Premonition

by R. S. Ingermanson

  “Yes, tonight.” Gamaliel’s face filled with grief. “They had already gone out the back gate when I arrived. I could do nothing for them. Fourteen men—all to be stoned in the Hinnom Valley.”

  Hana screamed and grabbed Gamaliel’s arm. “Which way did they go?”

  Gamaliel pointed south. “Toward the Essene Gate.”

  Hana bolted away, wailing.

  “No!” Gamaliel shouted. “It is useless!” He turned to Rivka. “The woman is a fool.”

  “She knew what to do to save Ari the Kazan,” Rivka said. “She is a woman of great courage. Perhaps more courage than you.”

  Gamaliel flinched. “I ... there is nothing I can do.”

  “You could at least prevent her from being killed.”

  Indecision flitted across Gamaliel’s face.

  “Would you allow a woman more honor than yourself?” Rivka held out the club. “Hana does not flee before injustice, even if a man does.”

  Gamaliel hesitated a moment, his face a mix of fear and anger and ... honor. Then he snatched the club and ran.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Yaakov

  * * *

  YAAKOV STUMBLED ALONG THE STREET, his heart sick with grief. What had he done? What had he done? He had thought to demonstrate his love for Rabban Yeshua. His honor for Rabban Yeshua. His righteous anger on behalf of Rabban Yeshua. That was why he had spit at Hanan ben Hanan.

  The Rabban would not have done so. The Rabban went to his death with a prayer on his lips. A prayer for his enemies. With love for his enemies.

  Yaakov caught his breath. Had he been asleep these many years? The words of the Rabban burned in his heart.

  You will love your enemies. You will pray for those who persecute you.

  A man could not choose to love or hate his enemies. And yet a man could choose to pray for his enemies. Such a prayer would be bitter as bile. And yet ... And yet, was it possible that the Rabban taught a deep thing here?

  You will pray for your enemies, and by doing so, you will come to love them.

  Yaakov’s heart pounded a harsh rhythm in his chest. No, it could not be so simple. Words were not action. He had argued many times with those who believed that mere words constituted trust in HaShem. Words were nothing. By a man’s actions, you saw his heart.

  And yet words were a form of action. By words, men’s heart were set aflame or pacified. By words, men persuaded, insulted, built, destroyed, loved, hated. By words, HaShem had created the world.

  Words were something, and it was a lie from the enemy to say words were nothing. Words were something, because words led to actions. As a man thinks, so he is. As he speaks, so he becomes.

  And if a man went to the grave with hate in his heart, even hate for an enemy, an evil man, then how could he face HaShem in the World to Come? Rabban Yeshua had commanded a hard thing, but not one beyond a man’s grasp. Or if beyond a man’s grasp, not beyond his thought. If a man could think it, he could attempt it. If attempt it, by the grace of HaShem, he might achieve it.

  It was better to die trying than not trying. Better to meet HaShem in the Spirit of Yeshua than in a spirit of rage.

  Yaakov shook his head furiously, hoping to dislodge the rag that stole his voice. He must say the words. A true prayer was one said aloud. But he could not shake loose the cloth. The best he could do was think the words.

  Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe. Grant peace to us and to all Yisrael. And grant peace to ...

  Sweat poured down Yaakov’s face. It was more difficult than he had imagined to bless his enemy. His heart felt frozen with hate. With rage.

  And grant peace to ...

  Again, he could not do it.

  HaShem, you who hears our prayers, grant now my request. That I may have strength to pray for my enemy. To forgive my enemy. In the same power as your servant, Rabban Yeshua the Mashiach. And let all Yisrael say amen.

  Hana

  * * *

  Hana ran, lashed by a spirit of fear. Hanan ben Hanan was evil. He meant to kill Baruch. If he killed Baruch, then her life also would be over. She had been angry at Baruch, had meant to leave him. But that was foolishness. He was a good man. Her man. Even if he hated Dov, she must find some way to bear the grief.

  She turned at the corner of the palace of Hanan and ran down the long dark street toward the Essene Gate. Had the men left the city yet? She must run faster!

