The Heretic's Gospel - Book Two: A Novel

By Gabriel Stone

Follow the further adventures of the very remarkable Yeshua bar Yosef, feminist, humanist, romantic and idealist, as he falls in love with Mary of Migdal Nunaiya, travels from Israel to Phoenicia and beyond, is denounced, defrocked and disgraced as a pretended Man in White and, through no fault of his own, becomes known as the Messiah, Jesus bar Abbas, the leader of the Rebel Alliance, the next King of a United Israel, the Son of Man, the Son of God, and the greatest thing since challah bread.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493146499

Book preview

THE HERETIC’S GOSPEL

BOOK TWO

40763.png

A Novel By

Gabriel Stone

Copyright © 2013 by Gabriel Stone.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 11/27/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

136002

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Preface

THE EIGHTH SCROLL:

The Book of the Disciples

Chapter One: The Boys from Bethsaida

Chapter Two: The Criminal and the Bean-Counter

Chapter Three: The Lady in Lavender

Chapter Four: In Love at Last

Chapter Five: At the Fish Market

Chapter Six: The Thirteenth Disciple

Chapter Seven: No Place for a Woman

Chapter Eight: The Story of Queen Esther

Chapter Nine: Purim on the Green

Chapter Ten: The Herbalist’s House

Chapter Eleven: The Holy Magdalene

Chapter Twelve: On Mount Tabor

THE NINTH SCROLL:

The Book of Travels

Chapter One: The Sermon

Chapter Two: The Widow of Rumah

Chapter Three: Taming the Sea

Chapter Four: The Exorcist

Chapter Five: The Little Old Lady of Hippos

Chapter Six: The Petulant Corpse

Chapter Seven: Talitha’s Tale

Chapter Eight: My Northern Tour

Chapter Nine: The Proposal

Chapter Ten: Before the Sacred Brotherhood

Chapter Eleven: Denounced, Defrocked, and Disgraced

Chapter Twelve: The Beloved Son of God

THE TENTH SCROLL:

The Book of the Christos

Chapter One: The Christos

Chapter Two: The End of the World

Chapter Three: News from Home

Chapter Four: A Royal Gala

Chapter Five: The Death of a Prophet

Chapter Six: On the Sea of Galilee

Chapter Seven: The Nazarenes

Chapter Eight: The Men in Black

Chapter Nine: Memoriam for My Father

Chapter Ten: Nightmares and Portents

Chapter Eleven: Hanukkah

Chapter Twelve: The Reluctant Moshiach

THE ELEVENTH SCROLL:

The Book of the Resurrection

Chapter One: The Sacrifice

Chapter Two: Return to Bethany

Chapter Three: Miriam

Chapter Four: The Tomb

Chapter Five: Lazar’s Vision

Chapter Six: The Rabble-Rousing Rabbi

Chapter Seven: The Blind Man

Chapter Eight: Hosanna in the Highest

Chapter Nine: The Return of the Zealots

Chapter Ten: Gabriel’s Prophesy

Chapter Eleven: Gethsemane

Chapter Twelve: The Last Seder

THE TWELFTH SCROLL:

The Book of the Crucifixion

Chapter One: My Third Arrest

Chapter Two: The Monkey-Boy

Chapter Three: The Second-Cousin of John the Baptist

Chapter Four: The Imperfect Prefect

Chapter Five: Before Pilate

Chapter Six: On the Way to Golgotha

Chapter Seven: The Crucifixion

Chapter Eight: Risen from the Dead

Chapter Nine: The Union of Two Souls

Chapter Ten: The Ghost

Chapter Eleven: The First Martyr

Chapter Twelve: The Wandering Jews

THE THIRTEENTH SCROLL:

The Book of the New Life

Chapter One: The Last Shavuoth

Chapter Two: The Reunion

Chapter Three: Cyprus and Ephesus

Chapter Four: The Unorthodox Rabbi

Chapter Five: The Apparition

Chapter Six: Britannia

Chapter Seven: A Country Rabbi

Chapter Eight: The Inheritance

Chapter Nine: A Tale of Sinners and Saints

Chapter Ten: A Few Last Words

Chapter Eleven: The Last Adventure

Chapter Twelve: The Great Apocalypse

DEDICATION

To

my children,

David Aaron and James Thomas

and to my grandchildren,

Alex and Gary.

Thank you for your love

and may God forever

bless you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I WOULD AGAIN like to

thank the following: the writers of the canonical gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John; and the writers of the non-canonical gospels: James, Judas, Mary, Thomas, Philip and Nicodemus, for their inspiration. I would like to thank God for not striking me dead during the writing of this book. I would like to thank my dear friends and family for their support and help with the production of this book. And finally, I would like to thank the Internet for allowing me to do my research from the comfort of my computer. Thank you and God bless!

