by Woods, Karen
A shadow fell over her work. She looked up to see Shimon standing there.
“Shalom, Shimon,” Miriam greeted Yosef’s son, the potter. “What can I do for you?”
“Something has to be done about Yehoshua. He’s endangering himself and this family,” Shimon said, his voice conveying his fear more effectively than his words.
“What do you want me to do?” Miriam asked, resuming her spinning.
“Yehuda and I are going to see him tomorrow. He’s just up in Rumah. Come with us. If anyone can make him see reason, you can. Someone has to talk to him, before the boy gets himself killed.”
“I really wouldn’t worry about that, Shimon,” Miriam said, on a sigh, continuing to work. She thought, but did not add verbally, None of us can stop that from happening.
“He’s drawing a lot of attention to himself. I’ve had four people speak to me about him this week. It hasn’t all been favorable. He’s making enemies of the parushim and the tzedukim. They are very bad people to have as opponents. And the kenaim could be positioning themselves to take advantage of him to launch a rebellion. Already they have one of their own among his disciples, a man called Simon. It’s not good, Miriam. Not good at all.”
She looked up from her spinning. “I should be done today with my spinning. I can go with you tomorrow. I’ll just have to find someone to provide a meal for my group of widows, tomorrow.”
It wasn’t much of a walk to Rumah. Nor was it hard to find Yehoshua. Even at midmorning, the crowds gathered around him were exceptionally large.
Try as they might, they could not make their way through that crowd to get close to Yehoshua.
“Friend, let us through,” Shimon said.
“Why should we? What makes you any better than us?” a man answered, sharply. “We’re all trying to see the Teacher. You can wait your turns, like everyone else.”
“This is his mother. We are his brothers. If you won’t let us through, at least pass the word to him that we’re here,” Shimon said.
The man looked at them for a long time. Then he smiled. “Come on, we’ll get you to the door.”
“Make way!” the man called. “Make way for the Teacher’s family.”
Seemingly grudgingly, the crowd let them through. Shimon knocked at the door. Andreas saw it was them and he smiled. He spoke lowly, so not to disturb Yehoshua, “I’ll tell him you’re here. There’s no room inside, though. We’re sitting one on top of another now.”
Then he left the door open, so they could hear.
“Master,” Andreas said, “your mother and brothers are outside.”
Yehoshua said, “Who are my mother, my brothers? My mother, brothers, and sisters are those who hear the word of Elohim and live it.”
Miriam watched Yosef’s sons look at one another. They obviously were offended at this. Shimon appeared far more offended than Yehuda did at Yehoshua’s words.
Andreas appeared once more at the door. His face held pure embarrassment.
Miriam nodded. “Tell him to come home for Shabbat, and bring his inner circle with him. I’ll be expecting you on Preparation Day.”
Andreas nodded and smiled. “I’ll tell him.”
“Good,” Miriam said before she turned and made her way back through the crowd.
Walking out of town, Shimon asked her, “Do you think he’ll come home?”
“He’ll come. Yehuda, I’ll need a lamb. Can you get the meat for me?”
“Of course, Miriam. And Shoshonah will help you prepare and serve the meal for Yehoshua’s group. You can have our house for the meal. Yehoshua’s men can sleep in our house.”
“The women will sleep in my house,” Miriam said. “Thank you, Yehuda. You have always been kind to me and my son.”
“Is that not what family is for?” Yehuda answered.
Shimon, his anger unabated, said, “He’s lost his mind, Miriam, your son has. The family must act to stop him from throwing his life away, and hurting the rest of us in the process.”
Miriam touched her stepson’s arm. He stopped and looked at her. She could see the tension in the set of his shoulders and the frown on his face. “You and I both know that’s not true, Shimon. Yehoshua is quite in his right mind and is doing precisely what he must do. He must obey the call of Avinu Malkeinu.”
“He’s making powerful enemies, Miriam,” Shimon said.
