by Angela Hunt
My growling stomach turned my thoughts to food. Inside the city, I would have to rely on the charity of strangers or steal from stalls in the market; neither activity promised to be rewarding at this early hour.
I shuffled back to the courtyard of my home and sat in the spot where Yaakov’s blood had stained the ground. Quin-ah wakened within me and began her pitiful wail: How can you sit there, Miryam? How can you let another day pass without avenging your husband? Rise from this place, coat your face with the dust that drank his blood, and take your vengeance on the first Roman you meet! Set out on the street, for there are Romans about, there are Romans to be had for the taking!
I was wearily considering this proposition when I heard unfamiliar voices—human voices. I rose to my knees, peered through a gap in the wall, and saw that a group of travelers had entered Magdala, more than thirty men with several women trailing behind them.
The sight of the strangers threw my voices into an uncharacteristic silence. I shrank back, pressing my spine against the broken courtyard wall as the group passed. Their shadows glanced over me, strumming a shiver from my soul.
Natar began to growl. Get out of this city at once, she murmured in my ear, her voice low and filled with loathing. Have nothing to do with these strangers, these sons of devils! They will spit on you, Miryam, they will hate you even more than your neighbors do!
One by one, the others joined her rant: Ba-ath, Qin-ah, Avah, Az-aph, Katakritos, and Ge-ah urged me to make haste and flee. I needed to get to the graveyard, I needed to leave the city, I needed to run as if my feet had caught fire …
But I was tired of running … and I was starving.
Drawing on my small store of remaining strength, I pushed myself up and trudged to Yudit’s house. Perhaps she would give me a small loaf out of pity—or out of a desire to see me gone. Either way, my belly would be full and I could leave the city.
I crossed Yudit’s threshold, entered her courtyard, and beat upon her door. I stepped back and saw Hadassah’s woebegone face behind the lattice at the window, but she did not let me in. I pounded again and again, calling for Yudit and Hadassah, but my neighbors, my one-time friends, did not want to know me.
Disappointment struck me like a blow in the stomach. I brought the back of my hand to my mouth and swallowed hard to choke back the bile that rose in my throat.
The law commands us to love our neighbors. By loving others, the rabbis say, we honor those who are created in HaShem’s image. When Yudit ignored my pleas, I knew that she saw nothing of the Holy One in me. I was no daughter of Isra’el, no rose of Sharon. I was a broken vessel, fit only for housing the pagan gods I’d invited to fill the emptiness of my life.
With one hand pressed to my chest, I stumbled out of my neighbor’s unwelcoming courtyard. My voices wailed when I did not run immediately for the city gates, but thirst propelled me toward the well.
That’s where I saw him.
Chapter Twenty-nine
As I rounded the corner and walked toward the well, the buzzing voices in my head piled on top of one another so furiously I couldn’t think.
You’ll never be anything again, you’ll never be loved.
What do your neighbors want? Why are they ignoring you? Leave this place, leave now!
They want to hurt you, don’t you see the fear in their eyes?
That woman, that Yudit, has spread rumors about you.
You are better than her people, better than all of them!
By the light of the moon, by the light of the sun, all of them know everything you have done.
Kill them, kill them, destroy them all!
Through bleary eyes I peered at the band of strangers around the cistern. They were laughing, sharing a lively conversation as a woman poured water for them. At the sound of their amusement, my voices began to rage.
Run! Get away!
There is one here who means you harm!
Who do they think they are? That one … he is evil.
How can you think of approaching such men? Flee, Miryam, run!
They will spit on you, kick at you like a cur!
Curse them, daughter of darkness! Spit on them!
Turn away, do not let them look at you!
I hesitated, torn between my desperate thirst and the urge to flee. “It is wrong! It’s not your time! Who do you think you are?” I shouted in a voice not my own. “The sun is hot, the day is long—you should be about your business and leave us alone.”
