The Issue Part 2

Prologue:

My name is Aliza. For the longest time I found it’s meaning a bitter irony because it means happy and I was anything but happy. Nearly a third of my life had been one of misery and torment. The bitterness of tears watered even the very bread I ate. Loneliness, solitude, pain and frustration were my constant companions. Isolation had become a way of life… But that was before He came….

Twelve years ago, my life matched my name. I had all that I could desire. I would have said that I was blessed, and had every reason to be happy. I had a husband, Daniel; who loved me. We were weavers by trade and our business prospered. I had a three year old son, David; he was sturdy, ruddy, energetic, curious and intelligent; full of questions and compassion – the image of his father. Our parents doted on little David as often as they could, but we did not visit Bethlehem often, and they came to Galilee more once or twice yearly. Visits were rare; nevertheless, every reunion was a joyous occasion.

We were expecting our second child; I was overjoyed. I seemed to bloom as my time neared and we anticipated the arrival of our second child. My husband proudly proclaimed – to any who would listen – that the next child would be yet another fine son, as he quoted the scripture: “happy is the man that has his quiver full.” Despite my husband’s declarations, I secretly wished for a daughter, someone who would not quite as energetic as David, who could actually move at a walk, rather than a full run, someone who would eventually understand and share the concerns and burdens of a woman in a house full of men. But in the blink of an eye, our happiness, my contentment, turned to ashes in my mouth.

Chapter 1:

It was morning or very nearly morning; the sky had not fully lightened and the air held that predawn chill as a breeze blew through the window when Aliza was awakened by the pain – like a constricting band stretched from her back to her abdomen it griped her in its throes. As Aliza lay there, she clutched the bed frame as another wave of pain wracked her body. She tried not to writhe or to cry out – in hopes of not waking Daniel or David. Perspiration dotted her brow as she thought of Daniel. He worked so hard, always striving to make the business a success and would need to be up soon enough anyway. He had moved them from Bethlehem, to strike out on their own; to have some independence from their families. It wasn’t that Daniel didn’t love his family; it was just that he felt as a younger son among so many, if he had stayed near his parents, he would always be overshadowed by his older brother, Judah and controlled by his prominent Father. The privileges of being first born stretched far beyond the lintel of one’s home; the burden of being the son of a renowned Pharisee never lifted. Daniel’s primary ambition was to grow and thrive by his own efforts, beyond the shadow of his family. Mostly, this had been a good decision – the people of Galilee were friendly; the neighbors, kind and considerate, Aliza had made friends with some of the women she saw daily at the well; still, it had taken her a while to adjust to the bustle of so large a town. The business thrived to the point that Daniel even spoke of taking on one or two of his younger kinsmen as apprentices.

David, she continued to mused, was a bundle of energy. Once he awakened, he would only be stilled by slumber. So she didn’t have many opportunities to miss her mother or sisters…Hmmmm, she thought ruefully – with this little one arriving shortly, there will never be time again for homesickness.... Even as she knew that her hour was upon her, she also knew that it was but a matter of time before an agonizing cry escaped her lips. As the last pain subsided, Aliza carefully levered herself up to a sitting position, and then up from the bed. Once up, with panting breaths and deliberate steps, she hobbled/waddled as best she could into the other room; stopping to lean on the doorpost of the bedroom for another contraction.

Once in the outer room, she made her way over to Mery, her Egyptian handmaid. The fire had been banked for the night; the embers glowed comfortingly as Mery lay asleep by the hearth. Aliza bent as best she could, while bracing herself with one hand on the mantel and cradling her swollen belly with the other, to shake Mery’s shoulder as she tried to wake her. “Mery, Mery!” she whispered softly, but insistently. “Wake up!”

Mery groggily looked up at her mistress with sleep gummed eyes. “Mistress? What is it? How may I server you?”

“Mery, the baby is coming! I need you to assist me to the woman’s hut and to go and get Binah.”
“NO Mistress!” exclaimed Mery as she hastily arose. “It’s too early!” She adjusted her undergarment and put on her outer garment. She offered her mistress a shoulder and grabbed the basket of supplies which had been prepared for this purpose. She and Aliza made their way to the birthing hut on the roof as quickly as possible. Their progress was impeded by the contractions which did not seem to cease, but rather broke like insistent waves on the shore. Aliza prayed, as she slowly climbed the stairs to the room: “Yahweh! Help us!” She mentally thanked the Creator for Mery who daily lived up to her name (hopeful).

