Read The Galilean Secret: A Novel Online
Authors: Evan Howard
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Present Day
Our chances of finding and keeping love improve as we grow in spiritual understanding. Experiencing the love of God increases our capacity to love ourselves. Acceptance and forgiveness, patience and compassion, kindness and support—how consistently do we give ourselves these gifts? Only after we have received them from God can we bestow them on ourselves. It isn’t selfish to do so. It’s an act of generosity. Loving ourselves as God loves us is the first step toward loving another human being.
—Brother Gregory Andreou’s Journal
Jerusalem
Monday, April 8
OF ALL THE RISKS THAT KARIM HAD TAKEN, ATTENDING A RECRUITMENT RALLY IN JERUSALEM FOR THE MARCH FOR PEACE WAS THE GREATEST. He joined the rally on the plaza between the Damascus Gate and the New Gate, haunted by Ezra Sharett’s threat to have him shot on sight. A crowd of more than a thousand had gathered here, in front of the Old City wall, northwest of the Temple Mount. Karim glimpsed an Israeli police officer in the crowd and fought off a cold, gray feeling in his chest. He scanned the faces in search of other officers in blue berets. None patrolled near the stage on which an Israeli rock band was playing. But a female officer was mingling with participants who carried banners that read “Change the Future Now!” and “Join the March for Peace!” in Hebrew and Arabic.
Karim considered leaving but continued to pass out flyers. Anything for Rachel. She needed his help publicizing the international demonstration that would surround the sacred sites on Wednesday, April 17. She also wanted his support when she spoke at today’s rally as a founding member of the Abrahamic Peace Initiative.
The spreading anxiety in Karim’s chest was mixed with impatience. Every minute at the rally distracted him from solving the mystery of Jesus’ relationship with Mary Magdalene and whether it involved Judas Iscariot. Karim needed to rush back to the monastery as soon as the rally ended. He and Rachel had to solve the mystery and report the discovery of the Jesus letter to the Government Antiquities Agency. Otherwise Robert Kenyon could mount another threat and gain possession of the original scroll or translation. If that happened, Kenyon would claim credit for the discovery and use it for personal gain. Rachel had a different plan—to display the scroll at the march as a witness to the Galilean secret of peace.
If she and Karim could prove that the scroll was authentic, it could draw thousands to participate and become a symbol of religious unity. Thankfully Erasmus Zeno had returned Brother Gregory’s laptop and other translation materials upon his ouster as abbot of the monastery. Now Brother Gregory was getting the scroll carbon-tested. Only if it truly could be dated to the time of Jesus could they begin to make the case for authenticity. Then they could find support for excavating the Cave of Gethsemane.
“Don’t look so worried.” Rachel nearly shouted to be heard above the wailing of electric guitars and the pounding of drums. She pulled Karim close and lowered her voice. “We have no choice but to be here. The march is this land’s best hope for peace. It may also be its last.”
Karim nodded in agreement and continued to pass out flyers as the music wound down. When the speeches began, Rachel gave him a wave and moved toward the stage. The gesture prompted the stirring in his heart that he felt in her presence. The stirring that had brought him to Jerusalem against his better judgment.
Like being buried in quicksand, the more he tried to dig himself out, the more entrapped he became. Finally he had surrendered. If it were wrong for a Palestinian to love an Israeli, he would plead guilty—but with no remorse. Why judge himself for what he couldn’t control? He saw his love as neither wise nor foolish, neither rational nor irrational, neither right nor wrong.
It just was.
As a result of his powerful desire, an already dangerous situation had become even more so. Rachel had insisted on attending the rally, but he didn’t want her to go alone. His attending with her was an opportunity for him to prove his love. So he avoided the Israeli police and waited for her to keep her promise to leave after she spoke.
