Premonition

by R. S. Ingermanson

  A scream from the far side of the plaza. A woman appeared, clutching her ripped tunic, limping across the plaza. A bruise purpled her left eye. Hana.

  “Dov!” she screamed

  “Imma!” Dov struggled out of Rivka’s arms and raced toward Hana, shrieking.

  Rivka followed, walking as fast as she could with Rachel welded to her hip.

  Dov leaped into Hana’s arms.

  She rocked him, crying.

  Rivka reached her a moment later. “Hana, are you all right?”

  “Dov! My Dov!” Hana hugged her son. “I was so ... afraid.” She put out a hand to Rivka. “You were brave, Sister Rivka. Somebody knocked me down, and then my hip hurt to run, but I saw you ... chasing Dov.” Tears streamed from her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Rivka wrapped an arm around her. Hana had lost her figs, but that didn’t matter right now. “Let’s get you home. What happened to your clothes?”

  Hana shook her head. “Please, not now.”

  They stumbled toward home.

  Ahead, smoke coiled up toward heaven. A row of tents had been burned.

  Rivka turned Rachel’s head away from the scene. “Close your eyes, Racheleh. Dov, don’t look.”

  They reached the stall of the fig-seller.

  Hana gasped.

  Rivka peered in, then turned her head, revulsion welling up in her throat.

  A man in a blue tunic lay face down on the ground, his arm bent at an impossible angle behind him.

  Unmoving.

  Rivka

  * * *

  At home, Rivka huddled in her chair holding Rachel, rocking, rocking, rocking.

  Ari paced back and forth. “It is the fault of Caesar. Word came today from Caesarea that Caesar has rescinded the rights of all Jews there,” Ari said. “They are no longer citizens of their own city.”

  Rivka sighed. “And that was worth causing a riot? Burning the market? Killing people?”

  “I did not say it was right.” Ari glared at her. “I would have stopped them, had somebody told me they would attack Herod’s Palace, but I was at a job site in the New City.”

  “It’s going to get worse.” Rivka looked down at Rachel. She was sleeping. “This is the start of something new. In Caesarea. Here. Everywhere.”

  “We must find a way to stop it.” Ari clutched his beard.

  Rivka said nothing. When she said things like that, he told her she could change nothing. Apparently, it was possible when the shoe was on the other foot. He had to be really hurting, to even think of interfering with what was to come.

  “What is to happen next?”

  Rivka sighed. “I don’t know! I know maybe one or two things that will happen in the next year. But in what order? What causes what? I’m flying blind. There isn’t any more in the New Testament about Jerusalem. And Josephus is really skimpy here. There’s going to be a to-do over King Agrippa’s new dining room.”

  Ari came and knelt down in front of her. “What do you know?” His face was a web of anxiety. “Tell me.”

  Rivka studied him. “What will you do if I tell you?”

  “I do not know.” Ari stroked Rachel’s head gently. Pain burned in his eyes. “Perhaps it is foolishness to do anything. What will happen will happen. But it is better to know what comes next than to not know, yes?”

  Tears blurred Rivka’s eyes. She clamped them shut tight. “I don’t know anymore. A year ago, I’d have said yes. Now I’d rather not know. Ari, I don’t want to be a prophet. I hate being the seer woman. The witch woman—that’s what I’ve become. Because I tried to help out once. Just once, and I made a mistake, and they all think I have a familiar spirit!”

  He touched her face with his warm fingers. “Just ... be who you are, Rivkaleh. That is all I ask. Please. Tell me what is to come.”

  Rivka sighed. “If I do, will you do me a favor?”

  “Anything, Rivkaleh.”

  “I want you to talk to Baruch. He’s ... hurting Hana, the way he treats Dov. Pretty soon, Dov is going to start asking why his abba never holds him, never hugs him. What are we supposed to tell him? It’s not fair.”

  “Please, Rivka. Anything but that.”

