by Krishna Rose
She fasted, prayed, and took intense vows of austerity, just as her father had done. For a girl so young, she knew not the play of other children, who she considered immature. I had heard rumors that the girls her age considered her dull, for she didn’t frolic like them. She had a thoughtful, introspective nature, fueled by a fiery uncontrolled temper. She sought relief not in play, but in nature, where she would often sit alone for hours, deep in thought. She was a loner, just like her father.
Sarah-Tamar avoided physical affection by all accounts, when offered it. But her honest, virtuous character, was straightforward and sincere. You always knew where you stood with her. Girls her age feared her, but the boys liked her tomboyish eccentric ways, as she was not like the other girls, who were fickle minded and often spiteful. She was often asked to sit with the boys—for they found her fascinating. The girls envied her for it.
Though truth is never easy to speak or hear, Sarah-Tamar had a gift. For when she spoke, it was with such dreamy authority, that she offended no one, despite being candid. She was deeply respected by the elders, for she was the child of the revered John the Baptist.
“Come here my cherished firstborn babe,” I said, patting the bed as she approached, unsure of her place now that a new child had been born to us. “My heart and arms are large enough for you both—one for each of you,” I said, spreading my arms open. Avoiding my embrace, she lay beside the baby, curious of her new sibling. Picking up his little hand in hers, his tiny fingers wrapped themselves around her thumb, delighting her heart. I wiped her tears away and felt her very great burden.
“Be brave, my Tamar. Do not fear this child, for he is your brother. He gives to us, not takes away,” I said, bleary-eyed, reminding her that one day soon, she too would birth her own children. “Yes, Mama,” she said ambivalently, with a hint of a smile beneath her frown.
Now, as our laws demanded, Jesu and I would live separately for three years, to allow for the newly forging bond between mother and child. With nursing and strange sleeping schedules, this law suited me fine. My body craved time to recover, as I had quickly become subservient to our hungry son who thirsted day and night for milk.
Sarah-Tamar had been born on September 13, and Jesus Justus lit up our worlds with his destined arrival, just nine days after her birthday. He was born minutes before the community lit the candles for Shabbat. In the autumn season, it was the Feast of Tabernacles. So the community was cheerful and spirited. I could hear the sounds of their singing and delighted in the memories the songs invoked.
“Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who sanctified us with Your holy commandments. As I lie here tonight, unable to light candles in Your honor, I offer You this child, that he might light the way for future generations to come,” I prayed.
CHAPTER 16
DELIVERANCE
Deliverance is the act of being rescued and set free
by another who is already liberated.
There were those who believed Jesu’s cousin John, known as the Baptist, to be the anticipated Messiah. He was rebellious and enigmatic, and popular belief was that he had the power to transform his followers. Then there were those who thought James, the younger brother of Jesu, might be the anointed one, due to his legitimate birth from The Mary and Yosef.
Jesu’s birth had been questionable at best. It was rumored that he was The Mary’s illegitimate child—a bastard. For when The Mary had come to marry Yosef, she was already with child. What the locals did not know, was that she had been purposefully concealed among them in an attempt to protect her and her unborn child.
King Herod the Great wanted nothing more than to be accepted as King of the Jews. He was rich and powerful beyond measure, hence he gave enormous dispensations and favors to the Jewish people—especially the Sanhedrin and Pharisees—so that he might win their approval. Though Herod was King of Judea, being only half Jewish and not by his mother, he was never accepted as a Jew by the religious classes. He was however, well liked. But they would never consider him to be their King. He was instead viewed as a Roman King attempting to win the throne of Judeans’ hearts, which couldn’t happen, due to Herod’s unfortunate birth.
Herod was a chess man. Every move he made, was carefully planned out in great detail, to ensure that he would always win when it came to the game of sovereign power. Foremost on the King’s mind, was the expected birth of the long-awaited Messiah. He wished more than anything, for this celebrated savior to be born within his own family. He married nine Jewish girls, all of royal Judaic descent, and set about having as many children with them as possible—in the belief and hope that the people’s redeemer would be born of his loins.