A heavy silence fell over the group at the well. The woman lowered her eyes as if my shout had embarrassed her, and one of the men stiffened as if my presence were an offense. The others, however, turned to an unremarkable man of medium height and average appearance. He sat on the edge of the stone well and looked out at me from a sharply angled face with a prominent nose, high cheekbones, and smooth olive skin.
He focused on me, his eyes shining with an uncanny awareness.
My voices went wild when his gaze crossed mine. My limbs seemed to possess wills of their own; my hands tugged at my tunic while my legs trembled.
“Who are you to come here, Yeshua of Natzeret?” Natar’s voice roared from my throat. “We know who you are, even if this woman does not. Leave us alone, Holy One.”
My head tipped back of its own accord; the blue bowl of sky swept over me. My jaw clamped hard and air rushed through my nose with a faint whistling sound. My hands clawed at my neck; my bones rattled as my body stiffened and fell to the ground. My head filled with a confusing bedlam unlike anything I had yet experienced.
The world receded in a dizzy blur as I writhed in the dust like a cut snake. Then the man spoke, and though he did not raise his voice, his words rang with authority: “Be silent! Come out of her, all of you.”
My back arched, my mouth opened. My chest heaved as if I were surrendering my spirit … then a Shabbat stillness reigned over my soul.
And he touched me. The one Natar had called Yeshua and Holy One. The stranger risked talking to an outcast; he dared to take a broken woman’s hand and help her to her feet.
Too amazed to speak, I shivered in the silence. I felt as though I had been scrubbed, and stood before him as a shining, clean, and willing vessel.
I didn’t know who he was, but I knew he was no ordinary man.
He looked at me with unguarded tenderness in his eyes. “Woman, your sins are forgiven.”
Who was this man? I didn’t know him, so I couldn’t have done him harm. And while a man could forgive me for the wrongs committed against him, only HaShem could forgive the sins I’d committed against his holy Law.
Nothing about that morning made sense, but my heart was grateful for release. My knees trembled as I knelt in the dust and stretched my grimy fingers to touch his sandals. “Rabbi,” I whispered in my own raspy voice, “how can I thank you?”
When I lifted my head, his eyes had gone soft with kindness. “Miryam—” he spoke my name as naturally as if he’d known me all my life—“you are meant to follow me. But you must understand this—foxes have dens and birds have nests, but I have no home of my own, not even a place to lay my head.”
“Then we are alike,” I answered, relishing the freedom to speak openly with a man outside my family, “for I have neither home nor husband. What I do have are skilled hands, a strong back, and a grateful heart.”
“Indeed,” Yeshua answered, regarding me with a trace of amusement in his eyes. “Indeed you do.”
Chapter Thirty
Yudit saw the difference in me at once. Drawn by the commotion, she came to the well and found me sitting calm and in my right mind. She took me to her house, allowed me to bathe and comb my hair, and gave me a clean tunic and a proper veil.
When Hadassah embraced me, once again I felt like a daughter of Isra’el.
While Yeshua spoke to several of Magdala’s men, I sat by the well and studied the city with fresh eyes. The stone fence around Yudit’s courtyard seemed to welcome me; the vine crawling over the broken
wall of my house rioted with buds and vibrant green tendrils.
New eyes. What a gift.
I shifted my attention to the town center and the marketplace. My stall, still strong and well-roofed, sat at the end of the row nearest the well. A woman was using it to sell her woolens—and why shouldn’t she, since I’d had no will to work? But the sight of my stall reminded me of a fact I’d buried under my grief—I was a woman of means. With no surviving children, I had inherited my husband’s property: a ruined house, a marketplace stall, a boat and nets. I also owned the things I’d planned to share with Rachel—my knowledge of dyes, my techniques, my craft. I could still share that knowledge with someone … and leave them to oversee my business if I wanted to explore a new life.
I looked at the stranger, the man called Yeshua. He’d said I was meant to follow him, but who was he? His talmidim—disciples in your tongue—called him rabbi; but I knew he was more than a Torah-teacher. He had to be a prophet sent from the Holy One, blessed be He. How else could he have freed me from the dominion of demons?