PREFACE

S OMERSET DAILY: GLAS-

TONBURY, England (September 1, 2013) On April 14, 2007, this newspaper reported the delivery of a large crate of artifacts unearthed from the Glastonbury Lake Village archeological dig near the old course of the River Brue. Said artifacts included a large earthenware jar containing thirteen sheepskin parchment scrolls, scores of carpentry tools, a lock box made of inlaid cedar, ebony and olive-wood, an oil lamp, three cedar-wood chests, several vials, a small silver cylinder and several cooking and writing utensils.

Linguists from Turkey, Israel, Syria and Iran have now resumed translating said scrolls, which are confirmed as having been written between 60 CE and 70 CE in an eastern dialect of Syrian-Aramaic. Said scrolls are considered to be the most significant archeological, historical, cultural and spiritual find since the discovery of the Gnostic Gospels in 1945 and the Dead Sea Scrolls in 1947, and provide invaluable insight into life in the First Century. 09-01-13 153

BOOK TWO

THE EIGHTH SCROLL:

The Book of the Disciples

CHAPTER ONE

The Boys from Bethsaida

A S YOU MAY recall, my disciples and I had been on the road for twenty-nine days, from the Twenty-Sixth of Tishrei to the Twenty-Fifth of Cheshvan, and through me, God had blessed, forgiven, baptized, and healed everyone who came to see me, from Chorazin, Cana, and Jotaparta to Gischala and Philoteria. By the end of that month, Shlomo, Andreas, Yacob, Little John, Matthias, and I were absolutely spent, and so had fallen prey to the Grippe as it swept through Upper Galilee. By the Grace of God, we did not die, but merely feared or hoped that we might, depending upon how much we were suffering at the time.

By the Third Day of Kislev, we were back on our feet and, and my feverish dreams, which, I reckoned, had been borne of exhaustion, were almost forgot. All the same, there was a lesson to be learned here, and so I asked God to send His Divine Spirit to bless Shlomo, Andreas, Yacob, Little John, and Matthias with the ability to preach, bless, forgive, baptize, and heal through Him. And since all things are possible through God, He answered my prayers, and so my disciples-friends were able to shoulder much of the burden that I had shouldered alone, before.

Unfortunately, these blessings, which had come from God, seemed to have gone a little to their heads, especially Andreas’ and Yacob’s, for they seemed to think what had once been my ministry was now theirs. And so now they told me which invitations to accept, which routes that we should take to get there, who should give the sermon, who should hold the towel and basin, how much we should accept in payment, and, most importantly, whom they thought should be admitted into our little ministry. And I knew at the time that I should probably have reined them in, but my credentials as the authority-figure of our group were dubious at best. Nonetheless, they were quite imperious about it, and so I learned that no matter how kindly, compassionate, and reasonable one is, one should never let a camel stick even so much as his nose into the tent.

On the other hand, it soon became obvious that even though God had blessed the six of us with the ability to be His instruments of healing, there were still not enough of us to go around. This was because God, for His own purposes, had sent to Israel an unusually vicious winter which caused endless days of pounding rain and made the rivers and streams to overstretch their banks and the sewers to back up.

Aside from the inevitable Bloody Flux caused by the polluted waters, the rains brought with them two very infectious strains of the Grippe. The first, and far more bearable strain was the one that we’d had, with fever, chills, a sore throat, and bodily aches and pains, and God limited this strain to Upper Galilee, only. The second strain began in Cana, went east with the caravans to Damascus, and then had headed south to Jerusalem, and it was far worse, quick-acting, and often fatal, especially when it was caught by the very young, the very old, and those who already suffered from some debilitating disease. My people were not the only ones to suffer, either, for God does not discriminate, and so the Gentiles caught it, too, and their spas, bathhouses, sanatoria, and infirmaries were soon filled with folks who suffered from nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, weakness, tremors, and agonizing headaches.

As if the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse, the border wars between the Kingdom of Nabataea and the districts ruled by Prince Antipas were still ongoing, and village after village was still being put to the torch. The good news was that at least King Aretas the Fourth had the decency to send his messengers to the border towns to warn the people of his intent to destroy their villages, which allowed most folks to escape with their lives and some of their goods intact. All the same, these raids left many without homes, farms, and livelihoods, and as a result, amongst other things, the price of food dramatically increased. And so it was that thousands of people suffered from malnutrition, starvation, broken bones, blistered feet, hysteria, melancholia, burns, bloated bellies, fever, diarrhea, blindness, severed limbs, and other scourges caused by fires, wars, and forced evacuation.

In no time at all, my five disciples and I were again so besieged with patients that each day blended seamlessly into the next, and it was a very good thing that we had gotten sick first, or we would have gotten the Grippe when it was at its worst, and so been no use to anyone. But, because of this, I did not have the time to return to my hometown of Parazah on the Tenth Day of Kislev so that I could say Kaddish at my father’s grave or celebrate Hanukkah with my family, which would only serve to further prove to them what a monumental disappointment I was as the firstborn son.

