Premonition

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Footsteps stopped in front of him. “Abba, may I sit with you?”

  Yaakov opened his eyes, and delight filled his soul. “Sister Rivka, my child!” He stood and hugged her, and she clung to him like a child, weeping, her whole body quivering.

  “Rivkaleh, please. You will sit with me and tell me what troubles you.”

  Sister Rivka sat beside him. A sob gurgled in her throat.

  Yaakov waited. Two things one could not hurry—the coming of the Spirit, and the weeping of a woman.

  Finally she began to calm.

  “Now you will tell me what troubles you, my child.”

  “Abba ... you are in danger.” Sister Rivka peered up at him through teary eyes. “HaShem has given me to know the future, and ... you are in terrible danger.”

  Yaakov smiled. Again her nameless fears. “I am old, child. If HaShem calls me home tomorrow, I will go with gladness.”

  “No ... please, Abba, listen. King Agrippa has deposed Yoseph Kabi as high priest. He has not announced a successor yet, but I know it will be Hanan ben Hanan.”

  Something tingled in Yaakov’s heart. “Hanan is an angry man.”

  “He hates me,” Sister Rivka said. “And he hates Ari the Kazan. But he hates you most, Abba! I know it, and he intends—”

  “Child, a man of Hanan’s station does not know I exist.”

  Sister Rivka took his hand in both of hers. “Abba, I wish that were true, but it is not. He knows you. And he intends to kill you.”

  “Child, surely that is impossible. The governor is dead, and it is not permitted for the Sanhedrin to execute a man without the governor’s word.”

  “No!” Sister Rivka’s voice shook. “Abba, hear my words. The governor is dead, and Hanan thinks to take advantage of his absence to kill you.”

  “You know this for a certainty?”

  “Yes, it will all happen very soon. Within a few days, Abba!” Tears streamed down her face. “Please, go away for a time. Find some safe place to hide. Do not come back until you hear that Governor Albinus has arrived in Caesarea.”

  Yaakov sighed. Sister Rivka’s words must again be an exaggeration. “Child, have you warned your husband about this matter? It is not I who am in danger, it is Ari the Kazan. Hanan ben Hanan is an evil man, and your husband is his enemy.”

  “I ...” Sister Rivka sighed. “Abba, I have not spoken with him.”

  “You will speak with him on this matter, please.”

  “Yes, Abba.” Sister Rivka clung to his hand. “I’m ... so afraid for you, Abba.”

  “Nothing happens except HaShem allows it.”

  “But still some things grieve the heart of HaShem.” Sister Rivka stood up and hurried away.

  Yaakov sighed deeply. He was an old man and did not fear death. Therefore he did not fear Hanan ben Hanan. An evil man, yes, but Sister Rivka must surely be mistaken. It was often so. She was given a little knowledge by HaShem, a dim reflection of what would be. Like the image in a bronze mirror, hazy, indistinct.

  Yes, Sister Rivka was mistaken in the matter. Why should Hanan hate him? He had done nothing to Hanan, had not spoken against the Temple. Indeed, he often went there to pray. HaShem’s presence filled the Temple, and a man must be blind not to see it.

  It was a paradox that such a good place was ruled by evil men. Men who beat the people with sticks for the sake of a few tithes. HaShem should not allow such things, and yet he did. This was a mystery.

  HaShem had allowed Rabban Yeshua to suffer. HaShem had allowed evil men to stone Stephanos. Men of the House of Hanan had flogged Shimon and Yohanan, leaders of The Way. King Agrippa’s father had once beheaded the other Yaakov, the son of Zavdai. Renegade Saul had suffered floggings many times. All these things, HaShem allowed.

  And HaShem had allowed Hanan to send out men to kill Brother Shmuel the prophet, a good man who fell into terrible error and took many innocent men with him. Hanan had done this thing only because he hated Ari the Kazan. Hanan ben Hanan was an evil man, a wretched man. HaShem should punish such men. Rabban Yeshua would have spoken against such evil. Would have called on HaShem to bring forth justice on the earth. To bring forth wrath.

  Anger welled in Yaakov’s heart. Righteous anger. One must stand against injustice, against the evil men. It was not enough to say that all was in the hands of HaShem. Sometimes a man must call on HaShem, must beg him for justice.

