CHAPTER THREE: MIGDAL AND QANA

On the northwest corner of the sea called Kinneret or Tiberias sat the little village of Migdal, between Kefer-Nahum and Bet-saida. All three of these villages were fishing villages, and business was booming at this time of the year. One could always tell when things were going well— more tax collectors would show up to take their cut for Herod. The people of Migdal however were not doing the usual grumbling about the tax collectors as there was a new topic of conversation— the beautiful new synagogue in Migdal, complete with stone reading table decorated with floral designs and a carved image of a menorah. The pride in the little village was palpable since the synagogue had been completed this summer.

High up above the fishing village in the hills that led up to the cliffs of Arbel was a cave, and sitting in its mouth a woman, covered in dust from head to toe. She was not an old woman, but still it was clear that life had not been kind to her. Left to herself, she had no one to talk to, save herself. “Unclean they say, unclean. But who are they, the lords of life, to judge me?” she asked no one in particular. Her hair disheveled, she had covered herself in dirt to protect her from the sun and also the vermin that crawled around in the cave. Her name was Miryam, named for the prophetess, the sister of Moses. But she was not honored among men like Miryam once, indeed she had been cast out of the village because of the suspicion she had unclean spirits. There were also stories that men had tried to use her for their pleasure, unsuccessfully for she would begin to shriek and kick and fight them off. Her parents were dead and her only brother had left town looking for work elsewhere and so she was well and truly alone.

What had brought Miryam at the young age of twenty five to this cave where she now lived had been a day earlier in the summer, a day she would never forget. Seeking help and cleansing from G-d she has sought to enter the new synagogue early on Shabbat, but suddenly, as had happened before, she blacked out, fell down, began to writhe on the new mosaic floor and spittle foamed from her mouth. The president in charge of maintenance of the new synagogue had at once called for several townsmen to help him drag her out of the holy place, as clearly she was not well, was unclean, might even be possessed by demons.

Miryam awoke some time later lying just beyond the graveyard, just beyond the town boundary stone. Bruised from the fall, bewildered as to why she was there, when she stood up to head back down the hill to where she lived, a tall olive-skinned man with dark hair, the watchman and caretaker of the graveyard had come to her and told her–“you cannot come into the town or synagogue again. You are possessed, unclean, unwell, cursed by G-d. We cannot have you here contaminating others in our village, much less contaminating the holy place. Here is your bundle of clothes and things. Take them and go. Go away. Anywhere but Migdal. You are not welcome here ever again!” and he pushed her up the hill.

Reeling from the events of the day, Miryam had wandered up the hill to where the shepherds and sheep were. She had found a little cave, where she now sat. In her more lucid moments, she had been able to ask the shepherds where the spring water was, and she had found some abandoned olive and fig trees to provide her with food. In exchange for doing some sowing of garments for the itinerant shepherds and goatherds Miryam was supplied with bread to eat as well. But apart from this sporadic contact with humankind, she lived alone. The spider and the scorpion, the birds, and the wild animals, were her only more regular companions. Cast out, cast down, casting about for food and life, she lived in not so splendid isolation.

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The town of Kirbet Qana lay off the beaten path, like Netzerit itself. No main road went there, but the east-west trade route was close enough. Like many other such villages in the Galilee there had been a growing worry that something was wrong, terribly wrong. The response of the town folk, like those who lived in community by the Salt Sea, had been to dig more mikvas for ritual cleansing. And more and more people were availing themselves of them. There was illness in the land, uncleanness in the land, foreigners in the land, demons in the land, a land which was supposed to be G-d’s special land, a holy place. It did not augur well for the future. The people asked themselves why G-d was punishing his people with such leaders, such rulers. Obviously there must be sins that needed to be repented of, cleansing was required.

One such indicator of uncleanness was that increasingly there were officials of Herod in the towns and villages, not just to collect taxes but simply to be an observing and monitoring presence. Called the Herodians, they were the eyes and ears of Herod. Even in Qana, there was now a court official, a ‘basilikos’, living in their midst. But that was not all.

This court official might also be connected to the Roman army. Both a court official for Herod and the ears of Caesar’s governors in the region this man had received no welcome when he chose to move into the village. If anything, it simply made their skin crawl even more, hence the visits to the mikvas. The man’s name was Decimus, not a Jewish name at all, and the report was that he had adopted his servant, making him his ‘son’. This the townsfolk also found odd at best, and reprehensible at worst. Obviously the man cared little about tribal identity and blood lines and proper genealogies. What kind of person adopted a slave anyway? It spoke volumes that this man worked for Antipas in any case. No good G-d-fearing Jew would likely do that.

There had been no enthusiasm when Herod Antipas, short for Antipatros, had come to rule the Galilee, bequeathed to him by his father. The Herods were not fully Jewish in any case, indeed they had Idumean blood, which is to say Edomite blood. Anyone who knew their sacred history knew that Edom and Israel were not kissing cousins. And then there were all the pretensions the Herods brought to the region, pretensions that they were like the great Hellenistic rulers, and would prove it by their massive building campaigns. Already Antipas had created a huge hew and cry when his first major building project had been Tiberias by the sea–not only named after an unclean Emperor, Herod had shown such little regard for Jewish sensitivities that he had built the city on top of a Jewish graveyard! And then he had had to pay various Jews to live there, since it was a place of uncleanness. Incredible. The resentment and anger with Antipas had been simmering for a long time, and sometimes seething. The Zealots were always looking for opportunities to pick off the supporters, sycophants, officials of Herod, officials like Decimus. And yet there was another side to Decimus. Decimus was a God-fearer, a person learning to be observant of Jewish ways and customs.

On this particular morning the village was all abuzz about the coming wedding of two of their residents–Jacob and Esther, the children of two prominent families in the town. There would be relatives coming from as far away as Kefer-Nahum and Netzerit for this occasion. Relatives like cousin Miryam from Netzerit who on this day had walked the dusty road to Qana to help her niece plan for the wedding itself, now only a few short months away. The conversation with the children about Jesus’ leaving had not gone as well as she hoped. There would be more questions when she got home. James was furious, and could not accept it, even after Jesus had gently tried to explain to him the importance of his going to John. At least she could take her mind off her troubles by thinking about the joy of this coming wedding day. She wondered if Jesus would be around for this special family occasion. Life never said please, it just kept coming and changing. But would the changes be for the better for her family, Miryam wondered and worried?