Speaking of home, I spent so much time on the road that I felt that it was only right for me to give up my nice little cottage in Capernaum since I was so seldom there and almost never paid the rent on time. Unfortunately, once this was done, I soon learned the stark reality of homelessness, for I never knew where I would lay my head or be able to eat a nice warm home-cooked meal, unless someone took pity on me and offered to me food and shelter, or we spent a few hard-earned prutah on an inn and dined on tavern food.

On the Twentieth-Fifth Day of Kislev, my disciples and I had taken the Derech Ha-Yam east, and had found ourselves again in the fishing town of Bethsaida, which is on the border between Prince Antipas’ District of Galilee and Prince Philip’s District of Gaulanitis, It was raining buckets, and I was surprised to find that the Congregation beth David was as crowded as it was, for surely, no one in their right mind would have been so foolish as to venture forth in the cold and wind and rain, especially when they were already sick. Still, they had come to see the Great Healer of Upper Galilee and his entourage of blessed men, and so I gave the most uplifting sermon that I could, and then we five tended to our patients in the warm and cozy kitchen attached to the synagogue.

No sooner had God through us healed our first wave of patients, but the second, third, and fourth were upon us, and the line to see us stretched down the stairs and halfway around the soggy block. But even though, by midday, according to the count kept by Andreas, God had already healed no less than six hundred and ninety-seven men, women and children, the afternoon promised to be even worse as people from all over the area came to us in order to be healed.

Now, I, myself, had been on my feet since the first hour of the day, and I was completely exhausted, as were my friends. And so, since I have always deeply hated praying in public those words that should be said in private, I went back into the vacant synagogue to thank God for His blessings and to ask Him to send us some form of relief. And it was so, for, when I returned to the kitchen, five young men walked through the doorway carrying a lidded cauldron and three wicker baskets which they set upon the kitchen table before they rid themselves of their rain-cloaks.

Peace to you, Brother Joshua! one of them exclaimed.

And to you, peace! I replied as I lifted the lid of the cauldron to see therein a thick and garlicky broth of fish, barley, and vegetables. But what is this that smells so delicious?

Just a little nosh, the young man replied as his friends laid out upon the table some bread, plates and bowls. We were in the congregation when you spoke this morning, and we were so moved by your sermon that we all decided to join your ministry, that is, if you will have us. But when we came back after the service, we couldn’t help but notice that you all looked as though you were starving to death. And so we said to ourselves, ‘What might we do for these good men to lighten their load?’ And so we brought you a little nosh in order to sustain you.

May God bless you for your kindness, for this is exactly what we need, especially since we have not eaten since daybreak, I replied. Is there enough for our patients? Many of them have looked as though they were starving to death.

Yes, he replied, and if there is not, we will gladly fetch you more. Is there anything else that we can do for you?

I thought for a moment about the prayer that I had just addressed to God. Yes, but first, what are your names?

My name is Philip, but my friends all call me ‘Phil,’ the young man replied. And these are my friends: Nate, Jude, Jake, and Teo.

May God bless you for coming to our aid! I replied. "And these are my friends Shlomo, Andreas, Yacob, Little John, and that fellow serving up the stew is Matthias. And since you’ve been so kind as to offer to us your help, yes, by all means, we need all of the help that we can get, for you can see from the line forming at the door that we are simply deluged with sickly folk!"

And so it was that I asked God to send His Divine Spirit to bless these five strangers with the same gifts that He had given the others and I put them all to work. And because of this, it didn’t take very long at all before we had the entire kitchen, stairs and soggy block cleared of sickly folk.

By the way, the stew did sustain us, and many of the sickly folk who came to see us, too. In fact, the cauldron seemed to be a sort of bottomless pot, for no matter how often we dipped our ladle into it, there always seemed to be some left. But lest you think that this was a magic cauldron or some other miracle from God, let me assure you that it was not, for, as I said before, the thick stew had in it barley, and barley tends to grow over time, especially when more water is added, so that, by the end of it, what had started out as a stew quickly became as thick and slimy as yesterday morning’s porridge. And frankly, we would not have given this disgusting glop away at all, except to feed it to stray dogs, but would instead have pitched it in the gutter, but as my mother says, it is a sin to waste food, and fortunately, the poor, sickly, and starving folk who came to see us were not all that picky.

Later that evening, we went to Phil’s small but neat three-room apartment which he shared with his four friends. Since it was the Second Night of Hanukkah, we lit the two candles of Phil’s menorah, said the usual Hanukkah prayers, and then shared a nice meal of bread, grapes, a cucumber salad, some fried fish, a lovely apple tart, and a carafe of very nice wine. And while we were dining, I learned a little something about our hosts. In fact, it would take me several more scrolls just to tell you all that I learned, but I will tell you the gist of it so that I will not tax your patience further.

