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Miryam102

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  • Frank Thomas Smith
    ... He understood me, and I understood him. No more words were necessary. Before he could send me away I left him, and I went with head held high and didn t
    Message 1 of 5 , Jun 28, 2005
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      > Oh Frank my heart sings it's love and appreciation
      > more than you shall ever know! Ever.
      >
      > d

      He understood me, and I understood him. No more words were necessary. Before
      he could send me away I left him, and I went with head held high and didn't
      turn around. No tears. Only no tears now.

      They scolded me when I returned. We were so worried about you. Where were
      you?

      At Veronica's with Yeshua's mother. Veronica wants to know if the rabbi will
      celebrate Seder with you or if she should expect him.

      He won't be with her or with us. He already told us. They're looking for a
      room to rent, a big one. He says that the family will be large. He says
      there will be twenty guests and he is the host.

      Who is invited?

      All the disciples of course.

      Yehuda also?

      Why not? Why do you ask?

      No reason. Who else?

      His mother and you and Lazarus, and some we don't know.

      Not you two?

      He asked us to invite Veronica and all our women and some poor people and
      children. I have already prepared everything.

      Martha, I'm dead tired. I didn't sleep a wink last night.

      Go rest then, we'll wake you at the right time.

      I slept, but before they came to wake me I was up. I washed, put on fresh
      clothes and prepared for the Seder. Without waiting for the others I left
      the house.

      I say that now: I left the house as though I were going out to visit or to
      shop. Yes, I left the house. But Yeshua was in that house, and I left. I
      left him in order to find him. I didn't walk though, I ran, as if I could
      find him sooner the farther away from him I got.

      It was almost evening.

      The ram-horns were already being blown. Announcements that the feast was
      about to begin. I could hear the death cries of the slaughtered animals from
      the temple mount, the city already smelled of fresh blood which flowed from
      the altar down through the gutters to Kidron and the stink of the entrails
      which had been burnt on the altar lay repulsively in the alleys. The first
      celebrant passed by holding his lamb in his arms, disemboweled, bled to
      death. That vile temple slaughtering. Thousands of lambs died that day.
      Death, everywhere blood and death. How could I eat a lamb that evening? How
      could I ever again eat the flesh of killed animals? Each animal's death cry
      is his, all the blood is his. But then how should I go to the Seder feast
      without eating lamb? It was the law: the lamb must be eaten, eaten up till
      the last morsel. In remembrance of that last meal, which our forefathers ate
      before the removal from Egypt, standing, ready for travel, hurried. And
      nothing of the meal may be left over. Since then it has been duty,
      commandment, strict law: every Yisraelite must participate in the Seder
      feast and must eat of everything on the table. Also the lamb, the usual
      food. I cannot. But one must. It is a sin not to eat the Seder meal. But why
      a sin? Didn't the rabbi say that it isn't what goes into the mouth that
      makes one guilty, but what comes out as evil words? Can I rethink the law?
      Fulfill the law by freeing myself from it? There is only one commandment,
      the rabbi said.

      My decision was: I will go later to the supper, after the lamb has been
      eaten and the bones cleared away.
    • Frank Thomas Smith
      My decision was: I will go later to the supper, after the lamb has been eaten and the bones cleared away. The sun had gone down red under the smoke from the
      Message 2 of 5 , Jul 2 6:07 AM
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        My decision was: I will go later to the supper, after the lamb has been
        eaten and the bones cleared away.

        The sun had gone down red under the smoke from the fires, and the moon rose
        high, almost full, and I still ran through the alleys like one who had no
        family and hadn't been invited to the Seder meal.

        People spoke to me twice, taking me for homeless or poor and wanting to take
        me home with them, as is every Jew's duty. But also: two men spoke to me:
        you, a Jewess, aren't at the meal? Or aren't you a Jewess? Anyway, you're
        pretty, come, we'll pay you well.

        They grabbed me, I broke free, they chased me, I fought with hands and feet,
        they fought too, and ripped off my cloak. Then I got away from them. My
        cloak lay on the ground. I remembered something: "The guards found me on
        their rounds through the city, the wall guards took away my cloak". The
        night was cold. I froze. I ran to Veronica's to ask for a wrap of some kind.

        Are you crazy to run around tonight? And how you look! Come in, we're just
        stating the Hallel.

        I can't, let me go.

        She gave me a shawl of white wool, nice and warm, but white. We didn't
        realize that the whiteness acted as a signal in the moonlit night. And we
        couldn't guess what a puzzle that white shawl would pose for those who were
        with us later on the Mount of Olives. A white form of light, an angel with a
        chalice full of consolation. Too much.

