Jerusalem's Hope (2 page)

Alfie, childlike in his acceptance and contentment with the present, declared there was no time here.

Did he mean there was no time left?

Or that time was running out for mankind?

Or had they stepped into the eternal now, which had neither past nor future?

None of that was made clear in the sheaf of instructions the old rabbi had left for Moshe about this cavern.

Inscribed beside the next scroll listed in the order of Moshe's reading was this comment from Grandfather Lebowitz:

 

Moshe, though you think you know Torah and
Tanakh
well enough, keep the sacred writings by you as reference so you will better comprehend what is to follow. From before the foundations of the world the order of all things was established. Stay on the path to wisdom. Remember, as you read, that everything means something. In all Scripture not one letter or number is without great significance. Take nothing for granted. Every phrase is a link between heaven and earth. Not one word is misplaced by the
Ruach HaKodesh.
Every secret is revealed within. Keep the five books of Moses and the writings of the prophets close at hand as you continue your study. Then pray you have years in which to read and delight in the wonder of revelation!

 

Moshe longed to see Rachel, to hold her once again. He vowed he would not think about life without her or their children growing up without him.

There was much to accomplish. The reference material was retrieved from the shelves and laid out as the old man suggested.

Alfie carried the large jug that contained the third scroll to Moshe at the long reading table. It was a simple clay jar, of the sort used to draw water from a well.

“I'm ready.” Alfie sat on the bench and clasped his hands eagerly like a schoolboy.

As was his custom, Moshe examined it carefully before opening the seal. On the neck were the Hebrew words THE LAMB OF MIGDAL EDER. Impressed in the clay was a symbol like a shepherd's crook.

“All right, then,” Moshe said, making notes about the age of the jug and details of its label. “Scroll three. That will leave us with sixty-seven yet to read in the first course of study. And seven thousand more, give or take, after that.”

“Then hurry,” Alfie urged him.

“Well, well,” Moshe teased him. “Do I detect impatience in the man who says there is no time in this place?”

“That's right. No time.” Alfie reached out to touch the container. “Read. There's things I never knew. And I want to know . . . everything!”

“Well, then. Maybe so.” Moshe felt a rush of excitement as he carefully cut away the wax seal and removed the plug. Laying the jug on its side, he reached in and touched something soft wrapped around the tightly rolled scroll. He pulled it out. “Sheep fleece. Just a scrap.”

“Like a baby's cap almost,” Alfie whispered. “Look here. Tied with leather laces.”

“An odd memento.”

Moshe passed it to Alfie, who rubbed it against his cheek. The big man closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “No time at all. We better get it right.” And then, “Look there! Stars!”

Moshe involuntarily raised his eyes to the ceiling . . . to the sky painted on the dome. For an instant he thought he saw the glint of a shooting star.
Imagination,
he inwardly chided.
And yet . . .

“Yes.
Yes!
We'd better get it right.” Moshe carefully unrolled the first leaf of the document and began to read. . . .

KI

T
he Sea of Galilee spread out beneath them that spring night late in the reign of the Roman emperor Tiberius.

The night was deep, the moon not yet risen. Yet the darkness had no power to frighten the three boys. At least not while they were in the presence of Yeshua of Nazareth.

It was a time of rapidly multiplying wonders, those moments just after Avel's broken heart was mended, Ha-or Tov's eyes were opened, and Emet's ears unblocked.

Yeshua's smile was quick and approving. The Master's care had even extended to the creature who had been the boys' mascot and boon companion. Yeshua had restored to life the feathered carcass of Yediyd . . . their Beloved Friend . . . though Yediyd was merely a common brown sparrow. The tiny bird, lifted on the warm wind of affection, had soared away into the freedom of his new life.

And Emet
heard
the beat of Yediyd's wings!

The nearly five-year-old orphan had been deaf since birth, yet he heard the crackle of the thorny acacia branch Yeshua tossed into the campfire.

More . . .

