Jerusalem swallowed me into its great, teeming belly. The narrow streets streamed with people, rich and poor, locals and many foreign pilgrims. I heard shouts and muttered conversations, animal bleats and clucks; flutes, trumpets, and bells; padding of sandals on earth, whooshing of cotton and silk robes, clanging of iron on iron, grinding of stone on stone, splashing of water in and out of jars; these sounds pulsed like a heartbeat in my ears.
Jerusalem! "The glory of the holy city is as high as the Temple roof and the citadels; as deep as the underground cisterns and pools. Strength, power and beauty dwell there," my father used to say. I felt I had come home.
And I sat waiting, unclean. After we celebrated the Passover feast with friends, Thomas left every morning of the week to spend his days in the Temple courts. Until the time came for my purification, I was not allowed to enter the Temple.
I occupied myself fetching water and caring for the baby. One morning I had just finished nursing him when the innkeeper's wife, Sarah, came and sat beside me.
"Hello," she said. Smile lines appeared at the corners of her eyes. I liked the strong contours of her face and the way she gazed steadily into my eyes. The towel she had been holding, she now draped over her shoulder, then reached up to snatch a stray strand of graying hair and tuck it under her scarf. I noticed her hands, wide and rough from scrubbing boarding rooms and sweeping donkey stalls. She must have been twice my age. We sat in the doorstep.
"Well, I have finished my morning chores and now have the afternoon free. This is our busiest season. Believe it or not, there are times during the year when I have to search for ways to fill the hours." She leaned across me to stroke the baby's head. "You won't have that problem for some time." She reached for Benjamin, asking permission with her eyes. I gladly handed him over.
"My rabbi advises women to play chess," Sarah continued, "or sew in their spare time, but I never have had patience for games, and here in the city there are skilled seamstresses to hire."
When the baby burped and then smiled at Sarah we laughed together. It felt good to laugh with another woman.
"What I love about our work here is meeting people — especially when they bring children. My daughter is grown and married to a Temple official. They have a lovely home in the upper part of the city." She gently patted the baby.
"My husband says we are in the original part of the city built by David," I said, my naivete showing. There was so much I wanted to know. "What is that big building up there?" I pointed northwest. "And where do all these narrow, winding streets lead?"
"Have you never seen the rest of the city? I need to go up to the market on the north side this afternoon. Would you like to come along?"
"I don't know what Thomas would say."
"Will he be gone until sundown again?"
"He said so." I hesitated.
"Then how can he object to your finding entertainment?" She spoke decisively. "And it is a beckoning sort of day; don't you agree?"
My heart lept to her invitation and irresistible smile.
"You get what you need for this little one while I fetch a basket of things I must deliver to someone. . . ."
Sarah didn't tell me what she carried in her cloth-covered basket or the nature of her errand. We followed the stone-paved streets threading their ways between piled-high stone buildings. Sarah asked me questions about my life, and I found it surprisingly easy to open my heart.
"I have lived in Beth-haran for three years, since my father died. My mother passed away a few years before that. We lived far from here in a city called Dura-Europas. Have you heard of it? Many have not. It lies near the Euphrates River."
"Then your people were among those who chose to stay in the land of captivity?"
"Yes . . . I guess you could say that. But we had a synagogue, and a school for the children, and we waited eagerly for news about Jerusalem. My father sent Temple taxes every year."
"You speak with a Greek accent."
"We did take on the language and some of the customs, such as food. But in faith we were Jews!" That same old defensiveness came out. Did she sense it in my voice?
"Of course. But did you ever feel out of place?"
"Our Gentile neighbors would not let their children play with me. They said my parents were atheists! Can you believe that? They said they could not understand how anybody could worship an invisible God and refuse to join in their rituals in honor of 'solid, knowable, dependable' gods. They say real gods give images of themselves to people and in this way allow themselves to be represented and known and worshiped. They argued that if our God has not sent an image of himself to us, then how can we know he is real or what he is like?" I hadn't talked so freely to anyone for a long time.
"However," I added, straightening my shoulders, "they came to us for business and services. They had to admit we were industrious and moral people."
Sarah greeted women she knew along the way. She would introduce me and show the baby to her friends.
A young boy drove a flock of bleating sheep past us. He turned them down a side street by tossing stones from his bag where he did not want them to go.
Sarah pointed out various buildings, including a distant glimpse of Herod's palace. But the best part of the day was shopping in what Sarah said was the largest and most modern suq in all of Judea. There I saw every kind of shop and booth imaginable. Many wares came from Italy, Egypt, and the Orient, Sarah said. Local artisans and farmers also displayed their products.
The air was thick with haggling. Street vendors called to passersby to stop at their booths. I savored the fragrance of dried fruits, pressed olives, spices, just-baked loaves, and sweet-smelling ointments. Fresh-killed lambs dangled from butchers' hooks, and I couldn't help eyeing the pastries basted with clear, golden honey. Sarah bought one for each of us. I let Benjamin suck honey off the bun she gave me.