As a crowd filled the town center, one of the rabbi’s men suggested that they go down to the lake where Yeshua could speak from a boat.
“What boats?” another man protested. “The fishermen are still out on the lake.”
“I have a boat.” I felt myself blush as every head turned in my direction. “My husband had a boat. I haven’t seen it in some time, but if it’s there, you may use it.”
A short time later, I sat with a group of women while a pair of men pushed Yaakov’s boat into the water with Yeshua aboard. Two other men sat behind him; they would steady the vessel while the prophet spoke.
A man on shore, a traveler I’d never seen before, waved for the prophet’s attention. “We come from Yochanan the Immerser,” he called. “He sent us to ask you a question.”
Yeshua nodded. “Ask.”
“Are you really the Messiah we’ve been waiting for, or should we keep looking for someone else?”
Yeshua lifted one eyebrow, then smiled. “Go back to Yochanan and tell him about what you have heard and seen—the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life, and the Good News is being preached to the poor. And tell him: ‘God blesses those who are not offended by me.’”
Yeshua’s words provoked a memory that echoed through the years: my father, reading the prophet Isaiah to my brothers: And when he comes, he will open the eyes of the blind and unstop the ears of the deaf. The lame will leap like a deer, and those who cannot speak will shout and sing! Be strong and do not fear, for your God is coming to destroy your enemies. He is coming to save you.
I felt a warm glow flow through me. The Immerser’s representative had asked a blunt question and Yeshua, doubtless mindful of how close he was to Herod’s prison in Tiberias, had answered tactfully. But any child of Avraham would understand. God was sending the Messiah to destroy Rome!
When the traveler and his companions turned to leave, Yeshua lifted his arms and addressed those of us who remained. “Those of you who have gone to see Yochanan—who is this man in the wilderness you went out to see? A reed swaying in the breeze? No? Then what did you go out to see? A prophet! Yes, and I tell you he is more than a prophet. He is the one about whom the Scripture says, ‘See, I am sending out my messenger ahead of you; he will prepare your way before you.’”
Yeshua kept talking, but a phrase he used snagged my thoughts—a reed swaying in the breeze. No one in Galilee could think of reeds without thinking of Herod Antipas, for the man Rome appointed to rule over us had placed his symbol on his city, his ensigns, and our coins.
Yeshua was saying that neither Herod nor Yochanan was our promised king … but he was.
A thrill shivered through my senses as Yeshua began to pray: “O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, thank you for hiding the truth from those who think themselves so wise and clever, and for revealing it to the childlike. Yes, Father, it pleased you to do it this way!”
I sat perfectly still, shocked by a realization I could not quite fathom. Yeshua prayed to the Holy One, blessed be He … as father? We were people who did not speak HaShem’s holy name; neither did we dare approach the throne of heaven with the ease of children seeking a parent. HaShem was too holy, and we, especially me, were too corrupt.
As the crowd murmured, the prophet lifted his head and looked toward a distant hill. I followed his gaze and saw a farmer walking behind a pair of oxen hitched to a plow.
“Come to me,” Yeshua said, his gaze sweeping the gathering, “all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke fits perfectly, and the burden I give you is light.”
When he had finished, Yudit’s elbow nicked my ribs. “Did any of that make sense to you?”
I frowned. Though it was a relief to think with only one voice—mine—in my head, I wasn’t sure I could trust my interpretation of Yeshua’s teaching. “I think,” I said, whispering, “that he has been sent by the Holy One, blessed be He, to help us through this time of oppression. He is a prophet; he has power. But how he plans to use it … I don’t know.”
“Ah.” Yudit’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “My thoughtful friend has returned from the land of grief.” She tilted her head. “Are you sure you are well?”
I patted her hand. “Completely well. I have been set free.”
One of the prophet’s disciples came toward us, nodding in silent greeting. Yudit lowered her gaze as tradition demanded, but I smiled, encouraging him to speak.
