Daughter of Cana Read online

  Jude gave me an incredulous look. “How could you hear anything in this mob?”

  “I know my brother’s voice,” I insisted. “Please, let’s walk that way.”

  With difficulty we slipped through the gathering, then I gasped. Thomas stood in front of me, flanked by several of Yeshua’s disciples. I recognized the sets of brothers—James and John, Peter and Andrew—as well as the fretful man called Judas.

  “Thomas!”

  He turned and blinked hard, then stepped forward, his arms open, and enveloped me in a hug. “Tasmin! What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you, of course.” Remembering my manners, I gestured to Jude. “I traveled with Jude and his brothers. I thought—I hoped—we would find you here.”

  His forehead creased. “Is everything all right?”

  I dropped my hand to his arm. “Can we speak in private? I can hardly think in this place.”

  When he nodded, I told Jude I’d return in a moment before following Thomas out of the Temple courtyard. Once on the street, he pulled me into an alcove between two Sukkot shelters. “What troubles you?”

  “It’s Abba.” I forced a smile. “For months he pretended nothing was wrong, but now he admits he is dying. I do not know how much time he has left. I would be surprised, however, if he is able to celebrate another Passover.”

  “Has he seen a physician?”

  “The physician can do nothing but comfort him.” I struggled to control the tears threatening to overflow my lashes. “What I am saying, Thomas, is this: Abba would like to give you his blessing before he dies. Will you come home with me?”

  Thomas drew a deep breath and slowly released it. “I would love to see him, but I cannot desert Yeshua.”

  “Yeshua is not here. Jude said he chose to remain in Galilee.”

  “All the same—this is not a good time.”

  “What would be a good time?”

  He shook his head. “We’ve been through this, Tasmin. You know what Yeshua says. In a disciple’s life, someone will always be dying, someone will always need something—”

  “And you will ignore them all.” I knew I sounded harsh, but I no longer cared. “Very well, then. Ignore our father. If Abba dies without seeing you again, I will tell him not to worry—you will visit his grave when Yeshua has grown weary of playing messiah.”

  “Tasmin.” Thomas caught my arm, then lowered his head. “Yeshua would say, ‘Let the dead bury their own dead. But you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.’”

  “The kingdom of—the kingdom—” I crossed my arms as anger beat a bitter rhythm in my heart. “You are playing a dangerous game, brother. It is not enough that you have forsaken me and Abba, you have forsaken common sense, as well. You know the Scriptures, so think! Have you ever read a Scripture about a prophet coming from Galilee? No prophet has ever come from our region, nor ever will!”

  Thomas shook his head. “You are only parroting what the elders have said. But they have forgotten a prophet who did come from Galilee—Jonah. They only remember what they want to remember, and they do not want to remember anything that points to Yeshua as the promised Christ.”

  For that, I had no answer.

  After Thomas refused to come home, I went back to Jude and Yagil. Jude did not ask about my discussion with Thomas—my face must have told him everything he needed to know.

  Though we were in Jerusalem for “the season of our joy,” a cocoon of anguish had wrapped itself around me. I had hoped this trip would be another opportunity to reunite our family, and once again my attempt had failed.

  But the week of Sukkot was not over, and I was not ready to give up.

  By the time we returned to our shelter, I had resolved to keep trying. We might encounter Yeshua’s disciples at the Temple again. I might see Thomas again, and I would continue to urge him to come home. If I prayed, if I made him see how heartless he seemed, perhaps he would listen.

  So we continued to attend the Sukkot services, singing with the others and waving our lulavs to the traditional prayers.

  On the fourth day, halfway through the festival, Jude, Yagil, and I stood together as the Levites prepared to begin the morning service. The lively colors of green boughs and yellow citrons enlivened the assembly of men, women, and children. Mothers and fathers helped their little ones arrange the palm, willow, and myrtle branches. I breathed in the tangy scents of citrus and greenery and told myself that this might be the day I managed to break through Thomas’s stubbornness.

  Finally, a Levite stood to lead us in prayers.

