by Angela Hunt
I gave them a meaningless nod and moved through the shadows, then halted behind a rock and strained to listen. I didn’t recognize the three strangers, but Shimon had made no secret of his sympathy for those Hebrews whose zeal for HaShem tended toward armed rebellion. And Judas—well, Judas never hesitated to stick his nose into matters that might cause trouble. So what could they be discussing?
A whisper of terror ran through me when I heard talk of daggers and swords, then I realized that I’d witnessed a conspiracy. The three strangers might have been promising cooperation, money, or weapons …
Did Yeshua know of their plans?
I pulled away, blending with the night shadows as I walked back to the area where the women had bedded down. Someone would have to tell those fools to be careful. My son had been zealous for God, too, and Avram’s zeal had cost us dearly. One thoughtless action had resulted in the destruction of my entire family, so I could not let Shimon and Judas ruin the prophet’s plans.
I had invested too much in Yeshua’s cause; I would not want him to stumble over incompetent men.
Chapter Thirty-four
The heady scent of perfume clung to the young woman as she crept from the room where the men were eating. Hannah, Simon the Pharisee’s wife, lowered her gaze in embarrassment as the woman stepped outside to join us; even Susanna looked away.
But how could I begrudge this creature any kindness? I had heard Yeshua’s words; I knew he had approved her rash action. Our host, a Pharisee of the Pharisees, had criticized this girl as if she were as unfeeling as the alabaster jar in her hand, but Yeshua knew better.
I stepped closer and lifted the girl’s chin with my fingertip. She flinched at this unexpected contact, probably anticipating a rebuke, but I met her red-rimmed eyes with a smile. “Are you hungry?”
She blinked. “H-hungry?”
“Surely you are.” I slipped my arm around her slim waist and urged her toward the table where we women were working. “The hour is late and you’ve been waiting half the day.”
The girl remained as if planted to the spot. “You … you saw me?”
“Of course, dear. I saw you hiding behind the courtyard wall. I would have urged you to come forward and join us but—”I gestured to the work on the tables—“my hands were required by others.”
Her eyes darted toward a basket of bread. Her lips parted, then she averted her gaze and shook her head. “I cannot eat with you. These women would … would not welcome me.”
“You think not?”
I propped my hands on her shoulders—bony shoulders, I realized; the girl was much too thin. “Do you think—” I lowered my gaze into hers as I softened my voice—“that you are the only one with reason to be ashamed? All of us have secrets we keep from the world.”
The girl’s lip quivered. “The rich man at the table—he said the rabbi was a fraud. He said if Yeshua was a true prophet, he’d know what sort of woman knelt at his feet. He said it loudly, so everyone could hear …”
I stroked her cheek, felt her tears burn my fingers like hot wax. “The rich man at the table,” I said, well-aware that Simon’s wife was listening, “does not understand what Yeshua teaches. The Pharisee keeps the Law on the outside, while inside he is as black as the sins he sees in you.”
Behind me, the other women fell silent. From the corner of my eye, I saw Susanna draw near, a reproachful look on her face.
But I didn’t care. As the young girl peered at me through tear-clogged lashes, my thoughts drifted back to a sweltering day in Magdala before I met Yeshua. Starving and exhausted by the voices raging in my head, I had sought a bit of shade in an alley behind the market, but one of the merchants found my resting place. After glancing around to be sure no one watched, the brute pinned me in the dust and took his pleasure from me, then rose, sweating and grinning, and strolled back to his stall.
When I staggered onto the street, trembling and battered, I lifted my arm to accuse him. I had barely drawn a breath when he pulled his wife and daughter into the shadows. “Away with you,” he scolded, stepping between me and his women. He lifted his chin, addressing anyone within earshot, “This creature stinks of harlotry!”
My arm fell to my side as the pressure of dozens of pairs of eyes assaulted my frame. In the hot glare of their unyielding disapproval, I felt more violated than I had in the alley.