Emet noted the rustle of a bat's leathery wings and heard its high-pitched squeak, sounds so tenuous they weren't even remarked by Avel or Ha-or Tov. Yet
Emet
heard them!

Yeshua caught his eye. The Rabbi nodded, understanding and commending Emet's admiration of the whole startling world of
sounds.

The Rabbi fed them broiled fish and fresh loaves of barley bread slathered thick with butter. It was a friendly gesture for which they, each cocooned in a different form of wonder, did not properly thank him.

Emet listened to the imperceptibly sighing wind as it stirred into rustling melody the recently budded leaves of a hilltop terebinth tree. And he observed that Yeshua, finished with his meal, studied his students by the light of the campfire.

Most particularly, Yeshua seemed to notice the matching clothes they wore. The material was cut from one cloak, striped red and green and tan. This was the uniform of the Company of the Sparrows. Eight-year-old Avel had lately been a link boy bearing torches in Jerusalem. Ten-year-old Ha-or Tov had lived as a blind beggar at a rich man's gate in Bethany. Emet had been of no use to anyone. He had left Jerusalem with Avel because there was no place else to go.

The cloak they had divided among themselves was formerly the property of the martyred prophet Yochanan the Baptizer.

Yeshua's cousin.

Though uttered on a sigh no louder than the faint breeze, Emet thought he heard Yeshua murmur, “Yochanan. Friend. You were the voice crying in the wilderness. Make straight the way of the Lord. You knew well the kingdom will be made up of little ones such as these. Hearts that trust completely. Yes.” The Master touched the corner of the fabric on the hem of Emet's robe.

Yeshua's eyes were so kind, and yet so sad. Had he spoken aloud or had Emet simply overheard his thoughts?

After a time of silence, Avel licked his fingers and finally spoke.

Emet knew Avel's question wasn't meant to challenge Yeshua. No. It was asked only out of curiosity.

Avel had been listening to what went on in the Galil before that night. The confrontations, the anger of learned men against Yeshua, Yeshua's calm and deliberate replies.

And so Avel asked Yeshua: “You told the rabbis if they believed what Moses wrote, they would believe you because Moses wrote about you. Did you mean you, yourself, are written about in Torah? But how can that be? Since Moses lived very long ago? How could Moses have written about you?”

Yeshua smiled kindly at Avel. It was the sort of smile that told him he must be patient; the answer would take much unraveling. Then Yeshua turned his face upward, as if to find a place to begin the explanation.

One night would not be long enough.

“It will take a lifetime to learn all that Moses and the prophets wrote about what was, what is, and what will be. The teachers of Israel were shepherds. The secret meaning of their words are hidden among the lambs of Israel's flocks. But tonight we'll let the heavens teach the first lesson. There . . . above our heads . . . is the first book.” He gestured toward the sky where streaks of gossamer clouds streamed to the east.

So Yeshua began at the Beginning. The right place for young boys who had never been taught anything.

That night the three were smooth wax tablets, which not even a childish alef-bet had yet marred.

The stylus of Yeshua's words impressed itself on their souls. They became his talmidim, students at the academy of Creation of which he was Headmaster.

Emet, who had never before heard a human voice, nor a single word of speech, experienced the Living Word.

Avel, who had never felt joy or known tenderness, was embraced by he who is Love Incarnate.

Yet Avel and Emet were mere observers compared to the wonder that swept over Ha-or Tov, drawing him upward and out of himself. For Ha-or Tov, who was born sightless and had never known the stars, was given a guided tour of the heavens. The scroll of the universe was unrolled for him, its text of miracles read aloud to him by its Author.

The embers burned low on the campfire. The smoke cleared.

“What are those things?” Ha-or Tov inquired. “There and there and . . . look there!” He gestured toward each of the thousand pinpoints of light garlanding the Galilean sky, at first singly, and then in broad swathes as he tried to take it all in at once. His mop of curly red hair bobbed from vista to vista. “Where did they come from? Who made them?”

