Mountain of Full Moons

by Irene Kessler

  “You are making trouble. It is starting all over. What is wrong with you? There is no concern for your family.”

  I keep my voice soft and warm. “There is nothing wrong with me. My concern is not just for my family, but for all the villagers. The teachings will reflect that.”

  “Must I speak to the chief? The moment I saw you, I knew nothing changed. You will cause this family more heartache. I wanted to send you away when you arrived. Nathan convinced me to let you stay—to my deep regret.”

  “Speak to the chief if you wish. I am sorry you have no faith in me.” She stares as if the stick is in her hand and walks away. She will not change. I do nothing right.

  My nephew and nieces are playing in the coolness of the downward sun and heard our discussion. “What will you do, Dodah?”

  “Do not worry. I will make my teaching plan and wait for the decision.”

  “We want to learn, and so do our friends.” They run off.

  Two suns later, a group of youngsters show up at the hut after the mid-day repast. “Peace be with you, my friends. Welcome.”

  The tallest boy moves forward. Fingers grasping his chin, he acts like an elder in reflection, except there is no beard, not even a light fuzz. “My name is Boraz, and this is my brother, Nadav. We were told you would teach us.”

  My nieces and nephews told their friends. “Oh, yes, Boraz. That is true.” He shows pride in his stance and tries to be in charge. “I cannot begin lessons until the council approves.”

  Their faces drop. “Do not worry, I know how to fix this.” Boraz thinks he can change the villagers. He will learn. The children’s faces light up again and they run away.

  The next morning my mother is awake and ready to leave. “Ima, it is dawn. Where are you going?”

  “A meeting of the village women was called.”

  “I will go with you. I would like very much to help in some way.”

  “No, it is taken care of.”

  I am not one of the women. What is taken care of? I watch her drag the stick, then lean on it as she walks. “Do you need help?” She shakes her head but does not look at me.

  The next few suns are filled with the usual chores and attempting to form a plan for the teaching. I do not hear from the chief and console myself. The council takes its time.

  More suns go by before the call comes. The chief’s messenger lets me know that I am to be at the fire before the evening meal.

  Approaching the old meeting place brings back the memories of the last time when the decision was banishment. They will not do that to me now. The setting is the same as it was then, the men in half circles, the chief at his bell.

  Shivers run up and down. I inspect the ground and say a silent prayer. I look up and cannot grasp what happened in that short moment. All the women of the village descended on the meeting. And my ima is leading them.

  “Well,” the chief is shocked, “there is no doubt you were not expected. Did you forget that women are not sanctioned to be at these meetings?” His eyes are slits. I am fascinated.

  Ima steps forward. “No, Chief. We did not forget. There is something we came to say.”

  “To say? You are not allowed to speak.”

  “We will not leave until the council hears us out.”

  “Is that so? You are aware we can make you leave.”

  “Yes, Chief, but we will return and interrupt each meeting until you do agree.”

  He turns to the men, his ears are red. “We might as well hear it now. Women are determined creatures, there is no stopping them, and if they become vindictive who knows what can happen.” He raises his eyebrows and winks. His shrug says, What can you do? The men laugh.

  My ima takes two steps forward. “The children told us of Elisha’s desire to teach them.” This is about me? “We demand that she does so.”

  “Demand?” The chief’s nostrils flare.

  “Who could be a better teacher? She learned from Abraham and Sarah. Think of what she must know.”

  “I am aware of her studies.”

  “Of course you are, my lord. We are trying to remind you of how she can help. No one in this village can do better.”

  “You do have a point, but how do we prevent her from teaching the things she was banished for?”

  I cannot stay still. “Chief, may I speak?” There is distrust on his face. “I knew nothing of this and was as surprised as you. I want to remind you of the promises I made.”

  “I remember. All the women are to leave. The council will meet right now. We will let you know the decision.”

  I join the women and run to help Ima climb down the rise. “Thank you all for your concern.”

  “It was not ours as much as the children. They explained what they wanted, and it took on a different tone. As mothers, we could do no less. Let us all go home and wait.”

  Ima and I bake as many breads and fig cakes as we can and decorate them with dried fruits. We bring them to the women as a thank you gift.

  I leave the hut two suns later and find the children waiting. “Why are you here?”

  Boraz steps forward. “For the teaching, of course.”

  The women must have their answer, but I am not prepared. “Dear God,” I whisper, “I never said a real prayer before and need help. I do not know how to work with the children. Please be with me.” I cannot chew my hair.

  Every child, every age forms a half-circle and is waiting to hear something helpful from me.

  I join them and Boraz stands. “Within this group are the story-tellers who ensure our history is carried forward.” His voice is not yet that of a man. “The elders taught that we are tasked with burning important stories into our remembrance, so we must memorize every morsel of your lessons.” His name means prominent, and his presence would stand out if only for his height.

  “But I am of no importance. Not a prophet, not a king.”

  Nadav stands. “You are a great teacher.” He is young. His locks are dark and strewn with sun soaked straw-colored locks.

