The Brother's Keeper

by Tracy Groot

  He crossed the threshold, paying careful attention to the wavering flame of the candle, and slowly walked through the workroom to the courtyard.

  “But why does he have to do it with a candle? He can see just—”

  Nathanael was hushed by three different voices. The search had to be conducted in pure silence.

  Of course, Jorah had already used up the leaven for the pile of loaves she had made for the journey. James wasn’t sure leaven was ever found by the head of the household. The women had enough respect for the command to make sure they had their cupboards cleared by the time the candlelit search came through.

  But he went to the courtyard anyway, opened the cupboard, and carefully passed the candle near the space where Jorah kept her crock of leavening. He lifted the lid and found the crock meticulously emptied. He passed the candle near the bread shelf. The space was empty, not even a crumb. He shut the cupboard door.

  Slowly, he made his way back to the workroom, but before he got to the doorway, he stopped and looked around. Every bench was neat and tidy, the only time of the year it was so. The only time the fire pit was carefully smothered. The only time a project did not wait for completion.

  He looked as long as he dared, before they had time to wonder, and oddly, as he gazed at the empty benches, the words of a travel-stained vagabond came. Consider it all joy . . . Consider it all joy . . .

  He turned to the doorway, kissed the mezuzah, and joined the four gathered outside.

  He held the candle aloft in front of them and intoned to the sky, “All the leaven that is in my possession, that which I have seen and that which I have not seen, be it null, be it accounted as the dust of the earth.” He brought the candle close and blew out the flame.

  The door was pulled shut and locked, the key tucked safely into a pocket fold in Simon’s tunic. A Gentile boy from the village would come and check on the place while they were gone, make sure the crops were watered, the goats fed.

  The laden cart at the bottom of the hill had a space in it made for James when he needed it. Nathanael ben Rivkah, and James, Judas, Simon, and Jorah ben Joseph all made their way in silence down the slope. Simon gathered the reins and clicked his tongue at the donkey. With an occasional glance flicked back to the solitary house on the hill, the five young people began their pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

  14

  THE HILLS OF NAZARETH gave way to the flat basin of the Esdraelon Plain. Though the terrain had become easier to manage, and especially on a Roman road, the eyes of the travelers grew sharper as they began the descent into Samaritan territory.

  The Esdraelon Plain was not the place for wariness, not yet. The land was flat; there were few places for brigands to hide. It was a broad, spacious place that produced most of the land’s wheat crops. They passed farmers in the fields, who often gave them no more than a glance from their work. Behind them, a few travelers followed about half a mile back; ahead of them, about the same distance away, a large caravan of pilgrims filled the road, in Jude’s estimation numbering about twenty-five, including children.

  “They probably came late to the road, like us,” Simon murmured as he pressed his sleeve to his forehead to clear it of sweat. The day had more of the feel of midsummer than spring. For the first time since winter passed, that James noticed anyway, the sky was cloudless.

  The presence of the large caravan was a comfort, though no one spoke this out loud. The trick was to keep the distance between them constant. Move when they moved, camp when they camped, and hope they did not dawdle. There wasn’t much chance of that, given the fact that the fourteenth of Nisan was a handful of days away; the caravan had so far kept a fairly brisk pace.

  They had picked up the other travelers just before Kfar Otnai, near where the road broke east for Beth Shean in Decapolis. And if a few of the five sent a wistful glance toward that Jordan Valley route, well, who could blame them? Many memories lay on that well-traveled road. All in all, it was probably best they went to Jerusalem via Samaria. Why not take change by the plateful instead of by the morsel? Besides, it was not so uncommon to take the Samaritan road for travel to the festivals. Many did.

  What would happen this time? What would happen this Passover? What if by some miracle Raziel’s words had gotten through to Jesus? Would he, indeed, proclaim himself? Restore the kingdom to Israel? Jesus sometimes seemed as fickle as the pitch of an unanchored boat.

