Seth’s hope crashed. His stomach seemed to turn over, and it felt like someone had just slugged him in the head. Everything seemed wobbly, blurry.

His father’s knees buckled, sending him to a kneeling position. But still the man looked up at Jesus as if asking for help.

Father, Seth thought, dead is dead. Maybe Rabbi Jesus can heal people who are alive, but no one can reverse death. No one.

One of the neighbors put his hand on the arm of Seth’s father. “Why bother the teacher anymore?”

In the same way that Jesus had looked into the eyes of the woman, he looked into the eyes of Seth’s father. “Don’t be afraid; just believe.”

Seth numbly watched his father nod at Jesus, his face full of hope and trust. Seth wanted so badly to trust as his father did. But he couldn’t. How can I trust this Jesus? He’s only a rabbi. He’s only a man.

Seth looked up at the deep blue of the sky, as if he might find an answer. The sun was so strong, it seemed to bake the top of his head. He touched his hair, and it felt hot. In this heat, bodies would begin to smell very quickly. The thought made him sick.

How could I have wished this on my own sister?

He stood there, letting the crowd flow around him, as people began to follow Jesus and his father toward Seth’s home.

Home? What would home be like without Talitha? His mother would cry a lot, Seth guessed. Otherwise, it would be so quiet. He would have a room all to himself. None of the kids he knew had that.

Talitha, he thought, almost as if he could talk to her. I don’t want my own room. Not like this.

He walked toward home, his steps slow. Soon he noticed that the crowd was breaking up, the people shuffling off in several directions. Seth ran up to a small man and tugged on his tunic. “Excuse me,” he said, “where is everyone going?”

“The teacher said no one could go with him. He will only let the father and three of his men go.” The man shook his head and grumbled. “I don’t know why he won’t allow anyone else to come.”

Seth felt more alone than ever. I can’t even go to my own house, he thought.

He stood in the middle of the street, not knowing what to do.

“Hey, Seth,” a voice behind him said.

Seth turned to see David standing there. David looked down his nose at him. “Do you think it was your sister’s sin or the sin of your family that caused your sister to die?”

Seth glared at him. “It was our sin, David. Our sin.”

David tipped his chin into the air and stomped off.

A hand rested on Seth’s shoulder. “Do you think sometimes death just happens?” Joshua said into his ear. “Maybe it wasn’t anybody’s fault. A fisherman sees death all the time. And it just seems to be a part of living.”

Seth knew Joshua was trying to be kind, but he couldn’t stand to hear any more. Breaking through the crowd, Seth ran as fast as he could. He ran through the streets. He could hear the sounds of the mourners, already beginning their loud cries and wailing.

Not knowing where else to go, he ran toward the synagogue. He ran until his side ached and forced him to slow to a walk.

He stood under the portico, panting. Something inside him had changed. He could feel it.

It was as if a wall had fallen from around his heart. A wall of anger had protected his heart from feeling anything about losing Talitha. But now the wall was gone, as completely as the wall had fallen from around Jericho. But when his wall fell, there seemed to be nothing inside.

It’s like I died too. I died inside. It felt strange that his body kept moving. It felt hollow. His eyes saw things, but it was as if they didn’t really see.

I hated Talitha enough that she died. And I died too.

He wandered away from the synagogue. Then, walking along the path, he left the village. He walked up the hill, not turning around to look at the lake or to walk backward.

Hadn’t he dreamed of this day for a long time? Hadn’t he dreamed of his sister being gone forever, relished what it would be like without her telling him what to do?

But his mother was right. She’d said his sister would be missed, and he missed her already. He would never see her again. He climbed a rock, sitting on it, hugging his knees to his chin.

He could hear the wailing of the people below, the ones surrounding his house. The eerie sound crawled up the hill and under his skin. The women wailed, their moans and calls clouding the air, hanging thickly, covering all other sounds. It gave him chills, prickly sensations.

He put his hands over his ears and tried to keep out the sound. “It’s my fault!” he screamed.

No one heard him, he knew.

He looked down at the village. He knew he should be there, but he couldn’t go. He couldn’t face his mother and father, knowing he was responsible for Talitha’s death. Hadn’t his anger killed her? Hadn’t his wish made her die?

He wondered why he couldn’t cry. It was as if all the tears had turned to stone inside. They were there; he could feel them. But they wouldn’t come out.

