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  I do not know what HaShem will do at the wedding feast of my sister, but I am sure he will do something. I have only just begun to hear the voice of HaShem, faint whispers in my mind. I do not know how to be Mashiach. The scriptures do not explain the matter. That is why I wish to speak with Yohanan the prophet—to ask for a word from HaShem, how I should be Mashiach when I have no wish to kill evil men.

  HaShem does not call a man to do a thing without explaining the matter.

  Here is the mighty question that has tormented me long. Every son of Israel knows Mashiach will destroy the Great Satan and bring a fiery judgment on earth and kill many evil men. Mashiach will be sent by HaShem to do these things. Yet I do not think HaShem takes a delight in killing evil men. How is it that HaShem will send a man to do a thing HaShem hates?

  That question is a knife in my mind that I cannot shake loose. I am desperate to know the answer.

  Shlomi Dancefeet clutches my hands to her lips and kisses them. “Promise me you will not make a big war on the day I am married.”

  I give Shlomi Dancefeet a kiss and a kiss and a kiss. “Trust in HaShem and see what he will do at your wedding feast. It may be that he will give you a great gift, and men will tell the tale of HaShem’s kindness for a hundred years to come.”

  Shlomi’s eyes shine with a big delight. “What … what will HaShem do at my wedding feast?”

  I shrug my shoulders, because I do not know what HaShem will do.

  But I trust HaShem to make a most wonderful scandal.

  Miryam of Nazareth

  “There is the prophet!” Little Yaakov points down the river.

  I squint my eyes, but all I see is a blur of something on the other side, many hundred paces down the river.

  Little Yaakov and Yosi and Thin Shimon and Yehuda Dreamhead all hurry ahead to see the great sight. Little Yaakov’s concubine hurries after them. Yehuda Dreamhead’s woman hurries after them. Shlomi Dancefeet hurries after them.

  Yeshua does not hurry after them. He stays with me, walking at my pace, the pace of an old woman.

  My throat feels tight and I think I will cry and I cannot walk even one more step.

  “Imma.” Yeshua wraps arms around me and gives me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss.

  All my body shakes for my fear.

  “Imma.”

  My knees give way beneath me.

  “Imma.” Yeshua scoops me up in his arms as I am a small child. He rocks me in his arms. He sighs deep.

  Tears leak out of my eyes and run down my cheeks.

  My son kisses each one.

  At last all the tears in my head have come out.

  “You are afraid,” he says.

  I nod my head.

  “What do you fear?”

  I do not know how to explain the matter. “The prophet will tell you how to make a big war. You will go away from me to fight the Great Satan. You will take away all my sons. You will take away Uncle Halfai. You will take away your cousin, Fat Shimon.”

  Yeshua says nothing. I feel the great thud of his heart in his chest.

  “The village hates me. They will come to kill me, and no one will defend.”

  “What do you wish me to do?”

  “I wish you will make a justice on me.”

  “How should I make a justice on you?”

  “You should make HaShem punish the village.”

  “Punish them how?”

  “In olden times, prophets called down fire from heaven to punish evil men. You should call down fire on them. You should burn their houses. You should burn their lips that make me an evil tale. You should burn their hands that throw evil on me. You should burn their feet that run to do evil on me.”

  Yeshua sighs long. “Imma, I do not know how to do any of those things.”

  “If you love me, you will make a justice.”

  “Imma, I love you.”

  “Then make a justice on me and take away my shame.”

  Yeshua says nothing.

  His whole body shakes.

  My son is crying for me. Crying, but nothing more.

  My son will do nothing to make a justice on me.

  Nothing.

  Yeshua of Nazareth

  My heart is heavy when we arrive at the camp where the prophet Yohanan tells repentance. Many hundred people are gathered around him, listening.

  Shlomi Dancefeet holds tight to my hand. “There are women here listening to the prophet!”

  Little Yaakov makes a big scowl. “It is men’s work to hear the words of the prophet.”

  “You will not make a big war before my wedding feast, yes?” Shlomi Dancefeet wraps her arms around me.