We stepped into a carpenter's shop where a man with a wood chip tucked behind one ear worked with hammer and chisel. The bracing odor of cut wood greeted us. Sarah walked past plows, wheels, furniture, and saddles to examine a wooden bucket.
We passed goldsmiths, weavers, and wine vendors. In a metal shop I examined a tantalizing mirror, a little, round looking-glass. The owner told me it was made of a mixture of tin and copper that had been polished to a luster. I would tell Thomas about it; he said he wanted to buy me a gift.
"Joakima — " I started at Sarah's suddenly-grim tone of voice. "It's time for me to carry out my mission over there at the city gate," she said, barely above a whisper.
"It would be best for you to wait here," she added.
Alarmed, I looked at her questioningly. "Can't I go with you?" I didn't want to be left alone in the crowded suq.
"I don't know. . . . You are not a child, though to me you seem so young." She looked out the shop door then spoke agitatedly. "It would be good if we could remain untouched by some things that happen in a city like this one."
"There is no other city like this one!" I said happily and with conviction.
"I'm sure that's true," Sarah whispered hoarsely. She stepped out the door and I followed her.
"But, seriously, Joakima." Her intense gaze fell on baby Benjamin, then back at me. "I hope I was right to bring you here. If you insist on staying with me, then you must remember that life has its dark side. You grew up as a free person in Mesopotamia. But don't forget, your ancestors were forced there in chains. And many lost their lives — cruelly and unjustly." Again she glanced at Benjamin with a look of pain. Grasping my arm, she led me past shoppers and open stalls, across the marketplace toward the city wall, where a noisy mob had gathered at an open gate.
She left me on the cobblestones near the wall, with a firm, "Stay here!" Then she ran right into the midst of the unruly mob, straight up to a man who had been stripped and flogged. Livid, red welts striped his skin. Roman soldiers prodded him forward. I stood aghast.
The soldiers halted when they saw Sarah and allowed her to take from her basket a wine flask and hand it to the prisoner. He drank greedily, his wildly fearful eyes expressing barely-perceptible thanks. She took a cloth and wiped the blood and sweat from his face. For a moment she rested her hand on his arm and seemed to be speaking softly to him, until the soldiers gruffly waved Sarah away and grabbed their bleeding and battered charge, pushing him, stumbling, through the gate, to the outside of the city.
Unbelievably, Sarah followed. Not wanting to get lost from her, I slipped into the noisy group of gawking bystanders. From people around me I caught the bristling words, "Disgraceful . . . accursed . . . place of the skulls."
At first I didn't understand what was happening. But my eyes became glued to the scene with a strange fascination and horror. What I witnessed made me vomit on the street.
I knew executions took place where I grew up, but I think my parents sheltered me from them. And I had known of Jewish leaders in Perea stoning to death blasphemers and adulterers. Our teachers taught "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." Sinners must be punished. Sin must be purged. The laws were known, obedience expected.
But I had never seen anything like a Roman crucifixion. How can I put into words what my eyes did not want to believe? I saw raw power in hard, helmet-framed faces, plated chests, and thick, indecently-exposed legs. I heard shrieks of pain, shouts of anger, commands of authority. Rough ropes were yanked into cruel knots. Wooden beams were hoisted into place, creaking under their burden. Soldiers' armor jangled and glinted gaudily. Then above them, Jewish flesh writhed: dirty, and bloody; becoming distended and more and more disfigured as the man hung there in such an unnatural position.
Even if the man had committed a capital crime, even if he deserved death; then death, if it were just, could be delivered swiftly. To hang this Jew upon those crossed beams, naked and humiliated and suffering for all to see and for many to ridicule, as the Roman soldiers were doing now with their taunts and rowdiness . . . That was not what I expected to see in the holy city. Why, a Jew would not even treat an animal this way. Even the animals chosen for sacrifice are killed quickly. They are not tortured slowly and painfully in a spectacle.
That man's shoulders are pulling out of their sockets, I thought, cringing. The pain must be unbearable, excruciating. . . . He will be scorched by the heat of the sun. If he is still hanging there by nightfall, he'll freeze and be completely vulnerable, to wild animals or anything. The ropes are already digging into his skin and he can't hold his head up. It looks like he's having trouble breathing. He is becoming too weak to hold his body erect. Now his body twists and convulses in spasms of pain.
I heard a woman weeping. I felt dizzy. My stomach wretched. I clutched Benjamin closer to me. I tried to go back, but as if in a nightmare, my feet couldn't seem to move. Then I became aware of Sarah's arm around me.
I turned to her with tears brimming my eyes. "How long will they leave him hanging there?"
