CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I COULD NOT see the fox so far from the desert, nor understand how grave was the threat that hunted me, as I stood speechless with Phasa and Saba under the moon.

My mind was taken captive by Yeshua’s presence, not by his words. My first encounter with him, all through that evening and the next day, was characterized by something far greater than wisdom or knowledge.

After all, I was not well versed in the religion of the Jews. How could I understand all their clever talk? I was only a woman from the desert. I heard Yeshua with my heart far more clearly than with my mind. I can’t say that I even made much of an attempt to understand his meaning. If such a thing was beyond the grasp of the learned Pharisee, it was for me beyond the stars, cloaked in mystery.

But it made no matter, for it wasn’t Yeshua’s words that made him.

It was the power of his presence. And how great was that power indeed.

I don’t remember following Yeshua into the house with Phasa and Saba, only entering the room to find all five men standing in silence as Yeshua embraced each in turn. Behind me Phasa and Saba breathed steadily, watching over my shoulder.

But Yeshua did not simply offer the customary greeting. His embrace surrounded each man as if only they two existed. He the master and each his sole devout follower. Each bowed in turn, offering only one word.

“Master.”

He neither sought nor rejected the title, but dipped his head in simple acceptance. Even the Pharisee, so esteemed in Jerusalem, might as well have been a cub before a lion here in Galilee.

Yeshua turned to Judah, who had backed away from the table and there stood as stone, eyes like moons.

“You too are from the desert,” Yeshua said.

Judah appeared too struck to speak.

“It’s been a very long journey, my Bedu friend,” Yeshua said, wearing the hint of a smile. “Judah is a good name. I am honored.”

How he knew Judah’s name, I could not guess.

Overcome, Judah fell to his knees and bowed his head.

“I am your humble slave! Send me and I will go. Call for me and I will come. My sword is yours and my heart rests in your hands. Use it as you will.”

Seemingly intrigued, Yeshua raised his brow and turned his eyes toward the one called Peter. Despite the fisherman’s questions regarding his master, they shared a special bond, I thought. Peter seemed to be a simple and kind man, filled with more passion than knowledge. Evidently Yeshua found his qualities appealing.

“Then lift your head and give me your heart as brother, not slave,” Yeshua said to Judah.

Judah did so immediately, eyes misted. He grasped Yeshua’s hand and kissed it.

“I am yours,” he said. Then kissed the hand again. “I am utterly yours.”

Yeshua gently placed his hand on Judah’s head. “Rise and eat. Tomorrow brings its own temptations and troubles. Tonight we break bread and drink wine.”

Yeshua looked at me and the others at my back, and then, without so much as casting a glance to the Pharisee standing at the far end of the table, spoke to him.

“Before I came tonight, you were inquiring of the kingdom of heaven, Nicodemus?”

The answer came haltingly from the Pharisee, for they knew Yeshua could not have heard them.

“Yes, Rabbi.”

Yeshua kept his eyes on me until I thought I might not breathe.

“We are honored to have guests from another kingdom so distant. Honor them with your seat, my friend, and I will tell you what you long to hear.”

I might have protested had I not been so disordered by my own emotions. According to Phasa, foreigners could never sit at a Pharisee’s table, much less take the seat of honor, for in their tradition all foreigners were gentiles and evildoers. And we, two women, all the worse. Neither their customs nor their god would look upon it kindly.

“Of course,” Nicodemus muttered.

Yeshua nodded at Phasa. “You will be safe here. Your covering is not required.” He passed a bowl of water but did not wash his own hands before sitting on the stone bench across from Judah.

Levi ushered us to the table without making eye contact, allowing Saba to sit at the end and Phasa and me to sit on either side, at the corners. Phasa moved haltingly, without removing her covering, surely terrified that she was known and at the mercy of conspirators.

To all this Yeshua paid no mind, occupied instead with uncovering the food and pouring the wine. He gave me a glance and an encouraging smile as we were seated.

His eyes were brown, but to describe them so misses the point. They did not look at me; they swallowed me. They cherished me. With even one glance from him, the world seemed to still and shift. How can such a thing be described with mere words?

I don’t recall their blessing of the food, only that there was one. Nor can I recount the small talk, for there was little. Nor any weighty talk, for they all seemed to be waiting. Yeshua did not immediately offer any teaching on the kingdom, occupied for the moment with each bite of his food.

Phasa finally slipped the covering from her face so that she could eat, but she left the mantle over her head. She looked at me with the eyes of a child but remained silent, as did Saba.

I watched Yeshua’s strong hands as he tore off bread and dipped it first into olive oil, then vinegar before eating. I watched his throat as he swallowed, and his mouth as he chewed. His light-brown eyes, glinting warmly by the firelight. The way he lifted his cup and drank.