  “Abraham and Sarah are the wise ones. That is well known,” I chide.

  “But the teachings will help us heed their words and understand,” Nadav insists.

  The children’s long hair gleams many shades of warm brown in the late afternoon light. Mine is gray and lifeless. “Then let us begin.”

  I sit on my mat. Something light and fluffy makes waves across my shoulders like gently flowing water. It helps me feel strong, ready, sure. “Thank you angels,” I whisper. I take a deep breath and plunge in.

  “A common thing in all people is wanting.” Their heads nod. “For some it is sweets, others it is salt.”

  “Who would want salt?” That came from Nadav and brings laughter.

  “My uncle loved salt.” Their surprise shines through the sandy dirt on their faces. Nathan’s brood runs from their play to join us and gather around the back of the circle. Rena waves, she wants to be sure I notice her. I wave and signal her to be quiet with a raised finger against my lips.

  They are as eager for the learning to begin as I was when I first arrived in Urusalim, excited to hear the words of Abraham. The song I wrote about wants and needs is the first lesson.

  “There are many things we fancy. Some we want, and still others we need. Which is more important?” They do not answer but do not take their eyes from me. “Of course, it is what we need.”

  “What does that mean?” Caleb is one of the youngest children.

  “What if you have to decide between food or something to play with? We would all want more food but,” I make my voice low and mysterious like a sorceress, “maybe we do not want anyone else to have it. Then, we must question what kind of person we want to be.” Boraz stands. “Yes, young man.”

  “The others want me to ask something.”

  “Is that what you want or need?”

  “A need,” one yells.

  “If any of you also wish to speak, you are free to do so. Go ahead, Boraz.”

&
nbsp; “What if we want many sweet cakes? Is that bad?”

  This tickles me but is important to them and a perfect teaching moment. “There is never one answer. Will you have a sick belly from all you eat?” Some make faces. “Then your ima would take time away from work to care for you. Or do you eat so many the family will not have enough? That would be selfish. Do you understand? It is not only about us and what we want.” I stand up and yell, “However, I hereby declare that sweets are definitely allowed.”

  They are happy and kick their feet high in the air. We get into a circle and practice my song about wants and needs, so they will not forget. We yell out needs we cannot live without, water, food, shelter, and air. It becomes a game I hope they remember. The children bounce off the ground and back onto their feet. I enjoy watching their lighthearted play.

  “Wants are pleasing, but we cannot live without our needs.” No goodbyes and they race home. I must plan better for the next one. The teachings need to be simple.

  Here I am, a grown woman, and there is still fear of my ima. I was unsettled when I spoke to the chief. Ima seems indifferent, but I must speak. We are outside enjoying the mid afternoon sun.

  “Ima.”

  “Yes, Elisha.” Her warmth makes me wonder if this is indeed my mother.

  “It is time to talk.”

  “Time? We always talk. What do you wish to tell me now about what I did wrong?”

  “One thing I learned is that the past is never gone and can haunt us all our lives. Abraham said we must know ourselves.” Ima gets up and heads for the hut. “How can I know if you do not let me ask?” She keeps going. “Why did you never say I love you like other mothers?”

  She turns back. “Do not be ridiculous. Of course, I loved you and said so. You are making me an evil person. Does that make you happy? You are never satisfied.”

  My tone is serene. “No. You did not say it. I asked Nathan and he agreed. You were the same with him.”

  “How dare you? Go back to Kiriath Arba, I will not discuss this any further.”

  She walks away. Rena was near enough to hear. “Rena, dear child. All is well.” I pat her head. “I am sure that your mother and father have had many differences. People who love each other often do. That does not mean we stop loving. Understand?” She nods her little head.

  It is hard to talk about my childhood. My mother is a woman like any other. That is not true, she birthed me.

  Nathan and Rachel agree Rena will be my student, and she stops following me. We work every morning and to my amazement she is able to understand my teaching. She is learning to strum a harp Nathan borrowed from a musician friend in the village. The words to my songs are memorized faster than I could have at her age. She sings my songs to whoever will listen. Too young to grasp their significance, they will be concealed in her head until the time is right for them to appear. I hope this ensures she will be ready to carry on my work.

  A few suns later, Ima stops me in the middle of putting away the utensils. Nathan and Rachel already left for the fields. The children are outside playing.

  “Please sit.” I do. “I have considered what you said.” The long silence is agony. “I want you to know the truth. I did not say I love you to anyone. Not to Abba, nor he to me.”

  “Did you love each other?”

  “Of course, but speaking the word is not how we were brought up. It was not done. I now realize how that hurt you.” Tears drizzle down her cheeks. She never cried in front of me before. I hold her hand. “I did not think about it as right or wrong until you spoke.”

  She pulls her hand from mine, walks away, then stops and turns back. “I am sorry. It is still hard for me to say, but I,” she stops to gather courage, “always loved you.” I close my eyes and take in the words.

  “I love you too, Ima.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The following morning before the first meal, Nathan calls me. “The chief demanded your appearance.”

