Premonition

by R. S. Ingermanson

  He seized her breast with his fat hands and began suckling.

  Hana stroked his fine hair and sighed. It was joy to be a mother in Yisrael, yes, joy. She would pray to HaShem and he would grant the desire of her heart.

  He is mine, fool. Mine, and I shall have him.

  Hana shuddered. She had not heard the voice of the wicked man in many months. Yaakov the tsaddik had prayed for her, and the voice had gone. He was a good man, Yaakov, a very good man, and he loved Baruch and little Dov. She must go to him and he would make the wicked man’s voice go away again. And he would pray to HaShem for her son who would be born. Yaakov was a righteous man, and HaShem would grant his prayer, and she would name her son Shmuel. A good name.

  He is mine.

  Hana squeezed her fists so that her nails dug into her hands. The wicked man would not win, no, never! He had done a wicked thing once, but he had no power anymore, forever. Yaakov the tsaddik would pray to HaShem in the name of Rabban Yeshua, and the evil man must go. He would never touch Dov. HaShem would protect Dov from the—

  Laughter. High and far away, riding the wings of the night, the wicked man laughed. Fool. HaShem cannot protect him. HaShem did not protect you, and he did not protect Dov. Neither will he protect Shmuel. That one too is mine!

  Hana moaned.

  Dov stirred in his sleep, then released her and began screaming.

  Baruch stirred behind her. She felt his strong hand on her shoulder. “Hanaleh?”

  She cuddled Dov to her. “Do not touch me. I am unclean again.”

  Baruch pulled back his hand.

  Hana wanted to cry out that she was sorry, that next month it would be different, that she would bear him a son, that she would call his name Shmuel. But her mouth could not make the words.

  Dov found her again and suckled noisily.

  Baruch said nothing, and his silence cut Hana like a knife. At last, when a little pink light shone in at the window, he stood up and began dressing.

  Dov stopping nursing and pointed his fat hand at Baruch. “Abba!” He laughed out loud and stood up. “Abba!” He ran to Baruch and threw his arms around him. “Abba, up!”

  Baruch’s face became wood.

  Hana’s heart felt cold. If only Baruch would pick him up, then love would grow in his heart. A man could not hold the son of his woman in his arms and not feel love.

  But Baruch stood as still as stone. “Hanaleh.”

  A pain stabbed at her chest. “Yes, Baruch.” She sat up and tugged on Dov’s little arms. “Come, little bear. Come to Imma. Imma loves you. Abba loves you. Now he must go and pray to HaShem.”

  Dov turned and smiled at her, such a smile that it would break a man’s heart. “Abba!” He snuggled into her arms and laughed out loud. “Abba!”

  Baruch took his tallit and went out.

  Hana wanted to weep, but she had no more tears.

  Baruch

  * * *

  Baruch strode toward his synagogue, feeling ice in his heart and fire on his leg where the boy had touched him. The wicked man had scorched him with fire, with hot iron, with pain beyond pain. Why did HaShem allow this thing? Fierce anger filled Baruch’s heart at the evil done by the wicked man. He would pray to HaShem to unleash his holy wrath against the wicked man, even in Sheol. And he would pray again that he might ... somehow grow to love the boy, as Rabban Yeshua commanded.

  If Baruch could raise up love in his heart, he would have raised it up. A thousand times, he would have raised it up. But it was not possible. It would be a lie against all nature, and Baruch would never lie. He reached the door of Ari the Kazan and raised his hand to knock.

  The door opened. Brother Ari stumbled out, his eyes hollow and tired.

  They walked in silence to the synagogue. When they arrived, the brothers of The Way had already begun the morning prayers. Baruch closed his eyes and tried to enter into the Amidah, but his mind would not obey. Hana wished desperately to be pregnant and was not. Baruch’s prayers were ineffectual and he did not know why.

  All the cosmos was appointed against him. There was a knot in the universe, a knot of evil. A man could move it from here to there, but he could not remove it entirely. Was HaShem also powerless against this evil? No, that made no sense. A man could believe many kinds of foolishness, but to believe that HaShem could not do a thing—that was beyond foolishness.