I didn’t see him the way a woman sees a man, but as a mystic who had seen things I couldn’t begin to fathom—one who could affect my heart from across the table without so much as a look.

And yet certainly a man, perhaps not yet thirty.

One who was hungry and thirsty and enjoyed food, particularly the ripest of the olives and figs.

A man with dust on his cloak and hair, tangled by the wind in the hills where he’d gone for his contemplations. A man who looked bone-weary save for his bright eyes, which shone with a life that could not be extinguished. I wondered what was in his mind as he ate. What had his childhood been like? What did he think of his mother, Miriam? Why had his brothers dismissed him as a madman? What kind of suffering had delivered him to this place? What kind of woman had he loved or married, if any? What was he like when he became angry or when he wept?

I dared watch him, wondering if he knew my thoughts as well, not caring if the men thought my gaze offensive, for I knew that their master did not.

I knew men to exchange the news while eating food, always, but in that room even Judah remained silent. There were only the sounds of eating and the occasional comment regarding the food or the weather. Few remarks were added except a “Yes, of course,” or a “Very good, yes, very good indeed.”

They were waiting. Waiting for Yeshua. We were all waiting.

We were this way for perhaps half of the hour before matters of significance were finally set upon the table by Judah, the lion who had anticipated this night for so long.

“Master…” He leaned into the table, voice low and intent. “I have come from—”

“Yes, Judah,” Yeshua said, lifting his intriguing eyes to him. “And you too wish to know what Nicodemus has come to understand.”

Judah glanced at the Pharisee. “Yes.”

The master reached for a fig and turned it in his fingers. Not a soul stirred.

“My Father has hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and revealed them to infants. Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

In response to this Judah only stared. I assumed Yeshua meant that one could not enter this kingdom of heaven without first becoming like a trusting child. Did an infant have great intellect? Then the mind must be changed to be like that of a child who simply trusted. This then was his way, as the Pharisee had suggested. And even if I was mistaken, I could not doubt that he spoke the truth because of the unwavering surety and gentleness with which he uttered each word.

Yeshua looked from one of us to another, gathering each of us in his gaze.

“And yet you wish to know more of the kingdom of heaven.” A mischievous sparkle lit his eyes, daring us to hear. “Then know that it is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.”

This then was one of his parables—these moshel, as suggested by Nicodemus earlier—and the master said it as if its meaning should be unmistakable.

But he said more.

“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it.”

In the shortest order Yeshua had chided the great wisdom of Nicodemus, first by suggesting that he must indeed become like an infant yet again, to see with new eyes. And then by suggesting that the kingdom was within, buried from sight, found only by those who would forsake all for its value.

“You have heard me say, ‘Do not store up for yourself treasures on earth where moths and vermin destroy… but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven… for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.’ And so it is. But have I not also said that the kingdom of God is within you? And have I not said that you cannot enter unless you change your mind? For I have said often, repent, for the kingdom is at hand. Then you will see and know that what I say is true.”

To repent meant to go beyond one’s way of thinking, this I knew also from the Greek of the same word, metanoia. In his own way, Yeshua was throwing into madness all that was held dear about wisdom, thereby making it foolish to the learned, and wise only to the infant.

“Faith,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” He paused. “If anyone steadfastly believes in me, he will himself be able to do the things that I do; and he will do even greater things than these.”

If there had been a mustard seed in his fingers and he’d dropped it, I think we might have heard it strike the table in that moment. What did it mean to trust steadfastly in him? I did not yet know.

“Hear what I have said and you will know. Yes, Nicodemus?”

The esteemed teacher dipped his head. “As you say, Ra—”

“Good. Now let me tell you a story of another kind,” Yeshua said.

He took a small bite from the fig and leaned against the wall at his back.

“The kingdom of heaven is like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted his wealth to them. To one he gave five bags of gold, to another two bags, and to another one bag, each according to his ability. Then he went on his journey.”

He paused, letting the scenario settle in.

“The man who had received five bags of gold went at once and put his money to work and gained five bags more. So also, the one with two bags of gold gained two more. But the man who had received one bag went off, dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money. After a long time the master of those servants returned and settled accounts with them. The man who had received five bags of gold brought the other five. ‘Master,’ he said, ‘you entrusted me with five bags of gold. See, I have gained five more.’ His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’ The man with two bags of gold also came. ‘Master,’ he said, ‘you entrusted me with two bags of gold; see, I have gained two more.’ His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant!’ ”

Yeshua turned his eyes to me now, and I was certain that he spoke only to me, though I knew it could not be.