  I give her a kiss and a kiss and a kiss. “I will do what HaShem tells me.”

  Her body quivers. “What does HaShem tell you?”

  I do not know what to say. The voice of HaShem is faint in my mind, like a shadow of a whisper of a thought. I am like a newborn babe in the ways of a prophet. “I will ask Yohanan what HaShem says.”

  Little Yaakov tugs on my elbow. “Send the women away to do their womanish things.”

  Imma’s face turns dark, and I think she wishes to box Little Yaakov’s ears. She tugs on the arms of my sister and the other women. “We should find a place where we will sleep tonight. I do not wish to hear talk of a big war.”

  Our women walk toward the far edge of the camp.

  Little Yaakov and my brothers pull me toward the crowd of people. Many hundred sit in rows on the ground, listening to the prophet Yohanan.

  We sit at the edge.

  Yohanan tells repentance to Israel.

  I wish he will tell me a word from HaShem. I am desperate to know how I am to redeem Israel. Everyone knows Mashiach must come and smite our enemies and make an end on this age and a beginning on the new age of the kingdom of HaShem. I want the kingdom of HaShem more than anything.

  But I do not wish to smite our enemies. There is nothing in me to smite an enemy. If I must smite our enemies to redeem Israel … I will be the worst Mashiach that ever was.

  I feel the Shekinah all around me, a pillar of fire.

  I am before the Throne.

  HaShem smiles on me.

  For a time, I know nothing but the joy of HaShem.

  I do not know how long I rest before the Throne. It could be an instant. It could be many ten thousand years. There is no time in the Presence of HaShem.

  I wait for HaShem to speak, but I hear nothing.

  The vision fades. The sun hangs lower in the sky. I am sitting with my brothers among many hundred people.

  Yohanan the prophet shouts and shouts.

  I never heard such a great voice on a man, but my ears are dull from the vision of the Throne, and Yohanan’s words thud on me like rocks on sand.

  Men stand up all around us.

  Little Yaakov stands. Yosi and Thin Shimon and Yehuda Dreamhead stand.

  I sit like a stone, immovable, wishing to return to the Throne.

  “Yeshua, what do you wait for? The prophet Yohanan calls us to immerse.” Little Yaakov extends his hand.

  I take it, but my fingers feel like wood.

  He pulls me to my feet.

  My knees wobble for a moment, then hold. At last I feel fully returned, and the Throne is a cold memory. I am more lonely than I ever was.

  We move toward the river. Toward Yohanan.

  People throw off their packs, their belts, their sandals.

  I continue toward Yohanan.

  “Yeshua, you should immerse first, so you will be clean before you speak to the prophet.” Little Yaakov seizes my elbow.

  I continue toward Yohanan.

  “Yeshua, you should wait for us to immerse, so we will be clean.”

  I push my way toward Yohanan. I need a word from HaShem now. A vision of the Throne is not enough. I must know the word of HaShem.

  “Yeshua, the prophet is looking on you!”

  Yohanan is doing more than looking on me. His eyes glow. The Shekinah
is on him. I beg that HaShem will speak a clear word to him.

  Yohanan moves toward me.

  I move toward him.

  He reaches me. “You! You came here many weeks ago. A tsaddik and a son of David. You asked for a word from HaShem. Then you immersed and went away. I have been much troubled since I saw you last.”

  “I have been much troubled also.”

  “You have been in the Shekinah.”

  “I have been learning to hear the word of HaShem.”

  He waits patiently, as he expects me to tell what I heard.

  I say, “It is hard for me to hear a word of HaShem. I need a word of HaShem from you.”

  “What is your name?”

  “My name is called Yeshua from Nazareth, and here are my brothers. Here is my strong right arm, Little Yaakov.”

  Yohanan grins on him, for Little Yaakov is a big man, and very strong.

  “And here is Yosi, and here is Thin Shimon, and here is Yehuda Dreamhead.”