He dropped from the rock. He threw himself on the ground, his nose almost to the dirt. A memory came —of when he and Talitha were very little. She had helped him when he’d fallen. She’d gently washed his bloody knee and elbow. She’d sung him a sweet little song and then sent him on his way.

A tear fell, making a dark spot in the dirt.

He remembered how so many times they had talked and laughed and giggled and told stories. They wouldn’t stop until his parents had to come to the door of their room and remind them to be quiet and go to sleep.

Another tear fell, and another.

“A new boy is in our village, Seth,” she had told him once when he was small. “He looks a lot like you. Come with me. I’ll introduce you.” She had taken his hand and taught him how to wind around the houses to find the right one. Then she had said, “Hi, David. Here’s my brother, Seth. You two will be in synagogue school together.”

The tears came faster. His nose began to drip.

He remembered how she’d left him alone with David so that the two could become friends. They would have met in synagogue school in a few days, but she’d been kind enough to introduce them sooner. They had a chance to become friends first, so their first day of synagogue school wouldn’t be quite so scary.

He let the tears fall into the dirt, not stopping them. I’ve been so wrong. She loved me. She was a pest, but she loved me.

He’d done something terrible. He wanted to be forgiven. But there was no way he could get forgiveness from God. He was only a boy, and a boy couldn’t offer a sacrifice. What would happen to him now? He deserved whatever punishment God decided on.

God, please forgive me, his heart screamed. But he couldn’t pray it aloud. He was afraid to. Without a sacrifice, what right did he have to ask God to forgive? Without the shedding of the blood of a perfect animal, there would be no forgiveness.

Seth had never felt so hopeless in his life.

He thought his heart would break open. Then he thought it had. “Rabbi Jesus,” he whispered to the air, “can you really heal? Can you make my sister alive again? If you can, will you? Please?”

He blushed, realizing he’d been fingering his prayer tassel. Had he been praying to a rabbi? Fear raced through him. Blasphemy. He looked around and then up to the sky. God could punish him as He’d punished others in the old days who had done horrible things.

But the ground didn’t open up and swallow him. No fire from heaven fell to burn him up.

Instead of fear, he felt peace.

That was when he noticed something strange. The mourners had stopped. Mourners were paid to show how upset the family was that a loved one had died. How could they stop?

He jumped up, as if by standing he could hear better. Not a sound of a single mourner. They couldn’t stop. Didn’t they know how sorry he was? They must cry —long and loud.

He ran down the hill, slipping, stumbling. He kept running, his chest hurting from breathing so hard.

His feet pounded the streets as he ran to his house. He turned a corner, and then he saw the mourners.

They were laughing! He shook his head. How could they laugh?

Getting closer, he listened. Finally he realized they were mocking someone. They were mocking the rabbi! He swallowed. Rabbi Jesus hadn’t healed his sister? Is that why they were mocking him?

“Excuse me,” he said to one of the mourners. “Why have you stopped crying?”

The woman threw up her arms and laughed to the sky. “The rabbi told us to stop! He told us the little girl wasn’t dead, but asleep! As if we don’t know what dead looks like! We’ve all seen her, and she is dead. I guess the rabbi hasn’t seen death before.” She cackled again.

Seth didn’t know what to think. He wanted to hope that Talitha really had been asleep, that maybe he’d get another chance to be a brother to her —the kind of brother he knew he should have been. But mourners knew what death looked like, didn’t they?

He ducked through the crowd of mourners. He felt the rough edges of cloth rub his face —and smooth linen when he passed those who were more wealthy. Most of them mumbled quietly, complaining about the rabbi.

When Seth reached the courtyard gate, a large man stopped him. “You can’t go in there. Jesus has told everyone to stay outside.”

“But that’s my sister in there,” Seth argued.

“I’m His disciple,” the man replied, “and I’m not even allowed in. Sometimes the Teacher prefers to do His work without people watching. He’s not a show.”

“Can he do it?” asked Seth.

The man smiled. “He is a man of surprises and power. We can only wait and see.”

Moments later the door opened. Seth’s father came out first, looking dazed. His mother was next. She ran to Seth and whispered, “Go find some food and bring it back. Hurry. Soup, broth, anything. Perhaps Rebekah has something. She often begins cooking early.”

“What happened?” Seth asked, his heart pounding.

“Just go. You’ll see when you return. Hurry!” Her eyes sparkled, and she seemed to be trying to hold back a smile.