  “You said anything. Ari, this is important. Listen, this city is going to burn. You keep telling me the future is inevitable, there’s nothing I can do to change your phase space single-valued whatever-you-call-them. But we can try to make a future that’s worth living. And that means building relationships. Baruch and Hana and Dov—their relationship is broken. Baruch is doing wrong by his son, and I can’t stand it anymore. Now you just go talk to him and—”

  “It is not so simple,” Ari said. “Baruch is not a lever or a pulley, that I can apply force to him. What do you expect me to do?”

  “Just ... be who you are, Ari. That’s the magic secret, according to you.”

  “Sarcasm is not your strongest point.”

  “I’m ... sorry.” Rivka shook her head. “Listen, you asked what I wanted. That’s it. Talk to Baruch and then I’ll tell you what comes next.”

  “It will do no good.”

  Rivka smiled. He had not said he would not do it. Only that it would not work. “So it’s a deal?”

  Ari sighed. “Yes, a deal. Tomorrow morning, I will speak to him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ari

  * * *

  ARI STEPPED OUT INTO THE early morning chill. He did not wish to meddle in Baruch’s affairs. He had meddled once, long ago, before Baruch and Hana were married, and see what happened. The matter with the boy. He should not have meddled. If he had it to do over, he would not.

  Ari walked to Baruch’s house and waited, unwilling to hasten the moment by knocking.

  Finally, Baruch’s door opened and he came out. “Good morning, Brother Ari! You are early today.”

  Ari nodded. “Is Sister Hana well?”

  “She is afraid,” Baruch said. “Her bruises will mend, and she has no broken bones, but ... I fear for her heart. She does not wish to go to the market without me.”

  More silence. Ari tried again. “And ... the boy? Is he well? Rivka says that he cried for you yesterday during the riot.”

  Baruch said nothing.

  “The boy loves my Racheleh,” Ari said. “He is a good boy. And he speaks often of you.”

  Baruch coughed twice. “It is good that Brother Shmuel has returned. I wish to know about the matter of his finger.” He began walking toward the synagogue.

  Ari hurried after him. They walked in tense silence. Ari felt trapped. Baruch did not wish to talk about the matter. But ... he had promised Rivka. Promised to try, anyway. “Baruch, it is not fair to the boy, what you are doing.”

  Baruch stopped.

  Ari turned to look at his friend.

  Baruch’s face knotted with emotion, and his breath came in quick gasps. He leaned against the stone wall of a building.

  “Baruch, I—”

  “No!” Baruch shook his head. “Go, Ari. I will not talk about this matter with you.”

  “Please, I meant no—”

  “Go. I do not wish for your help. You have no right—”

  “I am your friend. A friend has the right—”

  Baruch’s eyes flashed with rage. “You will speak of it no more, forever! You are not my friend.” He spun around and strode away.

  Ari sighed. Most excellent. Now he had meddled and ruined things. Just as he knew he would. Just as he always did. He looked toward the synagogue of The Way, then turned back toward home with quick, angry steps.

  Ari

  * * *

  Ari slammed the door and stalked upstairs, furious.

  Rivka sat in the rocking chair, holding Rachel. Her mouth opened wide. “Ari, is something wrong? Was there another riot?”

  “You wished for me to speak with Baruch.” Ari crossed his arms and glowered at her. “I have done so. Baruch now informs me that we are no longer friends and he will not speak to me.”

  “He’s angry. So h
e’s either hurt or afraid. You have to—”

  “Rivka, I do not have to do what you ask. There is nothing more to be done. Baruch is angry with me, and he will not speak to me.”

  “So how long are you going to wait?” Rivka jutted her jaw at Ari in that infuriating way she had when she was wrong yet felt certain she was right. “Baruch can stay angry a long time. He’s doing wrong to Dov. Think how you would want to be treated if you—”

  “This is exactly the difference between a Christian and a Jew,” Ari said. “This notion of how to treat others. Your Jesus taught that you should do to others as you would wish to be treated. Whereas Rabbi Hillel taught the inverse—that you should not do to others as you would not wish to be treated. The Christian seeks to impose his own idea of goodness on others. The Jew respects the right of others to be let alone.”

  Rivka stood up. “So I’m wrong, just because I’m a Christian, is that it?”

  “No, you are wrong because you are wrong.”