  For wrath.

  Yaakov rose from his bench and went into his house and fell on his face to pray. Righteous anger wrapped itself around him like a shroud.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Baruch

  * * *

  BARUCH KNOCKED ON THE DOOR of Yaakov the tsaddik. Fear gnawed at his heart. He found it unbearable to tell Yaakov about the matter of the boy. But if he did not, Hana would leave him. Last night, she had agreed to stay on condition that he speak to Yaakov.

  No answer.

  Baruch waited, uncertain, then knocked again. If he went home without talking to Yaakov, Hana would ...

  No, he must not fail. Hana was the joy of his life. The boy was the curse. He must not fail. He pounded on the door once more. “Brother Yaakov, are you there?”

  Again, no answer. Despair fell on him. Baruch turned away. Yaakov could not be at the Temple. It was not yet the hour for afternoon sacrifices. Perhaps—

  The door clicked open.

  Baruch spun around.

  Yaakov stood in the doorway, his face gray with dust. “Yes, my son?”

  “Abba, I must ...” Baruch could not say more. Sorrow welled in his heart. “Please, Abba, may I come in? We must talk.”

  Yaakov opened the door and Baruch went in. Yaakov’s home was small, one room with a barrel-vaulted stone ceiling. Tall vertical window slits let in some light. A stone table stood against the wall. Two stools sat on either side of the table. A thin bedroll stood in the corner.

  Baruch sat on one of the stools. Yaakov sat across from him. “Tell me your troubles, my son.”

  Baruch told him. There was little enough to tell, and Yaakov knew most of it anyway. “... and when I saw the boy, rage entered my heart.”

  Yaakov leaned forward. “Rage against the boy?”

  “No, against the wicked man,” Baruch said. “It is the wrath of HaShem I feel—righteous anger. He did a wicked thing.”

  Yaakov nodded. “Such a thing has happened many times since sin entered the world. You have forgiven the man, of course.”

  Baruch said nothing.

  Yaakov put his hands on Baruch’s. “Sister Hana has forgiven the man?”

  Baruch nodded. He did not understand how, but Hana had forgiven the wicked man. “He did not dishonor her. He dishonored me.”

  “Baruch, my son.”

  Tears formed in Baruch’s eyes. “Yes, Abba?”

  “Of what price honor?”

  Baruch did not know how to answer. Honor was all. One could not put a price on honor. Without honor, a man was nothing. A dog.

  “The Rabban said that he who would have the highest honor must be as he who has the lowest honor. Have you heard this saying? That the first shall be last, and the last first?”

  Baruch quivered. “It is a hard word. I do not understand this saying.”

  “Do you know why the Rabban made this hard saying?”

  Baruch shook his head. “Abba, I do not like this saying.”

  Yaakov sighed. “My son, the currency of this world is a man’s honor. But the currency of the World to Come is forgiveness. And a man cannot forgive unless he gives up his right to honor.”

  A knot formed in Baruch’s stomach. “Abba, this is not possible. Without honor, a man is nothing.”

  “So if you would forgive, you must become nothing in this world. If you do not forgive, you will be nothing in the World to Come. Which do you prefer?”

  “I ... do forgive,” Baruch said. “I forgive the wrongs of my woman and Ari the Kazan and—”

  “You forgive the wrongs done without malice by th
ose who love you.” Yaakov shook his head. “My son, this is an easy thing, and it is not what the Rabban commanded. The Rabban commanded us to forgive our enemies. This is a hard—”

  Baruch stood up, knocking the stool backward. “It is an impossible thing. You do not know what you ask.”

  “I know what I ask.” Yaakov also stood up. “My son, do you see this dust in my beard?”

  Baruch would never have dishonored Yaakov by mentioning it.

  “I see that you do.” Yaakov’s eyes filled with pain. “My son, I had words with Sister Rivka yesterday which grieved me deeply. I learned a thing that has put me on my face in prayer since this time yesterday. I learned that there is anger in my heart.”

  Baruch’s eyes widened. Yaakov the tsaddik had anger in his heart?

