Premonition

by R. S. Ingermanson

  “Brother Baruch, please explain.” Brother Ari gripped his arm.

  Baruch shook his head. “I ... cannot explain, but ... did you feel the Spirit?”

  “Yes.”

  And that too was a miracle, because Brother Ari had never yet felt the Spirit. Baruch wanted to sing for joy. “I felt the heat of the Spirit, Brother Ari. The wrath and the power of HaShem burned through my heart, and then ...” Baruch could find no words to explain it.

  “Yes?”

  “It is gone, Brother Ari. The wall in my heart is destroyed.”

  “What wall?”

  But Baruch could say no more. He strode through the streets, eager to reach his home, to see ... Baruch did not dare to hope what he would see.

  At the corner, they turned left. “Brother Baruch, what wall?”

  Baruch shook his head. Now he was running. He reached the door of his home. Pulled the latch. Pushed open the door. Ran upstairs.

  Hana’s mouth flew open.

  Dov sat on the floor, playing with a small wooden ball. “Abba! Abba, up!”

  “Dov!” Hana cried. “Not now.”

  Yes, now. Baruch held out his arms.

  Dov ran to him.

  Baruch leaned down and pulled him up.

  “Abba!” Dov shrieked. “Abba, love me!”

  Baruch clutched the boy to his heart. Held him tight. Kissed the soft smooth cheeks of his son, his Dov. His lips did not burn. Baruch buried his face in the pale shining hair of his son, his only son, Dov ben Baruch, the son born of evil, now turned to righteousness by the power of the wrath of HaShem.

  Hana’s face was shining.

  Berenike

  * * *

  Berenike stood at the large window of her new dining room and looked down into the square. The new room designed by Ari the Kazan was the highest in the palace, and beautifully placed for the best possible view of the Temple.

  In the plaza directly below, two groups of men waged a pitched battle.

  Agrippa stepped up beside her, his arm grazing hers.

  She stepped away from him. Fool! Did he want people whispering about them? He must never, ever touch her again in public or in private. She still felt furious over the dream of last night. In the nightmare, he had killed her daughter again. This time, no longer an infant—now she was two years old. The dreams had not gone away. They were a message from HaShem that Agrippa was a murderer. She did not want him touching her.

  “Hanan’s men are winning,” Agrippa said.

  “You should stop them. Jews are fighting Jews.”

  “We have enough Jews.”

  She shot him a savage look. “We should send out the Germans to stop them.”

  “No, we do not have enough Germans.”

  Berenike could not believe his foolishness. “If we do nothing, the governor will send soldiers and there will be violence.”

  “There is already violence. We lack the power to stop it and the Romans have the power. Let them do the work, and then if there is trouble, they will also take the blame.”

  “The seer woman told us true—about Caesar’s order in Caesarea. The people are enraged, and the sight of Romans in the streets enflames them. We must use our own people.”

  “We do not have enough Germans to stop two mobs.” Agrippa folded his arms across his chest. “I received a letter from King Polemon yesterday.”

  Her heart quickened. Here at last was her chance to escape this wretched kingdom. “And?”

  “And he will think on it. He has heard of your beauty, and he wishes to marry you, but he does not wish to be circumcised.”

  “Then let him simmer. Find me another king.”

  “What other king? The seer woman said Polemon.” Agrippa sounded impatient.

  Berenike’s heart quivered. She must have a husband, but ... she was afraid that this pursuit would fail. “Write a letter to Polemon inviting him to visit us next spring for Pesach. When he sees the wares, perhaps he will be more eager to pay the price.”

  Down in the street, one of Hanan’s men fell in the middle of the battleground.

  Berenike gasped and leaned forward. “I knew this would happen.”

  “It will teach them sense,” Agrippa said. “If he is hurt, the rest will think twice before fighting again.”

  “If he dies, the rest will seek revenge. The streets are already too dangerous. This will make them worse.” Berenike stepped away from the window and plopped onto a dining couch. “We should stay indoors for the feast. The people are angry.”

  “We have to go to the Temple,” Agrippa said. “It is expected of us.”

