The First Stone: A Novel

By Kim Pearson Wiese

Chava is still just a girl when she makes a life-changing decision; to escape from abuse that threatens to follow her, she enters an arranged marriage with a stranger in Jerusalem. Unfortunately, Jerusalem is not far enough away. When her abuser turns up in the city, Chava is again forced to seek safety wherever she can find it―but the results are disastrous. Caught and brought before a rabbi, Chava is faced with the consequence of being stoned to death. The rabbi refuses to condemn her, but in the midst of a culture that values honor above all, Chava's life is stained with the public disgrace of what she has done. That shame weighs down her path, but her path is also interwoven with faith, as she struggles to live with the disgrace, and maybe even find a way out.

Chava's story is inspirational in its exploration of abuse and dishonor, the damage done by both, and the challenges faced by a young woman striving to cope with that damage. It gives rise to an understanding of infidelity, still relevant today, two thousand years after Chava's story takes place. Beginning with an arranged marriage in first-century Jerusalem, her journey is about so much more―the burden of abuse and shame, and the relevance of faith amidst it all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorLoyalty
• Release date: Sep 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781632695307

Book preview

Prologue

It won’t be long, I promise.

Caleb stood close enough to Chava that he was able to reach out and brush the tips of her fingers with his.

A little shock ran up Chava’s spine at his touch. Are you sure you have to wait till after harvest? she asked, shooting a glance at her mother, whose back was momentarily turned. They were in the village market getting food for their dinner, and at the moment Mother was haggling with the butcher over the beef she wanted to buy.

I must, he answered. You know I bought that new field last summer. When she nodded, he went on, his words earnest and urgent, as if he willed her to understand. I fertilized it and sowed in the fall. The wheat is up, and it looks better than I had hoped. If the weather continues to be fine, and if my cousin comes through for me—if he introduces me to that Roman officer and I can sell to him, I will have plenty of money by autumn, which will prove to your father that I can support you. I will speak for you before the Feast of Dedication, to be sure.

So . . . the end of summer? She glanced toward her mother again, and when she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper. "I should tell you—my father has been noticing me. He looks at me when he thinks I don’t see. She took a deep breath. Sooner would be better."

Caleb smiled. Surely he won’t marry you off before fall. You will see, Chava. Everything will be all right.

She couldn’t argue. It wasn’t her place. She had no claim on him, other than friendship. Men make the plans, and women wait. Aloud, she murmured, It is as you say.

Just then, Mother turned and saw them talking. She marched over and grasped Chava’s arm—hard enough to hurt. Come, Chava. She shot a glare at Caleb and turned away.

Chapter One

Andrew, son of Nahman, wasn’t looking for a wife. He was seated at a family wedding, soaking in the spring afternoon and more or less enjoying the feast. Nisi, the bride, was his cousin on his mother’s side. Actually, she was his mother’s cousin, so that made her his second cousin—or was she his first cousin once removed? Andrew frowned and shook his head slightly. He should remember; someday it might be important. He made a mental note to ask his mentor when he returned to Jerusalem. This side of Andrew’s family was close, and he and Nisi’s older brother Jonathan had been playmates, so he had known Nisi since infancy, but she was five years younger and he had always thought of her as a child.

However, adorned in her finest garments and jewelry, the girl was now transformed. Andrew tried to reconcile the lovely young woman he saw today with the memories he had of the red-cheeked, chatty little brat who pestered him and Jonathan, and threw tantrums whenever they told her to leave them alone. His efforts were in vain. He had been away, and his studies had occupied him. It was right and natural that things would change. He imagined Nisi throwing a tantrum now, and a thin shudder ran through him. He hoped her groom took a firm hand with her. But when he turned his attention to the groom and noted the smitten expression in his eyes every time he glanced in his bride’s direction, Andrew concluded that the only firm hand in this marriage was likely to belong to Nisi.

He took a swallow of wine, suddenly feeling like a stranger among his own kin. It was his studies that set him apart. They were merchants, prosperous traders in wool and flax. Andrew could have apprenticed with his mother’s uncle, but he had neither interest in nor talent for the buying and selling of goods. It was an old friend of his father’s who had suggested that Andrew study the Law. It was the best decision I could possibly have made, he thought.

He got up from his seat and moved to one side of the party to stretch his legs. At that moment, the bride’s friends stood up to dance, and that was when Andrew spotted her. Each of the young women was dressed in white linen, and when the music started, they waved brightly colored scarves around their heads like banners as they danced. The girl who caught his attention flourished a scarf of vivid blue, the blue of a fine summer sky. Her sleek, black hair was gathered into a single thick braid that fell well past her waist. What arrested Andrew were the girl’s eyes—large and black, with dark brows that swept up and away like the wings of a bird in flight. Andrew found himself holding his breath every time the dance carried her in his direction, hoping those wonderful eyes would look his way.

