Danya. Anne McGivern
even those far too old to be carried. We joined the stunned villagers from Cana and staggered on, mute with horror, until we reached the pebbly shore of the Sea of Galilee. The vast blue lake welcomed us, and we rushed into it, removing our head coverings, ladling cool water on our necks and faces, washing the images of death from our eyes, and calming ourselves until our exhaustion overcame our terror.
We dried off and set up a camp. From the donkey packs, I pulled out extra mantles for warmth and reed mats for ground cover. We didn’t want to attract attention with a fire, so we ate stale barley loaves. I chipped a tooth on the hardened crust of mine. Darkness fell. I let Naomi put her mat next to mine, even though she kicked at night, and I held her until she stopped trembling. A line of clouds rolled across the moon; my eyes finally closed.
* * *
Sometime that night, before dreams had formed, I was awakened by fingers clutching my throat. A torch flared in the darkness. A faceless voice announced, “Give me your food, and I will not harm her.”
Naomi whimpered beside me. Most of the group woke up in a daze. But Father stood up, fully alert, and fixed his gaze on the man who held me hostage. “Shalom, Judah ben Hezekiah,” Father said calmly.
Judah ben Hezekiah, the leader of Lev’s rebel band? Though one of my captor’s hands was clasped around my neck, I could turn my head enough to see a red curl flashing out from under the man’s head covering. It must be Judah ben Hezekiah. Lev might be close by!
Father opened his palms in appeasement. “We are poor people fleeing from Nazareth and Cana, driven from our homes by the threat of Roman vengeance. We’re happy to share what food we have, though we don’t have much.”
Judah released me to draw his sword on the circle of people tightening in around him. He kept the torch in his other hand and ordered me to bring him the food. I fetched a sack of raisins, cakes of dried fruit, and a bag of barley flour. When I approached him with these, I could see his eyes in the light of his torch. A few nights ago from a distance, his eyes had seemed hard as stone. Tonight they looked like softened clay. That emboldened me, as did Father’s presence right behind me. “Where is Lev ben Micah of Nazareth?” I asked.
Judah spat on the ground. “Lev deserted, the coward.”
I remembered Judah’s foot in Lev’s stomach. “My brother is not a coward! You were cruel to him.”
“How do you know?” Judah said. “Ah, so you were watching us that night?” He smiled in a way I didn’t understand. He had all his teeth, and they were white and straight. “Lev told me he had a little sister with courage and dreams of being a revolutionary.”
Then he softened his voice, speaking to me as if I were the only person there. “I disciplined your brother only that one time. He left my band after our attack on a Roman supply convoy. Some of my men were killed during the ambush. A few were captured and crucified by the Roman dogs.” His eyes filled. The skin in the half moon below his lids was raw.
My hands shook as I held out the food to him. “We saw them at Beit Yerah.”
But he turned from my offering and lowered his sword. “Since you are Galileans, you have suffered enough. Keep your food.”
I knew then that all his men had deserted him. If he had troops to feed, he would have taken the food for them. Pity crowded against my anger. “What will you do now?” I said.
“Gather a new band and continue. I will not stop until the Lord’s Kingdom has been restored to Israel. I have been chosen for this.” Judah’s voice was strong and heavy with conviction. So he, too, had been chosen. The Holy One had entrusted him with a special task. He was favored.
To me alone he whispered, “Maybe you should replace your brother.” The soft rustle of his breath stirred through my hair. “In any camp, there is women’s work that needs doing.” His lips pulled out into a wide smile, revealing the long, sharply-pointed teeth farther back in his mouth.
Judah both attracted and repelled me. I couldn’t determine whether he was a hero or a devil. An anointed one or a murderous brute. His suffering eyes said one thing; his hands around my neck another. A chill crept up my spine, but stopped at the spot on my throat where his fingerprints still burned. From there, a flame flashed through my entire body. Was this the call I sought? Was I being given another chance?
Father placed his hands firmly on my shoulders. “Come, Danya, our friend has to leave.”
“Your brother has probably gone to the Essenes,” Judah said, and withdrew into the darkness.
I heard him drag a boat from the shore and launch it into the Sea of Galilee. I imagined myself wading into the water and climbing into his boat. But I stayed on the shore as he rowed himself away, the light from his torch flickering faintly until it died.
* * *
The next morning, the group from Cana separated themselves from us. They believed it was too dangerous to travel with anyone associated with Judah ben Hezekiah. Alone again, Father, Naomi, and I turned south and followed the paths along the Jordan River for three days. Walking was easier for me than it was for Naomi and Father. I have big feet, and trailing after Lev had accustomed me to sustained physical exertion. Naomi complained that she was hot; then she was cold. She couldn’t get to sleep; she couldn’t wake up. She was frightened; she was bored. Father developed a limp and leaned heavily on his walking staff. He needed to rest often. Each time we stopped, he checked his treasured scrolls to make sure they were securely bound to the old donkey’s back.
On our third day along the Jordan River path, we came across a forest ravaged by wildfire. The groundcover and shrubs had been reduced to ash; some of the trees still smoldered. Had we arrived there a day earlier, we could’ve been caught in those flames. Naomi and I held hands as we picked our way through the blackened landscape.
All along the Jordan River, Roman forts, menacing reminders of the crucifixions we’d witnessed, loomed above us. At night, jackals and leopards hunted in the nearby hills, and the screeches of their victims pierced our restless sleep. We knew that thieves preyed on pilgrim groups enroute to Jerusalem, and this threat gnawed away at us. Our only weapon was Father’s staff.
Throughout our long trek along the river, I often thought about Lev, and wondered where he was and what he would be doing now. Father must know more about this than he was telling me. “Are the Essenes foreigners, Father?” I asked.
“No,” he answered sharply, maneuvering around a huge rock that had fallen onto the path.
“Magicians? Bandits? Soldiers?”
“No. No. And no.”
“Who are they then?”
“Jews, like us. I need to catch my breath. Sit on this log with me and be quiet.”
“What kind of Jews—Pharisees? Sadducees? Zealots?”
“None of those.”
“Why are they called Essenes?”
“I don’t know. Please get me some water.”
While I filled the water jug, Naomi stayed on the log with Father. “My father calls the Essenes ‘Sons of Light,’” she said.
“Some do call them that.”
“Where do they live?” I demanded.
“Qumran.”
“Where is Qumran?”
“In the desert.”
“Do they live anywhere else?”
“Probably. Let’s just keep walking. I’m getting no rest anyway.”
His habit of secrecy infuriated me. The parents of my friends told stories about growing up in Nazareth, marrying the spouse chosen for them by their families and gradually falling in love with that person. They talked about their aunts, uncles, cousins, and in-laws. I knew more about Naomi’s and Miryam’s families than I did