Matthew's Story: From Sinner to Saint Page 4

  “I will, Mary, but you must force yourself to eat just a couple of bites. You too, Levi. Now, please.”

  The boy forced himself, but even though his mother had once told him that hunger was the best seasoning—and he had to be hungry whether he felt so or not—never had bread tasted so flat.

  “Mary,” his father said softly but directly, “take a little bread, and then I will stop pestering you. You know it’s because I care.”

  “I care about nothing but my—”

  “I know, beloved. I know.”

  Levi was relieved to see her eat a bit, though it seemed so painful to her that he could barely watch. Finally, when it was clear no one wanted any more, his father covered the rest of the bread and set it aside.

  “Lord,” he said, “thank You for this, our daily bread. Please provide us with what we need. Thank You for our precious baby and welcome him to Your bosom. Help us. Help us.”

  THAT NIGHT Levi slept between his parents as he had been asked. He would not have slept well anyway with so much on his mind, but he was aware how tightly his mother pulled him to her at times. And when he did finally drowse, he was awakened several times when she moaned to his father that she kept imagining the screaming that had awakened her the night before.

  Alphaeus shushed her and caressed her, but at about the same hour of the night she had risen at the noise, she suddenly stood and moved to the window, again wrapped in a blanket, opening the shutter.

  “Mary, please,” Alphaeus whispered. “There’s nothing there.” When she did not move he finally joined her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, which made her weep again. He closed the shutter and led her back to the mat, where she lay whimpering until dawn.

  Levi could not have known what to expect during the mourning period, as it was, of course, all new to him. He did not know whether he was expected to cry the whole time or—as the adults were directed by the Torah—not even respond to a greeting in the street.

  It was strange to have his father there all day every day, but Levi was certainly glad he was. He alone would not have been able to comfort his mother, past hugging her and sitting with her and letting her talk about Chavivi. At times she seemed not herself, almost as if she weren’t there. She stared at nothing, not even out the window, and Levi was sure she was seeing the baby in her mind, remembering everything about him.

  That was all Levi could think of, and it made him so sad he didn’t know what to do with himself. Sometimes he would sit near the stable for hours, playing with his new toy. Sometimes he caught himself wanting to show Chavivi something or tell him something, only to be stabbed afresh by the reality that the boy was gone forever.

  After a few days of the whole family going through the routine of each day with barely a word, fetching water from the well, his mother baking bread, and sitting around doing hardly much of anything, Levi’s father suggested that the boy might want to get back to his daily reading of the Torah.

  That caused a strange reaction in Levi’s mind. He knew he couldn’t, but he wanted to tell his father no. He wanted to say that there was nothing he would less rather do. It held no appeal to him, and it was more than simply because he was mourning his little brother.

  Levi was angry. In fact, anger was not a strong enough word for what he felt. He was furious. Everything he had read about God in the past had made him see the Lord as a Person, a Supreme Being who knew him and loved him and cared about him and wanted to talk to him.

  Before, when he or anyone in the family prayed, Levi had the feeling they were not just going through some ritual but were actually talking to God. God had never spoken to him, except through His word, but that had always been enough. Levi didn’t understand all of it—in fact he understood precious little of it. But he had gotten the point. Now he didn’t know if he believed or accepted any of it.

  Levi tried a stalling tactic and told his father that he would be happy to begin reading the Torah again, except that he did not want to be responsible for his parents’ having to work during the mourning period.

  “I can consult the rabbi if you wish,” his father said. “But I believe I know what he would say—that this falls into the same category of my making the buying trip to Jerusalem. And I also believe he would find it a worthy diversion from my grief. Anyway, you don’t require much work on our parts. We just listen. Now, read.”

  “What shall I read?”

  “Where did you leave off?”

  “The Torah, I believe. But I would like to read a psalm, if you don’t mind.”

  “I think anything would be fine,” his father said, handing him the scroll.