  “You’re a passivist.”

  Ari flinched. “You are an activist, and an insufferable one. I have done as you asked, and now the matter is worse. Baruch will not listen to me at all.”

  “He wasn’t listening to you before, because you weren’t talking.”

  “He and I have talked of many things.”

  Rivka shook her head. “You weren’t talking about anything that would have done any good. You weren’t confronting him about what he was doing wrong. And he won’t change until he’s confronted.”

  “Yes, now he has changed. Now he hates me.”

  “It’s always about you, isn’t it? Ari the Teflon Kazan, getting along with everybody, never making enemies, never getting blamed.”

  Ari stepped back, more stung than if she had slapped him. He felt the rage pulse through him, wanting to ... No, he would never strike Rivkaleh. He turned, staggered down the stairs, yanked open the door, stomped out. He had nowhere to go, nobody to see, but if he stayed here ... no, he could not stay one more second listening to his woman dishonor him.

  Ari walked.

  He stalked north through the upper city, through the gates in the first wall, then turned right and immediately entered the gate through the second wall into the northern part of the city. He followed the avenue north until he reached the New City. Here, a wide boulevard carved a broad path diagonally northwest to the gate leading to Lud and Caesarea. At this hour, just after sunrise, the streets were mostly deserted. He ignored passersby and walked his rage.

  He did not belong in this city. No, that was incorrect. He had learned to fit in here—mostly. It was Rivka who did not fit in. She was the one they called the witch woman. She was a woman shamed, while he had become a man of honor. He should not have married her. No, he had to marry her. He loved her. And she loved him. He could not have married a woman of this century. A woman such as Hana, for example. Hana was intelligent in her own way, not an empty head, and yet she had no concept of life outside this box called Jerusalem. No, there was no woman of this city for him other than Rivka. And yet she infuriated him, and he her. HaShem was making a joke of them.

  Ari reached the northwestern gate and continued out of the city. Fifty meters beyond the gate, a crossroad led south along the western edge of the city. He followed this road for a kilometer, descending toward the Hinnom Valley while his thoughts turned black and cold. He turned east at the corner of the city and the pits of burning came into view. The day Dov was born, he had found Baruch here, and they had mourned together. Today, there was no Baruch. He had lost his friend, and for what?

  He turned left again on the road leading up to the Essene Gate. He had walked the edge off of his anger, and now he felt depressed. He reentered the city, wandered the streets, aimless, not wishing to go home, but having nowhere else to go.

  After some time, he heard shouts in the direction of the Hasmonean Palace.

  Fear tightened his throat. He should go home. No, he must investigate. If there were another riot—people might get hurt. A merchant had protected Rivka yesterday. Today, Ari might pass along this favor to some other innocent. He strode into the plaza in front of the palace. He had once taught his friends the meaning of democracy here.

  But today, there was no democracy—only two gangs of ruffians throwing rocks at each other from opposite sides of the plaza. Ari shook his head, disgusted. Again, the partisans of Hanan ben Hanan and Ishmael ben Phiabi, making battle in public. This was a nuisance, and the king should stop it.

  Hanan’s men made a mad rush toward Ishmael’s men, throwing stones, screaming insults.

  Ishmael’s men held steady and returned a volley of rocks.

  Hanan’s men slowed their assault, then wavered, then broke back. As they ran, a stone hit one in the head. He staggered. Windmilled his arms. Fell on his face.

  A moment later, he lay alone in the plaza. Hanan’s men took turns running forward a few paces, throwing a stone, and then retreating. Ishmael’s men did the same.

  The man lay on the ground, screaming. Blood oozed from his head.

  Ari wanted to help the man, to do something, to ... meddle. But it was too dangerous. Anyone meshugah enough to walk into that no-man’s-land risked being hit with stones. These battles could go on for hours. King Agrippa would do nothing.

  The man would die.

  Ari took a step forward, then stopped. No, he could do nothing for the man.

  More shouts from Ishmael’s partisans. They made a dash forward, waving clubs, volleying stones.

  Ari’s heart skipped a beat. They would try to kill the hurt man.

