by Joan Wolf
We looked at each other, and then, at the same moment, we turned our eyes to Ruth.
She sighed. “All right. What do you want me to do?”
Daniel said, “Keep out of the sight of my mother and yours. That way they’ll believe that Mary is still with you. We won’t be long, Ruth. I promise.”
Ruth looked at me, and I mouthed the word please. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Esther or Miriam was around and then said, “All right. I’ll sit in the shade of the synagogue porch. Come and get me when you’re ready.”
She moved off into the crowd, and I pulled my veil far down over my forehead to hide my face. Daniel said to the jewelry merchant, “Can we use the tent behind your stall for a few minutes?”
The big man looked at the two of us and shook his head. “It would be sinful of me to allow such a thing. You two are clearly unwed. It would be wrong of me to assist in your sinful behavior.”
Daniel reached out, and I saw that he had a shekel in his hand. It disappeared quickly into the merchant’s robes, and he gestured for us to enter into the small canvas enclosure.
I followed Daniel through the opening in the canvas. The odor inside was stifling—male sweat mingled with rotten fish. The miserable place held a sleeping mat, an empty wineskin, a half-eaten loaf of bread, and an uncovered bowl of olives that had attracted a swarm of flies. My nose wrinkled, and I instinctively took a step back.
Daniel said, “I’m sorry I had to bring you in here, Mary, but I couldn’t think of any other way for us to be alone. My mother is watching me as a lioness watches a threatened cub. I think what happened with Samuel has made her afraid that you and I are more to each other than the brother and sister she always thought we were.”
I tried to ignore the smell and put an urgent hand on his sleeve. “Ruth told me that your father expects to get a big bride price for me! She said that two men have already asked for me for their sons!”
I felt his arm go rigid under my fingers. His expression was grim. “That’s what I’ve been afraid of.”
I shook his arm. “Listen. I might have a solution for us. If I go back to Bethany and live with my father again, Lord Benjamin won’t be able to arrange my marriage. That will be for my own father to do. I’ll explain to my father about us, and I’m sure he will let me wait for you to finish your studies. It’s prestigious to be a Temple scribe. My father would be proud to have someone like that in his family. I know he would.”
A thin line appeared between Daniel’s black brows. “What about Judith?”
“Don’t worry about Judith. She’s so stuck-up that she would love to impress all of Bethany by having a Temple scribe in her family.”
He inhaled deeply. “That would be a solution indeed.”
I added triumphantly, “And I could even visit you in Jerusalem! People from Bethany go into Jerusalem all the time.”
We smiled at each other in the dimness of the merchant’s foul-smelling den.
Daniel said, “You’ll have to ask your father for his permission to go home. I can write whatever you want to say and have it sent by the messenger who takes letters to the synagogues in Judea.”
I agreed. “I think we should also ask my father to send someone to bring me home. Maybe he would even come himself!”
I could see it all in my mind—my triumphant departure, Lord Benjamin’s fury—and then I thought of Aunt Leah. I would ask my father to let her come too. I shuddered to think of leaving her behind to face Lord Benjamin alone.
The opening to the tent parted, and the merchant peered in. “How much longer are you two going to be?”
Daniel produced another shekel. “Not long. Be patient. We’ll only be a moment.”
Once again the shekel disappeared into the man’s surprisingly clean garments, and he closed the canvas behind him.
Daniel said, “We have to hurry. What do you want me to say?”
“Tell him I want to come home because Lord Benjamin is trying to make me marry someone I hate. And tell him that Aunt Leah must come with me.” I bit my lip. “Do you think I should tell him about us in a letter? Or should I wait until I get there?”
We looked at each other, trying to decide. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be too specific,” Daniel said at last.
“I think you’re right.”
“Perhaps I’ll add that the reason my father wants you to marry this man is because the bride price is so big. If your father thinks he can collect a big bride price for you, he might be more inclined to let you come home.”
