A.D. 30(71)

I knew that he could see into my soul because I felt it being laid bare before me. I knew that he was Yeshua because I was sure that only the most powerful mystic could at once pierce me with such a singular gaze and leave me feeling perfectly safe and unscathed.

The night was still.

He knew me. He knew me through and through and he found no shame in me.

“Two queens sit out in the open,” he said in a soft, rhythmic tone. “And yet the fox who hunts you is not so far away.”

He knew who Phasa was? I thought to glance at her, to see if she saw him as I did, but I could not remove my eyes from his gaze.

He offered a faint smile and dipped his head. “It’s warmer inside. Come. Eat at my table. I will give you food.”

Then he turned, opened the door, stepped past the threshold, and vanished into the tax collector’s home.

Judah’s king had arrived.





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.