Shmuel heard the word of HaShem with his own ears, though he knew that other men could not hear in this way. Other men had not lived in the desert for many months, crying out to HaShem for the suffering of the people, for the wrath of HaShem to be revealed against unrighteousness. Other men did not live under the vow of the Nazir. If other men lied or stole or killed, it was credited to their account as sin. If Shmuel the prophet did these things at the word of HaShem, for the glory of HaShem, in the wrath of HaShem, it was credited to his account as righteousness.
Shmuel felt righteous anger rising in his heart. The men of violence would come soon, as they had come once for Rabban Yeshua. That was many years ago, even before the birth of Shmuel. The murder of Rabban Yeshua was but the first of many. Shmuel had seen some of these with his own eyes.
Twelve years ago, in the uprising, his own family was also murdered. That was the day when Shmuel took the vow of the Nazir, on the day when they crucified his father and his mother and his older brothers, naked on crosses made with hands. They did not crucify Shmuel, because he was then only ten years old, a boy not responsible for the crimes of his elders. On that day, Shmuel vowed to someday fight in the armies of Mashiach for the avenging of the blood of his family. He was glad when his uncle took him in and taught him about the wrath to come.
Very soon, the wrath of HaShem would fall on the earth. On that day, Shmuel the prophet, the anointed one of Yisrael, would arise and take up his sword and destroy Amalek. He would cut off the head of the king of Amalek with his own hands. Then all Yisrael would know that Shmuel the prophet was the holy one of Yisrael, the wrath of HaShem, the anointed king.
Mashiach ben David.
Rage welled again in Shmuel’s heart. Rage, his servant, his master, his power. Holy rage, the wrath of HaShem.
Shmuel arose and moved quickly among his people, rousing them from slumber, explaining that they would not wait for the rising of the sun, but they would go forth now. His hour had come. His men were few, but they would go forth to the desert to purify themselves, to draw strength from the desert, and to hear the word of HaShem. Then, like the army of Gideon, they would return to this city made with hands and destroy Amalek.
With rage.
Hanan ben Hanan
* * *
Shortly before sunrise on the day after Shabbat, Hanan was called to the palace of the high priest, Ishmael ben Phiabi, who informed him that the false prophet had gone out with many men.
“Gone?” Hanan stared at Ishmael. “How is this possible? I told you they would leave at the rising of the sun.”
Ishmael drew his cloak tighter in the early morning chill. “Perhaps your information was incorrect. At midnight, they attacked the watchman at the gate and unlocked it. They are gone to the desert.”
Hanan fought to conceal his disappointment. This could not happen. The impostor must have been warned. “Who did you send to arrest him?”
“The most trustworthy man among the guards,” Ishmael said. “Eleazar ben Hananyah and his men.”
“Fool!” Ice shot through Hanan’s veins. “They are friends of Kazan. They warned him, and Kazan and the other messianics will have gone out with the impostor.”
Ishmael scowled. “It is impossible. I sequestered Eleazar and his men until the appointed hour. They could not have told anyone.”
“I saw Kazan and the apikoros Yaakov with the impostor—”
Ishmael waved him to silence. “I am irritated by your obsession with these people. This man Yaakov is a harmless fool. Kazan’s pump has done great good for the Temple.”
“We must find the impostor and arrest him and Kazan and the apikoros. Did the watchman note which road they took?”
“Toward Qumran. You will go to the governor and ask his assistance in the matter. The Romans have horses.”
Hanan shook his head. “It is the eve of Sukkot. I will not soil myself by meeting a Roman.”
“Agrippa then. You will go to Agrippa and ask him to speak to the governor.”
“You could go yourself.”
Ishmael narrowed his eyes. “I will have nothing to do with that filth. I have heard rumors of him and his sister—”
“Rumors begun by the impostor.”
“Still, the people believe them. In any event, he will refuse to see me, because of the matter of the wall. I will not soil my feet on Agrippa’s flagstones.”