An older man with a bushy gray beard finished his remarks as Karim moved toward the stage. Weaving through the crowd, he noticed a man to his left who had a prominent forehead and a flat-looking nose. Karim turned away, his mind reeling. Only one man had such distinctive features—Abdul Fattah. The possibility of Abdul’s learning about the rally and coming here had occurred to Karim, but he had decided not to let his fear deter him from helping Rachel. Now he needed to avoid Abdul, make his way to the front and leave with Rachel right after her speech.
Karim looked up as she approached the podium, her shoulder-length auburn hair blowing in the gentle breeze, her full-length linen dress accentuating her slender figure. She began with a brief introduction of herself and the Abrahamic Peace Initiative, the interfaith group she had helped to found. Then she lamented the suffering associated with the separation barrier and the checkpoints, the refugee camps and the settlements. And she decried the endless bloodletting and death that had been visited on both sides.
Her voice gained urgency. “In spite of this anguish, I believe that Israelis and Palestinians can have a bright future, living side by side in two sovereign states. It can be done! The Israelis and Egyptians were worse enemies than the Israelis and Palestinians, and yet we made peace with the Egyptians, and that peace has endured. In order for the two-state solution to work, people of conscience on both sides must become more visible and vocal than the extremists. We also need support from all other countries, because what happens here affects the entire world.”
Karim paused as he neared the front. A tall, blond young man wearing a yarmulke nudged him. “She’s a powerful speaker. Have you heard of her?”
Karim gave him a wry smile. “Not until she saved my life.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, actually I’m not.”
Karim returned his attention to Rachel as she continued, “We must recognize the common ground among our three religions as a fertile garden in which to grow lasting peace. We Jews speak of the messianic age; Christians look for the return of Christ; and Muslims await the advent of the Madhi. In this coming age, hostilities will end and all people will live in justice, harmony and abundance. We may disagree about who will initiate this golden age; we may not know how or when it will come, but we all believe in it.”
Karim glanced around as applause rippled through the crowd. A cadre of photographers surged toward the stage snapping pictures. Newspaper reporters furiously scribbled notes. Television crews positioned their lights and rolled their cameras.
Rachel’s voice rose in melodic cadences. “We don’t need more religious doctrines. We need a spirituality of peace. If the world is not moving toward catastrophe but toward transformation, the ultimate victory belongs to love, not to evil.”
Rachel’s words lifted Karim’s spirits, but a man’s voice cried out from the crowd, startling him.
“Don’t be naive! The ultimate victory belongs to the country with the strongest military and the best weapons.”
Rachel pulled the microphone closer. “I know it’s hard to believe that love will triumph, but without this belief, what hope do we have? Israel possesses more than two hundred nuclear weapons, and sooner or later the terrorists will acquire them too. The more weapons there are, the less secure we become. I say this not as one who has been immune from the suffering, but as one who has experienced it. My own father was killed by a suicide bomber.”
Karim sensed reverence in the hush that fell over the crowd. The blond young man stared at him, his eyes wide.
Rachel drew a breath and went on, “I’ve learned that we only move beyond our anger, hate and fear when we find healing within. Through this healing we discover love at its deepest level—the level of forgiveness. Then we’re able to live nonviolently and seek interfaith understanding. We can share the land and its resources and work to end oppression and war. Have the courage to dream! Imagine a world free of terrorist bombings. Envision a world in which squalid neighborhoods and despair-ridden refugee camps are no more. It can happen, but only if forgiveness triumphs.”
As the crowd applauded, Karim moved closer to the stage.
Rachel built to her conclusion. “I invite you to make hope real in this holy city on April 17th. The strength of our numbers will arouse the conscience of the world. You can help to ignite a revolution of justice and healing. If you march with us here, surrounding the Dome of the Rock, the Wailing Wall and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, you’ll stir the conscience of the world. We will make a powerful statement about how our religions need to change to support lasting peace.
