Blessed Are The Persecuted

A talk radio host stands up for a persecuted minority and suffers the consequences.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jeremiah Bar-Aaron said, leaning back in his chair, knocking his hat ajar, and stroking his greying beard as he gazed upon the young man in front of him, Malachi Bar-Isaiah, the newest member of the talk radio station’s lineup. The heavyset man had a hat perched atop black hair and an equally dark beard growing from his cheeks and chin.
Malachi Bar-Isaiah inhaled deeply then turned around in his chair to look at the four people standing behind him. His eyes first fell upon Cecilia, cohost on his radio show. She had sky blue eyes, peach skin a headful of blond curls and, around her neck, a chain of beads with a wooden cross pendant. Next his eyes roamed to Lydia and Barnabas, standing behind the granddaughter they were so protective of. Both had wrinkles but Lydia had grey hair while Barnabas was bald—no doubt due to the amount of persecution they’d had to endure during their lives—and clean-shaven, a personal choice many men of his faith chose to distinguish themselves from the Jews. Then his eyes swiveled to hazel-eyed, brown-haired and also clean-shaven Paul. He looked strange outside of a church and in clothes other than his clerical robe and collar, as if someone had Photoshopped him into a photo of the office. Malachi Bar-Isaiah then turned back around to face Jeremiah and nodded.
Jeremiah sighed. “I can’t be liable if something bad happens to you,” he said. “Do you still want to do it?”
Again Malachi nodded.
Jeremiah took a deep breath then let out a sharp exhale. “How are you planning to cover Christian persecution?”
“Uh . . .” Malachi drew back. Oh great. He’d spent so much time planning how to convince Jeremiah to allow him to cover Christian persecution he hadn’t given how he was going to cover the subject.
Jeremiah cocked his head. “You don’t have any idea?”
Frowning, Malachi shook his head.
Cecilia stepped forward, smiling. “I know how Bar-Isaiah can cover our persecution,” Cecilia said. She then turned to Malachi, lifted her right arm and thrust her index finger at him. “He can pretend to become Christian.”
“What!” Malachi said, jumping up from his chair and backing up against the wall. “You’ve got to be kidding. No way will I pretend to become Christian.”
“Why?”
“Do you know what would happen to me if I even just said I was becoming Christian?”
“That’s the whole point.”
Malachi gulped. “What!”
“If you’re persecuted for saying you’re becoming Christian, that will show people how evil the persecution of Christians is.”
Malachi turned to Jeremiah with a pleading expression. Oh please help me.
Jeremiah shrugged. “Let’s do it,” he said.
Malachi frowned as his heart sank. I can’t believe this. He sighed. Oh well. I guess I gotta go through with this. Otherwise Jeremiah will fire me.
*
“Good Monday morning!” Malachi said a week later. His eyes darted to the left, bringing Paul into his field of vision. Malachi needed reassurance right now and felt Paul could provide it. Paul met his gaze, smiled and nodded. Malachi smiled as he continued addressing his audience. “Today I have a special announcement to make.”
Again Malachi fell silent. He took a deep breath as he gathered every ounce of courage within his soul and summoned it to his purpose. I don’t want to go through with this. He closed his eyes. But I have to; I’ve already said I have a special announcement. Suddenly, a hand alighted on his shoulder. This unexpected but comforting gesture gave Malachi the last little bit of encouragement he needed. His eyes snapped open with a sharp exhale.
“I’ve become Christian,” Malachi said without any hesitation. Almost immediately after these words entered the air the switchboard lit up. Malachi grimaced with a shudder. He knew a good percentage of these callers would berate him for his faked conversion since they didn’t know it was faked. He gulped then turned to Paul.
Paul was no longer smiling. Now he had on a serious expression. Malachi gestured upward with his hands, his palms skyward, to ask Paul silently what he should do next. Paul turned towards the switchboard and nodded. Malachi took a deep breath and turned back to the switchboard. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go to Zedekiah on line five. Hello?”