Stretching out his hand, Yeshua reached upward. The brightest star in the constellation called
Aryeh,
the Lion, appeared to balance on the very tip of his index finger.

As Emet observed, Yeshua drew his hand downward and the star seemed to follow, as if obediently coming closer at his summons. Or perhaps it simply brightened at his touch. Emet was unsure which.

“These are the stars,” Yeshua explained. “Witnesses to everything that has happened since the dawn of time.” When he lowered his hand, the star swung promptly back to its proper place and size. But Yeshua wasn't finished. “And see this,” he said, creating a circle with his thumb and forefinger and offering it to Ha-or Tov to peer through. Yeshua indicated a patch of sky due south.

The lights in the heavens became distinct, glimmering with unimag ined color through this focus. Emet recognized Ha-or Tov's protracted exhale as the sound of reverent amazement, though he'd never heard it before. “See the spirals! Like curling loops of . . . what? Jewels?”

The constellation Yeshua designated portrayed a reclining woman. Between her imagined outstretched arms Emet could see faint smudges, like what resulted when he brushed a brass lamp with his thumb. For an instant Emet couldn't make out what caused Ha-or Tov to exult so.

Then Yeshua cupped his hand, and Emet rested his chin in the Master's palm. Suddenly those smudges transformed into shimmering webs, decked with glistening drops of dew! Perhaps Ha-or Tov was right! Jewels! Before Emet's eyes ropes of gems tightly coiled on the ebony fabric of the night! The touch of the wind made the lights dance and sparkle.

“Each spiral contains more stars than you can imagine.” Yeshua's voice brushed Emet's face like a gentle breeze. “Each is so great that this world would be lost inside it. Each is so far away that just to see its light is to peer back in time . . . some for years, some for ages, and some . . . back toward the very Beginning. There . . .” He pointed to a bright blue star and said to Ha-or Tov, “The gleam you're seeing now left the star a long time ago. At the hour you were born that flash was conceived. Its light has been traveling through space to fill your eyes tonight. Before you were born that star was named for you. Ha-or Tov. ‘The Good Light.' It's shining for you.”

Avel and Emet drew nearer, each of them eager to know if they also had a birthday star. Yeshua nodded, then pointed to a jewel named Haver, which means “Friend.” This was Avel's star. It was as golden as topaz. Constant in light and color, unwavering and true.

And the star named for Emet? Truth. It was a beacon, flashing blue to white and back to blue, calling Emet's glance to its light again and again.

“And which is your star, Reb Yeshua?” Avel queried.

At that Yeshua strummed the fingers of his right hand across the panorama of the universe. Emet's eyes widened in amazement as he heard a vast harmony, music emanating from the lights. It was the first song Emet ever heard. Countless voices sang these words:

Avel and Ha-or Tov chewed their bread noisily. They seemed not to notice the music.

Evidently the ears of his companions could not hear as well as his, Emet reasoned. After all, Emet's ears were new, created by Yeshua on the spot. Perhaps Ha-or Tov's recently sighted eyes were also sharper than those of anyone. And maybe Avel experienced joy more keenly because his broken heart had just been healed.

“When
was
the beginning?” Emet blurted, wanting to know everything!

Yeshua replied, “It is written in the first line of Torah: ‘In the Beginning
Elohim
created the heavens and the earth.' Everything was created by his will from nothing:
bara,
in the Hebrew language. Worlds were framed by the Word of God. Things you see were not made from things that are visible. The Beginning is across a gulf so wide you could never cross it, and yet it's but a blink to the Father.”

And he told them how the heavens were hung thick with brilliances beyond imagining. The sun, known as
Chammah,
was really only one insignificant star among the host of innumerable stars. And the earth was merely one of several worlds that circled the sun.

Yeshua explained that the seven lights of the menorah were meant to teach men many things. Among the lessons, the order of its branches showed a picture of this tiny corner of creation: the sun, the moon, and the wandering stars, also called
planets . . .
the Greater and Lesser Lights that illuminated day and night.