Archive of Our Own

Outside the earthen windows, children chased each other in the narrow street, their high pitched laughter and sandals against the stone the familiar biophony that made Tarsus feel like home. It wasn’t so different than her home on the north eastern coast of Mitsrayim, not far from the Nile. Like Memphis, Tarsus had palm tree-lined roads and sandy beaches, olive groves, bath houses, a temple. Palm trees meant fresh dates with which she made cakes. Beaches meant Yohanan had a place to baptize brethren. Olive groves meant oil for anointing, cooking, moisturizing. Bath house for ablution. Temple for prayer, for Torah, for the gathering of her people, a minority in the city full of Muslims and servants of baalim.

But still, Hadassah did not have children. As her fingers squeezed and pressed on chalky floured dough for Sabbath bread, she listened to the children outside, teasing each other, fading in then out and in again as they passed by her home. Veggies for her stew were chopped, lined up on the kitchen table. She got the coals and wood going in the stove, wiping her hands on her apron before covering the bread to rise.

Provisions were stretched thin. Baptism wasn’t a lucrative job. She would never encourage Yohanan to turn away from his vocation, and he did perform accounting at the temple for a fee. Though they had little, HaShem always provided. She scanned the spice shelf with her eyes, which had been shrinking and shrinking all week. HaShem would provide.

Yohanan’s ministry meant he was always bringing home people for supper. Some weeks, he only baptized one person. Other weeks, it seemed all of Anatolia was intent on being submerged by him and him alone. The man who baptized Yashua. That’s what people in the streets shouted once the revelation would hit them. All it took was one person, and before they knew it, crowds were forming around them, demanding stories about Yashua, asking questions about the new faith, begging to be baptized and prayed for and to have hands lain upon them. For that reason, he followed a schedule, and avoided places where tourists frequented so he wouldn’t be swarmed. For that reason, Hadassah stayed home as much as possible, and did not tell of who her husband was unless so compelled.

This week was one of those weeks wherein Yohanan had been swarmed. Each morning, he and his disciples would baptize lines of people, sometimes not finishing until sundown. Then He would return home with four, five, sometimes six strangers for dinner and intimate fellowship.

Hadassah did not mind entertaining, even on short notice. It was her contribution to the ministry of her lord, so she deemed it. But it wore on her spice and herb reserves, the constant cooking. And that wasn’t an easy fix on their scarce income. Yohanan had been so busy serving that he hadn’t had time all week to stop by the markets and pick up what they needed.

Her eyes stopped on one jar in particular, and picked it off the shelf. It was labeled dill. She took off the lid, though she needn’t peek inside to know it was empty. The tart tangy aroma tickled her nose. It was the staple ingredient for her stew, that really made it burst with flavor. Sighing, she placed the jar on the shelf again and scanned for a better idea.

"Laurel… Laurel.. ah!"

She grabbed the larger, cleaner jar and opened it to find only two of the leaves inside. Her recipe called for three. She tried not to let a negative thought pass in her heart, but this was not shaping up to be a promising Sabbath. Meals were the only thing her lord required of her— so they had to be perfect.

Placing the jar down, she moved into the sitting quarters near the window to get a better view of the sky. The sun was nearing the fourth quadrant, falling westward. Late noon. She still had time to mount her ass, purchase spices at the market and be home in time to cook before Sabbath if she left immediately, so she did.

Covering her head with a scarf, with her coinpurse in hand, Hadassah entered the narrow street where the children kicked a rolling, leather toy back and forth, and passed them with a smile. They laughed and kicked the unsightly misshapen thing towards her, catching her by surprise.

"You kick it back to us!" They shouted over one another, their garments stained and hanging but their eyes bright and their smiles bold. She gathered the ends of her skirts, extended her foot back, then kicked towards them. The plaything went flying over their heads, inciting laughter from both the children and the parents who stood in open doorways watching.