Briefly put, Phil was the son of a young, unmarried Jewish cook who worked at the local Roman garrison in Bethsaida. God had richly blessed him with a comely face, a fine physique, the soft sweet voice of an angel, and a gift for playing the dulcimer. He was also blessed with a mother who instilled in him a sublime sense of self-confidence to counteract his illegitimacy, and so she had enrolled her son in music lessons which he took with four other little boys, who were, as you might have guessed, Nate, Jude, Jake, and Teo. Then, once he graduated from Yeshiva and music class, she had packed him off to the Academy at Hippos, for their School of Music was second to none, in the hope that he might become a part of the Sacred Orchestra at the Holy Temple, or maybe even a rich and famous Sacred Soloist like Ibrahim bin Bashan.

While Phil was safely ensconced at the Academy in Hippos, the lives of his friends had not gone well, inasmuch as he had been the glue that held them all together. It was at this time that my Cousin Yanni came to town, and when Nate, Jude, Jake, and Teo went to the river to hear him speak, they instantly fell all over themselves with adulation. And so it was that, after they had been properly dunked, they asked him if they might become his devotees so that they could follow him around and take notes, which would give some purpose to their sad and sordid lives. Unfortunately, my second-cousin had taken one look at the four of them and turned them down flat.

In tears, Nate, Jude, Jake and Teo returned to their parents’ homes, but when they told their families the cause, their fathers had declared Kaddish upon them, and tossed them to the streets. And so, for the entire year in which Phil was in Hippos, Nate, Jude, Jake, and Teo were homeless, unemployed and starving, and could easily have died in the gutter or been killed by the village thugs who haunted the alleyways of Bethsaida.

Now, Phil was a very dutiful son, and he genuinely wanted to make his mother proud, but more than that, he loved his friends, and it broke his heart when he finally learned from Nate all that had happened to them in his absence. And so he quit his studies at the Academy and returned home to Bethsaida to see what he could do. Unfortunately, once he arrived at the apartment that he had shared with his mother, he discovered that she had eloped with a Roman soldier who had just been transferred to Gaul. But, by the Grace of God, she had left him their little apartment, and so at least he had a nice, warm, safe place to stay, a haven that he extended to his homeless friends.

Now, even though he had a place to live, at least until the lease ran out, Phil had no job to provide him with the shekels needed for food and rent. But, and also by the Grace of God, he had learned how to cook from his mother and so he was able to get a job at a local tavern. In this way, he was able to support his friends until they, too, had regained their footing. And since they were all gifted musicians, they had formed a nice little five-piece band and performed at birthday parties, bar mitzvah celebrations, weddings, funerals, and in the evenings at the tavern wherein Phil worked as a cook. And this, too, brought in a few extra shekels.

As to the others: Phil’s best friend was Nathanael Nate bar Talmai, and he was distantly related to the first Ptolemaic Pharaoh of Egypt. Nate had been born in Cana and now worked as a plasterer, for this was the only job that this son of a wealthy physician could find after his father had declared Kaddish upon him. He played the lyre and tried very hard not to imbibe, a habit that he had picked up on the streets while Phil was at the Academy.

Phil’s friend Judah ‘Jude’ bar Taddai had been born in the City of Panias in the District of Ulatha before his family of carpenters had moved to Bethsaida when he was six. He now crafted oars, masts, and one-man boats at a small shop just outside of town. And since he was born with an exceptional sense of rhythm, he played the tambourine and drums and kept the music going.

The third of Phil’s friends was Jacob ‘Jake’ bar Halfai, which, by the way, is Aramaic for Alphaeus, but he was no relation to Matthias. Jake was born in Ethiopia and was as black as night, with long thin beaded braids that tumbled down his narrow back. When he was very young, his family of goat-herders had moved to Bethsaida, and he had been raised an Essene. He now worked as a roofer and played the flute in their little band.

And finally, there was the fifth member of their little band, Yehudah ha-Te’oma, which means Yehudah the Twin. He was called Teo for short, and he was illegitimate, as was his twin brother Yehoshua. Teo’s best friend was named Laban and he, Laban, was not part of the band but came to their performances and wildly cheered them on. Otherwise, Teo worked as a framer and as an apprentice to an architect, and he played the clarinet.

By the way, as you may recall, my own little ministry included three men whose applications, like those of Nate, Jude, Jake and Teo, had been rejected by the Sacred Brotherhood. Shlomo’s application had been rejected because he was married and had an armful of tattoos. Andreas’ and Yacob’s had been rejected because of Keturah and Namara, and Andreas’ application had been further denied because his mother was a Gentile. And these reasons, to me, like those for Nate, Jude, Jake and Teo, were completely frivolous and arbitrary and had nothing to do with the state of their souls or the quality of their character, but more to do, I thought, with my second-cousin’s desire to keep his ministry as exclusive as inhumanly possible.

At any rate, after supper, Shlomo, Andreas, Yacob, Little John, Matthias, and I left Phil’s apartment and hied ourselves to the Julias Inn, where we had reserved a room for the night. As soon as we arrived, Matthias fell fast asleep, but the rest of us stayed awake and talked about the boys from Bethsaida, specifically, why my second-cousin had rejected their applications to join the Sacred Brotherhood. And, as you recall, Andreas and Yacob both seemed to think that my ministry was now theirs, and that they had some say about membership.

