Mother's Eyes

by Woods, Karen

  The crowd, Miriam could see, was moved to sorrow for their actions. A man from the crowd asked, “What shall we do, brothers?”

  Simon told them, “Repent and be baptized in the name of Yehoshua, the Moshiach, for the remission of sins, and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit, for the promise is to you, to your children, and to all those far away, as many as Adonai shall call.”

  The conversation between the Twelve and the crowd continued for quite a while, with Peter and the others, telling both prophecy and giving witness to the truth of the life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Yehoshua.

  Eventually, the crowd of men were divided into twelve groups and each group left in the company of one of the Twelve to go visit one of the various mikva’ot near the Temple, in order to be baptized. Miriam estimated that there were about three thousand men who left with the Twelve.

  “And what about women?” Mariamne, Magdala, asked. “It would be indecent for the men to baptize women as to go into the water as one does at the mikveh means that one must be stripped. The allegations of immorality, if the Twelve were to see and touch naked women converts, this would seriously impair the mission set before us.”

  “I suspect women will be baptizing women, just for those reasons,” Miriam said. “But we’ll need to discuss that with the Twelve when they return to us. We have our instructions to make disciples of all people, that includes the women of the world. Now, we need to go fetch the bread from the bakers and get dinner made. Life, even on extraordinary days like today, requires tending to. Who will walk with me to the baker’s?”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It felt odd to be back in Natsarat again, Miriam thought as she walked into the sleepy little village. But she wouldn’t be here long, just along enough to pack several of her things she had left in the house, make sure the widows were truly being cared for, to sell her fields, and dispose of her house. It felt odd to finally cut the ties to this village where she had spent so much of her life, where she had been visited by an angel and raised her son, where Yosef and she had lived, where Yosef had died. She’d been a stranger here, once. And now, walking through the village, she felt a stranger here, once again.

  Yehuda, Yaacov, Lucas, the physician, Yochanan bar Zebedee, Halphai, along with Halphai’s Miriam, Miriamne, Shoshonah, and several of the other women, had accompanied her on the long walk from Yerushalayim. It was good to have with her people who had loved her son. That made her feel a little less lonely.

  Lucas, Yochanan, and several of the women came inside her little house with her. She was glad for their support when she saw the utter mess inside her house. Everywhere, there was destruction. Her serving dishes and clay cooking pots lay in shards. The table had been tipped over with one of the legs broken. The chairs were gone. The fine cabinet that Yosef and Yehoshua had made to hold Zechariah’s scrolls was gone. The scrolls were gone.

  “What kind of person could steal the Torah, the Prophets, and the Writings?” she asked on a whisper, her voice breaking. “Maybe, just maybe, the scrolls will lead whoever stole them to repentance.”

  “We can only pray that they do,” Miriamne answered. “But they’ve probably been taken to a city and sold. Such things are immensely valuable.”

  Miriam sighed heavily. “I know.” She forced herself to continue to take inventory of the room. The couch on which Yosef had died was gone. Her flax wheel and all her tools were gone. There was nothing of her life left here. Nothing, except memories.

  “Well, we can’t stay here,” she said, blinking back tears. “Not like this.”

  Lucas touched the wrecked table. “Did your husband make this table for you?”

  Miriam nodded. “He made it. It was here when I came to this place after Yosef and I had our kiddushin in Yerushalayim.”

  “And you and the Master ate all of your meals from here?” Lucas asked.

  “Most of them.”

  “People will want to know what you look like and what the Master looked. I’d like to paint an image of the two of you, using a board from the table top as the base."

  She sighed. “Well, the table’s not good for much more than kindling now, so I suppose there would be no harm in taking a board from it.”

  “Let us help clear away this mess,” Miriamne said. “We can still stay here. The roof is sound. The walls are sound. Clearing this won’t take more than an hour or so, if we all work at it. Better to stay inside than outside, particularly with the smell of rain in the air.”

