by Ann Swinfen
Every day, winter and summer, as midday approached and again in the evening, everyone laid aside his work. They walked down from the buildings of the compound or in from the fields, gathering during the dry seasons at the seven ritual baths cut out of the rock, and discarded their white robes. Naked—in winter shivering in the bitter air and even more bitter water—they plunged in for a ritual washing away of sins. During the early spring, when the melt water filled the dry river bed, they bathed in the living stream. In those brief weeks, when the fresh water seemed so much purer than the faintly stagnant water of the baths, Yeshûa had to resist the temptation to strike out and swim across the river, as if he were a boy again with Yehûdâ in the river at home, but that was not considered seemly. This was a holy ritual, in which the whole body and head must be immersed, to purify oneself before taking food. Some of the probationers, when they first arrived, were afraid of this ritual, never before having stepped into a river.
When Yeshûa had been at Qumrân some three months, two new probationers joined the Community, boys of about twenty, from a village somewhere west of Jerusalem. They had never seen a river before. Their village did not even have a stream, obtaining its water from a single well and from stone cisterns which had to be filled carefully in winter, then jealously guarded in summer. The first time they were led down to bathe in the river, they baulked like nervous horses. The bigger boy stumbled forward at last, plunged in awkwardly, dipped his head in and out, then made for the shore as quickly as he could. The other, a slender boy called Nathan, waded out slowly until he was waist deep in the water, then froze, seemingly unable to go forward or back. Yeshûa, nearby, sank deep into the water, enjoying the sensation of the fast-moving current on his skin. He opened his eyes underwater and watched as minute bubbles, caught in the hairs of his arms, broke free and swam to the surface. His skin was fizzing like newly fermented wine.
He rose slowly to the surface, finding his footing amongst the slippery rocks and flinging his wet hair out of his eyes. The river was running rapidly, swollen with spring melt water flowing down from distant mountains. The boy Nathan took another hesitant step forward, holding his arms stretched out before him, like a blind man feeling his way, then suddenly, with a great flurry and splashing, and a high-pitched shriek of fear, he vanished into the deeper water. The other bathers glanced round, but none seemed concerned. Yeshûa saw a shape, a floundering body, borne past him on the swift current. Nathan’s head appeared briefly, close enough for Yeshûa to hear him gasp, then he was gone again. Yeshûa twisted round, knifed forward into the centre of the river, and began swimming fast after him.
Where the river curved, Nathan was carried towards the further shore before the main current caught him again and flung him onwards, but it had been enough for Yeshûa to overtake him, cut diagonally in front, and grab the boy as he passed in a confusion of arms and legs. Nathan fought him, as though he thought he had been seized by some malevolent creature of the river.
‘Be still!’ shouted Yeshûa, and swallowed a mouthful of river. ‘You’re safe now. I can tow you to shore. Be still!’
At last Nathan calmed enough for Yeshûa to grasp him by the shoulders, keeping his face above the surface, and to drag him across the river and on to the bank. They both lay there gasping, then Nathan vomited river water and moaned, curling up like a child.
‘Come,’ said Yeshûa, pulling him to his feet. ‘We must walk back along the bank, and hurry, or we’ll be late for the meal. Food is precious and the Rule is strict.’
When they reached the bathing place, the rest of the Community were gone, though their own two robes remained, neatly laid ready. This lack of concern about their fate seemed strange, but the Rule was indeed strict. They pulled on their tunics and walked back towards the compound.
‘You should not go so deep in the river,’ said Yeshûa, ‘if you cannot swim.’
‘I owe you my life,’ said Nathan.
‘Make it a good one then!’ said Yeshûa, and thumped him on the shoulder.
They were too late for the meal, and went hungry until the evening.
Yeshûa had been drawn to the Community by tales of their life of purity, body and soul, their learning, and their good works amongst the poor, although he did not feel within himself any capability to perform exorcism or cure illness. However, part of the first year’s training was an introduction to the treatment of diseases and to the practice of hypnotism, in order to cast out evil spirits. There were medical procedures to be learned, together with the magical incantations which must accompany them, herbal remedies to be studied, along with simple bone-setting. They were also taught how to breathe mouth-to-mouth, in order to restore life-giving air to a patient who was unconscious. Practising this last procedure led to some hilarity amongst the young probationers, though they tried to conceal their mirth from their instructor, who was an elderly Levite, and severe in his rectitude.
In the eleventh month of his probation, Yeshûa was allowed to accompany three of the brotherhood, Elias, Hezekiah and Alphaeus, on one of their regular rounds of visits to the villages northwest of Qumrân. Yeshûa had shown himself an apt pupil of the medical practices and had found, to his surprise, that something in him responded to this new branch of knowledge with unexpected excitement. When they reached the first village, they were welcomed into the home of one of the elders and given a meal and a place to sleep. Next morning, Yeshûa was amazed to find the courtyard crowded with people, not merely from the village but from some miles around. By word of mouth the news had spread that the Essene brothers had come to the village. Some patients had made their own way, others had been carried or led by their families. The three brothers went amongst them, assessing their problems, turning some away, telling others to wait under the fig tree. Then they began their treatment of the sick.