I think it’s because they are musicians, Andreas opined. The Baptist does not approve of music because it leads naturally to dancing and dancing leads naturally to sin. Therefore, since we are aspiring Men in White, I don’t think that we should let them join our ministry, either.

Yes, I said, but the gift of music, which gladdens the heart, soothes the soul, and speaks to us in ways that mere words do not, comes from God, and why would He have given the boys from Bethsaida this gift if He had not meant for them to use it? And to this Andreas had no good answer.

Yacob was the next to speculate. Well, he said, "I think it is because Jake is an Essene, and everybody knows that the Essenes are in league with the Prince of Darkness. Therefore, since we are part of the Sacred Brotherhood, we should not let an Essene into our group, either."

Yes, I argued, but I know for a fact that the Essenes are not in league with the Prince of Darkness, and even if they were, Jake is the only Essene in their little group, and yet the others were rejected, too. There has to be a better reason than that.

Then Shlomo spoke up. Maybe it’s because Phil and Teo are bastards, he suggested.

No, they seem perfectly nice to me, I replied.

No, Master, Shlomo patiently explained. "I mean that they don’t know who their fathers are."

But why should they be punished for something that they didn’t do? I asked. After all, they didn’t choose to be bastards, so it would be unfair to penalize them for it.

Yes, but my brother may have a point, Andreas replied. Their fathers may have been Gentiles, and, as I know from my own experience, Gentiles and half-Gentiles are not allowed into the Sacred Brotherhood.

Yes, but that is perfectly ridiculous, I exclaimed. They are no more at fault for this than for their illegitimacy!

Then that hateful little pisher, Little John, advanced his own cockamamie theory. I think it’s because they are all fagalim, he opined.

Fagalim? What a deeply offensive, loathsome, ignorant, bigoted, low-classed, mean-spirited word, a word that I had often heard applied to my Uncle Yossi, who was the best of men, and even applied to me because of my notorious reluctance to enter into marriage with the woman who had been chosen for me. What makes you think so? I coldly asked.

Little John did not seem to notice that my tone was dripping with contempt. "Didn’t you notice that they were all just a little fabulous? he asked. And did you see how neat their apartment was? Who keeps his room like that, much less a whole apartment, unless he is a fagalah? They are also old enough to be married, and yet they claim to be ‘confirmed bachelors,’ and what is that but code for ‘fagalim?’ Therefore, either they were rejected because they are all musicians, as Andreas suggested, or because they are all fagalim."

Do not call them that, Little John, I ordered him through clenched teeth. "If you must call them anything at all, then at least call them ‘homophiles,’ since that is a little more respectful. Furthermore, even if they are homophiles, they have no more control over this than over their father’s paganism or their own illegitimacy! If they are homophiles, it was because they were created to be homophiles by God. And who are we that we should argue with God who creates us all in the manner of His choosing?"

But my little brother does have a point, Yacob joined in. "If they were simply gifted musicians, then it is not likely that their fathers would have declared Kaddish upon them. But if they are homophiles, then this could explain much, including why they are not yet married, why they were set upon by thugs, and why they were rejected by the Sacred Brotherhood."

"And if they are all homophiles, then that would make them sinners, Andreas said. And if they are sinners, then we shouldn’t allow them into our ministry."

But I say again that being a homophile is no more a sin than being illegitimate or a Gentile! I exclaimed, thoroughly annoyed. "Those are states of being, and it is what one does to other people that defines its sinfulness, not what one thinks or feels or what God happens to create one to be. I, personally, think that homophiles are just like those of us who are not in this way inclined, for we all want someone whom we can love for an entire lifetime and who will love us in return."

But Brother Joshua—Andreas tried to interrupt.

I, however, would not let him speak, for few things vex me more than bigotry and hypocrisy, which, considering that I was not a real Man in White, was, in and of itself, hypocritical. Besides, I continued, "if two people sincerely love each other, whether they are both men or both women or they are one of each, and if they honestly and with good will care about each other and for each other, then I hold that such a bond is not a sin, for God, who is both Love and Truth, lives in their hearts. But if a man flits from bed to bed, makes false promises, behaves in all ways like a rogue and a reprobate, squanders the love that others give, and takes no responsibility for the pain that he inflicts on others, then, whether he beds a man or a woman, the sinfulness is in his actions, for they are not based on love, but on the satisfaction of his own purely selfish needs. And that kind of man is a sinner, and not someone whom God created to be a homophile."

Yes, but the Holy Books say that homosexuality is a sin, Andreas argued, and so we should not let sinners into our ministry!