  Footsteps behind her.

  Hana refused to look. If it was one of the evil men, he would kill her and her suffering would be over. Otherwise, she had nothing to fear. She ran.

  The footsteps pounded closer. “Woman!” The voice of the man Gamaliel.

  Still she would not look. There was no time. If he tried to stop her, she would fight him, scratch his eyes out, kick him in the tender regions. She would not allow him to prevent her.

  Gamaliel drew alongside her. “Woman!” He was not breathing hard, a good runner for a man so short. “Woman, I will help you, but you must let me do the fighting.”

  Her breath came now in ragged gasps. “Can you save my Baruch?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “You are lying.”

  “I will try. There is a chance, but I can save only one man, not all of them. And you must not help me. If you try, they will kill him and you also. Let me try.”

  “No.” Hana’s heart was bursting with panic. If Gamaliel failed, then she would never be able to live with herself, knowing that she had done nothing while they killed her husband. She would rather be dead.

  “Woman, you are a fool. You have no chance to save him.”

  “Then I wish to die with him.”

  “Very well, then your son will be left an orphan.”

  Pain knifed through Hana. Dov. If she and Baruch both died, he would be an orphan. Rivka would take him in. Rivka and ...

  Rivka and Ari? Ari might be already dead. He had bled much from his wounds. If he died, then Rivka would be alone with two children. Poor, helpless Rivka, who could neither sew nor carry water, who was too proud to work as a zonah, too beautiful to beg. She would starve, and the children with her. Yaakov the tsaddik would not live to give alms to the poor.

  Hana’s heart felt torn. If she tried to save Baruch and failed, they would both die and Dov would starve. If she wished to save Dov, she must live herself, and so Baruch must die.

  They reached the Essene Gate. Gamaliel studied the small iron door beside the gate. He released the inside latch and pulled it open on protesting hinges. “I have no key to return,” he said. “I will try to save Baruch, but you must stay here. When you hear my voice, open the door. If you disobey in this, you and I and Baruch will all be caught outside and Hanan will kill us.”

  Hana could not think what to do. Gamaliel would try to save Baruch, but she did not think he would try as hard as she would. Yet he was a strong man and she was not.

  “Please,” Gamaliel said. “I beg you.”

  Hana had not heard a man beg her for anything, ever. She knew it was foolishness, but ... somehow this act of humility caught her heart. She stepped back from the door. “Go.”

  “Do not follow after me.” Gamaliel slipped through. “Wait here. Hanan has a key. If you hear voices of many men returning, then run! I will have failed and all will be lost.”

  She heard his footsteps padding away into the night. Hana counted fifty beats of her heart. Then she slipped through the door. Before she could block it open, it slammed shut. She turned and hurried down, down into the blackness of the Hinnom Valley. She would let Gamaliel try, but if he failed, then she could not endure to live.

  Baruch

  * * *

  Baruch stumbled along the dark path. Ahead, the others shuffled slowly, but still Baruch could not keep up. His knee throbbed where he had fallen in the street.

  A guard clutched his arm, hurrying him down the steep path toward the stoning pits, but he could go no faster. He was last in line—just as he would be last in the World to C
ome.

  Burning shame flushed Baruch’s face. For the sake of honor, he had despised an innocent boy. That was foolishness. For that, he would be least in the kingdom. Rabban Yeshua would not throw him out of the kingdom, but he would give him no honor. He would be like a man who escapes naked from a burning building, saving his life, but nothing else.

  Something caught between Baruch’s feet.

  He stumbled and fell hard to his knees. Blinding pain shot up his thighs, and then he fell forward to the ground, unable to break his fall.

  “Fool!” said a voice behind him.

  “Who goes there?” said the guard beside him.

  “Yoseph ben Mattityahu,” said the same voice. “Eleazar ben Hananyah and some others are just behind me. Hanan ben Hanan sent for us. Where is he?”

  “He is leading the way.”

  “Go and inform him that Eleazar the sagan is coming. We will deal with this slow-mover.”

