his Kingdom. This land can no longer bear the weight that crushes it. He will not allow this present injustice to go unchecked. We are on the brink of a new era, a new age in which all will see that there is no king but God. And we enter this era by sacrifice and struggle and force. You and I must live and breathe God’s holy law, so that we become the living enactment of his Scriptures. ‘Your God reigns’ . . . There is no King but God.”
Yeshua’s sheer discomfort at the Pharisee’s message did not immunize him to Kaleb’s charisma. The preacher was as riveted to his hearers as they were to him. He knew where he was going, and carried his congregation with him one step at a time. He was deeply connected to his listeners, communicating with far more than his words alone—but planting his words firmly in their hearts with the quiet force acquired either from his act of self-sacrifice or from some divine source. Whether this divinity was Adonai, the God of Israel or Hermes, the messenger of pagan gods, the Pharisee’s eyes discarded their frown and searched the synagogue roof to re-establish contact with eternity. The gaze itself carried with it the promise of supernatural wisdom.
“Today we are still a nation, and today we have a King. How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news. Who say to Zion ‘your God reigns.’ Whoever killed those soldiers in Caesarea brings us a reminder that our God reigns. Not that God will one day reign again. Not that God will reign in the future.” The frown returned. “Isaiah says that God reigns, today, here and now. Caesar is not God! Adonai is God!” The preacher left more room for silence.
“Brothers! Take up your inheritance! His Kingdom is here. Our God reigns today!” At this point the frown lifted again, and Kaleb looked towards the heavens, apparently trawling his memory. “In the market place this week I saw a small boy with his mother. The boy was crying, shouting, stamping his feet. He wanted to eat one of the apples his mother had just bought. He was making such a fuss, that he could not hear his mother saying, ‘Benjamin, Benjamin, Benjamin—here it is!’ The child was so worked up that he could not see his mother holding the apple before him, and carried on crying, ‘I want an apple.’ All he had to do was reach out his hand and take it! The only thing making him wait any longer was his own tantrum.”
“Friends. We long and we cry and we demand God’s Kingdom. But he is holding it out in front of us. All we need do is take it. He has already given it to us. We must simply take it. Our God reigns!” Kaleb paused to allow his illustration to percolate.
“Babylon has spilt innocent blood in our town today. And this afternoon . . .” Kaleb paused, drawing deep breaths to gather his emotion. “. . . This afternoon, we hear he has done the same in the towns of Dor and Aphek.” Gasps of disgust echoed around the synagogue, while the Egyptian brothers cast each other a despairing glance. “Brothers. Here, now, today, the lives of our oppressors are being taken. On our own doorstep the soldiers of Rome are being taken. The might of Babylon is challenged. The Kingdom of God is coming. Not everyone can attack a soldier, but I support those who do.” The congregation remained silent. “The centurion says that those who support these people must share their fate. Then let us all share it together.”
Across the synagogue a number of heads nodded quietly. Yeshua, terrified though he was by the implications of this Pharisee’s rant, found himself reluctantly warming to Kaleb if not to his message. He looked down at his own fidgeting fingers, only to discover in his hands the figurine of the small boy. Whoever it represented, this carving undermined Yeshua’s confidence that the morning’s deeds were worthy of anyone’s support. The Egyptian was transported back to the market place, and for a moment the screams of the grieving child swamped the preacher’s own voice. Kaleb’s message brought little comfort for his hyperactive conscience.
Regardless of how convincing his message was, Kaleb’s oratory skills, combined with the selfless part he had played in this day’s horror, had succeeded in keeping the crowd hooked on his every word. He approached his conclusion with measured rhetoric.
“When we came here this afternoon, did we come singing ‘Caesar is our judge, Caesar is our ruler, Caesar is our King and Caesar will save us’? Children of Abraham, throughout your lives you have sung this hymn of Isaiah. It is part of who we are. Allow it now to beat its rhythm through your being, as we celebrate together, for . . .” with that, he lifted his hands and with one voice the congregation filled the synagogue with familiar words,
“. . . Adonai is our judge, Adonai is our ruler, Adonai is our king. He will save us.”
Kaleb’s was the right message for the right time. A people whose anger and despair was an open wound had heard what they wanted to hear: a call, issued in word and deed, to defiance and sacrifice, with the promise of divine blessing. Adonai’s endorsement of the Pharisee’s message had been witnessed in his deliverance at the market place. For Yeshua, the atmosphere was as stifling as the afternoon’s thick humidity. As the service ended Yudah disappeared into the crowd while the brothers pushed their way out to seek the peace of his garden.
The Egyptians returned to the welcome of Yudah’s daughter, Miriam. “Thank you,” said Yeshua as she gestured them to enter. Theudas’ attempt to conceal his yawn was no more successful than Miriam’s attempt to conceal her amusement at it. But this wordless exchange released the brothers from the lingering influence of that pharisaic frown. The weight of the day’s events that pressed down on these Egyptians, whilst not being removed, was nevertheless lightened by the atmosphere of Yudah’s home and its hostess. But Miriam offered no escape from the realities that crowded in on them, which only made her comfort all the more valuable.
“I haven’t seen Yotham and Saul since I was a child, but I remember them well . . .” Miriam said warmly as she touched Yeshua’s shoulder, “. . . and I treasure that memory. I can only imagine how you must feel . . .” She dropped her head. “How your father must feel.” She lifted her gaze to Yeshua. “How is he?”
Ely of Alexandria was distraught at the loss of his elder sons, and saw the vengeful quest of Yeshua and Theudas as the loss of his younger sons. He had begged them not to leave Alexandria before having had chance to grieve properly, but Ely’s pleas were ignored. You can’t spend your whole life preaching about justice, Yeshua had reasoned, and then complain when your sons go in search of it. Justice would be the gift that Ely would receive on his sons’ return to Egypt.
“Not well,” Theudas answered, jolting his elder brother out of the thoughts that had left Miriam’s question unanswered.
“Sorry,” said Yeshua as he shook the thoughts from his head. “He’ll be okay when we get home. He’ll know that justice has been done and his grief will be lessened.”
“Well,” she smiled provocatively, “when you go back to Alexandria, be sure to take our love as well as your justice.” For a moment, her smile evoked in Yeshua the discomfort that only a prophet could awaken. “Now!” she grinned, having noted their relief at escaping the synagogue. “After surviving the sermon of Kaleb the Pharisee, I assume you’re both ready for the vine of Yudah?” Miriam’s question was accompanied by a smirk of sympathetic frustration with the sermon she hadn’t heard, although she looked as though she had endured it a thousand times before. Her smirk became a smile as she withdrew to bring refreshments.
Furnished with a cup of wine, the brothers found their garden bench and breathed relief at escaping the commotions of the outside world. Miriam perched herself lightly on a large stone, pulled a jasmine leaf towards her nose and inhaled as though her true life-energy were contained in the plant. Although mesmerized by the sight, Theudas was unable to restrain his tongue.
“Yeshua, how come she’s allowed to miss the synagogue and we’re not?” he grinned.
“You sound like you’re talking to my father!” she smiled.
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