  Yohanan gives a strong right hand to each of them. “Five brothers, each a mighty hammer to smite the enemies of HaShem. Like the five Makkabi brothers.”

  My brothers grin on him. I never saw them so happy, that a prophet should call them after the Makkabi heroes who saved our nation.

  Yohanan starts to speak, but then his eyes turn inward, and he tilts his head. His mouth hangs open for long, as he is frozen in his place.

  When he is done listening, he stares on me with a strange, wild look in his eyes. “I have a word from HaShem for you.”

  My heart leaps within me. I need a word from HaShem. I am desperate for a word from HaShem. I am terrified of a word from HaShem, for I do not wish to smite our enemies, and I know that is what HaShem will demand.

  “There are four Powers you must smite.” Yohanan thumps his fist in his open palm four times. “You will smite them with the help of your four brothers maybe, yes?”

  My knees are like water beneath me and I think I will fall over. “Who … who are the four Powers?”

  My brothers press in, and I feel their excitement all around me like the still before the storm.

  Yohanan says nothing.

  “Who are the four Powers?” I fear my heart will destroy itself in my chest for all its beating like a mighty hammer.

  “The King of the South,” Yehuda Dreamhead says.

  “The King of the East,” Yosi says.

  “The King of the North,” Thin Shimon says.

  “The Great Satan,” Little Yaakov says.

  I shake my head. I do not wish to smite even one of these mighty enemies, much less all four of them. But Yohanan did not say the four Powers were Egypt and Babylon and Syria and Rome, and there is a look in his eye that says these enemies are nothing. I seize his arm. “Who are the four Powers?”

  Yohanan shakes his head. “Do not be hasty to know the four Powers, Yeshua from Nazareth, son of David. HaShem will reveal them to you as you have strength. He will show you the first Power, and you must destroy it or be killed. He will show you the second Power, and you must destroy it or be killed. He will show you the third Power, and you must destroy it or be killed.”

  I wait.

  “HaShem will show you the fourth Power, and you must destroy it.”

  A terrible silence falls all around us.

  “Or be k-killed?” Yosi’s voice squeaks.

  The prophet Yohanan’s face is a mask of stone. “Destroy the fourth Power, Yeshua from Nazareth, son of David. If you can.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Yoni of Capernaum

  In the morning when I wake up, I wonder if I really felt the Shekinah. Yesterday seems like an ancient tale. I am afraid it was all a dream and nothing more.

  We spend the morning listening to the prophet Yohanan.

  Shimon and Yaakov and Andre all say Yohanan is a true prophet of HaShem.

  I believe Yohanan is a true prophet of HaShem, but I wish for more than a prophet of HaShem.

  I wish HaShem will return soon.

  And before HaShem returns, he will send a man ahead of him to destroy our enemies. A son of David—Mashiach—who will rise up and make a big war on the Great Satan. Mashiach will lead the armies of Israel against the armies of Rome and throw down Caesar, and that will be the end of the age of the Great Satan and the beginning of the age of the kingdom of HaShem.

  But there is a part of me that is afraid Mashiach will come too soon. I am a man now, but people sneer on me and say I am still a boy because I have not got my man growth yet. My brother Yaakov never got his man growth until he was seventeen. I am only thirteen. If I have to wait four years to get my man growth, Mashiach will come and fight the big war and throw off the Great Satan. Then all his armies will get a big glory, and I will not be part of it because I am too small to fight. That would be the worst thing in the world, to miss fighting in Mashiach’s war because I was born a few years too late.

  That is not fair.

  I have complained on it to Shimon, and he says I should be patient, because HaShem will give me my man growth when HaShem decides to give me my man growth.

  I have complained on it to Yaakov, and he says I should learn to wrestle, because that will make my muscles big and strong like a man’s. Only he refuses to teach me to wrestle, because I am too small, and he is afraid he will break all my bones. But how will I learn if he will not teach?

  I complained on it once to Andre, and he told me the secret to getting your man growth is to drink a whole skin of wine before going to the synagogue on Shabbat. I tried it, but I could drink only half the skin. Then I walked in the synagogue and threw up on the floor and fell down senseless in my own vomit.

