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Chapter Seven
A Witch In Hiding
As our family awaited Cornelius’ meeting tonight
with Papa on the bridge, Mariah and Michael joined us at the crowded table,
each of us sitting on the little stools Papa sold to Galilean peasants. To keep our minds off the crisis, Papa
discussed the family’s routine in the coming months, while Mariah sat there
looking self-consciously at her hands.
This regimen, he explained resignedly, would include everyone in the
house, even the twins, who would have to work extra hard to help Mama manage
the house. Since Papa might lose
much of his clientele, he would have to export his furniture and repair work to
neighboring communities. This
would require using all of the boys for this expanded enterprise. Jesus, James and Joseph would assist as
wood joiners and shapers, whereas the younger boys—Simon, Michael, and I—would
help Papa in sanding, shaving, and preparing the various pieces of wood for
construction. Almost as an
afterthought, Papa voiced his concern about taking us out synagogue school, but
his grand plan of a “Jesus School” had been watered down. There was no explanation for this
revision. When time was available
during our busy schedule, Jesus could expound his knowledge, while Papa
continued to teach us his craft.
Since Jesus had always shared his wisdom with us during our free time,
this was acceptable to James, Joseph, Simon, and I, though Michael made a sour
face. Incorporated into our
“schooling” would be training in woodwork and carpentry. During our table talks, as he called it
now, Mama, who had been self-taught in the scriptures, would sit in with the
twins when they were not doing their household chores. Since Papa didn’t mention the word
school nor stress this portion of our education, we all, Jesus included,
breathed a sigh of relief, yet the basic idea remained. Together, the family of Joseph, the
carpenter, would become an island unto itself—a school, a shop, a garden, but
still a home.
Jesus insisted on saying a prayer now that sounded
very much like a blessing. Though
my mind had fallen into a daze, I can remember him looking around at our tired
congregation, raising two fingers of his hand—a gesture that would be one of
his trademarks, and intoning “May the Lord bless this house and its patriarch
Joseph bar Jacob, our mother, Mary, his sons, daughters, and our guests Mariah
and Michael of the house of Jeremiah bar Solomon.”
Michael and I were so bored by all this chatter we
fidgeted constantly. I was happy
that I didn’t have to return to synagogue school, but I didn’t relish being a
carpenter the rest of my life.
Though I had mixed feelings about it, Papa’s reinterpretation of the
“Jesus School” intrigued me.” Did
this mean Jesus would take us all on nature hikes, as he had before the
incident of the sparrow or would we all be sitting around the table listening
to him expound his vast knowledge about religious things? In small doses this was all right, but
every day, as in a classroom, would be tiresome for my brothers and me.
At our household meeting, Mariah briefly reminisced,
without sordid details, the tragic death years ago of her husband and the
remainder of her children from a fever—the same plague, Papa commented, that
had taken many of his and mothers brothers and sisters too. Though she remembered her family
clearly, she couldn’t recall the point in time when she became touched in the
head. I overheard my father
confide to my mother, when Mariah was out of the room, his fears that she had
at least acted like a witch. I
would rather believe, based on the wine I smelled on her breath, it had been
nothing more than a long, drunken spell, but I kept thinking about the potions
and powders they found in that room.
Was all that stuff in her house really medicinal herbs and powders left
over from her husband’s business?
If so, why had she acted so strangely and remained hidden away for so
long? Was it because the death of
most of her family had driven her mad?
Could it all be a conspiracy of cruel circumstances, as Papa suggested,
in which Mariah was misunderstand and condemned purely because of appearances
rather than deeds. Even so, as
Papa explained those big words to my brothers and me, how had Mariah provided
for her son and herself all these years, if not by other means? Witchcraft or prostitution,
respectively—concepts I just barely understood, might have allowed her to live
as a hermit with her son for this period of time.
Regardless of whether or not Mariah had been cured
of a dark, wasting illness or really been a witch, Michael would become one of
the family now. As we children
rolled dice on the wooden table, the adults had talked quietly. Michael, it was decided, would stay in
our house while Mariah settled in Jerusalem with her cousin and aunt. Mariah was saddened that she had to
make this decision, but there was, in spite of Cornelius’ help, hazards in such
a mission. Among the most obvious
was the unspoken possibility that she would get caught somewhere between
Nazareth and Jerusalem or, more likely, not be welcome in her aunt and cousin’s
house. When or if she was safely
settled into her temporary home, she would send for Michael. No one dared speculate whether or not
she and her son would ever be able to come back to Nazareth, but, knowing
Michael, I was certain this was on his mind.
