AS THE DAYS LIMPED ON, governed by the unremitting dread of the temple guards arriving to take Rafael away, and Shana no longer having the hope of his escape to hang onto, her body began to show signs of severe physical and emotional strain. It felt as though ever-widening cracks were opening up inside her, separating her into little pieces that were beginning to drift apart. Her hands shook constantly and waves of dizziness often unbalanced her. Nausea lay like sludge in the base of her stomach and her longing for her husband and children became intolerable.
Something relatively normal in her work day finally brought her to the end of her resources. She was in the prison kitchen one afternoon, scraping the hardened remains of uneaten food off a heap of bowls when Lily told her that they had been ordered into the lower section to clean vomit from one of the empty cells where a man had died. Something snapped inside her. Her knees suddenly buckled and she fell forward onto the floor and pulled herself into a foetal position. A terrible rage exploded inside her – rage against the helplessness of those who suffered at the hands of the powerful and all the broken ugliness of what should have been a beautiful world. Not even Yeshua had been able to make it right, not even by giving up his life to heal the corrupted souls of men. Few had noticed or cared, few had recognised him for who he was, and so people continued to suffer and die, helpless victims of their own or others’ sin.
Crazed with frustration, she began to beat the floor with her fists, only half aware of the pain. She grabbed a nearby pitcher with both hands and threw it as hard as she could at the wall, shocked to see herself repeating her father’s destructive reactions but gaining morbid satisfaction when the pitcher smashed and threw a rain of jagged pieces over her head. One shard bit into her cheek and she felt the blood flowing together with her tears. She heard her own hoarse cries rasping in her throat while the steady fragmenting of herself travelled up her arms and spread throughout her body until a red-hot blackness erupted in her brain.
Lily took hold of her shoulders and shook her with such violence that her teeth bit into her tongue.
“Stop it! Stop it!” she hissed in an urgent whisper and slapped her hard across her face, sending her reeling backwards into the wall, where she stood gulping, hollow with shock.
Lily ran out to fetch some water and Shana sank to the floor again and leant limply against the wall. She had retreated to a distant place within herself from where she could view her body dispassionately, and she listened to the dull thumping in her head, becoming absorbed in its relentless rhythm. This curiously pulsing organism that was her body had a life of its own, quite separate from her. The throbbing gradually converged onto the side of one hand, sending shocks of pain up her arm. She did not care. With a vague motion, she brushed the coagulating blood from her cheek and then stared at the shining crimson streak on the back of her hand with surprised interest.
It was restful like this – this giving up. She yawned and wanted to sleep, but Lily returned and told her to wash herself and go and wait outside until it was time to go home. She got up slowly, swaying like a drunk, and meekly obeyed.
Later, she followed Lily out of the gates and into the city, her vision only extending as far as Lily’s back, everything else a blur. Her legs moved by themselves, propelling her along a path mapped out for her before the beginning of time.
Once indoors, she collapsed onto her mat, where she lay with her eyes open, fixed on nothingness, so tired, so very tired, as though her body had been drained of its life force. Gone was the torment she had borne for what seemed an eternity. The prison no longer existed, nothing did. She waited to die, welcomed it to herself, ready and submitted, wanting only to perish along with Rafael and end this brutal ordeal. She wondered vaguely whether death would come quietly in this way, or pass her by, but even that no longer mattered. She thought dreamily of her children and was glad they had Beth.
Lily brought her a bowl of soup and coaxed her to drink a little, and then pulled a cover over her. Shana could hear her creeping around the room, putting things down carefully so as not to disturb her. She slept and woke, slept and woke, hardly moving throughout the night. In the morning, Lily told her to stay where she was and went off to the prison alone. It was blissfully peaceful, cocooned in this semi-oblivion, with only the monotonous throbbing of bruised nerves in her hand insisting that she was still alive.
Sometime in the afternoon, Shana emerged from a deep, deep sleep. Still in a stupor, she sat up and looked about her. A frayed rug hung crookedly across one corner of the room in a vain attempt to divide the space. Three threadbare, flat cushions lay on the clay floor around a small broken table, which was propped up on one side with a stone. A chipped water jug stood by the door, a torn cloak hung from a rail – everything broken, the whole of Lily’s life, worn out and broken.
Shana got up and went to sit outside in the sun. Strength began to seep slowly back into her body. She did not welcome it because with it came the faint return of the effort required to clutch onto life, to keep herself together in this deep pit of despair. She closed her eyes and sighed. She would of course have to go on; she had no choice. But it was only for Rafael and her children.
The next morning she returned to work, subdued and resigned. Somehow this shielded her from the unpleasantness of her environment and made it easier to go through the motions – scrubbing, gagging, shovelling, aching, what did it matter? What would be, would be. So this was what it was like then, the process that drove the life out of people little by little until only a husk remained, like Lily, who continued to function automatically, existing meaninglessly through the nameless days until the end came.