The children fetched the toy and rolled it back to her, but she kindly shook her head. "I must prepare for Sabbath!" She explained, laughing at their pleas. But they wouldn’t stop, and rolled the ball into her path as she walked so that her sandal clad feet collided with it. She rounded it, facing the three little ones, and beckoned them closer.

"I will play with you tomorrow, HaShem willing, before the end of Sabbath. Why don’t you all go help your mothers knead dough, hmm?"

"Aww!" One of them pouted.

Then another protested, "But we want to play! We haven’t played all week!"

It stung to hear. She knew it was true. The boys had reading and mathematics lessons during the week and the girls helped their mothers and aunts at home. Fridays before Sabbath were when they could be heard the most at play in the streets. But if it’s one thing she would’ve appreciated, it was help from little hands. She knew their mothers needed it.

"How about i bring you back some lokum from the market?" She bargained.

That made the kids squirm and squeal with pure delight. She stood upright again after that. "Only if you help braid challah. You can put handprints to make it fun. Or little laurel leaf imprints. Like art. It will look so pretty on the table tonight." Hadassah held up her hands, fingers spread apart, to pad the idea on their hearts. She couldn’t wait for the day she would see little handprints in her sabbath challah.

Their eyes lit up in revelation as they glanced at one another. The idea must’ve sparked some imagination, because they gladly went running home, each in different directions, in trails of laughter and sandals sliding against the stone streets. She kicked the ball towards the original play patch, and oriented towards her destination again. She only made it a few paces before being stopped by a neighbor across the street.

Lois waved at Hadassah, calling her over. "Shalom aleichem!" The young round woman stood at her door, the garment of her cloak strewn over her head. Her home emanated with the robust smell of something vibrant and savory.

Hadassah looked both ways before crossing, and greeted her friend and sister.

"Are you headed to market, sister?" Lois asked.

"I am," Hadassah answered.

"Good! My prayer has reached His throneroom. I have been meaning to go but haven’t had a chance all day and I really need some oil."

Hadassah shrugged. "Of course, sister. What are you making? It smells so good!"

"Thank you. I’ve got some fowl stew on. I’m hoping to make cakes but I really need that oil."

"No worries. I might have just enough time to grab some and be back before sunset. It shouldn’t cost much either."

"Oh, my dear sister Hadassah, wife of our baptist, the brother of our Lord," Lois started, placing her hands together. "My purse is empty until Dawid returns at even. I was hoping you could extend your hand to a sister in need, just until my husband is back to repay you— twofold, sister! Twofold! Why, I will even share cakes with you!"

Hadassah held back her instinct to recede, and instead stepped forward. She grabbed Lois’ clasped hands, unable to bear the beseeching. Hadassah and Yohanan were of the few families in the Israelite neighborhood who owned more than one donkey. While many husbands took the ass on their days voyage, leaving their wives home, she could always walk to the local grazing corral, retrieve the jennet, and go where needed. For the women left without mobility, she was glad to make stops for them. Although some had a habit of borrowing without repaying. Yohanan taught her to give instead of lend. It still stung, but she couldn’t bare the shame of turning anyone away. So even when she knew they couldn’t repay her, she said,

"Yes. Yes of course. Don’t worry."

Lois kissed Hadassah’s fingers and thanked her. Hadassah quickly withdrew, unwilling to subjugate her sister, and promised to be back as soon as possible.

The walk to the grazing corral was hurried, but scenic. The neighborhood was on a high cliff, overlooking much of the earthen city below and the sparkling Mediterranean. The cool salty breeze carried the crisp promise of an easy evening, unburdened by the heat from the stove and oven. As she emerged into broader streets, more people rode by mounted, greeting her. She spoke back kindly, but tried not to get distracted with conversation. She had to be home for sabbath.

Hadassah rounded the curve, which brought her fixed towards the west, in the direction of her husband. If she squinted, and leaned against the guarding on the edge of the road, she could see a small crowd on the beach, speckled by a few men in white robes who stood waist-deep in the waters. It was hard to make out which one was Yohanan, but it was comforting to see him where she always expected him to be.