  “Always wise,” Miriam said. “Very well. Yes, let us clear away this destruction.”

  The room, when they finished working, was nearly as empty as it had been on that day Miriam had returned from her visit to Elisheva and Zechariah. She stood there looking at the empty room and thinking that this was very much what life was; bringing nothing but one’s soul at birth and taking nothing but one’s soul at death.

  So much of her life had been lived within these four walls, although there was no hint, now, that anyone had ever occupied this house. Perhaps that’s how it should be.

  She sighed.

  Miriamne touched her shoulder. “This too will pass, Miriam. You were planning to sell the place anyway. And the things here were just things.”

  “They the last things I had of my Yosef. I suppose whoever did this was looking for gold and silver. At least, I’d taken the coinage with me, so that was one thing they couldn’t get. I truly hope Zechariah’s scrolls ended up in good hands. I hope my flax tools have gone to someone who will use them skillfully.”

  “Those were probably sold,” Miriamne said.

  “I know,” Miriam replied on a sigh. “I’d promised Yoni I would keep those scrolls for the rest of my life then I would see that they went to someone who educated children.”

  “They still might have gone to that purpose,” Miriamne offered.

  “Perhaps,” she allowed.

  “We could ask around and find out if anyone heard or saw anything,” Lucas said. “Perhaps we can discover who did this.”

  Miriam looked around for a moment or two, then she sighed, “No. This could have happened at any time. It really doesn’t matter. I’ll do what I came here to do, dispose of the property. I would have liked to have kept the scrolls. But they’re in my mind. So, I’ll always have them. At least, the only things they broke were the table and the dishes. I assume the rest of the pieces are being used by someone. Yosef would have liked knowing that his work is still being used. He would have liked that, very much. I can afford to replace my tools. I would have liked to have my flax wheel and tools, because Yosef made those for me. But I should be able to replace those.”

  “Yes. A competent carpenter can make them for you,” Lucas replied. “Halphai can do that for you.”

  “Or Yoses,” Miriam allowed. “Right now, I need to lay in supplies so I can feed all of you. Unless I can borrow a cooking pot, we’ll be eating cold meals.”

  “Cold meals won’t kill any of us.”

  “No. They won’t. I need to go see about laying in some food.”

  Miriamne nodded. “I will walk with you.”

  Miriam walked first to the workshop of her stepson, Shimon.

  “Shalom, Shimon,” she greeted him as he sat at his potters wheel.

  “Are you back to stay now?” he asked her, not looking up from the work he was doing.

  “No. Just long enough to sell everything.”

  “I see,” Shimon replied after a moment. He finished the bowl he had been making and removed it from the wheel. “Where will you live?” he asked as he took the bowl over to a rack.

  “In Yerushalayim, for now. Shimon, I came home to find my house vandalized and virtually empty. I need a cooking pot and some serving dishes. Do you have any in stock that you could sell or loan to me?”

  “Of course. They are a gift, Miriam.”

  “I will return them to you when I leave Natsarat.”

  “As you wish. I’ll send one of my grandsons ov
er to your house with a cooking pot, a mortar and pessle, several bowls, and a couple of serving dishes. And a few other things you’ll need, including some flour and salt, dried fish, and cheese. I’ll send over some onions and some yeast. As well as a skin of wine.”

  “I appreciate that, Shimon. Shalom.”

  “We still are family, Miriam. You said you intend to sell everything?”

  “My house, my fields.”

  “Abba’s workshop and the bigger house?”

  “No. The workshop belongs to Halphai. And the house to Yehuda. Those things aren’t mine to sell.”

  “I would buy your fields and the smaller house. Leah’s Mahir died last month after an illness that also took their son and twin daughters. She has come back home to live, as her husband’s family made it clear they had no intention of supporting her. She could use both the fields to support herself and your house as a place to live. Would you sell those to me for her?”