Pretty, aren’t they?

The voice at his shoulder made him jump. He turned to see his cousin Jonathan grinning at him. He had to shout over the loud music and the cries of encouragement to the dancers from the onlookers. They are. He looked back to the dancers, his gaze now trained on the flash of blue among the other blazes of color, following the girl with the laughing eyes.

I got the prettiest one among them. Sorry, cousin, you are out of luck.

Andrew knew Jonathan’s betrothed. She was pretty, yes. They were all pretty in an ordinary way, in the way that young women are. But that one . . . Captivated, he felt himself rooted where he stood. He could no more move than an oak could pull itself from the dirt and dance.

You are out of wine, Jonathan took his cup. Let me fill this for you.

When he returned, Andrew gathered his courage and asked, Who is the one there—with the blue scarf?

Ah, she has caught your eye, has she? He elbowed Andrew in the ribs. You have good taste. That is Chava. Her father is a dye merchant. Unfortunately for you, she is spoken for. Then he added, just as the music reached its climax, I suppose I should say, nearly spoken for. I don’t think the betrothal is official yet.

Andrew didn’t hear that last comment, and his heart sank. He started to say, So she is betrothed? when the music abruptly ended. He pressed his lips together, thanking his good fortune that he had not shouted that into the ensuing quiet. He allowed Jonathan to lead him back to the table where fresh delicacies were laid out—dates, figs, chunks of melon and pomegranate, along with almonds and bowls of honey to dip them in. He sat down but did not reach for any of the food. His appetite had fled.

Here, cousin, eat. Jonathan handed him a fig dipped in honey.

Andrew took the fruit and toyed with it a moment before asking as quietly as he could, Who is she betrothed to? Is he here?

Jonathan grinned. You are smitten, aren’t you? He looked around him. There he is—that fellow over there with the brown and green striped tunic. He leaned in close, But I did say that the betrothal isn’t official yet.

Hope flared in Andrew’s chest. Did you? I didn’t hear that.

Jonathan shrugged. The music was loud. If you have a mind to speak for her, cousin, you should hurry. She won’t be available for long.

Andrew continued to play with the fig in his fingers, turning it over and over as he considered whether speaking for her was a good idea. His mother was pressing him to find a wife. Now that his time of study was over, the next logical step was surely to get married and start a family. Who could say? Perhaps he might become a teacher of the Law, and eventually a leader in his synagogue. And if he distinguished himself—the Sanhedrin? A small shudder ran through him. One did have to be married to be on the council.

He raised his eyes again, scanning the table where the girls were seated. He found her without difficulty. She was pretty, graceful, and from a good family. Marrying him would benefit her. She would rise from being the daughter of a mere merchant to being the wife of a lawyer, a leader. Conversation and laughter swirled, unheeded, around him. Surely her father would not refuse her such an opportunity.

He glanced over at the man his cousin had pointed out—his rival. He looked well enough, but he was nothing special. Probably the son of some other merchant. Andrew couldn’t imagine that this other man had more to offer her than he did. Perhaps he wasn’t that eager to have her if he hadn’t spoken for her yet.

It was that perhaps, suddenly carved in stone, that spurred Andrew to action. He turned to his cousin. Is her father here?

Jonathan, who found humor in the oddest things, laughed and nodded. The older man sitting next to my father. There—with the red trim on his tunic. He clapped Andrew on the shoulder. I will speak to Father as soon as a moment presents itself and get him to introduce you.

My thanks, Andrew smiled.

The next day Chava decided it was too hot to be in the house, so she took her basket of wool out to the stone courtyard. Much better, she told herself when a stray breeze lifted the unbound strands of hair around her face. It was almost always better outside, regardless of the weather. Better for sure, since Anna was gone. Chava’s older sister had died the year before, in her sleep, with no indication she had ever been sick. How does that happen? Chava wondered for the hundredth time. How does a sixteen-year-old girl just die? She blinked back sudden tears and pressed her lips together firmly to stem the flow. Anna had been the heart and soul of the family. Not the favorite child—that distinction was always reserved for her brother: the boy, son, and heir. But everyone loved Anna.

Now the house—minus one vital person—felt at the same time lonelier and more crowded. With Anna, Chava could be herself. Now she was always too much—too sensitive, too loud, too willful. At the same time, she was never enough—not graceful enough, polite enough, nor obedient enough to suit her family. But I can spin, she told herself with a grimace as she watched the wool turn into thread in her fingers. Little by little, the repetitive movement calmed her.

