“Thank you, son. Your generosity will be repaid in full.” He said.
Not knowing what to say, Uri ran back to his mother and seated himself next to her again. His mother giggled at him. “Why do you laugh at me so, Mother?”
“Because of that big goofy smile on your face, son.” She tousled his hair.
~ ~ ~
It turned out that Uri’s bread and fish were the only food brought to the man. His heart grew heavy, as he realized it would never be enough food to feed that great throng of people! “Mama, it is not enough. There is no more food.”
The man, Jesus, lifted His hands and prayed, and thanked Almighty God for the food and began to share some with each of his men that were with him. The people were organized into groups of fifty. In turn, the men each walked through the crowd and gave out portions of food to all the people. Everyone ate, and were satisfied! Even Uri and Mahlah ate all they wanted.
But then an even more amazing thing happened. The Prophet then had his men go around and gather up all the leftovers that the people could not eat. Much to everyone’s amazement and surprise, the baskets were overflowing with food! Uri stood up for a moment to count the number of baskets.
“Mother! I count twelve basket which are all piled high with food!”
“What do you make of that,” Mahlah said faintly. She seemed to be looking far away, as she tried to understand all that had happened.
The Prophet spoke for a while longer, and then dismissed the people. Everyone was in wonder at the miracles they had seen today.
So the people started leaving the grassy knoll and heading home. One of the Prophet’s men brought Uri’s basket to him which was overflowing with food. “I’m certain your family can use this,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” Uri responded respectfully.
Uri was dumbfounded by all that had happened that day. He and his mother walked home, Mahlah speaking with some of the other women as they walked.
A little girl rushed up to Uri. “Uri! Look, Uri, I can walk straight, just like my sisters and brothers!”
Uri realized it was the youngest daughter of Bani the merchant of pomegranates. He had many children, and his youngest daughter had been born with a crooked leg.
Uri looked the girl up and down. “Why yes, Syntyche, you look perfect, indeed!”
Syntyche smiled brightly. “I am going to run all the way home! And I am going to run everywhere for the rest of my life, Uri!” she exclaimed, and ran off down the hill.
Uri smiled as he watched her go. He realized that he had witnessed many miracles today. Many people were healed and the miracle of the loaves and fishes was his own special miracle, and one that he would remember for the rest of his life.
~ ~ ~
Back home, his papa was not interested. Persis was working on a new project. He had many projects, but few of them brought any money to his family.
Mahlah and Uri stored the food they had brought home and went outside to the vegetable garden.
Uri was sad again. This was common in his home. He asked his mother, “Why does papa feel so sad all the time, Mother?”
“He had a hard life as a child, my son. Some pains are too much to forget. He carries the weight of it with him always.” Mahlah looked her son right in the eyes and said, “I don’t want you to carry the weight of his unhappiness with you, Uri. You can be a happy man.”
“But Mother, it makes me sad when papa is like that. It seems like there is no joy on earth to make him happy.”
“Yes, my son,” Mother sighed, “Some people are like that.”
Uri and his mother carried the vegetables from the garden into the kitchen.
“Persis!” Mahlah cried, “Persis! What has happened?”
“Papa!” Uri screamed as he saw his father laying on the floor, a grimace on his face, his hands clutching his chest.
Mahlah commanded her son, “Uri – run to the square! Get the rabbi!”
Uri ran out the back door and down the alley. The tears blurred his vision as he ran. What would he and mother do without papa? How would they survive? His thoughts were delirious with the terror of something taking his father’s life.
Uri stumbled on the stone street. He fell hard. But then someone picked him up and set him on his feet again. He hurt badly, but he knew he must keep running, for he had to get to the rabbi.
Then he realized that the man who had helped him was the Prophet from the hill. Uri had seen many people healed that day. Then he knew!
“Mister – can you heal my papa? He is very sick and Mother sent me to fetch the rabbi. But I saw you heal people today. Can you heal my papa?”
The man ran his hands down Uri’s legs and suddenly he no longer felt the pain of falling. “Take me to your father, little one.”
They walked quickly back to the home of Persis the tinker. Uri wanted to run, but the Prophet just walked quickly.
As they neared Uri’s home, Uri ran through the yard and into the kitchen. “He is here, Mother. He is here!”
Mahlah had Persis’ head on her lap as she put a cool damp cloth on his head. She was wailing loudly over her husband. “Bring him into our home. He can say a prayer. But alas, my husband is dead.”
Uri froze where he was. No! His papa could not be dead! He too began to sob uncontrollably.
Just then the Prophet came in the back door. Uri looked up at Him and exclaimed, “If you had been here sooner, you could have saved my papa!” Uri sank to the floor, overcome with grief.
“Do not lament, my child. Your father lives.”
“How do you say that,” Mahlah cried out, “for his breath has left him!”
Jesus the prophet went over to where the husband and wife were on the floor. He laid His hand on the man’s head, said a quiet prayer and then took the dead man’s hand and said, “Persis, LIVE!”
Suddenly Persis’ body jerked and his eyes opened wide, as if he had just been awakened from a strange dream. “What happened?” He sat up, looking around.