“We will say no to any interpretation of a holy book that justifies violence. We will say no to uses of religion that create injustice and oppression. We will say no to religion that divides and impoverishes people rather than unites and sustains them. If Israelis and Palestinians can make peace, the future will hold great blessings for Jews, for Muslims—for all people. But if our generation fails at this task, the result will be catastrophic. The current one-state reality will be impossible to change, and the Arab world will never forget the injustice done to the Palestinians. That will mean a future of fear and insecurity not only for Israelis and Arabs but also for all nations with a stake in the conflict. Let’s not let that happen. Let’s come together! Let’s make this march a resounding call for humane and ethical religion so that we may live in peace and that peace may live in us. May God’s blessing and protection be with us all!”
Raucous applause echoed through the plaza. Karim went to the stairs at the back of the stage in order to meet Rachel. When she finally descended, he congratulated her, and as they stood talking, he sensed someone approaching. He turned to see Ezra, dressed in a white shirt and black pants, bearing down on them. “Why didn’t you return my calls?” he said to Rachel.
“I’ve been busy.”
Ezra turned to Karim. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away? With the police presence here, there’s no way you can escape jail now.”
Rachel stepped between them. “Ezra, no.”
“I told him never to come to Jerusalem again.”
“Ezra, please. He’s my friend.”
Ezra labored to catch his breath. “You’ll feel differently about your friend when I tell you who he really is.”
“What—?” Rachel tried to ask a question, but Ezra cut her off.
“I did some research on
your friend
and learned that he’s from Nablus, not Bethlehem.” Ezra pointed a finger at Karim. “His father is Sadiq Musalaha—the political leader of the PPA, and his older brother was Saed Musalaha.” Ezra held both of his fists in the air and shook them. “Do you realize who Saed Musalaha was?” He raised his voice and emphasized each word. “He killed our father.”
Rachel confronted Karim. “How could this be? Please tell me he’s lying.”
Karim stared at the flat stones of the plaza, nausea rising in his throat. “I wish I could.”
Rachel’s face turned ashen. “Your brother killed my father? You knew about this but acted as if you didn’t?” Her voice cracked. “You’ve been deceiving me from the very first.”
The stones of the plaza seemed to shift beneath Karim’s feet. He felt dizzy, his knees weak. “How could I have told you the truth? You would have hated me, refused to listen to anything I had to say.”
Rachel shook her head with disgust. “And you said you loved me.” Her voice dripped with disdain as she began to walk away.
Turning back, she said to Ezra, “Do what you need to do. I’ll forget I ever met him.”
Ezra grabbed Karim’s arm and spun him around. That’s when all motion was stopped by a voice.
“Let him go.”
Karim turned to see Abdul Fattah staring at Ezra. “Who are you?” Ezra said, his tone indignant.
“I am Sadiq Musalaha’s chief lieutenant. I can’t let you put his son in an Israeli prison. He would never get out alive, and that would have consequences with his father.”
“Why should I care what his father thinks?”
“Because,” Abdul said, “Sadiq Musalaha can unleash a dozen suicide bombers at will, and if his son were in Israeli custody, he would have the perfect excuse to do it.”
Ezra released him with a shove. As Abdul yanked him toward the Mercedes, Karim felt fortunate to be avoiding an Israeli prison, but he knew he was being led to a prison of another kind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Roman Times
THE HOLLOW THUD OF THE DOOR SLAMMING BEHIND JUDITH SENT DREAD INTO HER BONES. It was the door to the courtyard of the home where Jesus of Nazareth would celebrate Passover, but the sound made her think of the door to a Roman prison cell shutting. Of how it would feel to be locked in a cell and become a victim of the same cruelty as her murdered brother. A spike of terror shot up her spine. A neighbor had seen her and Dismas flee Nicodemus’ home. If she were arrested and charged with aiding the Zealots, she would suffer Reuben’s fate, and no one could save her.
