The Apostle's Sister (Jerusalem Road Book #4)

Angela Hunt

• Publisher: Bethany House Publishers
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN: 9780764233876
• eBook ISBN: 9781493437214

2023 Selah Awards Finalist

She's always longed for more, but what if the path she's chosen requires more than she's willing to give?

Aya, daughter of Zebulun of Tarsus, does not want a traditional life. After years of being overshadowed by her brilliant brother Sha'ul, she wants a chance to use her own gifts beyond being a wife and mother. When her father insists that she marry a Torah student, she reluctantly agrees.

A dedicated scholar, Sha'ul, or Paul, returns to Tarsus to follow the instructions of the Law and wed the woman his father has chosen to raise his profile and help him earn a seat on the Great Sanhedrin--the highest religious court in the land. But when the Nazarene, Yeshua, and his followers bring trouble to the Holy City, Sha'ul will stop at nothing to silence them.

After moving to Jerusalem with her husband, Aya expects to be bored in her role as wife to a Torah student. Instead, she finds herself fascinated by his studies. Then her brother makes a life-altering decision, and she must face a troubling question: Can she remain true to her beliefs and still love her blasphemous brother?

Wife (AD 30)

EIGHT
Aya

When I was a young girl, I dreamed of what I would feel on my wedding day—excitement, anxiety, joy . . . I did not expect to feel numb.

The events of the day unfolded as they should. My friends, including Moselle, arrived after sunrise and greeted me with smiles and warm embraces. Together we went to the mikveh, where I immersed myself entirely in the flowing water. Then my maids applied fragrant oils to scent my skin and hair.

A few moments later, my mother entered with a wooden chest containing my bridal garments: a chiton of fine linen, a richly embroidered tunic, and two golden cords, the symbol of a virgin—one to be tied around the waist, the other beneath my breasts.

After helping me dress, Ima brought out jewelry, a wedding gift: a gold chain for my neck, pearl earrings, and several gold and silver bracelets. As a last-minute surprise, she pulled a gold diadem from a velvet bag. “You have always been our princess,” she said, her eyes wet with tears. She set the crown on my head, then placed her hands on my shoulders:

“May HaShem bless you as you marry your groom.

May El Shaddai keep you under His wings.

May Elohim Chayim, the Living God, guard your life and grant you shalom.

May K’dosh YIsra’el, the Holy One of Israel, lead you in the path of righteousness.

May El Elyon, God Most High, overshadow you as you rest in Him.

May Adonai Yishma, the God Who Hears, answer your prayers.”

I bowed my head so she would not see my tears—she had not mentioned El Roi, the God Who Sees. Would anyone see the real me on my wedding day?

Ima kissed me on both cheeks. I hugged her, tears streaming down my face, my heart too confused for words. Ima kissed me again, impulsively, and draped a delicate silk veil over the crown.

Surrounded by my friends, I walked home, purified, adorned with the gifts of my parents, and blessed. Lyris did not fuss with my hair—because it was still damp from the mikveh, she pulled it back into a braid and tied it with a gold ribbon. Then she stepped away and pressed her hands together. “You are so beautiful, mistress!”

“You are,” Moselle agreed. “So where is your betrothed?”

I did not have to wait long.

Just before midday, Avidan and his companions arrived amid the pounding of drums and jubilant shouting. My friends led me to the courtyard, where Abba and Ima kissed me and sent me out to meet my groom. My friends scattered flower petals and mingled with Avidan’s companions as we made our way through the narrow streets and finally entered the gate at Avidan’s home. His parents greeted us, and behind them a crowd lifted their cups and drank to our happiness.

Guests showered us with flower petals as Avidan and I walked to the head table. We waved to the crowd and sat, and for the first time I met my bridegroom’s gaze. His eyes were bright, open, and joyful, and in that instant my despair evaporated. I could not understand why he made me feel at peace, but then I realized . . . he saw me. Not as a daughter, not as a friend. No, he looked at me as if I were a priceless treasure.

My parents and Sha’ul arrived moments later. My brother joined the other unmarried men at a long table and began to sample the food spread on platters and dishes. Ima and Abba sat with Avidan’s parents, Matan and Zara. Together they accepted compliments and congratulations from wedding guests.