An evil man attacks a woman privately. A devil strikes her in public.
“Come.” I turned to the girl. “Sit with us and eat. Listen to our stories and you will learn that Yeshua is a true prophet indeed.”
* * *
Though I wanted to speak to Yeshua about Shimon and Judas, the longer I thought about it, the more preposterous the idea of a conspiracy seemed. Yeshua was ADONAI’s prophet, he had real power. What could Judas and Shimon possibly do to upset his plans?
So I said nothing.
We went to Jerusalem for the Passover. Yeshua performed several miracles, and many people believed in him. On the way back to Galilee, we stopped at Sychar in Samaria, where Yeshua wandered off alone and talked to a woman at the village well. She and her neighbors were so impressed with him that we remained in the area two days.
When we returned to Galilee, Yeshua called the disciples together and gave them authority to cast out demons and heal diseases. Then he sent them into the neighboring towns to heal the sick and tell everyone about the coming kingdom of HaShem.
I could scarcely contain my excitement. This had to be Yeshua’s call to arms! He could not be more open about his intentions lest he alert the Romans, but by sending the disciples as emissaries, he could spread the word, display his power as HaShem’s prophet, and raise an army.
Surely the time was near.
While we waited for the disciples at Susanna’s house, we learned that Herod had heard reports about Yeshua’s work. According to the rumors, Antipas, who had executed Yochanan the Immerser, thought the dead prophet might have come back to life. He sent spies throughout the land to look for Yeshua.
I laughed like a drunken woman when I heard the news. Susanna stared at me as if I’d gone mad.
“Don’t you see?” I wiped tears of mirth from my eyes. “This is good news! First, Yeshua will never let himself be caught by that horrid toad. Second, Herod is worried. He has caught a whiff of revolution and wants to know its source. By the time he discovers it, he will be overthrown!”
A faint line appeared between Joanna’s brows. “What of my husband? Chuza works for Herod. If Herod finds out I am assisting Yeshua—”
Yeshua’s mother placed her hand on Joanna’s arm. “Do not worry about these things,” she said, her voice calm. “Everything will be revealed when the time is right.”
I closed my eyes and breathed in the comfort of her words. In time, all would be made plain to us.
I was counting on it.
* * *
The disciples returned to Capernaum with glowing reports of their progress. They had aroused people’s interest and healed many with diseases. Crowds would soon be arriving from all the towns and villages throughout the region, and they were all eager to hear Yeshua speak about the coming kingdom.
Messiah fever had finally gripped the people’s hearts.
Yeshua welcomed his disciples and said he wanted to speak to them alone, so Susanna suggested that they go to the lake and take a boat to a remote spot. We agreed to join the master and his men at Bethsaida.
We women loaded several donkeys with supplies and set out. “Look,” Salome said, nodding toward a group coming toward us on the road. “What a beautiful shade of blue that woman is wearing—it’s the color of tzitziyot. Have you ever seen that dye used in a tunic, Miryam?”
I clicked my tongue against my teeth, about to suggest that someone had stolen the formula for my tekhelet dye, when I recognized the oval face beneath the blue veil. “Why, it’s Hadassah!”
I flew down the road to meet her. After embracing her and greeting those who’d been kind enough to
escort her, I took her hands in mine. “What are you doing here? Where are your parents?”
“I wanted to hear more about Yeshua,” she told me. “When the sons of Zebedee came to tell us what he’d been saying, I knew I had to come, but Father wouldn’t hear of it. Mother must have known I would sneak away, because she placed coins in my hand and told me to find you. She said you’d take care of me.”
“Of course, my darling girl!” I hugged her again, then slipped my arm through hers and introduced her to the other women.
The others welcomed Hadassah, offering her water and a chance to rest. “I’m fine,” she said, waving away their concerns. Please, let’s continue on the journey.”
“We’re on our way to Bethsaida,” I explained, “But so many people are coming to hear Yeshua, I doubt the city walls can contain the multitude.”