She visited Haziel on the Sabbath to take a break from Lily. She still did not have the energy to face the triumphant zeal of the brotherhood when she herself was so spiritually depleted.
“Has someone hurt you?” asked Haziel, looking closely at the cut on her cheek, his muscled shoulders tensing.
“No, I broke a jug and a shard threw up.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve come, because the harness maker’s wife next door brought me a huge meal last night, enough to feed two of me, and you look like you could do with some fattening up; you’re as thin as a beggar and twice as glum. I think it’s time you returned home.”
“I can’t, I–“
“Why not? Don’t you think your children need you?” Haziel demanded.
Shana sat down heavily. “I know they’re safe with Beth, and Rafael needs me more.”
“Does he even know you are here? And if he does, I’m quite certain he would prefer you to be at home.”
Shana looked around despondently, wishing she did not have to think about this. “Yes . . . no. I don’t know . . . what he’d prefer I mean. I’ve been warned not to have any contact with the brothers who visit the prisoners and I seldom see any of them. I–I just know I need to be here. Every time I think of going home, it’s as if . . . as if I would be leaving him here to die, as though his survival somehow depends on me. I can’t explain it.”
“All I can say is that you won’t be much good to him if you go on the way you are now,” Haziel stated matter-of-factly.
Shana did not talk much during the meal and when she did, her voice was flat and lifeless, and her feeble attempts at gaiety fell like dry leaves to the ground. Haziel treated her as though she were fragile; she would have preferred his teasing sarcasm. When he asked her to explain exactly where she was staying, he strongly disapproved, saying it was only fit for dogs. When she left, his expression was one of puzzled concern, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that she had somehow let him down.
A few days later, while she and Lily were preparing for bed, there was a knock on the door. Lily blanched, and Shana saw the fear spiking her eyes.
“Who is it?” asked Lily hoarsely.
“We’re looking for Shana. Is she here?”
Shana flung open the door. It was two of the men she had met at Anna’s house.
“We’ve all been wondering why you have not come to a meeting and thought you must have gone back home, because no one has seen you at the prison for a while. We’ve been concerned about you but had no way of locating you. Your cousin went over to Anna last night and told her where you’re staying. He said you needed help.”
“I–I could not get to a meeting from here,” said Shana. “I’m sorry to have caused concern.”
“Will you come with us now? We’re getting together at one of the sister’s houses. Everyone would be relieved to see you.”
Shana grabbed her cloak and told Lily she would be back later. Perhaps being among the Master’s friends might help her connect with him again, rekindle her faith and help her find her way out of this dense fog. It was immediately reassuring to be taken charge of by the two men, one on either side of her as they escorted her across the city. Their masculine strength reminded her of the protective shield her husband had provided, which she had not been much aware of until now that she was without it. It was more than mere physical protection, such as Haziel gave her; it was a spiritual covering as well.
Shana was welcomed with genuine affection into the small, crowded room. She managed to smile bravely through the greetings, but as soon as somebody asked her how she was, the tears started and nothing would stop them. Anna wrapped her arms around her and let her cry, while the others gathered around, laying loving hands upon her and murmuring words of prayer. It was the Lord himself who held her in his shepherd arms, and she rested there in the healing stream that flowed through her brothers and sisters, soaking in a river of love, which flushed out the infection in her soul and washed away the darkness.
After a while, they all sat around and listened while she poured out her story in a jumble of disconnected sentences – her constant concern for Rafael as well as all the horror and trauma of what she had seen and experienced. She decided not to mention her failed rescue attempt but told them about hearing the underground singing, about Lily’s kindness towards her, and how the flooding of the cell turned into a blessing. As she recounted these things, she began to feel better.
“A brother, who is not here tonight, was able to see Rafael,” said Anna.
Shana gasped. “How is he? What did he say?”
“He is strong. He said you are not to worry about him at all and to tell you that he will love you forever.”
“Oh,” said Shana, breathlessly. She leant back and closed her eyes, savouring each precious word which had formed a tenuous connection between them again. Then a fearful thought interrupted this brief solace. What did he mean by this message? Was he trying to comfort her because he knew he would never see her again and wanted to assure her of his eternal love?
Need for him blazed up like a furnace. Oh, how she ached for his presence, to look up and see his smile again, put her hand in his and feel the possessive clasp of his fingers and step into the haven of his arms where she belonged. She began to cry again, digging her nails into her palms against the encroaching fear.
“Keep trusting in God,” someone said – meaning well but hitting a raw nerve.
“How can I trust?” she cried out, “when he might die. How can I trust?”
Anna sat down next to her and muffled her voice against her bosom. “Hush, my lamb, we need to be quiet, but you can weep as much as you need to. You are among family and we all deeply share your distress.”
