The young man gave a short nod and sat down.
“I have nothing more to say,” Hanan said. “Eleazar, you will report for duty tomorrow. You are free to appoint any lieutenants you may need. All of you are dismissed.”
The young men filed out, talking in excited whispers.
When the room was empty, Hanan paced back and forth. He had now neutralized Eleazar and Yoseph, friends of Kazan. They would not help Hanan, but now he had a lever to prevent them from hindering him.
Of the others ... some would help, some hinder. He must meet with each individually, to sound them out, to learn which were true men who loved the Temple, and which were false men. This would take time, but he would find them. The Sons of Righteous Priests were more than forty men, and not all of them were the nephew of Renegade Saul.
He had also two hundred Levite Temple guards at his disposal. He would sift them for the right men, but slowly, slowly. Caesar could not possibly send a replacement before the New Year, only two months away. After that, passenger ships would not sail until spring. Hanan had many months to purify the city of the living God from those who did not love the Temple.
Ari
* * *
That is correct, Abba.” Ari put an arm on the shoulders of Yaakov the tsaddik. “I am convinced Rivka speaks a true word from HaShem. She is adamant that Hanan will move against you quickly—certainly in the next weeks. My friend Gamaliel also warns me of danger. Can you not leave the city for a month or two? It is no dishonor to hide when wicked men seek to kill you. The prophet Eliyahu hid for three years in the days of King Ahav, and HaShem protected him.”
“I have friends in Bethany,” Yaakov said. “I could stay with them.”
“Then go, Abba!” Ari felt surprise at the urgency in his voice. He was meddling now, just like Rivka. But ... he had to. Hanan was a wicked man. Even if this were doomed to failure, Ari could not idly stand by and let a tsaddik be murdered. If he sat in Hitler’s council room at Wolfsschanze now, he would detonate the bomb, even though he knew that history said the plot would fail—that Hitler would live and the bomber would die. A man must always battle evil, whether he had hope of success or not.
Yaakov slowly nodded his head. “There is wisdom in your words, Ari the Kazan. I ... will go.”
“Stay at least until the New Year,” Ari said. “Then it will be safe.”
“Two whole months?” Yaakov looked doubtful.
“Eliyahu was gone three years, and HaShem taught him many things.”
“You are a good man, Ari the Kazan. I wish you were also a follower of Rabban Yeshua.”
Ari allowed himself to smile. “And you are a righteous man, Abba. Go in peace, and go before nightfall.”
Yaakov nodded. “Tell no one of my destination.”
“Of course. Shall I watch over you on the way?”
Yaakov shook his head. “I will be quite safe. Kiss Sister Rivka and little Racheleh for me. And pray for Brother Baruch on the matter of the boy.”
“Yes, Abba.” Ari watched the old man stroll down the street and disappear at the corner. Hope raced through his heart. Most excellent! He had beaten Hanan. Defied the wicked man. Changed history.
But how? Physics said this was not possible. What fact was he missing? Had he entered some alternate universe in which Yaakov would not die? And how would that affect all history? Would the followers of Rabban Yeshua remain strong here in Jerusalem, even after the war to come? Would they hold at bay the gentilizing influences pushing to turn the church from her Jewish roots? Would there be no Constantine, no Crusades, no Inquisition, no ... Holocaust? If so, then ... why not follow the Rabban?
Ari walked slowly home. He must think on this thing. And pray. Yes, here was a mystery that only HaShem could unravel.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Rivka
* * *
FOR EIGHT WEEKS, NOTHING HAPPENED while Rivka worried. The long hot summer drew to an end without violence, though Jerusalem seemed ready to explode. No governor from Rome arrived. Yaakov the tsaddik stayed safely in Bethany. Hanan made no move.
Rivka’s fears grew. What had she forgotten? What had she never learned? What had Josephus failed to record? She felt that the few pitiful bits of knowledge she had were nothing, broken shards that stabbed at her the more she grasped at them.