"Until he dies. Sometimes it takes several days. Sometimes the Romans leave the dead on the crosses until they fall and become carrion to the birds."
"But how could this be? We always bury the dead immediately to avoid contamination."
"That shows the heathen government's utter disdain for our laws and traditions."
"He must be guilty of a despicable crime to be executed in such a shameful way."
"This is how they execute slaves in Rome. I realize that many of the law-breaking Jews deserve death; but such a death as that? . . . No! . . . And our oppressors crucify even petty thieves. There are some Jewish men in a growing sect called the Zealots who believe that God has called them to oppose Roman oppression, work to overthrow them, and then the Messiah will come. The Romans consider the Zealots political enemies and are especially cruel to them. Almost unspeakable . . . Instead of ropes, nails are hammered through hands and feet. And the scourging —"
"Oh, stop! I can't bear to hear anymore."
I began to weep uncontrollably. Sarah silently drew me into her embrace. She whispered, "Let the tears flow. You are a mother in Israel now. So many Jewish mothers have wept. Many have grieved with empty arms. 'Rachel crying for her children.'" She gently turned me and led us away. We cut back through the suq. I pulled my shawl close about my face, covering Benjamin, who was still slung in front of me, and I followed Sarah almost blindly. I saw little, with the tears in my eyes; heard little, with my heart pounding in my ears. Near the inn, I blurted, "What was his crime?"
"He may have been a murderer, a thief, or an unwise Zealot." Sarah's voice was strained. "It makes no difference. He is a Jewish son, tortured and killed by pagan usurpers."
"But why would you want to do this?" I didn't mean to sound accusing.
"I take my turn each week to provide a drink and pain reliever for the condemned men. The Roman government allow some of us women this privilege. I often stay close for a while to give comfort to the relatives."
She remained silent for a moment as we stepped through the entrance of her husband's inn. He was sitting at his desk, taking payment from a man who was checking out. A chicken squawked underfoot. The odor from the donkey stalls accosted our senses. I realized then that I was trembling. I hesitated at the steps leading to the upstairs rooms. Then Sarah turned to me. Her face had turned pale and she spoke softly.
"In the faces of the condemned I see my own son's face. We lost him twelve years ago in the massacre of Archelaus."
I looked at Sarah's lined, earnest face, and I felt I was really seeing for the first time this woman whose spirit deeply challenged mine. I remember thinking that I wished I had her blend of compassion and mettle, but that I wouldn't want to go through so much pain to get it.
Sarah sighed, then she took a jug and a basket from a table. Turning to me she said softly, "Here, Joakima. Take these figs; and here's some water. Go up to your room and rest. The baby has fallen asleep. But when he awakens, he'll no doubt need to be fed. . . .
"And didn't you say tomorrow is your last day of waiting?" She laid her hand on my cheek, looking thoughtful. "I'll help you bathe — no, don't argue. I want to do it." She sighed and then smiled faintly. "I'm sorry, Joakima. Crucifixions have become almost commonplace here." A tear welled up in her eye. "You want to know why is there so much suffering? I don't know. There seems no reason and no escape." Again she sighed. "But tomorrow I want to show you one of the joyous traditions that remains.
"I am doing what I believe the Lord wants me to do. But you . . . Your work is to raise this child. A son is a blessing and a privilege and a responsibility. May he be a faithful one who will help bring deliverance to his people. Remember, it is written, 'There is reward for your work.'"
She embraced me gently then turned toward her kitchen. "Now the vacated room must be prepared for in-coming guests."
With leaden feet I climbed the steps to our room.
Thomas brought me a gift that night: a beautiful little glass bottle made in one of Jerusalem's new glass factories. It was amber-colored, smooth and glowing. I had never owned anything like it.
"There's perfume inside. Tomorrow I want you to break the seal and use it lavishly." He bent to point out the clay-sealed cork. The curly whiskers of his beard brushed my cheek and I felt his breath warm on my shoulder. Abruptly he turned away.
"You didn't eat much at dinner tonight," he commented off-handedly. I'm afraid this has been a dull week for you."
I didn't tell him my experiences with Sarah.
"Thomas, I heard you talking with Reuben, the innkeeper, at dinner. It sounds as if you've had success in your business contacts," I began cautiously.
"How did you think I could afford the perfume?"
"I was wondering." I watched him take his bedroll from the corner and spread it on the floor.
"I have negotiated with Reuben's son-in-law. He prepares the ointments and incense for Temple use and priestly office. He needs a new source of balm. As you know, it grows profusely on the plateau above Beth-haran. He would pay me well to gather it and bring a load to Jerusalem twice a year. I confess, Joakima, the perfume bottle was a gift from this man."
"Then you are obligated?"
"Of course," he answered indignantly. "Aren't you glad?"