  She trembled. “No.”

  “We have bodyguards.”

  “Not enough. You already admitted we do not have enough.”

  “Not enough to end a street battle, but enough to protect ourselves.”

  “If there is a riot against us, we do not have enough.”

  Agrippa began pacing. “We always go to the Temple for the feast.”

  “You can go. I will not.”

  “You must.”

  Berenike scowled at him. “I will decide what I must do. I am not going.”

  “Then at least for The Fast?” Agrippa stared out the window toward the Temple. “There is a special sacrifice on my behalf on The Fast. The high priest makes atonement for the people and for the king. If we are not there ...”

  “Go if you wish.” Berenike stepped up beside him. “The people are angry and I refuse to make myself a target for the assassins. I will watch the sacrifices from here.”

  “What is happening down there?” Agrippa pointed toward the plaza. Below them, the battle had ended. Three men knelt around a man who lay in blood on the ground.

  Berenike turned away. She did not wish to watch more. The man down there was dead, or dying. What was happening to her city? She felt her heart thumping.

  The seer woman had been right. The violence would grow and grow until the Romans came and took away their city. Agrippa was too indecisive to stop it.

  She would not go down in the streets when the people were in this ugly mood. That would be suicide, and she did not wish to die. Agrippa could go by himself if he chose, but she would not risk a disturbance by going to the Temple for The Fast.

  It would be so much better to bring the Temple to herself.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rivka

  * * *

  AND HE GOT UP AND walked away?” Rivka stood up and began pacing. “Brother Shmuel healed him just like that?”

  Ari nodded. “I have never seen anything like it. Well ... once. The time Baruch healed me. But this was different. More power. And Baruch was changed also in his heart. He returned home and kissed Dov and called him his son.”

  Rivka blinked. “You’re kidding! Ari, that’s wonderful! Why didn’t you tell me that first?”

  “I wished to save the best for last.” Ari stepped closer, and his eyes were wet. “Rivkaleh, I am sorry for getting angry at you this morning. Please ... forgive me. I also felt the fire when Brother Shmuel prayed. Like ... lightning through my soul. For a moment, I feared for my life, so great was the power.”

  She caught his arm. “You felt the Spirit?”

  “I did.”

  Deep gladness washed over Rivka. It was just a matter of time now. She was sure of it. “Blessed be HaShem.” She nestled against him, feeling happier than she had since she had come to this city. Things were changing at last. For her. For Ari. For Baruch. Thank God.

  But one thing didn’t make sense. “Tell me, what’s different about Brother Shmuel, anyway? He wasn’t like that two and half years ago when he went into the desert. Back then, he was timid as a rabbit. He’d never walk into a battle zone. Or try to heal someone.”

  “I also am wondering.” Ari stroked Rivka’s head. His forehead creased in deep thought. “Power burns hot within him. Is there nothing about Shmuel in any of the books?”

  Rivka tried to think. “No Shmuels, no Samuels, no Sams. I
don’t think Josephus mentions a single person by that name.”

  “That is most strange.” Ari shook his head. “I suppose it means he will do nothing important.”

  “I suppose.”

  Ari

  * * *

  That day, Brother Shmuel disappeared. Rumors swirled through the city. He had gone back to the desert. He had hidden somewhere in Jerusalem. He was praying in the Temple. But nobody knew details. Shabbat came, and Brother Shmuel did not appear at the synagogue of The Way.

  Ari felt a knife-edge of worry in his soul, but the weather was fine as the last golden days of summer passed into the first of autumn. He resolved to be patient. Brother Shmuel would return when he returned.

  He was certainly getting most excellent publicity by staying away. All Jerusalem glowed with expectation for the soon return of the man with the wild black hair, the man under the vow of the Nazir. The prophet of power.

  Two days after Shabbat came Rosh HaShanah. The brothers of The Way celebrated the New Year as always, with prayers and Torah reading and feasting. Rumors in the street multiplied. Brother Shmuel was the prophet Eliyahu, who would announce the coming of Mashiach. Ari did his best to quell this foolishness, but one might as well spit on a forest fire.

