Premonition

by R. S. Ingermanson

  But it still seemed terribly wrong. What of those who suffered because of the evil others chose? Had they no rights? Did the rights of the wicked to choose evil outweigh the rights of the innocent to be let alone? Ari believed in a personal God, but he preferred that his belief make sense. He believed in quantum mechanics, which did not make sense, but one such belief was enough.

  Baruch was now pacing in the street.

  Ari looked at him. “Brother Baruch, why does HaShem allow evil?”

  A contemplative silence. Baruch ran his fingers through his beard. “Why does HaShem allow darkness?” A typical Baruch answer.

  Ari grappled with that. Darkness was not like evil. Darkness was the absence of light. A man could eliminate darkness by turning on a light. A man could not so eliminate evil. Darkness was a matter of physics. Evil was a matter of ... what? Spirit?

  Ari resisted such words. What was spirit? He found it difficult enough to believe in HaShem. His evidence consisted of one fact—that he was alive when he should have been dead. A hornet sting which should have killed him had not—because of a prayer by Brother Baruch. Furthermore, his allergy to hornet stings was now ... gone. He had been healed, and more than healed. A miracle on a most personal level.

  One could not have a personal miracle without a personal miracle-maker. Therefore, the reasonable man must believe in a personal God. In HaShem.

  Still Ari felt troubled. Belief in a personal God was one thing. Belief in personal evil was another. Yet all the evils he found objectionable were personal. Some considered earthquakes evil—but earthquakes were merely a tectonic mechanism for renewing the carbon cycle, maintaining life on earth. The occasional seismic hiccup was a small price to pay for the gift of life, renewed over billions of years. Other natural disasters were similar. Hurricanes, tornadoes, floods. True, they destroyed life, but on a local scale, and without malice.

  But men were different. Men like Hitler, Stalin, Mao. Such men were evil by intent, without bounds on their malice. Hitler would have destroyed all Jews. These men had chosen evil and the only restraints on them were ... other men.

  HaShem did not restrain them. Good men did. Some, like those who tried to assassinate Hitler, died for their efforts.

  Ari shivered. He did not wish to oppose evil in that way. He only wished ... what? A little justice? A small reduction in evil? Did ultimate evil require ultimate sacrifice? Why? If so, there was a deep imbalance in the universe.

  “You are quiet, Brother Ari.” Baruch sat beside him again.

  Ari sighed. “I think too much. It is good to have you as a friend. Nothing unbalances you.”

  From overhead, a sharp cry split the morning stillness.

  Ari and Baruch bolted to their feet.

  Rivka

  * * *

  It won’t be long, Hana.” Rivka washed her hands again in vinegar, then wiped them on a blood-streaked towel. For a first-time mother, Hana was fast. And stoic. No screams, no cursing her husband. Just a businesslike determination to get through each contraction, to work with her body to bring this baby to light.

  Hana squatted on the birthstool now, breathing hard from the last birthpang.

  Rivka knelt in front of her. “Let me check you one more time.” She eased her hand inside and—

  Contact. The baby’s head was only an inch or two from daylight. The last inch was generally the hardest, and the quickest.

  “Another few contractions.” Rivka felt light-headed, queasy, exhausted.

  Hana grunted, and Rivka knew that another contraction had begun. Hana gripped her hands. Midwife Marta felt Hana’s belly. “You will not push on this one, Hana, my child. Not yet.”

  The contraction went on and on and on. Finally Hana’s face slackened, her death-grip on Rivka’s hands eased.

  Rivka stood up quickly and stretched her cramped thigh muscles. She felt a stirring in her own belly. She grabbed her vomit bowl and quietly heaved a few times. Her stomach was empty, but her body didn’t seem to care. This was an inconvenience, nothing more. She had seen women who spent the whole nine months with morning sickness, women who lost weight during their pregnancies. Her mother had spent four months in bed with preterm labor before Rivka’s younger brother was born. Next to that, a little morning sickness was nothing.

  “Be ready, Rivkaleh,” said Marta. She squatted behind Hana, kneading her back. “Only a few more, child, and you will hold your son. Only a few—”

  “Augghhh!” Hana gave a sharp cry. “Another!” Her face was a mask of pain. Joy. Exhaustion. Hope. Fear.