  “Barukh atah, Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al netilat lulav.”

  Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments and has commanded us concerning the waving of the lulav.

  “Barukh atah, Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam shehehiyanu v’kiyemanu v’higiyanu lazman hazeh.”

  Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has granted us life, sustenance, and permitted us to reach this season.

  After the prayers, we turned to the east, north, west, and south while shaking the lulav and saying, “Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His lovingkindness endures forever.”

  I laughed softly as Yagil dropped his myrtle branch and Jude bent to pick it up. An abrupt thought skittered through my mind: Jude would be a good father for my boy.

  We had lowered our lulavs and were preparing to move out to the courtyard when something caused a stir near the altar. Whispers rose and floated above the crowd:

  “Is that the fellow?”

  “The Galilean?”

  “He is good.”

  “No, he leads the people astray.”

  When a man stood on a low step to address the crowd, the whispers faded and a Sabbath stillness reigned. Because so many people stood in front of me, I could see no more than the top of his head, but I recognized the voice immediately.

  “My teaching is not from me,” he began, and I gave Jude a glance of utter disbelief.

  “I thought you said Yeshua stayed in Nazareth,” I whispered. “Is that not your brother?”

  Jude stretched to his full height and frowned. “He must have set out after we left, but I have no idea why.”

  “Perhaps he took Simeon’s advice. He is certainly speaking to a larger crowd than he did in Galilee.”

  Jude’s brows knitted together. “An audience of Torah teachers, Levites, and Pharisees? He could not have found a more hostile crowd.”

  We fell silent and waited to hear what he would say.

  “My teaching is not from me,” Yeshua repeated, “but from Him who sent me. If anyone wants to do His will, he will know whether my teaching comes from God or it is myself speaking. Whoever speaks from himself seeks his own glory; but he who seeks the glory of the One who sent him, he is true and there is no unrighteousness in him. Hasn’t Moses given you the Torah? Yet none of you keeps it. And why are you trying to kill me?”

  A collective gasp echoed through the crowd, and then someone called out, “You have a demon! Who is trying to kill you?”

  Yeshua did not stop. “I did one good work, and all of you are amazed. Because Moses has given you circumcision—though it is not from Moses, but from the patriarchs—you circumcise a man on Shabbat. If a man receives circumcision on Shabbat so the Torah of Moses may not be broken, why are you angry that I healed a man’s whole body on Shabbat? Do not judge by appearance, but judge righteously.”

  I looked at Jude. “He healed a man? Here?”

  “I have heard nothing of it,” Jude answered. “But I would not be surprised if he is up to his old tricks.”

  Whispers vibrated the air around us:

  “Isn’t this the person the religious leaders are trying to kill?”

  “But look, he speaks openly and they’re saying nothing to him. Can it be that the leaders know he is the Messiah?”

  “How can he be the Messiah? We know w
here this person is from. But the Messiah, whenever he may come, no one knows where he is from.”

  “I know one thing,” Jude muttered. “The Messiah will not come from my family.”

  Without warning, Yeshua cried out, “You know both who I am and where I am from! I have not come on my own, but the One who sent me is true. You do not know Him, but I know Him because I am from Him and He sent me.”

  More murmurs rippled through the crowd, until Yeshua lifted his hand. “If anyone chooses to do God’s will,” he said, once the people had quieted, “he will find out whether my teaching comes from God or whether I speak on my own.”

  Jude nudged my arm, then inclined his head toward the entrances of the Temple. The Temple guards, intimidating in their white tunics with gold sword belts, had formed lines at the east and west and were moving through the crowd, gradually narrowing the distance between themselves and Yeshua.

  My stomach tightened. Though I did not believe Jude’s brother was the Messiah, I did not want to see him slaughtered in this holy place.

  No one around us seemed to notice the approaching guards. “When the Messiah comes, he won’t perform more signs than this person has, will he?” a man near us asked. “Who else has made the lame walk and restored sight to a man blind since birth? Is this not what Isaiah prophesied?”