We met swarms of people on the road. Wandering like sheep without a shepherd, each group asked if Yeshua the prophet had gone to Capernaum or Bethsaida or if he had taken to the fields. We pointed them in the right direction, and by the time the sun had climbed halfway up the eastern sky, a crowd had formed outside Bethsaida.
“He’s there!” Salome pointed to the lake, where a boat approached through the blinding dazzle of the sun’s path on the sea. Twin anchors fell from the boat’s nostrils, then Yeshua and his disciples splashed their way ashore. The crowd surged forward, forcing the disciples to link hands and herd them into a semblance of order. While the disciples restrained the crowds, Yeshua scrambled to a stony outcropping where he could be seen and heard.
When the crowd settled, he began to teach. He spoke of familiar topics and told stories I’d heard before, so I watched Hadassah. My young friend sat like an open flower that follows the sun; Yeshua’s words filled her with light.
Yet I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt. Hadassah had come here without her father’s permission, a serious offense in our culture. At seventeen, she was old enough to be married and living with her husband’s family, but she had resisted her father’s attempts to find her a husband. How much of her resistance, I wondered, came from her headstrong nature, and how much from my influence?
I knew she admired me … as Avram’s mother and an older friend. And while I wanted her to be strong and competent, I didn’t want her to suffer things I had suffered because of my stubborn independence.
At some point, I would have to return her to her father’s care … and hope she didn’t resent me for it.
The sun had just passed its zenith when Judas came to us. “You women wanted to be in charge of the food.” His cold eyes sniped at me. “So how are you planning to feed this mob?”
I looked at Salome and Hadassah, then laughed. “We’re not planning to feed them. All our coins combined couldn’t begin to feed this many.”
Judas stalked away, but Hadassah turned to me with wide eyes. “There’s no food? So many of these people have little children with them—”
I patted her hand. “I’m not worried, dear one. Wait and see what Yeshua does.”
I took Hadassah’s hand and led her closer to the place where Yeshua stood. He had stopped speaking, probably to rest his voice, and a drowsy silence hung over the meadow where the people rested.
From where we stood we could see Phillip and Judas clambering over the rocks, the communal purse in Judas’s hand. When they reached the prophet, Philip’s nasal voice cut through the silence, reaching even our ears: “You must send the people away to buy food. It’s late and they have nothing to eat.”
Yeshua looked at him. “You feed them.”
Judas smacked the depleted purse. “With what? It would cost over two hundred denarii to feed this crowd!”
Yeshua looked around and smiled when he caught my eye. Then he squatted to address Peter and several others who stood on the grass below. “How much food do you have? Go and find out.”
I hoped the disciples would discover that the people had brought food with them, but they returned with a dismal report: “We have five loaves of bread and two fish.”
Yeshua gestured to the grassy field. “Have the people sit down in companies of fifty.”
I slipped my arm around Hadassah as Yeshua took the five loaves and two fish, looked up to heaven, and recited the blessing of the bread: “Baruch Atah ADONAI Elohenu Melech Ha’olam, hamotzi Lechem Min Ha’aretz.”
My young friend and I watched in silent wonder as our rabboni tore the fish and bread and gave pieces away, again and again and again. Everyone ate as much as they wanted, and the disciples gathered twelve baskets of leftovers. One basket, I realized, for each of the twelve tribes in the coming kingdom.
I squeezed Hadassah’s shoulder. “Do you remember when a man brought Elisha a sack of grain and twenty loaves of barley bread? The prophet fed over one hundred men with that meager amount and had plenty left over.”
Hadassah and the disciples marveled over Yeshua’s power, but I daresay Judas, Shimon, and I saw the miracle from another perspective. A leader who could feed over five thousand men, plus uncounted women and children, with only the barest amount of bread and fish … could easily feed an army.
An army that would march victorious against our enemies.