“Very clever, Daniel.” I glanced nervously at the tent opening. “I think we had better go.”
He bent his head and gave me a quick, hard kiss. “Be patient, my love.”
I managed a trembling smile, and we both slipped back into the world.
Later that week lord Benjamin formally announced to the family that Samuel would be marrying Naomi, and all the men of the family were delighted with such an advantageous match. Samuel didn’t look delighted, but then, he had always been an expressionless man.
Fifteen days after my letter had been sent, my father’s response was delivered to the synagogue in Magdala. It was a breezy end-of-winter day, and I had taken the little girls out into the garden to admire the almond trees, which were in bloom. I was explaining to them about how the tree would produce its nuts, when I saw Daniel coming toward me. It wasn’t until I saw the scroll in his belt that I realized he must have heard from my father.
Daniel came up to us and offered a bag of sweets to the children, who shrieked with delight. While they crunched on their treats, Daniel drew me aside.
“You have the letter?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you read it?”
“Yes.”
The grim look on his face was making me nervous. “What does it say?”
He pulled the parchment out of his belt and unrolled it. “Listen,” he said:
To my daughter Mary: I have received your communication, and what you ask is impossible. You are a part of Benjamin’s household, not of mine, and you must abide by his wishes. He has housed and fed you all these years, and he would never choose a man for you who was not fit to be your husband. It is my wish that you abide by his decision. Peace comes through obedience, my daughter. Your father, Jacob
I stared at the paper in Daniel’s long, slender fingers and couldn’t believe what I had heard. My father didn’t care about me. He didn’t care about me at all. I wasn’t a part of his household. As far as he was concerned, I was a stranger.
I looked up into Daniel’s bleak face. “How could he do this to me?”
He stuffed the paper back into his belt and put his hands on my shoulders. “Mary. Love. Don’t look like that. I will fix this. I’ll make it all right with my father. I’ll make him allow us to marry.”
I swallowed. “How can you make him do that? He doesn’t like me, Daniel. I don’t think he’s ever liked me.”
He looked so much older than his sixteen years. “I will do it.” He traced the curve of my cheek with a gentle forefinger. “It will be all right. I promise it will be all right.”
“Is something wrong?” It was Dinah’s little piping voice, and she pulled at my skirt to get my attention. She had finished her treat.
I managed some kind of a smile. “No, Dinah. Nothing is wrong. Have all the children finished their sweets?”
“I haven’t,” Zebah said, her mouth still full of dried fig. “Dinah gobbled hers.”
“I did not,” Dinah said, turning to glare at her cousin.
Daniel squeezed my arm and said, “I’ll talk to my father tonight,” and turned away.
“Daniel’s nice,” Dinah said. “I like it when he brings us treats.”
I watched him walk away, with the pale sun shining on his black hair, and I was afraid.
I couldn’t eat a thing at supper, and Aunt Leah asked me twice if I was feeling ill. When the meal was finally finished, I saw Daniel and his father disappear toward
the back of the house. I knew they must have gone to the room Lord Benjamin kept for his private use, and I was so nervous that if I had eaten, I would have thrown all of the food right back up on the tile floor. Half an hour later, while I was in the kitchen helping with the dishes, Ivah peeked in and said, “Mary, Lord Benjamin wants to see you in his room.”
The kitchen went silent. No one moved. Everyone looked at me. Rachel hissed in my ear, “What have you done this time?”
I kept my face blank, stiffened my spine, and walked out. I could feel the eyes boring into my back as I left the room.
Lord Benjamin’s private room was small, but it had its own lamp, and there was a rug on the floor and a cushion on the bench. He was sitting on the bench, and Daniel was standing next to him. They both looked at me as I came in and closed the door behind me.
The lamp was lit, but it was difficult to decipher Lord Benjamin’s expression. I stood in front of him, my eyes cast down. Daniel moved to stand beside me, but I didn’t dare look at him.
Lord Benjamin said, “Mary, I have given Daniel permission to become betrothed to you.”