“And therefore, you expect me to soil mine?”
“You will immerse before you report back to me.”
Hanan ben Hanan
* * *
Hanan delivered the message to the king shortly after sunrise. “Ishmael demands that you speak to the governor about the troublemaker.”
Agrippa scowled. “Why does he not make his demands in person?”
“It is the eve of the feast.”
Fury widened Agrippa’s eyes. “So I am unclean? Is that it?”
“I did not say so. Ishmael is the high priest and he has many duties. Your highness is aware that the people hold this impostor to be a prophet and a healer. The city is full of visitors from every land, pious men who would welcome Mashiach if he should enter the city. It has happened before, and great trouble came of it.”
Agrippa looked troubled. “Your father should have left that man Yeshua alone. He was less trouble alive than dead.”
“I did not suggest that the governor kill the impostor. Let them hold him over for trial, at least until after the feast. The streets are angry.”
“I will think on it.”
“Shall I tell Ishmael ben Phiabi you will speak to the governor?”
“Tell Ishmael I spit on his wall.”
Hanan ben Hanan
* * *
Ishmael’s eyes lingered on Hanan’s hair. “Did you immerse yourself before coming here?”
“Agrippa says that he spits on you and the Temple.”
“Did you immerse?”
“Yes.”
“Did that dog agree to speak to the governor?”
“He will think on it.”
“When will we know?”
“When you see soldiers of Rome ride out of the gates.”
Shmuel the Prophet
* * *
In the heat of the noonday sun, Shmuel fingered the short dagger hidden in his belt and watched the cloud of dust on the road coming from Jerusalem. Fifty men behind him muttered with fear. He turned to them.
“My brothers, you are troubled. Why are you troubled? Because the men of violence ride against you. Fear not! They are dogs, the vile scum of Amalek. The voice of HaShem speaks to me even now. The war of the sons of light against the sons of darkness has begun. We will destroy Amalek. Stand aside while the wrath of HaShem falls on Amalek.”
Shmuel turned to face the host of the king of Amalek.
The horsemen slowed as they approached.
Shmuel saw that they were afraid of him, afraid of the wrath of HaShem. They would flee when they saw his rage.
The host of Amalek halted before Shmuel, prophet of the living God.
One man rode forward and dared to speak to Shmuel in Greek, the language of dogs, a language Shmuel did not understand.
Shmuel did not flinch to hear the language of dogs. “Take me to the king of Amalek.”
The man on horseback spoke again in the language of dogs.
Shmuel shook his head, restraining his rage. Not yet, not yet would he reveal the wrath of HaShem. “Take me to the king of Amalek.”
The man on horseback turned and shouted a great shout to the host of Amalek. Another man rode forward and spoke to Shmuel in Aramaic. His voice came slow and halting, the voice of a foreigner, a dog, an Amaleki. “The governor orders you to return in peace to Jerusalem.”
Shmuel felt the rage burning now, the wrath of HaShem, a holy flame within his heart. Still he held it back, awaiting the word of HaShem. “Take me to the king of Amalek.”
This man turned and motioned with his hand to the king of Amalek.
&n
bsp; The king of Amalek rode forward, and the pride of wickedness shone in his eyes. He was Agag, and folly reigned in his heart. He thought that the time for death was past, and he did not know that this hour he would die at the hand of Shmuel the prophet.
The king of Amalek stopped before Shmuel. He spoke to his servant in the language of dogs.
The servant pointed to Shmuel. “What would you say to the tribune?”
Shmuel the prophet closed his eyes and called up the wrath of HaShem in his heart. Rage built within him, the rage he had learned to call on in the desert, the rage by which he lived and breathed and healed. The rage by which he would avenge himself on the king of Amalek.
Shmuel reached into his belt and gripped his dagger, waiting, waiting. The rage rose within his heart, a flood, a flame.
The word of HaShem came. Slay the king of Amalek.