Watching the sun set finally after such a long day,
Papa turned from the window and paced back and forth in the large outer room in
anticipation of his meeting with the prefect, as we huddled around the table
playing the dice game Michael had taught us this hour. The four small square stones had four
different symbols on each side. When matched in different combinations, Michael
explained, they prophesized certain events, but they could also be gambled
upon, like the Egyptian game of hounds and jackals, which his mother often
played with her friends. Jesus now
inspected one of the dice and shook his head.
“Michael,” he sighed, “these are used by pagans to
foretell the future. Don’t let my
father see these. They’ll make him
very mad.”
“All right,” Michael replied sheepishly, “we’re only
using them as game pieces.”
“But not to gamble.” Jesus wagged his finger.
Michael nodded his head, as James, Joseph, and Simon
looked at the pieces with newfound interest.
“Play a game with us, Jesus.” I grabbed his sleeve.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “that would be
cheating.”
“But you would never cheat.” Michael held up the
dice. “Please Jesus, just try it one time.”
“Very well,” he laughed softly, giving them a toss.
The highest combination which could be tossed was
four Sphinxes. That Jesus might
roll this combination would have struck us all as a great trick or miracle, but
Jesus went beyond our expectations. . . . He rolled four dice with the het and
yod letters from the Hebrew alphabet—the Chai symbol of Judaism. We were stunned. Mariah, the twins, and our parents
joined the circle of boys surrounding the transformed game pieces. James and Joseph, who had been learning
Hebrew at the synagogue school, recognized the Chai symbol as well as the
symbols on the remaining surfaces at once. Because Aramaic was our spoken language, children were
taught Hebrew, along with our religion, so that they could read the Torah and
understand Jewish history and tradition—subjects Papa hoped Jesus might teach
us now that we were not going back to synagogue school. For a moment, we took turns at turning
the pieces this way and that before returning them to one of the most important
letters in the Hebrew alphabet: het and yod.
“It means life,” said Jesus, looking across the
table at Mariah, “. . . everlasting.”
Mariah was dumbfounded by his words. We all were. My parents seemed to shudder at some dark thought they
shared. The longer meaning, “the
people of Israel live,” is given by rabbis to their congregations, but Jesus’
roll of the dice had been interpreted as simply “life,” which, he would explain
later to us, was the root meaning of the Chai symbol of Israel.
“Life everlasting?” we murmured amongst ourselves.
“What is Jesus trying to tell us?” I whispered to
Michael.
“My mother will not die,” my friend answered with
great conviction, “and she will arrive in Jerusalem safely and not be harmed.”
But this is not what Jesus meant. A pagan game, introduced by a Jewish
boy, had been transformed into one of Jesus’ first mysteries. At that moment, however, the children,
especially myself, were more interested in the miracle or trick Jesus had just
performed. I noted, too, that he
hadn’t even prayed, which brought to mind our earlier suspicions that Jesus
might be a sorcerer or great magician.
It was very difficult for his brothers and even his parents to
comprehend just exactly who he was supposed to be. That revelation would come many years later. For now, Jesus had become our hero,
after his actions last night. The
dead bird, the storm, and the mysterious cave could almost be explained away as
coincidence or, in the case of the bird, trickery. But we saw the Sphinxes turn into Chai symbols with our own
eyes. There could be no argument
that this was a supernatural event. . . . The question remaining, at least for
me, was what kind?
Today,
as I record my family’s history, after following in his footsteps of Jesus for
many years, this question has been answered. Yet even now, as I sit in my prison cell, I’m haunted by
those dice. I had not thought so
then, but why had Jesus performed such a trivial miracle for us? Had it been merely to purify those
pagan game pieces in order to protect Michael’s reputation in our home? They would have, I sensed even then,
incriminated Mariah too, since they must have come from her house. What seemed so obvious now to Jesus’
followers—that he was the long expected Messiah and the Son of God—could not
have been understood by our unenlightened minds. We were still children. The Chai symbol and the way Jesus identified it as
‘everlasting life’ had provided us with clues to his divinity, which I record
as prophecy now. But during that
one, incredible moment, when I was ten years old, when it was staring us all
the in the face, we gave Jesus blank, puzzled, and troubled looks.
It
was Joseph, the third oldest son, who broke the silence after this wondrous
event.
“You didn’t pray.” He frowned at Jesus. “You told us
to pray for needful things.”