“Is this Bar-Isaiah?” a vindictive voice said.
“Yes.” Malachi wondered who they thought they were talking to.
“Apostate!”
Malachi shuddered. The malice in the voice was unmistakable.
Zedekiah laughed maliciously.
“How dare you speak a false word against a neighbor!” Malachi said. “I haven’t deserted the lord. I’ve just made the decision to follow the moral teachings of the Son of David promised to the Chosen People by the lord throughout the Torah!”
Silence fell upon the studio.
“How do you know he’s the promised Son of David?” Zedekiah said.
Paul pulled out his pocket New Testament, opened it and held it out for Malachi to see a long paragraph with the bold heading of THE GENEALOGOY OF JESUS. Malachi nodded, immediately understand the silent message Paul was attempting to pass to him. “Because he has an exhaustive genealogy tracing His lineage back to David,” Malachi said. “What other proof do you need?”
A sneer assaulted Malachi’s ears. “Solomon said in Proverbs, ‘A fool believes everything’. I guess you must be a fool then.” A loud sigh oozed from the speakers in Malachi’s headphones. “Oh well. I can’t wait to see how long you believe in the so-called Son of David once the consequences of this apostasy reach you.” Zedekiah sneered then hung up.
Malachi signaled his producer to cue a commercial break and took a huge swig from his water bottle then turned to Paul with a frown. “What happened?” Paul said.
Malachi related Zedekiah’s half of the conversation.
Paul shrugged. “Nothing unusual,” he said.
Malachi cocked his head, raising an eyebrow. “But how does it go from here?” he said. “Does it get better or does it get worse?”
*
Malachi’s eyes snapped open as the clatter of shattering glass met his ears. He jolted upright, still half unconscious from sleep, slipped out of his bed and trudged out into the living room then glanced around to see what had caused the noise. Lying on the wooden floor, surrounded by shards of glass, was a rock with a piece of paper tied around it with a thin piece of rope.
Malachi blinked the sleep out of his eyes then reached down and picked up the rock. Words written in the ink of a felt-tip pen stared back up at him. Apostate! Idolater! Law-breaker! Pork-eater! Gentile-lover! Malachi gasped. The muscles in his fingers went limp, causing the rock to slip out of his hands and fall to the floor with a clatter. For a moment he stood like a statue, paralyzed with shock.
Then, suddenly, Malachi shook his head and shivered. He wondered what would happen next. After all, this was only the beginning. The worst might be yet to come.
*
Malachi didn’t sleep well for the rest of the night. Every creak the house made seemed to him to signal another assault. Thus, at each noise, he would freeze with his heart banging against his ribs. The adrenalin floating in his blood kept him awake until the square of sky visible through his window began to pale. Hence, with a sigh, Malachi hoisted himself upright before planting his feet on the floor and raising his body off the bed.
He undressed from his pajamas and bathed himself in the mikvah then dressed in his work outfit before heading into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. After eating, he set his dishes aside so he could wash them when he got home. With all his morning chores done, Malachi exited the house and strode over to his car when, out of the corner of his eyes, something caught his attention, causing him to wheel around on his heels. Scrawled across his house were curvy red letters spelling out the words from the note tied to the stone thrown through the window.
Malachi’s lips twisted into a frown. Since the phrases were the same, the graffiti artists had obviously been the people who had thrown the rock through the window. Malachi sighed, heaving his shoulders. Whoever had done this had wanted to make sure their message got across. They’d succeeded. Malachi knew that because he now felt like a Christian.
*
Several hours later Malachi ambled unsteadily into the studio with disheveled hair and shadows under his eyes. “Sir?” a voice said. Malachi started then looked down to see Cecilia staring up at him.
“Oh!” Malachi said. “It’s just you.”
Cecilia looked up at Malachi with a concerned expression. “Is everything all right?” she said.
“Yeah, of course,” Malachi said.
Cecilia frowned. “You look tired,” she said. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
Malachi sighed. She’s onto me. He shook his head.
“What happened?” Cecilia said.
