Yeshua Read online

  Yeshua

  Michelle Warren

  Published by Michelle Warren

  Copyright 2022 Michelle Warren

  Discover other titles by Michelle Warren:

  A New Kind of Zeal

  A New Kind of Zeal 2: The Price of Redemption

  A New Kind of Zeal 3: The Crux of Salvation

  Statement:

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of a character to a person living or dead is a coincidence apart from the clear characters of inspiration from two thousand years ago. Likewise, in the slightly futuristic poetic interpretation, the organisations, positions, places, nations, ethnicities, religions, ideologies, and customs explored do not represent any current reality today but represent a fictional future. Those portions set in the past are also fictionalized.

  No offence is intended in the writing of the novel. The opinions upheld by the characters do not necessarily represent the opinions of the author, and any criminal actions or acts of war committed by the characters are not endorsed by the author.

  This novel is not intended to incite violence or warfare: quite the opposite, the goal of the novel is to evoke peace.

  Licence Notes:

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favourite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

  Introduction

  I have wondered whether I had the right to write this novel. I am not a Jew, nor an Arab. I am not an Israeli, nor a Palestinian. Neither do I have German blood. I am a New Zealand European Christian, with a background in Medicine. It is inevitable that the writing will be full of inaccuracies and the product of a blending of my own New Zealand culture, ways of thinking, and mannerisms with those of Israel and Palestine. Some details will be mistakenly wrong. Some details I have deliberately kept different. I invite the reader more knowledgeable than myself to use all these realities to reinforce the fictional nature of the novel. It is a parable, and, as such, provides some psychic distance from the bold themes that have a deep reaching relevance for us all.

  In 1996 I visited Israel. At twenty-two years of age, as a medical student, I chose Israel as my destination for my medical elective. Yitzhak Rabin had been assassinated a few months earlier, but that didn’t quench my young spiritual fervour. I stayed in a youth hostel in Ein Karem, Jerusalem, and all the other students staying at the hostel were Germans seeking to come to terms with the Holocaust. I visited the Holocaust Museum with my new German friend and roommate, and the impact of the experience ran deeper and more persistently than I realised. I deliberately confronted the corruption inherent in our humanity, but the experience took its toll, even just as an observer.

  In travelling to church on Sunday morning, I caught Bus No.17 and Bus No.18 exploded. The next Sunday I caught Bus No.17 to church, and Bus No.18 exploded again. The next Sunday I caught Bus No.17, and I was aware that anyone could be carrying a bomb. For a very short time I became a part of the community of Israel, not only as a tourist or spiritual pilgrim, but as a medical student assigned to a hospital, and I worked alongside a staff member who lost her husband in one of the blasts.

  While I stayed in Ein Karem, I confronted the question: is it necessary to become a Jew to fully understand Yeshua? I concluded it was enough to be a Gentile girl. The question parallels my testing of this novel: is it necessary to be a citizen of Israel or Palestine to explore the people and themes offered? I believe not. I believe it is sufficient to be human.

  I offer this novel from the depths of my heart. To the extent to which Israel has impacted my own life is the extent to which I now give back out of that deep impact.

  I hope and pray the reader is free to enjoy the novel, in the spirit in which it is offered.

  Shalom. Salem.

  Or, as we say in New Zealand, Arohanui.

  With agape love,

  Michelle.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Start of Yeshua

  Part One: Miriam and Kirsten

  Part Two: Yeshua ben Yosef

  Part Three: The Zeal of the Lord

  References

  Connect with Michelle Warren

  Prologue

  Yeshua jerked awake. The room was dark. Had he heard something? He reached up to turn on his bed lamp.

  “Turn off the light!” muttered his brother James, and Yeshua looked at his seven-year-old face, screwed up, before James covered his face with his pillow.

  Yeshua glanced at his book, lying open next to his bed, and cast his eyes over the Hebrew.

  “Shua,” whispered Judah’s voice, and he saw his two-year-old wide brown eyes, peering at him from the other bed opposite James.

  “Go back to sleep,” murmured Yeshua. “Shalom.”

  “Ima…”

  Yeshua lifted himself out of his bed and wandered over to Judah. He sat on his bed and laid a hand over his face, closing his eyes.

  “Sleep,” he murmured prayerfully, and Judah settled under his touch.

  He returned to his own bed, climbing back under the bedclothes, and reached to lay his book, the Tanakh, on his lap.

  “‘The Lord said to Satan,’” he quoted, whispering, “‘where have you come from?’ Satan answered the Lord, ‘From roaming through the earth and going back and forth in it.’”

  Yeshua fingered the Hebrew.

  “Roaming the earth,” he murmured, his eyes drifting closed. Then, suddenly, he was torn away.

  Satan’s hand was on his shoulder. They were standing on the edge of a grey, barren crater. Yeshua peered down at his bare feet, in the dust…adult feet. He stared at his adult hands.

  “Not long now,” said Satan, and Yeshua stared at his maligned light, in the form of a man.

  “I’m dreaming,” he whispered.

