Daughter of Cana Page 25

  “And I warned you that we might have to wait a year or more. But all will come to pass in HaShem’s perfect timing.”

  I pressed my lips together, restraining the impatient words that threatened to break free. He was right, I knew we’d have to wait a long time, but patience had never been one of my virtues. I had already spent months preparing to leave Cana; I had been sewing and planning and mentally decorating an empty house. I had even picked out names for our children . . . though I had not been bold enough to share those with Jude. One look at his face assured me that he would not be pleased to hear them.

  “Jude.” I leaned forward until he met my gaze. “Do you still want to marry me?”

  “With everything in me, I do.” He placed his hands on my knees. “I want to be your husband in every way. I want to worship HaShem with you, and have children with you. But the time is not right.”

  Somehow I managed a smile. “Then I will have to be patient. You should know this, however—I am living for the day when we are wed. I am older than most women when they marry, and I can’t help feeling I have wasted too much time—”

  “Time spent waiting on Adonai is never wasted,” he said. Then, perhaps to take the sting out of his news, he leaned forward and kissed me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Tasmin

  As the fourth Passover without Thomas approached, a traveler brought me a letter. I broke the seal and read it at once.

  Dearest sister,

  Shalom! I hope this letter finds you well and at peace. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for disappointing you so many years ago. But I am convinced I have committed my life to the true Messiah, the One spoken of by so many prophets. I hope you understand that, and I hope you can forgive me for disappointing you for not coming home when Abba was dying.

  I am writing because our time with Yeshua is drawing to an end. Yeshua has said so himself. So, if we must die with him, I want to address the matters that stand between you and me.

  We were camped by the Jordan, near the place where John baptized, when we received word that Lazarus, a friend from Bethany, was sick. Yeshua is close to Lazarus and his sisters, so I thought we would leave at once to go to them. But Yeshua said no, Lazarus would not die. His sickness was meant to bring glory to HaShem.

  I was not sure what he meant, but we remained in our camp two more days. Then Yeshua told us that Lazarus had fallen asleep, but he would go to Bethany to wake him. We argued, saying he should let the man sleep, for then he would feel better. Then Yeshua explained that Lazarus was dead.

  Dead? Had he not said the man would live?

  We are now preparing to go back to Bethany, which is only a short walk from Jerusalem. We are returning, though we barely escaped the Holy City with our lives only a few weeks ago.

  I told the others we should reconcile ourselves to the fact that we will soon die with our master.

  Lazarus is dead, and soon Yeshua will join him. By the time you receive this message, I may be dead, too, along with the others. The rulers of the Sanhedrin will not be satisfied until we have been silenced. They fear the Romans, who do not want anything to disturb the peace of Jerusalem, and they fear losing their power over the people.

  And so, dear sister, I must ask you to forgive me for leaving you the way I did. I am not sorry I went with Yeshua, but I am sorry I could not make you understand. Please remember this: You have always been the dearest, closest person on earth to me, and I do not want to die without assuring you of this.

  Your loving twin,

  Thomas

  Swallowing the sob that rose in my throat, I lowered the letter. Was Thomas dead already? No. If he had died, I would have felt something. When we were children and he skinned his knee, I felt the sting. When I got sick, he would vomit.

  If Thomas were dead, I would have felt the loss . . . unless we had been truly cut asunder.

  Could all the years apart do that to us?

  I looked across the room and studied the doorway to our father’s bedchamber. If Thomas were dead . . .

  I clenched my hand in a sudden rush of gratitude that Abba could not feel the wave of grief that threatened to overwhelm me.

  The next morning I rose early, shared some fruit and bread with Yagil, then took the boy to Aunt Dinah’s house. “I will be back before sunset,” I promised, “but I have to leave Cana for the day.” When she asked where I was going, I replied, “Nazareth,” but said nothing more. No sense in worrying her unnecessarily.

  I left Cana and walked south, tormented by what ifs. What if Yeshua and his disciples had been arrested and imprisoned like John the Immerser? What if Thomas or the other disciples had been killed? But I had not heard such a report, and explosive news like that would spread like wildfire.