“The day is warm.” His dark eyes sank into nets of wrinkles as he squinted at the sun. “Would you be able to bring us some food and water?”
I nodded. “I could. My friend will help.”
I ignored Yudit’s gasp of surprise and pulled her up from the grass. We went into the city to fetch bread and water jugs; by the time we returned, the crowd had dwindled. Yeshua sat on the shore, resting with his disciples in the shade of an olive tree.
While Yudit distributed bread at the edge of the gathering, I passed around the water jug and pretended not to listen while I hung on every word.
I thought I recognized one of the disciples. Though I had never known his name, he and his brother were fishermen from Capernaum. Yaakov had often fished with the pair of brothers in the north part of the sea.
Yeshua nodded at the fisherman called Kefa, or Peter in Greek. “You had a question?”
Peter nodded, displaying two prominent front teeth. “Will you ever tell us what your stories mean?"
Yeshua smiled. “You are permitted to understand secrets about the Kingdom of God. But I am using stories to conceal everything about it from outsiders, so the Scriptures might be fulfilled.”
The rabbi shifted the focus of his gaze to some interior vision I could not imagine, but I recognized his next words as a prophecy from Isaiah: “They see what I do, but they don’t perceive its meaning. They hear my words, but they don’t understand. So they will not turn from their sins and be forgiven.”
With my water jug empty, I moved away, but my heart pondered what Yeshua had said. Why would a rabbi cloak his words in mystery? I could think of only one reason: Roman ears might consider his message seditious. His talk of the coming king wasn’t hard to understand; the prophets had told us that HaShem intended Isra’el to be ruled by ADONAI himself through the administration of his anointed one, our Messiah. We had failed in the past and our kings had led us astray, but when ADONAI had finished chastising our nation we would be liberated, restored, and allowed to fully possess the land promised to Avraham, Yitzhak, and Yaakov.
I leaned against a rocky outcropping and studied the knot of men on the hillside. If this Yeshua had come to lead us in revolt against Rome, he had come to the right place. Galileans were known for being quick tempered, adventurous, and loyal to the death. They would follow any leader who proved
himself capable of rousing the people’s attention.
* * *
Yudit linked her arm through mine as we walked back to the city. “What did you think of him?”
I drew a deep breath. “He knows the Scriptures. He knows our men; did you notice how their eyes lit when he spoke? He is a Galilean, so he also knows how we have suffered under the Herodians and the Romans.”
Yudit nodded respectfully at the elders as we passed the gates. Three of the men gaped at me, obviously astonished at the change in my appearance and disposition.
I gave them a small smile—anything more would have appeared immodest—and didn’t speak again until we had entered the city.
“I think Yeshua is a true prophet,” I said as we approached the well. “Who else would have the authority to deliver me from foreign gods?”
“Shedim,” Yudit said, whispering the awful word for demons. We set our jars down, then Yudit reached for the rope. She hesitated before pulling up the bucket. “I have missed you, Miryam.”
My eyes brimmed with tears. She had turned me away in a time of need, but she must have been terribly frightened by my ravings. I might have done the same thing if the situation were reversed.
I squeezed her hand. “I missed you. And Hadassah.”
“What will you do now?”
“I think—” I pushed my jar toward her for refilling—“I may travel with Yeshua for a while. I want to hear his plans for Isra’el. If he really is the Messiah, I want to help him destroy our enemies.”
We fell silent as she poured water into my jar, then I lowered my vessel. “I will probably sell the house and the boat. I have no use for them.”
Her eyes went wide. “Where will you live?”
I laughed. “Birds of the air, Yudit. I’ll live as one of the birds of the air.”
* * *
Shabbat arrived with the sunset, and I spent it in Uriah’s warm house. As Yudit lit the Shabbat lamps before our meal, I squeezed Hadassah’s hand and peeked at her father. What would Uriah have thought if he’d been able to hear the prophet?