"I'm glad for you," I said, easing myself onto the raised platform built onto the wall. My head ached dully.
"You don't sound like your usually-cheerful self."
How could I tell Thomas I was worried about our son, wondering what would become of him in a world where atrocities occur matter-of-factly just outside a city rollicking in a mood of celebration? Ought we to bring children into such a perilous world? Thomas would say I was being emotional again because of my uncleanness. That always made me feel untouchable, unstable, even untrustworthy. Could I even trust my own feelings? No, I could not talk just then. Suddenly, though, I felt ashamed of my secrecy.
"I was thinking that I haven't worn such rich perfume since our wedding night," I said as naturally as I could.
"If I have my way, you'll wear it every day and be the most envied woman in Beth-haran. You'll hold your head high when you walk through the town."
My husband certainly had limited vision.
Stepping into the cool, swirling water, I shivered. Sarah said, "Bend forward and go down until water comes clear up over your head. Make sure no part of your body is closed to the water." She stood above the miqvah pool with towel in hand. Water was pouring into the pool from a small pipe protruding through the wall, causing movement in the water. "Living water is purifying," my friend explained.
A bowl of water could have satisfied the letter of the Law for a ritual bath. But Sarah had taken me under her wing.
"Joakima! You are in Jerusalem now. Many families are finding it pleasurable to follow this fuller interpretation of the Law. My rabbi says after a woman has completed her term of separation each month, she must immerse herself. After childbirth it is even more important. Of course the poorer families must visit the public pools. But I have the good fortune that my daughter married well. The new houses have these baths built right into them. It is extremely rejuvenating. And, according to our sages, a husband is not permitted to deny his wife on the night of her ritual bath."
In the house of Sarah's daughter I had beheld more luxury than I'd ever dreamed of seeing in one place. Sarah led me through rooms graciously furnished with tables, glazed pottery dishes, brass lamp stands, elaborately carved vessels, richly woven draperies and rugs. I had tried not to stare. But the bathroom had fascinated me most. There was a cosmetic tray filled with many glass bottles like mine, twisted glass rods for applying the creams and dyes, and bone spoons for mixing them.
In the large mirror I had seen my full-length image for the first time. I was pleased with my face, oval and smooth-skinned, with large, well-set eyes. It was still girlish though, and I wondered how I might look painted with the enticing cosmetics. My figure was slim, having recovered nicely from pregnancy.
How will I look after producing the tribe Thomas wants? I had wondered. Well, it's this day that matters. The look of joyful anticipation on my own face brought me back to the present, pleasant moment.
"Joakima, don't you love this mosaic floor? My son-in-law paid handsomely to have these colored tiles set in."
"Oh, yes. It reminds me of our synagogue in Dura-Europas. The walls were covered with colorful mosaic pictures of Persian mythology. I used to study those pictures and pretend they were the people in our stories: Moses, Pharaoh, Samson, Elijah, and — "
"But pagan images! How disgraceful!"
"Really? I never thought about that. It was just something that was always there as long as I could remember."
"Joakima, you need cleansing, indeed!" Sarah had exclaimed, only half in jest.
Before bathing I had washed myself from head to toe. Then I had combed my hair and cut my nails. I even had to take off the rings Thomas and my father had given me. "Nothing must be allowed to come between you and the waters of your purification," Sarah had explained.
Standing barefoot with me on the stone tile floor of the vestibule that led to the arched entrance of the stepped ritual bath, Sarah had released the stopper in the pipe to fill the bath with water from the storage pool. "I will pray a blessing over you" she said. "Remember, you must immerse head-under three times."
Stepping down, down into the cool water, I felt suspended from the world. I was a child again, innocent and trusting, bathing in the waters of the great Euphrates. As I immersed myself fully, it seemed that all my tension, all my cares and worries drained out of me into the water and melted away. When I came up for air, my friend was praying over me.
"Blessed are You, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who have made us holy by Your commandments, and have commanded us concerning the laws of immersion —
"Now go under twice more, Joakima."
I did gladly, and stayed under as long as I could, just letting my body relax and be one with the water. When I finally ascended the steps out of the pool, I felt light and alive and full of laughter.
Sarah enfolded me in the towel. While I stood on the cold tile shivering, she twisted and pinned my hair.
"Ah, these separations and reunions add spice to married life. Going without favorite foods during the week so you may feast on the Sabbath makes it sweeter, don't you think? So also the periods of separation make your marital bed so much richer."
"Sarah, I feel like a new person. We could never do this in Perea where water is so scarce." I slipped into the fresh tunic as my friend hung the towel to dry.
"But this is Jerusalem, where there is always plenty of water! That's why there is always hope in Jerusalem. Why do you think the Hebrew word for water or pool also means hope? But come, we must get you back to your room before your husband returns."
Alone in our room all I could think of was that my husband would soon come and I must be ready for him....