Then the Holy Books, which were written by Man and not by God, are wrong, I declared, which shocked them all into horrified silence. "And besides, this is not your ministry. This is not even our ministry. This is not my Cousin Yanni’s ministry or the ministry of the other members of the Sacred Brotherhood. This is my ministry, and my ministry, alone, and so it is my decision who is or is not a part of it. I don’t rightly care if a man is illegitimate, a half-Gentile, an Essene, a musician, or a homophile as long as he loves God and seeks to do no harm to anyone! Therefore, as far as I am concerned, if these boys from Bethsaida want to join my ministry, then I welcome them with open arms, and if you have an opinion about who should and should not join my ministry, please keep it to yourself!!"

But, Brother Joshua! Andreas began, horrified.

Silence! I thundered. Let us follow Matthias’ example and go to sleep! There are far more important things that we have to do than argue about this mishegoss, for there are still hundreds of thousands of sick and injured folk who need God’s healing touch, and we have much to do tomorrow before the sun goes down!

CHAPTER TWO

The Criminal and the Bean-Counter

T HERE WERE NOW ten men in my little ministry: Shlomo, Andreas, Yacob, Little John, Matthias, and Phil, Nate, Jude, Jake, and Teo, which was truly a miracle from God. And since it takes ten men to make a minyan, I was, at least for a while, content with this.

After we left Bethsaida, and for the next five weeks, we crisscrossed Upper Galilee, from Bethsaida to Kabul and from Selame to Dabernath. And since I had added five very talented musicians to my little ministry, my services were filled with joy and singing and dancing, and, once everyone got used to one another, there was no one who was not pleased with the addition, that is, except for Little John, who kept up his litany of rude comments about me behind my back.

After the Shacharit at the Congregation beth Ham in Cana on the Twenty-Ninth Day of Tevet, we had hied ourselves again to the King David’s Tavern, which, as you may recall, was our favorite little tavern there. Therein sat a man in his mid-twenties who was weeping over his carafe of wine and his tears moved me greatly. After Sam, the tavern-keeper, led me and my minyan to a few empty tables in the back and we had ordered a nice little nosh, I went over to the weeping man to see if maybe there were maybe a little something that I could do. And even though he was the most taciturn man in the entire world when he was stone-cold sober, a steady stream of cherry-red wine had thoroughly loosened his tongue, and so he told me his sad tale.

He called himself Simon ben David, and he worked during the daytime hours at his father’s leather shop where he crafted belts, bridles, whips, straps, yokes, scabbards, satchels, goatskins, and shakers for dice. However, on certain moonless nights, he and his Zealot friends would gather together, smudge their faces with soot, dress themselves in black, and sally forth into the darkness to vandalize the Roman temples, steal the tax money bound for Rome, and raise as much mayhem as they could, all in the name of the Cause of Freedom. Because of this, the Romans had put a considerable bounty on their heads, and when he told me this, I reckoned that he did not care much if he lived or died, for who but a suicidal idiot would say such things to a total stranger who might turn him in for the bounty on his head? At any rate, his young wife Ruth had not approved of his criminal activities, and had pleaded with him to quit before he got himself arrested, hanged as a traitor to Rome and left her a poor widow with three small children to support. Unfortunately, Simon’s passion for the Cause of Freedom surpassed all other considerations, especially the more boring and domestic ones, and so he had ignored his wife’s entreaties and he and his friends continued to sneak into the moonless nights to wreck such havoc as they could.

Alas, Simon’s criminal activities had an unintentionally tragic effect, though not in quite the way that one might suppose. In the early part of winter, while he and his band of merry men were in Capernaum, breaking into Matthias’ old office, tying up his younger and healthier replacement, and stealing the tax money bound for Rome, Ruth and their three young children had fallen prey to the quick-acting and deadly strain of the Grippe that had swept through Upper Galilee. And because Simon wasn’t there to take them to see a regular physician, or to see Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa of Arav, or to see me as the Great Healer of Upper Galilee, he had come home to find that his entire family had died in their beds. For this reason, he had spent the better part of the past two months drowning his copious amount of guilt in equally copious amounts of cherry-red wine.

What can I do to help you, Simon? I asked.

Give me a shekel, he replied, so that I might buy more wine. Or two shekels so that I might drink myself to death and join my family in Paradise.

No, Simon, I replied, for suicide is a sin and it’s not likely that you would end up in Paradise with Ruth and your three innocent children. Besides, in living, we might do some good, but in dying, not so much. No, I shall give you a greater gift, even though you didn’t ask for it. Then I closed my eyes, put my left hand upon his head, put my right hand upon his chest and asked God to forgive his many trespasses, to bless him and to ease his heartache, guilt and pain.

Straightaway, that old familiar tingling and golden glow passed from my hands to poor, grieving, and guilt-ridden Simon, and by the time I opened my eyes again, he was sober and dry-eyed for the first time in two months. Then, for the next hour or so, I taught him everything that I knew about God’s loving kindness and the blessings that He had bestowed upon him, a felon and a sinner. Immediately thereafter, partly in memory of his beloved wife and their three innocent little children, and partly because, frankly, there is no better a place for a wolf to hide than in a flock of sheep, Simon accepted my invitation and joined my little law-abiding group as my eleventh disciple.