  Hanan’s partisans responded with a vicious shower of stones. Ishmael’s men stopped, then backpedaled out of range.

  Somebody pushed past Ari and strode toward the center of the plaza. A large man with black dreadlocks streaming behind him.

  Ari caught his breath. Brother Shmuel the prophet! What was he doing here? He would be injured in this battle. Ari started to follow, then thought better of it. He could not help.

  Brother Shmuel strode boldly forward, his head high, both arms raised like shields against the stones. He turned his head to the left and to the right, and Ari saw a holy anger burning in his eyes—the righteous wrath of HaShem shining forth through his servant Shmuel. But this was meshugah! Wrath of HaShem or not, one could not stop stones with bare hands.

  Ari raised his hands to his mouth. “Brother Shmuel! Come back!”

  Brother Shmuel continued walking. Then a miracle happened.

  Hanan’s men and Ishmael’s men stopped throwing stones. Slowly the cloud of dust began clearing.

  Brother Shmuel knelt beside the injured man. A vast silence fell like a blanket over the hundreds of onlookers. Brother Shmuel shook an angry fist at the partisans on both sides. “Fools, go home!” His voice boomed against the walls of the Hasmonean Palace. Ari could not believe one man could be so loud.

  “Go home!” Ari shouted.

  Others took up the chant. “Go home! Go home!”

  The partisans on both sides dropped their stones. Stepped back. Slunk away.

  Ari hurried forward. Brother Shmuel had done a great thing, but he would need help carrying the injured man.

  Others crowded around. The man lay on the ground in a puddle of blood.

  Brother Shmuel looked up and pointed a finger at Ari. “You! Help me. And you!” He pointed to somebody behind Ari.

  Ari stepped forward and knelt across from Brother Shmuel. “Will he live?”

  Brother Shmuel looked pensive. “We must pray. Lay your hands on him, Brother Ari. And you also, Brother Baruch.”

  Ari’s heart flip-flopped. He turned to look.

  Brother Baruch knelt beside him, tense, silent, not acknowledging Ari’s presence.

  Ari put his hands on the bloody head.

  Baruch put his on Ari’s.

  Brother Shmuel put his own massive mitts on Baruch’s and began praying with great intensity.

  Ari looked at him in wonder. He ha
d often heard of the wrath of HaShem. Now he saw that wrath in the shape of a man. A man enraged at the evil of one man against another.

  A stream of words poured out of Brother Shmuel’s mouth. It was either a language Ari did not understand or it was mere nonsense syllables.

  Soon Ari’s hands felt warm. The heat crept up his arms into his chest, his heart, his head. His arms trembled, and he felt something like electricity in his body. He was shaking now, sweating.

  Baruch also began shaking. Shmuel’s voice rose in volume, the words a ragged, raging rush of sound. Sound without meaning. Was this the Spirit Baruch spoke of?

  Heat. The taste of electricity in Ari’s mouth. A flash of light.

  “Auggghh!” All six hands exploded away from the injured man’s head. A gasp went up from the onlookers.

  The man on the ground opened his eyes. Blinked. Shook his head. Pushed himself to all fours. Shook his head once more, as if testing that it was still attached to his body. He looked up at Shmuel, then at Ari, then Baruch. He stood up.

  Ari stared at him. The man was healed. Fully healed.

  “Go home,” Brother Shmuel said. “Go home and be well.”

  The man took a tentative step. Then another. He reached the circle of watchers. They parted in a wave of astonishment. Murmurs ran through the crowd.

  Ari felt a hand on his arm. “Brother Ari, are you well?”

  His mouth fell open. “Yes ... Brother Baruch, I am well. Are you well?”

  “Come with me, Brother Ari.” Baruch helped Ari to his feet. His huge eyes pooled with wonder. “Brother Shmuel, we must talk later. But first, Brother Ari and I will go home. There is a thing there to be seen.”

  Baruch

  * * *

  Baruch’s heart glowed with the heat of what he had seen, heard, felt. The power of HaShem. The wrath of HaShem. The ... healing of HaShem. Blessed be HaShem!