“Then the man who had received one bag of gold came. ‘Master,’ he said, ‘I knew that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed. So I was afraid and went out and hid your gold in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.’ ”

A hard master who was unfair. My mind immediately went to all the men who had used me for their gain. He was speaking of the hardship of life. And yet the last servant had done well to preserve what had been entrusted to him, as had I, and for this he would surely be praised.

Yeshua leaned into the table now. He spoke in a soft tone, so that each of us clung to his every word, but his eyes were on me.

“His master replied, ‘You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed? Well then, you should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest. So take the bag of gold from him and give it to the one who has ten bags. For everyone who has will be given more, and he will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken from him. And throw that worthless servant outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ ”

So harsh was this master? But yes—we all knew the world to be a cruel master. No one moved and I was sure they were looking at me.

Yeshua pushed himself back from the table, stood, and rounded to my side. I was so astonished by his approach that I began to panic. I thought I must kneel as Judah had, and I began to move off my seat, terrified that he had come to rebuke me.

But before I could, he held out an open hand. There was no rebuke in his soft eyes, only acceptance and understanding. So I placed my hand in his, aware that mine was trembling. His fingers, warm and strong, gently closed about my hand.

A surge of heat spread up my arm and swallowed my mind, and with it came a low hum, like a breeze softly moaning through a window. Perhaps it was only the blood rushing through my head, but I suddenly felt as though I could not breathe.

“Do not allow fear to bind you up, dear one,” he said. Immediately tears sprang to my eyes. “You will only lose what you already have. Accept what is given now.”

I had until then thought shame to be my greatest burden, but the moment he said “fear,” I knew the truth. For fear had followed me all my life. Though I masked myself in my role as a woman, my heart trembled always. I was lost in fear.

Fear of not being worthy. Fear of being outcast. Fear of failing my father and all of the Kalb.

Fear of being worthless.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, an overflow of the courage poured into me by his words. I meant to respond with gratitude, but my throat would not speak.

Before I could collect myself, he turned to Saba. Then he released my hand and looked at Phasa, who could not tear her eyes from him.

“When you hear of the coming wrath, you must pay it mind and flee.”

She offered him a shallow nod, though surely as lost as a fox at sea.

Yeshua turned from us and sighed. “Now I must retire, my friends. The day is late and many will come tomorrow.”

With that he walked to the short hallway that led to the door, and only there turned.

“Judah.”

“Yes, master.”

“Seek first the kingdom of God. All else will be added.”

“Yes, master. I will. I swear it by the heavens themselves, I swear it!”

“Only a yes or a no will do.”

Judah hesitated. “Yes.”

Yeshua offered him one final nod, turned, and left the house.

More than I saw him vanish from our sight, I could feel his presence leave the room.

“You see what I mean,” Nicodemus said when the silence grew thick.

And I did, I thought. I saw.

I SAW all that night and all the next morning with the eyes of my heart.

Phasa and I were given room in a far part of Levi’s house and there lay in the darkness, left to our thoughts. I held Yeshua’s face in my mind, as if he were yet gazing across the table with those haunting, kind eyes that swallowed my soul and brought me such comfort.

I saw why Peter and Andrew and Levi had left their tasks to follow him. I saw why Nicodemus, an esteemed member of the Sanhedrin, had sought him out and risked so much to meet him yet again in Galilee.

I saw why Judah had been obsessed with meeting this mystic, whose powers were beyond comprehension.

“What could he have meant?” Phasa asked as we lay in the dark.

“About being hunted by the fox?”

“Yes.”

I had meant to leave the love-sick Herod to his own misery, for matters of marriage among royals weren’t mine in which to meddle. But emboldened by Yeshua, I felt no compulsion to hide what I knew.

“Herod is in love with another woman,” I said.

“This is not a revelation.”

“Did you feel his presence, Phasa? Did you feel Yeshua’s power?”

She was silent for only a moment.

“He seems to know what cannot be known. So I ask again, what must I flee?”

“I think Herod intends to take another wife. He seems consumed by his need to be loved as he would love.”

“Another? My father would never have it!”

“So, then, perhaps danger awaits.”

“Did Yeshua not say that you too were in danger?”

My mind returned to our first meeting, in the courtyard. Two queens sit out in the open, he’d said. And yet the fox who hunts you is not so far away.

I could not understand how or why Herod would hunt me. Only if I fled, but I had no intention of doing so. Perhaps then Saman bin Shariqat and the Thamud had pursued me after all and were now close. Or what if my brother, Maliku, had been sent to destroy me? But they would not hunt Phasa as well.

Who was this fox?