Judith followed Nicodemus ben Gorion through the modest courtyard, her mind flashing one terrifying scenario after another. Convinced that she was pregnant and afraid she would vomit again, she paused and took several deep breaths to quiet herself. An image of Dismas’ face on the night she had left, contorted with hurt and rage, came back to her. She had departed on the eve of his greatest challenge, when he needed her most, and so she had betrayed him as surely as she had betrayed Gabriel.
Perhaps neither brother could forgive her, but Nicodemus had. As a sign of his goodwill, he had promised not to tell Mary Magdalene that Judith stole the letter. Now that she was alone in the world, Nicodemus was her only hope. He had found peace through Jesus of Nazareth, and he believed that Jesus and his followers could help her do the same.
She wanted to accept the letter’s promise of new life. But who could forgive the deep sins she had committed, when she couldn’t forgive herself? Mary Magdalene had just cause to be angry with her. Jesus had addressed the letter to Mary—it was her property, and Judith had stolen it. Mary and her friends had more reason to report her to the Romans than to show her kindness. Judith put a hand on her stomach and rubbed gently to relieve the anxiety stirring inside. Rather than revive her, the springtime morning air mocked the winter of her heart, in which no flower bloomed and no bird sang.
She forced herself to catch up with Nicodemus. With nowhere else to go, she had no choice but to trust these women. She felt lightheaded as she entered the kitchen, which was strewn with large bowls and jars full of Passover ingredients. All five women looked up from their preparations for the seder that night. The familiarity of the women performing these tasks calmed her jittery nerves.
Judith dodged several children underfoot as she was introduced to Joanna, wife of Herod Antipas’ steward, Chuza. Nicodemus shared how Joanna, once beset by unhappiness that wealth could not cure, had found joy in following Jesus. Judith also met Susanna, a widow whom Jesus had healed of grief, and Salome, the mother of the children, who lived nearby with her husband and family.
Nicodemus introduced Jesus’ mother, Mary, and finally Mary Magdalene. “I brought Judith here,” he said, “because she wants to follow the rabbi. And she needs you to guide her.” Judith admired Mary Magdalene’s dark red hair, her smooth olive skin and her elegant, high cheekbones. Nicodemus regarded the dignified woman thoughtfully and continued, “Judith needs a friend who has struggled with the same questions she has. You could be that friend, Mary. Please help her find the answers.”
An inquisitive smile creased Mary Magdalene’s full, sensuous lips. “Any woman who wants to follow Jesus is already my friend.”
Turning to leave, Nicodemus assured Judith that he would return that evening. Mary Magdalene handed her a knife and invited her to chop apples, dates and walnuts for the
charoseth
, a symbol of the mortar that the Hebrew slaves used in laying bricks. Judith worked silently for a time, the aroma of matzo in the clay oven reminding her of the Passovers she had shared with her family. By eating the unleavened matzo, the Jews recalled how hurriedly their ancestors had had to flee their Egyptian oppressors.
All at once she yearned to go home, to help her mother rid the house of every trace of chametz, or leaven; to grate bitter herbs for the
maror
, eaten to share their ancestors’ suffering; and to pour the four cups of wine, representing the promises of God, for each participant in the seder. Judith wondered if she could ever go home again.
“Jesus is becoming more controversial each day,” Mary said. “All those who follow him endanger their lives.”
“I’ve been living with danger since I left my father’s house,” Judith said. “But mysterious events led me to Nicodemus, and to Jesus. The events involved a Zealot called—”
Dismas’ name was on Judith’s lips when a knock rattled the door and cut her off. The door opened, and three men walked in. Jesus’ mother, a sturdy woman with thick auburn hair and a pleasant oval face, introduced the largest man. She called him Peter, and his brother, who looked like a younger version of him, Andrew. “These men fish for a living,” she said.
“Not me!” The third man’s close-set eyes flashed indignantly, his roundish features contorted in a grimace. He introduced himself as Matthew, a former tax collector.
Peter measured Judith suspiciously and then asked Mary Magdalene, “Is she a follower of the Way?”