  Levi searched until he found the psalm the Levite choir would have sung on the Wednesday they were in Jerusalem. Something about the vengeance of God seemed just right today, and he wanted to read more of it.

  “Listen, Father,” he said. “Let me read the psalm for the fourth day of creation, and maybe you can explain it to me. ‘Understand, you senseless among the people; and you fools, when will you be wise? He who planted the ear, shall He not hear? He who formed the eye, shall He not see? He who instructs the nations, shall He not correct, He who teaches man knowledge? The Lord knows the thoughts of man, that they are futile. Blessed is the man whom You instruct, O Lord, and teach out of Your law, that You may give him rest from the days of adversity, until the pit is dug for the wicked. For the Lord will not cast off His people, nor will He forsake His inheritance. But judgment will return to righteousness, and all the upright in heart will follow it. Who will rise up for me against the evildoers? Who will stand up for me against the workers of iniquity? Unless the Lord had been my help, my soul would soon have settled in silence. If I say, “My foot slips,” Your mercy, O Lord, will hold me up. In the multitude of my anxieties within me, Your comforts delight my soul. Shall the throne of iniquity, which devises evil by law, have fellowship with You? They gather together against the life of the righteous, and condemn innocent blood. But the Lord has been my defense, and my God the rock of my refuge. He has brought on them their own iniquity, And shall cut them off in their own wickedness; the Lord our God shall cut them off.’”

  Levi looked up at his father, noticing that his mother had come in and sat to listen too. “The Lord will give us rest from adversity? You told me what adversity is, and we’re in it, aren’t we?”

  His mother nodded. “We are.”

  “Is the mourning period our rest, since we’re not supposed to work? Because that is not enough for me.”

  “What do you mean by that?” his father said.

  “I want rest,” Levi said. “I do not feel rest from my adversity.”

  “Neither do I,” his mother said.

  Levi warmed to it now. “Didn’t Herod condemn innocent blood? Will God really bring down on him his own iniquity and cut him off? And what does it mean to be cut off?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” Levi’s mother said. “Because I am going to hold God to that promise.”

  “Be careful how you speak, Mary,” Alphaeus said. “Who are we to hold God to anything?”

  “Who am I? Who am I? I am one whose child was murdered before my eyes! If vengeance is the Lord’s, I want Him to exact it. And if I am impudent for requiring something of Him, could He punish me more?”

  Levi was alarmed at his mother’s tone, and yet something deep within told him she was saying things he wanted to say. There were some deep, heavy promises in this psalm. Were they real? Could they be taken literally? Was the psalmist not promising that God would avenge the evildoers?

  Levi wanted that, expected that. And while he may not have been saying so aloud, as his mother was, he also demanded it.

  FIVE

  Levi was not blind to something strange and terrible going on inside him. Though young, he understood that he was being raised by devout Jews who lived their entire lives in the service of God. Everything they did and said was intended to glorify God. They considered all of life sacred, even their work, the
ir bread, their clothes.

  He somehow knew his mother would return to her passion and devotion to God. Somehow she would begin trusting Him again. Though she seemed to look older to Levi every day, she slowly, slowly, became more active. She spent less time sitting and staring and more time busying herself with chores.

  Levi hesitated to bring up Chavivi, because he did not want to upset his mother. But when the baby had been on his mind for hours, he just had to remind someone of a cherished memory, some antic, or some look. When he dared mention Chavivi’s name to his mother, he was surprised that her eyes brightened and she gave him her full attention. It was as if she wanted to be reminded of the baby, and while Levi wouldn’t call her look an actual smile—the pain was apparently too sharp and fresh for that—she sometimes looked closer to her old self than she had since that ghastly night.

  Eventually Levi’s father went back to work, and that seemed the best thing for him as well. While he wasn’t there to look after Mary during the day, he came home more talkative, more eager to see both his wife and his son. Gradually life began to return to normal, and yet Levi realized it would never really be the same.

