As valuable as Anatiya is historically, the literary value of the scroll can never be dismissed. It maps an internal landscape of emotion and desire with as much, if not more, precision than it details historic events. It cannot fairly be compared to any other known text of its time. The romantic and erotic Song of Songs is clearly a compilation of sonnets, although there are those who would argue it is the story of two lovers over a period of time. The Book of Ruth and the Book of Judith are both character- and plot-driven, but never escape the agenda of their redactors. Anatiya is a first person, honest, and vulnerable account of an orphaned, passion-driven disciple of Jeremiah, perhaps a prophetess in her own right, composed as an epic love poem in which an immensely personal philosophy is expressed and nurtured, and in which a political agenda is subtle and noncompetitive with the overarching themes. It remains the most character-driven and thematic of any known Hebraic text, more comparable to certain Greek epics of a later date. Anatiya is a rare window into an incredible world and a beautiful mind, and what emerges, out of this century of war, wrath, starvation, and exile is a timeless theology of love that is sure to redefine trends in the history of mankind and thought.
I present to you the first complete English translation of the Scroll of Anatiya.
Jordanna Lamm
The Missing Page, Inc.
An Intuitive Translation Service
1
The words of Anatiya, daughter of Avigayil, one of the handmaids at the temple at Anatot in the territory of Benjamin. 2She fell deeply in love with Jeremiah in her thirteenth year. 3Her body was so faint with love for Jeremiah that her soul caught in her throat and made her mute for the remainder of her days. 4In the quietude of her love, she penned the songs of her heart. 5She shadowed Jeremiah all of his days like a faint aroma of meadow, like a distant memory of lilies abloom in the valley of Sharon. 6A child-spook, a brittle tea-leaf, she hid within her a passion for the prophet Jeremiah that was silver-trumpet-loud.
7The moment I saw you I knew:
That I had been destined for you when my soul was yet on high;
before I was a swell in my mother’s belly, I was consecrated
to be the one to love you as a desert flower loves a drop of dew.
8I saw you
surrounded with God
and I fell upon my face
and praised God, and blessed you,
9and I knew that surely I would die
should I lift my eyes and see
the Holy One face to face,
10but I heard your brave little voice
as a clear glass bell ring out:
“Ah, Lord God,
I don’t know how to speak!”
11I lifted my eyes,
I could not help myself!
Your voice stirred me so.
12I looked up and saw you
standing at God’s very core,
and you were not consumed!
13No, you radiated like a beacon
in a pure star-dewy mist,
your skin was translucent,
luminous,
a veil of sunlight over
a sky-blue soul.
14Your eyes were two black moons
sailing through your open face,
Your skin gleamed like a polished marble floor.
15Your ears were small
as a newborn’s open palms,
snatching at God’s words,
which filled the air like thin bubbles.
16You dazzled me.
I opened my mouth to cry out to you,
and the God that surrounded you streamed into my throat, swelling my soul.
17I thought I might die, but I lost my voice instead of my life
~wrote Anatiya.
18When God put out a hand and touched your mouth,
God put out another hand,
and touched the tip of a finger to my lips,
whispering, “Shhhh.” 19I never spoke again.
But I would gladly give my tongue, Jeremiah,
if I might be your life companion,
that I might be your quiet rose
among the damsels of the land.
20I tucked almond blossoms into my hair
and scratched your name with a twig under my thigh,
over and over until it scarred,
that my body might never forget whilst she slept
the one whom my soul loves.
21I set my pot on the fire
and the steam curled away
from the heat in my fingers.
22My fingers could have been fire-sticks.
They dripped thick myrrh as candles running wax,
longing, forgive me, to touch.
23I was quick to stir tea
and warm up the rocks that I might bake cakes for you.
24I took three measures of flour and hastily kneaded.
25My fingers spread outward over the dough,
wings of a white dove a-flutter.
26I baked you honey cakes with crumbled mint
and I left them by your door every morning,
and so my fingers touch you
~wrote Anatiya.
27At night I lay awake on my couch.
This love threw me sandward into a swoon
countless times throughout the day
and I began to feel myself pale and unearthly.
28I wondered whether I was human at all,
or whether—God forgive me one untamed thought!—
perhaps I myself