  Yeshua lifted his hand again. “I am with you only a little while longer, and then I am going to the One who sent me. You will look for me but will not find me. Where I am, you cannot come.”

  With those words ringing in the air, Yeshua stepped off the stairs and threaded his way through the crowd, evading the guards and exiting the Temple. I stood on tiptoe, searching for Thomas or any of Yeshua’s disciples, but apparently he had visited the service alone.

  “Where is this person about to go that we cannot find him?” A man near us turned and looked at Jude. “He’s not joining the Diaspora to teach the Greeks, is he?”

  Jude shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “And what did he mean by saying, ‘You will look for me but will not find me’? He has the oddest way of talking . . .”

  “So I have often thought.” Jude offered the man a wan smile, then gestured toward the exit. “Shalom, my friend. We must be on our way.”

  Despite my earnest prayers and frequent visits to the Temple, I did not see Thomas again. I did not know where he and the other disciples were staying, and no one seemed willing to divulge the information. Yet the city roiled with talk of Yeshua.

  On the last day of the festival, Jude, James, Joses, Simeon, Yagil, and I went to the Temple for the final ceremony. To commemorate the drawing of water from the rock at Horeb during the exodus from Egypt, every morning of the Sukkot feast a priest carried a large golden ewer from the Temple to the spring of Siloam. He drew water from the spring and carried it back to the Temple as jubilant onlookers cheered. The priest stepped through the Water Gate and into the inner court, where Levites blew the ceremonial silver trumpets and other priests chanted the words of the prophet Isaiah: “With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.”

  For the first six days of the feast, the ewer-carrying priest circled the altar once, but on the final day he circled it seven times, then poured the water onto the altar, washing away the blood of the morning sacrifices. The priests, all bearing willow branches, sang psalms of praise while sages juggled lighted torches and performed somersaults as an expression of their joy.

  My father always said that anyone who had not experienced the final ceremony of Sukkot had never known true joy.

  From Jude’s broad shoulders Yagil watched, fascinated, as the trumpets blew, the priests sang, and sages somersaulted through an atmosphere bathed in golden lamplight. Laughter bubbled up from nearly every celebrant’s throat, and I managed to set aside my disappointment in Thomas while I watched my little boy’s eyes sparkle with happiness.

  After the benediction, we turned to leave, but once again a lone voice halted us in mid-step. We turned in time to see Yeshua standing high on the stairs, in plain view of anyone who cared to look.

  “If anyone is thirsty,” Yeshua cried, addressing the crowd with a voice like restrained thunder, “let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture says, ‘out of his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.’”

  I glanced at the altar, where the cleansing water still dripped onto the bloodstained steps below. What did Yeshua mean?

  He did not explain, but disappeared into the crowd.

  As we left the building, we overheard snatches of conversation.

  “This man really is the prophet.”

  “This is the Messiah.”

  “The Messiah doesn’t come from the Galilee, does he? Don’t the Scriptures say the Messiah will come from the seed of David and from Bethlehem, David’s town?”

  I lowered my head and walked faster, yearning for the peace and quiet of the road home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Tasmin

  With a heavy heart I bade farewell to Jude and his brothers, then went inside my father’s house. Yagil slid out of my arms and ran to Aunt Dinah, happily allowing her to pull him onto her lap.

  Aunt Dinah greeted me with a subdued smile. Sympathy filled her eyes as she gripped my hand. “Your father is failing,” she murmured, her eyes probing my face. “Do not be alarmed when you see him. I fear he will not be with us much longer.” She hesitated. “Did you see Thomas?”

  I nodded.

  “And?”

  “He will not come.”

  When I walked into Abba’s chamber, I saw at once why she had warned me. All signs of color had drained from Abba’s face. His hands trembled as they rose to catch mine, and his dark eyes had gone cloudy. The figure on the bed was a mere remnant of the strong, robust man who had ruled my life and heart for so many years. Thomas and I should both be here to comfort him in death as he had comforted us in life, but now . . . he had only me.

  “Abba.” I sat by his bedside. “It is good to be home with you.”

  “Did . . . did you see your brother?”

