Love at Sukkot, page 2
“So, what do we need to do to setup? Do we have to check in somewhere?” I insert myself into their conversation, southern pleasantries be damned to Sheol. The men turn to me en masse. I clench the bag over my shoulder tighter as I stand to my full 6’3” height. I allow my energy to dominate the space. Being an “Aleph male” you don’t have to be the loudest or strongest in the room. Belief in Yahusha and obedience to Yahuah will cause you to be elevated in the glory of Yah. I need these dudes to be aware at all times that I’m not one to be dogged. The cloying scent of weed clings to the hair and clothing of this group as they pass a joint. Yahim takes the joint and pulls on it before answering.
“My wives handled the check in. Once the cars are unloaded, we’ll head over the the east side to set up.”
“Bet. I’m already unloaded so I can head over there now.”
“Yeah, you do that son.” The derisive tone of Yahim’s voice is a razor blade down my spine. The Most High has been dealing with me on pride, and I already know puffing up my stature a moment ago is as far as I need to go with these cancerous men. I take note of his use of son. At age 29, Yahim may have a good five years on me. Not nearly enough to be referred to as his son. I let the words slide with a head nod. I use my size and build to cut through the men to the walkway. I hear murmuring behind me, but I pay no heed to it. The Most High can handle my lightweight as long as I do what I need to.
The sidewalk slips off to the left and to the right. There’s a rustic wood sign pointing the directions to the lakes for which this location gets it’s name, recreational sites, and various lodgings. I see that there are cabins located to the right, towards the west side, and wonder to myself why we didn’t get the cabins instead of having to tent for the whole week. I look to the direction of the cabins. I see a small table set up with a sign indicating “New Way Torah Keepers.” After skimming the sign, I note with surprise that there is another camp here for the week of Sukkot. Beside the stand, I see the profile of a woman with a lovely figure. Her long, flowing skirt is loose fitting, but it can’t hide the roundness of her hips or the fullness of her behind. I don’t allow my eyes to linger for long. As I look back up, I notice that her hair is wrapped to match. I can’t see the features of her face, but her form, modesty, and mocha complexion are strong indicators that she’s a beautiful specimen to behold. I feel the tantalizing stirrings of desire encroaching in my mind. I beat back the thoughts, knowing that I’ve yet to receive release from the Most High to again pursue sex or dating. Not that I think he would allow me to go back to losing myself in the beds of beautiful women. Still watching, I take note of the older man walking beside her towards where I assume the cabins are. So, these two must be who the Yahim gang were speaking of. Storing this info, I turn away towards the tent grounds.
About forty-five minutes later, the ground for my tent has been cleared, the tent is up, fastened, and all of my supplies are laid out securely inside. I step out of the tent and gaze out over the remaining camping area with disappointment. The rest of the camp is in disarray. Groups of women are scattered throughout the area, fighting with tents and pegs. Some of the older kids are trying to help their mothers while the younger kids run through the camp yelling and screaming. It was late afternoon when we pulled up, and we have only ninety minutes to finish setting up camp before the sun begins it’s final descent for the day. I look around to see where the men are as I move towards the struggling group. I pass Derrick London, carrying a few bags. He’s a cool cat, low key, and newly married. He’s one of the few men here that I’m cool with. He sticks pretty close beside his wife, so I don’t know him that well. He isn’t one of Yahim’s favorites, so he tends to stand on the outskirts like me. I’m not sure what the beef is between the two, however, he doesn’t rub me wrong.
“Derrick, bro, where is everyone? Why isn’t the camp up?”
He turns to look at me as he continues towards where his wife is. They’ve chosen a location on the edge of the camp like I have.
“Last I checked, they were out scouting the lake and buildings. Trying to put up a grill, I think.”
“What the hell? The camp isn’t even up yet. Why put up a grill first?” Frustration crawls up the back of my neck, like a spider. The sensation is so pervasive that I reach back, on instinct, to swat at my neck. Nothing is there. In the physical at least.