Strategically, he married his eldest son and heir, the Royal Prince Antipater, to a young Judean princess who claimed descent from King David. Her father, Benjamin, was the esteemed head of the Jerusalem temple. Her name was Miryam. She was a pious, well-educated girl. A model of virtue. Miryam had all the airs and graces of a Queen, but most importantly, she was of noble Jewish stock. Her children, would ensure Herod’s grandchildren the throne’s of both Judea and Rome.
King Herod prided himself on his clever move, for he had manipulated and seized every opportunity to ensure the throne would be his and his family’s long into the future . . . or so he believed. The King of Jews would be his grandson, and that was his one true solace in life. For he had unsuccessfully burdened himself with a bow-and-scrape manner in order to be accepted by the Jewish people—especially the leaders. It was his innermost wish, more critical than any other.
The Mary’s first husband was the Royal Prince Antipater, the firstborn son and heir of King Herod the Great. Known as Miryam, before she became The Mary, Prince Antipater was the love of her life. She had at first been uneasy about the match, since he was widowed, yet Providence would rule in her favor, for she found him to have an approachable, kind disposition. Educated in all the arts of diplomacy, he was elegant and skillful in all that he did.
The Royal Prince Antipater was a fine figure of a man. He had a physique which matched his refined attributes. A man free from his father’s random acts of violent rage, he held himself nobly and suited Miryam well. Together they were idolized by all. She had met her flawless, unblemished mate. And once with child, they were deliciously contented—as was the King. In an ingenious move, this vital key in the King’s game, would, with the birth of his grandson, make him triumphant. Now, he had an heir of indisputable Jewish descent who laid claim to Davidic origin. The King’s grand design within his mind, was that his grandchild would be the people’s Messiah, born of his seed. For that would be the ultimate game plan. A check-mate.
All of that changed in one luckless moment. A most unfortunate and carefully manipulated moment at that, for it would change the course of history forever. Doris, Prince Antipater’s mother, was King Herod’s first wife, whom he had married before he came to the throne. After some time, Herod took unto himself a second wife, Mariamne. She was famed as the most beautiful Jewish woman in all the Kingdom. He was crazy about her. All sense and reason had left him.
Consequently, he sent his first wife away, and kept their son, Prince Antipater, cloistered in studies, away from his new wife Mariamne, at all costs. The King’s new wife was an ambitious, jealous woman. After years of debating her loyalty and chastity to him, the King made the difficult decision to have the love of his life executed. At no time thereafter was the King ever the same again. Distraught, he was keenly aware that his paranoid, foolish mind . . . and his advisors, could not be trusted. So the King, feeling desolate, once again desired the company of the one woman he trusted above all others.
Doris was recalled to court and the King reinstated his firstborn son, Antipater, as his primary heir. The Royal Prince, was once more renewed with the favor of his volatile f
ather, above even the two children Mariamne bore him. However, in time, the King’s overly suspicious mind got the better of him, and with all the intrigues and plots that plagued the King’s court, Doris and her newly married son, Prince Antipater, were implicated in an attempted assassination, by poisoning, on the King’s life. While both were innocent of charges, Doris was once more banished from the court.
The wheel of fate was to turn against Prince Antipater and Miryam, when Caesar Augustus gave a guilty verdict upon the King’s son and heir. The King now firmly believed that his wife Doris, and son, Prince Antipater, had attempted to assassinate him. And despite the Prince’s desperate pleas of innocence, in one of his fits of unhindered rage, the King stabbed his son twenty-seven times until he lay dead.
This had been the carefully planned move of another of the King’s wives, who too loved to play a good game of chess. The power-play of the fourth wife, Malthace, had been a decisive scheme to ensure her son, Antipas, the throne, over his rival half-brothers. Inevitably, her plan was a success. However, the Messianic throne was not to be hers, or her son’s. For though he was born of the King’s blood—that throne belonged to another family entirely.