Shmuel leaped with a great leap, and his dagger flashed like fire in his hand, and his blade entered the throat of the king of Amalek, and the blood of the king of Amalek gushed out like a drink offering before HaShem.
Shmuel the prophet shouted a great shout. “Mashiach!”
Baruch
* * *
Baruch had spent the morning playing with the children.
“Again!” Dov cried. “Rachel run again!” He seized Baruch’s right hand. Little Rachel took his left.
“Run, Racheleh!” Brother Ari said. “Run in circles with Uncle Baruch!”
Sister Rivka knelt on the floor to watch. “Racheleh, catch Dov!”
Behind them, Hana beamed.
The two children began running in circles around Baruch while he turned. They shrieked in glee as they chased each other around and around and—
A flash of white rage burned through Baruch. He fell to the floor, clutching his head, moaning.
“Baruch!” Brother Ari sprang toward him. “Are you well?”
A spasm ran through Baruch’s body. “The king of Amalek is dead.”
“Please?” Sister Rivka said. “What did you say?”
Baruch shook his head. “I do not know. It came into my heart and I said it.”
“Abba, come run in circles!” Dov shouted. “Play, Abba!”
Baruch shut his eyes, feeling the horror rise inside him. Stone upon stone, layer upon layer, a wall rebuilt itself in his heart. Please, no, HaShem. His right hand felt scorched by fire. Not his left hand, but his right hand only.
“What does this mean, the king of Amalek?” Brother Ari asked.
Sister Rivka cleared her throat. “I ... This is meshugah, but ... King Saul captured the king of Amalek and kept him alive until the prophet Shmuel killed him.”
“He is dead.” Baruch put his hands over his eyes and wept.
“Who?” Brother Ari said. “This is ancient history, Brother Baruch.”
Baruch shook his head. “No, Brother Ari. It is now.” He stole a look at Dov. “Brother Shmuel the prophet is dead and all the works of his hands are destroyed.”
“How do you know?”
Baruch felt the throbbing fire in his right hand. “I know.”
Rivka
* * *
Rivka’s heart lurched at Baruch’s words. No. Brother Shmuel could not be dead. Ari and Yaakov had warned him just yesterday. He could not have gone out into the desert. He promised not to go out. She stood up and jammed on her sandals.
Ari leaped up and threw on his cloak. “Rivka, Hana, please stay with the children. Baruch and I will—”
Rivka grabbed Ari’s arm. “I’m going with you.”
“I am sorry, Rivkaleh.” Ari put on his own sandals. “Of course you may come.” He turned and headed downstairs.
Baruch followed him.
Rivka knelt and hugged Rachel. “I’ll be back soon, Racheleh. Play with Dov.” She mussed up Dov’s mophead. “Hana, we won’t be long.”
Hana waved her off. “Go! Go! I do not wish to see ... what you will see.”
Rivka hurried downstairs and joined the two men in the street. “Where shall we go?”
Ari sniffed the bright autumn air. “I suggest ... that we go to the Temple and see which way the rumors take us.”
Rivka
* * *
There were no rumors when they got to the Temple, but the questions Ari asked created a buzz of gossip.
Baruch pointed toward the southeastern corner of the city. “If a man wishes to go to the desert, he will go to the gate near the Pool of Siloam.”
Ari shrugged and smiled at Rivka. “I suppose we know the way.”
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the gate. Rivka peered through, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. This was the first gate she had entered after wandering into this century through that horrible wormhole. The past—no, the future—seemed like a vague and distant world, a movie about somebody else’s life. She was stuck in this century, and it was stuck with her. Had she done something terrible ... by meddling?
“We should walk out a little way,” Baruch said. “We can ask the news.”
They walked down the road. It split into several branches. One bent away north through the tent city in the Kidron Valley. Another road led west, wending through the burning-pits of the Hinnom Valley. Another way led south to Bethlehem. The fourth led southeast, toward the Dead Sea.
Dust rising to the southeast.