“Yes,” I said. But we spoke of the warning no more that night.

The next morning hundreds came to the hillside beyond Capernaum like ants traveling to the mound for food.

Yeshua’s food was the same he’d offered me, not bread for the belly, but sustenance for the soul.

His words from the previous evening came to me all through the day. Do not allow fear to bind you up, dear one. You will only lose what you already have. Accept what is given now.

Now I was on a mission to save my father and restore honor to the Kalb. I, a woman who brought no shame to this teacher of such repute.

And were his words about fear not also true for all those oppressed under the fist of Rome? Do not resist but accept, he would surely say. This is the lot given you. Do not cringe in fear, for you will only lose what you already have. Rome is a harsh taskmaster, as is all of life. Do not fear it.

Judah remained with the other disciples, Jews all. Peter, Levi, Andrew, and several others whom I did not know. They stayed close to Yeshua, hurrying to help like servants of a king.

Nicodemus had left in the morning, I was told, for he could not be seen with Yeshua in public.

I remained with Phasa and Saba under the shade of a tree, within hearing of Yeshua when he spoke for all to hear.

What I heard remained for the most part mystery to me, but I didn’t care. I knew that I was witness to the turning of some great tide.

Happy are the poor in spirit, he said, speaking of humility, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Happy are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Happy are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Happy are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.

But this made little sense. He was speaking of what was seen as weak as leading to fulfillment. It was the way of the world turned on its head.

Then, speaking in my direction so that I was sure he could see me as he spoke: Happy are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

As when he’d told the story of the treasure in the field, I knew then that a pure, undivided focus was required to find Yeshua’s treasure. Like that of a child fixated on a simple task with the faith that it could be done.

But he said more.

You are the light of the world, he said to all the people gathered—young and old, men and women, diseased and whole, clean and unclean. Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. And when he said “in heaven,” I immediately recalled that this kingdom of heaven was now at hand and within me.

But was I also the light as he claimed? How could I be? I saw only darkness in my life.

The eye is the lamp of the body, he said. If your eye is clear, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. And more: How can you say to your brother, “Let me take the speck out of your eye,” when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly.

The problem with my life, then, was my own eyes, I thought. My perspective of the world determined whether I saw light or darkness, offense or mercy. I was blinded by a plank of grievance and saw only darkness.

Give me new eyes, I found myself begging. Remove this plank from my eyes that I might see the same light that you see.

Yeshua’s Father was near, shared by all, for he said “your Father,” which made Yeshua’s Father my true Father, did it not? Was I then this god’s daughter? And if I had been a man, would I not be his son? Why else would Yeshua call him my Father?

His affection for the Father was plain even in the way he gently said that word, Father, sometimes using the more intimate expression Abba, as little children might call their father. Unless you become like a child…

His intimate union with his Father was a mystery to me, for I could not conceive of such a father. Yet his words and his presence pulled at my heart in ways that stilled my breathing.

And his compassion for the children was unlike any man I had seen. When others tried to send them away as was the custom for all peoples in the desert, Yeshua bid them come. And the moment he smiled and stroked their hair they calmed and returned his gaze with wide wonder in their eyes.

He was a father to them, I thought, and seemed to hold them in the highest regard, for it was to simple minds like theirs that Yeshua’s Father revealed himself.

I thought of my own son and prayed that he was now with a Father so loving. With Yeshua’s god, which he claimed to be the only god. In that moment I prayed it to be so.

As Nicodemus had said the previous evening, Yeshua often recited their sacred law given by their god, speaking for all to hear, “You have heard it said…” and then speaking of a different way, saying, “But I say to you.” And each time I wondered if he invited great danger by speaking blasphemy against their religion.

But surely no one could stand against a man with such power.

You have heard it said, “Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth,” he said. But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.

Love your enemies, he said. But these teachings I could not comprehend, for they crushed my need for retribution. Even so, I was in awe of him.

Do not judge or you too will be judged, he said. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged.

Who could go through life not judging the Thamud or the Romans? It seemed impossible to me. But he said even more.

The Father judges no one, but has given all judgment to the Son. And then immediately of himself as judge, Do not think I will accuse you before the Father. Your accuser is Moses, on whom your hopes are set.

Then I would know this Father, I thought. Not a god who demanded the stoning of a shamed woman. Nor the gods of the Bedu, full of retribution and punishment. But this Father who was Yeshua’s Father.

And further, I would gladly allow Yeshua, this Father’s son, to judge me, for he would not accuse me before the Father. The sytem of the law on earth was their judge and mine, and a false one at that, surely. In either case Yeshua would not condemn me but surely follow his own teaching and turn his cheek if I offended him, just as he taught others to do.