  Rivka hurried to kneel before her again. The muscles of Hana’s belly quivered, knotted. A bulge beneath.

  “It’s crowning!” Rivka held her breath. If anything would go wrong, it would happen soon. Please, God. Let it be healthy. And if it’s a son, Baruch would be so—

  Something emerged. Round. Bloody. Hairy.

  Blond.

  Rivka could not breathe for a few seconds. Blond? That was not possible. Both Hana and Baruch had black hair.

  The pale head squeezed slowly out.

  “Rivkaleh, what do you see?” Marta said.

  “The head.” Rivka put out her hands, cupping the head underneath. “Face down. It’s ... perfect.” It was not perfect and she knew it.

  By the time the contraction ended, the entire head was out and Rivka’s heart was quivering like jelly. Please, God. No. Anything but this.

  “You will push on the next one, my child,” Marta said. “Once more and all will be well.”

  Rivka bit her lip to keep from crying. All would not be well. Nothing would be well for Hana, ever again.

  Hana

  * * *

  The last hours had been joy for Hana. She had heard women speak in whispers of the pain and joy and fear of childbirth.

  The pain was very great, but against that was joy. It was joy to suffer for the sake of her son. She knew it would be a son. A son for her man, her husband, her blessed Baruch. He was a good man, a kind man, a loving man. She did not deserve such a man. She would bear any pain, any sorrow for such a man, would give him many sons. This pain was nothing, nothing to the joy of giving her man a son.

  The joy was very great, but against that was fear. Fear on account of the wicked man from Rivka’s far country. The wicked man had done an evil thing to her, once. Hana had prayed much to HaShem about this matter, but ... still she felt much fear. The shade of the wicked man had haunted her dreams for many months.

  The fear was very great, but Hana clung to joy. All was in the hands of HaShem.

  “You will push on the next one, my child. Once more and all will be well.” Midwife Marta was kind also. A true mother in Yisrael.

  Hana closed her eyes and gripped the sides of the birthstool, frightened by the strange look on Sister Rivka’s face. She waited.

  The next birthpang came soon. Hana pushed. The pain engulfed her, rolling over her like a wave of the sea. She could not breathe, could not think. Could only feel the joy, sudden and sharp as a scream.

  And then it eased and she knew the child was born. Her son. It must be a son. Tears blurred her eyes. The great pain was over, and it had been a small thing next to the joy that welled in her heart. Blessed be HaShem. Baruch would have a son.

  Blinded by her own sweat, Hana heard every move. The wet sound of Rivka’s practiced hands holding the child. The rush of Marta’s breath in her ear, murmuring something. The shrill cry of the child. It was joy to hear such a cry.

  “A boy,” Rivka said. “You have a son, Hana.”

  Baruch has a son. He will be so happy. Hana wanted to stand, to dance, to exult in the deep ache in her body.

  “Child, stand.” Marta’s strong hands gripped Hana’s elbows from behind.

  Hana stood up from the birthstool. She felt light and free. She was a mother in Yisrael. Nothing could be finer than to be a mother in Yisrael.

  Marta walked with her two steps to the bed and helped her lie down.

  Sweat stung H
ana’s eyes and she could not see, but it was nothing. Joy filled her heart.

  Rivka put the baby on Hana’s chest.

  Marta covered her with a warmed blanket. “Child, there is still the afterbirth, but it will come in HaShem’s good time. Only rest and nurse the baby.”

  Hana felt Rivka’s kind, soft hands guiding the baby to her breast. The child began suckling. Deep peace and contentment flowed through Hana. She had a son to give to her man. For this, HaShem had created her. Blessed be HaShem.

  “The boy is breathing easily,” Rivka said. “His heart beats strongly. He is ... beautiful.”

  Hana felt her body go limp. Her suffering was over and it had been such a small thing next to the joy of bearing a son. If she had strength, she would leap and dance for joy.

  “Rest, child,” Marta said.

  Rivka wrapped her arms around Hana and kissed her on the neck. “You are a mother in Yisrael. Rejoice and be glad.”

  Hana’s eyes were slits against the bright daylight. Joy rolled through her, but fear rose up like a storm. “I want ... to see my son.”