“Ari ...” Rivka clutched his arm and pointed.
Ari put his arm around her. The dust rose in a ribbon. At last, a tiny column of horsemen appeared. Romans on horseback.
Rivka gasped.
The lead horseman held aloft a standard—a long pole with an image of the god of the legion at the top. This was ... an abomination. An insult to the Jews, especially with the feast of Sukkot starting tomorrow. The city was packed with hotheads. So why would the Romans come riding into the city with their standards exposed? It was asking for trouble. What were they—
No. Rivka closed her eyes. An instant later, she tasted bile. That was not the image of a Roman god on the pole.
It was the head of a man ... with black dreadlocks three feet long.
Chapter Thirty-One
Hana
* * *
HANA READ THEIR FACES WHEN the three returned.
Sister Rivka was weeping. Therefore, Brother Shmuel was dead. Brother Ari’s face was black with rage. Therefore, evil men had done this thing. And Baruch’s eyes ... were hidden behind a wall again. He came to her, yes, and hugged her. But he would not look at his son.
“Abba!” Dov shouted. “Run in circles!” He grabbed at Baruch’s fingers.
Baruch jerked his hands away as if Dov’s touch were fire.
“Play, Abba!”
Deep sadness twisted Baruch’s face.
Hana knew what this meant. Shmuel was dead, and his works were unmade. Therefore, they were not the works of HaShem, and never had been.
“We must ... go to the synagogue,” Baruch said, and his voice was the voice of a man strangled. “Some of our brothers may have gone with Shmuel, and we must learn who is dead.”
Anger smote Hana like a stick. This was a weak excuse. “Go!” She waved him and Brother Ari out the door.
“Abba!” Dov shouted. He tugged on Hana’s sleeve. “I want Abba!”
“Play!” Hana screamed. “Play with Racheleh!” She shooed them up the stairs and turned to Rivka and wept.
Rivka threw her arms around Hana. “What have I done?”
Hana patted her on the back. “Rivkaleh, you have done nothing.”
“That’s just ... the point.” Rivka shuddered. “I could have done something. Could have ... stopped it if only I moved a little faster. Brother Shmuel didn’t deserve to die.”
Hana sighed deeply. “I see it now. He had a spirit of rage.”
Rivka pulled away and stared at Hana. “Are you sure?”
Hana sat down on the stairs. Why had she not understood? “Rivka, do you know why Brother Shmuel could heal some and not others?”
Rivka looked puzzle
d. “Nobody heals everybody. Even Baruch—”
“Baruch heals by the Spirit of HaShem.” Hana felt deep pain, thinking on Baruch. “Shmuel healed by a spirit of rage.”
“You don’t know that. You can’t know that.” Rivka sat beside Hana and put an arm around her.
“I know.” Hana felt cold. “Who did Shmuel heal? The wounded man in the square. Rage had a hold on him, and therefore Shmuel could heal him. Likewise, Baruch hates the wicked man. He crossed over to rage, and so Shmuel could heal him.”
“But ... what about Shmuel’s finger?” Rivka held up her own little finger, crooking it. “How was that healed?”
Hana bit her lip. “Through his own spirit of rage, I am sure. And now he is dead, and all the works of his hands are undone.” She put her face in her hands. “Rivka, now all will be as before.” Hot anger rushed through her. She had known joy these past weeks, and now ...? Now it was all taken away. She could not live like this, torn forever between her man and her son.
Rivka held her tight. “Hana, you won’t give rage a hold in your heart, will you?”
Hana shook her head. No, never. Only a fool would give rage a hold.
Ari
* * *
When Ari and Baruch reached the synagogue, others were already there, their eyes red with weeping. Already, there was news. The total dead were fifty, not many hundreds. Sister Rivka had been wrong again, blessed be HaShem.
Brother Yosi and his son had gone out with Brother Shmuel, and they were dead. Also a new brother who had joined the community of Rabban Yeshua only a month ago. All told, six from the congregation were dead.
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