Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

  I pour warm water in the clay basin at the rabbi’s feet. My head feels light and a great noise roars in my ears and I fear I will faint.

  Rabbi Yeshua’s sandals are thick with mud, ruined. I pull them off.

  Marta takes them to dry by the fire.

  I kneel before Rabbi Yeshua, looking only on his feet. Even a woman who is blessed by HaShem never looks a man in the eye. I am a woman cursed by HaShem, and I do not dare lift my eyes above his feet.

  I immerse both feet in the warm water. They are stiff as wood and cold as snow and thick with mud. I massage them with my fingers.

  The water turns black and cold.

  Marta comes with another basin full of clean, warm water and takes away the first.

  I work. It is a great thing to wash the feet of a mighty prophet of HaShem, but it is also a terror when you are a cursed woman. I wish I could go outside right now and run away and die.

  The rabbi sits quietly, thinking the holy thoughts of a tsaddik. He surely takes no notice on me at all. I am only a woman.

  After many basins, Rabbi Yeshua’s feet begin to warm. The room is now hot, for Elazar and Shmuel the woodcutter have shown no mercy on the fire. Marta comes back from the kitchen with hot drinks and food and wine for the men. She brings first to Rabbi Yeshua.

  He says, “Please, you will serve Yoni first.”

  I do not know why Rabbi Yeshua would say such a thing. Perhaps he loves Yoni much. Everyone loves Yoni much, so it is natural.

  He says, “You will also serve Yehuda Dreamhead and Andre and Philip and Natanel.”

  Marta clucks her tongue. That means she does not agree. Marta is not used to being told what to do. Elazar is the man, so he should say how to order the house, but he is eight years younger than Marta and not strong of will, so Marta does as Marta wills. But even Marta obeys a mighty prophet of HaShem.

  The room is hot and my face itches. I claw at it with my hand.

  Marta stands above me with the drinks. She clucks her tongue again. “Miryam Big-Eyes!” she hisses in a hot whisper. “Your hair!”

  In the instant, I know what has befallen. Shame rushes through my heart. When I scratched my face, I loosened my hair covering, and now a few strands of my hair peek out. I have made a scandal. Now Rabbi Yeshua will think I am a seducing woman. I reach up.

  A hand is already there.

  A man’s hand, cold and rough and strong.

  Rabbi Yeshua’s hand.

  “Please, you will allow me, little sister.”

  Shame and fear tremble inside me, but I do not move. It is not done in Israel for a man to touch a woman’s hair, but what can I say? He is a tsaddik, and nobody accuses a tsaddik of lewdness.

  Rabbi Yeshua tucks the loose strands of hair back inside my hair covering. His hand strokes my cheek with kindness.

  Fire burns inside my soul.

  It is a pillar of fire. Inside me. A pillar like the fire that guided our fathers in the desert when they came out of Egypt.

  It is the Shekinah.

  All my life I have longed to feel the Shekinah, and now it is here, when I least looked for it. Not the edges only. All of it.

  My heart bursts with the joy of the Shekinah.

  “Little sister.” Rabbi Yeshua’s voice is strong and low. “Look on me.”

  I do not dare look on Rabbi Yeshua.

  “Look on me.”

  I lift my eyes to look on his chest.

  “Look on me.”

  I raise my eyes to look on his face.

  He is a mighty prophet of HaShem, but he has the face of an ordinary man. If you passed him in the street, you would see nothing unusual. His eyes peer into mine, and he reads my heart, and yet I do not feel shamed. I feel as I am a small girl again, safe in Abba’s lap, surrounded by his strong arms of love.

  “Little sister, have you ever heard the book of Isaiah read?”

  “Y-yes.” My voice is nothing, but at least I can whisper. I have heard the book of Isaiah read many times. Who has not?

  “Abba spoke these words to the prophet Isaiah for you, little sister.

  “Shout your joy

  You barren woman,

  You who never gave birth.

  Break out in singing,

  Shout it loud,

  You who never had birth pangs.

  For more are the sons of the rejected woman

  Than her who has a lord.”

  My breath is stolen away. I have heard these words a hundred times. I have never heard these words. Tears fog my eyes. I am still a cursed woman in the eyes of the village, barren and rejected by my lord.

