The Apostle's Sister, page 12
Eden was the first to notice my condition. One afternoon I found her sitting on her courtyard wall, her arms crossed and her brows raised.
“What is wrong?” I asked, alarmed at her indignant expression.
“Were you not going to tell me?”
My mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”
She smiled. “I heard you vomiting. Congratulations and shalom, my friend. May this be the first of many.”
Finally, after three months without bleeding, I sat across from my husband and told him we would have a child in the fall. He blinked, put down the scroll in his hand, and lowered his gaze to my belly. “I am to be a father?”
“You are, HaShem willing. It has been three months since I last bled.”
His eyes brightened, and for a moment I thought he might shout and alarm the neighbors. Then he remembered he was a serious Torah student and gave me a dignified smile.
“Praise Adonai,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I must send a letter to our parents.”
“Let us hope your letter reaches them before the baby is born,” I answered, patting my belly. The child had not yet quickened, but that moment could not be far away.
Avidan stood and kissed the top of my head. “You have made me very happy,” he said, reaching for his bag. “I will be home late tonight.”
“Don’t you want me to read?”
“I must study with men from the yeshiva. Do not wait up—you need your rest.”
I watched him go, a kernel of joy warming the center of my being. Surely, I was born for this—bearing children and helping my husband.
Who could have guessed? Ima had been right all along.
After sharing my news with Avidan, I packed a basket with food and walked to Sha’ul’s house. My sister-in-law had not been feeling well, but I hoped my news would cheer her.
I found Bettina sitting on a bench in the front room. She rose to greet me and blushed when I exclaimed over her round belly. “Look how you have grown!”
She bit her lip. “Sha’ul says I should not go out looking like this, but it is easier to go out than to send Huldah. She struggles with the water jugs even more than I do.”
“Who is Huldah?”
“Oh—we have a servant now. She has gone to get water.”
I frowned. “Why does she struggle with the jugs?”
“Because she is old.” Bettina pressed her hand to her lower back. “She owed a debt to one of the leading Pharisees. When he saw how slow she was, he sent her to us.”
Though I was itching to share my news, politeness demanded that I ask about my brother. “And how is Sha’ul? I have not seen much of him since his ordination.”
“Oh.” Bettina blew a wisp of hair from her damp forehead. “He is restless. The religious authorities have not yet given him a job. He wants to teach, but at the highest level, of course. The ruling council has not yet decided where he should serve.”
I clicked my tongue against my teeth and sat on the bench. “Sit down, for I have news to share. I, too, am expecting a child.”
Bettina gasped, then a smile spread over her youthful features. She sat and clasped my hands. “I am so glad to hear it! I am relieved to know I will not have to go through this alone. If you are with me, I will not be afraid.”
“Are you afraid?”
A blush ran over her pale cheeks. “Sha’ul says it is a sin to doubt HaShem, but my mother died giving birth to me. Sha’ul says not to worry, all will be well, but he is a man. I am not fond of pain, and I wonder if I am like my mother. What if I am not able to survive childbirth?”
“Sha’ul is correct; you should not worry so much.” I squeezed her hands. “We must rejoice in the blessings HaShem has bestowed. We must look forward to presenting these babies at the Temple. Think how happy our husbands will be that day! We will redeem our children and dedicate them to Adonai, and we will raise them to honor their fathers, love their mothers, and obey HaShem. Is that not what He created us to do?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Of course you are right.”
“All will be well.” I squeezed her hands again, then reached for my basket. “I have brought delicacies for us to enjoy. I have toasted grain, barley cakes, and globi. We will spend the day together and talk about the joyful days to come. “And”—I leaned toward her—“if at any time you want to speak to a woman who will understand, you should come to me. I will listen, I promise.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, but she swiped it away. “You don’t know how I have longed to hear those words. I know so few people in Jerusalem, and I cannot help being shy. I wanted to talk to you about the baby but thought your heart might ache for a child of your own.”
“It did,” I admitted. “I had even begun to beg HaShem for a sign that I was not meant to be childless. Fortunately, He answered that prayer.”