  All Jerusalem held its breath, watching for Brother Shmuel the prophet. On the ninth day of the new year, a rumor raced through the streets that he would appear the next day, the most solemn day of the year, the day called The Fast, because no righteous Jew would eat or drink from sundown until sundown. Yom Kippur.

  Late in the afternoon of the ninth day, Ari and Rivka enjoyed a large meal and prepared themselves for The Fast and wondered what would happen tomorrow. Ari went to the evening prayers, while Rivka stayed home with Rachel. Brother Shmuel did not come to the evening prayers.

  Very early in the morning, Ari awoke and dressed in a fine linen tunic—a priestly garment. Even an issah priest had the right to watch the sacrifices in the Court of Priests. He put on his cloak but left his sandals at the door. Nobody wore shoes on The Fast, not even a king or a high priest.

  Ari slipped out into the street, feeling excitement rise up in his heart like a flame. Something important would happen today. This he knew in his bones and in his soul. He would be ready. In a quarter of an hour, he was inside the Court of Women.

  Ari the Kazan!” Gamaliel waved his hands from the top of the steps before the Nicanor Gate. “Come up here with us!”

  Ari bounded up the stairs. It was still an hour before dawn. Torches lit up the walls around the Court of Women, which buzzed with excitement. More men arrived every minute.

  Gamaliel pounded Ari’s shoulders. “I am glad you have decided to join us. Brother Eleazar asked especially about you.”

  Ari smiled. “It is good to stand with you today.” He and Gamaliel joined the other Sons of Righteous Priests. Ari greeted Brother Yoseph and the others.

  “We have an excellent spot, very close to where the king will stand.” Gamaliel pointed toward a square of white silk at the center of the long and narrow Court of Yisrael.

  Ari raised his eyebrows. “King Agrippa will stand here? But he cannot bring his bodyguards with him.”

  “He will be quite safe. No priest would allow danger to come near the king,” Gamaliel said. “You may speak with him if you wish. Think how excited your woman will be to hear you have met the king!”

  Ari did not tell Gamaliel that his woman had once almost punched the king in the nose. That would remain a secret for as long as she wished to keep it.

  The Court of Priests filled rapidly.

  Ari craned his neck and scanned the court.

  Two men were walking on the treadwheels of his pump, raising water to the tank where it could flow down under pressure to a dozen points around the court. Several priests led in the animals to be sacrificed today.

  Ari could not see the high priest anywhere. He poked Gamaliel’s arm. “Where is Ishmael ben Phiabi?”

  “In the high priest’s chambers expounding on the prophet Daniel.”

  Ari wanted to laugh out loud. Daniel? That made no sense at all. “What does Daniel have to do with Yom Kippur?”

  Gamaliel gave him the look one gives a small child. “The high priest is not permitted to sleep on the night before Yom Kippur. A matter of ritual purity. It is the custom for him to stay awake all night expounding the prophet Daniel with two young priests.”

  Ari shrugged. He would never understand this world. But no matter. HaShem had not called him to understand, but to perform the commandments.

  On the right-hand side, four priests led a ram to the wooden slaughtering poles. They lashed its horns to the bronze rings. One of them held a silver pitcher while the other set a flint knife to its throat.

  Ari held his breath.

  A quick slice. Blood spurted from the ram’s neck into the pitcher. In his teenage years, Ari had seen kosher slaughter and thought it barbaric. Yet he had often gone to McDonald’s and bought a hamburger made of an animal slaughtered far more cruelly, thinking nothing of eating the flesh of that animal, and giving no thanks to HaShem who had created all life.

  In his former life, animal life had little value except as it made life more convenient for himself. Now he acknowledged that the life of an animal was sacred, that it was incumbent on man to take life without cruelty, and to give thanks to HaShem. Like all men of this age, Ari ate meat rarely, but he ate it with proper respect for the created order.

  The ram sank to its knees as its lifeblood emptied into the pitcher. The priests unbound its horns and carried it reverently to a marble table. Two of them quickly skinned the carcass and cut it into pieces. Finally, the first pink of dawn appeared in the sky.