  Those were wild thoughts James rarely allowed himself to muse upon, but he used them to help block out other ones. With nothing to do but walk, and mostly ride, thoughts were as treacherous as highwaymen. Thoughts that came in the voice of Raziel. Pick a side; fight from there. You are miserable because you have not decided. Thoughts that took on the foreign accent of the stranger from the East. A golden plate from Gasparian. Myrrh from Melkor. Frankincense, the gift of a dying man. And above it all the drone of his own voice, just to make it a mad mess. I am less sure of who he is than who I was when he was here.

  At times it was hard to discern what the pain in his stomach was. Was it hunger or the gut ache? Presently, Nathanael helped him decide. The lad shielded his eyes with his hand to gaze at the caravan in the distance. “Do they have plans to stop for the midmeal? My stomach is knocking on my backbone.”

  “Just a little farther,” Simon said over his shoulder. “If they don’t stop soon, we will take a rest.”

  James had managed to keep a steady walk for about two hours, then had to avail himself of the space on the cart, next to the lamb. The lamb had trotted behind the cart until it lagged to the point where there was no slack in the tether. It touched his pride a bit to ride atop the cart next to a panting, drooling lamb, but better to make it to the festival than not. James glanced at the lamb; one eye stared one way, the other lolled at James. “What are you looking at?” James muttered at him.

  Nathanael strode beside him. Apparently, ambushing thoughts seemed to afflict the others as well—the apprentice, at least, was full of the oddest questions. He once asked James why, if the farmers in the fields were Jews, even Samaritan Jews, why were they not on the trek to Jerusalem for Passover? (“Samaritans are not allowed in the Temple, Nathanael.” “Why on earth not?” “They would not want to go—they consider Mount Gerizim the holy place to worship, not Temple Jerusalem.” “Why?” Why, why . . .)

  “That mezuzah,” he said now, in a voice James suspected was carefully pitched for his ears alone. “Why do you kiss it? What is the purpose of it?”

  It was hard not to show amazement. Truly, Nathanael seemed more a Gentile than a Jew. “Purpose? It is a command by God, written in the Law.”

  “I know, I know. I grew up in a Jewish community, remember? Well . . . on the outskirts. I mean, why? What is the significance?”

  James thought on it. It was not easy to put into words something that had been a part of him since birth. But he was beginning to enjoy the challenge of Nathanael’s questions. That he wanted to learn was heartening.

  “It is said, ‘As the words encompass the home, so his Word encompasses our lives,’” James slowly quoted the oral tradition. “Within that metal plate is a tiny parchment, and upon the parchment is written these words, what we call the Shema: ‘Hear, O Israel; Adonai, your God, Adonai is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your might.’”

  “That is what is in there?” Nathanael said, amazed. “That thing we say every morning and night and every time we cough, sneeze, or visit the brush?”

  James could not stop a small chuckle. “Yes, that and more. The Shema is also in our tefillin and phylacteries, because it is written, ‘Bind them as a sign on your hand; let them serve as a symbol on your forehead. Fix them on the doorposts of your home.’”

  Astonished, Nathanael said, “It’s in your leather things too?” He frowned, thinking hard, then nodded. “Yes, of course. It makes sense. God is smart.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It makes sense to wear it. Makes
sense to stuff it in a mezuzah and recite it every time you wipe your nose, perfect sense. It is much to ask.”

  “What is much to ask?”

  Nathanael took his eyes from the road to give James a look that wondered if he was joking. “The Shema, of course. What did you think we were talking about?”

  James stared at him, then shifted in his place. “I don’t think I understand.”

  “What is not to understand? ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your might’? That, James, is much to ask.”

  If James’ eyes could go wider, he knew his eyeballs would fall out. “Nathanael,” he sputtered, “it is more than a request. It is a command.”

  Nathanael shrugged. “Command, request . . . whatever. It’s much to ask.”

  James was not sure if this conversation was borderline blasphemy or not. At the least, it made him uncomfortable. He shifted in his place again, then glared at the lamb, who still had that eye on him.

  Nathanael did not share his discomfort. He poked at the roadside brush with his walking stick and cheerfully fired another question. “Why did you make a parcel out of those herbs? Last I heard, harkhavina isn’t very tasty.”