“You know as much as I do. I’m about to help my lady finish setting up. We brought food for this evening at least. We can figure out the grill tomorrow when the high Sabbath is over.”
I slow my pace and let Derrick pass me so he can reach his wife, Kimberly. I let the frustration slip as I move in a direct line towards the center of the tent grounds where the largest group of women fight with cords, spikes, and poles.
“Hey, sisters! Could y’all use some help?”
One of the women whom I recognize as Yahim’s second wife, Priya James. She smiles at me gratefully.
“Yes, please. We have no idea how to set this up. Can you tell us how?” She goes to pass a piece of paper to me which I assume has the instructions printed on it. Before the paper can make it across the distance between us, it is snatched away.
“No, thank you, Dominik. We’ve got it.” The words come from Yahim’s first wife. A woman in her thirties with a beaten down appearance, Katlyn James is a sad sight. Not that she isn’t lovely. Her deep brown skin is free from blemish, though it is well-lined. Her lips are full and her cheek bones are high. She’s a nice plump size after having four of Yahim’s five children. She’s been with Yahim at least 7 years. Since the time Yahim began this branch of the Abrahamic Elites. The AEs have a policy about the elders having a wife before beginning to lead that lines up with the teachings of Rab Sha’ul or Paul. Hence, Katlyn James, a woman who at one point in time must have been breathtakingly beautiful. Her warm brown eyes are distrusting, sunken, and sad. She doesn’t exhibit a bit of backbone when around Yahim and his men. Although, she lords over the women with what little power she does have so that they know and walk in their place as Israelite women. Sitting back and observing in this camp has allowed me to collect a lot of interesting information on the Hebrews here. The sight of her sabbath after sabbath does little to help my lack of respect for Yahim. Pops always taught me the condition of a man’s wife and children was a indicator of his character and ability as husband. This isn’t a Torah law, but the evidence of years of living proves this to be true. Compared to Priya, who, at twenty-six, still has some buoyancy to her and eyes that still have life, it’s obvious Yahim hasn’t been kind to Katlyn which also supports the rumors that Priya was added to his roster because Katlyn was getting old to him. My heart grieves for these two and their children. I often catch myself sending up silent prayers that Priya doesn’t become a hallow shell like her sister wife.
“Lady James, the sun is setting soon. I just want to help you guys get setup before it’s dark.” I pull on her mothering instincts, “I don’t want the babies to have to sleep out on the ground.”
Her eyes scan the wooden sentinels around us. The towering trees mask the lighting that is still available, casting long shadows over the grounds. Reluctantly, she nods her head and returns the paperwork. I give the group of women who had inched forward slightly at the promise of help.
“Great! First things first. We need to clear the ground a bit so you aren’t sleeping on pointy sticks and rocks. They will hurt like a bastard and can also damage your tents.” I call to the children and with the help of their mothers they begin to pickup sticks and rocks and move them out of the way. I instruct them to make a few piles of the debris. We can use those to make fire pits after.
I’m able to help the women make good progress on their tents, when the sounds of crunching boots behind me makes my neck stiffen. I stand from helping the two Lady James attach the inner layer of the tent to the final pole, to see Yahim fast approaching. His eyes are red and hazy from smoke, but his nostrils are flared with indignation.
“What the hell are you doing, Yates? I know you not messing around with my women.” Three other men flank Yahim in his angry approach. I hear rusting around me, most likely the women who had gathered close to learn how to connect the poles to the inner cloth, moving away as to escape the wrath of yahoo and his flunkies.
“No, Elder Yahim,” I add the title of respect to try and help ease the tension of the moment. I’m outnumbered here. I can do a lot of damage by myself, but numbers can overwhelm the best of them.
“The women were struggling and losing light. I came to assist them since my tent is done.”
“What the hell do they need your help for? They have a man.” I do little to control the smirk as it rises to my lips. I hope my full beard covers it a bit. Seriously, what man allows his wife, or wives, to put up a tent without his help. Ludicrous.