  Why then did HaShem allow it? Because Baruch had sinned? And Hana? Yes, perhaps. But what sin had the boy committed? No, it was not possible that he had sinned.

  Finally, the Amidah ended.

  Baruch sighed. He had failed to enter into the prayers. Today would be a day of sadness, of evil.

  Warm laughter washed over the room. Men’s heads turned.

  Baruch felt his heart leap within him. He nudged Ari. “Is that the voice of ...?” He dared not hope.

  Ari stood on his toes and craned his neck, and his eyes widened. A smile leaped across his face. “Blessed be HaShem. Brother Shmuel has returned. Come along, Brother Baruch.” He pushed forward.

  A crowd had gathered already, and Baruch could not see over their heads. He waited impatiently, listening to the sounds of greeting, of men kissing each other in joy, of excited questions. More men crowded around. Baruch wanted to push through, but other men also wished to see. He waited, listening to the familiar voice, his heart sparking with new joy.

  Finally, the men before him moved aside. Yaakov the tsaddik stood there, his eyes shining, his hand on the shoulder of a tall man with thick black hair which hung to his waist. Brother Shmuel the prophet. Holy boldness shone in his eyes.

  Baruch saw that he was no longer the retiring youth who had gone out to the desert. Surely he had met HaShem there, for he was a changed man.

  A smile burned on Brother Shmuel’s lips. “Brother Baruch! Brother Ari!” He flung his arms around them and kissed them both. “You are troubled, Brother Baruch.”

  Baruch nodded. How could he explain all that had happened in the many months since he had last seen Brother Shmuel? “I have suffered much attack ... by a wicked man.”

  Brother Shmuel looked into his heart. “The king of Amalek has done you great injury.”

  Baruch did not understand this metaphor, but Brother Shmuel was a deep and complex man. One did not always understand clearly the words of a prophet. “Do you have a word from HaShem for me on this matter?”

  “We will speak of it another time,” Brother Shmuel said. “HaShem will bring you healing when the king of Amalek is truly dead.”

  Baruch took in Brother Shmuel’s deeply tanned face and his glowing smile. “Your time in the desert has treated you well.”

  Brother Shmuel nodded. “HaShem appeared to me in the desert and taught me many things.” He held up his left hand. “HaShem came in great power.”

  Baruch stared at the smallest finger of Brother Shmuel’s hand. Baruch had prayed for this finger many times, to no effect.

  It was now straight and strong.

  Joy rushed into Baruch’s heart. “Blessed be HaShem! You must tell us all of this wonder.”

  Brother Shmuel smiled. “I will speak of it to all the men, but not today.”

  “On Shabbat, then.”

  “On the day when HaShem reveals to me that I will speak of this, and many other things, then I will speak of them. A time of trouble lies ahead for our people. Trouble such as the Rabban spoke of. The birthpangs are upon us.” Brother Shmuel cocked his head to one side, listening.

  Baruch heard nothing.

  Brother Shmuel nodded. “Yes, I will speak of it no more until HaShem gives me leave. Now I must seek a quiet place to pray. Watch and be ready for the birthpangs, and beware the king of Amalek!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Rivka

  * * *

  I’M ALL OUT, RACHELEH.” RIVKA lifted her daughter away. “Still hungry?”

  Rachel nodded. “Milk.”

  Rivka set her on the floor. “Go ask Aunt Hana if she’s got any.” Which w
as a little weird, but Rivka had gotten used to a lot of things after three years in Jerusalem.

  Rachel toddled over to Hana’s rocking chair. Dov sat in Hana’s lap, nursing lazily. Rachel pointed a chubby finger at Hana. “Milk.” Hana pulled her up beside Dov and cuddled both of them. Dov put a pudgy paw on Rachel’s head, patting her with all the love of a two year old.

  Rivka rocked in her chair. Lucky for her that Hana seemed to have an unlimited supply. Rachel still liked nursing, but Rivka just didn’t have much anymore. Which was fine with her. She liked being a mother, but she’d had enough of this nursing business to last her a lifetime.

  Not that she had much else to do. She hired help to deal with most of the housework. Rivka rocked her chair. What she wanted was to get involved in the city. Warn people about what was coming. Make a difference. But fat chance of that until—

  “Rachel play!” Dov slid off Hana’s lap and held out his arms. “Rachel play!”

