I hate travelling
by mule. Grumpy, onerous creatures that I suspect want more than anything to
tip you over at the first opportunity. And that waddling up and down motion
that makes me feel sick, urrgh! Well,
I am at least grateful to be travelling atop said mule, rather than trudging
alongside it. There was just enough room for me to perch alongside the load it was carrying.
Dawn was
still at least an hour away when our mule train reached the outskirts of the
Galilean town of Sepphoris. My brother, Yaʿqob was waiting for me like he’d promised. It
was on account of him that I’d had the long ride on the querulous mule. In fact,
if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even have any business in Galilee, not to talk
of making my way there on foot with my meager possessions on my back. He
had found some work for me with one of the merchants he did business with and
had arranged for my transportation down to Galilee as well. I would have been
able to afford to ride in a proper waggon if I hadn’t had to use some of the
money to buy the threadbare cloak I was now presently wearing, as well as my
shearing knife.
How did I come to this? How did I become this
man?
Better not
to think about that. At least, I have a cloak and some decent work. Just two sabbaths
ago, I was not only tending swine, I was stealing their feed. Somethings are best left unthought of.
Yaʿqob embraced
me as always, despite the unmistakable stench of swine on me.
“How are you, Brother?” he asked,
kissing my cheeks.
“I’m well.” I replied, returning his
kisses. “And yourself?”
“God be praised. Hadassah sends her
love and raisin cakes. She has not stopped weeping for you, Brother.”
My heart
ached for our little sister and how she was still too young to understand my
leaving. Her innocent heart still could
not fathom how complicated things had gotten between Father and I. She had been
unable to bear our frequent disagreements and it had broken her heart to see
our family torn apart.
I was never good enough and could never hope to be. Me leaving was best for everyone.
Despite all
of that, my empty stomach growled at the thought of Hadassah’s cakes. It had
been more than a full day since my last stolen pig-feed.
“Tell her I long for her too.” I said
to Yaʿqob, and he sighed in resignation. We’d had
this conversation countless times before and we both knew how it would go.
“Eliyahu….” He started, laying a
gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Brother, please don’t.” I said
wearily. I was suddenly bone-tired, and not from the long journey and
starvation. My heart felt hollowed out.
“Just come back home to Nazareth.”
“But how can I? after all that has
happened?”
“None of that matters!”
“But it does!”
There are just somethings you don’t come back from. There are some things you can’t undo or un-say.
“Father…”
“…hates me! That is why he turned his
back on me!”
Yaʿqob recoiled
from me like I’d raised a fist to him.
“How can
you even think that?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
“He was never
there in the times that I needed him!”
“That's not true!”
“Well, that's how it looked from where I was
standing!”
“He would never shut you out, not even now...”
Yes, he shut me out of his heart, long before I
did the unthinkable.
Yaʿqob had
always been the better son. Older, wiser, more grounded, the responsible one, the loved one. There was no doubt that
he was the very apple of Father’s eye, his pride and joy. As a little boy, all I
ever wanted was to be like my golden older Brother whom I loved with my whole heart. I longed for his excellent
spirit, and I hoped to win Father’s love like he had. Instead, it seemed like
the older I got and the harder I tried, the more I messed up and the farther
apart Father and I grew. I started to realize I could never get it right with him. I came to realize
there was something wrong with us and
there was nothing I could do to fix it. I started to wonder if he would ever
love me like he loved Yaʿqob, if
he even loved me at all. I felt the distance between us grow, and I could
feel him judging me every time he looked at me, measuring me up against Yaʿqob, and
finding me lacking.
All I ever wanted was to earn his love, be
good enough.
I turned
away from him, not wanting him to see how deeply it still hurt. Not even the
months and months of partying and wild living had been able to dull that pain.
Leaving had been the only option. I couldn’t bear
to stay another day knowing I was a failure. Shaming Father had been my payback
for the anger and hurt.
“We should go. The shearing will begin
soon.” I said, grabbing my tiny pack from the ground. I thought Yaʿqob would protest and try to reason with me
some more, but he didn’t.
