Read Online According to Mary Magdalene by Marianne Fredriksson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marianne Fredriksson
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long ago now.
She got down on her hands and knees and started pulling up the weeds. She noticed the soil was dryer than usual at this time of year and that was worrying. She would have to start watering soon and she sighed even now at the thought of the heavy work of carrying water up to the top terraces.
As she was resting and slaking her thirst from the water jar, she noticed the mist sweeping in over the sea. The blue color had gone and she now had to be content with looking at her house, the lovely house Leonidas had had built on the slope.
She began wondering how it had come about that they had ended up here. Neither of them had wanted to live in the seething noisy town, that was clear. But why just here, on the outskirts of the Jewish quarter?
The finger of God, she thought, but she smiled. Perhaps it was Leonidas wanting to give her a home close to Jewish fellow believers.
The thought made her laugh.
Then she thought perhaps it had been for her.
A long time had gone by before she had dared go to the synagogue, slipping in to the women's gallery to hear Rabbi Amasya speaking. She listened in wonder to the words she recognized, about the God you could only serve by being merciful.
Rabbi Amasya told an old story about a Greek who went to the rabbi and asked to be instructed in the Torah. He was given the answer that it was simple, that all of Jewish wisdom could be found in a single rule: Love your neighbor as yourself.
Amasya quoted the prophets: Hosea who listened to God and heard him say, “For I have delight in love and not in sacrifice.” And not without pride, he said that Judaism was the first religion to preach responsibility for all fellow human beings. He spoke of Amos, the prophet for whom Jehovah spoke on behalf of the oppressed. People may close their eyes to injustices and cruelty to the poor, but God did not.
The rabbi quoted from the scriptures: “Therefore all things whatsoever you would that men should do to you, do you even so to them.”
Mary heard another voice, a young voice saying: “All that you wish people to do to you, shall you do for them.”
She was far away in the unusual light over the hills by the blue sea when the service ended in a prayer to God who was beyond our understanding, but was on the side of the powerless and the despairing. As the women around her rose to leave, Mary looked at the rabbi down there, her gaze so strong that he looked up, met her eyes, and smiled. As she left the synagogue the last of all, he was standing in the doorway.
“I knew Leonidas' wife was a Jewess,” he said. “So I have waited a long time for you.”
“I'll be back.”
On the following Sabbath, the rabbi told another story.
A man died, was wrapped in a shroud and placed in a coffin. Many people assembled for his burial, mourning and weeping.
But the man was in suspended animation and was awakened by the wailing. He banged on the coffin lid.
Horrified, the mourners looked at each other. But the bravest of them opened the coffin, saw the dead man sit up and heard him cry out, “I am not dead.”
At which the brave man said in a firm voice: “Both the priest and the doctor have pronounced you dead. So lie down again.”
Then they nailed down the coffin again and lowered it into the grave.
A murmur ran through the great hall, and an astonished titter or two, but Mary's laughter filled the synagogue. Heads turned and necks craned toward the women's gallery. Appalled, she slapped her hand to her mouth, but she noticed the rabbi smiling slightly, and that he gave her a grateful look.
The very next day, Rabbi Amasya knocked on her door. Leonidas received him and told him he had listened to his wife's account of the services at the synagogue.
“You must be a brave man.”
“Antioch is a large town and most Jews here have for generations been influenced by Greek thinking. There are shifting perceptions here, Gnostic Jews and the new Christians. So we have many seekers from other
She got down on her hands and knees and started pulling up the weeds. She noticed the soil was dryer than usual at this time of year and that was worrying. She would have to start watering soon and she sighed even now at the thought of the heavy work of carrying water up to the top terraces.
As she was resting and slaking her thirst from the water jar, she noticed the mist sweeping in over the sea. The blue color had gone and she now had to be content with looking at her house, the lovely house Leonidas had had built on the slope.
She began wondering how it had come about that they had ended up here. Neither of them had wanted to live in the seething noisy town, that was clear. But why just here, on the outskirts of the Jewish quarter?
The finger of God, she thought, but she smiled. Perhaps it was Leonidas wanting to give her a home close to Jewish fellow believers.
The thought made her laugh.
Then she thought perhaps it had been for her.
A long time had gone by before she had dared go to the synagogue, slipping in to the women's gallery to hear Rabbi Amasya speaking. She listened in wonder to the words she recognized, about the God you could only serve by being merciful.
Rabbi Amasya told an old story about a Greek who went to the rabbi and asked to be instructed in the Torah. He was given the answer that it was simple, that all of Jewish wisdom could be found in a single rule: Love your neighbor as yourself.
Amasya quoted the prophets: Hosea who listened to God and heard him say, “For I have delight in love and not in sacrifice.” And not without pride, he said that Judaism was the first religion to preach responsibility for all fellow human beings. He spoke of Amos, the prophet for whom Jehovah spoke on behalf of the oppressed. People may close their eyes to injustices and cruelty to the poor, but God did not.
The rabbi quoted from the scriptures: “Therefore all things whatsoever you would that men should do to you, do you even so to them.”
Mary heard another voice, a young voice saying: “All that you wish people to do to you, shall you do for them.”
She was far away in the unusual light over the hills by the blue sea when the service ended in a prayer to God who was beyond our understanding, but was on the side of the powerless and the despairing. As the women around her rose to leave, Mary looked at the rabbi down there, her gaze so strong that he looked up, met her eyes, and smiled. As she left the synagogue the last of all, he was standing in the doorway.
“I knew Leonidas' wife was a Jewess,” he said. “So I have waited a long time for you.”
“I'll be back.”
On the following Sabbath, the rabbi told another story.
A man died, was wrapped in a shroud and placed in a coffin. Many people assembled for his burial, mourning and weeping.
But the man was in suspended animation and was awakened by the wailing. He banged on the coffin lid.
Horrified, the mourners looked at each other. But the bravest of them opened the coffin, saw the dead man sit up and heard him cry out, “I am not dead.”
At which the brave man said in a firm voice: “Both the priest and the doctor have pronounced you dead. So lie down again.”
Then they nailed down the coffin again and lowered it into the grave.
A murmur ran through the great hall, and an astonished titter or two, but Mary's laughter filled the synagogue. Heads turned and necks craned toward the women's gallery. Appalled, she slapped her hand to her mouth, but she noticed the rabbi smiling slightly, and that he gave her a grateful look.
The very next day, Rabbi Amasya knocked on her door. Leonidas received him and told him he had listened to his wife's account of the services at the synagogue.
“You must be a brave man.”
“Antioch is a large town and most Jews here have for generations been influenced by Greek thinking. There are shifting perceptions here, Gnostic Jews and the new Christians. So we have many seekers from other
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