  Rachel pushed away from Hana and bounced down onto the floor.

  Dov wrapped her in a great big teddy bear hug and lifted her right off the floor. Rivka could not get over how strong he was. Dov tottered around the room, dangling Rachel’s feet above the floor while she shrieked in perfect glee. “Rachel love me!” he bellowed, his face pink with joy. Dov seemed to love everybody, whether they deserved it or not—even Baruch.

  Finally he set her down and planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. Rachel took his hands in hers and danced around him. “Dov!”

  The two children played together for a while. Rivka closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of pure and exquisite joy. This was her whole life. Rivka Meyers, homebody, woman of Ari the Kazan.

  Witch woman, suspected of keeping a familiar spirit, viewed with dark eyes by her neighbors, known to all Jerusalem. Not every merchant would sell her vegetables in the market. Some women would turn and scurry up the street if they saw her coming. And if a man dared to talk to her—good grief, the guy would probably be burned at the stake. Brother Baruch stood up for her. Ari’s friend Gamaliel also. And Yaakov the tsaddik.

  But even Yaakov could not make the women of The Way accept Rivka. Women who had been her friends before the rumors began. Women she had helped through childbirth. Now she was an outcast. She had only Hana, dear Hana, obsessed with getting pregnant again. Midwife Marta came by occasionally, though she was busier than ever.

  Nobody ever asked for the witch woman to serve as a midwife. There were babies born every day, women who died of infection because some idiot didn’t wash her hands before attending the birth. Rivka wanted to shriek, but who would listen?

  “Rivkaleh, we should go to the market,” Hana said. “Baruch was much pleased with those Syrian figs we bought yesterday.”

  Rivka cracked her eyes open, wishing she could just stay inside all day. Right, that made sense. Poor pitiful Rivka. Sit here and rot because people thought ... things. Since when did she care what people thought?

  She pushed herself out of her chair. “Racheleh! Dov! Market!”

  The toddlers grabbed her hands. “Market! Market!”

  Hana stood up too and took Dov’s other little fist. “Come, little bear. We must buy figs for Abba.”

  “Abba!” Dov shrieked. A grin split his cheeks. “Figs for Abba!”

  Rivka

  * * *

  The heat of the day had begun to fade when they arrived at the upper market. To the west, across the broad plaza, Herod’s Palace gleamed in the late afternoon sunshine. It was not the palace where Agrippa and his sister stayed, the Hasmonean Palace near the Temple. Nobody lived in this palace, Herod’s Palace, although the governor of Judea stayed there when he visited Jerusalem.

  Rivka saw movement near the palace. Red feathers atop iron helmets. Her heart twisted. Governor Festus must have arrived today for the coming festivals, which would last for three weeks—first the new year, then Yom Kippur, then Sukkot. She wished the governor would just stay in Caesarea. He came to Jerusalem for the feasts to maintain order, but his presence here was part of what stirred up disorder.

  “Fifteen lepta!” Hana shrieked at a fig merchant. “Fool! Who would pay so much? They look rotten.”

  Rivka turned to look. It still bothered her that you couldn’t just buy something—you had to bargain for it, which generally meant a five-minute screaming match. But at least merchants would talk to a woman. Sheerly out of necessity, of course.

  The tall Syrian merchant looked down his long nose at Hana and curled his fingers at the sleeves of his dyed-blue tunic. “If they are rotten, then do not buy.”

  “Six lepta. It would be a crime to pay more.” Hana counted out six of the tiny copper coins in her palm.

  The Syrian sneered. “It is you who attempt to rob me.” He turned to Rivka. “Perhaps you wish to buy something?”

  Rivka shook her head. “I’m with her.” She clutched the children’s sweaty paws. “You two could settle this quickly. Hana, give him ten lepta and be done with it.”

  Hana shook her head. “For ten, I could buy the whole cart!”

  “This is foolishness!” The Syrian crossed his arms and glared at Rivka. “For ten lepta, I would starve to death. Go! Go!” He brushed at Rivka with his hands. “I will not listen to such idle chatter.”

  “Please, Sister Rivka.” Hana pointed toward the square. “Take the children and leave the bargaining to me.”