“She is here as a seeker,” Mary said, putting an arm around her.
Peter eyed Judith with contempt. “I don’t trust her. Nicodemus told me that she aided the Zealots.” He lowered his voice to nearly a whisper and spoke to Mary Magdalene. “Don’t you realize that the Romans arrested the men who started the riot when Jesus was cleansing the Temple? They were Zealots leading a revolt. Pilate probably thinks Jesus was one of them.” He pointed an accusing finger at Judith. “If the Romans catch her here, they’ll arrest Jesus for sure—and us with him. This girl must leave, and we should warn Jesus to stay out of the city.”
Joanna, a matronly woman who wore her grayish-brown hair pulled back, shook her head dismissively. “I wonder who you’re really afraid for, Peter—Jesus or yourself?”
Mary Magdalene pleaded with everyone to calm down. “We cannot predict what is going to happen,” she said. “But Jesus always welcomed everyone at his table, even outcasts. Judith has come to seek his grace like the rest of us. Who are we to throw her out?”
“You’re being naïve, Mary,” Peter said. “This girl is a danger to Jesus. If the Romans think he’s a Zealot, they’ll crucify him. If we get caught with him, the same will happen to us. She must go. Now!” He moved toward Judith.
Mary Magdalene stepped in front of her, arms outstretched. “Your words show how little you understand of Jesus’ teachings, Peter. He’s so alive in God that he doesn’t fear death, and neither should we. It’s when we are attached to this earthly life that we become afraid. Our higher purpose is to do God’s will. This is the truth behind Jesus’ serenity. We must be willing to love as radically as he does and not fear the consequences.”
Peter threw up his hands. “We know that Jesus loved you differently from other women, but that doesn’t give you the right to endanger the rest of us.”
“This girl is not the only one who has sinned,” Mary said. “There’s darkness as well as light in all of us. But to overcome the dark, we must follow Jesus and seek the truth beyond ignorance. When we do this, we will no longer be the slaves of our bodies. Nor will we be deceived by the world’s illusion of treasure. Jesus told me that the true treasure is our vision of God and God’s reign. We find this treasure within ourselves. Since discovering it, I have been at peace.”
Judith noticed Andrew crossing his arms on his chest and appearing uncomfortable. When Mary Magdalene finished, he said, “I never heard Jesus teach these things. How are we to believe them from a woman?”
“What’s worse is that she says them to defend a Zealot!” Peter added.
Mary’s expression darkened. “How can either of you call yourselves his disciples if you demean women? Jesus never does. He says that there is neither male nor female in heaven. Men have no special status before God; what matters is the quality of one’s soul, male or female.”
“If Jesus loves Mary, we must respect what she says,” Matthew said. “We’ll show we are true followers of his by living in love, which means letting the girl stay. Jesus’ choice to come here tonight means he is willing to die for this ideal; we should be too. Let’s go to Bethany to be with him at the home of Mary and Martha and Lazarus.”
Mary Magdalene took Judith’s hand and led her from the kitchen, up a long staircase and into a large room. The sun’s brilliant rays streamed in through the room’s open windows, which offered a view of Jerusalem’s narrow, congested streets. A half-dozen long couches lined the room’s walls; a low rectangular table stood in the middle. Mary and Judith began to move the couches around the table to prepare for the seder. As they lifted the first one, Mary said, “Jesus’ teachings are a mystery to most people, sometimes even his disciples.”
Judith helped her place the couch near the table. “After what I’ve been through, I need his love more than anything.”
“I have been wondering what brought you here.”
Judith told Mary about running away with Dismas ben Zebulun, her fiancée’s brother, on her wedding day. “It was wrong, but it felt right at the time. When I finally came to my senses, I left. I don’t know where Gabriel is, but I must find him and beg his forgiveness.”