She flinched when Mother suddenly appeared in the door. Your father wants to talk to you.

What have I done now? Suppressing a sigh, she wound the thread around the spool, laid it in the basket, and rose to her feet. Her hands only shook a little as she smoothed the skirt of her tunic. Unwilling to meet her mother’s cool gaze, she kept her eyes on the floor as she followed into the house.

Her father, seated on his favorite cushion in the corner, greeted her with a smile. Well, daughter, he exclaimed, this is a happy day for you.

Chava had no idea how to respond. Father smiled sometimes, but not at her, and Mother never smiled. A quick glance at her mother gave her no hint, for her expression was as blank as an open window at midnight. Carefully, she asked, How so, Father?

Father patted the cushion next to him. Come, child, sit next to me.

That gesture made Chava want to turn and flee from the house. Her father’s jovial manner terrified her. What was he going to do? Her feet felt like lead, but she managed to move them. She lowered herself to the cushion, arranging her skirt over her legs just as Mother had taught her.

Now, daughter, her father said, I have some happy news for you.

All of a sudden, Chava knew what was happening, and her heart lifted. Caleb had changed his mind about waiting and had spoken for her. Chava had been hoping for this day ever since she was five, when Caleb kissed her behind his father’s barn. She folded her hands in her lap and managed a tentative smile in her father’s direction. What is it, Father?

You are going to be married. I arranged it for you this morning.

Is it Caleb, son of Demas? Father shook his head, and Chava felt her stomach take a sudden, lurching drop. Frantically, she thought, It has to be Caleb! There is no one else. She swallowed hard and the hammering in her chest shook her. One of Father’s friends? It would be just like her father to do such a thing, to marry her off to some old man he favored. She closed her eyes briefly.

"There is certainly nothing wrong with Caleb. Chava glanced at her father as he took a sip of wine from a goblet on the floor beside him. He’s done well for himself, and if he had asked for you last week, I might have accepted him for you. He smiled again, and Chava shifted her gaze to the rug beneath her. But you are a fortunate young woman. I have been talking to a man named Andrew, son of Nahman."

He is a scholar, Mother put in. Father frowned at the interruption, and clinching her hands in front of her, Mother looked away.

He is more than a scholar, Father said in a low, displeased growl. He studies the Law. He has a quick mind, and I think he could become a great man.

I . . . I have never heard his name, Chava ventured. Is he not from here?

Oh, no. Father took another sip of wine, his good humor apparently restored. He lives in Jerusalem. He comes from a family of means, and he is the only son. It was, of course, Andrew’s moneyed family and future inheritance that made him a suitable husband, not his quick mind or potential greatness. She chewed on this for a moment before Father startled her by saying, "He is a young man, Chava, in case you were wondering, and I will allow you to meet him before your betrothal."

Chava suppressed a gasp. He was allowing her to meet him? Father wasn’t a warmhearted man, but just now he was showing her a rare kindness. She bent forward and gave him a quick kiss on his bearded cheek. Thank you, Father.

His eyes widened with surprise. He cleared his throat. Well now. That’s all. You can go back to whatever you were doing.

Numb with shock, Chava stood and walked out. As she passed through the door, she reached out a hand to steady herself. The floor beneath her suddenly seemed tipped, and though the stones were smooth underfoot, she felt as if she might stumble. She was going to be married. She’d always thought it would be to Caleb. They had been friends since childhood, and their two families were connected by the fathers’ trade. The unspoken agreement, the expectation that they would eventually marry, had been in the background of her life for as long as she could remember.

And there was that kiss. They were both five years old when it happened, playing with the other children in the village. Somebody had the idea to play wedding, and Chava and Caleb were chosen bride and groom. She waited for him near the barn, and he and the rest of the children staged a procession. When they met, Chava took Caleb’s hand and led him around to the back of the barn while the others waited. They sat down together on the grass. Now, what do we do? she asked him.

Chava could still see him as if it were yesterday, his cheeks tanned and freckled, his light brown curls plastered with sweat to the sides of his face. He scratched his neck and shrugged. I think we should kiss. Chava shook her head, knowing she would be in trouble, but Caleb leaned over and kissed her cheek. And that was it. They rejoined their friends and had a pretend banquet.

Caleb was going to be disappointed. Just last year he teased her, saying, Well, since we are already married, I should speak to your father about making it official. However, he delayed, and now she was going to be someone else’s wife. He waited too long, she thought sadly. She would have been happy with Caleb. He was kind and generous, and he knew how to make her laugh. But much as she liked him, this other man—what was his name again? Andrew?—did have one advantage: He was going to take her away from here. He was going to take her away from her brother, Zohar.