Malachi hesitated. He didn’t want to tell her what happened but guessed he had to. The only alternative is lying and that’s forbidden by the Law. He sighed. “A rock was thrown through my window,” he said.
“Oh dear. That’s very bad. It could have hit and hurt or killed you.”
Malachi put his hands on his hips. “But it didn’t so there’s no need to worry,” he said. He knew better than to tell her about the graffiti on his house because this information would only increase her worry.
Cecilia sighed, opened the studio door and walked into the studio. Malachi followed closely behind as Cecilia held open the door for him. Then, as soon as he was completely in the room, she released the door, letting it close behind him, before slipping on her earphones. He immediately imitated her. The show was about to begin.
The producer counted down to zero and the equipment flicked to life. “Good morning,” Malachi said. “I hope you’re all having a nice beginning to your day.” Malachi paused, taking a deep breath. Should he tell his listeners? He turned, stared into the deep blue irises of Cecilia and wondered how many tears had leaked from the corners of Cecilia’s eyes over the death of her parents. He knew the answer—too many. He inhaled deeply. He had to tell his listeners what had happened last night. After all, hadn’t the lord told the Chosen People through the prophet Micah to seek justice?
“Last night some vandals broke a window in my house and graffitied anti-Christian slurs on the exterior,” he said. “Unfortunately, I am not the only one; I’m just the most high-profile case of such prejudice and persecution. The woman standing beside me is just one of the many unknown people who suffer from the same prejudice and persecution every day of their lives.
“As Jews, we’re required to seek justice as the lord commanded us through the prophet Micah. When we ignore the persecution of the Christians among us, we’re violating that commandment. Thus, it’s time we stood up for our neighbors as the eleventh chapter of Leviticus commands us to and fulfill this command from Micah.”
Malachi paused, took a deep breath and turned to Cecilia. She was looking at him with an approving smile then nodded vigorously. Malachi inhaled deeply and exhaled sharply then turned back to the microphone and continued his rant.
*
Again, at the end of the next day’s show, Malachi had to take a big swig from his water bottle to wet his painfully parched throat. Will I ever get a break now that I started this? Malachi frowned as he thought this while putting the cap back on his bottle. Today’s callers were even worse than yesterday’s! He hung his head and sighed. I never would have thought that possible!
“Sir?” Cecilia said.
Malachi turned to face her. “Yes?” he said.
“You’re very brave.”
“Thank you but you’re braver.”
Cecilia shook her head.
“You are. I wouldn’t have been able to thrive like you have if my parents had died.”
Cecilia smiled. “Thanks but you give me too much credit.”
Malachi raised an eyebrow. “Eh? Who else deserves some credit?”
“Jesus.”
“Why does Jesus deserve credit for the success of your life after your parents’ murder?”
“He gave me hope.”
Malachi hesitated, uncertain how to Cecilia’s statements then shrugged his shoulders. I guess a man who supposedly rose from the dead would inspire anyone. After all, who could resist the promise of eternal life? No one.
*
Malachi opened the door, exited the studio and began to amble down the hall. The door to Jeremiah’s office opened and Jeremiah peered out. “Bar-Isaiah?” he said.
Malachi spun around on his heels to face his boss. “Yeah?” he said.
“The station owner called,” Jeremiah said.
“And?”
Jeremiah sighed. “I hate to tell you this but he wants you fired.”
“What!”
“He says he doesn’t want a controversial image for the station.”
“You aren’t gonna listen to him, are you?”
Again Jeremiah sighed. “He’s my boss . . .”
“Still, you’re the manager of this station so you get to choose who goes on your airwaves.”
“Yes, you’re right. I am the manager of this station so I do have that power. However, I won’t have that power if the owner fires me.”
“What! What do you mean?”
Jeremiah looked at Malachi with an expression of pure pity. “He threatened to fire you if I didn’t fire you.”
“You’re kidding!”
Jeremiah shook his head.
“Well, what are you going to do about his demand? Resign in protest?” Malachi said.