  But I am not cursed in the eyes of HaShem.

  I am blessed in the eyes of HaShem. I am blessed in the eyes of Rabbi Yeshua. I do not wish this moment to end. I wish the Age to Come will begin right now, with me kneeling before Rabbi Yeshua, washing his feet.

  Marta clucks her tongue furiously above me. “Rabbi, you will take some wine, yes? Please forgive Miryam Big-Eyes—she is not herself tonight.”

  “Blessed be HaShem.” Rabbi Yeshua takes a cup of wine. He says the blessing over wine and then sips from it. He smiles on Marta. “I thank you, Marta. You are a good woman, and you run a good house. You are blessed to have such a sister as Miryam, whether she is herself or whether she is not herself.”

  That is the sort of word Marta will treasure forever.

  Rabbi Yeshua leans forward and looks in my eyes, so far in my eyes, I think he will fall in and drown. “You have a kind face,” he says. “And beautiful eyes. And a big heart.”

  I feel as my head is filled with cotton.

  He kisses my left cheek.

  He kisses my right cheek.

  He kisses my lips.

  “I name you Miryam Big-Heart.”

  There is a great burning fire in my heart, in the place where it has been cold for many years.

  I am not a big-eyes woman.

  I am not a barren woman.

  I am a blessed woman.

  A woman whose heart sings for joy.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Miryam of Bethany

  I am more excited than I ever was! We are going to hear the prophet Yohanan tell repentance to Israel.

  Yesterday was the feast of Purim to celebrate the day when Mordecai, the cousin of Queen Esther, got the signet ring of the King of Persia and saved our people from Haman, the evil prince of Persia. Yoni and Rabbi Yeshua and his men came to feast with us.

  Today, Elazar and I are going with them to the Jordan River to hear Yohanan. We will repent and immerse, and then we will not fear the wrath of HaShem and the judgment he will make on us. Already today, we have seen a hundred people on the road going the same direction. All Jerusalem is talking on Yohanan the mighty prophet.

  Yoni walks beside me, talking and talking.

  I do not understand all that he says. I am afraid he will forget himself and hold my hand as we walk. Then everyone will see he thinks on me as a friend, and they will call me a wickedness.

  I do not see why it is wicked for a man to be friends on a woman. Yoni does not think it is wicked.

  “There is the river!” Yoni hops up and down. “See, Aunt Miryam? There is the camp where the people sleep. And there is Yohanan the immerser talking to three men—see his long hair? Did I tell you he is a Nazirite? He never cut his hair since he was born. He eats locusts and wild honey and he wears an old tunic of camel hair and I think it has never been washed, for it smells—”

  “Yoni.” Andre scowls on him and then juts his chin toward the man walking in front of us with Rabbi Yeshua.

  That man. I do not like that man. His name is called Hananyah the nail maker. He has thick arms and a coarse beard and wild eyes. When he looks on my face, I think his eyes are angry. But when he looks on my bosoms, I think his eyes are hungry. He says he has followed Yohanan the immerser since last summer. Yoni says before that, he lived in Qumran with the Essenes, but there was a scandal and they threw him off. I do not know how Yoni k
nows such things.

  Hananyah the nail maker came with Rabbi Yeshua and his men for Purim. I do not know why he came, for he ate little at the feast, and he drank no wine. Yoni drank so much he said he could not remember who is Haman and who is Mordecai, and then he threw up, and then I gave him water and let him lie with his head in my lap until he felt better. Hananyah the nail maker said Yoni should beware that a little nail should become a big nail. I do not wish to know what he means by that.

  Hananyah is arguing with Rabbi Yeshua on some matter.

  Rabbi Yeshua nods and smiles on him, but I do not think he agrees with Hananyah.

  “We are in time to hear Yohanan tell repentance,” Yoni says. “Then we will eat and drink and spend the evening telling tales. Rabbi Yeshua tells the best tales. You have not heard a tale until you have spent the evening under the stars hearing Rabbi Yeshua tell the tale of Daniel’s friends in the fiery furnace.”

  “Does Yohanan the immerser tell tales?” I ask.