Chapter Thirty-five
We were pressing toward Jerusalem when we heard that Pontius Pilate had murdered some Galileans as they sacrificed at the temple. A ripple of horror moved through our group, and Shimon caught my eye as we gathered around our rabboni. Would Yeshua insist on leading us toward this dangerous Roman governor before we’d finalized our plan for a military campaign?
Our rabboni barely mentioned the tragedy in his teaching. I listened intently as Yeshua spoke, attempting to read between the lines and gauge his motivation. He taught in parables, as always—of fig trees, mustard seeds, narrow doors and unprepared brides. He talked of ordinary things to ordinary people, and as I weighed his words, I became convinced that I had somehow missed his meaning.
Later that night, when the men had settled down to sleep and most of the women had retired to our circle, I found Yeshua standing by the shore, his cloak wrapped around his shoulders as protection from the chilly wind. His attention focused on something beyond the shoreline and I would have given my last coin to read his thoughts.
“Something amiss, Miryam?” he asked without looking in my direction.
“You must know the sound of my footsteps.”
He turned, the corner of his mouth dipping in a wry grin. “You have a question for me?”
I smiled, amazed at his insight. “Actually, yes. Today you said the Kingdom of God was like the leaven used by a woman making bread.”
His chin dipped in a nod. “You listened.”
“But I don’t understand. We are commanded to rid our homes of leaven before the Passover feast; the rabbis say leaven represents sin, for sin permeates anything it touches. How, then, could the Kingdom of God be like leaven?”
“Miryam.”
My heart warmed to the sound of patience and affection in his voice.
“Can you see the leaven at work in your bowl?”
I shook my head.
“Can you hear it?”
“No.”
“Can you explain how the leaven expands a small lump of flour into a large loaf of bread?”
I laughed. “No.”
“Neither will you be able to explain the advance of the Kingdom of God.”
I had missed something, but he turned back to the lake, leaving me to carry his words into the night. I was sorting through them, trying to make his meaning fit with the coming revolution, when Susanna stepped into my path. She lifted a brow when she saw me. “Have you seen Yeshua? Peter needs him.”
I jerked my head toward the lake. “He’s there.”
“I suppose he was with John or one of the others?”
I stared at her for a full minute before the meaning of her arched brow hit home. By all that was holy, did she think I’d sought Yeshua … as a woman seeks a man?
“You are a woman.”
“Don’t women deserve to understand?”
Susanna stared at me, her eyes alight with speculation, then she drew her veil tight around her throat. “Good night, Miryam.”
My veil, of course, had slipped from my head while I stood in the wind talking to Yeshua. But Susanna’s query hadn’t sprung from my immodest appearance. She had stopped me because my reputation clung to me like an odor, poisoning everyone who had ever seen me wandering around Galilee when demons controlled my life …
I had watched Yeshua restore a dead boy to his mother, but I had yet to see him kill a rumor.
* * *
We camped outside Natzeret before the Feast of Tabernacles. I thought Yeshua had brought us to that village to visit his mother, for she didn’t always travel with us. Though our rabboni was her firstborn, her other children—James, Joseph, Abigail, Simon, Judas, and Anna—demanded her attention and were not shy about offering their opinions about their elder brother’s activities. The more Yeshua’s fame spread throughout the region of Galil, the more outspoken his siblings became.
We had scarcely finished unloading the donkeys when Yeshua’s brothers arrived and urged him to join the pilgrims on their way to the holy city. “Leave,” his brother James told him. “Go to Jerusalem where your followers can see your miracles. You can’t become famous if you hide out here in the wilderness. If you can do such wonderful things, prove it to the world!”
Yeshua gave his brother a rueful smile. “Now is not the right time for me to go. You can go anytime and it will make no difference. The world doesn’t hate you, but it does hate me because I accuse it of sin and evil. I am not ready to go to this festival because my time has not yet come.”
The next day, however, Yeshua told us we would go to Jerusalem, but we would go quietly. “My time has not yet come,” he repeated, and immediately I knew what he meant. We were not ready to launch a revolt.