The New Year arrived late that year—two days after the fall equinox. With it, Yaakov the tsaddik returned to Jerusalem.
Rivka bit her nails through Rosh HaShanah.
And nothing out of the ordinary happened.
There followed the ten Days of Awe, those days leading up to Yom Kippur, when every Jew examined his life, found himself wanting, asked forgiveness of the brothers he had wronged, and prepared for The Fast.
And still nothing happened.
Hanan ben Hanan presided as high priest over The Fast with all due dignity, ably assisted by his sagan, Eleazar ben Hananyah.
Still nothing.
On the fifteenth day of the year, Sukkot began.
Ari and Rivka built a small booth atop their house and slept in it at night with Rachel. Baruch and Hana and Dov did likewise. Rivka got a full report every day of the growing tension between them. She offered to let Dov sleep over during the feast, but Hana refused. Ari and Baruch went to the Temple every day for the afternoon services, keeping a close eye on Yaakov, who insisted on attending.
Nothing.
Rivka was dying inside. She had told everyone of the danger to Yaakov the tsaddik. Had seen the look in their eyes. Poor Sister Rivka is making another wrong prophecy.
With all her might, Rivka wished they were right. With all her heart, she feared they were wrong. On the last day of the feast, she left Rachel with Hana and went to the Temple with the men for the afternoon services. Yaakov found them all a place to stand toward the front of the Court of Women, near the musicians.
The court was packed with worshipers, sweating together in the warmth of the late summer day. A deep quiet filled the entire court.
Rivka scanned the rows of Levite singers on the steps leading up to the Court of Priests.
Two priests with silver trumpets stood on the top row. Another priest held his bronze cymbals ready. A row of harpists set fingers to the strings of their twelve-string wooden harps, waiting.
Rivka felt so tense, she thought her heart would explode.
Nothing happened during the burnt offering.
Nothing happened during the drink offering.
Nothing happened during the sin offering.
The musicians began the psalm for this fifth day of the week, the eighty-first psalm.
“Sing with joy to God our strength; shout to the God of Yaakov!”
“Woe!” shouted a voice.
Rivka’s head spun to look. What was going on?
The singers continued. “Make music and strike the tambourine—”
“Woe!” the voice shouted again, with more power. A short man, standing in front of Baruch. Rivka could hardly believe one man could be so loud.
The musicians faltered and stopped.
The priest leading the music turned and scowled at the offender.
“Woe!” the man bellowed.
Rivka’s heart skipped a beat. This was strangely familiar. But what—
“A voice from the east! A voice from the west! A voice from the four winds! A voice against Jerusalem and the sanctuary! A voice against the bridegroom and the bride! A voice against the whole people!”
Rivka remembered, and cold shivered through her. Josephus had written of this episode, but he had put it out of place—more than five years further on in the story—that was why she had not thought of it. But he dated it to this year, this feast, this place. A crazy man in the Temple. And—
“Woe to the city! Woe to the people! Woe to the Temple!”
Rivka wanted to grab Yaakov the tsaddik and run, but they were trapped by this crowd. And anyway, she had a terrible, sick feeling it was useless. Something to do with pha
se space and all that nonsense.
Hanan ben Hanan
* * *
Hanan had no required role in today’s sacrifices, but as high priest he could take part on any day he wished. Therefore, he did so today. He had waited all his life for this office, and he would not allow another man to take the honor that was rightfully his.
When the musicians struck up their psalm of praise, he walked to the Nicanor Gate to look out at the vast throng.
“Sing with joy to God our strength; shout to the God of Yaakov!”
And then ...
“Woe!” shouted someone near the front.
Hanan’s heart skipped. Who dared to dishonor the worship of the living God?
“Make music and strike the tambourine—”
“Woe!” the man roared again.
Hanan saw him now, a short man in the third row.
People around him made shushing movements. And behind the man stood ... Kazan and Yaakov called tsaddik and a third man.