Mary Magdalene’ eyes grew large as half shekels, her face alight with wonder. “Gabriel ben Zebulun was your betrothed?”
“Yes, do you know him?”
Mary shook her head and took Judith’s hands in hers. “Gabriel saved my life.” Her voice was so full that her words were slurring. “He is the bravest and truest of men, and now he, too, has become a follower of Jesus.”
Judith couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She squeezed Mary’s hands. “How could this be true?”
“Gabriel heard about Jesus from Nicodemus. I met your betrothed at the home of a Pharisee called Simon, in Nain.”
Judith drew a breath to keep from trembling. “How did Gabriel save your life?”
“I was attacked by two men on the road through Samaria, when Gabriel was returning to Jerusalem with Nicodemus. Later Gabriel came looking for Jesus to warn him that Pilate had murdered some Galileans. Like many of us, Gabriel believes that only Jesus can save us from the violence of the Zealots.”
Judith wasn’t surprised to hear of Gabriel’s bravery. She had always known Gabriel as a man of character and resourcefulness. She tried to turn away, but Mary Magdalene pulled her close and embraced her. Judith pressed a cheek against Mary’s neck and said, “If what you say is true, we both know what a rare man Gabriel is . . . and I . . . I betrayed him.”
Mary Magdalene sat down on a couch. “Sooner or later passion wounds us all. I, too, have known its heartbreak.”
Relief filtered through Judith. She knew she would eventually have to confess to stealing the letter, and Mary’s honesty gave her an opening to do so. But Judith hesitated, afraid of Mary’s anger or, worse, her rejection. Judith stared at her, unable to move or speak. Part of her wanted to be honest; otherwise Mary would feel betrayed when she learned the truth. Another part of her was tempted to flee the room and find somewhere to hide. Only when Mary waved her over did Judith find her courage. Sitting on the couch, Judith said, “I know what you’re referring to because I read the letter that Jesus wrote you.”
Mary appeared shocked, as if hit by a blow. “What? How?”
Judith stared at the floor. “Dismas and I robbed Nicodemus’ house in order to get money for the Zealots. The scroll was among the items we took. Reading the letter showed me the causes of my anguish. I returned it to Nicodemus and vowed to change my life.”
Mary gave a sigh. “I haven’t read the letter myself.”
“You haven’t?” Judith couldn’t hide her surprise. “May I ask why?”
“Because Jesus showed another woman the kindness that I thought only I deserved. In my hurt I refused to read the letter. Instead I let Nicodemus keep it.” Mary smiled. “I can see that hurt feelings are something you and I have in common.”
With each word Mary Magdalene spoke, Judith’s admiration for her grew. Wide-eyed, she studied Mary and said, “Nicodemus believed that hearing your story would help me. When I first saw you, I could tell that you have the same serenity he has. I would do anything to attain it.”
Mary Magdalene rested a hand on Judith’s shoulder. “When I met Jesus, I was aching inside after years of anguish. He cast out the demons of my broken dreams, and I fell in love with him. I thought I would die if he didn’t return my affection, but instead he explained the soul of love to me and helped me find my true wealth as a woman.”
Judith could feel her heart thundering in her chest, desperate for the knowledge Mary had. “Jesus also explains love in the letter. It moved me deeply, but there was a lot I didn’t understand.”
Mary lowered her voice and emphasized each word. “Jesus taught me how destructive it is for a woman to love out of the need to fill a void. We are capable of communion with the soul of a man, but until we become intimate with ourselves, we cannot love in a healthy way.”
Comforted by Mary Magdalene’s openness with her, Judith considered whether to reveal her pregnancy. Would Mary help her decide what to do? She almost told her, but then she hesitated and chose to speak further about the letter and how it had made her realize that her feelings for Dismas were based on need, not love. “I needed his strength to cover my weakness. Through his violence, I vented my rage at the Romans for murdering my brother. Through his wildness, I tried to escape boredom. But in the end, all I got was suffering.”