Disciples of Doubt (eBook)

I couldn’t sleep.

The insomnia that often haunts me returned that night. This time, I considered it a blessing.

You see, I was Miriam’s shomer. It was my duty to pray the whole time, from the moment I witnessed her death until her burial. This is our sacred funeral tradition, to guard the body from theft or vermin and sit with the soul of the deceased to comfort it. Many of us Israelites believed in the resurrection of the dead, especially our neighbors raised in the strict Hebrew sect of the Pharisees. However, the Sadducees denied this. For them, death was the end. The soul went to Sheol, the pit or netherworld, deep inside the earth.

We who hope in the resurrection on the last day believe that at death, the soul lingers with the body for three days. After that, it leaves and may return throughout the first year. That’s how long it takes for the flesh to decay and return to dust. We know this because like our marriages with two services, we have two burials. After a year, the family returns to collect the bones of their loved one and place them in a bone box. An ossuary.

Yeshua’s father, Yosef, crafted many bone boxes and carved the names of the deceased into the sides. Some craftsmen painted the names on the boxes. Patrons, who could afford it, requested ornamental designs and decorative painting. Yosef serviced many families in the Jezreel Valley. A typical bone box cost a laborer a day’s wages. It was a reliable source of income for Yosef’s family. In fact, he taught Yeshua and his cousins how to make ossuaries from soft limestone. He would fashion the more expensive boxes from wood. Years later, the Master carefully crafted his father’s wooden bone box, and he and Miriam placed Yosef’s bones in that box a year after his passing. Today, Yosef’s bones rest on a shelf in a family crypt in Bethlehem—the city of David—awaiting resurrection with his ancestors. Scripture and our ancient oral tradition tell us Adonai will use our bones to rebuild our bodies of flesh and blood at the resurrection of the dead.

Our sages also teach us that sin is imbedded in our flesh. So, as it decays in the grave, we are purged and cleansed for the resurrection while our souls watch and wait in Gehinnom (Gehenna) for up to twelve months. This odorous rotting and reliving of sin are very painful for the dead, both body and soul. This is why we anoint the body, to honor the deceased and soothe the discomfort of decay. Those who love the lost soul remember her in prayer—consoling her for up to eleven months. Sometimes, women sit on the floor at home, mourning for many months after shiva, our seven-day memorial. The same duration as our wedding feasts.

But we also believe only the utterly wicked would require a full year of painful purgatory to be cleansed. Truly, Adonai is forgiving and full of loving kindness. We like to think none of our loved ones suffer during the twelfth month after their first burial. Their bones are at rest, awaiting an ossuary and the return of beloved family and friends. By the end of the twelfth month, all souls leave Gehinnom to await the resurrection of the righteous, unless they were truly diabolical.

Now, an ossuary is about the same size as the Ark of the Law, or the Torah Arks, in our synagogues and the Temple. These scripture boxes contain the Torah scrolls written on sheepskins. If Adonai’s word is indeed inscribed on our hearts, then we become the living Torah when our Creator remakes us, flesh and bone at the rising on the last day.

I pondered this throughout the night, as I prayed many psalms at Miriam’s side. Kepa’s voice echoed in my memories from Pentecost Sunday morning. It was during the festival of Shavu’ot, when we honor Adonai with gifts of our first fruits for bringing Yisra’el to the Promised Land of milk and honey.

Of course, Miriam was with us in the Upper Room on that remarkable morning. Together we experienced the miracle Yeshua had promised. Suddenly, a great wind exploded into our hiding place, like a child opening the womb. We were on fire with the Holy Spirit. Miriam said she felt euphoric, like the day she gave birth to Yeshua and the angels heralded his arrival to lowly shepherds. We rushed into the streets of Yerushlem, overflowing with Jews from around the world. They had come to present their first fruits at the Temple. Kepa spoke to them in the booming voice of a fisherman about to haul in a mammoth catch. He declared Yahweh had fulfilled another of his great promises with a gift beyond measure—like a bridegroom to his beloved. Kepa explained to the people that Yeshua’s resurrection completed a royal and mysterious messianic prophecy of eternal life. The prophecy that appears in a rare miktam of King David. David himself wrote and sang these words:

“I bless the LORD who counsels me;

even at night my heart exhorts me.

