Mary of Nazareth (31 page)

On Yeshua's cross, these words were written on a board: Yeshua, king of the Jews. In Hebrew, in Aramaic, in Greek, and in the language of Rome—all the languages of Israel. The Romans knew that the people of Jerusalem had called Yeshua this before the Temple. They wanted to humiliate all those who had believed in him.

May Mariamne remember, the mercenaries kept us, the women, at a distance, with their spears lowered. Mariamne begged and became angry, but to no avail. They would not even listen to Claudia, the wife of Pilate.

When the sun was high, the onlookers came in large numbers. Some cried, Is it there, on your cross, that you will rebuild the Temple? Others felt pity and remained silent.

Joseph of Arimathea and the disciples from Beth Zabdai arrived. They went and stood beneath the cross and chased away the people who had been shouting. Nicodemus arrived on a chair carried by his servants. His body suspended on the cross, Yeshua spoke. We women could not hear the words he was saying. I said to Mariamne, Look, he is alive. As long as his lips move, I know he is alive. And I, seeing him like this, it was as if I were dead.

The sun was higher and higher. The heat increased, and there was almost no shade. The centurion Longinus, he whose daughter Yeshua brought out of illness in Capernaum, arrived. Longinus made a sign to Claudia. He ignored Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus. He ignored us who were being kept at a distance. He talked to the soldiers at the foot of the cross, and they laughed. Their laughter went right through me. Longinus was playing the role assigned him by Joseph of Arimathea, but this laughter was unbearable.

Mariamne, the sister of my heart, exclaimed, What shame! This Roman whose daughter was saved by Yeshua, and now here he is mocking. Infamy on him! The mercenaries silenced her. May she remember and forgive me. I who knew, I did not soothe her pain. I remained silent. It was the price I had to pay for the life of my son.

Joseph of Arimathea pointed to Yeshua and said, His lips are cracked with thirst. Nicodemus said, Let him drink. The disciples from Beth Zabdai cried, We must give him to drink. The centurion Longinus said, That is good. He gave the order to the mercenaries.

A soldier went to dip a cloth in a jar. Longinus had warned us, They are filled with vinegar. Thus Rome quenches the thirst of the condemned men by adding suffering to suffering. Longinus stopped the mercenary's hand. He handed him another jug, which Nicodemus had brought in his cart without anyone noticing. Longinus said to the soldier, Use this vinegar instead. It is stronger, more suited to the king of the Jews. He laughed when the soldier dipped the cloth.

Mariamne cried out by my side. The mercenaries pushed us back harshly. I had no more breath in me. I feared everything. With the point of his spear, the mercenary stuffed the cloth into Yeshua's mouth. I knew what was to happen, and yet my heart stopped beating.

Yeshua's head tipped onto his chest. His eyes were closed. He might have been dead.

Mariamne fell to the ground. May she forgive my silence. I, too, did not know if my son was alive or dead. I did not know the will of the Almighty.

Large numbers were drawn by our cries and tears. The crowd pressed around Yeshua's cross. We heard the words, There is the Nazarene. He died like a man without strength, he who was supposed to be our Messiah. Even the thieves around him are still alive.

The end of the day was approaching. The next day was the Sabbath. Most people were returning to the city. The centurion Longinus announced, He is dead, there is no point in staying here. He walked away without looking back. The mercenaries followed him.

The disciples from Beth Zabdai formed a circle around the cross and forbade anyone from approaching. The others kept their distance. They prayed and wept. And we, too, the women, were left alone. I ran to see the face of my son. It was a face without life, burned by the sun.

Joseph said to Nicodemus, It is time. Let us go to Pilate, quickly. Claudia the Roman said, I will take you. Through her tears, Mariamne was surprised and said, Why go to the Roman? I answered, To ask for my son's body so that we can give him a dignified burial. From my face, Mariamne guessed that I was between terror and joy. She asked, What is being hidden from me?

The walls of Jerusalem were red from the twilight, but Joseph and Nicodemus had not yet returned. A cohort of mercenaries arrived. The officer ordered the soldiers, Finish off the condemned men! With a sledgehammer on a long handle, they broke the legs and ribs of the thieves. The disciples from Beth Zabdai stayed at the foot of Yeshua's cross, ready to fight. We were petrified with fear.