  Winter had warmed to a promising spring, and the morning heat had begun to bake the hills by the time I left Cana. I walked quickly, my sandals kicking up small puffs of dust on the road. By the time the sun had moved over a quarter of the sky, I could see the rooftops of Nazareth. I glanced at the watchtower as I passed and saw an old man snoozing in the shade of its thatched roof. The city was not on alert, so perhaps its most infamous son still lived.

  A donkey stood in Jude’s courtyard, contentedly chewing hay as he watched the street. I gave the donkey an affectionate pat and moved toward the stairs at the front of the house. Pheodora and her children had been living with her brothers for several months, so the house looked better than it had in days when the brothers lived there alone. Several chickens clucked and scratched in the courtyard, and from inside the house I could hear the sound of a bleating goat.

  I went up the steps, knocked, and stood back to wait.

  I had rehearsed my opening more than a dozen times. I would wish Jude a good morning, then ask if I might come inside to discuss something of great importance to both our families.

  The door opened and I looked up into Jude’s sweat-stained face. He had been working, for I glimpsed a small cut on his hand and sawdust on his cheek. Every word I had rehearsed fled my mind. “Are they dead?” I asked, the words tumbling from my lips. “I received a letter from Thomas, and he said they were going to Bethany. He fully expected to be arrested and stoned, since they barely escaped Jerusalem at the Feast of Dedication . . .”

  Jude stared at me, then called for James. “Come in,” he said. He lowered his voice once we were inside. “When did you receive this letter?”

  “Last night. A traveler brought it to Cana; a neighbor delivered it to my house.”

  “Are you sure it was from Thomas? That it is not some sort of trap?”

  I choked back a sob. “The letter was written in Thomas’s hand. He spoke of things only he and I would understand.”

  Jude reached out as if he would embrace me, then abruptly gestured to the bench at the table. “Sit. Rest.” As I sank onto the bench, he poured water from a pitcher and offered me a cup. “Drink first,” he said, intently studying my face. “And when you have caught your breath, tell me what Thomas said. Then we will decide what to do.”

  As I drank, James, Joses, and Simeon came from the back of the house and took seats at the table. I took the letter from my tunic and read it aloud, then lowered it and looked around, searching the brothers’ faces for some sign of hope.

  “He’s done it, then,” Simeon said, his voice flat. “If he wanted to make himself a martyr, this is the way.”

  “Yeshua is not a fool,” Joses said. “And our mother is with him. He would not endanger her.”

  Jude propped an elbow on the table. “He could have her stay with one of his disciples’ families. She could be in Bethany, perhaps with the sisters of this man Lazarus.”

  “Passover is approaching,” James said, his forehead crinkling. “Consider the timing. Remember how John called him the Lamb of God? Yeshua could be planning to enter Jerusalem at the time of the feast. Passover requires a sacrifice. If the authorities kill him now, his name will forever be linked with the Passover
lamb.”

  “I do not approve of what he’s doing,” Joses said, “but we urged him to go to Jerusalem to make a bigger impact. He acted on our suggestion once; now he is doing it again.”

  “But what can we do?” I asked, pressing my hands to the table. “Your brother may be intent on getting himself killed, but I don’t want my brother to die. He’s all the family I have left.”

  Jude raked his hand through his hair, then blew out a breath. “I don’t know if we can get to Jerusalem in time to stop Yeshua, but we can try. Is there any reason we cannot leave at once?”

  “The work,” Simeon said. “The butcher has asked for another table, and he needs it before Shabbat.”

  “Fine.” Jude nodded. “Simeon, Joses, and James can remain here. But Tasmin and I will go to Jerusalem. We’ll do our best to find Yeshua and see if what we suspect is true. If he is planning on dying at Passover, we will stop him.”

  He turned to me. “Are you able to do this? I assumed—”

  “I’ll go,” I answered, standing. “With a short stop in Cana, I can tell Aunt Dinah about our plans and gather what we’ll need for the trip. Yagil will stay with her. If you are going to Jerusalem, nothing on earth will stop me from joining you.”

