“It’s growing.”
“And why should they follow you? What makes the word you preach so different?”
“Ah, a skeptic.” I tease, “Are you going to make this trip interminably long?”
“Well, if you can’t answer my questions…” she trails off, looking up at me with a side-glance and her sweet smile.
“What I preach is a doctrine of love. There is but one God and He is a God of love here to guide us through this lifetime. I am a student of the Torah and many other scrolls and at the heart of all these writings is goodness, kindness, and love. Love is the music of the universe and the one and only truth.”
She surprises me with what she does next. While she maintains looking straight ahead, I can see a small smile curl the corners of her mouth as she slips her hand into mine. The second surprise is the immediate warmth that floods my chest and causes a glowing feeling, as if a mint-herb salve has been applied. Silently, I thank God for his intervention in ensuring that my path crossed with Rachel’s. My lips join hers in a smile as I realize that our paths will never diverge again. All that is occurring has already been written.
Cresting the ridge at Bethphage, Rachel gasps at the expanse of lower hills and valleys before us.
“Is that Jerusalem, David?”
The excitement in her voice makes me think she is going to charge down the hill to get there as fast as her legs permit. Studying her beautiful face, I can feel her joy as she takes in the sight below for the very first time.
“Yes, that is Jerusalem.” The pull of the energy, even from this distance, is tangible, the power reserve of thousands of years of prayer and actuated thoughts. Above the city, the air seems to shimmer and I wonder if Rachel, too, is picking up the vibration.
Pointing into the valley, her hand sweeps from left to right, “There’s an aura. Do you see it, David?”
I nod and she looks pleased that she is not alone in what she is witnessing.
As we descend toward the Mount of Olives, where the view of Jerusalem is much better and more prominent, Rachel talks non-stop, her excitement eliciting an energy surge.
“I’ve never been to a city. Will we be spending time here for me to see the market? King Herod’s temple? Whom will we meet? Do you have family here? Friends? Are we spending the night? Will people stone me for what I look like?” The questions go on and on.
“You will be meeting some of my followers. They are friends. They will welcome you and accept you. Tonight, we will stay here and tomorrow we will continue our journey to Qumran. We will leave fed and rested and they will make sure we have food and water for our journey.”
It is nearly dusk when we enter the lower city, quickly ingested into the crowd that moves rapidly down the maze of stone alleyways. I want to wrap my hand around Rachel’s so as not to lose her and make sure she keeps up the pace, but as she is not my wife, I know not to publicly touch her.
“Come,” I command. “We need to make it to market before they close, so that we can get you some appropriate clothes for the journey, and food.” Leading her through the maze of tables and carts, at our first stop we visit the wares of a member of my flock, Joseph, and his wife, Miriam.
Bowing their heads to me, “Rabbi,” they greet. “We weren’t expecting to see you for a few days.”
From the corner of my eye I can see Rachel’s expression as the couple shows deference to me.
Pulling Miriam aside, I explain the situation and she takes Rachel, disappearing through an arched, stone doorway. Using the opportunity, I move on to other merchants, following the bold aromas to an area of carts filled with salted fish, olives, fruit, and wine, procuring what we need and return just as Miriam arrives with Rachel, now dressed in new and appropriate clothes, as well as new sandals. I immediately notice the longer length of the sleeves on her simlāh, covering all her skin eruptions. Wrapped in twine are additional clothes for her to take. It is impossible not to notice the buoy of confidence these new garments give her, as she finally has a reprieve from strangers’ stares.
Bidding them goodbye, once again we find ourselves deep in the maze of alleyways. It is dark now and I detect Rachel’s discomfort as her senses are bombarded by this strange and crowded place. Walking very close to me, she keeps reaching for my fingers.
“We’re almost there,” I reassure her by giving her fingers a squeeze before letting go.
Tapping on the plain wooden door in a succession of three quick knocks, we hear two knocks from the inside and we complete the sequence with four more raps before the door swings open.
