The Galilean Secret: A Novel (38 page)
Read The Galilean Secret: A Novel Online
Authors: Evan Howard
“Horrified.” Karim gave her a wide smile. “But the horror would have ended the moment she met you.”
Soaring applause almost drowned out Karim’s words. With the ceremony underway, they rejoined the vast crowd. Rabbi Jonathan Meltzer was speaking from the elevated platform that had been set up in the unrestricted area in front of the Wailing Wall. He was affirming the hope that the State of Israel offers to Jews all over the world. He lauded the country’s achievements in education, business, health care and the arts. But when the applause died down, he emphasized the dire consequences of failing to make peace. “A one-state reality would emerge with disastrous consequences not only for Israel and Palestine but also for the entire world.”
“Rabbi Meltzer is almost finished,” Karim told Rachel. “You had better get to the platform.” He glanced to his left and noticed a familiar face.
The square-jawed man in the IDF uniform stood at the northern wall of the plaza with two other soldiers, tear gas rifles in hand.
Ezra Sharett.
Karim pointed him out to Rachel.
“I just hope he remains calm,” she said.
Karim ducked behind a tall balding gentleman in front of them. “We’d better separate so your brother doesn’t see us together.”
She was about to leave, but Karim stopped her. “I love you, Rachel Sharett.”
She nodded once, eyes teary. Then she was gone. Karim weaved through the marchers to join them near the platform. Brother Gregory and the monks, guarded by the soldiers, set the scroll beside the podium. Rabbi Meltzer finished his remarks by praising Rachel as a founder of the Abrahamic Peace Initiative and introducing her. The crowd applauded as the rabbi embraced her.
She stepped to the microphone and had to wait for the applause to die down before beginning her remarks. “We are here to call for an end to violence and oppression!” Rachel’s fervent cry elicited an energetic roar from the crowd, sending a swirl of energy through Karim. When the noise receded, she continued, “We know that the fighting will only end when Palestinians and Israelis live in sovereign states with secure borders. The leaders on both sides know this too. Today we invite them to dream with us and begin to heal our individual and collective suffering. No political, economic or military opposition can prevail against this unifying force. The day of victory is drawing near.”
Another roar surged through the crowd. When the furor subsided, a college-age woman holding a banner in front yelled, “How can we succeed when all past efforts have failed?”
Rachel held up her hands and motioned for quiet. “Let me tell you a story. There was once a great civilization built along the banks of a mighty river. The people thrived until they polluted the river and began to die from the diseases it spread. Their only hope was the pure water of a deep lake at the top of a nearby mountain, but the lake’s tributaries were clogged with debris and couldn’t be cleared because of the extreme danger involved.
“A young man climbed up to the lake and successfully opened a passage through which the water could flow. But he was swept downstream and killed in the process. The people found his body at the bottom of the mountain and buried him with honor. On his tombstone they wrote, ‘Greater love has no one than this—to lay down one’s life for others.’”
Karim kept his eyes riveted on Rachel, as did everyone in the crowd.
“What does the story mean?” the slender young woman asked.
Rachel spoke from the depths of conviction. “Justice is the pure mountain water. When it rolls down like a mighty stream, it gives life to everyone in the land. But justice has a cost. It requires that we lay down our lives for others. And who can do this? Only those who have love in their hearts. This love is the foundation of all ethical religion. I’m talking about religion rooted in equality, truth, freedom and peace. The United Nations can’t manufacture this religion or impose it, nor can any nation. Religion that heals and unites arises from honest, open hearts. It inspires courage, self-awareness and deep repentance. Its spiritual essence confronts the darkness in us all and brings it into the light.”
“We want peace!” The cry in Arabic came from Karim’s right. When similar chants arose in Hebrew, and then in English and French and German, goose flesh climbed up Karim’s arms. The crowd applauded with such fervor that it sounded like thunder.
“Only the two-state solution can transform religious bigotry and violence into justice that flows like a mighty stream,” Rachel said, her thick, lustrous hair falling forward.
Karim noticed the crowd growing silent as she pushed her hair back and pressed on.