The officer looked at us. He looked at my son. He mocked, This one is already dead. No point tiring yourselves out with the sledgehammers. All the same, whether for viciousness or hatred, a soldier aimed his spear. The head of it entered my son's body. Blood flowed. Water, too. It was a good sign. I knew it. Joseph of Arimathea had told me. Yeshua my beloved was showing no sign of life. The officer said to the mercenary, You see, soon the birds will deal with him.

I fell to the ground, as if my consciousness had abandoned me. Mariamne, the sister of my heart, took me in her arms. She wept into my neck and said, He is dead! He is dead! How can God let such a thing happen? May she remember and forgive me. I did not tell her what I knew. I did not say, He is still alive. Joseph of Arimathea put him to sleep with a drug that made him appear dead. I said nothing, and I was afraid.

Joseph and Nicodemus returned with a letter from Pilate, and said, Yeshua's body is ours. They saw the wound and said, Quick, quick.

The disciples from Beth Zabdai untied Yeshua and took him down from the cross. I thought of Obadiah, my beloved, who brought down my father in the same way from the field of crosses in Tarichea. I felt his protective wing, he was with me, my little husband. He reassured me.

I kissed my son's brow. Joseph asked for help. A plaster was placed on the wound. His body was entirely wrapped in strips of byssus coated with ointments, and he was carried in Nicodemus's wagon to the cave we had bought five days previously.

We women remained outside.

Joseph of Arimathea and the disciples from Beth Zabdai closed up the entrance to the cave by rolling a large stone called a gotal in front of it. Before going in, Joseph had shown me the phial, the one he had used in Beth Zabdai to bring back the old woman from death. The one that made the crowd cry out and believe in miracles.

The priests of the Sanhedrin came and asked questions before Sabbath began. The disciples, in white tunics such as are worn in the houses of the Essenes, pushed them back, saying, The Sanhedrin has no power here. Here, we come to bless, not to curse. They asked us, the women, to pray, so that our voices might be heard from afar.

In the night, Joseph came to us and said, We must go now. The disciples are guarding the cave. Let us go to the house of Nicodemus, near the pool of Siloe.

I was alone with Joseph, and I asked him, Is he alive? I want to see him. He answered, He is alive. You will not see him until Pilate's spies are sure that the cave is his tomb.

I saw him in the night after the Sabbath. We entered the cave through a fault concealed behind a terebinth bush. My son was wrapped in linen, on a bed of moss covered with a sheet. There was myrtle in the oil of the lamps, so that there might not be a bad smell. Joseph said to me, Put your hand on him. Beneath my palm, I could feel his heart beating. Joseph said, If God wishes it, it will not be any more difficult than it was for the old woman you saved at Beth Zabdai. And God wishes it, otherwise he would not have let him survive until now.

We watched over him for three days. After three days, he opened his eyes and saw me, but the light from the lamps was dim, and he did not recognize me.

When he was able to speak, he asked Joseph, How long is it since you took me down from the cross? And Joseph said, Three days. And Yeshua smiled happily and said, Did I not say that it would take me only three days to rebuild the ruined Temple?

After another night, he announced that he wanted to leave. I protested and said, You are not strong enough! For the first time in a long time, he gave me a tender look and said, What does a mother know of her son's strength? And Nicodemus said to him, You are not safe in this land. They will be looking for you. Do not show yourself to the people. Your word will survive you. Your disciples will spread it. And Joseph of Arimathea said to him, Wait a few days, and my brothers from Beth Zabdai will take you to our house near Damascus. You will be safe there.

But he did not listen. He went away saying, I am going back whence I came. This is a road I will travel alone. Joseph of Arimathea and I understood that he intended to go all the way to Galilee. We protested again, but to no avail. Yeshua left.

When he was out of sight, when he had waved us away, we returned to the house of Nicodemus.

Mariamne, the sister of my heart, saw my distress and questioned me. I was ashamed of the secret that had closed my mouth, and I confessed to her, Yeshua is alive. Joseph of Arimathea saved him from the cross. I have done what I said. The cave was not his tomb. Mariamne cried, Where is he now? On the road to Galilee. On the road to Damascus. She ran to catch him up. I know he did not wave her away.