  “The fields and house are Leah’s. A gift from me. Yosef would have wanted them to stay in the family.”

  “I will take the house as a gift. Abba built that. And it would have made him happy for it to go to one of his grandchildren. The fields, however, I’ll buy from you. You bought them. You worked hard to buy them. You should have your money back.”

  She told him what she had paid for the fields.

  Her stepson nodded. “That’s less than what they are worth. I can have the full value to you by the first day of the week.”

  “Very well. I’ll have Yehuda draw up the deed. Shall I make it to Leah or to you?”

  “To Leah. I need to get back to work now, Miriam. I have to deliver a set of dishes for a new bride in ten days, and I haven’t even finished making them yet, let alone glazing and firing them.”

  “Of course. I don’t want to keep you. Shalom, Shimon.”

  Without a table, they ate their dinner while seated on the floor of her house. It wasn’t much of a meal, just unleavened bread and dried fish, washed down with water from the village well, but many people had less to eat than they had.

  They sang their praises to God. Having no lamps and only a few candles, they went to sleep early in order to save the candles. It was good to sleep under a roof, for a change, especially when she awoke to hear the rain hitting the roof during the night.

  Over the next few days, Miriam spent much time with Leah, who wore her sorrow as if it were a second skin.

  “So much death,” Leah remarked on Preparation Day as the two of them worked on kneading bread.

  “Everyone who is born will die,” Miriam said. “But this life is not all of life. Yehoshua taught that we can have eternal life.”

  “That won’t help my Mahir, Rakhel, Anna, and little Yaacov,” Leah said.

  “Mahir was a righteous man. Do you not believe the souls of the righteous are in the hands of Elohim?”

  For the first time that day, Leah smiled. “I love you, Miriam.”

  “You have been precious to me Leah, since the morning you were born. People say you shouldn’t have favorites among your grandchildren. But I have had a favorite, and that’s been, will always be, you.”

  Leah was quiet for a long time. “Savta,” grandmother, she said, then her voice broke and tears began to fall.

  Miriam was somewhat taken aback. Leah hadn’t called her savta since she was a very small child. “There, there,” Miriam said, then she tried to jolly Leah out of this sadness. “If you cry on the bread, you’ll just make it sticky and salty.”

  Leah laughed much to Miriam’s relief.

  “Life isn’t easy, my dearest granddaughter. Sometimes, it can be beyond difficult to get through the bad times. Yet, nothing, no pain, no joy, no good times, no bad times, last forever. ‘Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.’ Your joy will return. You are strong. You will come through this.”

  “If I’m strong, it’s only because I have your example to pattern myself on.”

  “My dear, I have no strength of my own. My only strength is in Avinu Malkeinu. If you follow in my footsteps, you will spend your life seeking always to be his servant, seeking to remain always close to him.”

  Leah sighed as she formed a loaf out of the lump of dough she’d been kneading.

  Miriam placed her loaf on a tray then began working on another lump of dough.

  Leah asked, her voice low, “Do you really believe that Yehoshua is the Moshiach?”

  “I do. All of his life was a fulfillment of prophecy.”

  “Did he really rise up to heaven?”

  “He did.”

  “I would have liked to see that.”

  “I’ll never forget that sight.”

  “No,” Leah said lowly, “I’d imagine not. Abba wants me to stay in Natsarat, work the fields for flax and weave. I know he’s spoken to you about buying your fields for me.”

  “He wants you to be able to support yourself.”

  “Yes. But I don’t want to be here. Could I come back to Yerushalayim with you, Savta?”

  “You are a grown woman, Leah. I am not going to tell you what to do with your life. You need to think seriously about what you want in your life. The life of a childless widow is not easy. At least, if you stayed in Natsarat, you would have your family nearby to help, if you need it. Yochanan bar Zebedee has agreed for the love of my son to take me into his home as if I were his mother.”

  “And there is no room for me, is that what you are saying?” Leah asked, her voice pained.