“I am happy He did.”
She pulled a handful of toasted grain from my bowl, then tossed it in her mouth. “Perfect,” she said, crunching the kernels.
“Not too salty?”
“You have it exactly right.”
And for the first time since Sha’ul’s marriage, I felt a true kinship with my sister-in-law.
SEVENTEEN
Aya
As the celebration of Pesach approached, I noticed an unusual flurry of activity among the women in my neighborhood. Not only did they sweep their houses from floor to ceiling in search of tiny specks of leaven, but they also aired linens, tightened bed frames, and dusted every basket hanging from their ceiling beams. They planted flowers in window boxes and ordered new leather hinges for their doors and shutters.
I had never anticipated Passover as a resident of the city. As a visitor, I assumed the Holy City was always blooming and in good repair. But for the first time I saw how much work went into preparing the city for thousands of international visitors.
Somehow I supposed that the pilgrims who flooded Jerusalem would avoid our humble home, but when a woman at the Pool of Siloam asked how many guests my husband and I would host, the question caught me off guard. “How many?” I gaped in astonishment. “Our house barely holds us.”
The woman’s raucous laughter drew attention from others in line. “She thinks her house is too small to host guests,” she announced as my cheeks burned. “As if she has never before experienced Pesach!”
“I haven’t,” I stammered. “Not while living in Jerusalem, that is.”
An older woman walked over and patted my shoulder. “Little wife, you must open your door to anyone who wants to enter,” she said. “Showing hospitality is a commandment. But do not worry—once your home is filled, the others will go in search of a more comfortable space. All Jerusalem becomes an inn during the pilgrimage festivals.”
My heart sank at this news. I had finally begun to think of our house as a cozy home, but soon it would be overrun with strangers who would soil my linens, crowd my table, and drool on my pillows. Despite my pregnancy, I would have to surrender my bed to an elder, so Avidan and I might end up sleeping on a rug.
I would find it difficult to feel hospitable while lying on our dirt floor.
“Having guests is a blessing,” another woman said. “You will need extra mouths to eat your entire lamb, for nothing can be eaten the next day.”
“Is this the first year you will be roasting a lamb?” another woman asked.
I nodded.
She smiled. “Just be sure not to break a single bone. You will do well, as long as not a single bone is broken.”
Eden rolled her pushcart toward me. “Aya, did you not visit Jerusalem with your family?”
“Not every year,” I replied, my tone more defensive than I would have liked. “The distance was too great. But Abba tried to bring us every two or three years, especially after my brother began to study at the Temple yeshiva.”
“And while you were in the Holy City, where did you stay?”
“Sha’ul found us a place with a family he knew.” A wealthy family, I might have added, but did not.
Eden’s smile deepened. “Did you not notice your host’s efforts to ensure your comfort? Surely we can do no less for those who will be visiting from great distances.”
In truth, I had not noticed, because what young person notices such things? But now I would be a hostess by holy command, so I resigned myself to my responsibility. Within a few days, thousands upon thousands of Abraham’s descendants would enter Jerusalem, and some of them would sleep in my home.
Perhaps, if I closed my eyes and pretended I had traveled all the way from Tarsus, I would not mind.
We women were not the only people who had to prepare for Passover. A month before the festival, officials from Judea, Samaria, and Galilee had sent out laborers to repair the roads and bridges for the onslaught of pilgrims. Outside Jerusalem, a crew of workers visited graveyards to whiten the sepulchers lest a speck of dead man’s dust attach to a pious traveler. Those who served in the Temple were busy erecting fences to contain the animals rural families would bring as their tithes.
Exactly one month before the feast, money changers, known as schulchanim, had opened stalls in every Judean town. These men, authorized by the Temple authorities, took whatever goods or coinage the pilgrims offered and exchanged it for Tyrian coins so families could pay the annual Temple tribute of half a shekel. The schulchanim did not offer their services out of charity but charged a fee, and those operating in Jerusalem charged the highest fees of all.