Again, the occupants express the same sentiment as Joseph and his wife. Bowing their heads, “Rabbi, we were not expecting you. Please, come in.” Ushering us in, they quickly shut and bolt the heavy door behind us, as I hand off to our host the parcels of food we’d purchased to our host. Showing us to pillows on the floor, we take our place among a small group of my followers, Rachel by my side, which already feels familiar and right.
“We will be leaving tomorrow for Qumran,” I explain, “and Rachel will be staying with the Essennoi for several weeks.”
She turns to me, surprised at the length of time. “Will you be with me?”
I can see the fear of the unknown in her sweet almond eyes and I take her hand, an act that doesn’t go unnoticed by the other occupants of the small room, and give it a quick squeeze. “I will be back for you. I promise.” Holding her eye contact, I let the sincerity of my words settle in.
Two women bring in platters of food and we empty skins of wine into clay tumblers to begin an evening meal lively with discourse, as well as news of the latest squabbles between Jews and the Roman guard.
“They’ve been looking for you, David.” Simon, a farmer in his late twenties, informs me.
I laugh. “Well, I’ve been a little scarce. What have you told them?”
“That you were not in the city and were in the countryside with your followers.”
“Go on,” I urge.
“They were pleased to hear that. I don’t think they take numbers of followers as seriously when they are not within the walls of Jerusalem. It’s like they are someone else’s problem.”
“They shouldn’t be a problem at all. It shouldn’t matter to them how many followers you have.” Appearing angry, Ephraim pulls at his long, dark beard.
“No, it should not. We are peaceful and keep to ourselves. But as long as Tiberius Julius Alexander is the procurator of Judea, we will not rest easy. His inability to accept his own heritage has turned him into the worst kind of self-loather, making him a danger to every Jew in the region.”
“Just be careful, David,” Simon’s wife, Leah, warns, her concern for me touching and apparent.
“I will,” I promise, before adding, “and Rachel and I will be leaving at dawn. They won’t even know I was here.”
Leah sets up a makeshift room in an alcove for Rachel to sleep and Simon and I carry in a divan which Leah dresses with thin quilts.
“I’ll be in the next room,” I reassure her. “I just need to go out for a little bit to check on some of my people.”
“Can I please come with you?” Her eyes are wide, pleading.
Shaking my head, I explain, “No. You need to stay here where it is safe for you.”
“From tonight’s conversation, it doesn’t sound as if it is safe for you either. I’m coming with you.” She protests, rising from the divan.
“No, Rachel. I cannot permit that.” My voice comes out sterner than I intended.
Her nostrils flare in anger and she rises onto her toes, as if the extra inch will make her more intimidating. “I can take care of myself.”
“Of that, I am sure.” I smile at her. “But when you are with me and I am responsible for your well-being, as I am, then you must obey my rules.”
Her face is a study in emotion, the prevalent one being anger. “Just go,” she hisses, turning her back on me as I leave the house.
Looking up to her alcove from
the alleyway, I can see her tucked at the window watching me and hope she doesn’t follow.
With my head down, so as not to bring attention to myself, I negotiate the dusty alleyways of the Lower City until I reach my destination. As the tenth man to join, we now have the quorum necessary to begin our prayers. At the end of the traditional readings, we pray for our people and our city and our land. We pray for our freedom, we pray for the love of God to show us the way to be good and caring and just. And as the service ends, I silently ask God to help me restore Rachel to health so that she can know a life filled with acceptance and joy.
It is nearing midnight as I make my way back to Simon’s. I can hear his footsteps gaining on me and feel his hatred, without turning around. When he grabs my arm, and spins my back into the stone wall, I am not surprised. Face to face, it takes me only a moment to place him. His name is Cassius Petronius and he ranks high in Tiberius Julius Alexander’s order. His fist smashes into my cheekbone before I even have a chance to raise my arms in defense.
“Ben Abraham,” he addresses me. “I was told you were gone from Jerusalem. Yet, here you stand before me, scurrying like a rat down this alleyway.”