  “Demanded?”

  “Now.”

  We run to chief’s hut, and he is outside waiting.

  “How dare you?” I am confused. “You met with the children. I told you the council had to approve first.”

  “But chief, I do not understand. The children came to me. They said we could begin. I assumed the women knew the decision and wanted me to. I saw them that one time.”

  “You did not have permission. The council decided you are not fit to teach.”

  “Not fit?” I spit out the words.

  “There will be no teaching.” He turns and walks into his hut. I turn to Nathan. He shrugs his shoulders.

  The following morning, Ima goes to another one of her sick friends and the chores are all mine. She is on the way back when the sun is well over the horizon. Her steps seem slow. I run to put my arm around her the remainder of the way. “Are you feeling well?”

  She nods. “We women went to the chief again.” My mouth drops open. “We were angry. It took time, but the chief has agreed to your teaching.”

  “Thank you, Ima. I cannot believe you women did this for me.”

  “It was not for you. We did it for the children.”

  “Of course they are most important. The funny thing is, I thought you went to a sick friend again. When I was a child and too young to understand what it meant to help others, they seemed more important than me, and I was jealous.”

  “What are you talking about, and what else did I do? You tire me.”

  “It is not about you but about how I thought. There is something I never told you, not because I did not want to, but I remembered it during the time with Sarah. Do you recall when I asked you why I was afraid of my friends?”

  Her eyes blaze. “I have not lost my wits. Yes, in the garden.”

  “Those children who surrounded me, they also beat me. With fists, heavy branches, and rocks.” I look her in the eye. “No matter how hard I cried or yelled, they would not stop. I waited to die. Some child’s ima saved me. I hid the marks from you.”

  “Why would the children do such a thing?”

  “They heard the villagers say I was evil.”

  Ima holds back tears. “Why did you not tell me?”

  “You would have said it was my fault.”

  “Nothing has changed. You are just as trying now.” She goes into the hut and I cry.

  A moment later she returns. “I am sorry, that was a terrible thing to say. The sight of you brings back embarrassment and shame. I am sorry for your suffering. I did not know. Do you think your sneaking off to listen to the men’s conferences was a secret?”

  I laugh. “You knew? That whole time?”

  “I may not be well-traveled, but I am not stupid.”

  Striking back. She cannot help it. “Why did you not stop me?”

  “You would not listen. You are stubborn like your abba. It did no harm and gave you a chance to learn how men think. I thought it might help after you married.”

  “I am sorry. It is not like I could change it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  How to not hurt her? “You were brought up in a tribe that had certain beliefs. You learned from them. But hear me. Not one sun passed when I did not hear what a bad girl I was. You beat me.”

  “I tried to take care of you. Show you the right way.”

  “You were convinced you were doing the right thing. That is what I am trying to say. I spoke to an angel. No one else did. That meant something was wrong with me. I asked to change my name, and we got into a battle over that. I never told you,” I laugh, “but I called that fight over my name ‘my mountain of full moons’ because it took so long for you to agree.”

  “I was trying to do the right thing.” She hangs her head.

  “I understand. We were both caught up in our own problems. I love you, Ima.” She will never admit her wrong doings and saying I forgive you will get her more agitated. I say it under my breath five times.

  I spend the rest of the day catching up on chor
es. Tired after the evening meal, I pull Nathan aside. “Do you remember me telling you before I left that I wrote a song about you?

  “I think so.”

  “May I sing it?” He nods. When I finish, tears are dripping from his cheeks.

  “Thank you,” and he races to the fields.

  I lie down on the outside mat to consider the next lesson. I must have fallen asleep. A loud voice wakens me. It is a messenger asking Rachel if he can speak to me. She points the way. I sit up, already uneasy.

  The man recites the news from Abraham. “My dear daughter, Sarah passed on and I no longer wish to teach. My heart went with her and in the aftereffects, also my passion for guiding others. Know I am well and will go on, but it will be in a way not yet clear.”

  His heart was divided between Sarah and Hagar. But it is not in him to stop teaching. His energy and determination cannot be gone. He will heal and teach again.

  “Thank you so much for your message.” I point to Rachel. “She will give you food and drink so you can go on your way.

  “Just a moment,” I call. “Please let Abraham know that the children in my village are hearing his words and Sarah’s wisdom.” He agrees.

  My second mother is gone, and I was not with her. Why did I not know and go to her? She left much to be grateful for. Her wisdom, her love, and her understanding heart.

  It is easy to be sympathetic for her anguish over a husband who would not come home and releasing her torment to the one person available. It could not be Isaac. I was the only one left. They buried her in Machpelah, the land he bartered long ago. She will be missed by all whose lives she touched.

  About to go to my mat, my mother walks toward me. “I know about Sarah, and I am sorry. You were close to her.”

  “Thank you, Ima. She was my second mother.” Ima draws away, the veins in her neck stick out. “But she could never take your place.” Her back straightens a bit and the tension falls away.