deeply in debt, as were many other men, and he feared losing his land if he were not there to bring in this harvest. I overheard Father and Amos speaking in low voices in the courtyard at night.
“I’ll manage your orchard and garden, Micah,” said Amos. “But I must ask a favor of you in return.”
“Certainly.”
“Take my daughter, Naomi, to Jerusalem with you.”
My father was silent a long time. “My son son Chuza will be under no obligation to support her, so I can’t promise I will be able to find a good situation for her there.”
“I know you’ll do what you can. But, if necessary—”Amos stopped to blow his nose. “She can be sold. Better my daughter be a slave in Jerusalem than raped or murdered by Roman soldiers here.”
I bit on my tunic to keep from crying out. Slaves in Jewish households served for seven years unless bought back by their relatives. Though Naomi’s parents were vigorous, hard-working people, they had little chance of gathering up enough money to buy her back from slavery. Naomi might have to stay in Jerusalem for seven years!
Our friend Miryam was fleeing to Egypt with her parents, her husband Yosef, their new baby Yeshua, and Yosef’s two sons from his first marriage. People tried to convince Yosef not to go so far, but he believed his family would not be safe anywhere in the land of Judah. Though there were jobs for talented carpenters in our own country, Yosef remained resolute about going to Egypt, insisting that he had had a dream instructing him to go there.
During that week following the raid on Sepphoris, Miryam, Naomi, and I spent many backbreaking hours at the grindstone milling the grain we’d need for our journeys. Our families had shared this grindstone, and the courtyard it sat in, all our lives. None of us had sisters, so we often eased the tedium of our grinding, spinning, and weaving chores by working together. Miryam was the older sister I wished I had; Naomi the younger one I rejoiced I didn’t.
Being the smallest and youngest, Naomi had only to feed the kernels of grain into the mill and pour the ground meal into sacks. Miryam and I performed the actual grinding. Together we trudged in a circle, our arms straining against the weight of the heavy topstone as we pushed against the handle bolted to it. It was like wading through ankle-deep mud.
“Look at me. My hands are shaking,” said Naomi. “I’m spilling the grain all over. Do you know I may have to be a servant in some stranger’s house? Can you imagine that? My father says I may have to stay in Jerusalem for a long time. That it may not be safe here for me for several years. I could be an old woman before I see Nazareth again!” She bent over and hobbled around like some of the crones who congregated around the village well, then she tripped and fell down. She laughed at herself, her giggle fluttering around in her throat, then escaping and flickering about like a hummingbird. Annoying as her chatter was, her laughter lightened our hearts.
As Miryam and I continued pushing the grinding stone, Naomi continued babbling. “But at least I’m going to Jerusalem, not Egypt. Miryam, where did Yosef get such an idea? Egypt may be safe, but it’s foreign. Are there any Jews there? You won’t know the language. Who will you talk to?”
“Maybe Miryam won’t be able to talk all the time,” I said. “You should try it yourself sometime.” Miryam gave the back of my leg a little kick, and I turned around to her and rolled my eyes.
Naomi didn’t stop to take a breath. “I always thought Miryam should’ve married Lev. He’s sooo good-looking. Those eyes of his: they burn right through you. And those full, pouty lips: dreamy. He was in love with you, Miryam, I’m sure of it. But after all, maybe you are better off. Having a bandit for a husband would be worse than having one who drags you off to Egypt.”
“And you’ll be lucky to find a husband who doesn’t divorce you in a day,” I said.
“So you’re complimenting me on my husband?” Miryam asked. “Why, thank you!” Her wit sweetened, rather than stung like mine did.
“Yes. No,” said Naomi. “I mean, yes, it’s good you married Yosef after all, I guess. Is that what I mean?”
I squeezed the bar harder. “Do you ever know what you’re saying, Naomi? You should have to listen to yourself, so you’d know how annoying you are. And, by the way, Lev is not a bandit!”
“Then what is he? Look at all the trouble he and his friends have caused us. My mother says . . .”
“I don’t care what your mother says!” Naomi’s dark bushy hair was two times the size of her tiny face. It looked like the top of a terebinth tree. I had an urge to pull it and dropped my hands from the grindstone handle to do just that.
Miryam grunted with the sudden burden of having to push the heavy stone herself. “Ouch! Danya, you need to tell me when you’re going to stop.” She rubbed the fingers of her right hand with her left, and her high forehead creased in pain.
“Sorry, Miryam.” I placed my callused hands back on the grindstone’s handle. Pulling Naomi’s hair would be a waste of time, anyway. It wouldn’t shut her mouth.
Miryam picked up the thread of our conversation. “Our family will be all right in Egypt. Yosef will find work there. And I’ll be occupied with our three little boys to tend.”
Miryam’s absence would be a great loss to me. She was the gentle yet strong friend I’d always relied on. “How I wish I could go to Egypt with you, Miryam! I’m afraid of living in Jerusalem.”
“What are you afraid of?” asked Miryam.
“Afraid that Chuza and his wife Joanna won’t like me. Afraid that I’ll be useless there. They already have servants. What will I do all day?” I wished I could have voiced my deeper fears. Not what would I do in Jerusalem, but what was my purpose anywhere? Was there something wrong with me that The Holy One hadn’t chosen me for the task I’d thought was mine?
“If you don’t have to work, you’ll get to read,” Miryam pointed out. “You’re so blessed, Danya. The only girl in Nazareth who can read and write and now you’ll have time to do both. And you’ll see some strange and wonderful people and things in Jerusalem. When we’re old women, sitting in this courtyard on warm evenings, you’ll entertain us with fabulous stories of your days in Jerusalem.”
“Oh, the Temple! The Temple! I have always wanted to see the Temple,” interrupted Naomi. “To see if it’s as beautiful as people say. And I’m dying to see your brother Chuza. Is he handsome like Lev?”
Miryam gave me a little kick to remind me to be patient.
“I forget what he looks like. He left Nazareth when I was four years old.” I remembered very little about Chuza except that he would argue bitterly with Father. How strange memory is: though I couldn’t remember Chuza’s face, I recalled the hoarse timbre of his voice and the image of a scab on his clenched fist.
“I wonder what Chuza’s wife is like? You told me that Joanna is a silk merchant’s daughter, so she must have gorgeous clothes. Please don’t read all day, Danya. Go to the shops with me.”
I sighed loudly, vainly hoping Naomi would realize it was time to stop talking. “We won’t have money to shop, Naomi.”
“But we still can look. I hear there are stalls selling things from all over the world! Jewels and spices and leathers and linen and silk. Oh, maybe Joanna’s
