Happy Resurrection!
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You must not have any other god but me.
It is more than a statement recorded in the Torah. It is a cardinal precept upon which our way of life as a people and the existence of our nation is founded. It was spoken by Yahweh Himself to Moshe on Har Sinai for onward transmission to the nation waiting for him below. Every time Yehudah and Yisraʾel departed from that injunction, disaster, death and deportation followed. My father, a priest from the tribe of Levi, made sure he drummed it into our ears from an early age.
Mother died shortly after weaning my younger brother. Father never remarried. On certain occasions I have convinced myself that I was partly responsible for that; that he transferred his love for her to me. However, one question usually challenges that line of reasoning, your given name means ‘Yahweh has been gracious.’ Does that not suggest you were special to him from the word go? Whatever the truth is, Father built his world around his service in the temple and his children. He loved us lavishly and corrected us in the same manner when we strayed. Much like Yahweh did with Yisraʾel in the stories Father told us.
The second child of Adiel Ben Mahari, I had two brothers for siblings. The only distinction Father allowed between us was in our dressing, in everything else he made sure we were treated equally. I was encouraged to tap fully into my potentials—unlike in many families where girls played a subservient role.
I grew up having an opinion—and worse, for many bigoted males, a voice. It was no surprise that I had many a falling out with people of that sort. Only one man proved to be different. When I flew at him with my sharp tongue, he’d laughed and turned my anger into a joke. I’d gotten enraged. He refused to be drawn into a fight. Later that night, when I mulled over the incident, I did not know whether to congratulate him of berate myself. Little did I realize a seed had been sown. It would germinate into me being his wife. A decision I have not regretted. Chuza is the most tolerant and caring of husbands. He is also conscientious and diplomatic. Those qualities landed him the position of Manager of Herod Antipas’ household.
We met while I was learning tent-making. He’d come to order tents for his then master. The man wanted to replace the tent on the roof top that the elements had dealt with. In the following weeks, he always found reason to come around. I fought his attentions and the emotions they birthed. I must confess that I failed, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Our life was simple and beautiful. We had no lack and when we were short on an anything, the only One who heard about it was Jehovah Jireh—and He did provide. The blight on our existence was my infirmity.
It had come on shortly after I gave birth. The informed opinions were as varied as the physicians. Each of them prescribed treatments (made up of potions and regimens); none had any lasting positive outcome. I was on the verge of giving up on ever getting well when news of a healer filtered into my ear.
Some said he was a teacher, others claimed he performed miracles yet another set denounced him as demon-possessed. Can anything good come out of Nazareth? They asked. I was not sure which report to believe. I elected to check things out for myself.
Crowds followed him. I mean, the throng was such that if one dropped a loaf of bread it would be hard pressed to reach the ground. After we had walked a while he stopped and spoke to a group of men around him. They made us sit down.
Some bustling produced 7 loaves of bread and a few little fishes which they handed him. I wondered what he wanted to do until he began saying a prayer. I concluded he wanted to have lunch before starting to teach. I was bemused when he returned the items to his crew to give out. What on earth was he driving at? Was this a practical lesson to demonstrate some great truth or an attempt to quench the hunger of some of the over 10,000 persons seated? Someone had taken a census: there were 4,000 men, the women and children were greater in number, naturally. I was awe-stricken when the food kept going round till everybody had gotten some. When we’d had our fill, his people picked up 7 baskets of leftovers.
Astounded does not begin to describe the expression on our faces. We’d just witnessed an immense miracle that left us dumb. We all, to the littlest tot, knew we were in the presence of no ordinary person.
From there we followed him to Dalmanutha, then Bethsaida and Caesarea Philippi, we’d discovered a master. Then he did it. He turned to us and said, “If anyone wants to follow me, he must deny himself, pick up his cross and follow me continuously…”
The remainder of what he said was lost on me. ‘You must not have any other god but me,’ my mind warned. I left.
The next time I saw him was in a family friend’s house. When he healed me, my remaining reservations flew away. I, and a few other women whom he had made whole, followed him more passionately than most. We’d found Ha Mashiyach.
We were there when they arrested him. We joined in the trips to Pilate then Herod and back. We witnessed his crucifixion—a most horrifying business, I assure you. When Joseph laid him in the tomb—though drained emotionally and physically from the tears and trekking—we were not far away.
On the third day, as was our practice, we went to anoint his body. But the sepulchre was empty. The Lord had risen!
© JC 2017
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