My knees wobbled, my ears hummed, and for a horrifying moment I was afraid I might faint. I blinked to clear my vision and focused on Daniel’s father. “Thank you, sir,” I said uncertainly.
He looked back at me, his face unreadable.
I turned to Daniel. He smiled and nodded, and joy exploded inside me like the rising sun. I smiled back. I could feel my joy radiating out to encompass Daniel as we stood there together.
Lord Benjamin rose. “I will give you five minutes alone, and then I’ll come back.” He looked at his son. “Remember our agreement.”
Daniel’s voice was firm. “Yes, Father. We will obey your wishes.”
Lord Benjamin walked past me and left the room, leaving the door open behind him. I stepped into Daniel’s arms.
He held me tightly, and I slid my arms around his waist and hugged him back. For a moment we just stood there, locked together, as close as we could get. When Daniel pushed my veil back and rested his lips against my hair, I managed to croak, “How did you do it?”
His mouth moved against my hair as he answered. “I told him that if he wouldn’t let me marry you, I’d go out to the desert and join the Essenes.”
I pulled away to look up at his face. “The Essenes? You wouldn’t do that!”
“I might have,” he replied grimly. “I just might have.”
I knew little about the Essenes except that they were a strange group of religious extremists who lived in the wilds of the Judean desert. I simply couldn’t imagine Daniel as one of them.
Daniel said, “Listen, Mary, this is what my father agreed to. We can’t marry until I have become a scribe and can support you, but we can become formally betrothed at Shavuot.”
I was dizzy with happiness. Lord Benjamin had said yes. I had heard him with my own ears.
“There is one other stipulation,” Daniel went on. “We must keep our betrothal a secret until after Passover. Samuel and Naomi are having their betrothal ceremony right before we leave for Jerusalem, and my father doesn’t want us to do anything that might draw attention away from Naomi.”
This seemed reasonable. It was certainly true that my betrothal to Daniel would cause more of a sensation in the family and the town than Naomi’s to Samuel.
I felt like jumping up and down and screaming for joy, the way Dinah did when she was happy. “The Lord has answered our prayers,” I said.
Daniel grinned. “We’re going to be betrothed.”
I grinned back. “We’re going to be betrothed!”
We were holding hands and laughing like idiots when Lord Benjamin came back into the room.
Chapter Seven
I kept my promise to Daniel and told no one but Aunt Leah about our betrothal. She knew how I felt about Daniel, but we never openly spoke about it—except for her guarded comments that I should be careful where I bestowed my heart. Her astonishment when I told her of Lord Benjamin’s approval told me just how much she had doubted we would ever get it. But she was almost as happy for me as I was for myself.
“Daniel is such a fine young man, Mary,” she said, holding my face between her hands as we stood in our tiny bedchamber. Her brown eyes were serious. “You must try to be worthy of him.”
I knew I would never be worthy of Daniel. No woman could be. But he loved me, and if he searched the world over, he would not find a single person who could love him more than I did. I knew I had been blessed by God to have Daniel’s love in return. “I’ll try my best,” I promised.
She held me to her and said with awe, “I never thought this could happen. Good for Benjamin.”
Samuel and Naomi had their betrothal ceremony two days before the family left for Jerusalem to celebrate Passover. Every year the families from our town would make up a caravan and travel together. It was safer to journey in numbers, and it was also more fun.
The warming weather had dried up most of the winter mud, and the roads weren’t yet dusty. The sun was just right, warm on our heads and shoulders but not too hot. The hillsides of Galilee were covered with wildflowers, and the stretching fields of barley and wheat glittered like splashes of sunshine under the blue arch of the sky.
Almost everyone walked, but most families had donkeys to carry their tents, food, and the fine linen clothing that they would wear to the Temple. There were many other caravans on the road, and we filled the air with our singing. The little ones sang the pilgrimage songs I had taught them, and the joyous sound of hundreds of voices rose toward the heavens as we marched along the well-worn path that followed the Jordan from Galilee into Judea.