“We’ve come to a turning point in history. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict not only causes untold suffering in this land but also fuels the fires of terrorism around the world. The window of opportunity for solving this conflict is closing, and if we don’t succeed, terrorism could be visited upon the world for generations to come.
“I’ve found a new resource for addressing the cause of the hated and violence. It’s a letter that Jesus of Nazareth wrote to Mary Magdalene, and it addresses the spiritual alienation at the heart of the problem.” She pointed to the scroll. “This letter was recently discovered and is here in front of me. We know that the letter is genuine because it has been thoroughly tested. Even the Vatican has authenticated it. The letter’s insights shed new light on the meaning of religion for these times. As a Jew I regard Jesus as a spiritual teacher. He is also a prophet in Islam. Somehow we Jews and Muslims must learn to make peace. And I believe that this letter can help us.”
When murmurs arose in the crowd, Rachel said, “I know you must be wondering what Jesus and Mary Magdalene have to do with Jews and Muslims. Let me explain.” She held up her hands for silence. “Jesus’ struggle with his love for Mary Magdalene led him to an encounter with the creation story accepted by Jews, Christians and Muslims. He received a revelation of God’s image in him as male and female. The integration between the masculine and feminine in Jesus was essential to his spiritual genius.
“Here lies the mystery and challenge for Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Our revelations of God are weighted in favor of the masculine. We primarily see God as powerful, rational and authoritative; therefore these are the qualities we revere in ourselves. If God is a warrior, we can justify our warlike tendencies and shun the work of peacemaking. Only by honoring and embracing the feminine dimension of the divine can we restore the balance that will make us whole. Then we’ll care for one another’s children as if they were our own, and we’ll stop killing in the name of God.”
As Rachel finished, she invited the marchers to join hands and sing:
Hand in hand we’ll start the journey that will lead beyond the past.
Hand in hand we’ll find the peace that’s strong enough to last.
Divided we will surely fail; there’ll be no peace at all
Just wars and confrontations, just barriers and walls.
Beyond the far horizon, someday we’ll understand
That we must walk together hand in hand.
The crowd’s singing morphed into chants of “Peace, peace, peace!” in many languages. Pride welled up in Karim that the woman he would soon marry had evoked such fervor from the marchers. He wanted to join in, but then he remembered his brother Saed’s tragic, senseless suicide attack, and a tightness in his throat silenced him. Karim yearned to catch Rachel’s eye, to receive some sign of her love. He moved forward, never taking his eyes off her.
As he drew close enough for her to see him, he noticed a man in front move toward the platform. Rachel flashed Karim a radiant smile, reminding him why he was willing to risk everything for her. But he had no time to savor the gesture because the man climbed onto the platform. Alarmed, Karim hurried forward. The marchers applauded Rachel’s speech, their chanting reaching fever pitch. She waved to the throng and backed away from the microphone. As Karim drew near, he recognized the man who was now on the stage.
Robert Kenyon.
Karim pushed through the assemblage, ignoring the shouts of anger, but he couldn’t reach Kenyon before he stepped in front of Rachel and spoke into the microphone. “My name is Dr. Robert Kenyon. I’m the archaeologist who discovered this scroll. The Government Antiquities Agency should never have allowed it to be here. The scroll belongs in a museum and should be returned immediately.”
A middle-aged woman who wore an orange
hijab
said, “That scroll gives hope to all people, not just Christians and Jews, and not just men. It gives hope to Muslim women too.”
“No!” Robert Kenyon shouted, and then grabbed the podium as several march organizers and guards tried to lead him away. He resisted, throwing fists and elbows, until they finally subdued him. Rachel appealed for calm, but five men wearing the Roman collars of priests surged toward the podium. One of them, a burly, round-faced man with reddish hair, pushed his way in front of the microphone. He caused a commotion among the monks when he said, “We agree with Dr. Kenyon. The scroll doesn’t belong here.”
Karim felt a sinking sensation in his chest as the priests and monks faced each other. Pushing and shoving erupted in the crowd, jostling him forward. Seconds later he heard screams as Jews fought Muslims, and Christians fought Jews. He glanced at the stage: Rachel was trying to break up the scuffle between the priests and monks. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Karim glimpsed Ezra Sharett and the soldiers as they prepared to fire tear gas canisters. Ezra raised a bullhorn and warned the crowd to disperse, but the fighting escalated until he gave a final warning. It was lost in the melee.