I keep the LORD always before me;

with him at my right hand, I shall never be shaken.

Therefore my heart is glad, my soul rejoices;

my body also dwells secure,

For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol,

nor let your devout one see the pit.

You will show me the path to life,

abounding joy in your presence,

the delights at your right hand forever.” (Psalm 16: 7-11)

This is how Kepa opened that holy scripture to the crowds in Yerushlem:

“My brothers, one can confidently say to you about the patriarch David that he died and was buried, and his tomb is in our midst to this day.

But since he was a prophet and knew that God had sworn an oath to him that he would set one of his descendants upon his throne, he foresaw and spoke of the resurrection of the Messiah, that neither was he abandoned to the netherworld nor did his flesh see corruption.

God raised this (Yeshua); of this we are all witnesses.

Exalted at the right hand of God, he received the promise of the holy Spirit from the Father and poured it forth, as you (both) see and hear.

For David did not go up into heaven, but he himself said:

‘The Lord said to my Lord, “Sit at my right hand

until I make your enemies your footstool.’

Therefore let the whole house of (Yisra’el) know for certain that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this (Yeshua) whom you crucified.” (Acts 2:29-36)

All night, I wondered. Would Adonai allow the mother of the Messiah to decay in the earth? Would he raise her in three days, as he did the son she carried in her womb? The son she raised and followed and buried, believing in him from the moment the angel proposed the unbelievable to her. A virgin birth. After all, even the prophet Shmu’el (Samuel) returned from the dead and spoke to King Sha’ul. And the prophet, Eliyyahu rode a celestial chariot of fire to heaven.

The sun was rising now. As Miriam’s shomeret, Miri of Magdala had sat up with me most of the night, until she could no longer fight her fatigue. She had journeyed tirelessly, all the way from Capernaum to Ephesus in time to be at Imma’s deathbed. After weeks on the hot road and salty sea, she stayed awake to accompany Imma through her last breath. Miri was desperate for rest, but she wouldn’t give in to her slumber until I promised her that I would vigilantly pray at Imma’s side.

Miri knew I had the power to do it. Many nights, my insomnia had allowed me to experience quiet time alone with the Lord. It is how I became his “beloved” disciple. It was my curse of many sleepless nights that earned me his favor—not my virtue. As the sages say, “With thy very wounds I will heal thee.” With Adonai, affliction becomes blessing.

Yeshua would often sit up late, praying, long after we had all gone to bed. We were like so many dogs sleeping in a pack, huddled in exhaustion from our day’s ministry. Often, at a campfire. Sometimes Yeshua and I would talk all night. I would mostly listen. He would explain the teachings of the day or share his vision for the world. The kingdom of God. Some things he only shared with me and instructed me to keep in confidence. Yeshua said I could proclaim his private words after he had resurrected. It was much like the way he admonished us at his Transfiguration.

The Rabbi had told my brother, Ya‘aqov, Kepa, and me to hold our tongues until his rising. Imagine, you’re one of the chosen three followers invited to climb a mountain to witness a meeting between your teacher, Moshe, and Eliyyahu. You hear the voice of Yahweh, Yeshua’s heavenly Father. You watch your master become as pure white as light itself. Like the flame that did not burn the bush. Could you keep that secret? We did because he commanded us to do so. Could you ever doubt God again after experiencing him on a mountaintop? Yes, you could. I know this, because somehow, in our despair at his crucifixion, we managed to forget that day and so many other indescribable miracles. In that moment, we became disbelievers.

I always savored my nighttime conversations with the Rabbi and began to memorize much of what he said. But I could never forget the remarkable images he shared. They seared my mind and heart. Yet I still sinned. I became prideful about our relationship. There was much jealousy among us...