Jeremiah laughed. “What good would that do?” he said. “The station owner would put someone else in charge who’d fire you right away.” He shook his head with a sigh. “No, Bar-Isaiah, I’m afraid there’s only one course of action for me to take.”
Malachi gulped. I think I know what he means. “What’s that?”
“I hate to do this but I’ve gotta fire you.”
“What!”
“Friday will be your last show.” Jeremiah withdrew his head into the office then shut the door behind him, leaving Malachi standing still, stunned, in the hallway.
“Everything okay, sir?” a female voice said.
Malachi started, his heart banging against his ribs, and wheeled around to find himself facing the concerned face of Cecilia. He pursed his lips, uncertain of how to respond to her question. The Law prohibited lying, he knew, so he figured he better answer her and tell the truth. “I’ve been fired,” he said with a sigh.
Cecilia frowned. “I’m so sorry, sir,” she said. “If I weren’t a woman, I’d hug you.”
Malachi sighed, shrugging his shoulders, as a smile crossed his face. “Thanks for your concern.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I’m merely doing as Jesus commanded—loving my neighbor.”
“Still, I appreciate it.” Malachi inhaled deeply. “I guess I better get going. You probably should too, shouldn’t you? Your grandparents probably worry when you’re late.”
Cecilia nodded.
“See you around then,” Malachi said.
“You too,” Cecilia said.
With these words Malachi and Cecilia turned opposite directions and walked away from each other. Malachi had just gotten to his car when a thought struck him. Perhaps Cecilia’s grandparents would have some advice on how to handle the persecution. He fumbled with his car keys for several seconds then yanked the door open, plopped onto the driver’s seat and slammed the door before starting the engine and taking off down the street.
*
Finding the Christian ghetto was difficult because Malachi had do it without any directions since he feared the consequences of stopping and asking directions to that part of town. After all, what good Jew would visit the domain of apostates? Finally, after an hour of driving, he found the ghetto. He knew it instantly when he saw crosses adorning the lawns and houses.
Malachi took a deep breath, raised his fist and knocked on the door. Several seconds later the door opened to reveal Cecilia. She gasped, took a step back and began to blabber. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going home!” she said before stopping to inhale deeply then continuing her rant. “You can’t stay here. What if someone sees you? That wouldn’t be good.”
“Who’s at the door?” a familiar female voice said from the interior. Footwalls echoed through the house and out the doorway, increasing in volume. With an unreadable expression Lydia appeared, striding up to Cecilia. “What are you doing here?” she said, her voice breathless and brimming with shock and wonder, as she came to a halt behind Cecilia and stared at Malachi.
This uncomfortable scene continued for about a minute before a male voice broke the silent staring contest. “Lydia,” the voice said, “who’s there?”
Lydia turned her head to the interior. “Bar-Isaiah,” she said.
Footsteps drifted out the doorway. Within a few minutes Barnabas appeared with a puzzled expression. He came to a stop at Lydia’s side. “How can I help you?” he said in a firm, polite voice.
“How do you do it?” Malachi said.
“Do what?” Barnabas said.
Malachi sighed. “Handle all this persecution.”
“The best advice I can give is grin and bear it.”
Malachi gasped. “You’re kidding!” he said.
Barnabas shook her head.
“Why do you put up with this?”
Lydia frowned. “What else are we supposed to do?” she said.
“You could join a synagogue. That would stop the persecution.”
Suddenly, inexplicably, Lydia broke into laughter. Malachi winced. I don’t understand. Why is she laughing? We’re talking about a serious subject. Suddenly Lydia stopped. “What you suggested is so ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“Should you forsake the truth just to avoid persecution?”
I know the answer. Malachi shook his head.
“That’s why Christians don’t go back to Judaism. We know Jesus was the Messiah.”
Malachi nodded. What she was saying made sense . . . except for one little bit. “How do you know Jesus was the Messiah?”
“Well, do you think an innocent person would allow themselves to be crucified without a good reason?” Barnabas said.
