His face became very stern, and his voice quite apologetic. This was a deep tenet of the Jewish tradition and of their religion. This material was not for just any curiosity seeker or passing journalist.
“Tell me who I can talk to get more information.”
Kahan thought for a moment. Then, as if he were telling me a family secret, he leaned over, and in a low voice said, “Then, please to see Amal at the Shepherds Bazaar in Bethlehem. He was lived there all his life, and he is more religious than I am. I know because he’s married to my sister. You call him my brother-by-law, yes?” His eyes brightened, as he was proud that he remembered the right legal description of his relationship with Amal. “He is always mad at me for not knowing my Torah better.”
I wanted so badly to correct Kahan’s English, I hated being a perfectionist, especially at times like this when I so badly wanted to perfect his English. We didn’t have the time to go to grammar class. So for now, I simply gritted my teeth, accepted the information and elected to pass on the badly needed lesson.
“Kahan,” I started, “if you knew that this messiah were alive and living somewhere in Judea today, would your life be any different?” Kahan looked at me; his face immediately tattling on his thoughts. The facial lines got deeper, his eyes squinted a bit. I felt like I had just injected him with vinegar. There was something telling in my tone of voice. Something that spoke of a more personal religious conviction, and now it was like I was challenging him. Even I couldn’t get over the seriousness of my own voice. I wasn’t really asking him about his personal convictions. If you want to end a conversation with a Jew really quickly, be a Gentile and question him about his beliefs. Now I was angry with myself. The tenor of the question was wrong. What I said, and what I intended were two different things. Now I feel that I have offended him.
“Kahan” I almost sounded like I was whispering, “I am sorry. I wasn’t intending to cast any kind of aspersions on your religious beliefs. I wasn’t trying to challenge what you believe, every man is entitled to believe or not believe whatever they want to. All I wanted to ask, was on an intellectual level . . . I realize I have introduced you to some new vocabulary words here, we’ll cover them another time, but . . .”
“Mr. Stanton,” interrupted Kahan, “you and me be friends for a long time. You teach me English. It is a treasure to me. I do not hurt that you ask me, or as you say, challenge me, about my belief of messiah, I am very happy to tell you my belief. You actually give me reason to tell you about messiah. That make me happy. The Torah calls him the Prince of Peace. He will bring peace to the world. Everybody that walks the ground will know that he is messiah and everybody who has been good Jew and keep the sacrifices, and prayed, will make God happy, and they go to be with God because he smiles at them.” Kahan leaned across the table and in a lowered voice, looked squarely into my eyes and whispered, “Do you want to know the Jewish God Mr. Stanton? I would be pleasured to introduce him to you.”
Am I reading this wrong, or do I feel a sense that Kahan has taken this opportunity to strike while my interest is piqued? What a clever man to twist my apology of potential offense of his religion into an opportunity to proselytize me into his religion. Was I dumb, or was he that good?
“Kahan,” I said dragging his name out over three long seconds. “I am a journalist for the World Observer Gazette, I have been the bureau chief in Judea for many years. I report on stories and write articles. It is not incumbent, nor is it judicious for me to become assimilated into the local religion. On a more personal note . . .” His face became more serious, and he leaned even further across the table to hear me. Perhaps he sensed a punch line was coming, or even more hopefully, that I was about to acquiesce to his invitation and request to be added to the Jewish faithful.
“On a more personal note Kahan,” I repeated, almost nervously, because I had to deal with his face being only a few inches away from mine now, “I believe that there is a supreme being, a something that created us, and somehow has some sort of providential handhold on this world, albeit a rather loose one, considering all the grief that is going around. But, I still have time to work on whether I want that to be a personal God, where I would have to sacrifice innocent animals to appease him, or it. I don’t know Kahan. My mind is still working on that one.”
Now he had a madman’s look about him as he pulled back away from my face, but never released the grip he had on my eyes. “Oh, Mr. Stanton, if anyone can uncover truth, it will be you. I trust in you. I also trust in Jehovah, hallelujah. And between the two of you, I trust that both of you will find each other as you search for messiah.” I almost felt that Kahan had pulled out some apple crate and was preaching from it. He was compelling. I was almost drawn in to his animations. Then my stomach said, “Ahem,” and I excused myself from Kahan’s deep stare and glanced down at my plate. I figured that cold whatever’s would be better than nothing at all.
“Kahan, I must get on the trail to Bethlehem, and see Amal. First, I must recharge my energy and eat. Thank you so much for the info. As always I am with great gratitude for your service to my publication.” I’m not sure he sensed it, but my final comment was said in a dismissal tone, “Thank you so much, I have the info I need, and apparently even more, but I’m starved, please leave so I can eat, and think about my next step.” As he stood, his eyes sparkled again, his smirk revealed that he had achieved some inner goal, a victory of some sort that he was keeping to himself. With his hands flailing in the air, he tossed out one final comment, “You are very so welcome, Mr. Stanton. You ask me anything, any time, because woman need falafel money.”
“Yes, Kahan, I hadn’t forgotten that commitment.” What a subtle way of reminding me of the tip I owed him for information.
Horsing down the cold meal, I tossed my napkin on the table, got up, brushed the crumbs off my lap, and headed for the door. Kahan saw my approach and grinned at me. We had developed a keen friendship over my stay here, and it was always nice to see a friendly face such as his. But he had that smirky grin on his face. I bet he thought that he had planted some silly notion of his religion in my brain and that he was going to come in for the kill as a result. I felt almost that I was prey on the lam, and he was now going to pursue me.
“Kahan,” I said on last step up to the podium, while reaching into my pocket, “I left money on the table to pay for the meal, but there are two things I want to assure you of.” As I held up two fingers, his expression slid from a smirk to the look one gets when one thinks they are in trouble. “I have no interest in becoming a member of the Jewish family, or any other religious sect, and secondly, I cherish our friendship. Here is a little something to help the wife cook falafel’s for you and the children. May we always remain friends, and I trust your God will bestow blessings on you and your family today.”
Kahan’s face immediately perked up again. He knew that our friendship was deeper than any slight attempt at proselytizing, and that, because I asked for his God to bless him, he regained that face of hope. That driving petroleum called ‘hope,’ that fuels man’s desire of saving one another from an eternity in a place called hell, and the wrath of a supposed gracious God. If He was so gracious I thought, why are we so scared of going to hell just because we don’t always do His do’s and don’ts? Oh well, I muttered to myself, as I dropped his falafel money inconspicuously on the center shelf of the podium. I didn’t want any one from the hotel management to see me handing him money and risk getting him fired.
“I’m off to Bethlehem, Kahan. Let’s see it’s which way again?” I teased, but he didn’t pick up on it.
“It’s south just of Jerusalem about . . .” He caught himself, “Oh, Mr. Stanton, you joke at me right?” Waving an accusatory finger he continued, “That is not nice of you . . . thank you for the falafel’s, and say greetings to my sister and brother-by-law, Amal.”
“I will Kahan,” I found myself
