At last I stood alone before the Rabbi. He had taken his seat at the desk, and a cup of wine had been brought to him. The lamps were lighted, and all around him were the scrolls. The scents of the room were of the parchment, the papyrus, and the burning oil. If my heart had not been pounding in my chest, I would have loved this place.
"What is it you want of me?" he asked. "You've waited a long time for this. Say what it is."
I waited for a moment, but no thought came to me, no design. I matched his words with my own.
"Eight years ago, a child was born in Bethlehem. Angels sang to shepherds when he was born. The angels called him Christ the Lord. Days after that three men from the East came, Persian magi who offered him gifts. They claimed a star had led them to this child."
"Yes?" he said. "I know this tale."
"What happened to this child?"
"Why must you know this? Why do you care about this at all?"
"I beg you to tell me. I can't think of anything but this night or day. I can't eat or drink until I find out about this child."
He thought about this. He took a drink of his wine.
"I'll tell you," he said. "So that you may put it out of your mind and be done with it. And study as you should."
"Yes," I said.
"These magi, as you call them, these wise men, they came to Jerusalem. They came to Herod's palace just south of Bethlehem. They claimed to have been following a star. They said they had seen signs in the Heavens that told of the birth of a new King." He stopped for a moment, then went on. "These were men of wealth, richly dressed, with a caravan and servants, advisors to their rulers. They had gifts to present to this child. But now close to Jerusalem, the star hovered over a vast collection of settlements. They could find no one place where the child might be. Herod had received these men, pretended that he wanted to know who this King might be himself." He smiled a bitter smile. He took another drink of his wine.
I waited.
"He called us together, the elders, the scribes, those who knew the Scriptures as to where the true King of Israel would be born. The Christ. He was full of pretense as he always was in such matters, putting on quite the show for these magi, begging that we tell him what the Scriptures foretold."
He shook his head. And he looked away, his eyes moving up the walls and then slowly back to me.
"We told him Bethlehem would be the birthplace of the Messiah. It was the truth, no more than that. Would we had told him nothing at all. But we didn't know then that a child had been born in Bethlehem surrounded by miraculous signs! We hadn't heard the stories yet because the child was only a few days old. We didn't know yet the talk of angels, or the virgin mother. All that we learned later, much later. We knew only the Scripture, and we thought these men from the East were Gentiles on a foolish quest, really. So we answered, not with cunning, but with the truth. As for Herod, we understood perfectly that the very last thing the man would ever want was to find the true King, the Christ."
He bowed his head.
When he said nothing, I couldn't bear it.
"Rabbi, what happened?" I asked.
"The magi went there. We learned that afterwards. They found the child. They presented their gifts. But they didn't return to Herod as he'd asked of them. They went away, homeward, by some unknown road. And when Herod discovered this deception, he went into a rage. Early in the morning, while it was still dark, he sent the soldiers down from his fortress and while he watched from the parapet, they went through every house in Bethlehem and slaughtered every child under two years of age!"
I put my hands up. I felt the sob rise in my throat.
"They dragged the children from the arms of their mothers. They bashed their heads against the stones. They slit their throats. They killed them all. Not a single little one escaped."
"No, this couldn't have happened!" I cried out under my breath, the words almost strangled. "No, they didn't do that!"
"Oh, but yes they did," he said.
The sob in me rose higher and higher. I couldn't move. I tried to cover my face but I couldn't move.
I began to shake and to cry with all my body and my soul.
The Rabbi's hands tightened on my shoulders.
"My son," he said, "my son."
But I couldn't stop.
I couldn't stop and I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell anyone! This had happened because of my birth! I began to scream. I screamed as I had that night when I saw Jericho burning and this horror that gripped me now was a thousand times that fear, a thousand times. I couldn't stand upright.
People held me. The Rabbi spoke gentle words to me. But the words were lost in my terror.
I saw the babies. I saw them dashed on the stones. I saw the throats slit. I saw the throats of the lambs slit in the Temple at Passover. I saw the blood. I saw the mothers screaming. I couldn't stop crying.
Around me, people whispered. Hands lifted me.
I was put down on a bed. I felt a cool rag against my forehead. I was choking in my sobs. I couldn't open my eyes. I couldn't stop seeing the babies dying, I couldn't stop seeing the lambs slaughtered, the blood on the altar, the blood of the babies. I saw the man, our man, in the Temple with the spear through his chest. I saw him turn over. I saw Baby Esther, Baby Esther bleeding. Babies on the stones. Lord in Heaven, no. Not because of me. No.
"No, no..." I said this word over and over if I said any word.
"Sit up, I want you to drink this!"
I was lifted.
"Open your mouth, drink this!"
I choked on the liquid, the honey, the wine. I tried to swallow. "But they're dead, they're dead, they're dead!"
I don't know how long it went on until it became an easy crying, a full-throated crying, and I said, "I don't want to sleep. I'll see them when I dream."
Chapter 25
I was sick. I was thirsty. The voices and hands were so kind. I was given the wine and the honey to drink. I slept, and the cold rags on my head felt good. If there were dreams, I didn't remember them. I heard music - the deep smooth voices of the Levites. I drifted. Only now and then did I see the babies, the murdered innocent ones, and I cried. I turned my head into the pillow and cried.
I have to wake up, I thought, but I couldn't wake up. And once when I did, it was dark, and the old Rabbi was asleep in his chair. It was like a dream, this, and I slid back into sleep without being able to stop it.
Finally, there came a moment when I opened my eyes, and I knew I was well.
I thought at once of the murdered children, but I could see it without crying. I sat up and looked about. The old Rabbi was there and at once got up from his table. Another man was there and he came to me as well.