by Moses Roth
“Show business!”
“Yeah. Hey I heard the rabbi business pays pretty well too.”
“Better than the priest and the minister business. Or so my friends from the bar tell me.”
I laugh.
“He laughs! I’m glad all this business in the news hasn’t made you a complete mope.”
“No. It’s not that bad. I mean I don’t like the attention on the streets these days. Not that many people recognize me actually, I wasn’t that well known, but it’s really not that bad.”
“Good. But where do you see yourself in five years? Or even next year?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you still believe you’re the messiah?”
I laugh.
“He laughs again. Why?”
“I don’t believe in God any more.”
Cohen laughs.
I say, “What?”
“I don’t believe in God myself some days. What does that matter? It’s your actions that matter.”
“Well, look at my actions.”
“It’s the Christians that think belief is so important. That they can sin all they want, if only they believe. But their beliefs are idolatrous.”
“Idolatrous?”
“They believe in an idol made of flesh, but an idol nevertheless. That idol was you for a while, for some of them.”
“Yeah.”
“And that was your first sin. Worshiping yourself as an idol.”
“You’re right.”
“God isn’t flesh, he isn’t anything. It’s better to not to believe, to say he doesn’t exist, than to say he’s something, a statue or a man. Because he’s everything.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, you made mistakes, but we all make mistakes. They’re a necessary part of the journey. The question is, have you learned from your mistakes?”
“I think I’m learning a lot, yeah.”
“Good. But it’s a long road, you have a ways to go. And in order to do the right thing you need to atone, Immanuel.”
“Atone? How?”
“Have you asked God for forgiveness? Have you prayed?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you prayed?”
I shrug.
He says, “Pray.”
“All right.”
“But that’s not enough. Like I said, it’s not your thoughts that matter. It’s your actions.”
“So what will be enough?”
“Enough for what?”
I laugh. “What are we even talking about, Rabbi? Are you trying to confuse me?”
“I don’t know, are you confused?”
“Stop playing games with me, Rabbi. Why did you ask me if I still believe that I’m the messiah?”
“It’s an important question.”
“But why?”
“Let’s talk about your father.”
I look down.
He says, “Was he a descendent of David or not?”
I look at him. “Rabbi, you know that anybody claiming that, it’s impossible to verify. But it is possible.”
“From David to Jesus to you, no doubt.”
I laugh. “Jesus wasn’t supposed to have any kids. And his father was supposed to be God, not a descendent of David. So no.”
“You have all the right answers, don’t you?”
“Would you rather I had all the wrong answers?”
“I might.”
“Rabbi Cohen, what are we talking about here?”
He says, “If you truly believed you were Mashiakh, how could you give that up? Our people need Mashiakh. They need someone to take up the burden. You know the situation in the Holy Land, the endless conflict with the Muslims. We’ll never find peace without him. We’ve seen the democrats’ and the seculars’ attempts to fix the situation. And if you truly believe it’s you, then you must do what you were born to do.”
“I failed. I sinned.”
Cohen says, “The Talmud tells us there were four men without sin: Benjamin, the son of Jacob, Amram, the father of Moses, Jesse, the father of David, and Kilab, the son of David. And they accomplished nothing of importance. Moses sinned. So did David. He took his servant Uriah’s wife, Bathsheba, and sent Uriah to battle to die. HaShem would have struck down David’s kingdom, as he did Saul’s, but David confessed his sin and his line was preserved for eternity. Through Solomon, a son from Bathsheba. That is the line you claim to be the heir to. Sin is a necessary part of life. Those who reach the greatest heights by necessity sink to the lowest lows. Are you Mashiakh or not?”
I look down at my lap.
I look up at him.
“Yes I am.”
“Now what will you do as Mashiakh?”
“You’ve seen what I’ve done already. I… I started with nothing and created a following, thousands of people…”
“You convinced a bunch of simple-minded goyim to worship you. That’s nothing new.”
I say, “I was born of a virgin, my name is Immanuel. My birth was foretold by the prophet Isaiah.”
“Yes, I saw your speech. But read your Nevi'im again. That passage about Immanuel is a reference to the Syro-Ephraimite War. It calls the mother ha’alma, which means young woman, not virgin. Christians have merely mistranslated it to be messianic. That doesn’t make you Mashiakh.”
I don’t know what to say. There’s a lump in my throat.
He says, “The gentiles may have convinced you your life was some inevitable destiny and that the messiah will unite the world through faith alone, but Mashiakh isn’t about faith. Now what will you do?”
I get it.
I say, “War. You want war.”
“I don’t want war, it’s a burden—”
“Just like being Mashiakh’s a burden? Of course it is. But you still want war, just like I want to be the messiah. You’re tired of the compromise of Israel today. You don’t want peace, not the way the secular Israelis do. You want the final peace and to get that you want the final war. I will give you what you want. That’s why I’m the messiah.”