“Woe!” In the silence that followed, the short man spoke a false prophecy, cursing the people, the Temple, the whole city of the living God.
Hanan strode through the Nicanor Gate. This ... abomination must stop! The musicians parted before him.
Halfway down the steps, Hanan remembered that the dagger-men had murdered his own brother eight years ago at the foot of these very stairs while the singers sang the daily psalm to the living God. This might be a trap. He backed up the stairs and shouted into the Court of Priests for Temple guards. These messianics must not be permitted to curse the Temple.
Ari
* * *
A spirit!” somebody hissed behind Ari. “He has an evil spirit!”
Ari had no fear of evil spirits. Phase space was real, and Riemannian manifolds, and fiber bundles. Evil spirits were not.
But all around him, frightened faces backed away from the man.
Ari’s hands felt clammy.
Rivka clutched at his arm.
Yaakov the tsaddik moved forward. “My son—”
“A voice from the four winds! A voice against Jerusalem and the sanctuary! A voice against the bridegroom and the bride! A voice against the whole people!”
Yaakov raised his hands. “Silence! I command you—”
“Woe to the city! Woe to the people! Woe to the Temple!”
“—I command you to tell me your name!” Yaakov put his hand on the peasant’s head.
The peasant turned and his eyes were vacant, two black holes in an empty mind. “My name is called Yeshua!” His voice seemed to shake the Temple. “I speak in the name of Yeshua!”
Anger welled in Ari’s heart. How dare this man insult Rabban Yeshua so?
Yaakov put his hand on the man’s shoulder and spoke in a voice so quiet Ari could barely hear him. “I command you to be silent in the name of Rabban Yeshua the Mashiach.”
The man was unmoved, his face slack and impassive. “A voice against Jerusalem and against the sanctuary!” he roared. “A voice against the bridegroom and the bride!”
Now Ari and Rivka and Yaakov and Baruch stood alone in the eye of the storm. This crazy man would not be silenced, even by the name of Rabban Yeshua. Ari shivered.
“You will come with me,” Yaakov said. “Brother Ari, Brother Baruch, compel him to come with us. We must pray for him in a quiet place.”
Ari took one of the man’s arms. Baruch took the other. The man did not fight them. Yaakov led the way toward the nearest gate.
The people divided before them, terror on their faces. Ari and Baruch guided the man toward the gate as if Moshe held his staff over them, parting the waters.
All around him, Ari heard people hissing with fear. “An evil spirit!”
Which was ridiculous. The man was merely insane. He needed psychiatric help.
“Yeshua!” the man bellowed.
“Hush, you fool! You are causing much trouble.” Ari pressed forward through the gate and down the steps to the level of the outer courts.
But the man refused to be quiet. Ari’s heart pounded as they escorted him, shrieking, across the bridge into the upper city.
“Rivka, go home,” Ari said, when he looked back and found that she was following them.
For once, she did not argue with him.
Ari and Baruch and Yaakov hurried the man through the streets to Yaakov’s house. It was the only place they could go. Nobody tried to stop them. Ari kept a tight grip, but the man seemed strangely passive, unwilling or unable to fight. But neither would he be silenced. “Woe!” he shouted. “Woe!”
Yaakov led the way, praying aloud. When they reached Yaakov’s home, they trundled the man in and set him on the floor. He stopped shouting.
Ari backed up against the door, but the man showed no sign of wanting to fight his way out.
Baruch knelt beside him. “Friend, what is your name?”
“My name is called Yeshua ben Hananyah.” The man spoke in a normal voice.
“From where do you come?” Yaakov asked.
“Migdal.”
Ari wondered how it would be possible to send this man all the way back home to his people in Galilee.
Baruch put a hand on him. “Do you wish to be free of your evil spirit?”
“Oh, it is you, Baruch!” The man’s voice became deep and powerful and mocking in tone. “How very nice to see you again. You will leave him alone. He is ours, just as you once were. Do you wish to rejoin us?”