At night, around the cooking fires, the men would talk about the success or disappointment of the flax harvest and how good or bad the fishing had been, and—as always when a group of Jewish men got together—they talked about how much they hated the Romans. Second to the Romans, they hated Herod Antipas, the Galilean king, because he collaborated with the enemy. And they hated the most prominent symbol of the occupation, the Roman procurator who ruled Judea, because Rome had banished the Jewish king, Herod Archelaus, for incompetence.
I liked to eavesdrop on these conversations because Daniel was passionate about politics. He was passionate, too, as were most of the other men, about his hopes for the coming of the Messiah.
Daniel had often recited to me the exact passages in scripture that predicted the Messiah’s coming. The Messiah would be a war leader like David and Judas Maccabeus, only greater. It was the Messiah whom the Lord had anointed to restore the lands of Israel to the Jewish people. The Messiah was destined to reign over all the world.
At night, I contemplated the idea of the Messiah as I lay in the tent that I shared with Aunt Leah and some of the children. It was exciting to think that a great king would arise from our midst, but I had difficulty picturing how it could happen. Our people were farmers and fishermen. Our leaders were priests, scribes, and Pharisees—religious men, not soldiers. When the Roman centurions rode their big horses into Magdala, we all backed out of their way. They wore helmets and breastplates and carried spears. They had conquered the world. How could the men of my little nation hope to defeat them?
Thankfully, it was up to God to answer that question, not me.
It took us four days to reach our usual campsite on the gentle slopes of the Mount of Olives. Every year we set up our tents in this same place, away from the crowds that were crammed like bees in a hive within the city walls.
We arrived just as the sun was setting over Jerusalem, and I managed a short escape from the bustle of getting settled so I could look across the Kidron Valley to the holy city itself.
This particular picture was imprinted on my mind, and I treasured it. I could close my eyes and call it up whenever I wished, and I did so frequently when I prayed. When I looked across the valley at Jerusalem, I didn’t see the Upper City, where the rich lived amid an array of magnificent palaces, or the gr
eat mass of the Citadel, or the huge barracks of the Antonia, where the hated Roman troops were housed. My eyes were filled with the shining white splendor of the Temple, the center of the Jewish world, rising high above the ancient city walls.
Tonight, with the red sunset sky casting a glow on its marble purity, it was a breathtaking sight. My heart swelled with pride and awe as I regarded it.
I liked seeing the Temple from a distance better than I did being inside the building itself. We always visited at Passover, when the presence of the Lord seemed lost in the mass of people and animals that were crushed within its walls. But here, on the Mount of Olives, the Lord was very present to me, and I recited to myself the great words of the covenant He had made to Abraham: I will be your God, and you will be my people.
I was so moved that tears stung my eyes. As I stood there, with the radiant glory of our Temple before me, I asked the Lord humbly how I had ever deserved to be so happy.
The following morning our group set out early for the Temple. The road from the Mount of Olives was already crowded with pilgrims waiting their turn to pass through the Valley Gate, the one closest to the Mount. It was dry underfoot from so many feet, and dust rose into the air as we walked. Ivah started to cough, so I tied a cotton scarf over her nose and mouth.
It should have been a short walk, but at Passover it always took hours. The closer we got to the gate, the more packed together the crowd became. Merchants were lined up along the way, hoping to sell a lamb or some pigeons and doves for Temple sacrifice. The loud voices, promising cheaper prices if we bought from them, scraped on my nerves, as did the whining of the multitude of beggars. People pushed and shoved to get to the merchants, and I picked Ivah up so she wouldn’t be stepped on.
We finally reached the Valley Gate, which was guarded by a detachment of bored-looking Roman soldiers. I walked through, still carrying Ivah, and one of the soldiers peered at me and made a rude remark as we went by.
“Disgusting pigs,” Ruth muttered from behind me, and I heartily agreed.