  “Sometimes. Once he told the tale of Phineas the grandson of Aaron who killed the Israelite man who was lying with the Midianite zonah in his tent. Phineas ran them both through with one spear! That was a good tale, but I had a nightmare afterward. Yohanan’s tales are not so good as Rabbi Yeshua’s.”

  Hananyah the nail maker turns his head and scowls on Yoni.

  He scowls on Yoni’s hand.

  On my hand.

  How did I not notice Yoni had taken my hand while we were walking?

  I begin coughing.

  I stop in the road and cover my mouth with my hand.

  I take a drink of beer from my waterskin.

  After many beats of my heart, I begin walking again.

  Yoni and Elazar are waiting for me.

  We walk the rest of the way to the fords, and Yoni talks much, but I do not hear anything he says.

  The Jordan River is smaller than I thought. I never came so far from home. I expected a mighty roaring river, but that is not what I see. The water is green and quiet, and it is only twenty or thirty paces across. The fords of the river are shallow and cold. When we reach the other side, we walk north to where people are gathered.

  We all sit quietly to hear the words of the prophet Yohanan.

  He has a big voice on him and speaks many ten thousand words, telling repentance. His voice is angry, and it hurts my stomach.

  When Yohanan finishes, I feel small and tired. He makes me feel as I have done many big sins, only I cannot think what I did wrong, and I cannot see what to repent, and I do not wish to immerse. I came here to repent and immerse, and now I am in a big misery that I walked all this way for nothing.

  I sit and wait while our men go to immerse. When they come back, Yoni’s hair is dripping wet, and his face shines with the light of the Shekinah. Elazar’s hair is dripping wet, and he is smiling. Hananyah the nail maker’s hair is wet, and he is not smiling. Rabbi Yeshua’s hair is not wet.

  We brought too much food. Marta filled up our packs with food that twenty men could not eat. We do not need so much food. Elazar and I go back to Bethany tomorrow. But some people came with little food, so we share what we have.

  Hananyah the nail maker eats with us, but he does not eat much, and he takes no wine. If he took some wine, maybe he would not have such a sour face.

  After we eat, there are songs and tales until late. Andre sings a psalm. Yoni chants the poem of how HaShem made the world. Many people shout for Rabbi Yeshua to tell a tale. He tells the tale of Ruth the Moabite woman who found joy by joining herself to Israel.

  Others tell tales and sing songs, and then people beg another tale from Rabbi Yeshua. He tells the tale of Rahab the zonah, who took in two spies of Israel and then was saved when our people burned Jericho.

  I can hardly believe it is the same Jericho we see across the river. I wonder why the spies went to the house of a zonah. That should have made a big scandal on them.

  After many people have told tales, last of all they shout for Rabbi Yeshua to tell the tale of Queen Esther.

  I have heard this tale many times, but Rabbi Yeshua tells it better than anyone ever did. It makes me feel as I am Queen Esther myself, living in a big fear that I will be found out, a Jew in the harem of a foreign king. If I lived in some king’s harem, I would feel like a zonah. In days of old, it was permitted. I do not know why.

  When Rabbi Yeshua finishes the tale, all the people shout approval on him.

  Yohanan the immerser has been sitting over to one side the whole time, talking with Hananyah the nail maker. Now he comes to sit with us. He smiles on Rabbi Yeshua and says he makes fine tales. He smiles on Andre and says he sang a fine psalm. He smiles on Yoni and says he chanted the creation poem well.

  He looks on me and his eyes turn hard. “Yoni, this is your mother?”

  Yoni shakes his head. “This is Aunt Miryam. And here is her brother, Uncle Elazar, who owns flocks and vineyards and olive groves in Bethany. Aunt Marta stayed home to tell the servants—”

  “This Aunt Miryam is the sister of your father or the sister of your mother?”

  I do not like the fierce lines in Yohanan’s face. I do not see why he asks these questions.

  Yoni shakes his head. “She is the cousin of my mother, who grew up in Bethany and married my father Zavdai, who is a priest and a mighty man in Capernaum and owns a fishing—”

  “Your aunt is the woman of some man in your clan?”

  “No, I told you already. She is my mother’s cousin. She had a lord, but he divorced her.”

  I try to make myself small. I do not wish for Yoni to tell all the tale of my life to Yohanan the prophet.