King Herod’s dream of spawning a King to unite the Roman and Jewish people under one banner, came true. But not as he could ever have imagined. Though the Messiah was born of his loins, few would ever come to know of it, and King Herod would forever be outmatched, by default. One can never touch a rainbow, because it is a miraculous image, not an object. One may feel the raindrops of which the rainbow is made, but not the bow itself, just as one can touch a mirror, but not the image reflected in it. So it was to be for King Herod the Great.
Miryam, the newly appointed Mary, fearing for her life, was carefully disguised as a maidservant and quickly removed from the palace, unrecognized. The King later reflected on his foul move, realizing that The Mary had fled carrying his firstborn grandchild, who would rightfully be the heir to the throne of Israel.
His guilt guided the fate of many, and he decided that he no longer wished for the spawn of his son Antipater, to inherit the throne. In fact, he wanted all memory of his son to be gone from his Kingdom entirely, for Herod’s own sinfulness lay heavy on him like tumultuous thunder.
Swiftly, Benjamin, The Mary’s loyal and devoted father, led his pregnant daughter out of Jerusalem, guiding her to safety. He made immediate plans for the young pregnant Princess to be married off to a highborn stonemason by the name of Yosef. He was a simple, humble, kindhearted man, the eldest son of Benjamin’s closest childhood friend. Though the arrangement was complicated, due to her pregnancy, Yosef was agreeable, and he took The Mary under his protection. She was a noble woman in need of sanctuary, and Yosef was the right man for the job.
With his help, The Mary dissolved her past and set in motion a new life for herself, with many twists and turns. The locals however, frowned upon the marriage, claiming she was a loose woman worthy of stoning. Hastily, they moved away from Yosef’s village to avoid further humiliation. More so, they wished to evade any unwelcome attention, for the child grew strong inside The Mary’s womb. To Egypt they had fled. Yosef had connections there, and ultimately, they came to a simple quiet village in the mountains of Scetis, where they would bide their time under the protective eyes of the Therapeutae—until destiny called them.
The miserable and unhealthy King Herod the Great, died a few years later, and only then was it once again safe for The Mary to return to Jerusalem. And though much time had passed, The Mary avoided public places for the rest of her life, fearing she might be recognized. She grieved the loss of her true husband in private and few knew of her difficult past.
Yosef and his new family, settled together in the village where he had grown up. Jesu grew into an enigmatic young man, eloquently having knowledge of many languages. He could both recite and elaborate on scripture beautifully, so the locals, who were once suspicious of The Mary and her bastard child, grew to love this mysterious boy who seemed to have a special purpose. In no time, they overlooked the circumstances of Jesu’s unfortunate birth, though his illegitimacy was often a cause for people to doubt his Messianic claim. Yet in conclusion, it was his legitimacy which ensured his substantial claim.
The fourth wife of King Herod had effectively initiated a successful move in the game of sovereign rule, and her son, Antipas, upon the King’s death, became ruler of Galilee—though he was neither crowned nor accepted as King. The young Herod Antipas forcibly retired his younger brother, Archelaus, to Southern Gallia, to ensure that he and only he would be the object of people’s devotion.
The children and mothers in the village had teased Jesu for being a bastard child, so Jesu had grown up feeling ashamed of his circumstantial birth, for he had not known his true father. The Mary had purposefully kept the truth from him, until after his bar mitzvah—and even then, only once they were safe upon the Silk Road.
Once Jesu’s stepfather Yosef had passed away, and they were out of Judea, The Mary felt it was time to explain the peculiarity of his birth to her son. The truth endowed Jesu with a limitless power, for then he finally understood the workings of his inner drive. It was his God-given birthright to bring peace and unite the people of the world.