“By saying precisely what the scriptures have said for thousands of years; that man must turn from wickedness and walk in the ways of El Elohe Yisra’el,” Miriam said. “Those who speak the words of Avinu Malkeinu have never been universally loved. Even Moshe faced rebellions; people who would have returned to Egypt and slavery. Do we have to speak of the number of prophets that have been slain over the centuries because people didn’t want to hear the word of Adonai?”
Shimon sighed, but did not speak. Indeed, Miriam did not give him the opportunity, as she continued, “Is it any wonder, then, that some do not want to let loose of their self-imposed slavery to sin and self-righteousness? All of a man’s ways seem right to him. No one wants to admit that he needs to change his ways. And many will take affront at any suggestion that they need to live differently in order to be pleasing to Avinu Malkeinu.”
“You want him to die?” Shimon stated more than asked.
“No. I do not. Yet, all die, Shimon. We all have but a short time to live.”
“You aren’t going to do anything to convince him to stop making such a spectacle of himself, are you?” Shimon asked, anger coloring his words.
“No. He is doing what he feels he must.”
“I don’t understand you,” Shimon replied.
Miriam sighed. “That is quite abundantly clear.”
Yosef’s son, the potter, shrugged and stormed off.
Miriam looked at Yehuda. “Are you also to leave me?”
“No, Miriam, I will walk with you. Shimon is afraid for Yehoshua.”
“I know. I am afraid for him, too. But he has to do what he has to do.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
On the day of preparation, Miriam arose early and began mixing bread for a large crowd after she washed and said her morning prayers. Yehuda had acquired and prepared the lamb in preparation for spit roasting. That animal would be roasted later today, over an open fire.
Shoshonah had promised to take care of the vegetables, fruit, and wine for dinner. Miriam would handle the meat and the bread.
Shimon’s anger at Yehoshua, that incident in Rumah, all of this affected her mood. Like many other things, she kept this to herself and thought about what it all meant.
If Yehoshua did not come, there would be a good deal of food go to waste. She would just have to assume he would come. Better to have waste than not to have food for the crowd that could descend on them.
Mid-afternoon, while turning the spit containing the lamb, Miriam saw Yehoshua come into the courtyard. His group accompanied him.
“Emma,” he greeted her with a warm smile.
That greeting, the fact that he came at her request, put her mind at ease. “Son, dinner will be at Yehuda’s house. What can I get for your people to drink?”
He smiled at her. “You never change. You are always taking care of people.”
“That’s what women do, care for people.”
“No, not all women. It’s what you do,” he corrected her gently.
She looked at him. “Since you’re here, you can keep turning the meat slowly so that it cooks evenly. You always were good about helping with this.”
“Of course, Emma.”
“It is good to see you, Son.”
“Were Shimon and Yehuda upset the other day?”
“Shimon was greatly upset. You know Shimon.”
“Yes. I know Shimon. He thinks I’ve gone mad.”
“At the very least,” she agreed. “He’s frightened for you, and frightened because of you.”
Yehoshua nodded. “I understand that. Unless he comes to understand my calling
, this will not get any better.”
“He’s been told, pointed to the pertinent prophecies. And he can’t get his mind around it. I’ve had a long time to get used to the idea myself, and I’m still afraid for you, my son.”
“Come with me when I leave Natsarat, Emma. I want you with me.”
“I have people here counting on me.”
“The only person to whom you are indispensible is me. I want you with me. Other people can take care of the village widows. You can leave money with someone and charge them with the task of seeing the women fed. The poor will always be with us.”
Miriam forced a smiled for her son. She heard the implied, but not spoken, “But I won’t always be here.”
She nodded. “Turn the spit, Son. I have to tend to the women in your group and check on the rest of dinner. You and your men will be sleeping in the east room of Yehuda’s home. Your women will sleep in my house.”
“You’ve thought of everything.”
“Shimon and Daliya will be coming to dinner. I want you to try to make peace with him,” Miriam said.
“I have no animosity towards my brother.”
“I wish I could say the same for him. But I can’t. He’s quite angry and upset with you about the other day. Of course, he was angry and upset before we walked to Rumah and back again. Still, refusing to see us did nothing to calm him or settle his fears.”