Not knowing what to say to my husband, I looked out through the gauzy veil and noticed odd details—the gold threads running through Zara’s tunic, the gray streak in the tambourine player’s beard, the laughing woman with the missing front tooth. Was she a neighbor or one of Avidan’s relatives? I did not ask.

Finally, as the sun dropped toward the western horizon, Gabor, the leader of our synagogue, gestured to me and Avidan. Trembling in every limb, I followed my husband to a canopy of woven branches and flowering vines. Gabor’s voice seemed to come from far away as he recited the traditional Sheva Brachot, the seven blessings: he thanked HaShem for the fruit of the vine, the creation of earth, the creation of man, the creation of man in His image, and the blessing of children.

Then he finished with the most important blessing of all: “Blessed are You, Adonai, our God, Sovereign of the universe, who created joy and gladness, groom and bride, mirth, song, delight and rejoicing, love and harmony and peace and companionship. O Lord our God, let there be heard in the cities of Judah and in the courtyards of Jerusalem the voice of joy and the voice of gladness, the voice of groom and the voice of bride. Blessed are You, Adonai, gladdener of the groom with the bride.”

Amid shouting and the lifting of cups, our marriage was consecrated. Avidan lifted my hand and smiled while I gazed at the cheering crowd. Matan must have invited every Jew in Tarsus, for all the men were bearded, and most wore prayer shawls edged with the elongated fringe favored by Pharisees. Like my father. Like my brother.

I was now a married woman. In the mikveh I had washed away my old life; I had put on new clothing, new jewelry, and a crown. My past was over, my new life beginning. I turned toward the parents’ table and saw Abba and Ima applauding with Matan and Zara; all four had tears in their eyes.

I wept with them, though I could not say why.

As the sun painted the western sky in brilliant orange and purple, servants lit torches and the dancing stopped. Avidan took my hand and gave me a shy smile. For an instant I wondered why, then I realized the time had come for another important ritual: the consummation of our marriage.

My face heated as I followed Avidan to the bridal chamber he and his parents had prepared. As the wedding guests crowded behind us, Avidan’s mother opened the door, revealing a bed covered with rose petals.

The fluttering in my rib cage intensified. My hands warmed as Avidan pulled me into the chamber and turned to face me.

Behind us, the door closed with a solid sound.

My husband reached out and lifted my veil, then studied my face as if he were seeing it for the first time. His smile trembled as his hand traced the shape of my face in the air, and then he removed my veil and let it fall.

“My queen.” He lifted the diadem and set it aside. “I have waited for you with great anticipation,” he said, a tremor in his voice. “I have longed for you as my soul longs for Jerusalem.”

I attempted to smile, intuiting that for this moment he had prepared the most beautiful phrase he could imagine. I wanted to respond with an apt reply but could think of nothing comparable.

So I gave him the gift of honesty. “I do not know how to be a wife,” I confessed. “But Abba says HaShem wants me to marry and have children. I will obey you because a good wife should be obedient, but I am young, a little spoiled, and I do not know what I want from life. I was not certain I wanted marriage, so I beg you to be patient with me.”

His brows lifted, and his voice brimmed with humor when he responded. “Your brother said you were unusual.”

“You know Sha’ul?”

“I have met him twice. A few days ago, I spoke to him about the best yeshivot in Jerusalem. One day I hope to follow in his footsteps.”

“If you want to be a Torah teacher,” I said, realizing I was probably talking too much, “you could not choose a better man to emulate.”

Avidan did not answer but pulled on the cord tied beneath my breasts. “You said you do not know what you want from life”—he loosened the cord at my waist—“but the sages say that if you do not know what you are living for, you have not begun to live.”

My husband caught my hand and pressed it to his cheek, then turned his face into my palm and kissed it. Overcome by the warmth of his touch, I could barely draw breath to speak. “Perhaps . . . the sages are right.”

A smile glimmered through his beard. “You are mine, Aya, and I am yours. Together we will seek the will of Adonai in all things. Together we will make a life, complete with children and the blessings of HaShem.”

He drew me closer, and I pressed my hands to his chest, maintaining a measured distance between us. I don’t know why—I knew what was supposed to happen next, and I was not afraid. But neither was I ready, so I scrambled to find an interesting topic of conversation, anything to delay the inevitable.