  “Elohim won’t allow me into His presence,” said Satan. “This wasted rock is the closest I can get back to the heavens.” And he lifted his arms up to the sky.

  Yeshua gazed up at the stars, the multitude of lights, the milky haze sweeping across the darkness.

  “Elohim,” he whispered.

  The Light of the heavens surrounded him; the Light filled him. He gasped.

  “All of time is at your fingertips,” said Satan. “The beginning and the end.”

  Satan gestured to the horizon, and there, beyond the craters, rose a luminous green and blue orb. Yeshua stiffened, staring at it. The Earth? He scanned the surrounding craters. They were standing on the moon? His breathing quickened, without air.

  He looked back at the familiar blue oceans and green continents of the Earth, and closer at the trees, the bushes, the flowers; the insects, the animals, humanity...Creation! The Beginning! He peered the other way, through time…violence, war, disease, destruction! The End…

  “Let me do it,” whispered Satan. “Let me stop them.”

  “No,” said Yeshua.

  “Just one push,” said Satan, gesturing over the Earth. “Just one little push, and they are all gone.”

  Yeshua closed his eyes, suddenly tired. James, Judah…He wanted to return to his family…

  “You are human,” muttered Satan.

  Yeshua opened his eyes, looking back at Earth, peering at Africa, Europe, and Asia…Home. His memory was returning.

  “Which time?” asked Satan.

  “All times,” murmured Yeshua. “All places.”

  “Yes, but which one?” asked Satan. “Where can I kill you?”

  Yeshua stared at him. Then he looked back to the Earth, between Africa, Europe and Asia…

  “When?” asked Satan.


  Yeshua tilted his head, frowning. “Whenever they need me,” he said. “Once and for all.”

  “Good,” said Satan. “Then I will have you soon.”

  “Go,” said Yeshua.

  “I hate you,” said Satan.

  “Go!” cried Yeshua, and he swept Satan back to the Earth.

  Yeshua swayed on his feet, staring at Israel.

  One offering, whispered the Light.

  “For all time,” said Yeshua.

  Go, said the Light.

  “Go?” he whispered.

  Go!

  And Yeshua felt himself dragged back.

  He sucked in a quick breath and reached out, grasping at thin air. A woman’s face came into focus, her brown eyes wide, her black hair covered with a blue scarf. He clung to her arm.

  “Ima,” he whispered.

  “Was it another dream?” she asked.

  He nodded, reaching with his other hand to feel his mattress, sheets and blanket. Where was the Tanakh? It was back sitting next to his bed.

  Yeshua trembled, and his mother took his hand.

  “Only ten,” she murmured, “and having all of these dreams.”

  “I saw Satan,” he whispered.

  “What?” she asked, searching his eyes.

  “And Elohim,” he said. “I could feel Elohim. I could feel my Father.”

  His mother reached to his face. “Tell me more,” she murmured. “I am here.”

  “Who am I?” he whispered.

  “You are who you are,” she said. “You are Yeshua.”

  “The beginning and the end,” he whispered.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s happening all over again. The same offering…”

  She was frowning. “One Lord,” she said, and he reached his fingers to her face.

  “Yes, Ima,” he said. “One Lord.”

  And his eyes drifted closed.

  Her gentle voice sang over him in Hebrew.

  “The beginning,” he whispered. “It’s time to go back to the beginning.”

  “The beginning?” she murmured.

  “All over again,” he whispered. “To understand.”

  “To understand what?” she asked.

  “You will see, Ima,” he whispered. “In time.”

  And he sank back into sleep.

  A young girl was standing under a red and green tree. Surprised, Yeshua gazed at her blonde hair and blue eyes. Another dream? It felt real. She was laughing with an olive-skinned boy.

  “She’s the one,” said Satan, and Yeshua glanced at his face as he moved to stand alongside him in the form of a man.

  “The one?” he asked.

  “The human I will use,” said Satan, “to destroy you.”

  Yeshua stiffened, looking over her pretty, white face.

  “Kirsty,” he said, and her blue eyes came to him in surprise.

  “Yes?” she asked politely.

  “Who is your friend?”

  “Benjamin!” she said happily.

  Yeshua looked at his brown eyes and curls, and then back at Kirsty’s love.

  “The Light is shining in the darkness,” he said.

  “The Light?” she asked.

  He smiled at her.

  Go back, whispered his Father.

  “Back?”

  Back to the beginning.

  And darkness took him.

  PART ONE

  Miriam and Kirsten

  Chapter One

  Kirsten tugged off her sweater in the New Zealand summer heat. She looked out of the window at the red blossoms of the pohutukawa tree, and then turned, took in a deep breath, and sat under the pine Christmas tree.

  The lights were sparkling, dancing around the red and green baubles. She gazed happily at them, and spotted the prettily wrapped presents sitting underneath the branches.

  “Are there any presents for me?” asked Benjamin, sitting alongside her, his olive face breaking into an excited smile.

  “Yes!” said Kirsten, pointing to a little pile of green and red parcels on the right side of the tree. “And for your Mum and Dad.”

  “Yay!” he said, clapping his hands, and she leaned into his shoulder.