  “For what cause did he divorce her? Is she some lewd woman? Hananyah the nail maker says she is a lewd woman.” Yohanan’s voice is very loud.

  People all around look on us. They look on me.

  I wish to hide under a rock or a twig.

  Yoni also speaks loudly. “Aunt Miryam is no lewd woman. Her lord divorced her because she was barren. That was not her fault—”

  “Her village calls her Big-Eyes,” says Hananyah the nail maker. “Look and see she has lewd eyes and she pushes out her bosoms to make them large. Also, she walks with brazen steps. I saw her once sitting with the boy’s head in her lap. And she took his hand while they were walking in the way. She has no right to touch the boy. She is not the sister of his father or mother. I think her lord threw her off for lewdness.”

  I wish to run away and drown in the river.

  Rabbi Yeshua leans forward. “Miryam Big-Heart is a good and righteous woman. HaShem smiles on her. I saw the Shekinah on her with these eyes.”

  “Then why did her lord divorce her?” Yohanan asks.

  Tears run out of my eyes. My heart hurts, and my face is so hot I could fry a goose egg on it.

  “Her lord divorced her because of his own sin,” says Rabbi Yeshua. “Our prophet Moses made a law that a man can divorce his woman for any reason, and now see what evil things are done by that law. This righteous woman had no son. Was that a greater sin than our mother Sarah, who was barren many years? Or our mother Rebekah, who was barren many years? Or our mother Rachel, who was barren many years? Or your own mother Elisheva, a righteous woman, who was barren many years? HaShem might have given this woman a son in good time, but her lord threw her off.”

  “The law of Moses permits a man to write a bill of divorce for any reason,” says Yohanan.

  “To throw off a righteous woman for small cause is wicked,” Rabbi Yeshua says. “Her lord threw her off. If he takes some other woman and lies with her while his first woman is alive, is that not adultery?”

  Hananyah the nail maker leans forward. “You are saying a man who divorces his woman commits adultery?”

  “You say so.” Rabbi Yeshua crosses his arms on his chest.

  “I did not say so. You say so.” Hananyah the nail maker scowls on him.

  Yohanan the immerser frowns on me.

  Yoni leaps to his feet. “Rabbi, w
hat of the matter of King Herod, who lives in Tiberias? He divorced his woman and married the woman of his brother, who is still alive. The law of Moses does not permit a man to marry his brother’s woman unless the brother dies without an heir. And the law of Moses does not permit a woman to divorce her lord for any cause.”

  Rabbi Yeshua shrugs and looks on Yohanan and Hananyah. “What do you say on the matter? Did the woman of King Herod break the law of Moses by leaving her lord?”

  Yohanan the immerser nods his head and frowns. “Yes.”

  “And did King Herod break the law of Moses by taking his brother’s woman while his brother is alive?”

  Hananyah the nail maker nods his head and smiles. “Yes.”

  I think Hananyah the nail maker takes a big delight in other people’s sins.

  Rabbi Yeshua comes to me and gives me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss. “This is my friend Miryam Big-Heart. Do not call my friend a lewd woman when she is a righteous woman.”

  All my body prickles like needles. I cannot think. Rabbi Yeshua called me friend. He gave me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss in front of Yohanan the immerser.

  Hananyah the nail maker stands and storms away.

  Yohanan the immerser gives Rabbi Yeshua hard eyes. “Yeshua of Nazareth, you should spend more time telling repentance and less time telling foolish tales. Your tales are all honey and no meat. You tickle the people’s ears, when you should tell the wrath of HaShem.” He stalks away.

  Rabbi Yeshua has the look of a man kicked in the underparts.

  My heart is crushed to see him dishonored.

  I am glad I will leave tomorrow with Elazar. I do not wish for Hananyah the nail maker to ask questions on me. I do not wish for Yohanan the prophet to look on me with his hard eyes. I wish to go away and make an end on this matter.

  And I love the tales of Rabbi Yeshua. If that is honey and not meat, then I do not want meat. I am sick to my death of this talk of the wrath of HaShem.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Yoni of Capernaum

  “Tell us a tale, Yoni!” says Yehuda Dreamhead. “Your tales are almost as good as my brother’s. It will pass the time while we wait.”