Needless to say, the addition of a criminal with a bounty on his head greatly alarmed the others, especially Shlomo, Andreas, Yacob and Little John, but the others, who were already reckoned by Polite Society to be lawbreakers, not so much.

"First you ask a tax collector to join us, and then five homophile-musicians, and now you want a criminal to join us?" Andreas gasped.

Yes, Yacob enjoined. You’ve simply got to quit letting people take advantage of your kind heart with their tales of woe or you’ll come to be known far and wide as the King of the Pariahs!

All right, I sighed, what is wrong with Simon?

"Like I said, he is a wanted criminal!" Andreas exclaimed, visibly frustrated. If the Romans were to learn that we were harboring a felon, then we could be mistaken for his compatriots and hanged or crucified!

Besides, Shlomo opined, he might kill us in our sleep!

Don’t be silly, Shlomo, I replied. Simon, before he gave up the life, was a Zealot, a thief, and a vandal, but he was certainly no murderer.

But if he is a thief, he might steal our money, Little John warned.

I doubt that, I replied. "The shekels in my tzedakah box are payments received from my speaking tour, not tax money bound for Rome, and I’m sure that the Zealots have too much honor to steal money from their own people. Besides, Simon used to be a thief, but now he has repented and reformed."

There is no honor amongst thieves, Yacob retorted, nor would there be any with this Zealot, repented and reformed or not.

And the Romans don’t care that he has repented, Andreas pointed out, for they do not care about the state of his soul. They only care about maintaining their precious Pax Romana and getting a dangerous criminal off the streets!

Yes, but their precious Pax Romana has allowed Israel to live in relative peace for almost a hundred years, I replied. "And while we may not like it, they have ruled us fairly, allowed us to practice our religion, improved our roads, and built us aqueducts and such, and in this way, have brought water to the desert. Besides, I have already asked Simon to join us and he has accepted. To ask him to leave now would be rude and go against everything that I believe. Now, if you had voiced your objections before I had asked him to join us, then I might have taken them into consideration."

But, Brother Joshua, when have you ever asked us first? Andreas accused. "And even if you did, when have our objections ever made any difference?" And to this, unfortunately, I had no good answer, for he did have a very valid point.

I now had eleven men in my little ministry, and I think that everyone would agree that eleven is a very odd number, probably one of the oddest numbers that ever there has been. Ideally, it seemed to me that I should have eighty disciples in my ministry, since the Great Hillel had eighty disciples, and so did Rebbe Shammai, and even my Cousin Yanni had at least eighty sycophantic toadies in his entourage. On the other hand, it had taken me almost an entire year to attract just eleven men deluded enough to follow me, and at that rate, it would take me another seven years to build that number up to eighty, provided that we were not arrested for harboring a wanted criminal and hanged or crucified.

Therefore, I reckoned that twelve disciples might be a more reasonable and auspicious number, since there are Twelve Tribes in Israel, Twelve Months of the Year, Twelve Signs of the Zodiac and Twelve Labors of Heracles. But then Matthias pointed out that ten of the Twelve Tribes of Israel had been lost during the Great Exile and that many of my disciple-friends were none too bright. Little John chimed in and said that the Baptist forbade the practice of astrology, which meant that basing the number of my disciples on the number of signs in the Zodiac or the months of the year was also out of the question. And then my men all laughed at me and said that basing the number of disciples on the number on the labors of a famous heathen hero might be perhaps the stupidest idea that they had ever heard.

Therefore, I decided that thirteen might be the next best thing, because, as Jake the Essene quietly pointed out, thirteen is deemed a lucky number since it denotes devotion, protection, harmony, and the ability to rise above the small, petty and otherwise negative influences of the other twelve signs of the Zodiac as represented by my men. All the same, in order for me to get to thirteen, I would need to add two more to my ministry, and since it had taken me nearly a year to get the first batch, I figured that adding just two more might take me at least several months.

God, it seems, had other plans. A mere two weeks later, on the Thirteenth Day of Shevat, which I thought was an auspicious sign, we were in the City of Zipporah where I’d been invited to preach. Then, just as the crowds on the portico had begun to thin, a tall and slender man with the air of a natural aristocrat strode resolutely toward us. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and was very colorful in his aspect. His short straight hair, neatly-trimmed beard and mustache were all a reddish gold, his eyes were as blue and clear as the sky, and his skin was the color of pale pink Indian marble, with just a dusting of golden freckles across the bridge of his perfect nose. In short, in a veritable sea of short, stocky, brown-eyed, black-haired, big-nosed, olive-toned men, he stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.

Are you Brother Joshua? he asked in perfect Aramaic with just a hint of a Celtic lilt.

Yes, I am, I replied. What can I do for you, my friend?

I would like to join your ministry, offer such services as I can, and work with the very poor, he said.

