Embedded. Marc Knutson
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with consternation.
I paused for a moment. I didn’t want him to feel that I was belittling his religion. Moreover, I certainly didn’t want to make him think that I was going to make a spectacle out of his beliefs, “Well Kahan, it seems that there has been rumor and even conjecture, that means a lot of talk among people. They are saying that for the past twenty or thirty years, the Jewish messiah has been born and is alive and living in the world today. What do you know about that theory?”
I had almost forgotten that my breakfast plate was lying before me, granted it was getting cold, but I had Kahan’s attention and I didn’t want to lose him or the train of thought that we had established. In between our pauses, you could hear the slight rattle of silverware and glasses being cleaned and placed in their holding areas. Then I received a friendly reminder, as my stomach cried out “Eat!” I knew that I needed to, who knows what exploits the day was going to hold for me. But in the midst of my hunger, my instincts were saying, “Probe further, get in deeper, we’re really close to some answers here, don’t let go just to feed your face!”
My drifting must have been evident as Kahan attempted to regain my attention with his response. “Mr. Stanton, the prophets write in holy book about a town that is to be called special. Special because messiah is to be brought to world in this town, it is called Bethlehem. It is not far from here just go south of . . .”
I interrupted him, “Yes, Kahan, I am aware of Bethlehem and where it is located.” I realized that I was being a bit curt with him, “I’ve been there. But I don’t recall any anxiety or interest or undo hubbub about a messiah living there, are you sure it’s suppose to be Bethlehem?”
“Hub-bub? What is hub-bub?” Kahan asked with a questioning expression. His dry, parched skin wrinkled like a raisin that had dried in the sun. His years of working the fields of his father’s farm were like an irremovable tattoo on his face. Lines, that went from hairline to chin, crow’s feet around his eyes, all the telltale signs of age, and sun exposure. All became very predominant, especially when he had that questioning look on his face, or when he laughed.
“Sorry Kahan, hubbub means commotion. Well let’s see, we haven’t covered words like this yet in your training huh? Allow me to describe it as a time when a number of people talk to each other so fast and so frequent, that it even sounds like they are buzzing, like bees. Hubbub is where a lot of activity develops around a story, or a rumor, that causes people to run around and tell each other, do you get it? Is that clearer at all?” I wasn’t quite sure how to define the word for his best cultural understanding. I thought of using the word gossip in the definition, but I wasn’t sure if he knew that word. I’ve forgotten where he and I had left off in our vocabulary lessons. Now my mind was in a hubbub, conjuring questions, framing them for his understanding and stirring up new thoughts, all the while my stomach doubts that my head was even still connected to my body because I still hadn’t taken a bite of breakfast. Well, guess now it’s more like lunch, a cold lunch at that.
“Mr. Stanton, you are correct, you have used many words just now that we covered not in our speaking, one word you do teach me is “confused,” and that I am.” Kahan spoke with a solemn and direct pattern. Choosing his words slowly and carefully, not mockingly, more like deliberate, so as not to make an error, as a good student speaks to his teacher to earn points. I found myself trying to break the hold his eyes had on me and looked away for a brief second, one way to take a mental breath without looking like I was exasperated. Interestingly enough, the young couple in the booth was still quietly enjoying their meal, but the man that was at the center table, reading the Journal, had slipped out. I thought it interesting that neither Kahan nor I had been distracted by any movement near our table. The man must have gone the other way. Yet Kahan, the consummate maître‘d, would have gone to bid him farewell and to hint at a tip.
“Sorry, Kahan. Let’s try it again.” Even I caught myself slowing down and speaking more deliberate again. “Let me take a bite first. My stomach is going to think my head is cut off.”
“What means this, head cut off? Mr. Stanton you make me confused again!” exclaimed a bewildered Kahan.
“You’re right, Kahan. Let’s get back to this messiah thing,” I wanted badly to take a bite but also realized that Kahan’s time was critical. I needed information, but I didn’t know how much time I had with him. “Who would know anything about this prophesy in Bethlehem? Is there someone you recommend that I speak to? Any leads for me, Kahan?”
“Yes, Mr. Stanton, because in the scroll of the ancient prophet Micah, he writes to us that God wants the messiah to come from Bethlehem Ephrata. It is little town south. Oh, that’s right, you know where it is. The Prophet Micah says that from this town comes the Judge of Israel, we call him messiah. I want you to know that many people have many thoughts about this; some say that messiah alive today and will come to toss away Romans and kings, to set up new kingdom run by God. Others, not so sure of that, say that messiah is not alive yet, but some new and greater prophet will arise, to bring peace to Israel and tell of God’s love for us. Others think that there is no God and that we all believe in fables.”
I was getting a sense that Kahan really knew more about this so-called prophecy and the prophet that was to emerge than he wanted me to know. His eyes lit up when he started to talk about him, and his voice went up a few octaves with excitement.
“Kahan,” I began, “how can I get hold of a scroll to read the prophecy for myself?”
“Mr. Stanton, I am sorry truly, but only Levi priest in temple or synagogue can read to you scrolls from Talmud or Torah.” 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