  Rivka ambled through the market with the toddlers, teaching them new words. “Silk!” “Cucumbers!” “Ivory!” “Cheese!” “Jade!” “Linen!”

  And on and on, past vendors roasting goat meat over open fires, men ladling beer from a barrel into stone cups, stalls piled high with beautiful red-glazed pottery—the terra sigillata she had studied in graduate school. They stopped to admire a handwoven woolen blanket. Dov sneezed three times. Rachel put her arms around him and laughed. “Dov sneeze!”

  They wandered slowly, and by the time they reached the square, Rivka heard Hana calling her name. She turned and waited. Hana hurried up, her basket of figs clutched beneath her arms. “Ten lepta!” she said triumphantly. “The fool finally wore down and gave them to me for ten lepta!”

  Rivka managed a thin smile. “Congratulations.” She let go the hands of the children. “Run and play a little!”

  Dov raced away. Rachel scampered after him, her arms poking straight ahead like one of those cartoon characters Rivka used to watch on TV, a billion light-years away.

  Rivka turned to Hana. “I’m looking forward to the—”

  Angry shouts from the direction of Herod’s Palace.

  A large cloud of dust rose up from the palace gates.

  Rivka saw—good grief, those were rocks flying at the Roman soldiers. Jewish men poured into the courtyard, and some of them had clubs.

  Rivka began running. “Rachel! Dov!”

  She heard screaming from somewhere.

  A woman with a squalling infant in her arms came from nowhere and nearly bowled Rivka over.

  “Sorry!” Rivka kept running. Please, God, let me find Rachel and Dov. The hot summer dust choked her. “Rachel! Dov!” Rivka’s heart slammed into overdrive. Where were—

  There! Dov was halfway to Herod’s Palace, his hands in the air, having the time of his life. Rachel had fallen behind him in the dirt.

  Rivka raced toward her.

  A man tripped and fell right in front of Rivka.

  She jumped over him and kept running. When she reached Rachel, she scooped her up, tucked her under her arm, and staggered on. “Dov, get back here right now!”

  He shrieked, and dashed on toward the palace. For him, this must be a grand game.

  Rivka hugged Rachel to her chest and sprinted.

  Ahead, the dust cloud in the palace courts mushroomed up. Men raced out of the palace courts. Toward Dov.

  Rivka stretched out her arms. “Dov, come here now!”

  He laughed and turned away from her. Then he saw the men, many men running toward him with shouts. Dov sp
un around and scampered back toward Rivka, his fat legs churning like pistons, fear twisting his face.

  Rivka ran.

  When she reached Dov, she hauled him up and stumbled toward the row of market stalls along the south edge of the plaza.

  A stone slammed into her back.

  She lurched forward. God help me!

  Dust, thick in her throat.

  She reached the first stall.

  A gray-bearded, thick-armed merchant beckoned her in and hustled her to the back of the tentlike structure. “You will stay here!” He grabbed a club and stepped to the entrance of the stall.

  Rivka lay on the floor panting, squeezing Rachel and Dov tight. She heard shouting outside.

  “Kill the goyim!”

  “Break their stalls!”

  “Burn them down!”

  Rivka closed her eyes, terror washing through her.

  Screams outside. Rachel whimpered. Dov clutched at Rivka’s chest. “Milk.”

  “Not now, Dov, please. Just stay calm.”

  “Abba. I want Abba.”

  She stroked his head. “We’ll find your abba soon. And your imma.”

  The merchant stepped out into the street, roaring something Rivka couldn’t understand. She saw the flash of his club, heard the grunt of wood on flesh. More screaming. Then he reappeared. Blood streamed down his dark arm.

  Rivka closed her eyes and prayed.

  Rivka

  * * *

  Some time later—Rivka guessed a quarter of an hour—the riot died down. She heard the tramp of iron cleats outside the tent. The merchant slumped back inside and gave her a grim smile. One of his front teeth had gone missing. “It is over, child. The soldiers have restored order.”

  Rivka peered outside.

  Dust hung like a cloud above the square. Smoke rose from the row of tents where the Gentile merchants sold their wares. A few women scurried along the edge of the square carrying baskets.