All the suppressed anguish broke loose, and Shana sobbed like a broken-hearted child, feeling vaguely foolish but beyond caring. Peter knelt in front of her and waited until her tears were spent, then took her hand and spoke tenderly. “I know this is difficult to understand, Shana, but the Lord has given you a way to remain strong in this trial.”
“What is that?” she asked, sniffing.
“He has given you his joy.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “Joy? How can that be possible?”
“Listen to me, I’m going to ask you a very hard question. Can you accept the possibility that Rafael might be one who is called to give his life for the gospel?”
Shana felt the blood drain out of her. She wanted to put her hands over her ears and run out of here before he could say any more, but he was already speaking the words she did not want to hear.
“Some of us have been chosen before the beginning of time, to follow our Master even unto death. If your husband is among those, his life will not be taken from him outside the will of God.”
She clung to Peter’s hand, her whole body trembling violently.
“I know this calls for a measure of trust few of us are required to exercise, but God is requiring it of you, Shana – to trust him no matter what. Can you release your husband into God’s hands?”
“So that he can take him away from me?” Shana’s voice rose in a plaintive whimper.
Peter looked directly at her. “Releasing him does not necessarily mean that at all. It only means that you relinquish the effort of trying to control the situation yourself and instead trust in the goodness of the Lord. His purposes are only good – for you, for Rafael, and for his kingdom, both now and in the age to come.”
“O God,” she moaned, turning away and trying to free her hand, but Peter’s voice went on, clear and gentle.
“You cannot hold on to another’s life by the power of your will and desire, much less by your anxiety. Neither can you lessen the suffering of another by taking it onto yourself. The Lord has not laid Rafael’s portion on you on top of your own. You are carrying burdens the Lord has not given you to carry, and it will crush you, as indeed it has done. We will not stop praying in faith for our brother’s safe release and continue to do whatever we can for him, but ultimately we must submit him into God’s loving hands and trust that only he knows what is best. Can you do that?”
Shana was silent. The crushing pressure on her chest hurt abominably. She knew Peter was right; Haziel had said the same, as indeed had Rafael too. She could not fight single-handedly against the circumstances thrust upon her and her husband, as though by her own determination she could force God’s hand. She thought of how the rabbi Yeshua humbly and peaceably accepted every difficulty along his path, submitting to his Father in complete trust. Joy was an integral part of his personality, a joy that drew people to him like a magnet. She remembered his easy laughter, his thoughtfulness, his calm patience even when harassed on every side by demanding crowds and the threats of brutal enemies. She could sense him now, filled with love and compassion, smiling at her reassuringly. But she could also see the uncompromising flint in his eyes and knew that it was he, not Peter, who asked her this question.
The friends began to sing softly, offering songs of worship to the Holy One of Israel. Afterwards, Peter spoke about Yeshua’s imminent return.
"Although we have trouble in this present evil age, those who trust in God are kept safe in his love, no matter the circumstances. But the days are coming when we will see the King in his beauty, when his reign of justice and righteousness will cause the earth to flourish in abundance like Eden. There will be no more evil or crying, or sorrow or pain, no more war or destruction; the wolf and lamb will feed together, and the lion eat grass like the ox. This is our hope, our reason to rejoice! Gladness and everlasting joy are ours now and forevermore.”
Shana thrilled at his words and her spirit began to soar. Peter looked around at them all with an expression of wonderment before delivering his profound conclusion. “Every one of us is individually chosen and called to play our part in establishing this kingdom.”
Surely this meant each choice, each action, even one's attitude in response to every circumstance, made a difference. And could it be possible that what she and Rafael were suffering now could impact the bringing forth of this glorious kingdom? Should she be unwilling to do her part when it would result in such glory? She thought of her husband's steady devotion to the King of all Kings. He would not be unwilling, no matter what it took.
Suddenly, she was transported into another realm, far beyond the here and now and her brief years on earth. For a moment she stepped into the vast forever, infinitely more wonderful than the present world, where exquisite sounds, colours and sights swirled behind a veil, just out of reach.
But it was only a fleeting glimpse, and once again Shana was confronted with her predicament.
“I have an encouragement for you which I believe is from the Lord,” said one of the men. “It is taken from the book of Isaiah, and I will speak it as the Lord would say it to you personally.” He sat down next to Shana and took her hand. “This is what the Lord says: 'I am the Lord your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Shana, do not fear; I will help you. Do not be afraid, for I myself will help you,' declares the Lord, your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel. 'You are my servant; I have chosen you and have not rejected you. So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.'"
These words, like drops of living water, soaked deep into Shana’s parched soul. By the time they all prayed together at the end of the evening, she was able to offer up a hesitant prayer, asking God to help her do what he was asking, to enable her to surrender her life, as well as Rafael’s, into his capable, loving hands.