  Even when the family went about their routines, the thought of Chavivi was never far from his mind, and he knew it was the same for his parents. He could see it in their eyes, particularly his mother’s. She had, he feared, been wounded forever.

  When he was fully back into his daily rhythms after several weeks, a dark secret planted itself deep within his soul, and every day it seemed to grow. He could not tell his parents, not yet. He didn’t know what to think about it himself.

  The problem was that the more he read and studied and learned, the more he realized that he lacked the love of and devotion to God required of a future priest. Even as a youngster he had once enjoyed a passion, an enthusiasm for God and for the Word of God. Now, the deeper he got into the Scripture, the more it repulsed him. Oh, he had long known that the Lord was not just a God of love and mercy but also of justice and sometimes vengeance. Even if Levi could not blame on God the unspeakable crime against his family, could not the righteous Creator of the universe have protected them from it? Why did the most precious, most innocent among them have to die?

  The Scripture said it was not right to question God, and Levi knew that if he dared speak his mind about not only his questions, but also his very hatred of God, he would terribly vex his parents. They certainly didn’t need that. Not now.

  HIS MOTHER, after many months, began to pray again. It sounded so strange to hear her talk to God, to thank Him for His daily provisions. Occasionally she would thank Him for the blessing of having been able to enjoy the beautiful Chavivi, even if for so short a time. But she never—at least in her vocal prayers—asked to know why He had allowed the baby to be taken.

  Levi didn’t know—nor did he dare ask—whether that was because his mother had somehow come to accept it. He could not imagine.

  Levi’s strange new thinking affected even his sleep. It wasn’t that he dreaded his daily morning readings—he didn’t. It’s just that he looked at them in a whole new light. He was no longer reading for the edifying of his soul, as the rabbi put it. Nor was he reading solely for his education—though he sensed that was a great benefit too.

  No, now he was reading furiously with a definite, specific purpose, one that would horrify the rabbi and his parents and anyone who knew him. He was studying and learning all he could about God and the Word of God, and he was even looking forward to learning other languages—but all for a reason he dared not speak aloud: Levi had become an enemy of God.

  It wasn’t that he was losing his faith or belief. No, he still believed in God, that there was a God, that He was an all-powerful Being. He had no doubt about God’s existence. The truth that appalled even Levi himself was that he despised God so much. The seed of bitterness that had taken root in his soul the night Chavivi was murdered had permeated his whole being.

  DAY AFTER DAY for the next several years, Levi worked at hiding his terrible secret. He learned to smile again, as did his mother—though he always detected a deep sadness in her eyes. He was diligent in his reading, and when it came time for him to attend daily lessons at the synagogue, he quickly became recognized as the brightest in his class of twenty-five students. He became as proficient in Hebrew and Greek as in Aramaic, and it was not uncommon for the rabbi to tell his parents how pleased he was with Levi’s scholarship and leadership.

  “He is an example to the other lads,” the rabbi would say, beaming.

  During Levi’s tenth year, his parents sat him down one evening and said they had wonderful news. “The Lord has blessed us,” Alphaeus said, “and your mother is again with child.”

  It was plain that they expected him to be as overjoyed as they, but he could not force a smile, and he knew it was obvious. “Levi, dear,” his mother said, “no new brother or sister will ever replace Chavivi. To welcome a new sibling will not diminish our love for your brother, nor do we expect it to diminish yours.”

  Levi just nodded. He knew he should be excited about the arrival of a new baby, but his mother had been exactly right. The very idea that anything or anyone could make up for the loss of the precious Chavivi was absurd.

  As the weeks and months passed and his mother’s abdomen grew, Levi was reminded of when she had carried his little brother. While he still tried to remain neutral about the whole idea, his parents’ enthusiasm began to affect him. But their continual praise to God for this new life was lost on him. How could God allow them to be nearly destroyed because of a horrible, violent act and then expect them to feel blessed by a new child a few years later?