  We heard the first reports just outside Jericho from people who had come from Bethany. “Did you hear?” one man asked as soon as we were within shouting distance. “The latest news of the Nazarene?”

  Jude and I glanced at each other and braced ourselves for the worst.

  “He raised a man who’d been dead four days!” The old man chortled with delight. “The fellow’s sisters were dumbfounded with joy, but the leaders of the Sanhedrin were livid.”

  Jude blinked as his mouth went slack. “What did you say?”

  The old man grabbed Jude’s arms, and for a moment I thought he was going to dance. “Lazarus was his name. Yeshua and his disciples came to Bethany, and the teacher insisted on going to the tomb. He asked the neighbors to roll the stone away from the tomb’s entrance. The dead man’s sister protested, saying the stench would be unbearable. Still, they did it, and the teacher said, ‘Lazarus, come out!’ A moment later, there he was, still wearing the shroud his sisters had wrapped around him.”

  I couldn’t move, stunned by sheer disbelief at the joyous expression on the old man’s face. When I finally found my tongue, I had to ask, “Were there witnesses? Could it have been a trick?”

  The man laughed. “A trick? Tell me—how can a living man stink like a dead cow one minute and come running out of his tomb in the next? And yes, there were dozens of witnesses. Half the town followed the dead man’s sisters out to the graveyard. Everyone knew Yeshua was close to that family.”

  I clutched Jude’s arm. “I believe the story. A prophet who could heal Yagil could certainly bring the dead back to life.”

  Jude turned to the old man, his expression one of intense scrutiny. “Have you been drinking?”

  The man laughed again. “Not a drop.”

  “Why would Yeshua go to Bethany when he knows the authorities want him dead? Bethany would only be a short ride for the high priest and his guards.”

  The old man shrugged. “I don’t know why he went. A few weeks ago others were with Yeshua in Herod’s territory and heard the Pharisees warn him that Antipas wanted him dead. But Yeshua said they could tell that fox that he was driving out demons and performing healings and on the third day he would reach his goal. But he had to keep going because . . .”

  “Because why?” Jude pressed.

  The old man’s face went somber. “Because a prophet would never perish outside Jerusalem.”

  Wings of shadowy trepidation brushed the back of my neck as I looked at Jude. Again, Yeshua had spoken of death.

  “Did Yeshua remain in Bethany,” Jude asked, “or did he return to Galilee?”

  The man shook his head. “From what I heard, he left Bethany. But before he departed, some heard him say, ‘Jerusalem, you will never see me again until you say Baruch haba b’Shem Adonai.’ Blessed is He who comes in the Name of Adonai.”

  Though Yeshua’s words left me as confused as always, Jude and I thanked the man and continued on our way, walking with even more urgency.

  “He hasn’t gone back to Galilee,” Jude said. “He’s going to Jerusalem.”

  “Is that what he meant about the prophets?”

  “Apparently he believes he is destined to die in the Holy City. So we must reach him before he does something foolish.”

  Traffic became heavier as we neared the city gates. Travelers on their way to Jerusalem were frequently excited, especially during festival time, but that day an almost palpable air of anticipation surrounded the surging pilgrims. Instead of the usual songs of ascent, they were singing another psalm:

  “The stone the builders rejected

  has become the capstone.

  It is from Adonai:

  it is marvelous in our eyes!

  This is the day that Adonai has made!

  Let us rejoice and be glad in it!

  Hoshia-na! Please, Adonai, save now!

  We beseech You, Adonai, prosper us!

  Baruch haba b’Shem Adonai—

  Blessed is He who comes in the Name of Adonai.”

  The reference struck me and Jude in the same instant. We glanced at each other as the words rang out: Baruch haba b’Shem Adonai. The exact words Yeshua had predicted.

  “Do you think he’s here?” I rose on tiptoe to look over the throng.