As soon as Aliza was settled on the pallet, Mery left to fetch the midwife. She ran through the twilight and darkness as though her life depended on speed. Her footsteps echoed on the walls of the buildings lining the empty streets. Her intent was to return within minutes with Binah, the wizened midwife; a woman of great skill, and experience. It was said that Binah had delivered nearly half of all the people in the area.

Binah shuffled to the door. An insistent knocking had awakened her not for the first time or the last time in the forty years she had served as the community’s midwife. Before opening the door, she called to her assistant: “Tamara, awake!” Standing outside was Mery, the Egyptian servant of Aliza and Daniel Ben Labon. The girl, willow thin as any Nile reed; her face was flushed from exertion and anxious as she babbled that her mistress’ time had come.

Binah knew that the baby was early, but she well knew that babies came when they and Yahweh deemed it was time – not according to expectation of men or at any time particularly convenient for the aging, attending midwife. She grabbed her bag of supplies, containing absorbent wool, medicinal herbs, and other tools of the trade as well as well as the birthing stool. She thrust the stool into the hands of her tired assistant as she stood rubbing the sleep from her eyes and the bag to the girl. Leaving the house, in the early morning light, she swung her shawl over her head and shoulders as she instructed the Mery to lead the way.

Binah, Tamara, and Mery arrived at the woman’s hut within moments. The young woman lay on the pallet before them had a white-knuckled grip on the bed-clothes. Her eyes shut, her ample mouth compressed into a thin line as she rode the latest wave of pain that wracked her body. Aliza finally released a gasp and opened her eyes. Binah was kneeling at her side with her hand on her swollen and distended abdomen. Her wizened face was fixed in concentration as she stared into the space ahead of her. She nodded to herself as if in answer to some internal conversation then she looked into Aliza’s eyes. “Well, little mother.” She said. “It seems that your time has arrived and this little one is anxious to join us.” Her calm and reassuring voice caused some of the tension Aliza didn’t even know she held to ease from her body.

Tamara was busy laying out the supplies from the bag and placing the stool in a convenient place. She dispatched Mery to bring water and new clean rushes, which would be used to absorb much of the blood and fluid which was sure to come.

Daniel couldn’t say for sure what had awakened him. He only knew that when he turned in his sleep, unconsciously seeking the familiar warmth and girth of his wife he came up empty. His eyes opened immediately. Through a sleep fogged haze, he thought to himself… there is no need to panic! She could just be up to recover David (who often kicked off the covers in the night) or she could be up to use the facilities. But a feeling of uneasiness crept into his chest making him instantly more alert and apprehensive. He scanned the dimly lit room for Aliza, but to no avail. The slop bucket stood in the unoccupied in the corner; Daniel was sleeping in his bed in the corner; through the doorway, he could see the empty sleeping mat of the servant girl… but where was his wife? She should be here! Where was Aliza? An unnamed dread seemed to solidify in his chest, like a cold, hard stone. As he tossed aside the bed covers to begin to his search, he sought his sandals with his feet and silently prayed: “YAHWEH!” “Keep them safe!”

As Daniel pulled on his outer garment, he headed out the door and up the stairs to the roof and the woman’s hut. He was met by Binah, the midwife, and Mery. He could hear Aliza’s moans from the hut on the corner of the roof. He saw strain in Binah’s face and fear in Mery’s (despite their reassurances that all was well). Binah told him in an impatient and authoritative way: “Birthing was woman’s business. This was no place for a man… You are useless here. Go, see to yourself and your son, your wife is well attended.” Reluctantly, Daniel allowed himself to be shooed back down the stairs into the house – to pray, to await the dawn, the waking of his son, and the arrival of this new life.