“I am only here until dawn. Merely passing through.”
“And why were you out at this hour?” The official demands.
“Praying for the well-being of a member of the synagogue.”
“I should have you arrested for meeting to cause dissent,” he threatens me.
“No dissent. Just prayers to God.” I keep my voice soft in the hopes that I can bring down his negative energy level.
“A heathen Jewish God.”
Slamming me against the wall again to ensure I know who is in charge, he spits, “Get out of here.”
Continuing on my way, turning down unnecessary alleyways so that my true location stays hidden, I arrive at my destination certain that I have not been followed. Once inside Simon’s home, I take a deep breath, leaning against the inside of the door and touch my cheek, feeling the split in my skin. As quietly as I am able, I walk past Rachel’s alcove so as not to wake her and sit down on the divan that has been set out for me.
I sit for a moment, disheartened. Saddened by the hatred between cultures. Are we really that different that we cannot accept and learn from one another? I remove my sandals. And how can a family turn away their child into the wild to die because they see her as a misfortune and not a blessing? Disrobing from my simlāh, I fold it and place it next to my sandals.
Swinging my legs onto the divan, I close my eyes, eyelids heavy with grit and exhaustion. The day had been very long and the next one will be upon us too soon. It feels as if only a few minutes have passed when I hear her scurrying about. Opening my eyes and trying to get them to acclimate in the dark, I feel her before I actually see her. With a rag of cool water, she gently dabs at the cut on my face, cleaning away dirt and dried blood. Her movements are soft and deliberate and whatever anger she had felt toward me earlier in the evening, has now been replaced by concern and care.
Dipping the rag again in the cool basin, she wrings it free of excess water and brings it back up, gently cleaning my forehead and brushing my hair away from my face. I lie there silently as she finishes cleansing the wound and dips the rag back into the basin for fresh water. When she resumes, she slowly swipes the side of my neck and I can no longer maintain my silence. A low moan escapes and then a second one when she runs the wet cloth down the other side of my neck. The absence of sleeves on my kethōneth have left my shoulders bare, waiting for her to continue as Rachel begins a stroking motion down my arms.
When she finishes washing both my arms, she returns the cloth to the basin and moves it out of the way. Returning to the side of the bed, she stands there a moment looking down at me, her arms hanging at her sides, before she silently crawls in next to me.
“Rachel, you can’t stay here.” The warmth of her body against mine is instantly maddening, igniting a fight within myself not to take her in my arms. “You can’t.”
“I’m not leaving, so you’d better move over and give me a proper amount of space.”
“Rachel,” I try to reason, “we are not married or even betrothed.”
“David,” she lies her head on my chest, as if she’s done it a thousand times before. “If you keep talking, we won’t get any sleep.” And with a small movement of her body, she molds herself to me, the fit so perfect, I can’t imagine how I’ve existed until now without it. Without her. And it is that instant, I know I have neither been complete nor realized how alone I’ve truly been.
••••••
At first light, we head east toward the city of Tiberius, leaving from Jerusalem with food, water and wine.
“Once we get there,” I explain, “we’re actually going to go a slight bit out of our way and head north.”
“Why are we doing that?” she asks, looking up at me.
“We are going to spend the night in Jericho. There are people there who will give us lodging and food, but tonight we will only go as far as the Ascent of Admummin. Tomorrow we will make our descent from there to Jericho.”
“What is it like?” she asks, as we walk the road alongside caravans and traders, pilgrims heading in the other direction toward Jerusalem.
“It’s a lush garden in the middle of the desert. The palm trees produce the sweetest dates you will ever eat,” I laugh. “If you can get them off your fingers, they are so fresh and sticky. And the waters from Elisha’s Spring are cleansing and pure. I think you will like the city.” Smiling, I turn to her, “I will enjoy showing it to you.”
Slipping her hand in mine, we continue along. “Why are there so many Roman sentry points?”