Saul, son of Abiram—Chava’s father—sent a message the next morning saying he wanted Andrew to come to his house and meet his daughter. Andrew wondered if the girl might be skittish. He hoped not. Perhaps it was the mother who insisted on the meeting. The invitation was an imposition, albeit a minor one. He had planned to spend the day in the local synagogue. He wanted to see what writings might be there, perhaps talk to a rabbi. It was always a good thing to explore different points of view—as long as they weren’t too different.

However, refusing the invitation would be an unpardonable breach of courtesy toward the man who was going to be his father-in-law. Andrew washed his face and his hands, put some fresh olive oil in his hair, rubbed a little of the same into the leather of his sandals, and set off. On the way, he wondered if he was going to be expected to talk to Chava. His stomach knotted with anxiety. What should I say? He cast about for some topic, and then the answer came, and he began to relax. He would talk about his studies and his plans for the future; she would be interested to hear that. He rehearsed a few succinct lines in his head as he walked, until he was satisfied he had them right.

He had met with her father the day before at his uncle’s house, so he’d not seen Saul’s house. When he reached the place, he was astonished to find that it was almost as large as his home in Jerusalem. He hadn’t expected so much wealth in this little town. Judging by the house, Saul must be the richest man in the area. Suddenly he wondered if his choice of a bride had been wise. He had thought to elevate the girl’s fortunes. Anxiety welled up again, and Andrew turned and walked back down the street so he could think about it. By the time he reached the end of the street, he realized that the family’s wealth could still be a good thing. His bride would come into their marriage understanding what was required to run a household of means. She would know how to entertain guests, how to handle servants. He could ask her father whether she was trained in those things. He turned and started back.

Saul personally welcomed him and led him inside. Another man waited for them—a younger version of Saul, square-jawed with curling dark hair, who Andrew figured had to be Chava’s brother. His eyes were like hers, large and dark. This is my son, Zohar, Saul said. The two men clasped hands, and when Zohar smiled, Andrew noted that his handsome face was marred by one upper tooth that had turned gray. The three men sat together in the cushioned corner.

Before long they were chatting like old friends. Andrew’s second surprise of the day was that Zohar turned out to be more than merely polite. I hear you are a scholar, he began. Tell me about your studies. He couldn’t have asked a more pertinent or interesting question as far as Andrew was concerned.

I am a student of the Law, he answered, trying to keep his words and voice humble. I hope eventually to become an expert, but of course, that won’t happen until I’ve gotten some years under my feet.

Saul smiled broadly. This is good. We need clever men like you to explain the more difficult issues of the Law to us.

When did you know that you wanted to learn the Law? Zohar asked.

When I figured out that I had no talent for buying and selling, he answered with a self-deprecating laugh, and explained how his father’s old friend had steered him in the right direction.

Zohar smiled and lifted his wine cup in salute. A wise man, this friend of your father’s. So, you live in Jerusalem?

Andrew nodded. I have always lived there. It is the best place for me because it gives me the chance to learn from a great many men, not just one or two. I expect to go on living there, but who can say what the future may bring?

Just then, Chava and her mother came in, each bearing a tray of food which they set down in front of the men. The girl looked every bit as lovely as she had at the wedding, and Andrew suddenly found himself at a loss for words. The women settled on cushions across the room, and a servant came in with a tray of food. Andrew took a quick sip of wine to hide his discomfort, and became aware that Saul had spoken to him. I am sorry, he said. Would you repeat the question?

His future father-in-law gave him a knowing smile. I understand that there is some conflict, or perhaps I should say some rivalry, in Jerusalem between Rabbi Hillel and Rabbi Shammai.

That is true, Andrew admitted. For my part, I have learned useful things from both men, but I tend to lean toward Rabbi Shammai. He glanced over at Chava, wondering if she was impressed. She met his glance with the tiniest smile. He was tempted to smile back, but thought better of it; the parents might think it unseemly. He merely nodded at her.

The rest of the meal was a blur, and when it was over, Saul said, Zohar, please go with your mother now. Let the three of us talk. Zohar’s answering nod told Andrew that he was expecting this. He stood up, and gesturing to his mother, led her out of the main room. When they were gone, Saul said, Come over here with us, daughter.

Chava got up and crossed the room. She seated herself beside her father, opposite Andrew.

Andrew, son of Nahman, Saul said formally, this is my daughter Chava, whom you have spoken for. Andrew, thinking he might be better off to not say anything yet, nodded at her again. She met his eyes briefly, then lowered her gaze to the floor. Do you have questions for her?

