Teoma would never treat me like this! Unwilling to argue, I start to rise.
“Where are you going? Your lover’s tent is gone.”
He is right, I have nowhere to go, no one to confide in; he sent away my only friend. I am very much alone, even face to face with my husband. How must other wives feel when the passion smolders, placating their spouses and dreaming of happier times?
When I relent, his only comment is how hot my skin feels, but it is not passion. Heeding my silent tears, Sarah wails piteously.
“Go….her needs are more pressing, it seems.”
Exasperated, I nurse Sarah and soon they are both fast asleep. Rising to go to the betshimush, my head spins but I never make it back to bed. Somewhere between the baths and our chambers, the sheer weight of the burden of a broken heart and a rising fever overwhelms me.
New moon of Shevat, 3773
I am losing her, not to him, but to despair. Fear and death surround me. My precious wife lies gravely ill, but I cannot find that still place from which to minister to her. When I place my hands upon her fevered brow, she becomes even weaker, her fever rising, her breathing labored. Rucha no longer resides within my being, sacred breath evaporating through my lips before I can place my mouth to hers.
Since she has been sick, the dark sky is swollen with clouds, the air bitterly cold. The birds no longer sing in her garden haven, even the trees weep in the barren groves. I am lost in my despair. If I must give her up to save her life, I will. I do! I surrender my beloved wife to the Divine. My life for hers. I leave her in Teoma’s faithful hands to live happily upon this earth. May they remember me in their joy, not in their sorrow.
In a feverish delirium, I am tended by Miriam but Sarah is gone. A soft shadow hovers over my left side, never changing in spite of the rising sun. Vaguely, I am aware of snippets of conversation between Yeshua and his parents.
Joseph’s voice is strained, “How can you have allowed this to happen? Look how she has wasted away. Why did you not allow me to bring in a wet nurse? Why have you not discussed this with your Ima and me?”
Yeshua says nothing, but I can feel his pain, anger muted by guilt, fear darkening his hayye. Joseph’s voice rises, “Poorly prepared to take care of a wife. Keeping Teoma with you knowing how they felt about each other only aggravated the situation. But at least while he was here, she ate!” He storms out and I am awash with waves of sorrow for Yeshua. I wish I could comfort him, but I am having trouble staying awake.
Another conversation ensues, this time as Miriam sponges my fevered flesh with water drawn from an icy cold stream. I begin shivering uncontrollably. “Son, hand me some clean linens. There, Mary, rest now.” She lays me back down, but I cannot focus on her face. Yeshua covers me, his hayye a bit softer now.
“Ima, I do not know how it came to this. I feel like I am living another person’s life.” His voice hoarse, has he been crying?
“You are living a very human life, Yeshua. Thanks to Mary and Teoma, you are going through a dark time of the soul. You will survive this, but it won’t be the last.” Yeshua shudders, or is it the chattering of my teeth? “What happened the night before Teoma left?” I thought she knew.
“I found her lying with him. I had already asked him to leave after coming across them in an intimate embrace by the fountain earlier.” So matter of fact, almost without emotion.
“And what did Mary have to say for herself?” Miriam asks softly, somehow I feel she knows the truth, but maybe I am just being hopeful.
“After she hugged him, she said we were at the beginning of a very dark journey.”
“Wise for one so young. It has been very dark indeed.” I am not wise, only quoting Gavriel. “And did Teoma explain?”
“He said they talked but that he did not touch her.”
“And you did not believe him?” Yeshua must have shaken his head. “Has he ever been dishonest with you?” Again, no. “Then why did you not confirm his story by hearing Mary’s side?”
“She never offered an explanation.” He sounds close to tears, “Ima we are not living as man and wife anymore. There is little love between us now.”
“Yeshua, it is love that held her tongue.” She pauses, I imagine, to reach out to him, “Now twice since you have been married, you have withdrawn yourself emotionally from her. Both times have ended in her becoming extremely ill. You have had to nearly lose her before you have surrendered to your higher Self.”
“Do all dark times of the soul have to last so long,” he cries, “and be so painful?”
“No, they will continue to be demanding but in a different way. You must surrender sooner and remember that you are not alone.” Again a pause, “You believe your mission is to serve the world but in order to help others, you must first serve yourself.”
I do not remember any more but his soft crying, probably muffled on her bosom.
Eve of first Shabbat of Shevat, 3774
Day and night, I fast and pray always at her bedside. I have not seen our daughter since her mother fell ill. Within my being, a storm brews the fog of incomprehension beginning to lift. Somehow suffering has opened my heart to a deeper level of compassion. Thanks to Mary, I have known all the faces of fear—anger, frustration, rage, sorrow, guilt, jealousy, and unworthiness. I am truly willing now to surrender my beloved to divine orchestration. If I am blessed to see her smiling face, her pallor colored back to the beautiful bronze of her vitality, to see her stormy eyes clear to brilliant green, I shall know that I have not been forsaken. I will welcome my brother home with open arms and not allow my fear to come between us again. To remain connected to Eloha throughout this darkness is the greatest miracle of all.
The late morning sun streams through our open door to kiss my cheek. For the first time in days, I awake clear-headed but struggle to take a deep breath. My breasts have been bound. Where is Sarah? I attempt to rise but am too weak.
The Archangel Gavriel returns, as always a comfort. Why was I forsaken all through this dark time? You were never alone but accompanied by the Archangel Uriel, the morning star. I vaguely remember a presence like a shadow, always at my left side. Aware that most fear this dark deliverer, I thank him. Gavriel laughs, you have earth angels here in the house. Of course!
Silently, I call and soon Yeshua’s siblings arrive. A sack over his shoulder, ten-year-old Shimon places it carefully on the bed and out crawls my baby. Sarah tries to stand but not finding proper footing rushes to me in a fast crawl. Tearful that I missed my baby’s first steps, I gather her into my arms. She reaches for my breasts, finding them bound begins to wail.
“Shimon, can you cut these knots.”
He complies and Ruth helps unbind me. “Poor Mary, your breasts are squished. Will there be any milk for Sarah?”
“Let’s pray there is, sweet child,” sighing as Sarah happily relieves the pressure. Eight-year-old Judah watches the door, the girls gathering closer. “How did you accomplish this?”
“Well,”