On the eve of the new moon of Sivan, like unto the dark void which births the light, you came. Your emergence from your mother’s womb marked my delivery into divine humanness, my prayers answered when you received sacred breath from my mouth. Now as you suckle at her breast, I am awash with gratitude for my life. Your bronze skin kissed by the eternal glow of your hayye, like your Ima, dark and most beautiful to me. Sarah, you are perfect in body and soul. May your mind gain wisdom with your time on this precious earth. May your soul connect intimately to Eloha while your body grows strong and lovely. As your Ima kisses your dimpled cheek, my desire to merge with your spirit is profound. May your joy be complete in your human form, precious daughter of mine.
My eternal love and devotion, Abba
Under the dark cloak of night, my moonlight confidante is all I need to suckle my newborn back to sleep. A tiny fist opens to press my breast closer to her lips. She speaks silently, Ima, I am happy to be with you and Abba.
Sarah, you are my delight. Sighing with pleasure, I cannot imagine not spending these precious midnight moments with her.
There has been some turmoil these past two weeks when Joseph insisted that Sarah be wet-nursed. Despite his arguments that I am weak, depleted, and need to recover, I have stubbornly refused. He went as far as to have an intimate conversation with Yeshua about how nursing will interfere with our marriage bed. Laying Sarah down safely between cushions, I snuggle in closer to my husband.
“Is she asleep?”
He responds to my affirmative kiss by pressing the hardness of his body into the softness of mine. My heart beats rapidly for it has been so long. Hearing my thoughts, he whispers into my neck, “Yes, forty-seven very long days and nights.” I smile to myself. So he kept count.
Thirteen days after giving birth, my body is slow to respond. “Forgive me, Yeshua.”
“Hush, beloved, I expected this,” he produces a small vial of oil. “You didn’t think I would only get Abba’s opinion.” Thank goodness he talked to Miriam.
Suddenly, it occurs to me that I had better protect myself from conceiving. I sit up carefully so not to disturb the baby. Yeshua looks dubious, “Ima said that while you are nursing you probably cannot get pregnant.”
“I would feel better being sure.”
In quiet repose across from me, Yeshua watches as I weave white light around my womb. My next child will be a son born when Sarah is four years old. Expressing my gratitude, I bid Archangel Gavriel goodnight.
“Is everything all right, Mary?”
“We are safe from conceiving for another three years.”
“You have this all planned.”
I shrug, “Just following Divine advice.”
We begin making love again tentatively. Although it has been a blessing that my nipples have become insensitive to Sarah’s hungry mouth, I can hardly feel my husband’s caresses. Yeshua comes close to my cheek and kisses it softly. “Beloved, what is wrong?”
“It is not the same,” I whisper tearfully.
“Does it not feel as wonderful to you as it does to me?” I shake my head sadly. “We will find new ways to make love.” Drawing me into his chest, he kisses me tenderly. Milk begins to leak at his touch, which offends him not.
“Mmm. Sarah drinks the sweetest nectar of all.”
Smiling at his playfulness, I receive his offering and a distant stirring heats my loins. When his eagerness causes me discomfort, I ask him to lie back, using the oil on both of us. His face reflects pleasure and soon I reach a long-awaited release. Pulling me into his chest to stifle my cries, he whispers, “Let us not wake her. If it’s still too early we can find other ways of pleasuring each other.”
I apologize, feeling slightly guilty that he is still waiting. With the oil, our mutual caresses ignite a great need so he moves between my clenched thighs and soon joins me.
Lying in his arms afterwards his fingertips trace my profile stopping at the stone receded back into my navel. He kisses the tetrahedron. “And now that Sarah contains her own light, it reflects the purity of our sacred union.” The gift from Belshazzar has returned to our glorious hues of silver and purple.
In Magdala, Martha gave birth to a big healthy boy—Micah—and after forty days of the required respite, sent our mother to Nazareth. Ima arrived with an entourage of servants and gifts for her granddaughter, most distraught to discover that Yeshua shared my bedchambers.
“Mary! The Torah is quite clear. Eighty days after the birth of a girl child! Your husband will not be able to visit the sanctuary without the rites of purification!”
Knowing Yeshua would rather be with me, I changed the subject. “How are Martha and her son?”
“They are well. Her figure has nearly returned while Micah grows fat. ” She held Sarah up to the light to make her appraisal. “Your daughter is beautiful, but thank Adonai, does not have skin as dark as yours.” I smiled at the barbed compliment, well accustomed to my mother’s tongue. “Mary, why do you not have a wet nurse? You are of royal blood. It is unseemly to put this child to your breast.”
“Ima, I take much delight in nursing Sarah, and my husband is fully supportive.”
“Hmm! Well, you shall see how delighted he will be when your breasts lose their beauty for the benefit of his child.”
“I do not believe that nursing my baby shall harm my body!” Determined, I set my intentions to maintain my feminine wiles in all their glory. Captivated by her granddaughter’s gurgles, Ima ceased her lecture and thankfully returned to Cana just before dusk.
My memory is interrupted by Sarah stirring in my lap. Sensitive to her every need, my still lovely breasts become heavy with sweet milk. A natural extension of my being, when she needs to relieve herself, I have taken to holding her over a small pot or, if outside, over the ground, so changing my soiled daughter has become a rare chore. Growing ever so quickly, already five-and-a-half months, I hope she does not walk too soon.
I want to walk, Ima! I want to see the world.
“Well, my sweet baby, until you are a bit taller, your vantage point will be no farther than my arms.” Smiling a toothless grin, milk oozes around sweet lips.
The hayye of the olive grove shifts. She pulls away, milk streaming all over, and reaches for Teoma. “Wait, Sarah, you are making a mess.” Kissing her milky cheeks, Teoma tosses her over his head. She laughs delighted, he is her favorite. I warn, “Dod Teo risks a dousing with curdled milk if he is not careful.”
I struggle to disentangle myself from the hammock, when Teoma, with Sarah in one arm, helps me to the ground. “I believe you are lighter than you were before you became pregnant.” I shrug, unconcerned. “Mary, you must make more of an effort to eat richer foods.” He lifts Sarah over his head onto his shoulders. “This little pumpkin seems to be drinking away your fat. I will bring more meat and cheese to fatten you up.”
“If you alert Joseph to my condition, he will want to bring in a wet nurse.”
Teoma smiles down at me with Sarah clinging to his short tight curls, gurgling and biting the top of his head. “Certainly a good wet nurse would be eating richer meals.” Grimacing, he tries to lift Sarah off, but she kicks and holds on tightly.
“Wait, let me help you.” As he bends forward, Sarah spits up her lunch onto his head. I take his arm and lead him to the fountain, where I wet a nursing cloth.
Although I stand on the edge of the fountain to better extract my daughter and Teoma tries to lean close, Sarah pulls