It was very clear that the man had only begun his discourse, but Leah watched in amazement as Reb Nahum rudely stood up and thanked the stranger as if he were finished. Then Nahum signaled to the rabbi to continue with the remainder of the service.
The preacher calmly held up his hand and said, “One more comment, if I may. The redemption Yeshua brought is not just for the Jews. It is for all people.” His gaze swept the Gentile section where Master Reuben and his household were forced to sit. Then he said no more.
After the service, all of Degania lingered on the synagogue steps to hear more from the visitor. Leah and Miriam gathered with them, and even Master Reuben stayed instead of hurrying away as he usually did.
“I heard Yeshua the Nazarene preach once,” Miriam whispered to Leah. “And I saw Him drive an unclean spirit from a boy. How I hoped that He was the promised Messiah, but when nothing changed . . . when we remained under Roman rule . . .” She sadly shook her head.
Leah inched closer, listening as the Pharisees argued with the stranger beneath the synagogue pillars.
“How could you call a man ‘righteous’ who died such a shameful death?” Reb Nahum shouted. “The Scriptures say, ‘Cursed is anyone who is hung on a tree!’”
“You are exactly right, my friend. Yeshua became cursed by God for us. He bore the wrath of God that we deserve.”
“The Scriptures say the Messiah will bring deliverance,” Rabbi Eliezer added. “If Yeshua was the Messiah, why are we still burdened with Roman rule?” He gestured toward Master Reuben as if he were a hated Roman.
“Because the Messiah’s kingdom isn’t out
there,”
the visitor said with a sweep of his arm. “His kingdom is within us. And it has come! When God brought redemption to our ancestors through Moses, they were set free from slavery, but they still had to cross the Red Sea themselves. They still had to walk through the desert and fight to conquer the land until God’s kingdom of Israel was established. Yeshua
did
bring redemption He canceled our sins so that we are no longer slaves to it, but we still must conquer the giants of sin and unforgive-ness through His power in order to establish the kingdom that He died to bring.”
As Leah looked around at the other villagers, she saw that they were listening just as attentively and as hopefully as she was. Rabbi Eliezer must have noticed, too.
“We’re not interested in your heresy,” he shouted. “Be on your way!” He nodded his narrow billy-goat head in the direction of the main road out of town as if he intended to butt the stranger off the steps. “Be gone! You’re not welcome here!”
“You’re welcome in my home.”
Leah recognized Master Reuben’s voice. He pushed his way between the gathered Pharisees until he stood before the stranger.
“I’m Reuben ben Johanan. Would you share the Sabbath meal with me? I would like to hear more.”
“Yes, thank you,” the man replied. “My name is Nathaniel ben Joseph.” He followed Reuben down the steps as the crowd parted to let them through.
“You don’t know the kind of sinner that man is!” Reb Nahum shouted behind them. “He collects taxes for Rome! He eats with Gentiles and sinners! Neither he nor his household keeps the Law!”
The stranger paused, turning back to Reb Nahum. “Yeshua the Messiah once said, ‘I did not come to call the righteous into God’s Kingdom, but sinners.’”
Back at the villa, Miriam supervised the kitchen servants as they hurried to spread the table for their guest. Leah ate in her room with Elizabeth as usual, but after the meal, Reuben assembled the entire household, including all of the servants, to listen to Nathaniel preach. Master Reuben himself lifted Ruth into his arms and carried her into the reception room. Leah sat on the floor beside Gideon, but she could tell by her brother’s stiff posture and scowling features that he was skeptical.
“God extends His grace through His Son to everyone—even tax collectors,” the preacher said, smiling. “In fact, one of Yeshua’s chosen disciples was a tax collector.”
“Was the man’s name Matthew?” Master Reuben asked quietly.
“Yes, that’s right. Did you know him?”
Reuben shook his head. “No, but my father did. Matthew invited Abba and a few other tax collectors to a feast with Yeshua the Nazarene. My father never forgot how . . . how compassionate the rabbi was. He said it was the first time in his life—the only time in his life—that a rabbi treated him like a man, with dignity. Later we heard that the religious leaders had the Nazarene executed.”
“Yes, but Yeshua is alive! God raised Him to life on the third day as it was written: ‘“You will not abandon me to the grave, nor will you let your Holy One see decay.”’ I am a witness, as are countless others, that Yeshua rose from the grave.”