“This I know. You were off site, so I offered my assistance until you returned. It’s our responsibility as Yahudim to provide help wherever we can.”
“If my women need help, they know where to find me.” His slim chest puffs up with fake righteous indignation. Not wanting to make things worse, I concede this. I don’t have evidence to say Yahim hits his wives, but abuse has many forms. The AEs that I’ve encountered over the months actively teach that a man has rule over his own home. It’s a doctrine that sounds good, but it just leads to worry with a man like Yahim, who gets off on ruling unjustly with an iron sceptre.
I’m not of the mind to find a wife for myself, even though it’s been mentioned by my mother and members of the camp several times. If I did have one though, it would be my goal in life to protect and treasure her like the Most High does us. Like the Messiah did in his sacrifice. Like it’s taught in Ephesians. Like a true Aleph Male would. I nod my head and move back towards my tent. I can hear heated words towards the two Lady James about being around another man when he wasn’t around. I breathe out a silent breath, and beseech the Most High in my heart for their protection. Free them from his evil control Father. Free us all from the evil that’s in his heart.
I’m not sure why I worded the prayer in that way, but the urging of my heart in this is strong. I add in one final line of prayer from the depths of my soul. Help me find a place to call home. If this is it, please show me that.
I duck into my tent. It’s a nice sized tent because I’m a large man, but I still have to bend double to clear the opening. I settle down on my sleeping bag and grab my bible to do my daily study. A good fifteen minutes pass before the darkness of the tent is too much to continue reading. I scoop up my pen, notebook, and bible, and roll to a crouch so I can leave the tent. Once outside, I stretch my frame until I feel a satisfying pop in my back. I look around in the fading light, and immediately see red. All that was left for most of the women to do was put the final layer of their tents over the inner lining. A few of the camp members who have larger families with additional wives and children had a little more work to do setting up the inner frame. As I look across the campground, I can clearly see that little progress has been made since I left the women to their returning husbands.
I stalk through the camp to see what is going on. The sun will set within the next thirty minutes, and many families will have incomplete tents for the night. I catch a a glimpse of Yahim’s crew near the center of camp. I go straight for them.
“Hey. Did something happen? The tents aren’t up.” I stop my charge in the circle of the men. I see a bag of kids sized chips being eaten by each of the men.
“Yeah, the women had to go start dinner. They can finish when they get back.”
Disgust is audible in my voice as I reply, “Why don’t y’all finish the set up while they cook?”
“Homemaking is women’s work. Those tents will be done after they serve dinner.” His egotistical response makes the hair of my beard twitch. That may just be the clenching of my jaw, nevertheless the smallest hairs on my body are irritated at this revolting piece of filth. My eyebrows slant downward.
“Isn’t construction of the home the husband’s role? Did the Messiah say that he has gone to make a place for us? I.e. a home for us to dwell.” I try to talk slowly so the imbecile has a chance to understand what’s being said. To be such a high man of scripture, he is constantly forgetting the spirit of being a fruitful man of Yah. Also, that the fruitfulness has little to do with our equipment and how we use it.
“It’s real funny how you lie to twist scripture, boy. A man governs his own house. That includes his tent. Maybe if you were able to get yourself a wife of your own, you’d know that.” The surrounding men laugh as if a switch was flipped during the filming of a studio audience.
At the recitation of the stock phrase of the men of AE, I know that he won’t hear a single thing that I have to say on this matter. I move back from the group. Vexation causes my neck to tense, so I stretch it back and forth as I find the path back to the main grounds. Maybe a good long walk to a place with lamps will help clear my head.
CHAPTER THREE
Delight Yourself
ISSA
The drop in temperature crashes over my tired figure as I move toward the silent Creed Lake. I’m tempted to return to the warm atmosphere of the gathering space, but my heart and mind are too cloudy to maintain a facade of joy. I wouldn’t call myself a jealous person, but having to watch happy couples and mothers wrangling excitable children has stirred up something inside of me that I don’t like.