Chapter 2:

By my count, the baby was early – at least a month or more – still born after a long and arduous labor; the little girl of my heart; tiny and perfectly formed. I named her Abilia – breath. It was with aching arms, and painful, milk laden breasts, I grieved her loss in solitude. Because I was unclean until the days of my purification were accomplished, I was isolated in the woman’s hut. The last human touch I could recall was that of old Binah, reaching into my womb to assist my tiny daughter into this world. Beyond that I don’t remember much. At that point the pain must have so great that I fainted. I remember the agony, the birthing stool, the assistant standing behind me pressing down on my abdomen and the fowl brew they gave me to drink to hasten my labor and then awakening to a room of silent women – gathering blood stained rags into baskets. Their backs were to me and they seemed to avoid my eyes, even though I know they heard me stir on the pallet. I knew then that this precious child would never see the light of day, never grow to adulthood, never worship in the congregation of the Almighty, and at that moment I began to keen with grief. My voice loud, shrill and foreign even to my own ears caused them to finally respond to me, and for a while I was inconsolable. Binah gave me herbs to sedate.

Later, Binah and Mery continued to attend me. Dosing me with herbs which they said would restore my strength. They told me that I had lost a great deal of blood… that was why I was weak and so tired; that was why I was so sleepy. I believed them at the time, I had a vague recollection of them gathering bloody clothes and of a metallic odor of blood in the air when I had first awoken. However, I don’t remember feeling stronger those first few days, only period’s sleep sandwiched between those of groggy wakefulness. I remember thinking, feeling that there was something that they were keeping from me. I couldn’t put my finger on it… I was too muddled to work it out at the time. After all, I reasoned, the child is in the bosom of Yahweh, what more could they be hiding from me. It was just be my imagination that they will not look at me directly. So I tried to rein in my emotions and obediently drank the bitter draughts they continued to give me. I slept in fitful naps for days.

Three or four days later, my friends, neighbors, and relatives began to visit. They each tried to console me from the safe distance of door of the woman’s hut. They told me that these things sometimes happened, and that God was still in control, still merciful, and that He would restore to me seven more children for this precious little one stolen by the enemy. They said that I was young and healthy, and could and would easily bare another child. At first my husband was among the congregation of the consoling. He assured me that he loved me, that little David missed and needed me still; that our son, David, cried for his mother before bed each night that we were apart. Daniel said that as soon as my atonement was made, and my strength had returned, we would, with the help of God, fill his quiver – making many, many fine, health children...

Chapter 3:

That was at the beginning. My issue did not cease. It lasted twelve long years. It was the catalyst of my downfall and it cost me all that I held dear. Because of that issue, that constant bleeding, the husband of my youth would abandon me for another. Daniel eventually divorced me at the behest of his family and married another. I think he loved me still because he returned the whole of my dowry. Because of this cursed issue, neither it nor I could return to my father’s house… everything and every one I’d touch would be unclean. I couldn’t even go into the streets without contaminating anyone who innocently jostled me in a crowd. But still God is merciful; He softened my husband’s heart enough to leave me our home and all its contents as well as the Egyptian servant. Mery, now slept in a room with a separate entrance that she might not be contaminated by contact with me.
Because of this issue I would never held my son again. I missed his childhood. I did not see him grow and develop into the man of God, the son of the Torah, I missed his Bar Mitzvah. He will be 15 now, had He not come, I could possibly even have missed David’s wedding. At first Daniel would bring David to see me. I could do nothing but longingly look at him standing in the doorway of the woman’s hut, with empty, aching arms I tried not to cry, not to upset him with my own grief, I tried to assure him that we would be together soon. But that promise of hope and consolation to a small boy, turned into a bitter lie. Their visits, as those of almost everyone else became more and more infrequent, until, even David no longer visited me. Eventually, to almost all those that I had know and loved, I was as good as dead, and might as well have been in the grave…

Sixty-six days after the birth of my daughter, my husband intended to go to the temple to make a sacrifice for me – two turtle doves; one for a sin offering, the other as a burnt offering. My bleeding did not cease, as long as there was a flow, I was considered unclean and constrained to isolation and could not return to my life. I could see the strain that this placed on my family…