“That is for our protection. Because this road is so heavily used for transporting goods, it is known for bandits and theft.”
Hearing that, she squeezes my hand tighter and I know she is thinking about the gash under my eye and wondering if the Romans are there to protect us or just the opposite.
“Do not worry. God walks with us,” I assure her.
As we reached our inn that evening, Rachel tugs on my hand, stopping me before we enter. “I want to stay with you.”
Shaking my head, “It would not be right to ruin your reputation.” As much as I want to touch her, I know doing so would rob her of the chances for the future she deserves, once she is cured. I cannot let my selfish needs and desires for her, condemn her.
“Did you not like feeling the warmth of my body with yours last night.”
Although we did nothing but lie together, her presence throughout the night robbed me of sleep as I yearned to feel her hair slip through my fingers and discover the soft curve of her breast. I ached to take a nipple in my mouth and suckle on her until she moaned from the painful pleasure. With my fingers, I wanted to test just how wet my sucking made her as I inserted one, then two, then three fingers into her, preparing her to become mine, so that I might fill her womb with my seed, again and again and again. When she begged me to let her rest, I would take her yet again, because I could, and because she was mine.
“I’m staying with you, David,” she insists.
“God, help me,” I mutter, knowing Rachel will find her way into my bed whether or not we rent one room or two. All I can do is pray for the self-control to not do to her, the things I ache to do.
Our rooms are next to one another, and as I barely drift off to sleep, exhausted from the exertion of the day’s travel, she slips in next to me. Sighing at her relentless nature, I know there is no reason to verbally protest her arrival. It will do no good.
Like the night before, she molds her body to mine, finding the place where her head fits into the edge of my chest. Tonight, I let myself touch her hair, allowing long strands to run through my fingers, again and again, the repetitive motion surprisingly calming in the pitch-black room.
“David…”
“Yes?”
She lets out a small sigh before speaking again. “Is
the reason you don’t touch me because of my diseased skin? I don’t think I’m contagious, no one in my family has caught it from me.” She rushes on with her words, “I can understand that you don’t want to touch me because I’m repulsive.”
“Rachel, is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. I feel something between us, but maybe I’m just mistaking your kindness for something more than that. I’m not accustomed to people being kind to me. Usually they just stare and avoid me. People are afraid to touch me or be near me.”
“People are fools.” I hug her to me tighter, my heart hurting for what she has experienced in her short life. “Rachel, soon you will be cured and you will be able to go on and be betrothed to a man your father selects for you. I cannot compromise you.”
“Is what I feel between us real?” she presses, lifting her head to look at me.
With my other hand, I hold her chin. I want to lie and tell her no, that she is mistaking kindness for something more. But as her eyes come into focus in the dark night, I can’t lie to her, and I nod.
“You are not imagining it.”
Hearing her sharp intake of breath, I can feel the muscles in her face pull up and I know she is smiling down at me. Pulling on her chin, I guide her lips to mine. “I know I should not do this,” I whisper against her warm, parted lips.
Knowing she has never been with a man before and that a kiss is all she will be experiencing tonight, I brush her lips softly with mine, not expecting the soft moan it elicits from her, a sound that shoots through me like a lightning bolt, arousing me to hardness.
Brushing my lips back with her own, she doesn’t wait for me to kiss her again. What began as a soft meetings of our lips, begins to escalate rapidly into something more urgent and primal.
“Rachel, we need to stop.”
She is breathless when she says, “I know, David, but I have never experienced anything that has felt this good or right. I know I must keep my virtue, but I do not want to stop kissing you.” And with that, she climbs on top of me.
What we are doing has to cease before it takes us to a place of no return. I do not want her to feel my erection. We are both in long linen undergarments that start to bunch up between us, and I’m glad mine are still covering me almost to my knees. When she laid flat on top of me to continue kissing, I knew there was no way she wasn’t feeling what my body was boldly saying, covering or no covering.
Love on the Edge of Time Page 21