  “Nothing of the kind. I’m certain that Yochanan would welcome you, if I asked him.”

  “I could spend my time in the Temple. It is an honorable life.”

  “Yes. To serve in the Temple is a worthy way to spend one’s life. Normally, that service is kept for older widows who are past the years of childbearing.”

  “You served.”

  “Until I was of a marriageable age.”

  “Do you still miss my Saba?”

  “Yosef was dear to me. I will miss him deeply until we are reunited in the resurrection.”

  “You really believe that we will live again after we are dead?”

  “I believe my son when he said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’ This he said just before he raised Eleazaros from the tomb. I was there with him, then. But, we need to keep working, while we talk. We still have bread to knead and form into loaves.”

  Shabbat dinner was like all Shabbat dinners. It was good to have her family, even if they were only relatives by marriage and not by blood, around her. Conversation was lively, but not about anything in particular. Miriam wasn’t paying close attention to the flow of conversation. It was just so nice to have a semblance of normalcy, even for just a brief time. These moments were rare and precious. She just wanted to savor the feeling.

  Leah spoke to her, “You look like you are a day’s walk away.”

  Miriam shook her head. “Just lost in thought.”

  “I was saying that I’ve decided to stay in Natsarat. This is home,” Leah said.

  “I think that’s very wise, Leah, my dear,” Miriam said.

  “You could stay here and live with me, Miriam,” Leah offered, her voice hopeful. “Just two widows living together, spinning, and weaving. We could be company for one another.”

  “Yehoshua arranged for me to live with Yochanan bar Zebedee. This is what he wanted. I feel closer to him when I follow the plans he made for me.”

  Leah’s expression became thoughtful. “I suppose that’s important to you. But always know that you can come home and I’ll have a place for you.”

  “By the time that I’ll be needing help, Leah, you’ll be busy caring for your parents,” Miriam said. “For now, I’m fine.”

  “If you’re sure?” Leah asked. “I’d really like to have you with me.”

  “I’d love to stay with you. But, I have my son’s work to carry on. I can help his people better, if I’m in Yerushal
ayim.”

  Leah nodded.

  Shimon said, “Do you think that’s wise, Miriam? The authorities didn’t spare him. What makes you think that they won’t come for you and his people, too?”

  Halphai replied, “They might. But they’ve seen the signs of the prophecies. That’s given them pause. And we’re not a small group anymore.”

  “Are you going back to Yerushalayim, too, Halphai?” Shimon asked.

  “Yoses is doing well running the shop by himself. I haven’t been much good to him, since he won’t let me do my share of the heavy work.”

  “I don’t want you hurt again, Abba,” Yoses interjected.

  Halphai nodded. “I can be of use in Yerushalayim. There is much work to be done.”

  “You actually intend to carry on Yehoshua’s work,” Shimon stated, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Yes, we actually intend to carry on his work, beginning at Yerushalayim and taking his message to all the world, as he asked us to just before he ascended into heaven,” Halphai replied, with a smile.

  Shimon shook his head. “You ask us to believe impossible things. First, that my brother was the Mosiach. Second, that he rose from the dead after being crucified. Third, that he walked among you for forty days after his resurrection and that he ascended into heaven in your sight. This all is difficult to believe.”

  “Have you ever known us to be untruthful?” Halphai asked, without either heat or offense in his voice.

  “No,” Shimon allowed. “I have never known any of you to lie.”

  “Then the only reason you don’t believe us is because you don’t want to do so,” Miriam offered.

  Shimon, taking offense, stood. “I don’t believe this because it would mean stopping being a son of the covenant!”

  “Sit down, Shimon,” Halphai said. “Let me explain to you the prophecies.”

  Shimon sat. Halphai systemically went through the prophecies one by one and showed how Yehoshua had fulfilled them. “And so, you see, believing in Yehoshua is nothing more than being faithful to the covenant.”