To be so loved without condition was beyond my comprehension.

Perhaps I was misunderstanding. Who could love in such a way?

He spoke also of dividing the sheep and the goats—those who loved the outcasts and those who did not. Those who did not would endure terrible suffering. This I knew to be scandalous to the Jews, because their religion taught that if a person was outcast or unclean or ill or poor, it was punishment from their god for sins and uncleanliness.

Yet Yeshua said to treat those same poor and outcast with love and kindness, for this was how the Father loved them all.

But he went even further, having the audacity to personally identify with those outcasts and downtrodden, saying: Truly, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.

He was equating himself with those their religion said were deserving of their punishment. Truly he loved them as himself. Was he then saying that I should look at the hungry and downtrodden and see them as if they too were Yeshua? It seemed to stand all reason on its head.

But I was naïve about their customs and could not know the intricacies of his teachings. I only heard what I heard and made of it what I could, overwhelmed by the good news that fell upon my ears that day.

Everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. Everyone who hears these words and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.

The teaching returned to me thoughts of the shifting sands of the Nafud and how easily one could sink. And of Petra, that renowned city of rock from which Phasa had come to marry Herod.

His preoccupation seemed to be this: We were to see the world with new eyes, and with a new heart of love as the Father loves. We were to love the unclean and clean alike rather than judge them for their sin; to love even enemies; to live as the Father’s children by loving as he loves, without judgment, for the Father judged no one.

This was how Yeshua and his Father loved me, and it was too staggering to comprehend.

Yeshua spoke of many things, but always it was his presence that spoke with even more authority than his words. Indeed, I did not speak to him that day, for the demands on him were great, but I felt no need to—being close to him and listening to such powerful words flow from a place deep within him were enough.

Later I saw for the first time Yeshua undo what had been done in the physical realm. I was standing with Phasa and Saba, gazing out at the waters, for Saba was searching for our boat captain, Elias.

“He is there, tending the boat,” Saba finally said, pointing. “The sun is high, we must leave soon. We cannot be gone yet another night or the palace guard in Sepphoris will grow suspicious. We must leave—”

“Look!” Phasa cried.

I turned to follow her gaze. A woman dressed in rags lay prostrate on the grass before Yeshua, who knelt on one knee before a young boy, hand on the boy’s cheek. The mother was weeping, begging for her son, who looked to be starving, for his arms and legs appeared as sticks. But it was the boy’s hands that caught my eye.

They were crooked and withered at the wrists, like broken branches.

Yeshua took the young boy’s hands in his own as I watched. He then put one hand behind the boy’s neck and pulled him close to his breast, as a father might his son.

I could not hear the words he whispered in the boy’s ears, but I saw the boy begin to sob as Yeshua held him. And I watched the boy’s crippled hands as he attempted and failed to clutch Yeshua’s cloak.

Before my very eyes, the hands began to straighten. I could not fathom what I was seeing, but neither could I deny it. Like trees emerging from the earth, the boy’s hands grew. Even Saba gasped.

Yeshua’s words whispered through my ears: You can say to this mountain, “Move from here to there,” and it will move.

It took only a few moments, and then Yeshua kissed the boy on the forehead and whispered something else in his ear.

The boy looked at his hands, aghast. His mother was scrambling to her knees, stunned. Then the boy began to cry out, not with fear or sorrow, but with shock and joy, for his hands were those of any boy’s, perfectly formed. He wriggled his fingers before his face, surely for the first time in his life.

“How is this possible?” Saba whispered.

Indeed, how? I could not contain my smile.

Pandemonium broke out about Yeshua, but I will never forget what he did next, for even as they expressed their wonder and praise, he calmly looked over to where I stood not twenty paces distant on the hill.

The breeze lifted his hair and swept the cloak about his feet. I saw a man who was tired, though the day was young. A man who bore more than the weight of this world upon his shoulders. Who knew far more than he could possibly say.

And I saw a man who loved me as he loved the boy, in a way that none other had nor could. For this love I would die.

Then Yeshua smiled at me.

Just one slight, knowing smile, but it delivered to me more comfort and revelation than even his undoing of a crooked limb. He was indeed the Father’s son, I thought. And was I not his sister?

He loved all as if they were his brothers and his sisters. How he loved them, equating himself with those who were downtrodden and unclean, demanding they be treated as though they were he. All of life had enslaved me, for I too had been the lowest of the low. Yet Yeshua loved me as his own.

And as he looked into my eyes, I loved him in a way I had not known was possible.

Judah had come to find his king, and he had. But Yeshua had found me.

And yet I was still blind to his way of seeing the world.