Seconds later, shots erupted and tear gas canisters were detonated among the fighters. One canister landed on the stage, shrouding it in smoke. The marchers began to flee, coughing and gagging. Some of them fell. Others, blinded by the tear gas, tripped over them. The running and falling bodies created a scene of chaos on the plaza, the smell acrid, the shrieks and cries fever-pitched. Brother Gregory and the monks shielded the scroll amid the intensifying fight.
More shots rang out.
Karim gasped as Rachel collapsed onto the stage floor.
No, no, no! Please, Allah, no!
The prayer echoed in Karim’s mind. He pushed toward the platform and climbed onto the steps. He neared Rachel’s motionless body. His prayer became more an attempt to bargain than to request help.
I will do anything for you, merciful Allah. Anything. Just let Rachel live.
He wanted the prayer to be about her, but it was also about him. About how empty his life would be without her. About his slow death beneath a sky without stars. He had to get to her, had to help her. . . .
He felt the scorching sun burn through him. She was on her back, holding her chest where the bullet-like tear gas cylinder had hit, her white cotton blouse wet with blood. He knelt beside her and stroked her forehead. “Rachel, it’s Karim.”
“Please help me.” Her words were strained, barely audible.
He waved and shouted to the medical personnel stationed near the platform. “Help is coming. I won’t leave you. I love you.”
She squeezed his hand, her fingers covered in blood, and spoke in a raspy voice. “I love you too.”
The platform shook. He glanced up, the soldiers approached—led by Commander Ezra Sharett.
“Oh, my God, no!” Ezra waved the three emergency medical workers over and knelt beside her. “Please, Rachel, you can’t die.” He gestured toward Karim. “Arrest this man. He’s in the city illegally.” Two soldiers grabbed him.
“Nooo!
I can’t leave Rachel.” Karim tried to shake off the soldiers. He stared into Ezra’s furious eyes. “You shot her. You’re the one who should go to jail.”
Rachel lay groaning. The soldiers yanked Karim up. He fought them, twisting left and right, planting his feet and pushing against their weight. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Ezra kneeling at Rachel’s side as the emergency workers attended to her. The soldiers handcuffed him, hustled him out to the street and turned him over to the Israeli police.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Roman Times
WHEN JUDITH WOKE ON THE SABBATH OF PASSOVER, SHE KEPT HER EYES CLOSED AND LAY STILL. If she shut out the light, perhaps it would go away. Perhaps she could fall asleep again and escape her anguish a little longer.
Or never wake up.
But the light penetrated her eyelids like an attacking intruder. The stronger it got, the more her dread increased. It was a new day—the day after the crucifixions of Jesus and Dismas. Her head was spinning, her stomach upset, her energy drained.
Why couldn’t I die too?
She sat up, squinting against the light.
The slant of the sun told her it was nearly noon. She glanced around and remembered where she was—in a bedroom of the house where the soldiers had arrested her. After folding the bedclothes, she moved to the window to hear the voices of the women in the courtyard below. The subdued conversations carried up to her on a crisp spring breeze, its freshness in jarring contrast to the stench of death in the air the day before.
She stepped to the window, straightened her soiled tunic and ran a hand through her tangled hair. Memories of Golgotha tore at her. She gripped the window ledge to steady herself. Denying what had happened would accomplish nothing. She had to face the cruelty and loss and somehow accept that life would never be the same.
Her only hope came from the words that Jesus had spoken to her in the prison. He said that God had forgiven her, and that she would find new life by forgiving herself. At Golgotha he had pleaded for forgiveness for those who crucified him. She knew her sins made her one of them and she whispered a prayer for mercy. Now she needed to follow his teachings and show her gratitude by sharing them with others. Perhaps his closest followers would take her in. If so, she would help them in any way she could, for she felt as if she had become one of them.