  “Anger against the House of Hanan,” Yaakov said. “They are evil men. They killed the Rabban without cause, and he forgave them, but I did not forgive the House of Hanan. HaShem raised Yeshua to new life, and still I did not forgive. The Rabban revealed himself to me and then he ascended to HaShem, and still I did not.”

  “You should never forgive them,” Baruch said. “It is righteous anger.”

  “There is a time to put on anger, and a time to put it off. When righteous anger eats at your heart, the time has come to put it off. And yet I cannot. I feel hate against the House of Hanan.”

  “They are evil men.”

  “Yes, they are evil. HaShem will judge them. The Rabban did not say that HaShem will forgive them, but still he commanded that I should do so. This is a hard thing, my son. It means that I must do something which even HaShem will not do.”

  “Then it is impossible as I said. A metaphor.”

  “No. The Rabban spoke many metaphors, but not so here.”

  “How?” Baruch tasted bile in his throat. “If HaShem will not forgive, then how can a man?”

  Yaakov sat again on his stool. “The Rabban did not tell us how.”

  Baruch began pacing. “I will never forgive the wicked man.”

  Yaakov sighed. “You must find a way.”

  Baruch sat across from him at the table. “Yet you have not forgiven the House of Hanan.”

  “It is a hard thing.” Yaakov brushed at the dust in his beard. “I have not yet found the way, my son. I have spent the last day before HaShem, asking how it is possible. Such things do not come easily. The House of Hanan are wicked men, full of hate. Sister Rivka told me that Hanan ben Hanan will be named high priest and that he will kill me.”

  Fear burned in Baruch’s heart. “She told you that today?”

  Yaakov shook his head. “Yesterday. I have been on my face in the dust since then, seeking a way to forgive the son of Hanan.”

  Baruch closed his eyes, and he brushed at them madly, but still tears formed at the corners and ran down into his beard. “Then you have not heard that King Agrippa named Hanan ben Hanan high priest this morning?”

  Yaakov recoiled as if Baruch had spit in his face. “May HaShem protect us all.”

  “You must hide,” Baruch said. “Find one of the brothers and stay in their house. When did Sister Rivka say Hanan would try to kill you?”

  “Within days.” Yaakov’s voice was a thin whisper. “My son, it shames me to say that I hate this man.”

  “All men hate Hanan. He is a wicked man.”

  “The Rabban did not hate the House of Hanan. He forgave those who dishonored him and those who killed him. He commands us to do likewise.”

  “It is impossible.”

  “It must be possible.” Yaakov’s face filled with despair. “The Rabban would not have commanded it if it were not possible. I must find a way. You, also, must find a way, or the evil which the wicked man did will gnaw at your heart all your days, and you will never be reconciled to your son.”

  “I have no son.”

  “You must forgive the wicked man. Each of us must find a way—”

  Fire filled Baruch’s veins and he could no longer stand to be in this house. He strode to the door and yanked it open. “When you find a way, tell me. It is impossible.” Baruch stepped out and slammed the door. This was foolishness. The Rabban would not have commanded him to forgive this evil deed. All other deeds, perhaps, but not this. Never, ever, ever. Even the Rabban would not forgive such a thing.

  Baruch stumbled toward his home, sick with rage. He had done as Hana asked, and it was folly. Even Yaakov the tsaddik could not forgive such great evil. If not him, then how could an ordinary man? The Rabban was wrong to command it.

  He would not obey such a command. Not now, and not in the World to Come.

  Hanan ben Hanan

  * * *

  Hanan watched the young men file into the Chamber of Hewn Stone. Some seemed awed by this place of story and legend—the chamber of meeting for the Sanhedrin. Hanan had come here many times, both as a boy and as a man. His father had presided here, and his brother-in-law and each of his brothers. Now his turn had come at last, when he was an old man, well past fifty, wise with years.

  Last of all, the young giant Eleazar ben Hananyah entered the room. He pulled shut the great oaken door and sat in the place of highest honor. Hanan studied the group. The Temple had many Temple guards, Levites. Forty were true priests—these young men who called themselves the Sons of Righteous Priests. A few were sons of aristocrats, men born to Sadducean families, men whose hearts the Pharisees had stolen. Hanan had long hoped to win them back. If the price of their hearts was power, he would give them power. In turn, they must give him loyalty. Absolute loyalty.