Malachi scrunched his brow as he thought hard about this. However, he couldn’t think of any answer that would contradict what Barnabas had said. Thus, he nodded.
“There,” Lydia said. “You’ve just answered your question.”
However, at that moment, Malachi realized a fact against the case Barnabas and Lydia were making for Jesus being the Messiah. “Still, I don’t think Emperor Constantine would have converted to Judaism if Christianity were true,” Malachi said.
Lydia laughed with a snort. “The only reason he converted was because some Jewish officers in his army agreed to support him if he converted to Judaism,” she said.
Malachi grimaced. That’s not a very pure motive for conversion.
“Perhaps these words will help,” Lydia said. “Our Savior said, ‘Blessed are those persecuted for their righteousness’ sake’. Hopefully those words will help you hold up under the cross you have placed upon yourself on our behalf.”
Malachi nodded, turning away from Barnabas and Lydia. “Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” Barnabas said, “and God bless you.”
“You too.” With these words, Malachi walked away with his head hanging downward.
*
On Saturday morning Malachi walked through the doors to his local synagogue. Normally he would have immediately found a desirable pew and sat down. However, today, as soon as he entered the synagogue, an unusual sight grabbed his attention. The rabbi was huddled with some other people at the back of the synagogue; they were speaking in hushed tones.
Malachi’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. This doesn’t look good. I wonder what’s up? I can’t hear what they’re talking about so I guess I better go up there and ask what’s up. Malachi walked up to the rabbi and loudly cleared his throat. The rabbi and his companions fell silent instantly then the rabbi turned on his heel to face Malachi.
“Rabbi, what’s up?” Malachi said.
The rabbi gasped and took a step back. “You!” he said, pursing his lips. “You’re no longer welcome here.”
“What!” Malachi took a step back. “Why not?”
“You’re a traitor to the true god!”
Malachi held up his hands in front of him as he shook his head vigorously. “Listen—it’s all pretend; I’m just saying I’ve become Christian to bring to light the persecution they suffer.”
The rabbi and his companions didn’t listen to Malachi. Instead, yelling the traditional curses on apostates, they tightly grabbed ahold of his shoulders and lifted him off the ground. Adrenaline poured into Malachi’s bloodstream in response to the terror this situation caused. He began to struggle, flailing his arms in attempt to make the rabbi and his companions let go of him.
It was no use. The rabbi and his companions took Malachi to the door and threw him out. He landed on his feet then staggered backwards a few steps before regaining his balance. For a moment he stared at the door, ruminating on what had just happened. I can’t believe it. I’ve just been excommunicated. He sighed and shook his head.
Malachi sighed. Great. He looked upward at the sky. Oh G-d, what do I do now? I tried to do the right thing so why is this happening to me? Then, suddenly, like a bolt of lightning from a cloudless sky, the answer to his first question hit him. Malachi gently struck himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. Of course! How could I have not thought of that sooner? I might as well since I’ve been shunned and the worst that could happen would be Jesus isn’t the Messiah.
Malachi hopped down the steps then began to run down the sidewalk. I have to find Paul. Since he’s the only person who can do what I need done. Malachi was so wrapped up in thinking about what he needed done he didn’t see the two men heading towards him. Therefore, they and him met in a head-on collision, causing both to stagger a few steps backward.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Malachi said. “I was so busy thinking about what I need to do I didn’t see you coming.”
One of the two men he’d collided with raised an eyebrow. “What you needed to do?” he said with a laugh. “Tell me, what kind of Jew works on the Sabbath?”
Suddenly, the other man gasped. “I know why this guy is working on the Sabbath!” he said.
“Why?”
“It’s Malachi Bar-Isaiah, the apostate!”
Unexpectedly, at that moment, the first man slammed his fist into Malachi’s abdomen. Malachi bent over in pain and staggered a couple steps backward. As soon as the pain receded slightly, he looked up at his assailant. “What was that for?” he said, his voice breathless.