  All the village said Andre made a good joke on me.

  I did not think it was a good joke.

  Now I am wary on Andre and his jokes.

  In early afternoon, the prophet Yohanan finishes speaking and goes away to his cave to eat food. I heard he eats nothing but wild honey and locusts. No wonder he looks angry all the time.

  But we have no food, because we ate the last of it this morning.

  “We should go back to Jericho and buy food,” says Yaakov.

  Shimon shakes his head. “I heard there is a small village on this side of the river, just north of here. We can get bread and cheese and beer. Yaakov, you and I will take empty packs to carry the food. Yoni and Andre, stay here and watch all our cloaks.”

  It makes me angry on him when he treats me like a small boy who is good for nothing except to watch the cloaks, but there is nothing I can do because Shimon is the oldest and so he should decide.

  Shimon and Yaakov walk away toward the village.

  I kick the dirt and scowl on them. They will buy food in the village and eat their fill, and Andre and I will have to wait.

  Andre grins and sits by the cloaks under an acacia tree. “Tell me a tale while we wait, Yoni. You tell the best tales in all Capernaum.”

  “What tale should I tell?”

  “Tell the tale of Samson and the zonah and the foxes.”

  I grin on him, for that is one of my best tales. But I want something for my efforts. “I will tell you that tale, but first you must teach me how to wrestle. Yaakov refuses to teach me.”

  Andre shrugs. “You are too small. See, your arms are so thin, they would break like twigs if I threw you down. Before you learn to wrestle, you should learn how to fall without being hurt.”

  “So teach me to fall.”

  He shrugs again. “Before you learn to fall, you should learn to make a bridge, so your neck will be strong. Your neck is thin as my finger.”

  “So teach me to make a bridge.”

  Andre narrows his eyes and studies me long. “I think you are too lazy to learn wrestling. It comes from being a genius. You read a passage of Torah once and you remember it forever, and you think everything should be so easy. Learning to wrestle is not so easy.”

  “Teach me!” I hate how he is making a dodge on the matter, and I will not
stand for it. If Mashiach comes and I do not even know how to wrestle, I will be left home with the women.

  “If I teach you the first lesson, how many times will you repeat?”

  “Three times!”

  He shakes his head. “That is a big foolishness. You are lazy, and why should I teach a slug?”

  “Ten times!”

  Andre scowls on me. “You think I am a fool and a simple? When my brothers taught me to wrestle, they made me repeat fifty times, until my whole body was bruised. Come back when you are ready to wear a few bruises. Until then, no.”

  “If you did it fifty times, I will do it a hundred! Now teach me!”

  Andre looks on me as he does not believe me. “Do you swear you will repeat a hundred times? I do not wish to waste my time teaching a lazy boy. If the village sees you are a bad wrestler, they will make a blame on me for teaching you wrong.”

  “I will repeat a hundred times.”

  “Swear it by The Name.”

  I think for a moment. To swear by The Name is a fearful matter. If I swear by The Name and then fall short of the hundred …

  Andre shakes his head and leans back and closes his eyes. “I wish to take a nap. Ask me again when you get your man growth.”

  “I swear by The Name I will repeat what you teach me a hundred times!”

  Andre’s eyes pop open. He grins on me for a moment. He stands and walks to a small patch of dried grass. “I will teach you to make a bridge. That is the first matter a wrestler must learn, so his neck will be strong.”

  He lies on his back on the grass and raises his knees so his feet are flat on the ground. Then he raises his lower back so only his head and shoulders and feet touch the ground. “See, Yoni, here is the start of the bridge. You can do this, yes?”

  “That does not look so hard.”

  “I did not say it is hard. If you hold like this, your back will be strong, and that is good, but it is not enough. Your neck will still be nothing. Now here is how to make the whole bridge.” Andre puts his hands beside his head and pushes back with his legs. His neck and shoulders rise up off the ground, and his whole body makes a backward arch. Only his feet and his head and his hands touch the ground.