  Strong hands yanked Baruch to his knees. “Sluggard! Do you think you will escape your just reward by dallying?” A hand slapped Baruch hard across the face.

  The other guard laughed and hurried on ahead.

  “Baruch!” It was a hiss in his ear, a whisper. Hands fumbled at Baruch’s face, and then the cloth rag was gone.

  Baruch turned his head with much pain. “You!” It was Gamaliel.

  Gamaliel grinned. “I am alone. Stand and go back with me to the city.”

  Baruch stared at him. “The door will be locked.”

  “Your woman waits inside to let us back in.”

  Baruch tried to stand. His right knee collapsed with the effort.

  “Stand!” Gamaliel said. “If they send men back to look for us ...” Sweat stood out on his forehead. “Both our lives are forfeit if they find us here.”

  Baruch tried again, pushing up with his left leg.

  Gamaliel helped hoist him up and then put his head under Baruch’s right arm. “Can you walk?”

  Baruch took a step. His right knee would bear no weight. On level ground, he could limp along with support from Gamaliel. But he could not climb the dark and stony path. “It is impossible.”

  A white form appeared just ahead of them. Hana.

  She rushed into Baruch’s arms. He held her, his eyes filling with tears. His woman loved him—enough to risk her life to follow him. He was unworthy of such love, and yet—

  “Woman!” Gamaliel’s whisper was a hiss of panic. “I told you to stay! We cannot reenter the city.”

  Baruch shook his head. “I could not climb back to the gate anyway. We must hide.”

  Gamaliel pointed toward a stand of trees beside the path. “Can you make it that far?”

  Hana slid under Baruch’s other arm. “Yes, he can. We will carry him if we must.”

  The three of them staggered off the path and into the trees. Baruch wanted to collapse. “Here. Stop here.”

  “Farther,” Gamaliel said.

  A little farther and again Baruch asked to stop.

  Gamaliel refused.

  They passed all the way through the trees and into a clump of bushes. Baruch collapsed. “I cannot go any further.”

  “Shhhh!” Gamaliel put a hand to Baruch’s mouth. They had come to rest at the head of a ravine. He pointed down its length.

  Torches flickered at the bottom of the Hinnom Valley. Thirteen bound men stood in a small cluster. Around them stood many Temple guards, listening to Hanan ben Hanan.

  Faint and clear and far away, every sound funneled up the ravine.

  “That is impossible.” Rage filled the voice of Hanan ben Hanan.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Hanan ben Hanan

  * * *

  FURIOUS, HANAN JABBED A FINGER at the guard. “That is impossible! Yoseph and Eleazar knew nothing! Nothing! I set them a task in the Temple that would take all night.”

  The guard looked bewildered. “The man said his name was Yoseph and that Eleazar and others were coming.”

  “Who said this?” Hanan roared.

  The guard searched the faces of the other guards. “He is not here.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “It was dark. He wore the garb of a Temple guard and he spoke with authority and he told me he would escort my prisoner and that I must run ahead to—”

  “One of the prisoners!” Hanan grabbed the guard’s tunic. “Which prisoner?”

  The guard’s eyes whitened with fear. “One of them. I do not know the names of the prisoners.”

  Hanan counted the heads of the prisoners again by torchlight. Thirteen! “One of them is missing.” But which one? They all looked much alike. Before today, he had known Yaakov and Kazan by sight, but the others were strangers.

  Hanan paced back and forth, rage gnawing at his belly. Precious time passed while the guards studied the prisoners’ faces. Finally, one of them said, “The man called Baruch. The friend of Kazan, he is missing.”

  Hanan remembered. Yes, that was the one. The man with the fiery eyes. “In the morning, you will search the city for this man Baruch, who dared to curse me. Take prisoner his woman and children. Use them to lure him in.”

  Three of the guards came to report. “The stoning pit is ready.”

  Hanan went to inspect it.

  The pit was deep, more than three times the height of a man. A natural limestone platform provided good footing along the north edge. Men with torches stood on the other three sides to light the pit.