  “Only wait a little.” Marta said. “Now the afterbirth is coming. Rivka, bring the knife.”

  The two midwives tied the cord and cut it.

  “The child must be washed.” Marta took the baby and whisked it away.

  “Rivka, I can see nothing,” Hana said.

  Rivka wiped Hana’s face and eyes with a soft cloth dipped in warm water and at last Hana could see again.

  Marta brought the child back, now wrapped in a soft swaddling cloth so that only his face was visible.

  Hana thought he was the most beautiful baby in the world. She took him and began nursing him again. Strength seemed to flow into her body. “Rivka, I am cold.”

  Rivka hurried downstairs and returned with a stove-warmed blanket which she spread over Hana. “I have told Baruch he has a son. He wishes to see the child.”

  “She must drink.” Marta filled a stone cup with water from a pitcher and brought it to Hana, her ancient wrinkled face gumming a smile. “Drink it all, child. You must drink much water today.”

  The cold water chilled Hana, but she drank the whole cup. “Where is Baruch?”

  A pounding at the door.

  “Your husband wishes to see his son,” Marta said.

  “Ari the Kazan is with him,” Rivka said.

  Hana covered her hair.

  Rivka took the baby and let Marta cover Hana with blankets up to her chin. Then Rivka placed the baby back on Hana’s chest.

  Inside her body, he had seemed huge, a giant. Now, he was nothing. Like a jug of water, no more. His wrinkled, red face screwed up into a wail.

  Marta went to the wooden door and opened it. “You may now see your son.”

  Baruch strode directly to Hana. “Blessed be HaShem.”

  Hana knew only that there was no joy and no fear greater than this—to give her man a son.

  Baruch knelt beside Hana, laughing, weeping. “Our son.” He loosened the swaddling.

  “Not yet,” Rivka said. “Baruch, I think—”

  But Baruch, like every man, must see for himself the evidence that he had a son. He folded back the edge of the linen. The covering fell away from the baby’s head.

  Hana felt all joy rush out of her heart.

  Shock widened Baruch’s eyes. His mouth twisted in a knot of sudden fury. He spun and stalked out of the room. His footsteps thudded on the stairway. Downstairs, the door slammed.

  Grief took Hana like a flood.

  Baruch

  * * *

  A roaring sound filled Baruch’s ears as he staggered down the street. Evil! This was a great evil!

  Rage pounded in his heart. The wicked man had done this. The man who fought like a devil. The man with a name like a daemon. The man with yellow hair who came from a far country.

  The wicked man was dead. The man who had come to destroy the order of the universe, to overturn the will of HaShem. He was dead, and yet now he lived again. The child Hana had carried was his seed.

  The wicked man had stabbed a knife into the belly of the world. Where was justice? Where was mercy? Where was ... the wrath of HaShem against such unrighteousness?

  The wicked man had tied a knot in the deep order of the universe, and who could untie it? He had wounded Baruch, and who could heal the scar? No wisdom ran deep enough, no mercy wide enough, to cleanse this evil. Only wrath remained—the wrath of HaShem. A holy wrath against evil.

  Baruch reached the Essene Gate and stormed through, down the steep hill toward the Hinnom Valley. A sharp wind blew, whistling in his ears, freezing his heart.

  Rage like a river filled his soul.

  Rivka

  * * *

  Rivka wrapped up the baby and held it to her chest, rocking it gently. “Shhhh, sweet baby. Don’t cry.”

  Soon, he was asleep. Ari stood in the doorway, his eyes wide. Hana lay still, weeping softly. Midwife Marta scowled while she mopped up the blood on the floor.

  Rivka handed Ari the baby.

  Panic pooled in his eyes.

  “Just ... hold him. Rock him.” Rivka went to sit on the bed. “Hana.”

  Sniffles.

  “Hana. What happened?”

  Hana wiped her face and rubbed her nose on a blanket. “The wicked man came ... looking for you one night. With the thing that throws fire.”

  “The gun.” Rivka remembered her terror of Damien. “He came to kill me.”

  “Yes. He was ... angry when he found you were not there. He hurt me ... He told me to find you. Then ... he laughed and held me down and ... did a wicked thing to me.”