He shrugged. “Shimon and I have never been close.”
She smiled, this time without forcing it. “I know, my dear. Now, turn the meat, before it burns on one side and is raw on the other. We have people to feed.”
He smiled at her. “Yes, Emma.”
Yehuda’s wife Shoshonah, Miriam, Shimon’s wife Daliya, and the women of Yehoshua’s group stayed at Yehuda’s house while the men went to pray.
Dinner was on the tables, both in this main room and in the east room of the house. The women said their evening prayers, minus those parts of the liturgy that could not be said without a minyan, a quorum of ten men, present.
They’d finished their prayers and were sitting around talking.
Daliya asked, “I’m puzzled. What is the purpose of you women traveling with Yehoshua and his men? Are any of you married to his men?”
“The purpose?” Yoanna, the wife of Herod’s steward, asked, clearly not understanding the question. She continued, “Why should a woman’s purpose be any different than a man’s? We follow the Master to learn from him. We follow him because he has great wisdom and power. We believe in him. So, we follow him, just as the men do.”
“You don’t worry that people could misunderstand why you are there?” Shoshonah asked, great care in her voice. “That they could mistake you for immoral women and thus have cause to think ill of our Yehoshua?”
Miramne, called Magdala, a leader among the women, shook her head, dismissing that. “People will always think the worst of others. But, no, there is no immorality among us. None. The Master wouldn’t tolerate it, even if we were so inclined, which we aren’t. We’re all too grateful to the Master to allow any shadow of such talk to come on him. He gave me my life, the life I’ve never really had until he healed me. I’d spent most of my life as an invalid until he came. I will serve him, gladly, for as long as I live, and still count it as incomplete payment for the gift he has given to me.”
Yoanna continued, “My husband, Chuza, is a well connected man. He has duties that keep him occupied. My dear Chuza, if truth be told, is a little jealous of my ability to travel with the Master. I write him every day and tell him the things the Master has said and done. Then I send a servant with the letter to my husband. I understand that Herod is quite interested and would very much like to meet the Master, to listen to him teach.”
“After what Herod did to Yoni,” Miriam replied, “I hope my son stays far from the man.”
Yoanna sighed. “Yoni… You mean Yochanan, the wild man of the desert?”
“My kinsman,” Miriam said.
“I didn’t know the Master was related to Yochanan,” Yoanna said with a puzzled smile. “How interesting!”
Shoshonah interjected, “The connection is not a thing the family wants known far and wide.”
“Of course not,” Miriamne, Magdala, said with a nod. “There are those who already hold the Master in suspicion. A family connection to Yochanan could cause the suspicion to deepen, particularly among those of the parushim.”
“Or could be used by the kenaim or turned against him by the tzedukim,” Shoshonah agreed.
“I won’t deny the truth if asked, but I also will not make his life more complicated than it has to be by letting certain truths become commonly known at the moment,” Miriam said. “My son has a difficult enough path to walk without placing unnecessary obstacles in his way.”
Yoanna nodded, “I see no need in conveying this news to anyone, including my dear Chuza. What Chuza doesn’t know, he can’t inadvertently tell Herod.”
“You have my thanks,” Miriam said.
“We serve the Master,” Magdala said. “Keeping him safe is one of our goals.”
“Yerushalayim kills the prophets who are sent to her,” Miriam said with a sigh and a shake of her head.
The women who travelled with Yehoshua looked at her in shock. “You don’t really think that he’s going to be murdered, do you?” Yoanna asked.
“They’ll call it execution. The parushim will lie, presenting a false charge and the Sanhedrin will concur.”
“The Sanhedrin isn’t allowed to put anyone to death,” Yoanna countered.
Miriam sighed. “But the Romans can. And when my son is painted by his enemies as a rebel who could lead a bloody revolt against Caesar, the Roman authorities will have no choice but to put him to death.”
“No, I won’t believe that. He’s the Moshiach,” Magdala said. “I know he is.”
Just then the men came into the house and the subject was dropped as the men prepared to eat.
Dinner conversation was lively.