  “I’m glad Dad invited your family for Christmas!” she said.

  “My dad likes your dad,” said Benjamin, gesturing to the two men sitting talking on the couch.

  “What does your dad do?”

  “He’s a physicist.”

  “What’s a physicist?”

  “I don’t know,” said Benjamin, grinning. “What does your dad do?”

  “He’s a chemist,” said Kirsten.

  “What’s a chemist?”

  “I don’t know,” said Kirsten, smiling.

  Benjamin’s brown eyes suddenly lit up.

  “We’re in the same class again next year,” he said.

  “Yes!” said Kirsten.

  “I want to stay in the same class as you forever,” said Benjamin, and he reached out and took her hand.

  Kirsten trembled. She held his hand. She tightened her hold.

  “Year 2 is finished,” she whispered. “And then Year 3, and Year 4…”

  “And Year 5, and Year 6…” he continued melodically.

  “I can’t imagine Year 7,” she said. “Intermediate! They’re so big!”

  “We’ll be big too, soon,” said Benjamin, and then Kirsten noticed the men on the couch had stopped talking.

  Kirsten looked up at her father. His kind blue eyes were watching her, his white face breaking into a gentle smile.

  “They’re bonding, Isaac,” he murmured to his friend. Kirsten peeked at Benjamin’s father’s face, a darker olive, dark brown eyes, brown curls like those of Benjamin, but tufted with grey.

  “So they are,” he said. Was he happy? Kirsten couldn’t tell. But her father…she returned to his gaze. Yes, he was happy.

  Kirsten still held Benjamin’s hand. The men began to talk again, with big words and strong feelings. Kirsten gazed at her father, watching him talk. She looked back at Isaac. His eyes came to her, and she held her breath. His gaze flicked to his son. Then he looked sad, his eyes moving over the tree before he then stared out of the window.

  “What’s wrong?” asked her father.

  “Christmas,” said Isaac, still looking away.

  “Does our celebration offend you?” asked her father.

  “No,” said Isaac, looking back to him. “You know me better than that, Matthew. It’s not about Christ. We celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah every year. Heather is Christian.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Tears filled Isaac’s eyes. Her father was staring at him.

  “Benji,” whispered Kirsten, clinging to his hand. “Your Dad…”

  Benjamin met his father’s eyes, and then, suddenly, Isaac was crying.

  “Mum,” called out Benjamin urgently, and his mother appeared from helping in the kitchen.

  Her green eyes found Isaac, and she sat on the couch next to him, taking his hand. Her young white face, pretty like a sculpture, was framed by her long blonde hair.

  “What does your Mum do?” asked Kirsten.

  “She’s a psychologist,” said Benjamin.

  “What’s a…?”

  “She looks after people’s thoughts and feelings.”

  Kirsten gazed at Heather’s care for her husband.

  “When I grow up, I want to be a psychologist,” she murmured, and then she was drawn back to Isaac’s face.

  Tears were flowing down his cheeks. He wasn’t afraid to cry, not like her father, who would always push tears away.

  “Isaac,” said Matthew, and he reached to grasp his shoulder.

  “It reminds him,” said Heather quietly.

  “What does?” asked Matthew, and Heather gestured to Kirsten and Benjamin.

  Kirsten stiffened, watching her.

  “Family,” said Isaac. Then, suddenly, he rose to his feet and moved out of the lounge.

  Ki
rsten stared into her father’s eyes. Then he shifted his gaze back to Heather.

  “I don’t think he’ll mind me saying,” she began. “You could probably work it out for yourself, anyhow.”

  Matthew frowned, searching her. “Tell me more,” he said.

  “His father died,” said Heather. “Just after he was born.”

  “He lost his father…”

  “And his mother’s parents died at the same time. In January 1945.”

  Matthew was silent, watching her. And then his eyes widened.

  “The Holocaust,” he whispered. “Just before the liberation…”

  Now tears filled Heather’s eyes. She reached to wipe them away, but they kept coming.

  “It’s a terrible burden,” she said. “It haunts him. He’s turning fifty-one soon, and it all comes back. Every birthday, every celebration, he remembers his mother’s retelling of his birth…”

  Her eyes moved to Benjamin, and she smiled gently at him. Kirsten moved her gaze between them, and then looked to her father.

  “Daddy,” she asked, “what’s a Holocaust?”

  Matthew stared at her. Heather also was staring. Kirsten flushed, and then suddenly Heather rushed from the room.

  “Mum!” cried Benjamin, and he quickly released Kirsten’s hand and ran after his mother.

  Kirsten stared after them, spotted her father’s wide eyes, and wrapped her arms around herself, crying.

  “It wasn’t you,” said her father gently, leaving the couch to sit next to her on the floor beside the tree.

  “They all left!” cried Kirsten.

  “I know,” said her father, “but it wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was something I said,” whispered Kirsten.

  “Yes,” said her father, “but nothing you caused. You go straight to the heart, Kirsty.”

  Kirsten gazed at him, frowning. “Is that bad?” she asked.