At first everyone full prayers and compassion. The women of our community would stop by to bring me sweetmeats, fruit, fresh baked bread and new cheeses, or to just chat with me from the safety of the door way. They would bring me word of the world outside the prison of that hut and later my home. In the beginning Daniel would come to visit me – three times a day – in the morning before work, at noon while he and David ate their mid-day meals, and in the cool of evening. I could often see the look of strain, desire, &/or frustration in and around his eyes. Initially he would come with David, holding him on his lap as we spoke of the doings of the day. He would sit a distance away and tell me that he loved me, or of some humorous occurrence or those he encounter. He would tell me the things David said or the questions he had asked. We shared all that we were all that was in our hearts, we were only unable to touch each other, yet nothing else was withheld. I knew the longing for contact that I felt was no greater than that that he felt. We spoke of the doctors he had summoned to treat me, of their findings or lack thereof. The expense of the physicians was never spoken of, but I knew that the cost was eating away at the profits of the business. After about three months I heard David scream, as he resisted his grandmother in her attempt to take him back to her home. However, once they were settled in the cart, I could still hear his sobs and hiccups from the cart below. My heart was torn. I had never felt so worthless or useless… what good is a woman who can not even mother her own child? When I thought that my heart could be no further battered, I heard the heated word of my husband and his father. I was surprised, because I had never known my Daniel to be anything but respectful to the elders, especially his father. I was shocked to hear my name mentioned. I could not hear clearly all that was said, but from that point David did not visit me as often as before and when he did we did not speak as deeply. He seemed resigned, and began to withdraw from me. At this point I truly felt like a leper. I felt abandoned and rejected by those I had loved most. Eventually the day came when the elders came and gave me the bill of divorcement. I never saw David again. The pompous wind bag who delivered the bill of divorcement said that my husband was far more generous than I deserved because surely my condition was because of some hidden sin or revealed uncleanness. The elder said that the house should have remained my husbands and that I should have been cast out of town. My sobs and protest, my pleas to speak to my husband fell on deaf ears, and my request went unheeded, probably even undelivered.

I heard from my maid that David remarried a few days later. I didn’t know that a heart as battered as mine could be bruised further. From that point and for an innumerable number of days I turned my face to the wall and did not even speak. I retreated inside myself. Grief, sorrow, condemnation, recriminations, anger, fear and frustration were my constant companions. I felt like Job and I even railed at God. I cursed the day of my birth.

As time passed, resignation set in. Although I no longer sat with my face to the wall, awaiting and wishing for death, I did wage a constant and internal battle. I battled my anger, my loneliness, my bitterness and misery. I tried not to hate Daniel and his family. I reasoned that had he truly loved me, he would not have divorced me, nor would he have abandoned me. He would not have taken my only living child from me. I tried not to curse the wife as well as the womb and issue of my husband. I tried, I really tried.

I tried not to hate God. After all, if He is almighty – why did he allow this? What had I done to deserve this? What was my fault what was my secrete sin? If He were almighty, He could heal me, yet He didn’t.

I began to feel like a caged bird. I who had been beautiful, bountiful in health and happiness was now reduced to a mere shadow of myself. With the incessant bleeding went my energy, my appetite, my fair continence. My eyes were constantly ringed so darkly, had you seen me, it would have been easy to surmise that my husband abused me frequently. Where once I was ample, voluptuous, I now looked like a skeleton covered in dry parchment like skin. My dark, lustrous, raven hair was now dry, brittle, and dull. Even my sisters of the community abandoned me. I became a by word to unruly children, the object of derision and scorn. The children tormented me saying my circumstances were curses from God for some secrete sin.

The last indignity was my total and abject poverty. As the years went by, without a husband, father or son, as my protector, provider, advocate, or redeemer, the dowry dwindled. I couldn’t do business because I couldn’t leave the house. I couldn’t weave because all that I touch would be unclean from the beginning and would only be burned. I couldn’t even sell the contents of my house even though I had confined myself all these years to one stool, my bed, a single bowl, cup, and dish. They were all tainted by my presence in the mind of any potential buyer. Living expenses and physician fees ate away my portion till there was not enough to even maintain my servant and out of compassion for her welfare, and in the hope that she might have a fulfilling life of her own, I released her into God’s care, giving her liberty. My only news was the snippets of conversation overheard by passersby… that’s how I heard of His coming.