“Do you believe,” I asked, gently holding him at bay, “that HaShem has something special for each of us to do?”

His arms drew me closer. “Yes.” He nuzzled my ear. “I do.”

“Do you believe”—I caught my breath—“we can know what this thing is? That HaShem will reveal His will?”

His lips left a trail from my ear to the corner of my mouth. “I believe that, as well.”

“And do you believe—?”

“Yes.” His lips touched mine, scrambling my thoughts. “I believe a great many things, but at this moment I believe this is what I am supposed to do.”

The hunger in his kiss shattered my reserve. His gentleness opened a hidden place within me, a well that had never been touched or even imagined. I slid my hands up his chest and locked them behind his neck as he carried me to our flower-bedecked bridal bed.

NINE
Sha’ul

When the agreed-upon day of my wedding arrived, I went downstairs and wondered if my parents had spent every drachma in their strongbox to impress their friends and neighbors. Servants had draped leafy garlands from pillar to pillar, and baskets of flowers scented the air. New carpets covered the tiled floors, and a score of unfamiliar servants hurried through the house, their arms filled with flowers or food.

I thought the expense a tremendous waste—surely the money could have been better spent on the purchase of scrolls for the synagogue’s yeshiva—but Ima would not allow my wedding to be one tittle less impressive than Aya’s.

“Good morning, son.” Ima paused from her work to kiss my cheek. “I hope you slept well.”

I gestured to the extravagance around us. “Must we do all this, Ima? I do not require it.”

“Avidan’s relatives will be among our guests,” she said, lifting the hem of her tunic as she prepared to go upstairs. “We cannot allow ourselves to look stingy.”

“But what would be the harm in appearing modest? Or being good stewards of what HaShem has provided?”

Ima waved the notion away. “You do not understand, Sha’ul, because you have never engaged in commerce. This knowledge cannot be found in books.”

“I once spent a summer making tents. I learned plenty about commerce.”

“One summer is nothing compared to your father’s lifetime.” She glanced around. “What was I doing before you distracted me?”

I laughed. “How could I know? But tell me—has Abba invited Gentiles to my wedding?”

Ima’s mouth twitched. “Your wedding will be among the finest in Tarsus, so do not worry about anything.”

“You did not answer. Will Gentiles attend my wedding?”

She sighed and met my gaze. “Yes, but they will not remain for the entire week, only the day. Your father invited several officials from the governor’s palace. A man in his position is expected to extend hospitality.”

“But the members of our chaburah will object—”

“Let the Pharisees object. By the sixth day, when they are deep in their cups, they will not even remember that Gentiles were present.”

While she hurried up the stairs, I went to the study at the back of the house, one of the few rooms that would not be festooned with greenery and flowers. There I could read without distraction.

I sat on a bench by the window and picked up a scroll but could not seem to focus on the words. Frustrated, I crossed my arms and considered the necessity of what lay ahead. Abba had informed Bettina’s father that we would celebrate my wedding soon after Aya’s wedding banquet ended. My father exaggerated my importance when he added, “Sha’ul’s master, the esteemed Gamaliel, does not want my son to be away more than a month, so the wedding should take place as soon as possible.”

My patient bride had to be eager for marriage. A betrothal of two years was unusually long for a girl of marriageable age. If I made her wait any longer, people would wonder if something was wrong with one of us.

I heard commotion on the street and looked out the window. At the front of the house, Aya and Avidan were stepping out of a litter. Aya looked pretty in her matronly tunic and veil. She walked to the door and strode inside, leaving Avidan in the courtyard.

I chuckled. From the determined look on my sister’s face, I suspected she was on her way to find me.

A moment later, her voice confirmed my suspicion. “Sha’ul? Sha’ul! Where are you?”

“In here.”

She opened the door and glared, her face a mask of frustration. “Why are you hiding? And why are you not ready to fetch your bride?”

“The day is still young . . . and Ima is not ready for guests.”

Aya frowned. “You do not seem nervous. Are you not even a little anxious?”

“Why should I be?” I shrugged an...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Epigraph
• Maps
• Daughter (AD 30)
• Wife (AD 30)
• Widow (AD 35)
• Author’s Note
• References
• About the Author
• Back Ads
• Back Cover