It has been many years now since I have allowed myself to long after the dreams of my childhood. As long as I can remember, I have felt called to be a wife and mother. Growing up, all of my friends would seek my counsel when issues arose in their relationships. That may not mean much, as we were barely twelve or thirteen years old, yet, everyone surrounding me had an instinctive knowing that I was a bride in the making.
Church mothers would whisper about my beauty, intelligence, and wisdom. I would overhear them say that I had the bearing of a First Lady, as one meant to stand at the side of a powerful man of Elohim. I began to believe this with my whole being. As the years passed and playmate after playmate married and bore children, the whispers of my future as the regal wife to an anointed man became quieter. Those who had sought me out for advice on love and faithfulness began to dwindle. My desires became a cancer on my very being.
For many years, I pressed the issue, going on date after date. Offering myself up to men only to be humiliated and abandoned. My heart began to grow cold in many ways. So many tears were shed, asking my father in heaven to remove from me this desire, the plague of wanting that drove me into despair. It even made me push away from the Most High for a few years in college. While the desire lessened to a slow ebbing for the last four years, it has crescendoed into a roaring tidal wave battering at me for the last few weeks.
My repentance, fasting, and solemn prayer has been met with a deafening silence from Abba that I do not understand. Hence why I’m treading through the chill of the early evening to find peace, silence, and light to bear my soul. There is a lone solitary bench stationed at the edge of the water. A towering lamp post stands as a silent guard over the space creating a perfect blanket of illumination for reading.
I carefully lay out my study supplies so that my pen and highlighter don’t roll to the grass. I situate myself so that my legs are stretched out on the bench before unfurling the woolen blanket I brought along with me. After tucking myself securely in my blanket, I reach for my bible and tablet to begin my favorite part of the day. This silent time of reading and reflection is always fruitful. Even when it isn’t fruitful, it is. I chuckle at the thought, knowing that even one second in the presence of Abba Yah is enough to shift reality.
“Abba, I need your guidance. Show me my instructions in your word. Show me how to fight down the desires raging in my heart.” After finishing my ask, I flip open my well-loved bible to a random page. I place my hand randomly on the page to see what Yahuah has for me.
“Trust in Yahuah and do good: Dwell in the land and cultivate faithfulness. Delight yourself in Yahuah, and He will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to Yahuah, trust also in Him and He will do it.” I finish reading with a huff. I’ve never wanted to throw my bible so much in all my days of living. I can’t quite put a finger on why I’m frustrated. Is it the insinuation that I’m unfaithful or that I don’t trust in Him? Or the part about delighting in Him? Like AbbYahuah isn’t my favorite thing in the whole world. I literally don’t have friends because I talk about Him so much.
An annoyed growl escapes my throat. I’m not sure what it was I was looking to be told, but this was not it. And what desires does this speak of? The desire to get married, live happy, and have a whole bunch of kids? Or the desire to eradicate the first desire? My mind swirls with thoughts and emotions mimicking the movement of tears in my eyes.
I take a deep breath. Abba loves me way too much for this to hurt as much as it does. I whisper a silent, “I trust you Abba.”
As I reach into the pocket of my skirt for my phone. I pull up my favorite study app and navigate to the verses of my study. I’m going to do a deep dive into every single word here until I know exactly what is being said to me. I alternate between scribbling notes and highlighting as I dive deeper into the study. I’m so entranced with the promise of receiving my heart’s desire that the sound of approaching footsteps is lost to me.
“You mind if I join you?”
I scream and toss my phone and highlighter at the sound of a deep, melodious baritone. Turning my head to the left, I see a towering mound of muscle hovering in the cascading light. His form bends low for a moment before correcting itself. He has to be over six feet tall. His shoulders are rounded with muscles, and his bared arms reveal well developed biceps and forearms. My eyes without conscious thought track along the protruding veins at his wrist before I’m aware that he is close enough to me to see such definition.