Cohen looks away and then back at me and nods. “You know my name, Cohen. That makes me a priest. One of the kohanim. If you agree, I will go to Israel with you. I will anoint your head with oil, as your high priest.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“But…”
“What?”
He says, “The Asian girl. If you truly are the messiah, you can’t marry her. Ezra tells us we put aside our gentile wives after the Babylonian Exile and if you can’t do that, then you’re not Jewish, you may as well be dead, and you’re not our messiah.”
“But I can’t do that.”
He shrugs. “That’s unfortunate. For everyone.”
I stand up and say, “Goodbye, Rabbi Cohen,” and put out my hand.
He shakes it, “Shalom, Manuel.”
I leave.
I step outside into that perfect Seattle air.
What was I thinking?
I’m the messiah?
Ridiculous.
No way.
I’m getting married.
Chapter 66
I don’t really know what to say to God. What do you say to God? Praise God.
God, you know how I feel. What I think. Do I really need to phrase my thoughts in some way to signify prayer? What is prayer?
God, what do you want from me? How do I tell the difference between your path and Satan’s? Or are all paths God’s path, even Satan’s? Stop philosophizing. Pray.
Please guide me.
No, I want to be in service to you, not to ask you to serve me. I’ll do my best to serve you fully. I will serve you fully. I swear myself to you unconditionally. I will serve you as completely as I can.
Praise God. Praise all his works. Praise all his creations. Praise his will. Praise God.
The stones are hard and hurt my knees as I kneel. I put my hands on the rocks of the Wailing Wall and lean forward, touching my forehead to it.<
br />
I don’t know what I expected. That I would feel God here? That his presence would be stronger here? It’s just a place. Just stones.
I stand up and turn around, putting a hand on my kippah to keep the wind from blowing it off my head.
The crowd watches and the video cameras record me. Maybe the most personal moment of my life and the whole world is watching.
Cohen comes out from the crowd wearing that ridiculous outfit from Leviticus, a blue robe with gold bells and blue clay pomegranates hanging off it, a gold and gemmed apron, and a turban with a gold plate on it, and holding a horn of oil.
He stands next to me, his sweaty smell emanating, and pours some oil on his finger and reaches forward and touches my forehead.
I look around at all the journalists of Jerusalem. They understand what it means.
Why I’m here.
Who I am.
Chapter 67
I can hear the television as I open the door to our apartment. I come in and close it and take off my coat and say, “Are you watching the news?”
“Yeah,” Erwin says.
I look around, we gotta buy a coat rack, and I toss my coat on top of a box. “Are they talking about the ceremony?”
“No.”
I go into the living room.
He’s sitting on a plastic lawn chair watching TV. They’re showing the destroyed remains of a shop or something. He says, “Did you hear about this?”
“No.”
“Suicide bomber. In Tel Aviv. It says eight are dead, thirty-two in the hospital, four in critical condition.”
I nod.
“It says Khaled Urdunn has claimed credit. A Palestinian terrorist leader.”
It shows a mutilated girl in a hospital bed.
I look at Erwin.
He says, “I mean I know we hear about this stuff in America, but now it’s just a few miles away…”
“This stuff happens all the time.”
“I know, I just… Yeah.” He turns the volume down.
I take a seat on the other plastic chair. We need some real furniture.
He says, “How did the ceremony go?”
“Good. Fine. Were they showing anything about it before?”
“Yeah. I saw it. It looked… Well, they said you said you were the messiah and you were at the Western Wall, so that’s what you wanted, right?”
“Right. They were critical?”
“They were teasing.”
“Well, I mean, it was a publicity stunt and we got publicity.”
“Yeah, but now all the news is focused on the bombing.”
“The story’ll cycle back.”
“Yeah.”
I say, “Since when am I the optimist? Starting to regret coming with me?”
“No! Of course not. I wanted to come here my whole life. Well, ever since my parents sent me to temple camp.”
“Okay, good.”
“Besides, I didn’t apply to college, I thought I was gonna come work for you in LA.”
I laugh.
He says, “This was meant to be.”
I shrug.
He indicates the footage of the bombing, “This is why we’re here, right? To stop things like that.”
I nod. “That’s right.”
Chapter 68
As we walk down the cobblestone road toward the café, Cohen says, “Could you try to be polite this time? Please?”
I say, “Those last rabbis weren’t going to endorse me, that was pretty clear. What’s the difference?”
“Yes, but let’s not burn too many bridges, shall we? Everyone knows each other in Jerusalem and you know there’s a lot of loshon hora. We just need a few to endorse us and the others will turn around. But not if you’ve made them all hate us!”
“All right, all right.”
We arrive and go inside.
Rabbis Moiseev and Kerimov are waiting for us just inside and we shake hands. The host takes us to a booth in the back and we take the bench facing the window and they take the bench facing the wall.