A few days before the beginning of Pesach, Avidan took me to the Temple Mount. The area was already crowded with worshipers, foreign visitors, and Levites who had left their villages to serve during the festival. Avidan and I entered through the Royal Portico and stepped into the teeming Court of the Gentiles. We threaded our way through carpenters, scribes, and money changers. The odors of animals and manure wafted past my nose as foreign languages, most of them unknown to me, tickled my ears.
At one point, Avidan turned and put his arm over my shoulders. “Wait here,” he said, guiding me to a shady spot near a pillar. “I must find my Torah teacher, but I do not want to drag you through this crowd. I will return soon.”
“Please don’t leave me,” I begged, alarmed by the confusion and noise. “I may never find you again.”
“Of course you will. Stay exactly where you are, and I will return soon.”
I watched as he disappeared into the boisterous crowd, then shifted my gaze to a pair of bickering money changers. How could anyone who lived in Jerusalem consider Pesach a time of joy?
I was watching a shepherd apply whitewash to a blemish on one of his lambs when the sound of a familiar accent caught my attention. My father once sold a set of tents to a Galilean merchant, and the man’s accent had fascinated me. Abba said people from Galilee had a reputation for being brutish and poorly educated, yet fish and textiles from that region were highly prized.
I watched as a group of Galileans, men and women, entered the court, and noticed that they seemed to defer to the man who led them. He looked like the others—tanned, with simple clothing, a leather girdle, and an untrimmed beard. Though the others seemed wary and alert, he moved with perfect calm, like a priest who felt at home in this sacred place.
Could this be the teacher mentioned by the women at the Pool of Siloam?
I leaned against the pillar, fascinated by the man who surveyed the milling crowd of animals, pilgrims, and Levites; then his eyes narrowed. Without warning, he approached a table of money changers, grabbed the edge, and tipped the table over, scattering coins onto the pavement. Then he removed his corded girdle, lifted a rail from a holding pen, and waded into a herd of sheep, brandishing the girdle. “How dare you,” he shouted to the astonished onlookers as he drove the sheep out of the pen, “turn my Father’s house into a market?”
While sheep bleated and shepherds shouted, the Galilean opened a cattle pen, scattered the beasts, and then strode to a table of pigeon cages. There he lifted the lids, setting the birds free, and tossed the wooden cages onto the pavement.
Horrified, I looked for the Temple guards, who had removed their swords and stepped forward, but they seemed confused about what to do. The money changers were too busy scrambling for coins to chastise the man, and the shepherds were chasing their bellowing beasts.
Finally, a group of priests appeared, and their presence spurred the Temple guards to action. With swords drawn, they cornered the Galilean and a few of the men with him.
One of the white-robed priests strode forward to confront the man. “By what authority have you done all this?”
“You have turned my Father’s house into a market,” the man replied, not retreating from the priest’s hot gaze. “This should be a house of prayer.”
“Your Father?” The priest stiffened. “HaShem is Father to all children of Abraham, so why do you have the right to sow such confusion? Give us a sign to show us you have the authority to do this.”
“I have the authority.” The stranger lifted his head, then stared pointedly at a guard who was brandishing his sword. “You want proof? I tell you this—destroy this Temple, and in three days I will raise it up again.”
A group of Judeans—I was astounded to see Sha’ul and Avidan among them—turned to each other and laughed. “Forty-six years this Temple has been under construction,” one of the Judeans said, his voice rising above the crowd, “and you are going to rebuild it in three days?”
My heart pounded as I looked toward the Antonia tower, looming above the north wall of the Temple. Were my brother and husband about to become involved in a riot? The Romans frowned on public disturbances and would not hesitate to intervene if the situation escalated.
In the hollow of my back, a single drop of sweat traced the course of my spine. I held my breath, afraid the Galilean would urge his followers to charge the priest, but he only gave the Judean a sharp look and walked away, his followers trailing behind him.
With my hand on my chest, I felt my heartbeat slow as the crowd dispersed. I searched the crowd and finally spotted Avidan coming toward me. “I am sorry to be gone so long,” he said, taking my hand. “But you probably saw why I was detained.”