But Jesu had an even bigger plan than that of his grandfather, King Herod the Great. He was not born to take a throne from Rome or Judea—but to take the throne of people’s hearts.
CHAPTER 17
LIGHT
Light illuminates and makes visible things which are otherwise unseen.
John had always begrudgingly tolerated the love that Jesu and I had for one another, even in our youth. John was by no means a handsome man, being tall, scrawny, and awkward in many ways. As he grew into manhood, though deeply devout, he developed complexes regarding his physical temptations. The flesh was something John wished never to augment.
Though John was difficult and often sharp-tongued, Jesu, Lazarus, Martha, and I, always made efforts to include him in our playtime, especially when we organized campouts under the stars. Back then, we were carefree with youthful excitement firing our imaginations. Conversations would often rise above the mundane, and discussions of what lay beyond would ensue.
After Jesu’s thirteenth birthday, when he had left Judea to complete his education, I had been beyond myself with sulky loneliness. He had been the object of my love and friendship since the beginning. With him gone, our summers were long, hot, and confusing. John and his mother Elizabeth continued to visit us in Galilee each summer, and I was often left alone with this maladroit young man—embarrassed by his feelings for me.
One day, he clumsily reached for me, as I rested under the shade of my favorite tree, chewing sugarcane. Perplexed, I refused his advances, and in my cold-shouldered rejection of him, he groaned as if in a great torment. He had at last plucked up the courage to lay bare his burgeoning love for me, yet my heart was beholden to another—Jesu. John’s desire for me gnawed at his soul, and before long, he demanded his mother marry me to him without delay.
Elizabeth, John’s mother, always ensured John got what John wanted, for he was her miracle child. Her one and only.
We were expeditiously engaged. My betrothal to Jesu was broken and I was forced into an alliance I did not want. Despite my unfavorable feelings towards John, my father had seen in him the right genealogy and a good character—worthy of a marriage match. I had come of age, and in spite of my defiance on the subject, Jesu was absent, and no one knew if or when he would return. John was a secure outcome for family ties, so it was settled upon. I had no choice but to succumb and resolve myself to that destiny.
Very soon after our legal time of procreation, my moon blood came not. Three moons passed, a sickness came, and my breasts were swollen. I knew I was with child. I could not hide my pregnancy, thus ou
r second marriage was planned. I had been cast into a most wretched marriage, for I did not love him. In fact, I despised his touch.
Father, despite my obvious melancholy, never spoke of what had transpired. I was now bound to John, taken from my family to live with a man who was cold, difficult, and fraught with bad tempers. Fortuitously, I gave birth to a beautiful daughter, Sarah-Tamar, who gave me endless moments of joy despite my complex position.
Jesu’s sister, Salome, had been the only one who knew the extent of my misery. I dreaded the day Jesu came home, for most surely our hearts would break. I could not bring myself to write and tell him the news, for I had betrayed our promise, and this weighed heavily and preyed on my mind.
Every day with John was a living pretense. Conveniently, he became a talented preacher, spending most days in the desert tending his followers. He spoke of things that exhilarated the aching soul. My quiet suffering had brought about a change in me—the Lord no doubt wished for my fixed, resolute devotion. Hence, I developed a taste for fasting and praying.
Oftentimes, Sarah-Tamar and I spent our days in the countryside, picnicking and collecting flowers. She had been the seal by which my fortune had changed—for what I thought would be an interminably long life. And while she slept, I wept into my prayers.
“The Kingdom is nigh,” John would declare, and I could sense its nearness, and was relieved from my inner decline. Years passed by and eventually Jesu returned from the realm of Bharata, or Hodu, as our people knew it. He was a changed man. He came to John for baptism, while I hid amongst the crowds transfixed, venturing to understand what would now transpire. Jesu without delay, started teaching in and around Jerusalem. Sometimes he would travel to Bethany to see my family, and I would sneak away to get a glimpse of the man I had loved in secret all these years.