“Yehoshua has asked me to join him on his journeys,” Miriam announced. “I have decided I will do so.”
Her son smiled at her. “Emma, you have made me very happy.”
Shimon sighed. “Are you certain you wish to live as roughly as he does, never knowing where you will sleep, not knowing what you shall eat, Miriam? You would be giving up your comforts.”
“I am not yet among the old and frail,” Miriam said. “Lack of creature comforts will not kill me.”
“I never said you were or that it would,” Shimon countered. “You are still a lovely woman. I have men ask me, from time to time, if you are interested in remarrying.”
Miriam shook her head and sighed, “My heart belongs to Yosef.”
“Abba only waited five years to remarry after my mother died,” Shimon stated.
“I have no desire to remarry, none at all,” Miriam said, ashamed of hearing the frost in her voice. “I never have had any interest in taking another husband. I thought I’d made that clear to you, years ago.”
“Aren’t you lonely?” Shimon asked.
“When would I have time to be lonely?” she dismissed with a chuckle.
Shimon sighed and shook his head. “I can’t pretend I’m happy about any of this. Yehoshua is my brother. I love him. And I’m terrified for him. My father loved you. You made his last years incredibly happy, Miriam. A blind man could have seen how much my father loved you. For that, I will always love you. I don’t want to see you in danger. Yet, I’m afraid that in danger is precisely where you will be if you go with your son.”
“I will take care of my mother,” Yehoshua said.
“And who will take care of you, Brother, when the parushim charge you with blasphemy and move to stone you?” Shimon countered.
“I never blaspheme!” Yehoshua stated. He added in a softer voice, “And stoning is not how I will die.”
“Did you not tell a paralytic that his sins were forgiven? Only El Elohe Yisra’el can forgi
ve sins. And yet, you took that upon yourself.”
“Which is easier to say, ‘Take up your bed and walk’, or “Your sins are forgiven’? That he now walks is more than adequate proof I did not blaspheme by forgiving his sins before I told him to rise and walk,” Yehoshua said, keeping his voice gentle.
“But if you didn’t blaspheme, then you must think that you are El Elohe Yisra’el,” Shimon challenged.
Yehoshua sipped his wine. “Shimon. You have known me since childhood. Do you not know me, at all?”
Shimon shook his head and sighed. “There are times, Brother, I do not understand you.”
Yehuda spoke, in an obvious effort to change the subject, “I suspect you will be handed a scroll to read tomorrow morning. Everyone’s eager to hear you teach.”
“They may not care for what I may say,” Yehoshua said.
“Why?” Shimon demanded, his voice clearly full of stress. “What are you planning to say?”
“That will depend on what scroll I’m given to read,” Yehoshua said. “I will teach to the text, as is appropriate. There are, however, some things people simply don’t want to hear.”
“Remember, Brother, I beg you, your family lives here. Our livelihoods are dependant on trade with the villagers and those in the area,” Shimon said, clearly worried.
“Shimon, you worry too much and trust Avinu Malkeinu too little. Can you add even one moment to your life by worrying?” Yehoshua demanded, his voice soft.
Shimon sighed. “You need to take this seriously.”
“What makes you think I take anything less than seriously?”
“I’m afraid for you, Brother,” Shimon said.
Yehoshua touched Shimon’s hand. “I know you are. I can’t tell you that you have nothing to worry about. I can only tell you to trust me, trust Avinu. All of this has been prophesied.”
“And we are all just puppets, then?” Shimon asked, his voice bitter.
Yehoshua shook his head. “Not at all. We have choices. Every moment is a choice. We choose the path of righteousness or the broader path that leads to destruction. We make that choice with every act, every word. When I was in the desert fasting, after we all went to see Yoni, ha-satan came to me, tempting me to turn stones into bread to satisfy my hunger, then whisking me off to the highest point of the Temple and telling me that if I were really the son of Elohim that I should leap off and the angels would catch me, then taking me to the highest of the world’s mountains and offering me all the world if only I would worship him. None of these worked because I choose to walk along the narrow path and serve Avinu.”