We mounted
the fresh mules my brother had acquired from his inn keeper, and rode through
the empty streets in silence, each one lost in his own thoughts. Soon, we saw
the flickering lights of the shearing shed in the distance. I hoped that Yaʿqob’s
friend had at least half as many sheep as Father did. That would mean I would earn about two days’ wages, three if I was lucky. Hopefully, enough to
tide me over until I could find some more work. Maybe I would strike gold, and other
shepherds would bring their sheep to be sheared and I would have work for up to
a fortnight.
At the
gates, we embraced, Yaʿqob holding on to me one moment longer.
“I will see you again soon, Brother.” He
said.
“Thank you Yaʿqob. For everything.”
“Phineas knows to expect you. He will
treat you fairly.”
“God’s blessings, Brother.” I kissed
his hand, and he rode on towards Ginosar.
I tethered
my mule to a post, and then made my way into the shed. A few other shearers had
arrived before me, and I was approaching one of them to ask about Phineas when I
saw him. Even in the dim light, there
was no way I could have missed that distinct plane of his shoulders, the
graceful way he moved among the men. My heart leapt in my chest and then froze.
Dear God, what is he doing here! How can he be
here?
I turned
around and stumbled out of the shed. How can this be? What was Father doing all
the way in Galilee, so far from our pasture lands? He was wealthy enough to
hire the best shearers in all of Israel, yet he decides to come to a small town
in Galilee? And he didn’t even send the shepherds, he came himself!
You meddling fool, Ya’qob, what have you done?
I should
have known he would do something like this! I should have known. Did Father put
him up to it? Did he want me to come begging for mercy?
I’d do it in a heartbeat if it would mean he
would love me just a tiny bit. I would grovel just to get his acceptance. But how do I ever face him again?
Blindly, I
groped at the knots on the rope tethering my mule.
The things I said, the horrible, hateful
things I said to him. How do I ever look him in the face again?
My pack
slipped from my trembling fingers as I struggle with the knots and crumpled to the ground. At the back
of my mind was the thought that Hadassah’s raisin cakes would be crushed.
It’s too late for us. The damage is irreparable.
I gave up
on the knots and grabbed my pack from the ground. I stumbled away from the
shed, not caring which direction I was going in. I desperately needed to run, to
hide, to get as far away as I could.
I’m sorry Father. I’ve failed you yet again. I’m
doing what I do best, I’m running away.
I heard
the gate creak open behind me. I kept walking, breathing fast and hard.
I’ve sinned against heaven and against you. I’m
not worthy to be your son. I never was.
The tears
came hard and fast, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“Eliyahu?”
Even from
the distance, I could hear the tremble in the voice. I froze for a moment. I was
probably imagining things. For starters, why would he come after me? And then,
what was that emotion I thought I heard in the voice?
“Eliyahu!”
His voice
was stronger, and I dared to entertain the thought that that was hope I heard
in it. And love. And desperation. And a myriad of emotions I never thought anyone would ever show towards me. I stopped my rambling walk, still breathing hard.
I can’t do this. I’m not ready to face him. Oh,
the shame!
“My son!”
Was that
a sob I heard?
Take a chance on him, he loves you… Ya’qob’s voice floated through my mind.
Shaking
uncontrollably, I turned towards the voice of my Father, and what I saw nearly
brought me to my knees. My Father was running towards me…
*
I have sometimes
wondered about the un-prodigal son. I wonder if, just if, instead of being the
pissed-off brother, he’d been the one to go after his brother to bring him home
because he saw just how much his absence was killing their father. I wondered
how that story would have panned out if he’d been the instrument of reconciliation.
In a
round-about way, you were that version of the un-prodigal son. Even though I doubt
you ever realized it, you helped bring me back home at a time that I was so
desperately lost, and you forced me into a place of confrontation with my
Father. Thank you! Thank you for being an important part of my story. I’m so
sorry I never told you that. I can’t possibly say how bloody much I’m going to
miss you.