Barabbas joined us in the house of Nicodemus. He told us about what was happening in the city. A woman had discovered the cave open, the stone of the entrance rolled away. The crowd came to see. They called it a miracle. They cried, Yeshua was indeed what he said he was. The priests of the Sanhedrin came out on the square in front of the Temple. They said, The demons rolled the stone from before the Nazarene's tomb. They took away his body to feed the underworld!

There were fights. Barabbas predicted, They will not fight for long. Pilate has made it known that the disciples of Yeshua will be crucified. Tomorrow, they will be as meek as lambs.

Claudia the Roman agreed and said, I have never seen my husband so afraid. If I go to him today, he will not recognize me and will throw me in jail.

         

Barabbas was proved right. Three months have gone by, and already the disciples who were with my son on the first day have scattered. Only John is still with me. The others fish in the Lake of Gennesaret. To salve their consciences, some say I am mad.

In Jerusalem, the Sanhedrin teaches that Yeshua was not born the way he was in fact born. They say, His mother, Miriam of Nazareth, is a madwoman who slept with demons. She did not want anyone to know. She invented a story to conceal the facts of her son's birth.

You, my sisters, who are now following the teachings of Mariamne, say, If Miriam had not done what she did, Yeshua would be great today. They would not have forgotten him. You say, Miriam, his mother, refused her son's death, but the Almighty wanted him to die in order to provoke a rebellion. Now, nothing will happen.

But I answer, You are mistaken. The Almighty does not care about our rebellion; he cares about our faith. Rebellion is in our hands as long as we support life against death and light against darkness. I wanted my son, Yeshua, to remain alive as long as nothing has been accomplished of what gave birth to him. The Romans are still in Jerusalem, injustice reigns over Israel, the strong slaughter the weak, men despise women…

You say, Yeshua is alive today, but no one cares to listen to him, except his three remaining disciples. You say, On the cross, he made us ashamed, and out of his suffering revenge could have been born.

I answer, Revenge is as worthless as death. Leave it to the Lord, the Almighty, the Master of the Universe. That is a word of Yeshua. Put me on trial, for I committed the sin of impatience at Cana. God is angry. I did not let my son die. God is angry. But how could the Almighty, God of Mercy, be angry to see Yeshua alive? How could he choose grief and curses instead of joy and blessings? How could he want tomorrow to be only darkness in which humiliation and mutual hatred reign? May the Everlasting Lord forgive a mother's pride. A mother who gave birth to Yeshua, revealed him to the world, and kept him alive. For ever and ever. Amen.

This is the word of Miriam of Nazareth, daughter of Joachim and Hannah, known as Mary in the language of Rome.

         

MONTHS LATER, I RETURNED TO WARSAW. ONCE AGAIN, I found myself outside the door of the dilapidated apartment on Kanonia Street, in the old town. Maria recognized me, and understood immediately why I was there.

She did not need to ask me any questions. Her smile and the look in her eyes were eloquent enough. She seemed more tired than before. But the light in her eyes was as fresh and eternal as a child's.

“I had the text translated and read it,” I said.

She nodded, smiling even more.

“What about you? Did you read it? Do you have a translation?”

“Abraham Prochownik told me the story.”

“If he didn't die on the cross,” I asked, “how did he die?”

She shrugged, irritated at having to say something so obvious.

“Who are you talking about? My Jesus? My Yeshua? I told you. He died in Auschwitz.”

A
LSO BY
M
AREK
H
ALTER

Lilah

Zipporah, Wife of Moses

Sarah

FOOTNOTES

^*1
At this point in the scroll, part of the text is missing, where a damp patch has caused the material to tear.
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^*2
Here, three lines of text are missing because of a tear. Only a few words remain on the left-hand side of the scroll, which do not by themselves allow for a viable reconstruction.
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^*3
This part of the scroll is badly deteriorated, presumably because it has been handled more than the others. Damp and wear have made about twenty lines illegible. For a further twenty lines, only a few fragments are decipherable.
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^*4
Here, the scroll has been torn, perhaps deliberately. The missing part is large, and the two torn edges are held together by a thread of red silk.
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