She walked down the stairs, through the living quarters and out to the courtyard. There, gathered around a wooden table, were Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, along with Susanna, Joanna, Salome and Jesus’ mother. They were combining lamb with some vegetables for the Passover meal.
“We knew you were exhausted, so we let you rest.” Mary Magdalene gave Judith a faint smile, her face pale and streaked with weariness. Mary appeared different today—smaller, almost frail, as if she had been sick and was losing the battle to regain her strength.
“Where’s John?” Judith asked.
The sandy-haired Susanna looked up. “He’s out searching for Jesus’ disciples.”
Salome, a slender woman with a ruddy complexion, cut a piece of lamb and placed it on a plate. Judith marveled at the quiet courage with which the women were bearing their horror. When Mary Magdalene went into the kitchen, Judith followed her. “I desperately need to bathe. May I before we eat?”
Mary Magdalene interrupted her preparations and led Judith to the bathing area on the bottom level of the house. Judith slipped off her tunic, which was grimy from the prison and Golgotha, and slid into the cool water. To her surprise, Mary Magdalene stayed and rubbed her back with a soft sponge.
“You are being very brave,” Mary said.
“It only appears that way. I have no tears left to cry.”
Mary’s voice became quiet and strained with sadness. “Nor do I, and tomorrow we must go to the tomb early and finish embalming Jesus’ body.”
Judith turned around abruptly. “Oh, Mary, what will we do without him? We don’t even have the letter to remember him by.”
Mary squeezed water from the sponge. “It angers me that the centurion took it. I didn’t even have the chance to read what Jesus wrote. My only consolation is that if we live by his teachings and love as he did, he will be with us always.”
“I
need
Jesus to be with me.” Judith splashed water on her face, whispering a silent prayer for Dismas and Gabriel. “And with my child.”
Mary turned her around again and resumed rubbing her back. “Then you must find your mission and live it as bravely as Jesus lived his. He’s closest to us when we follow his example.” Mary cupped water in her hands and poured it over Judith’s shoulders. “Jesus was more whole than any man I have known. He helped me to become whole too, and find my inner wealth.”
Judith rinsed her arms with water, puzzled by what Mary Magdalene had said. “How can a single woman be wealthy?”
“When she first finds happiness with God.” Mary scooped water onto Judith’s neck and back. “Jesus taught me that. Now I love him even more—with a love that goes beyond physical attraction. He taught me to claim my untapped power and truly become independent. Taking that step was frightening, but I needed to do it to grow, and he couldn’t have taught me these things as my lover, only as my friend and guide.”
Judith washed her face with soap, thinking about Mary’s words and pondering her feelings for Gabriel. “I don’t have as much courage as you do.”
“It’s not so much courage as a commitment to my own well-being. If we choose to have a relationship with a man, we must enter into it freely and joyfully, not out of need. That means we must draw on our deepest strength, and, unfortunately, strong women often threaten men. The way to reassure them is to help them grow too. When they become whole and free, as Jesus was, they will no longer fear us. Then men and women can relate to each other as equals, and they can finally achieve God’s highest dreams for them.”
Judith rinsed off her face. “If you didn’t read the letter, how do you know its teachings so well?”
“I learned them from Jesus himself.”
Judith swirled the water aimlessly with her hands. “I wish that Gabriel had learned them better—he left me, and I don’t know if he will ever come back.”
“Gabriel is having trouble accepting your pregnancy, as any man would.” Mary Magdalene gently massaged Judith’s neck. “The only way he can really come back is by growing. Perhaps you should write him a letter that expresses how you feel. Nicodemus will join us for our meal; he could deliver it to him.”
Mary brought Judith a clean tunic, whispered a few more words of support, hugged her warmly and left. Judith stayed in the water and thought about writing to Gabriel. Written words seemed inadequate, but she finally decided that she needed to do it. She stayed in the water for a while longer, composing the letter in her mind.
All at once men’s voices in the courtyard interrupted her thoughts. She stepped out of the water, dried herself and put on the clean tunic. Returning to the courtyard, she recognized John and Matthew, Peter and Andrew, but she had not met the other men. John was explaining that he had found some of the disciples at the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus in Bethany. Others were staying in Jerusalem with a wealthy woman and her young son, John Mark.
Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea, wearing clean robes and carrying jars of myrrh and aloe, arrived as John was speaking. Mary Magdalene and several of the other women volunteered to go in the morning to complete the embalming. Judith stared at the floor, unsettled by the prospect of seeing and handling Jesus’ crucified body again. But when Mary Magdalene asked her to join them, Judith sighed and, feeling obligated for all that the women had done for her, reluctantly agreed.
When the Passover meal was ready, Jesus’ mother invited everyone upstairs to the room where the disciples had shared their last supper with Jesus. Judith reclined next to Nicodemus at the long table as Mary Magdalene brought in the lamb and vegetables. After Joseph of Arimathea gave the blessing, they began to eat in silence. Judith studied each face, the morbid expressions, all eyes red from weeping.
Mary Magdalene tried to lighten the mood. “I’m glad all of you came. Jesus would want us to be together.”
Peter did not take any food. “This is my last meal with you,” he said without looking up. “I’m going back to fishing.”
“Please don’t leave us,” Jesus’ mother said. “We need your leadership, now more than ever.”
Peter shook his head. “I let Jesus down. He predicted that I would deny him, and I did.” Peter’s voice broke. He grabbed the edge of the low table to steady himself. “When Jesus needed me most, I ran away.” Peter swallowed hard, straining to speak. “Please let me go quietly. Forget that I ever came here. Forget that you ever knew me.”
Matthew, heavyset and bearded, tried to comfort him. “I am no better than you. I ran away, just as you did.”
Judith took a deep breath, her stomach churning. She remembered the gift of her forgiveness and needed to share it. “I have something to tell all of you. Jesus was in prison with me on the night of his arrest. I told him about the people I had hurt and betrayed, and about the deep shame I felt.” Her lips trembled. “He did not condemn me. Instead, he pleaded with me not to condemn myself. He said that my only hope was to love and forgive myself, as God already had.” She paused and waited for Peter to look up before adding, “That is your only hope too.”
Peter studied each face. “I will never recover from my shame as long as I live.” He crossed his arms, lowered his head and wept bitterly. Mary Magdalene put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up. “I will stay here tonight and then leave for Galilee in the morning.”
Moved by Peter’s despair, Judith stood. Although a newcomer among the disciples, she had an important message for them and mustered the courage to speak it. “We are all terribly distraught right now, but we have to keep believing in the future.” She swept her gaze around the table and met each set of eyes. “I had only begun to follow Jesus when he was crucified. My sins are many and deep, but he told me of a love greater than even the worst of them. Knowing that God loves me and will never give up on me, even when I give up on myself, has made me strong enough to go on.” She looked at Peter. “God hasn’t given up on you either. What you see as a terrible failure may be the beginning of a miracle in your life. It was in mine.”
Judith sat down, her face hot from the stress of sharing something so personal. She glanced at Mary Magdalene across from her. Mary kept eating in the awkward silence that followed, and then put down her wine and cleared her throat. “I want you to know that Jesus wrote me a letter in which he shared his secret knowledge of love and relationships. He said that mysterious things would happen to the letter, and they have. I set the scroll down at Golgotha and a centurion called Longinus took it. The only way to get it back is to appeal to Pilate.” Judith’s heart was beating wildly as Mary turned toward Nicodemus and said, “Are you willing to make the appeal? You and Joseph persuaded Pilate to give you Jesus’ body. Perhaps you can convince him to demand the scroll from Longinus.”
Nicodemus’ eyes glinted fiercely. “Yes, I will go to Pilate. We must get it back.”
Judith squeezed Nicodemus’ arm. “Thank you.” She leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “And I have decided to write to Gabriel. Will you deliver my letter to him?”
Nicodemus gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course.”
After they finished eating, Mary Magdalene led Judith away and gave her a quiet place to sit. Judith was ready to begin a new life but not on the shaky foundation of her old one. She had deeper wisdom to build on, the wisdom of Jesus that had made Mary Magdalene so strong and free.
I must help Gabriel to see that I have changed, that we could still have a future
. She picked up the stylus and began to write. . . .