"Really? Why?" I asked, amazed, for people rarely asked outright to work with the very poor, but usually tried hard to avoid them lest their bad mozel be caught by those who tried to help.

Because, the colorful man explained, I am on my Sabbatical after seven years of good fortune, and it’s time for me to give back to the community. Besides, is it not said that those who have the ability to do good, have the responsibility to do good, or they must answer to God for this? God has richly blessed me, and if I can, I would like to extend His blessings to others.

And so I learned that this man was named Judah ben Simeon, an accountant by inclination and profession. He, like Matthias, was a wealthy Sadducee with a long and illustrious Jewish pedigree, most of which was on his mother’s side, for his father was from Caledonia, which is north of the Roman province of Britannia. This, by the way, accounted for his odd coloring and accent, since the children of immigrants often carry traces of their ancestral roots. At any rate, Judah lived with his wife Jasmine and their three sons Joshua, Jonathan and Jeremiah in the small gated community of Kerioth, which is south of Jerusalem. But, unlike Matthias and Phil, both of whom had left school in the middle of their studies, Judah had taken the time and effort, not to mention the considerable shekels, to actually graduate from a university, in this case, the University at Antioch which has an excellent accounting school. And, as he said, once he had heard about our work with the poor, he decided to use his year-long Sabbatical to help us as a mitzvah, and so, with his wife’s blessings, he had gone from district to district and from synagogue to synagogue until he found us in Zipporah.

As you might expect, Shlomo, Andreas, Yacob and Little John were not the least bit shy about voicing their objections again as soon as they could corner me on the subject.

"Must you have asked him to join us? Andreas asked. Weren’t a tax man, five homophile-musicians, and a wanted criminal trouble enough?"

So what do you think is wrong with Judah?" I asked.

He is from the District of Judaea, and everybody knows that all Judaeans are rich snobs who are anything but pleasant, Andreas explained.

Firstly, I replied with a weary sigh, "Judaeans merely sound like rich snobs because of their clipped patrician accents, which they can’t help because they all talk that way. Secondly, as a matter of fact, I was born in Judaea, and I don’t think that I am better than anybody. Are you saying that I can’t even join my own ministry because I was born in Judaea?"

No, Master, interrupted Shlomo, "but you were raised in Galilee, and that makes you one of us."

Furthermore, Andreas continued, "this man is an accountant, a bean-counter."

So what is wrong with being an accountant? I asked.

Nothing, but…

As a matter of fact, I was thinking of making him our treasurer, I interrupted, for I have no knack for saving money, and we keep spending what little we have on inns and tavern food. It seems obvious to me that we need to put someone in charge of my tzedakah box who knows what he is doing and won’t allow us to overspend.

Is that what accountants do? Yacob asked.

I have no idea, I shrugged. I’ve never even met an accountant before, much less had the money to hire one, and fortunately, this one comes to us for free.

Then that hateful little pisher, Little John, chimed in. But, Brother Joshua, that man is a Sadducee and all Sadducees are evil, and as proof of this, that man has hair the color of the flames of Hell, which we should take as proof that he has mischief in his heart!

Don’t be ridiculous, Little John, I replied. "God does not care what we look like. He does not care if we are Gentile or Jewish, Essene, Sadducee, Pharisee, Mandaean, or even Nazarenes! He does not care if our eyes are brown or blue or green, or if our hair is red, gold, black, brown, grey or if we are completely bald! He does not care if we are fat or thin, tall or short, rich or poor, married, single, eunuchs, Sapphics or homophiles, brilliant, talented, average, or dumb as a box of rocks! He does not care about any of that mishegoss, because He created all of us in the manner of His choosing, and can look beneath the surface of our skin see into our hearts and souls. And it seems to me that Judah must have a very beautiful soul or he would not have volunteered to spend his Sabbatical working with the very poor when he could just as easily have spent his time and money on a nice pleasure cruise to the Greek Isles with his wife and sons!"

But, Brother Joshua, Andreas warned, mark my words, this man will only bring about your ruin, for he is not the sort of man whom you can trust, much less with our money!

And so we continued to debate for many hours, but, as you might expect, I won and the others allowed Judah to join us, as though they had a choice. Nonetheless, except for Matthias who was also a Sadducee, they did not seem to like him very much, and seemed to take particular delight in making him their scapegoat for every little thing, whether that thing was his fault or not.

After Judah joined us, I took the extra step of sending the rest of my disciple-friends out into the world in natural little groups of two or three, partly so that the Word of God might be more easily spread, and partly to put some time and distance between them and Judah, whom I kept with me. And little did I know, when we started off in our adventures together, that this tall Judaean bean-counter, who never failed to speak truth to power, and often quite sarcastically, would become the keeper of my secrets and my most loyal, devoted, and trusted friend.

CHAPTER THREE

The Lady in Lavender

L IKE MOST OF the men of Israel, almost all of my life has been spent in the company of other men. When I was a little boy, I went