        But that hadn't happened yet. I sought out a dark corner from where I could
        see the door of the house in which our people would have the Seder meal. I
        heard footsteps. I recognized his among them all. Before he entered he
        turned and looked in my direction. I held my breath until the door had
        closed behind him and the others. I stood there and stared at the window
        behind which there was light, and I heard the songs and the blessings and
        knew what was happening: now the host blesses the first cup, now they wash
        their hands, now they dip the herbs in the salty water and eat them, now the
        host blesses the matzo and puts a piece aside, now the host begins to read
        the story of the departure from Egypt, now they sing the Hallel.

        I didn't hear the words. I looked up at the moon which, waning, hung
        gloomily over the temple mount, and then I saw a cat slinking over a wall
        toward a crevice in which a dove sat. Such bitter anger overcame me that I
        threw a stone at it and yelled: Thou shalt not kill!

        I didn't hit it, it sprang over the wall, the dove fluttered off. Murder,
        murder everywhere. I gnashed my teeth, like Yehuda.

        Yehuda: now he is at the table, now he drinks some wine, now he eats a piece
        of matzo, now he dips the bitter herb in the stewed fruit, now he eats the
        bitter herb between two pieces of Matzo, now he drinks from the second cup.
        And always together with Yeshua, always under Yeshua's gaze. How can he
        stand it? Now they bring the roasted lamb. That they can eat on this night!
        Doesn't it stick in anyone's throat? Doesn't anyone choke on a bone?

        That smell of roasted flesh. I feel sick. So many lambs killed. Murder,
        murder. I return to my corner. They are finished eating. They sing the final
        prayer. Now they drink from the third cup.

        The door opens and someone comes out, ducks into the shadow of the wall,
        stays there a moment, then runs away as though being chased. Where is he
        going? What remains for him to do?

        In the room they began to sing the third part of the Hallel. Time for me. I
        knocked the agreed signal on the door, someone let me in, I went up the
        stone stairs, entered the room and looked for my place at the table. Yeshua
        pointed to it: at the end of the table. His mother sat at the other end. The
        place opposite him remained unoccupied. It remained unoccupied forever.

        No one asked me why I had come so late. Afterwards Yochanan told me that the
        rabbi said when I was still missing: Let's start, she'll come at the right
        time.

        The meal was over. Yeshua stood and accompanied the guests to the door. He
        gave us a sign to stay. We sat down again. What would come now? Yeshua had a
        bowl brought in, a pitcher of water and a large linen cloth. What for, we
        had already washed our hands.

        It wasn't hands that were to be washed. Yeshua placed the bowl and pitcher
        on the floor, girded his robe high and kneeled before those who sat on his
        right and left: Shimon. He jumped up: "Rabbi, what are you doing? Sand up, I
        beg you!

        Sit down, Shimon, so that I can wash your feet.



        Frank Thomas Smith
        http://SouthernCrossReview.org
      • holderlin66
        Frank Thomas Smith wrote: And we couldn t guess what a puzzle that white shawl would pose for those who were with us later on the Mount of Olives. A white
        Message 3 of 5 , Jul 2 11:55 AM
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          Frank Thomas Smith wrote:

          "And we couldn't guess what a puzzle that white shawl would pose for
          those who were with us later on the Mount of Olives. A white form of
          light, an angel with a chalice full of consolation. Too much."
        • dottie zold
          Stephen H: And the consolation would be one of soothing, loving ... And what would your experience be, Stephen? All good things, Dottie
          Message 4 of 5 , Jul 2 7:22 PM
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            Stephen H:
            And the consolation would be one of soothing, loving
            > words about how great thou art. I know. I experienced it!

            And what would your experience be, Stephen?

            All good things,
            Dottie
          • dottie zold
            Hey Everyone, Continuing on in my Exodus reading I came to a part of the scripture where God wanted to kill Moses, but his wife made a covenant with God with
            Message 5 of 5 , Jul 2 7:33 PM
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              Hey Everyone,

              Continuing on in my Exodus reading I came to a part of
              the scripture where God wanted to kill Moses, but his
              wife made a covenant with God with her sons flesh. I
              am wondering if anyone has any thoughts on that? And
              to note, wow, to note that it was God who originated
              the idea of killing the first born amongst the non
              jews, yet during Christ's time it was the Jews who
              were so threatened. And if one looks at all the
              supposed killings by God from the signs of horror he
              brought upon the people it would seem there wouldn't
              be any people to be so afflicted from what is being
              said. I find it is in the number of inflictions we can
              find the mystery.

              Then I am coming to a part wherein we find that Moses
              needed miracle after miracle sign to get people to
              believe in God. Yet, Jesus needed none but the woman
              at the well. I wonder if that is really what is so
              appalling to the Jews: Jesus invited them all to the
              table irregardless of birthrite amongst the physical
              blood ties or that of being a Jew.

              Funny how it is noted that Miryam is not only the
              sister but also the mother according to some of the
              jewish womens understandings. But I shall have to ask
              my Rabbi. And how is it that the Pharoah would not
              recognize his daughters son?

              Just thinking,
              d

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