I order a sparkling water and the lamb kebab. They order and then we chitchat about the latest news regarding the rockets getting fired in and out of Gaza.
Cohen says, “I think you understand how important it is that we find Mashiakh in this day and age.”
Moiseev says, “Of course we understand that, but what makes you think you’ve found him now?”
“I think we can agree that there may be thousands of true ancestors to David’s throne at any time. But what we have in Immanuel—”
I interrupt, “I’m willing to take the action necessary to bring a new prophetic age, to heal the sickness that infects Israel and the entire world.”
Moiseev says, “And how do you plan to do that?”
“By bringing Israel under a monarchy for the first time in nearly 2000 years. But under a true Davidic king this time. A true servant of God.”
“Ah. A true servant of God? You seem more like a tabloid celebrity to me. I’ve read about you. In the American websites.”
I say, “I’m not a perfect man, no. But I take responsibility for my actions. And I’m here to take responsibility for Israel.”
“Really? To me you seem more like a boy, incapable of controlling even himself.”
Our food arrives. Thank God.
Cohen turns the conversation to how nice the weather has gotten. We eat and they thank us for the meal and leave.
As I’m signing the receipt, I say to Cohen, “That’s twenty-two.”
“And I’m so lucky to have you update me with the count every time.”
“Twenty-two nos. No yeses.”
Chapter 69
I get back to my apartment and call Iris back and she says, “The bot’s been up for a few months.”
“Didn’t you stop all that when I quit?”
“Who were you really fooling?”
“Just myself, I guess.”
She laughs. “It’s like I said, though, it’s increased traffic to the website, but people get annoyed with it. I’ve seen arguments about it on a few forums, people saying they can’t believe you’d be a spammer, others defending you, saying you’re not connected to it. But if people knew you signed off on it, that it was your idea, they wouldn’t like that.”
I say, “What does it matter, people can’t get much more mad at me, can they? I’ve done enough to ruin my reputation, I don’t think a bot is gonna change that.”
“That’s true. But you still have a cult following online, no pun intended.”
“Ha ha.”
“And you don’t want to alienate them too, do you?”
“Well people arguing about it is good, right? I mean that’s publicity.”
“Yeah, but it’s not much.”
“Tell me about it. I feel like at this point if I wasn’t so busy running around telling everyone I exist, they’d already have forgotten about me.”
“Yeah.”
“And people remember the scandal more than they remember anything else.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
I say, “Well, what about a better bot? A more realistic one. I mean one that can seem more like people.”
“Well, I can write realistic advertisements, but a forum means each one has to be a response to another post. Ours just has a general advertisement, but a bot that tries imitate people usually just says things like, ‘I liked your video,’ or ‘You made some good points.’ To do one that realistically replies to other people means I’d have to find a way for it to actually respond and integrate its response into an advertisement in a believable way. That’s pretty advanced. Then there’s another problem. A lot of websites have security measures to prevent bots. You have to enter a verifiable code or something to make sure you’re real.”
“And you can’t make a bot that can solve that?”
“I can, but they come up with new secur
ity systems all the time.”
“Okay, what about a bot that can crack the new methods?”
“You mean reprogram the bot when the new security systems come out?”
“No, like one that can figure it out on its own.”
“Like learn, you mean?”
“Sure.”
“Manuel, you’re talking about a program that can update itself. Where you don’t have to program the next version, it’ll figure out the new needs and write the new code itself.”
“Okay.”
“You’re talking about the Holy Grail of programming. Something that every programmer and every corporation on the planet wants to do and can’t. An evolving program. It’s just not realistic. I mean, programming that is a task so big, you’d have to hire thousands of programmers and even then you probably wouldn’t get what you want. Not just probably, almost certainly.”
“A thousand people don’t come up with innovation, one person does.”
“You’d be better off hiring a thousand people to go spam for you.”
“Well I don’t have a thousand people, I just have you.”
Chapter 70
Cohen’s friend drives us south into the desert. Fifty kilometers north of Eilat, we stop at Kibbutz Chaim.
At the gate, Cohen gets out and walks to the radio box and uses the walkie-talkie to tell them we’re there.
The gate opens, Cohen gets back in the car, and we drive inside.
We pull up at the bus stop and get out.
The heat is a shock. With the air conditioning, I wasn’t prepared for how hot it would be compared to the cold up north right now.
I look around. This is what I had imagined Israel would be like, a desert. Sand is all that surrounds the Kibbutz, stretching to the mountains on the west side and the Jordan River on the east.
Cohen says, “He said to go to the cafeteria.”
We walk through the kibbutz, all one-story buildings. I spot the cafeteria, the biggest building in the housing section.
We go inside, it looks like a school cafeteria. The sound of dishwashers comes from inside the kitchen. We take seats at one of the tables. I’m hungry. I check my cellphone.