  “He is well. He is still with Yeshua.”

  Abba’s eyes closed. “Is he content?”

  “He says he is. You know Thomas—he is not thoughtless. He still believes Yeshua ben Joseph is the Messiah.”

  My father’s chest rose and sank in a heavy sigh. “Then I understand. If I had found the Messiah . . . I would not forsake him, either.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” My voice broke as I floundered in a maelstrom of emotion. “Abba, you must forgive me.”

  His eyes opened. “Forgive you? For what?”

  A sob rose in my throat, blocking my voice. I brought my hand to my mouth, then let the words I had buried burst to the surface. “For Ima. Thomas and I—we didn’t mean to, but we killed her.”

  Abba’s eyelids fluttered as his hands trembled on the blanket. “No, child—”

  “Yes. Thomas was roughhousing and fell into the well. Ima told me to tie the rope and I tried, but I didn’t tie a good knot. So the rope slipped and she fell, and it was my fault. Thomas and I . . . everything is our fault. I’m so sorry.”

  Abba struggled to lift his head, then grasped my hand. “You were only children.”

  “But we caused it. And over the years I realized how much we took away from you and how we could never make up for your losses.”

  “Daughter, I will hear . . . no more of this. Adonai gave and Adonai has taken away, blessed be the Name of the Lord. So dry your tears and . . . be a good girl.”

  His eyes closed and his hands stilled. I stared at him, my heart breaking. Did he understand what I told him? Could he ever forgive me? “Abba, there is one more thing.”

  He drew a breath to speak but began to cough, a fit that left him exhausted and the blanket flecked with blood. I thought he would slip into sleep, but stubbornly he kept his eyes fixed on my face.

  I forced a smile. “When you mentioned Jude ben Joseph to me, I h
ad no intention of marrying anyone. But now—I think I love him. Nothing may come from these feelings, but he is the only man who has ever stirred my heart.”

  Abba sighed as his eyelids drew down like curtains, and his lips curved in a weak smile.

  The next morning, as Aunt Dinah and I washed Abba’s body and prepared it for burial, tears streamed over my cheeks—tears of frustration, sorrow, and regret that Jude’s brother had come between me and Thomas, between Thomas and our father.

  We buried him at midday—Aunt Dinah and I, Abba’s two brothers, and several neighbors, who agreed to carry the coffin to the cemetery outside the city. Standing on the dry sand beneath a cloud-heavy sky, I couldn’t help wondering what Thomas was doing at that moment. Was he listening to Yeshua spin another ambiguous proverb, or was he wishing he had come home?

  I would write a letter about Abba and send it with a traveler, yet I would have no way of knowing if Thomas received it unless he wrote me in return.

  I looked southward. What was Jude doing? Was he eating with his sister’s family or building something with his brothers? Was he thinking of me? I had considered hiring a boy to carry news of Abba’s death to Jude, but decided such an act might be considered presumptuous. What if he felt nothing stronger than friendship for me? Abba would have told me that friendship would ripen to love, but what if Jude dreamed of a girl from his own town? Even now, Pheodora or Damaris might be arranging a betrothal between him and one of their friends, so who was I to intrude?

  Then, a few weeks after burying my father, a thought occurred to me—one that had been pushed aside during the days of grief. I had spent my entire life believing I should never marry because I needed to atone for my mother’s death and remain with my father. Now that Abba was gone, I was free—not from the guilt but from the obligation.

  That realization unloosed a horde of pent-up longings that had been pushing at the boundaries of my consciousness. Ever since returning from my month-long journey, I had refused to indulge in thoughts of Jude, but he had persistently appeared in my dreams. In the irresponsible freedom of sleep, I had walked and talked with him, heard his laughter, and stared into the depths of his dark eyes. In sleep, memories of my day had mingled with explorations of Jude—by the sea, on the road, even in the date palm grove. I had held his hands, examined the calluses on his palms, run my fingertips over the hairs on his arm. I had lain on the grassy hillside where we caught up to Yeshua and looked up into Jude’s face as he kissed me.