“I
always pray,” said Jesus, handing Michael the dice. “These dice have been
blessed by the Lord.”
“But
you didn’t speak,” observed James.
“And
your mouth didn’t even move, ” Simon looked at him in awe.
“My brothers and sisters,” he declared, including
Michael in his gaze. “God speaks
loudest
in our thoughts. Prayer needs no
voice. You need not close yours
eyes to be reverent or open your mouth to talk to God.” “Look at me,” he said,
looking down at little Abigail and Martha, “I’m praying right now as I look at
you.”
This
struck the twins as very funny.
Papa slipped out the house as Jesus occupied our attention for his
rendezvous with Cornelius on the bridge.
We hardly noticed his departure, since it was not uncommon for him to
take walks in the early evening.
For the first time that I could remember my quiet sisters warmed up to
the oldest brother, each taking one of his big, long fingered hands. Michael and I looked on with curiosity,
as we tried to make sense of the dice.
Jesus stood very still that moment until my voice brought him back down
to earth.
“What
are you praying for?” I asked, tossing the pieces on the floor.
“Some
prayers are secret,” Jesus explained, staring off into space.
“I
can’t do that,” confessed Michael, taking his turn. “It gets all messed up in
my head.”
“I
can pray, when I close my eyes tightly and cover my ears, like this,” I demonstrated,
wiggling my tongue, “but it must be dark and very quiet.”
Mother
smiled with indulgence, as Simon, Michael, and my sisters laughed at my
jest. James and Joseph, ignoring
my insensitivity, frowned thoughtfully at our oldest brother. Jesus gave me a disappointed look,
reached down quickly, and gathered up the offending dice.
“It’s
hard to concentrate upon an unspoken prayer,” he conceded wearily. “With all
manner of nonsense in your mind, Jude, you must clear your head first and make
your prayer short and to the point.”
“Teach
us Jesus,” Abigail giggled foolishly.
“Show
us how to pray in our heads,” begged Martha, clapping her hands.
“Yes,
show us Jesus,” Michael watched him pocket the dice. “Toss another perfect
roll!”
“Children,”
Jesus instructed gently, “pretend that you’re looking up to an empty blue sky,
and that this blank sheet is your mind.
Now take a deep breath, let it out, and talk to God as you wish. Greet him as your Father, pray
unselfishly, and then thank him with the Amen Papa uses after he prays. This is how you can pray without anyone
knowing. Remember that prayer is a
private thing. It’s good to share
it when gathered for dinner or in fellowship at the synagogue, but prayer is
between you and God.”
All
of us, Mariah and mother included, stood quietly, as if attempting this
experiment. I suspected that James
and Joseph were just humoring him.
I had already attempted this feat, and I was certain Mama knew how to
pray to herself. Michael, however,
gave Jesus a worried look, wondering as I, if he would return his dice. Suddenly, as if moved by the Spirit
again, Jesus crossed the floor, opened the door, and plunged into the night.
“Jesus,
where are you going?” cried mother, racing after him with a lamp.
“God
is talking to me, Mother,” we heard his voice fading in the garden. “His light
shall I follow. . .”
“He’s
doing it again.” Simon rolled his eyes.
“I
hope he’s not angry,” Mariah muttered to herself.
“Don’t
worry,” I said, looking out the window. “He does this all the time. I bet he can see in the dark.”
“That’s
ridiculous, Jude” scolded mother as she re-entered the house. “Jesus is flesh
and blood like us. His specialness
is in his relationship to God through prayer. You heard him say that.”
“But
Mama, you saw him toss the dice,” I looked at her in disbelief.
“Yes,”
Michael nodded eagerly, “and Jesus put out the fire burning my mother’s house!”
Mary,
the mother of Jesus, mopped her brow with the edge of her apron. After so many quiet years, we were not used
to our mother speaking out, but now that the secrets of Jesus divinity were
penetrating our minds, a great dread filled her. Though we didn’t understand yet, we could see it in her
eyes.
“You
children don’t understand,” she said, looking wearily around the room. “We’ve
kept it buried for so long, we scarcely believe it ourselves.”
“What
Mama?” I jumped up and down excitedly. “Tell us what!”
“Who
is this stranger?” Joseph turned to James. “Is this not Jesus, our brother and
our father’s son?”
“The question is.” James sprang from his stool.
“Where did he learn all this? He’s
only fifteen, a year older than me, yet he calls us children. I don’t remember him ever going to
school, but he performs miracles and seems to know everything. I used to think he made all that stuff
up on our nature hikes, but Jesus can’t lie. He always tells the truth.” “Could it be,” his voice grew distant, “that Jesus really
talks to God and has God’s ear?