I assume . . . Andrew’s voice sounded ragged in his own ears. He cleared his throat and began again, I assume you understand how to run a household with servants?

What servants do you have? Saul asked him.

Andrew suddenly realized he’d never heard the girl speak. He wondered what her voice sounded like. I have a woman who cooks and cleans for me, he answered, and her son runs errands. Then he felt compelled to clarify. Neither of them lives in my house, but they are there daily.

Chava can easily manage that, Saul declared. Do you have any questions, daughter?

When her voice came, it was soft and light as a bird’s feather. I will live in Jerusalem with you? She glanced at him again, her eyes darting up to his, then down again, as if she were taking a terrible risk.

Yes, I have a nice house about a half-hour’s walk from the temple. Andrew was pleased. The girl was pretty, had a pleasant voice, and appeared to be modest and well-mannered.

Is that all? Saul now had the air of a man who had tired of the proceedings, brief though they were.

Andrew took his cue and said, That is all, sir. Thank you for this opportunity to talk with the two of you.

Very good. The older man finished off the wine in his cup. We will see you at noon tomorrow, then.

Chava stood first, murmuring, Please excuse me, and left the room.

I must go. Andrew stood up. I can see myself out, sir. Thank you for the meal, and again for this opportunity.

Zohar was waiting for him out in the street. Well? He asked with a smile.

The question puzzled Andrew. Well, what?

What did you think of her?

The question seemed intrusive, and Andrew was itching to get back. He might still have time to visit the synagogue, but Zohar had been nothing but friendly, so he fought back his irritation. She seems to be everything I hoped. Then he shrugged and tried to make a joke, If she isn’t, I have already spoken for her, so . . .

Zohar’s answering laugh sounded forced. Then we will see you tomorrow.

Yes. They shook hands, and Andrew started away. He’d taken a dozen or more paces, and suddenly felt Zohar still standing there, watching. He turned and caught a look of raw hatred on Zohar’s face. In an instant it was gone, replaced by a smile and a wave, and Zohar went back inside. Andrew shivered, trying to process what he’d seen. After a few minutes, he took a long breath. I imagined it. He’s nice. I’ll enjoy having a brother. As he prepared for bed that night, Andrew thought that the meeting went as well as could be hoped.

Chapter Two

Well, that was close to a disaster, Chava told herself as she climbed into her bed and blew out the lamp. She hoped tomorrow would be better. Her groom had been prompt, and the food itself was as good as she and her mother could make it, but there was not much to the meeting. She shouldn’t have expected more. For some reason she’d had it in her head that she would get to speak with Andrew—just with him. What a foolish notion! Her father would never allow such a thing. She had a hundred questions, and in the end she asked only the one she thought most important. She let out a long sigh and shook her head. Maybe it was better this way. He might have been annoyed if she’d asked him more. Men often seemed annoyed by women’s questions.

The worst thing by far was Zohar sitting next to Andrew, being his most charming self; she was forced to watch the two of them talking as if they were already friends. Her brother’s performance turned her stomach, and she couldn’t make herself eat anything. She had the small consolation that—for once—Mother left her alone and didn’t nag her to eat more. Maybe Mother decided that my pecking at food was due to nerves. It was, but not for the reasons Mother probably supposed. Zohar was a snake. No, worse than a snake. She cast about for an adequate description. He was a snake with leprosy. He was cold, monstrous, diseased, and disgusting. The memory of his smiling face sent a sudden surge of bile up her throat. She choked it down and, turning onto her back, stared up into the darkness.

If she ever told her parents what he did to her, her father’s rage and her mother’s withering scorn would be heaped on her, not on Zohar. Never on him. Her father might even kill her—he had the right. She could say nothing, and her brother knew it.

A tiny rustling in the corner made her muscles go tense. She held her breath and listened. A mouse, she thought finally, and let out her breath and relaxed. It wasn’t mice she was afraid of.

She turned her thoughts to tomorrow. By afternoon, she would be Andrew’s betrothed. He and her father would sign the marriage contract. A year from now she would marry Andrew, and he would take her to live away from here—far away in Jerusalem, where Zohar couldn’t follow her. She would be safe. As she lay there, she wondered if she was going to be safe that night. He won’t come in here, she told herself, now that I belong to someone else.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. Sometime in the darkest hours of the night, she heard a stirring in her room, and her eyes flew open. It was her brother.

The day of the betrothal dawned cloudy. Stiff little gusts of wind raced around the corners of the house, kicking up last year’s leaves and irritating the chickens in the yard behind