  IN THE MIDDLE of a particularly cold early spring night, Levi’s mother awoke with a moan and urged Alphaeus to fetch the midwife. He told Levi to dress quickly, and they rushed out into the darkness. Levi was dropped off at the home of friends, and Alphaeus went on to find the midwife.

  In the morning, just before Levi was to walk to the synagogue, the midwife stopped by on her way home and told him to go and see his new baby brother. Levi knew better than to expect the newborn baby to look like Chavivi, but he was struck by how tiny and loud and red the infant was. He frankly wasn’t sure what to make of this new member of the family. But the baby certainly seemed to make his mother happy, and Levi understood that she would be very busy with him for a long time. That had to be good.

  But eight days later when the local mohel circumcised the baby and Alphaeus announced that his name would be James, Levi was stunned. What was it about that name that gave him pause? He couldn’t put his finger on it immediately, but he had already had so much language training for a young age that he knew he had run across it before.

  The next day he asked the rabbi if the name James had a special meaning.

  “It does, my son,” the rabbi said. “Like Jacob, it means supplanter or replacement.”

  Levi fumed all day and ran all the way home when classes were over. “I know why Father named the baby James,” he told his mother. “I know what it means.”

  “We just liked the sound of it,” she said.

  “Verily? Mother, I have never known you to lie to me before.”

  “Levi! How impudent to accuse me of such a thing! Now, apologize!”

  “I won’t! You know as well as I do what James means. I may never even call the baby that! He will never replace Chavivi!”

  “I’m going to have to tell your father what you’ve said and how you spoke to me.”

  “I’ll tell him myself. He named this baby. Is he going to tell me he didn’t know what the name meant either?”

  THAT EVENING, after a similar encounter with his father, Levi was asked to join Alphaeus for a stroll after dinner.

  “I am very disappointed in you, son.”

  “I am disappointed in you too.”

  “And perhaps we were wrong to name your brother James after assuring you that he was not here to replace Chavivi. And he is not. We will love him
and cherish him and care for him in a whole new way, for he is a whole new person.”

  “Then why name him James?”

  His father sighed. “That is our right and responsibility, and I have chosen what I have chosen. You may choose to not accept it, but it shall not change. As you grow to become a man, you may not agree with everything we say or do or decide, but you will talk to us with respect, and you will obey. And whatever you do, do not take out your frustration or anger on your brother. He is innocent in all of this. He did not come to us from God in order to take Chavivi’s place. We must accept him for who he is. I believe he will bring his own joy into our home.”

  Angry as Levi was, he knew his father was right, at least about the innocence of James. He would try to be a good brother, and he couldn’t imagine calling the baby anything but his given name. But he was not going to be happy about it.

  The root of bitterness toward God continued to grow in him, and he realized he was excelling at his studies for a reason that would alarm and deeply distress his parents and the rabbi if they knew of it. When he grew up, he wanted nothing to do with the God of the Torah. His goal was to make a success of himself, to gain wealth, to become independent of the Lord and everyone else.

  SIX

  Word spread fast and wide when King Herod the Great died a horrible death, his body putrefied and worm-infested. While the succession to the throne of his sons brought no encouragement to the citizenry, Levi for one exulted in the man’s horrific demise. If he had only lingered longer in pain, depression, and paranoia, Levi might have found more satisfaction in his suffering. Maybe God had exacted His vengeance after all.

  But that did not remedy Levi and his family’s loss. The joy had wholly been ripped from Levi’s life, and it was obvious to everyone. His parents seemed to study him with concern on their faces. And he had to be badgered to spend time with baby James the way he had with Chavivi. He found the child precocious and even cute at times, but as Levi grew older, his mind and his interests were elsewhere. Though he vowed he would never marry or have a family—his way of getting back at God for allowing such deep sorrow to his own parents—he began to notice the girls who hung around the synagogue at the end of the school day. Though they were not allowed in the classes, they were often nearby. They had been a nuisance to the boys when they were younger, but now as the boys neared their thirteenth birthdays and their bar mitzvahs, more and more were taking an interest in talking and playing with the girls.