For the rest of the afternoon, Nathaniel wove Scriptures together like a master weaver until he had produced a stunning tapestry of the Messiah—a portrait fulfilled in the person of Yeshua the Nazarene. He talked about the new covenant God promised His people through the prophet Jeremiah: “‘I will put my law in their minds and write it on their heart. . . .’” Leah recited the beautiful words along with him: “‘I will be their God, and they will be my people. No longer will a man teach his neighbor, or a man his brother, saying, “Know the Lord,” because they will all know me, from the least of them to the greatest. . . . For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more.’”
“God sent His Son,” Nathaniel said, “born of a woman, born under the Law, so that He could set all of us free from that Law. In Christ we have our rightful heritage as sons, the privilege of close conversation with God our Father, just as our own children call their fathers
Abba
. God’s promised redemption is fulfilled, but it comes by faith, not by the Law, just as it did for our father Abraham.”
Hours later, Nathaniel finished. The fire blazing inside him had finally spent its fuel. The silence he left was broken by a voice as fragile as butterfly wings. “I want to be baptized,” Mistress Ruth said. “I need the forgiveness Yeshua offers. I’ve been bitter toward my enemies, and that bitterness has turned me away from God. I know that I’m dying—”
“Ruth . . . no!”
“It’s all right, Reuben. I’ve accepted it. But I need to settle my accounts with God. I want to accept Yeshua’s offer to be the sacrifice for my sins.”
Master Reuben stood and lifted Ruth into his arms. Leah followed as he carried her to their private mikveh. She watched as her master descended into the water in his Sabbath robes, carrying his dying wife in his arms. His love for her and his helpless despair were written on his features as if carved in the wax on Leah’s tablet.
The preacher crowded into the mikveh beside them, his hands raised to heaven. “My sister Ruth, I baptize you in the name of the Father . . . and of the Son . . . and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
A week later, on a rainy Sabbath afternoon, Ruth died.
The sound of weeping awakened Leah in the night. She rose from her mat at the foot of Elizabeth’s bed to comfort the child. Barely eighteen months old, Elizabeth was too young to comprehend what had happened to her mother, why the lovely woman in the room next door was suddenly gone, why the entire household had plunged into deep mourning. Nor had Leah herself finished grieving for Ruth. She had grown to love her mistress. The empty place Ruth left in Leah’s heart seemed as dark and as vast as the cloudy sky above Galilee.
But when Leah knelt at Elizabeth’s bedside, she saw that the child was still asleep. Listening in the darkness to the heartbreaking cries, she realized that they came from Mistress Ruth’s room. She tiptoed to the adjoining door, thinking it might be Miriam. But the figure slumped in despair wasn’t the gray-haired servant.
Master Reuben sat alone on his wife’s sleeping couch, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. Leah knew she should turn away and allow the man to grieve in privacy, but the sound of his brokenness brought tears to her own eyes. He had no one in all the world to comfort him.
He didn’t look up as Leah came into the room. Standing over him, she wrapped her slender arms around his shoulders and rested her head on his. “I loved her, too, Master Reuben,” she said softly.
After a moment he reached for her, clung to her, and they wept together. When his tears were spent, he released her. Without a word, he stood and left the room.
Leah watched little Elizabeth devour a slice of melon, then stretch her chubby hand out for another piece. “More!” she said. It was her favorite word. They had just returned from their daily walk, and Elizabeth had been reluctant to come inside when she saw that the walk was finished, saying “More . . . more.” Leah had lured her through the door with the promise of fresh melon, which Elizabeth was now stuffing into her mouth. She was a vibrant, curious child and the joy of Leah’s life.
“I’m so worried about Master Reuben,” Miriam told Leah as she cut more fruit into small pieces. “He hasn’t left his room since Mistress Ruth’s funeral, not even to go to work. We leave food for him, but he barely touches it—only the wine flask is emptied.”
As Leah watched Master Reuben’s daughter, she wondered if it was possible for Elizabeth to fill her father’s empty arms, for her simple, trusting love to take root and grow in his heart as it had in her own, filling the void that Mistress Ruth had left behind. She handed Elizabeth another piece of melon, then caressed her soft chestnut-colored hair.
“Miriam, I think that Elizabeth and I should take Master Reuben his dinner tray tonight.”