The corral was an acre sized lot, ripe with grass and flowers and feed for the animals, enclosed by blocks. A small carriage house sat furthest from the entrance, near the opposite border for the herdsman on duty; to its left, a clearing shaded by thatching for the animals to find refuge from the sun. She approached, and when the herdsman on duty recognized her and nodded at her, she let herself through the gate.

"Shalom aleichem," she called to him. Two of the donkey’s head went up at the sound of her voice, and started making its way towards her through the others in the field.

Brother Seth fell in step behind the jennets. "Lady Yohanan, my sister." He bowed once before her, keeping a respectful distance from the married woman. Hadassah put her eyes to the ground and kept them there, as her mother had taught her.

"Last minute acquisitions?" He nodded at her knapsack and coinpurse, and helped her prepare one of the donkeys for riding. Both being present meant that Yohanan had went the entire day on foot.

"Yes. I will return the ass well before even."

"Brother Yohanan is very hardworking. Very faithful. But he hasn’t been by to pay his fees. My father told me to be sure to collect, sister, as we cannot afford to go without. But I saw brother Yohanan has his hands full on the shore."

Hadassah blushed, turning side to side to see what ears May have heard that they were indebted. She was comforted to see it was just them and the donkeys. "Yes, many many baptisms today. It’s a blessed day."

"Of course, my lady," Seth sucked in a deep breath, layering thick blanket on her donkey’s back. "Might you have any knowledge of when he shall return to these parts? If it won’t be too late, I can wait for him."

She shook her head. She wouldn’t allow her husband to be subject to inquiries about corral fees, not after such a long day. He usually paid on time. If he didn’t, it was for good reason: he stretched his hand to the poor, or had an emergency, or sowed a seed that he deemed would Be profitable. She reached for her coinpurse and looked up at Seth.

"How much?"

"My lady, wife of our baptist, brother of our lord," Seth dropped the reigns he was holding and put his hands to his heart. "I cannot accept of your purse. It would be indecent—"

"Brother, please? Yohanan has entrusted me. How much?"

Seth gave in though hesitant, and told her the amount. She emptied the coins into her palm and counted them out. The total required was almost her entire coinage, save for a couple coppers she dropped back into her purse. Then she passed it to him.

Seth bowed before taking the money. "Forgive me, my lady. I should have never mentioned it. May Hashem look upon me with mercy. I trust that you will inform brother Yohanan that I did not pester my lady with such a meaningless thing."

She mounted the donkey and reigned her to the gate. "I am happy to pay what we owe, as this is Torah. Thank you for tacking my steed."

He put the coins in his pocket and rushed to the gate before her, and opened it. He saluted her as she passed through, and she heard the gate close behind her again. An uneasy feeling of worry settled on her stomach as she adjusted to the donkeys rhythm on the road. That was all of her money. She would Only have just enough to get Sister Lois a bit of olive oil and lokum for the neighborhood children as promised. She cursed to herself and her shoulders slumped under the weight of her suddenly heavy heart.

If Yohanan were here, he would remind her to be grateful for the opportunity to give to another.

Yohanan always recited the words of Lord Messiah. And Hadassah could not fool herself— dwelling on the proverb gave her comfort.

Following the new faith and the teachings of the lord was a beautiful thing, and a badge of honor amongst the Israelites in the Ottoman. To be known as baptized was to be seen as whole, and in a community of brokenness, crooked Pharisees, and subjugation in a strange land, being whole was everything. But she wondered just how many who’d been submerged actually adhered to Yashua’s precedent. It was easy for those on the outside to hear of a faith of freedom instead of bondage and jump in without any other knowledge. There was no questioning, however, whether they reconsidered once faced with trials such as this. A trial that would not have been a trial at all for Yashua and yet, one that pricked at her hope for stability.

"Please, Abba, usher in a beautiful sabbath unto us," she silently prayed and enjoyed the ride to the market. "Please."

