Peter

The night was so dark that you could get lost in your own mind. The water was rough, pushing us out deeper than we wanted to be. The old men fear the deep waters because of the unknown. They pray to the spirit that hovered over them and brought order out of that chaos. Children sing songs of our family’s deliverance through this same water. This water is both a blessing and a curse. It takes life, but also saved us.

My arms and back are burning, drops of sweat are pouring down my face the salt stinging my eyes. I coil the heavy drenched net again to prepare for another cast into this black abyss. I raise my head to inhale the thick air to fuel another futile attempt to find something. This is how I grew up. My father, brothers and I would push out into this deep and try to pull up something. We cast our net to provide for our family and others. This was my calling, my family. Until the rabbi came.

He came and went, or maybe I went, I don’t know. We are out here tonight trying to find peace, a future, something. We have cast all night looking, nothing. It is almost dawn, and I cannot help but hear the rabbi’s words, “Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.” Here I am back where I started. Pushing out into the deep water trying to find something below the surface, purpose. Something inside keeps burning more than the tiredness.

This will be my last cast, my last attempt at finding anything. The dark has engulfed us and hidden everything. I have done all I can do, and I am unsure where to go from here. A man calls to us from the shore. His advice is simple, and surely irrelevant. It has been a long night and we are tired. I try to focus my eyes to see the one who calls; I feel a sense of duty to listen to this stranger. We oblige his advice and throw to the other side of the boat.

As the sun stretched its warm arms over the horizon pushing the dark away the surface tension broke. I can see the eye of our target. We quickly steady ourselves and start to work. The rope pulls tight. I can hear the tension building against the gunnels. The adrenaline courses through me eliminating the tiredness and sharpening my mind as we pull. Rabbi!

The net will surely break. But the draw of his call is intoxicating, I cannot be away from him anymore. I abandon my brothers working to secure the catch. The distance could have been a hundred feet or hundred miles. I would not be away from the rabbi any longer. I threw myself into the water and swam as though my life depended on getting to the shore, maybe it did.

I could not decide if it was the frigid water or the coldness I had felt for weeks drawing my skin up. As I swam, I longed for the sun to bring the warmth I had been missing since standing around the coal fire that night. That fire drew all the warmth from my body and the icy sludge of betrayal coursed through my veins stealing the little bit of life left in my cold hands. The night and day passed but the coldness stayed. I could not muster the courage to tell the truth, nor to live in this memory any longer.

I crawled out of the water, the rabbi sat casually next to the coal fire. The warmth of the rabbi’s presence engulfed me. I stood their gasping for air as the blood in my hands began to radiate the warmth that they received from him. It worked all through my body as I anticipated his words.

The net did not break, and my brothers are back to shore. It does not seem I have been here in the rabbi’s presence but for a moment. He asks for us to share some of the catch, his catch. My brothers are exhausted from working the net to shore. I pull the net by myself the rest of the way. I will give the rabbi as many fish as he wants.

After breakfast we walk along the shore. This place is familiar. The water meets land, and I can’t seem to get myself out of it. I had failed him before. That would not happen again. His gaze lays me open. All the parts of me that I have hidden are laying bare before him. I long to jump in the water to hide myself from him, but I need his warmth. He gently grasps my shoulder. At first I recoil because I do not deserve to be here and I know it. As he guides he calls to my soul and asks me to be a part of his life again. The tears that fall are my redemption. He gently leads me back and affirms my place.

The sun had banished the darkness and burned the frost from the ground. The rabbi was walking further. His call is intoxicating like the warm embrace of a friend that has been gone for too long. I wanted to continue, but something in me knew I could not go with him just yet. As he walks away something is different. I am different.