At first Yeshûa merely watched, but he was soon fetching medicines, helping to straighten a limb, or marshalling impatient villagers into lines. One old man was too weak to stand, and had sunk into a corner of the wall, his head bowed and his hands dangling between his knees. Yeshûa crouched down in the dirt in front of him and took his hands. He felt the old man’s fingers, lifeless as a bundle of dry twigs, stir and grow warm in his. The man raised his head and Yeshûa saw that he was blind in one eye, with a cataract covering the pupil.
‘Can you help me, brother?’
‘I am not a brother yet, I’m afraid. Merely a probationer. I have been in the Community less than a year.’
‘But surely you have the touch? I can feel it in your hands.’
Yeshûa looked down at their joined hands and was suddenly aware of them, as if they belonged to someone else. Why should he not try? It could do no harm, for one of the brothers could always treat the man later. He cupped his hand over the damaged eye, closed his own eyes, and tried to imagine the man’s blindness replaced by sight. He knew the words. Words were powerful. He murmured the incantation, and waited.
At first, nothing happened.
Then, involuntarily, he shivered.
Something seemed to be brushing his skin, like the lick of cold water from a high mountain stream at the end of winter. All over his body, the hair stirred. His heart was pounding, as if he had been climbing too fast up that mountain, and it was difficult to breathe. In the depths of his chest there was a tight knot of excitement, or fear, but his mind felt very calm, very clear. As if with the old man’s eyes, he saw through his own closed lids a slender young man, with dark curls and a rough, coarse-woven tunic, crouching in the dust. He could hear nothing but the rush of his own blood, as his heart galloped faster and faster.
Then suddenly all his strength drained out of him. He collapsed forward on to his knees and his hand fell from the old man’s eyes. He was shaking, so weak he could barely lift his head.
The man gave a gasp.
‘I can see again! You have cured me. I knew, from the moment you touched me.’
Gently, Yeshûa lifted the man’s eyelid with
his trembling fingers and studied the eye careful. It was clear and bright as a child’s. A sense of astonishment made him rock back on his heels.
‘Let us say a berâkâ of thanksgiving to the Lord,’ he said, ‘for it is He who has restored your sight, not I.’
When the prayer was finished, Yeshûa whispered earnestly to the old man, ‘Do not speak of this to anyone. I am not yet learned enough to perform cures.’
‘It shall be as you say, master,’ said the old man, but he seized Yeshûa’s hand and kissed it, which did not go unnoticed by others waiting nearby.
That evening, as they sat down to eat, Yeshûa found the three brothers eyeing him speculatively.
‘So you performed a cure,’ said Elias, the oldest and most experienced in treating illness and possession by evil spirits.
Yeshûa felt uncomfortable under their gaze.
‘I should not have done it. But the old man begged me, and I did very little—laid my hand on his eye and said the words. I did not use the herbs. He was an old man, weak and tired.’
‘You should not have done it,’ Elias agreed. ‘However, we will allow you to practise, under our eye, for the remainder of this trip. You will not attempt to perform cures on your own. When we return, it will be for the Mebaqqer and the judges to decide whether you have sinned in taking it upon yourself to perform a cure without permission.’
As they continued their round of visits to the villages, Yeshûa was permitted to treat a few more patients. Some of the procedures were simple. He set a number of broken or sprained limbs, binding them in splints. He bathed a child who had a skin disease with a cleansing lotion. Both of these treatments required the appropriate incantations, and the brothers were satisfied with him. On their last day in the last village, just as they were turning away to attend the evening meal provided by their host, a distraught man ran into the courtyard, with a girl of five or six lying limp in his arms.
‘Help me! I beg of you, brothers, help me! My child fell from a tree and she has stopped breathing.’
He held the child out before him, like a man making an offering.
Hezekiah, who was the least friendly of the brothers, and who had been watching Yeshûa’s treatments closely, as though expecting mistakes, turned to him now.
‘Here’s a fine case for our probationer to attempt.’
Elias looked at him sharply, then said to Yeshûa, ‘Do you want to try?’
Without a word, Yeshûa took the child from her father’s arms and laid her carefully on the ground, kneeling down beside her. He ran his hands gently over her head, then pressed his mouth against hers and began forcing air between her lips. For a long time, nothing happened. Then he felt again the same dizzying sensations he had felt with the blind man. This time he was prepared for the strength to drain out of him. As it did, he thought he saw a slight movement of her eyes behind her lids. He tried breathing into her mouth again, and the child moaned and opened her eyes. She was confused and still barely conscious, but she was breathing.
The father fell to his knees on the other side of the child, tears streaming down his face.
‘You are a magician, a healer. You kissed her, and gave her back life.’
‘It is the Lord’s work,’ said Yeshûa, relieved but embarrassed. ‘It is a cure we practice. We—’
He felt the pressure of Elias’s hand on his shoulder and remembered that he must not speak of the cures to any outside the brotherhood.
‘Take her home,’ he said to the father, ‘and let her rest. In a few days she should be well again.’
For a last time, he cupped the girl’s head gently between his hands. Her eyes turned towards him, and she smiled.