There was excitement in the streets. Crowds were gathering even to the point that none mined being in close proximity to my home. I heard folk speak of miracles: a withered hand restored, a dead son raised from the dead, the departing of demons, blind eyes opened. It was from these seeds of that hope bloomed in my heart. It occurred to me if I could just get to Him if I could just touch him, or even just the hem of his prayer shawl, I would be healed… But how to get to him?
If any knew my intent and my condition, they would be within their rights to stone me for defiling the people. And this crowd, with the magnitude of it, there would be no way I could make my way to Him without defiling others along the way. Finally, what if someone recognized me – all hope could and would be lost – for all intents and purposes I might as well been a leper screaming unclean to all in my path! I contemplated these things as I watched the crowd expand from the safety of my roof top, their safety, not mine.

Finally, I saw Him. I don’t know how I knew it was He, but I did. My inner man leaped at the sight of Him and with the leaping, the fear of the people and the crowd was gone. I ran from the roof, snatching a shawl to cover myself as I left the prison of my home for the first time in twelve years. I was oblivious to the throng as I wove my way in and out of the crowd inching closer and closer to my salvation. Over and over, like a litany, like the mantras of the Arabian mystics, I said to myself:

Just get to His garment,
just get to His garment.
Just get to His garment and you’ll be healed!

Finally, I was there; right behind Him. The tassels of his shimla, his prayer shawl were inches away. I reached with all that was within me, given a final push by the surging crowd behind me – I briefly grasped the nearest tassel. Instantly I felt it … like warm honey flowing in me and over me; from my head to my feet. I was like and more intense than the moment of ecstasy between a husband and wife. Finally, I understood the description of those who survive the lightning – I felt His power flow through me. I tingled from the palm of my hand to the ends of my hair and in every fiber of my person and my being – I knew. I KNEW I was healed! I knew the circles under my eyes were gone, my beauty and my health were completely restored. I knew that the fount of the accursed issue was stopped. My spirit wanted to rejoice, but in the self same instant He stopped. He turned and said with authority: “Who touched me?”

His companions, rustic men, looked at him in exasperation and snidely said “Lord, the crowd thongs you…How can you say who touched me?” He replied in authority and without rancor, as he scanned the crowd around him: “Someone touched me, for Virtue has gone out of me!”
After seconds, which seemed like an eternity, His eyes fell on me. I knew that He knew. Instinctively, I threw myself at his feet. Worshiping Him, I babbling told him all that had transpired. I expected condemnation – from Him, from the crowd… for I had defiled many… but that’s not what I received. To my great joy and amazement, He did not sternly rebuke me, nor look at me with vengeful eyes, but rather with compassion. He lovingly said to me “Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole. Go in peace, and be whole of thy plague.” He told me to go my way in continual health. I was amazed, overwhelmed, shocked, and in aw at His great kindness, and of the goodness of God. I still lay at His feet worshiping as He turned away, continuing on His mission. While the crowd surged past me; dazed and oblivious to the multitude, I was pulled to my feet by those around me as the surge of humanity continued forward in His wake.

That was years ago. I never saw him again. I heard that he was eventually crucified by the Romans at the behest of those with the authority of the temple. I can’t understand how that would be. My heart tells me He is and was my salvation, the restorer of my joy, the only hope of men.
Those disciples – who stood by and so foolishly, chided my Lord, for recognizing my touch of faith – are different now. They now too operate as He did. They many are who like minded have become my family now… we meet nightly to learn the truths that He brought us and we will never be the same.

Epilogue:

Eventually, there was much persecution for those who were believers that Jesus was the Christ, Yeshua Hamashiach. We were driven from our homes and scattered throughout the known world. But even in our plight, in our lives still have hope… it is even as the scripture which says He’s give us “beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for morning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness”…for myself, I now have a new husband, Antonius, a Greek and a believer. We’ve been married five years now and we have a daughter Pricilla and another child on the way. I have no fear of the return of the plague… All that the enemy stole from me has been restored and more. At forty years old I am more complete than when I was wife to Daniel at twenty. I have forgiven him, finally; I pray daily that he comes to know Yeshua, that he escapes the legalism of his father. David is man, married now; he too along with his household is also believers. The only thing I can imagine greater than this is Yeshua’s return.