  Hanan nodded. “It will serve. Prepare the prisoners.”

  They went back to the condemned men. All had their arms bound behind them. One guard went to the prisoners and yanked Yaakov away from the others. He took out a short knife and slit Yaakov’s tunic down the front. He did the same on the sleeves and pulled away the sliced garment. Then he tore away Yaakov’s loincloth. Finally, he went behind Yaakov and unknotted the cloth that had bound his mouth.

  He went around in front of Yaakov and grabbed his beard. “This way, old man!”

  “Bless you, my son,” Yaakov said.

  The guard stared at him, then pulled Yaakov toward the men holding torches. “Stand there without moving or they will light up your beard and hair!”

  The old man stood naked and shivering in the torchlight.

  Hanan felt grim satisfaction. It was dishonor to be seen naked. That was part of the punishment of stoning.

  The guard stripped the next man, and the next, and the next. Each went to stand by Yaakov. Hanan heard the prisoners talking together, and gladness filled his heart. They were arguing.

  With anger in their voices.

  Yaakov

  * * *

  Here at the end, Yaakov knew despair. He had failed. He had shown righteous anger toward Hanan, but the fruit of that anger was not righteousness.

  Because of Yaakov’s failings, Ari the Kazan would never follow Rabban Yeshua. Baruch would never be reconciled to his son. And his men would go to the grave with a curse on their lips. They did not believe Yaakov’s words.

  “You must pray for these men.” He looked at the other men, skinny, naked, shivering in the night breeze. “Rabban Yeshua would have it so.”

  The youngest of the men shook his head, and fire lit up his eyes. “They are evil. HaShem will punish them.”

  “Then you should pity them,” Yaakov said. “Rabban Yeshua commanded us to love our enemies, to pray for those who persecute us.”

  “It is foolishness.” Several of the men shook their heads. “We will not do it.”

  “I command you in the name of Rabban—”

  “No,” said one of the men.

  “I will not do it,” said another.

  “You have no authority to command such a thing,” said a third. “It is impossible.”

  Yaakov knew it was impossible. He had no right to ask. Rabban Yeshua had done so, but he was a man without sin. An ordinary man could not love his enemies, could not pray for them.

  The last prisoner joined them and now Hanan approach
ed. He wore an evil smile.

  Yaakov knew that his time had come to die, time to say the Sh’ma for the last time. He raised his voice to the heavens. “Sh’ma, Yisrael! Adonai, Eloheinu! Adonai Echad!” Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God! The Lord is One! Every Jew wished to die with this prayer on his lips.

  The other men joined him. “Baruch, Shem K’vod, Malchuto, le’olam va’ed.” Blessed be his Name of glory whose kingdom shall be forever and ever.

  Hanan waited.

  Yaakov knew that even the Gentiles allowed a Jew to pray the Sh’ma before dying. Hanan would surely allow it—all of it.

  Yaakov and his men continued. “And you shall love the Lord your God with your whole heart and with your whole life and with your whole might. And it shall be that these words which I command you today shall be on your heart and you shall teach them to your sons and you shall speak on them when you sit in your house and when you walk in the way and when you lie down and when you rise up. You shall bind these words as a symbol on your hand and you shall bind them between your eyes and you shall write them on the mezuzah of your house and on your gates.”

  The prayer ended and Yaakov’s men fell silent. Hanan pointed to two of the guards. They approached the prisoners.

  Yaakov saw a spirit of fear fall on them, heavy as a woolen blanket dipped in water. They huddled together. A cold hand squeezed Yaakov’s heart until he felt he would faint.

  The guards seized the youngest man by the beard and yanked it downward. “No!” he screamed. “You pigs! You dogs! You sons of zonot!”

  The guards forced him to walk, bent over, to the limestone shelf beside the pit, and turned him around with his back to the pit. His bowels and bladder loosed their contents. “You dogs!” he shouted. “I curse you with—”

  They pushed him backward hard.

  He tumbled into the pit, screaming. “Dogs!” Then silence.