“Who was that man? I have never seen a Galilean act with such boldness.”
“You have never seen anyone act with such foolishness,” he said. “That was Yeshua of Nazareth. Apparently, he has developed a reputation as a healer. Some say he is a prophet.”
“But we have not seen a true prophet since Zachariah. Some claim John the Baptizer was a legitimate prophet, but Herod—”
“You have been listening to women’s gossip.” Avidan gave me an indulgent smile. “And the stories about John the Baptizer are nonsense. You should ignore them as well as anything you hear about this Yeshua.”
I rose on tiptoe, but the Galilean had disappeared. “Whoever he is,” I remarked, “he is certainly zealous for the house of God.”
Avidan’s eyes narrowed. “Zealous or foolish? It can be difficult to discern the difference.”
I did not see Yeshua of Nazareth again that year, though we continued to hear about him. We heard reports of healings—a blind man who received his sight, a child healed of leprosy, a man who had been lame for years walking again. The people who told these stories were convinced they had witnessed genuine miracles. They said Yeshua was a healer sent from HaShem. Some speculated that he might be our promised Messiah.
Avidan and Sha’ul also heard these stories, and their reactions could not have been more different. One night, as Sha’ul and Bettina dined with us, Avidan quoted from a psalm of David: “‘I have become a stranger to my brothers, a foreigner to my mother’s children. For zeal for Your House consumed me—the insults of those who insulted You have fallen on me.’” He turned to Sha’ul. “Could those words not apply to the man who overturned the money changers’ tables? He certainly received many insults that day.”
Sha’ul’s mouth curled and rolled like he wanted to spit. “You have not been studying long enough to interpret the Scriptures correctly, Avidan. Do not overreach.”
“But the prophet Malachi speaks of a messenger who will come to the Temple and refine it,” Avidan insisted. “The prophet wrote, ‘Suddenly, He will come to His Temple—’”
Sha’ul looked at my husband as if Avidan were a young child. “Surely you realize dozens of false messiahs have appeared through the years. This Galilean is one of them. He will fade away, as did the others before him, and he will amount to nothing . . . unless he falls afoul of Rome. Then he will most certainly perish in ignominy.”
When Avidan glanced at me, I knew what he was thinking. We had been reading the story of Joseph and his brothers, and both of us were struck by the brothers’ blindness when they finally met Joseph in Egypt. Though Joseph was wearing Egyptian garb and had probably shaved his head and beard, how could they not recognize his voice?
Avidan insisted that the passing years had obliterated their knowledge of Joseph, but I pointed out that the brothers realized almost immediately that their trouble with the Egyptian had something to do with the treachery they had committed. Their sin against Joseph was uppermost in their minds . . . so how had they not recognized him?
Avidan gave me a small smile and turned to Sha’ul. “Is it not possible,” he said, folding his hands, “that this Yeshua could be a prophet and we have been blind? After all, Joseph’s brothers did not recognize him when they met him in Egypt.”
A warning cloud settled on Sha’ul’s features. “Has someone in your yeshiva suggested that Yeshua is from HaShem?”
Avidan shook his head. “But—”
“Such blasphemous speculation is a waste of time.” Sha’ul turned to Bettina, who had grown pale at the vehemence in her husband’s words. “Are you ready to go? You must be tired after such a long day.”
Like a dutiful wife, Bettina nodded, and Sha’ul stood to say the blessing for the end of the meal. “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, benevolent God, our Father, our King, our Strength, our Creator, our Redeemer, our Maker, our Holy One, the Holy One of Jacob, our Shepherd, the Shepherd of Israel, the King who is good and does good to all, each and every day. May the Merciful One send abundant blessing into this house and upon this table at which we have eaten. May the Merciful One send us Elijah the prophet—may He be remembered for good—and let Him bring us good tidings, deliverance, and consolation. May the Merciful One bless my father, my teacher, the master of this house, and my mother, my teacher, the mistress of this house, and all that is theirs. Just as He blessed our forefathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in all things, by all things, with all things, so may He bless all of us together with a perfect blessing; and let us say, Amen.”
