussein’s. He spit in the eye of the American president and lived another day.”
“That gained him a lot of honor in Arab eyes. It’s the same here, Ari. Standing up to somebody gains you points—even if you lose. Everybody is afraid of Hanan. You aren’t. You faced him down as if he was nobody. That’s why Gamaliel and Eleazar and Yoseph respect you. And that’s why they called him ben Hanan in your presence—because you had dishonored him.”
“I was foolish.”
“You’re not kidding. That was the craziest thing you could have done. And if you do it again, you’ll sleep in the street for a week.” Rivka tightened her grip on his arm and smiled. “But I wish I had seen it. I’m so proud of you. And ... thank you for honoring me today before your friends. You don’t need to do it again.”
“You are welcome, Rivkaleh. People are n
ow staring at us because I allow you to walk beside me. Should I put you again to the back of the bus?”
Rivka laughed. “Deal with it, Ari the Kazan.”
“You are a most complicated and infuriating woman, Rivkaleh.”
She tickled his ribs. “Then I’m exactly what you deserve.”
Chapter Eight
Rivka
* * *
THE NEXT TWO MONTHS PASSED in a blur for Rivka. She worked with Midwife Marta every day, learning to be a midwife.
Ari found work for a week with a man in Gamaliel’s havurah, a bronze worker who worked for a building contractor in the New City. After that week, the contractor was so impressed with Ari’s solution to a difficult problem that he paid Ari a bonus of fifty dinars and hired him as an engineering consultant, rather than a day laborer.
Ari gave half the money to Baruch and used the rest to rent a house two streets over. It was a large, two-story home, and Rivka felt thrilled to have a place of her own. For the first time since they had been married, she and Ari had some ... privacy.
Hana’s belly grew bigger as her time approached. Baruch’s face shone with expectation of the coming child. It would be a son, he told everyone. He had prayed to HaShem for a son. Therefore, a son.
Rivka spent most of her free time with Hana, who seemed increasingly tense. Which was only to be expected, of course. Rivka knew already that a first child would be no picnic, and furthermore, Baruch was being unreasonable about the son thing. It would just serve him right if he got a girl, wouldn’t it?
Hanan ben Hanan
* * *
Hanan stared at the elevated water tank in the Court of Priests. The workmen had built it to twice the height of a man and now they were sealing it up with pitch. What foolishness was this? He had been gone to oversee his farms in the coastlands for several weeks during the coldest part of the winter. In his absence, some fool had begun a complex and difficult project. And Hanan did not see how it could possibly work.
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