Miriam’s face registered surprise, then comprehension. “Mmm . . . it’s worth a try, Leah. It’s certainly worth a try. The child is the image of her mother at that age.”
Leah didn’t know what to expect as she knocked on the door of Master Reuben’s private chamber that evening, the tray of food unsteady in her hand. “Your dinner, Master Reuben,” she announced before opening the door. Miriam had warned her not to expect him to reply. Leah bent to whisper in Elizabeth’s ear, coaching her, then gently pushed the child ahead of her into the room.
Master Reuben slouched on a chair in front of his shuttered window and didn’t look up when they entered. He appeared disheveled, his gaze vacant, his beautiful robes torn in grief. None of the lamps were lit, and the room smelled strongly of wine. Leah set down the tray and gave Elizabeth another gentle push. The child stopped in front of her father’s chair and looked up at him curiously.
“Abba?” Her tiny voice penetrated the gloomy silence of the room like birdsong. Reuben’s gaze focused on her in surprise. “Abba . . . Abba . . .” she repeated. Leah handed her a piece of apricot, and Elizabeth held it out to him, as Leah had coached. Reuben didn’t respond, sitting so still he might have been a piece of furniture. Finally Elizabeth grew tired of waiting and popped the apricot into her own mouth, then giggled at the trick she had played. “More!” she demanded.
Leah’s heart was in her throat as she gave Elizabeth another piece. Once again, the child held it out to her father. This time Master Reuben slowly raised his arm from the chair as if it weighed more than he could lift and extended his hand to accept her gift. But instead of eating it himself, he bent forward and fed it to her. Elizabeth gobbled it down, then laughed again, obviously pleased with the way this game was being played. After feeding her several more bites of fruit, Reuben lifted her to his knee, and she settled comfortably onto his lap. As she offered him the next piece, Elizabeth saw the tear coursing down her father’s bearded cheek.
“Uh oh,” she said and reached out to wipe it away. “Uh oh, Abba.”
Master Reuben caught her tiny hand in his and raised it to his lips to kiss.
Every evening that he wasn’t away on business, Reuben called for Leah to bring his daughter to him.
“How is she? What did she do while I was away?” he would ask, wanting to know every little thing Elizabeth had said or done, every new tooth or word, every smile or tear. He would surprise his daughter with trinkets and playthings he had bought on his travels, then smile as he watched her play with them. He laughed out loud as the child toddled curiously around the huge reception hall with Leah chasing after her to keep her from knocking over the lampstands.
When she grew tired of exploring, Elizabeth would crawl onto Master Reuben’s lap, and he would tell her stories of the places he had been and the things he had seen. Leah loved listening, too, as he described a pounding horse race in the hippodrome, a colorful play he had watched in the amphitheater in Caesarea, or the bite of salt spray in his face as his sailing ship plowed the waves of the Mediterranean Sea. When Elizabeth grew sleepy he would kiss her tenderly, often carrying her to bed himself in his strong arms.
Never in her life had Leah seen a father lavish his daughter with so much love and affection. Just as she had forged a bond of friendship and love with Mistress Ruth over the months she’d spent with her, Leah now found herself drawn more and more to Master Reuben. It was the highlight of her day, as well as Elizabeth’s, when he called for them in the evening. Leah cherished the time she spent talking with him, watching him with his daughter. One evening Elizabeth tripped and fell as she bounded into the room to see her father, bumping her head on the leg of his chair. But it was Leah she ran to for comfort, not him. As she soothed the child’s tears with her kisses, she was aware of Master Reuben watching them. He sat very still, his gaze intense.
“You are more than a servant to her, Leah,” he finally said. “She loves you like a mother.”
Leah knew he was right. She also knew that she had overstepped the boundaries of a servant’s role by allowing it to happen. She gently pried Elizabeth’s chubby arms from around her neck and turned her toward her father with a little push.
“Forgive me, my lord. We must do something to change that before it’s too late. She needs to learn that I am only her servant . . . and yours.”
Reuben appeared thoughtful as his daughter climbed onto his lap and nestled close. His blue ring sparkled in the lamplight as he stroked her curly hair. Leah held her breath, watching him. How would she ever bear being separated from Elizabeth—or Master Reuben? The evenings were lonely enough for her when he was away on business; what would they be like if she couldn’t be with him at all? What if he gave her kitchen duties again and she could no longer kiss away Elizabeth’s tears or listen to Master Reuben’s stories and laughter?