  Weeping.

  “Hana, I’m so sorry.” Rivka’s heart felt jagged and raw. Hana had suffered for her and she had never even known. No wonder Hana had nightmares about Damien.

  “Then he took me into the street. I knew he wanted only to find you. Then he would have killed us both.”

  “And that’s why you knew you had to run? Oh, Hana.” Rivka leaned over and hugged her.

  “I should have chewed a few leaves from the herbs in my house,” Hana said. “Then I would not have ...” Hana’s voice broke.

  Rivka looked at the tiny bundle in Ari’s arms. So Hana kept some sort of abortifacient herbs in her home? That explained how she had worked as a zonah and not gotten pregnant.

  “Many things happened in the next few days,” Hana said. “Always, I forgot to return for my herbs.”

  Because of me. And Ari. And Baruch. Rivka patted Hana’s shoulder. “Hanaleh. You did not sin. The wicked man sinned. Against you. Against Baruch. Against HaShem.”

  Hana snuffled. “I should have told Baruch.”

  “Then he would not have—” Rivka covered her mouth, horrified at the thought. No. Baruch was a good man. He had not known what Damien did, but he knew Hana had been a zonah and he had married her anyway. Because he loved her. Because HaShem had done a great thing in his heart. And because he too had sinned. Baruch would still have married her.

  Rivka stood up and went to Ari. “Go find Brother Baruch.” She took the baby and peered into its tiny inscrutable face. “Talk some sense into him, okay? Tell him this is going to happen to a lot of women after the war that’s coming. So many women that the rabbis will change the rules so a Jew is defined to be one born of a Jewish mother.”

  Ari gaped at her. She saw in his eyes a horror that something like this might happen to her someday. That maybe he wouldn’t survive to protect her.

  “Ari, I knew what this century was like when I chose to stay here. So did you. Now go find Baruch and talk to him. He’ll listen to you.”

  Ari nodded dumbly and went out.

  Rivka went and sat on the bed and wept. She had lied to Ari. She hadn’t thought at all about anything like this when she decided to stay. A horror was coming to her land. To her people. To her.

  Rivka wept, because the worst thing in the world was to be a prophet, to know the height and depth of the desolation to c
ome, and to be powerless to prevent it. For the first time in her life, she understood why Moses didn’t want to be a prophet. Why Daniel lost all strength for days after seeing the far future. Why Jeremiah was always crying his eyes out.

  Because the only thing worse than not knowing the future was ... knowing the future.

  Ari

  * * *

  Ari walked the streets in a blind panic. What if he found Baruch? Then what would he say? He had no skill in talking of such matters. If it were a matter of Hilbert spaces, fiber bundles, complex linear operators, then yes, he had some skill. But matters of the heart, no.

  He was a dunce and an ignoramus and it was meshugah for a fool like him to meddle in this matter.

  He hurried along the street asking people he knew. Had anyone seen Baruch passing by? Yes, several had—going toward the Essene Gate.

  Ari walked, his heart cold with horror.

  Baruch’s honor had been stolen. His woman was violated, and the evidence showed plainly in his child. He could divorce her, of course, but ... Baruch would never do that. He loved Hana. Besides, it had not been her fault. The fault lay with a man beyond the reach of vengeance. Damien had done this evil. He had dishonored Baruch, and nothing could restore his honor.

  Ari walked. At the Essene Gate, he looked down into the Hinnom Valley. No sign of Baruch. Perhaps he had gone some other way. Ari looked back to the crowded city.

  No, Baruch would wish to be alone. He would go out here, because it led to the desolation of the Hinnom Valley.

  Ari walked down the steep path from the Essene Gate. The gate was named so because Essenes took the path to a place outside the city where they defecated in the fields, obeying the Torah commandment not to foul the camp. They carried small trowels in their belts for the purpose of digging holes to obey this holy calling.

  People did many such absurd things to obey HaShem. They refrained from eating pork. They rested on Shabbat. They killed animals and offered the fat to HaShem. Who could understand such things? Was HaShem pleased with this behavior? Ari’s stepfather would not turn on an electric light on Shabbat, nor eat meat within six hours of eating milk. To honor HaShem.