****

The market was swollen with wayfarers, People shoulder to shoulder, bosom to back under the vibrant colorful canopies that stretched over the stalls. Over the stream of mixed chatter— in Arabic, in Suret, in Turkish— merchants dealt firmly with hagglers looking for fair prices on fruits, vegetables, oils, meats, dried raisins, fabrics, accessories, and even livestock. As she squeezed her way through, she took in the odors: parfum and dung from the livestock and blood from the raw slaughter and musk from the sweaty bodies and sweetness from fresh fruit and smoky frankincense and saltwater and earth. Just like Memphis.

She had to haggle for a fair price on the oil, switching from the regional Turkish to her native Arabic much to the merchant’s surprise. In the end only obtaining a small amount, due to low supply. "Sorry, sister," he’d told her. "This is what we have."

When she arrived at the lokum and desserts stall on the end, less people competed for space. She was able to take a deep breath and stretch her arms a bit. The display encased jewel toned cubes of chewy delights stacked and organized by flavor— red, orange, yellow, pink, sand— all dusted in thick powder sugar. She got red, pomegranate for the children. Then she asked for the sand-colored assortment (honey flavored), for Yohanan. They were his favorite. And that cost her last coin.

On her way home, once she reached the curve overlooking Cilicia, she glanced at the shore where her husband once worked, but no more. The sun teased at the coastline, carrying that familiar orange over the waters. Soon it would begin its descent. She was sweaty, hot, nervous about dinner, and Yohanan was likely on his way home, having disappeared from view. She sped up, returned the donkey to the corral, and made haste to the neighborhood once more.

It felt like she’d failed her mission, returning empty handed from the market. At least she would be able to keep her promises. Lois thanked her, and got started right away on her cakes.

"Sister, it has been weeks since I’ve been able to make these. Weeks without enough oil! Weeks! Dawid will be so excited."

Hadassah smiled, surveying the tiny jar. "He has a good wife who makes the best fowl stew in all of Anatolia, he would be happy regardless."

Lois’ eyes, previously hardened with shame, softened at her kind words.

Then Hadassah went door to door, greeting the mothers of the children who were earlier at play, and distributed the lokum equally. Hearing the children squeal and seeing their eyes light up made her laugh.

"Lady Hadassah, we pressed berries and locusts into the challah! It looks like the bugs are kicking the ball, too. See, see!" One of them pulled her inside the home, ripe with the aroma of baking bread.

The mother stopped them, blushing. "The bread is in the oven, Hayati. Let’s let it cook. We can show Lady Hadassah afterwords."

The child pouted and protested, until her mother urged her to go wipe down and freshen up before her father returned. She promised lokum after dinner and shooed the girl away. Hadassah turned towards the door again, ashamed. She’d hoped to see the challah art. Maybe next time. Before she could leave, she was stopped by the sister.

"Would you like strongdrink, sister?"

She turned again, but stayed at the door. "Oh, no, sister." The offering surprised her.

"Yes. I insist. I have been promising Judith lokum all week, but… it’s quite a journey to the market, as you can imagine, with children and no donkey. I put it off and off, until today arrived and there was just no time. But they must’ve been saying their prayers."

Hadassah laughed. "Prayers for sweets?"

"Well you know children. HaShem hears them, clearly. Great and small, he hears it all."

Hadassah’s barrenness hung in the air between them, unspoken. She did not know children, not really, outside of the neighbors and her cousins home in Memphis.

The sister’s eyes widened, like she remembered Hadassah was childless, then she put her hand to her neck.

"Wine!" She turned into her home and went deeper inside. "I have a bottle." She disappeared then came back with a jug. "Here, for you. Please."

"I can’t, sister."

"Please? We have plenty, lest you forget Nahum works at the press. This home is never lacking strongdrink. Take it. A gift from us to the generous house of Yohanan. Bless me by receiving, Sister."

The bottle felt cool to the touch and heavy in Hadassah’s hands as she took it. When she looked up, the sister was smiling. Her worries fell away like dead leaves, blowing away in the cool breeze from the sea.

"Yohanan will be so pleased. Thank you and bless you." Hadassah hugged the bottle to her body.