  Ishmael ben Phiabi emerged from a stairway leading up from the bowels of the Temple Mount. A collective gasp rose from the ranks of the priests.

  Ari gaped at the high priest, feeling his jaw tighten.

  Ishmael wore linen garments similar to those Ari wore, but glittering with jewels. It was ... extravagant. Bad taste. One should not flaunt wealth in the face of the poor.

  Ari felt the air crackle with an undercurrent of anger. The rage of the oppressed against the oppressor, the starving poor against the shameless rich.

  The packed Court of Priests rumbled with murmurs. Ishmael reached the stone table of sacrifice and picked up one of the hindquarters. He walked across to the stone altar, which towered above them all. Swinging his arm back like a bowler, Ishmael slung the hindquarter forward and up in a quick underhand motion. It rotated twice in the air and landed on the altar.

  King Agrippa had still not arrived. When Ishmael crossed back to the stone table for the next piece of the sacrifice, he passed the gap where the king should have stood.

  Ari heard a deep, dense murmur behind him. He looked back and saw that the entire Court of Women was packed, elbow to elbow, with men.

  Ishmael came back with another piece of the ram and tossed it up onto the altar. Again and again he went back. With each trip, the rising light of day caused his glittering priestly garments to sparkle more brightly. The rumble behind them grew and grew.

  Finally, the first real ray of the sun peeked over the Mount of Olives and down onto the city. The golden roof of the Temple lit up like the faces of many ten thousand seraphim. Behind the Temple, the shadow of the Mount rolled down the western face of the upper city, and the morning light gleamed on a thousand walls of white stone. The facade of the Hasmonean Palace flickered to whiteness across the narrow valley.

  Ari blinked. No, that was not possible. He looked again. Three hundred meters away, he could clearly see the new dining room he had helped design for King Agrippa.

  Today, the purple curtains were flung back, the wooden shutters hung fully open. Inside, several tiny figures lay on dining couches, watching the sacrifices here in the Temple.

  Eating.

  On The Fast, they were feasting! Ari felt disgusted. The king could not be bothered to come stand barefoot he
re in the predawn chill. He preferred to stay home in comfort, eating and drinking and watching the proceedings as if it were a ... rodeo. Ari trembled with fury at this insult to the altar of the living God. He nudged Gamaliel. “Look!”

  Gamaliel stared at the palace, then poked Brother Eleazar and pointed. Soon, a whole row of priests were whispering, pointing, staring. Nobody was paying attention to the high priest, his extravagant garments. Ishmael came back with the last foreleg and tossed it up onto the altar. He saw the priests pointing and went around the left side of the altar to look.

  His face darkened with rage and he spun to face the priests. “Abomination! Some of you young men ... do something! You!” He pointed at Ari. “And you, Eleazar! Find some tall men and go stand on the inner wall and block the king’s view!”

  Ari had no idea what Ishmael was talking about.

  Brother Eleazar grabbed his arm. “Come along, Ari the Kazan, Brother Yoseph! You are too short, Brother Gamaliel—stay here and tell us where we must stand.” Eleazar led the way to a narrow stone staircase along the side wall of the inner court.

  Ari followed him up the stairs and onto the top of the wall. They walked along, single file. The wall was wider than it looked from below—perhaps a meter, and sturdy enough to hold many men.

  Brother Eleazar stopped. “Ari the Kazan, stand here beside me. Brother Yoseph, on my other side. Brother Levi, beside Ari the Kazan. Fill in the gaps.”

  Down below in the Court of Priests, Gamaliel waved up at them, signaling success.

  Ari turned to look up at the Hasmonean Palace.

  King Agrippa stood at the window, his arms folded across his chest. At this distance, it was difficult to tell, but he might have been scowling.

  Hanan ben Hanan

  * * *

  At nightfall, Hanan broke his fast and then summoned his bodyguards. They strode quickly through the streets of Jerusalem to Agrippa’s palace. When he told his business to the guard at the gate, the man admitted him quickly, but required him to leave his bodyguards outside.