  “Peace to you all, my sons,” Hanan said. “Some of you know why King Agrippa deposed Yoseph Kabi yesterday. Two days ago, he engaged in disgraceful conduct in the Temple, dancing for joy over the death of Governor Festus.”

  Wariness crept into the young men’s eyes. Some of these fools had also danced. They must never do so again.

  “My sons, we are at a critical hour. The governor is dead, and we will have no law from Caesar for some months—perhaps not until next spring. We must be our own law, as it was in days of old, before the Roman dogs came to rule over us.”

  Eleazar ben Hananyah leaned forward.

  Hanan read in his eyes that he understood. The time had come to right past wrongs, while the dogs had no representative.

  “The province is overrun with bandits,” Hanan said. “Festus failed in capturing these because he failed to ask our help. If any of these bandits venture to Jerusalem, we will take them.”

  “And do what with them?” Eleazar jutted his beard forward.

  “We will try them by our own laws.” Hanan let a smile creep across his face. “Caesar is not our king. The living God is our king, and we will live by his Torah.”

  Eleazar bent to whisper something to his friend Yoseph. Hanan knew this young man Yoseph, the brilliant son of a fine Sadducean family, mentored by the best Sadducean minds. His mind had been poisoned by the Pharisees, but Hanan would win him back.

  “Whose Torah?” Eleazar said.

  Hanan had expected this challenge. When the Pharisees spoke of Torah, they meant the written Torah as interpreted by the sages. But the Pharisee fools could interpret it any way they liked. Such Torah was no Torah at all, it was abomination. To say this bluntly would alienate these young men. Hanan smiled. “We will live by the Torah of those who hold power in the Temple.”

  A low rumble of discontent filled the room, as Hanan had expected. Therefore, he had prepared a surprise. “My sons, it is unwise to quibble over things on which we disagree, when there are many points on which we agree. In a few years, some of you in this room will hold power in the Temple.”

  The young men quieted quickly. Eleazar leaned forward, his face tight. Hanan saw that for him, a few years would be too long. Excellent.

  “And for one of you, power will come very much sooner.” Hanan stopped to survey the room, allowing the tension to build. “I have decided to appoint Eleazar ben Hananyah as sagan of the Temple, effective—”
>
  Cheers shook the chamber. The Sons of Righteous Priests leaped to their feet, hands in the air, shouting, stamping, bellowing, crowding around Eleazar, pounding him on the shoulders, kissing each other.

  Hanan waited, knowing the celebration would end soon enough.

  It took the fourth part of an hour for the young men to settle down. The surly looks on their faces were wiped away. Each sat forward in his chair, eager to hear what Hanan would say next. Eager to cooperate. They had tasted their first draft of power, and its heady wine left them dizzy, wanting more.

  “More appointments may come soon. I am indebted to certain families for the offices in the treasury, but it is possible that some of you”—Hanan gave a pointed look at Yoseph—“will have an opportunity to serve in that role in the future. I ask only your cooperation in certain matters from time to time.”

  The room became very quiet. “What sort of matters?” Yoseph asked.

  “Matters of Temple security.” Hanan twirled a small piece of his beard with his left hand.

  “I have not heard that the Temple was threatened,” Eleazar said.

  Hanan hesitated. “Perhaps not today. But there are men who do not love the Temple, who speak against the Temple. It may be that such men will cause disturbances. We will not tolerate such men.”

  One young man near the back stood up. He was a short man, with a large head and large hands and thick black hair. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Hanan. “Which men do you speak of?”

  Men such as your uncle the apikoros. Followers of fools and false prophets and messianic pretenders. “Men who hate the Temple.”

  “Goyim?”

  “No, we do not concern ourselves with dogs. I spoke of Jews.”

  Murmurs again. The young men leaned back in their chairs, arms across their chests.

  “Jews in particular?” said the young man. “Do you have any names in mind?”

  I do, but you will never know them, you fool. Hanan shook his head. “No, I have no names in mind. If men arise who hate the Temple, then I and the Temple leadership will make decisions at that time. I expect that you will cooperate in protecting the Temple. You are Temple guards, and that is your sworn duty, am I correct?”