  “Uh, bitter . . . they are bitter herbs, for Passover.” Of course it was much to ask . . . it was a command, was it not? “Horehound, harkhavina, succory, lettuce, endive.”

  “But why, James? Why do you do that for Passover? Do not tell me you are supposed to eat it.”

  “Yes. With vinegar.”

  Nathanael soured his face. “Why would you—”

  “Let me explain, Nathanael,” James said. Despite the great amount of long-suffering this lad incurred, a stir of enthusiasm came. Did the rabbis feel this way? He could almost hear Joseph’s voice speak with him. “It is said, ‘Whoever does not explain three things in the Passover has not fulfilled the duty incumbent on him. These three things are the Passover lamb, the unleavened bread, and the bitter herbs. The Passover lamb means that God passed over the blood-sprinkled place on the houses of our fathers in Egypt; the unleavened bread means that our fathers were delivered out of Egypt in haste; and the bitter herbs mean that the Egyptians made bitter the lives of our fathers in Egypt.’”

  The scowl on Nathanael’s face meant he was thinking on it, and James gave him time. Then James said, “That is Passover in an inkpot, the rudiments. Of course, there are other rituals and obligations that go along with it—”

  “They have stopped,” Simon said over his shoulder. He peered behind them, then cupped his hands around his mouth and called to Jorah, who seemed to examine every spring wildflower along the way. “Jorah! It is time for the midmeal.”

  “At last,” Judas sighed. He braced against the cart to remove a stone from his sandal. “I can taste Annika’s cakes already.”

  “I’m glad she sent along so many,” Nathanael added. “Of course, since I live with her I think I should be the one to hand them out.”

  When Jorah came trotting up, Simon said, “Don’t fall behind, Jorah. I don’t care if it is the plain; you stay with the cart.”

  “I was looking for—”

  “Just stay with the cart.” Simon put his hand over his eyes to peer beyond her to the travelers in the distance. She turned to follow his gaze.

  “Only two of them, Simon,” Jorah said. “Perhaps we should ask them to join us. It would be safer for them.”

  “They are stopping too.” He dropped his hand. “If they ever catch up, they are welcome to join us.” He tugged on the back of her head covering. “But you still stay with the cart.”

  Jude waited until Nathanael was on the other side of the donkey saddle, then unfastened the food hamper at the same time as Nathanael unfastened the hamper containing the wine- and waterskins. They eased the hampers down at the same time to avoid upsetting the saddle. James pushed himself off the cart and fetched the feedbag for the donkey.

  He fastened the bag to the bridle and scratched the gentle animal on the forehead, then lifted his head when his ears caught the strain of music. The caravan ahead had taken out instruments. He smiled slightly as he recognized the tune, one of the songs of ascent.

  “Behold, bless the Lord, all servants of the Lord, who serve by night in the house of the Lord. Lift up your hands to the sanctuary and bless the Lord. May the Lord bless you from Zion, he who made heaven and earth.”

  Jorah came beside him, smiling too, and hummed along with the music. “Isn’t this wonderful, James? I feel so . . . free.”

  “No laundry . . .”

  “Not until Bethany. No sweeping . . . ,” she said.

  “No fixing meals . . .”

  She folded her arms and said airily, “No grinding. A girl could get used to this.”

  “You would take to the road for a life of vagrancy?”

  She flung her arms out to take in the plain and the mountains in the distance. “Look around you, James! Isn’t it beautiful? Look at those flowers! At least I would be a happy vagrant. All this beauty and no responsibility . . .”

  “You would miss me too much. Or somebody else,” he said, with a deliberate glance at Nathanael.

  “Keep your voice down,” she hushed him but smiled just the same.

  The willow basket with their tallith, tefillin, and phylacteries came out after the meal. James caught Nathanael’s eye as he wound his tefillin about his forearm.

  “Yes, Nathanael,” James said to him with a grin. “Even on the road. ‘While you are at home and while you are away . . .’”