‘The Lord go with you, talithâ,’ he said, stumbling weakly to his feet.
Behind him, he could hear Hezekiah muttering to Alphaeus, but could not distinguish the words. Whatever they said no longer mattered. A surge of power seemed to run through him like a mighty river, unstoppable, starting from his feet, rising up and flooding his whole body with light, running out to his tingling fingertips and filling his head with a vision of such brightness that he must close his eyes and hold his breath. His very heart and lungs felt as though they would burst.
The morning after they returned to Qumrân, Yeshûa was summoned to the presence of the Mebaqqer, who regarded him austerely from his great carved chair, while Yeshûa stood before him, his hands clasped behind his back and his head meekly bowed, yet still filled with that sudden elation at a power he did not understand.
‘I have received differing accounts of your conduct on the recent mission to the villages. All three brothers are agreed that you showed you had learned the elementary stages of our medical practices which are taught in the first year. You carried out your duties quickly and with understanding, you made no mistakes.’
Yeshûa bowed his head in acknowledgement.
‘I thank you, Mebaqqer.’
‘That is not all. Hezekiah has reported that, unauthorised, you treated a man with cataract, and—had Elias not stopped you—you came close to revealing the secrets of our treatments to one of the ignorant Sons of Israel. What do you have to say?’
‘It is true.’
Yeshûa’s heart was beating fast. He had not yet learned all the details of the Community Rule, but he thought that either of these two offences might entail expulsion from the order.
‘Hezekiah also says you used a strange word to address the girl who had fallen from a tree. Was this some magical incantation of your own?’
Yeshûa was puzzled. ‘I called her talithâ.’
‘The word is unknown to me.’
‘It means “little lamb”. It’s a term of endearment for children.’
The Mebaqqer looked at him speculatively. ‘Some uncouth Galilean word, I suppose.’
I must not grow angry, Yeshûa told himself, but all the fierce loyalty to his native land boiled up in his heart.
‘On the other hand,’ the Mebaqqer continued, ‘Elias believes you may have a true gift of healing. Any brother, with patience and study, can learn our medical practices. But to some is given an additional gift, a healing touch. It is a precious talent, bestowed directly by our Heavenly Father. Our great Teacher of Righteousness, who once occupied this chair and laid down the Rules of our order, possessed the touch. Do you think you have been given this incomparable talent?’
‘I do not know, Mebaqqer. I have never experienced it before. But when I laid my hand on the blind man’s eye and when I breathed into the child, I felt, as it were, something flowing through me. It was not I who performed the cures. I was no more than a conduit.’
The Mebaqqer nodded, as if he were satisfied with this answer.
‘You must be punished for your disobedience. Ten days on half rations and field work for the same period. As for the possibility that you may be a natural healer, we shall watch and see. These things reveal themselves. Now we will say a prayer together and then you are dismissed to the fields.’
Half rations were hard to endure, especially when on field work. For the next ten days, Yeshûa sat at a low table amongst new probationers and some of the better-regarded laymen, and tried to make his tiny ration of lentils, onion and peas, with half the usual bread, last as long as the meal the others were eating. For drink he had only water, and little of that. At the high table sat the Mebaqqer with the Bursar, the priests and Levites, and all those brothers deemed worth of the purity of the sanctified food and new wine, the tohorot and yayin, served there. At the start of the meal the Mebaqqer broke the bread and blessed it, blessed the ritual cup of wine, then passed both round the table as a symbol of the foundation of all nourishment, which they shared in ritual purity and brotherhood together. A member of the Community as lowly as Yeshûa might not touch the tohorot or the yayin, for fear he should defile them. He might not touch, with his impious and impure hands, any of their ritual pots, bowls, plates, jugs or cups. To do so would blaspheme both the meal and the Lord who provided it.<
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At last the ten days passed and Yeshûa was just one week from the end of his year of probation. He was deeply troubled, unsure what future he should choose. If he decided to leave the Community, would this not be failure? It had seemed to him, coming eagerly to Qumrân a year ago, that here he would find what he had hungered for as long as he could remember. A life dedicated to asceticism and purity, to careful study of the great scriptures of the past and the more recent writings of the Teacher of Righteousness, and above all to the care of the sick and the poor. Wasn’t this what he had always wanted?
And yet, many things hindered his perfect acceptance of the Community’s way of life. It seemed to him too isolated from the rest of suffering humanity. Of course, this was how the brethren kept themselves pure. But was this truly how Yahweh wanted him to spend his life? It felt more and more selfish and self-absorbed, the longer he stayed here. To question this was to question the underlying beliefs on which the Community was founded. The final battle was near, between the pure in heart and the followers of evil, and they were preparing themselves to form an army which would ensure the victory of righteousness. He had read the War Scroll and was both fascinated and appalled. Was violence and war the true mission of those who would follow Yahweh with a pure heart? He could not accept that. Despite all the teaching here, he could not rid his mind of the belief that all the rest of humanity, outside the Community, was not evil. And that even sinners might find the path to goodness and to Yahweh, if someone extended a hand of loving friendship to them.