The man lifted his left foot and kicked him in the face. The force of the blow was so strong Malachi flipped over and landed face first on the pavement. “You didn’t heed our message and return to the true faith,” the man said. “So now you’re an apostate and deserve to die.”
“You’re the people who broke my window and graffitied my house?” Malachi said with a gasp.
“Yep.”
The second man came up behind Malachi, grabbed him by the arms and lifted him to his feet, facing his assailant. The attacker approached, smiling. “May the lord have mercy on your soul,” he said, balling his fist. He pummeled Bar-Isaiah in the gut, causing him to double up with a grunt of pain, then burst into malicious laughter. “Didn’t like that, did you? Well, you should have thought about that before you decided to abandon the faith of your fathers!”
Again the man balled his fist and struck Malachi. “Yeah, that’s it!” the man behind Malachi said as he held his hands together. “Show this apostate what the consequences will be!”
“Oh, don’t worry.” For the third time the attacker balled his fists. “I will.” He looked down at Malachi with a wicked grin. “You never believed me when I told you the consequences would reach you, did you?”
Malachi gasped. “You’re Zedekiah!” he said.
The man laughed. “Yes, I am,” he said then punched Malachi in the face.
*
Malachi lay in bed with tubes protruding from every orifice. A nurse stood beside him, checking the machines monitoring his condition then writing the results of her examination on a piece of paper on a clipboard. Malachi had noticed her presence when she’d first entered the room but ignored her from then on. Instead, he focused on the one concern in his mind.
I hope Paul gets here soon. I need that done before I die. Suddenly, at that moment, a new noise jarred Malachi out of his thoughts. It was a new pair of footsteps. Malachi looked up and instantaneously his muscles tensed painfully in anticipation. “Is this Malachi Bar-Isaiah’s room?” a familiar voice said.
The nurse looked up. “Yes. Are you visitors?”
“Yes.”
“Come in.”
From behind the nurse appeared Paul, Cecilia, Barnabas and Lydia. Finally! Malachi attempted to sit up but the nurse pushed him back down.
Malachi pushed her away. “Please, please,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Please. . .”
“Please what?” Paul said.
“Baptize me.”
Paul nodded. The nurse gasped and walked back a few steps.
Paul turned to the nurse. “You might want to leave,” he said. “I’ll have to take off his hat to pour the water on his head.”
The nurse turned and walked out of the room.
“How are we going to do this?” Barnabas said. “We can’t get him out of bed with all those tubes and machines connected to him so we can’t dunk him in the bathtub.”
“I’ll pour water on his head,” Paul said. “That’s an acceptable form of baptism.” He turned to Cecilia. “Please go into the bathroom and get me a container of water,” he said.
Cecilia nodded then disappeared behind the bathroom door.
Paul then turned to Barnabas. “Please pull the curtain back,” he said, “and if anyone asks to come in or attempts to do so, tell them now is not a good time.”
Barnabas nodded then pulled the curtain forward, covering the doorway.
“Lydia?” Paul said, turning to her. “Will you be his sponsor?”
Lydia nodded, taking Malachi’s hand.
Cecilia returned with the container of water and handed it to Paul.
“I present Malachi to be baptized,” Lydia said.
Paul removed Malachi’s hat and lifted the container over his head. “Do you desire to be baptized?” Paul said.
“Yes,” Malachi said.
“Do you renounce Satan?”
“Yes.”
“Do you accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior?”
“Yes.”
“Do you promise to follow His commandments to the best of your ability?”
“Yes.”
“Then I baptize you in the name of the Father . . . and of the Son . . . and of the Holy Spirit.” When Paul mentioned each name, he tipped the container, causing water to trickle down onto Malachi’s head.
Malachi smiled. “Thank you.”
Paul smiled back. “Don’t thank me. Thank Jesus.”
“I do. . . .” Malachi’s vision became blurry then failed him completely, plunging him into blackness. The muscles in his neck became slack, causing his head to fall onto the pillow. His heart then became silent and, finally, the rest of the sounds of the world ceased.