Where does he go at night while we’re sleeping? Does our brother even sleep?”
“Jesus put out the fire,” Michael said with great
conviction. “You all saw it!” He pointed to each of us. “Jesus has great
power!”
“Na-ah” Joseph waved dismissively. “It can’t
be. This is just too strange.”
“Joseph.” I inclined my head. “Remember the bird,
the rain and how he put Mariah to sleep?
You saw what he did to the dice.
I have trouble understanding this myself, but that last miracle,” “Phew!”
I slapped my forehead in disbelief. “He changed them right before our eyes!”
“Slight of hand or trickery,” Joseph sneered.
“What,” muttered Michael, “are you serious?”
“I think Jesus was making some kind of point.” I
searched my memory. “He said the dice stood for life.”
“He called it eternal life,” mumbled James. “What
nonsense!”
“It’s not nonsense,” Michael cried. “He changed
those dice!”
“He’s right.” Simon nodded. “I saw him do it.”
“Yes,” James said with resignation, “we all saw it.”
Joseph shook his head mulishly, muttering no-no-no!
under his breath.
“What’s so hard to believe?” Michael taunted. “Are
you blind as well as deaf? I bet
Jesus could turn lead into gold.”
Michael didn’t have a clue. Upon hearing my friend’s heresy, Mama
laughed hysterically. Joseph stuck
his fingers into his ears and chanted “la-la, la-la-la,” to shut out the
truth. But James and Simon, like
me, were on that long road to illumination. That moment I wasn’t sure what irritated me more, Michael’s
misunderstanding of Jesus or Joseph’s denial. Joseph, I wanted to believe, was just being stubborn. James stood there staring at Mama, as I
struggled with the truth—a growing light, wavering in the dark.
“. . . Joseph, James, Michael,” I struggled with the
words, “Jesus isn’t like us. It’s not trickery or magic. Maybe the sparrow wasn’t really dead,
but he was very sick. The dice, I
suppose, could be a slight of hand, like those beggars in Sepphoris, who made
coins disappear, but what are the odds of a storm arriving just as Jesus prays. How can you explain the rain?”
“Please Mama,” James stomped his foot, “tell us what
Jesus is!”
On this note, before mother could answer, the door
flew open, and Papa stood there in the doorway holding a lamp.
“Mary, you promised!” He looked accusingly at her.
“They’re too young to understand.
Dear Abraham—I’m not sure I understand myself. Until the Lord, Himself, speaks to us, this subject is
closed.”
Glancing out the door, Papa motioned to someone in
the garden. The air was suddenly
charged with expectation.
Collectively, as unknowing witnesses, we sensed that another
extraordinary event was about to happen in the house of Joseph bar Jacob.
“The Prefect Cornelius is aware of our problem,” he
cleared his throat nervously, “but wants to talk to Mariah first.”
“Why?” Mariah’s hand went up to her throat.
Shutting the door lightly, he motioned awkwardly for
her to approach. “You must explain to him the miracle that happened to you.”
“What’s wrong?” A look of terror fell over her face.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, gently taking her arm.
“It’s just that you must explain certain
things.”
“What
things?” mother asked naively. “Why are you making this good man wait in the
garden?”
“Because,”
James said with great indignation, “he’s a Gentile and a Roman, to boot.”
“Please
James,” she sighed wearily, “this is the house of Joseph, who is called a
heretic for giving refuge to an unfortunate widow unjustly accused of
witchcraft and whose son is thought touched in the head because he talks to
God. What does it matter if a
kindly Roman, who wants to rescue our guest is given hospitality in our
house?”
“He’s a Roman!” echoed Joseph.
“He will defile our house,” James bared his teeth.
“God has given Cornelius a special mission,” we
heard Jesus voice from the window.
As my
arm rested on the windowsill, Jesus’ hand appeared out of the darkness and
ruffled my hair. Thrilled with the
prospects of Cornelius being in our humble house, I jumped off the stool I was
standing on, dodged around my father, and ran into the darkness, meeting Jesus
coming the other way.
“Well,” our father laughed, “that’s settled. Mary and Jesus have spoken.”
“But Papa!” James and Joseph cried.
“Enough!” Papa wagged a finger. “I want you, James
and Joseph, to forget all that nonsense the synagogue has been drumming into
you about defilement by Gentiles and remember what those animals—our
neighbors—wanted to do to Mariah, our guest.”