  Jude climbed onto a roadside boulder and scanned the crowd ahead of us. “I don’t see him. But if he appeared before this mob, he would be trampled.”

  He looked down at me, a muscle quivering at his jaw. “My brothers and I were only jesting when we told him he should perform his miracles in Jerusalem. Stubborn though he is, he is still my brother and I do not want him to die. I would give anything if I could persuade him to go into seclusion for a while.”

  I nodded. “I would do the same for Thomas. I still don’t understand how he got involved in this. Until he met Yeshua, he was so . . . practical.”

  Jude climbed down and we walked on, struggling to rein in our frustration as it became difficult to move forward in the crowd. Then, from out of nowhere, we heard a roar from the direction of the city gate. Something was happening up ahead, something we could not see, but we could certainly hear the cheering. We could feel it, like a wave that started at a breakwater and washed over everything between it and the shore.

  Jude found another boulder, then climbed up and balanced himself to survey the road ahead. “I can see the city wall,” he called down to me, “and a heavy crowd fanning out around the gate. People are waving palm branches.”

  “Can you see what they’re cheering about?”

  He squinted into the distance for a moment, then his eyes widened. “I see a man—on a mule or donkey. The people are waving the branches as he passes. He’s moving toward the gate now.”

  “Is it—?”

  “I believe so.” Jude’s voice went flat, and in his tone I heard resignation, anxiety, and regret.

  He crouched on the boulder, bowed his head, and covered his eyes. I thought he might be weeping, but after a moment he slid off the rock and stood beside me. “When we enter the city,” he said, lines of concentration deepening under his eyes, “we will look for a safe place to spend the night. But before that . . .”

  “Yes?” I asked, wondering if he wanted to go to Bethany and find Lazarus and his sisters.

  “Nothing.” He took my arm and guided me back into the crowd.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Tasmin

  On Nisan 13, the fourth day of the week, I met Jude outside the crowded inn where we managed to find sleeping space. He looked like a man who had not rested, and I had to resist the urge to rearrange his tousled curls.

  “What have you heard?” I asked, determined to keep the conversation centered on the reason for our journey.

  He glanced
away and blew out a frustrated breath. “That was Yeshua we saw yesterday. After entering the city with that cheering mob, he went to the Temple where he cleared the court of the money changers—again—and openly challenged the chief priests and elders. According to the witnesses I talked to, he said the Torah teachers and Pharisees were hypocrites, clean on the outside but inwardly full of greed and self-indulgence. Then he called them whitewashed tombs, snakes and vipers.” Jude snorted with restrained mirth. “Not that they don’t deserve such names, but foolish is the man who speaks the truth in public.”

  I bit back a smile and tried to imagine how Thomas would have reacted to Yeshua’s truth-telling. “And then?”

  Jude crossed his arms. “Apparently, Yeshua left the city and went to stay with Lazarus and his sisters. While there, the younger sister brought out a vial of perfume and poured it on his feet. One of the disciples complained that the perfume should have been sold and the money given to the poor, but Yeshua said she had done it to prepare him for burial.”

  “Burial?” My voice broke as I echoed the word. “Does he want to die?”

  “It seems he is set on it.” A muscle flexed at Jude’s jaw. “I don’t know what to do. If we find him, I doubt we will be able to dissuade him from whatever he has in mind. You could talk to Thomas, of course, but what if he is as obstinate as Yeshua?”

  “He is.” I underscored the words with iron. “Still, we have to try. We did not come all this way only to give up now.”

  Jude gave a nod and sighed. “I need to find my mother. I want to be sure she is well and see if I can persuade her to come with us. We could have dinner with her and, tomorrow, look for Yeshua and his men at the Temple.”

  “Your brother should be easy to find—the crowds will be drawn to him, for everyone is expecting him to perform a great miracle. It’s as if they can sense that his time is at hand.”

  “I only wish he could give them what they want.” Jude’s voice turned rough, so he took a moment to clear his throat before speaking again. “Are we in agreement, then? We’ll search for my mother today, and look for Yeshua and Thomas tomorrow.”