  Nathanael shrugged. “It only makes sense.”

  James felt his grin slip at that. He had never before given thought to the fact that the Shema might be hard words. They were words that were Law, to be obeyed without question. It was who they were; they were Jews. The Hebrews of Abraham, the rescued of Egypt. Called out by God and commanded of him. The Law separated them from the rest. The very first of the Ten Commandments set the course of separation in a land of pagans who worshiped a multitude of gods: “You shall have no other gods before me.” This command alone had brought bloodshed for the obeying.

  The Shema was recited, along with additional prayers for their safety on the road. For the safety of Joses and his people, and of Mother, and of Devorah and her kin, and of Jesus. Long ago, Nathanael had refused to wear the leather straps and bands. He had muttered the prayers if he knew them, with reluctance, and seemed relieved when any form of religion was set aside for the time. Now, while Judas prayed, James watched as Nathanael studied the tefillin Simon had on. He stared at the phylacteries as if he had never seen them before. Oddly, it annoyed James.

  The caravan ahead was packing up.

  James had a question of his own. The midmeal had revived him, and the earlier ride on the cart had spelled him, so he walked beside Nathanael, occasionally leaning on his walking stick.

  He glanced to make sure his brothers did not hear. Jude walked in conversation with Simon, who led the donkey. Jorah trailed behind the four-wheel, stopping occasionally to whisk a wildflower from the brush for examination.

  He was not sure how to put the question, which was really more of a comment.

  “You said something earlier,” James began. “About the Shema.”

  “Yes?”

  James grimaced. “I have never heard anyone speak like that.”

  Nathanael glanced at him in surprise. “What did I say?”

  “That the words were much to ask.” He could hardly say it. Such a preposterous notion. “That is . . . a very new thought to me.”

  Nathanael gave an expansive shrug. “What is so remarkable about it? Is it wrong to question things?”

  “No! That is—” James drew a deep breath. “I don’t think so.”

  “Have you even considered those words, James?” Nathanael asked incredulously. “They are astounding. Astonishing. Impossible.”

  “They are Law. They are to be obeyed.”

  “Look!” Jude called, pointing south and e
ast. “Taanach.” It was the largest city they had seen since passing through Kfar Otnai. Taanach was about as far as they would go into Samaria to trade. James gave it a quick glance, then turned to the apprentice.

  “How can you obey a command to love?” Nathanael reasoned. “You either do or you do not. How can someone tell you to love?”

  James nearly choked. “The Someone you are talking about is God.”

  “Do you love God?”

  The question made him speechless. Temporarily. “Of course I—what kind of a question is that? Of course I do.”

  Nathanael shrugged. “Then I envy you.”

  James looked unseeing toward the city of Taanach. Each new thing the apprentice said baffled him more than the last.

  Jorah rushed up to James’ side and thrust her palm in his face. “James, is this gold?”

  He stared a moment at the lump of rock in her hand, then he mumbled, “No. Try again.” To Nathanael, after Jorah had whirled away, he said, “Do you love God?”

  Nathanael, with those bright and clear eyes, simply replied, “I do not know him well enough to love him.”

  It was all he could take. James stopped walking.

  Nathanael turned to speak, then realized James was not there. He looked behind himself and stopped. “James? Hold up, Simon. I think James has to visit the brush.”

  James could only stare at Nathanael. He began to shake his head slowly, and he began to laugh.

  “What?” Judas demanded. “What did I miss?”

  The longer he laughed, the harder he laughed, and he set the others to chuckling. When his laughter was finally spent, he wiped his eyes on the heel of his hand and strolled to Nathanael. He clapped him on the back and said, “Nathanael, you must meet Jesus. I think you would like him. I know he would like you.”

  It was long past Taanach when the party ahead stopped. Now the real danger began. The Valley of Esdraelon posed no real threat; it was at the northernmost part of Samaritan pig territory, too close to Galilee for Samaritan pig comfort. No, it was as they got closer to Beth Haggan and Ibleam that they kept constant watch on the roadside and a firm grip on their walking sticks.