Jesus
led me back into the house, his arm draped around my shoulders. We stood there waiting for our visitor
to appear in the doorway. Mariah
had disappeared momentarily, until mother pulled her protesting back into the
kitchen.
Cornelius swaggered into the house, his cape
fluttering slightly, a shiny helmet under his arm, his chiseled features the
very epitome of a Roman knight, and I was reminded of what I wanted to do most
in this world. My mother had
practically told us Jesus’ great secret, yet a thought took hold of me: I
wanted to be a soldier and see the world!
“This, my family, is Cornelius, prefect of the
Galilean Cohort.” Papa moved to the side and motioned dramatically with an
outstretched arm. “Cornelius,” he pointed to us one-by-one, “this is my lovely
wife Mary, who is mother to Jesus, James, Joseph, Simon, Jude, Abigail, and
Martha. And this is our honored
guest Mariah and her son Michael, who is Jude’s best friend.”
Grunting with approval as he scratched his bristly chin,
Cornelius surveyed the lot of us, his eyes resting on Mariah, who stood
trembling, that look we had seen before returning to her green eyes.
“Mariah,” he said curtly, “I understand you need
Rome’s help.”
“Uh huh,” she swallowed hard.
“Now Mariah,” Jesus whispered into her ear, “be
calm. Remember, God’s in this
house.”
I could
see her expression immediately relax.
A smile twitched on her face.
The tall, dark Roman swaggered over and studied the lovely apparition
below him. For a moment I felt
great irritation that she, not me, had captured his attention, but then I
realized how important it was that the Roman should like Michael’s mother. Even at ten years old I recognized that
special spark passed between two friends.
This spark, which made Mariah blush, caused a frown to break on
Michael’s face, but I gave them both my smile of approval.
“Joseph,” Cornelius raised a finger to his nose, “I
must talk to Mariah alone.”
“Very well,” Papa shrugged. “We can all congregate
outside. Come family, let’s give
Cornelius and Mariah a chance to chat.”
“No, no,” Cornelius shook his head, “this is your
house Joseph. I’m well aware of
Jewish tradition. We can talk in
the garden.” “Joseph,” he reached
out and gripped my father’s shoulder, “you’re familiar with this problem. Maybe you should be there too.”
Cornelius led Papa and Mariah through the door. The door shut but we all crowded at the
open window in order to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Is this right Mama?” Jesus asked, tilting his head
to listen.
“What if Mariah fails to give a good impression?”
she murmured.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I winked
a Michael. “Cornelius gave Mariah that look.”
“Oh,” Simon snarled, “what look is that?”
“The look James gave Sarah, the potter’s daughter.”
Joseph tittered.
James punched Joseph’s arm. It appeared as though the three had
walked to the end of the garden out of earshot. We could hear nothing outside in the darkness except the
chirp of crickets and hooting of an owl, but later Papa would confide to us the
Roman’s suspicions. When he,
Mariah, and our family’s new friend entered the house, they were all laughing. Mariah had boldly taken the Roman’s
hairy arm. Michael, the twins, and
I clapped our hands with delight.
My mother immediately gave him our largest mug brimming with unwatered
wine. As he sipped from the mug,
looking across the table at his new charge, he seemed thoroughly at home in our
house, but admitted to feeling guilty because of the gossip this might
cause. James and Joseph, who sat
obediently on their stools sulking, nodded their heads in agreement. Mama, however, explained to him our
decision to make him an exception to the rule. He was, she struggled for the words, a “righteous
gentile.” When she offered to
share our humble table with him, he bowed out politely with the excuse that his
servant had dinner waiting for him back at camp. This pleased James and Joseph immensely and caused Papa to
sigh with relief. We knew of
course that the Roman prefect and his men, who undoubtedly waited on the road,
could have demanded a full fledge meal if they wanted, but this Roman, even
James and Joseph would have to concede, was different. It seemed to me at least that he wanted
very much to say something more to Mariah, but the words never came. Handing the mug back to mother, he
bowed graciously to all of us, and swaggered to the door.
“Peace be upon the prefect Cornelius, our family’s
new friend,” Papa raised his hand in blessing.
“Ave Joseph,” Cornelius gripped father’s forearm. “Rome will protect Mariah. Make sure that she’s waiting at the place we discussed in the orchard—one hour before dawn.” “Good night my ladies,” he smiled at Mariah and Mama. “May health and good fortune live in this house!”
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