Baruch leaned back, sweating. “In the name of Yeshua Mashiach, I command you to ...” His voice faltered.
“You command us?” said the deep voice. “What foolishness! We are very sorry, Baruch, but you have lost your power over us. You who do not love even your own son. How pathetic! Soon we shall have you back, and the boy and woman too.”
“Enough!” Yaakov said. “Baruch, you will not speak to them more. You spirits, I command you in the name of Yeshua Mashiach to be silent.”
“How delightful!” said the deep voice. “Friends, Yaakov the tsaddik commands us to be silent.”
“Try again!” shouted a breathy female voice. “Frighten us!”
“Prophesy if you can!” said another voice, the one the man had used in the Temple. “But you are least in the kingdom of HaShem, Yaakov! A little warning—be wary of left-handed men, if you value your life!”
Yaakov stumbled back, his face ashen. “Enough!” he said. “I refuse to hear more.”
Ari felt sweat all over his body. He took a step away from the door. “Perhaps we should ... let the man go.”
“And now we have the bold and courageous Ari the Kazan,” said the deep voice. “Excellent! Who wishes to speak with this great lion of faith?”
“Be silent,” Ari said. Which was ridiculous, but—
“Silence! Kazan orders us to be silent! Shall we tell your fortune, Ari?”
“No!” Ari backed away.
“Oh, he has no need of us! His woman can tell his fortune. And she so excels at it too! We promise not to bother you if you do not bother us, Kazan! But keep a sharp eye on your little witch woman. Is she home all alone with that delightful daughter of yours? It would be a tragedy if something happened to them, do you agree? Remember what we did to Baruch’s woman! Do you want a son also, Kazan? Something can be arranged! And you also, Baruch, guard your woman! You have failed to give her what her heart desires, but we can! Would you like a daughter this time?”
Ari felt for the door, then jerked it open and stepped outside, breathing heavily. It took all his willpower to keep from bolting for home.
Brother Baruch followed him out, then Yaakov.
“My sons, go home to your families.” Yaakov kissed them both. “Protect your women, your children. And pray. We are all in deep need of repentance. It is our own sin that unfits us.”
“You must not stay here tonight,” Ari said. “Let the man go. Find some of the elders and ... pray. There is a mighty ... spirit of evil on this man.” He could not believe he had said it, b
ut what else could he say?
Yaakov nodded. “Go in peace, my sons.”
Ari turned and ran. In a few minutes, the sun would be down. The coming darkness chilled his soul.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Hana
* * *
HANA’S HEART FELT HEAVY ALL during the evening meal. Baruch said little, though she asked many questions. Was the service in the Temple good today? Yes, it was good. Was Yaakov the tsaddik still safe? Yes, he was safe. Was Brother Ari well? Yes, he was well.
Dov jabbered about the fine time he had spent with Racheleh today, and could he sleep in her booth tonight? And who made the fine wooden chairs for Racheleh’s mother? And was it true that Ari the Kazan had strong magic from a far country? Baruch sat silent. Tonight, he had a dark spirit—yes, a spirit of fear.
And that was why Hana’s heart felt sick. If only Baruch could be happy, then she too would be happy. Yaakov the tsaddik had not helped him. Hana did not know what to do. She would have to leave him after all. She could not live like this.
“Will I marry Racheleh when I grow up?” Dov reached for his stone cup of water mixed with beer, but silly little bear, he knocked it over. The beer poured over the small stone table, soaking Baruch’s bread.
Baruch sprang up. “Fool!”
Dov burst into tears.
“Baruch!” Hana seized a rag and mopped up the mess.
Baruch stalked out of the kitchen, his face tight with a spirit of rage.
“Imma, I am sorry!” Dov clung to Hana. “Tell Abba I am sorry. Ask him to not be angry anymore, forever!”
Hana wiped up the mess and threw the rag in a stone jar. She hugged Dov. “Little bear!”
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