His wife and son were too amazed to say a word.
Persis looked up at the stranger in the kitchen. “Who are you?”
Uri interjected, “Papa, this is the Prophet of whom we spoke. He has just healed you!”
Persis felt his chest, and ran his hands over his face. Then he looked at his hands. “My, what hands I have.” He looked at his wife, and said, “What a beautiful wife I have!” He touched her face.
All was silent in the small kitchen for several long moments. Then Persis jumped up. “Why, I feel great!” He took a great, deep breath and said, “I have never felt so wonderful. And I have never seen so clearly!” then he looked at his son and exclaimed, “And I did not know how handsome is this son of mine!”
Uri wondered with a great astonishment. Could it be that his father had felt ill his entire life, and was not able to see well? Could this be why his father always seemed to be distant and uncaring?
“Papa, can you see me clearly now?”
“Yes, son. I never knew that people were meant to see so clearly.” Then he laid eyes on the Prophet. “You healed me, did you not?”
“Papa, the Prophet not only healed you, he made you alive, for you were dead!”
Persis looked at his son, and said, “Yes, I remember now,” putting his hand on his chest and rubbing as if a great weight had been lifted. “I experienced a great, massive pain in my chest and arms. As I fell to the floor, I knew I was dying.”
“Yes, my husband. You were dead.” Mahlah said, as the full brunt of the day filled her. “This man,” she said, “Can heal even the dead!” She stepped over to Jesus and fell at His feet to worship Him and thank Him profoundly.
“And you are the one who made my son’s small portion of food feed the multitude?” He looked at his son and said, “You told me of the miracles he performed today. Uri, this man is that great power of God!” Persis joined his wife at the feet of Jesus and thanked Him.
Uri also joi
ned his parents, but the man Jesus took them by the hands and helped them up. “This is the work of God that you believe in Him whom He sent.”
The three members of Uri’s family hugged each other and cried – this time, with tears of joy. When they looked around, the Prophet was gone.
~ ~ ~
Shimri’s Deaf Father
Alice Busch
“Now do not forget, Shimri. Keep an eye on your papa.” Mother reminded once again, handing Shimri a basket of bread and fruit.
“Yes, mama. I know papa needs me. He cannot hear so if someone calls to him, I must let him know!”
“You are my good son, Shimri. Helpful as your older brother was once. But he is off to work in the fields, and now it is your turn to help your papa.”
“I will help him. You know I will.” Shimri said with pride. At barely five years old, Shimri was tall for his age, and had become quite adept at understanding his father’s way of communicating. “Yesterday Vashni called to him, so I yanked on his hand and looked over at Vashni. Then I helped papa understand what Vashni was saying to him. Both men smiled when they departed each other, so I know I helped.”
His mother smiled as he ran out the door to catch up with his father on the road to the quarry.
Shimri slipped his hand into his father’s large, calloused hand and smiled up at him. His father was the best, he just could not hear as other papas could. But Shimri knew how to take care of his papa.
Today was just like so many others. Shimri played around, keeping near his father while he worked, so he could be ready to help with communication at a moment’s notice. His father worked at the top of the quarry because it was not safe for him to go down into the pit with the other men. If an accident happened, he would not be able to hear the warning cries of the other men. This arrangement worked well for Shimri and his father, Joash.
~ ~ ~
Later that day, as the two “men” were walking home, Shimri noticed a commotion off to the left, in a clearing where there were lots of people. He wondered what it was. He strained his eyes and ears to try to figure out what was happening. Then his neighbor’s son, Eliashib was on the trail beside them.
“Ho, Shimri! Have you heard about the prophet who has come to town?”
“No, who is this prophet?” asked Shimri.
“His name is Jesus, and He’s from Nazareth. He heals people and does miracles. It is super to listen to Him and see His signs.”
“He does miracles?”
“Yes, I’m going over there again. You wish to come along?”
“No, I need to walk papa home. Perhaps I may come back after that.”
“Well, why don’t you bring your papa along, and maybe the prophet will heal him too.” Stated Eliashib.
“Heal my papa? Of what does he need healing?”
“Oh, you are so young, Shimri. The fact that your papa cannot hear is an infirmity and this prophet can heal him so he can hear!”
“Oh – really?” Shimri asked, not fully comprehending that his father’s affliction was something that needed to be healed. He had just always been deaf, and that’s all Shimri knew. He worked to comprehend the meaning of healing for his papa.
Eliashib ran off down the road, taking the left course and was gone. Shimri’s father stopped, looked down at him and pointed out toward the throng of people. Shimri looked back and forth between his father and the people. He had a decision to make. If his papa were to be healed, then Shimri would no longer be needed to help him. A strange feeling welled up inside of him. He liked helping his father, but he knew he was being selfish. Once he grew up and began working like his brother, his father would have no one to help him unless they had more children.
Then Shimri remembered a lesson from synagogue. It is good to help people and serve others, but the best way to serve is to do what is best for them, not ourselves. Shimri decided that the best thing he could do for his papa was to take him to the prophet. He had heard that no one had ever healed a blind man or a deaf man, so maybe the prophet would not be able to heal his papa. If the prophet could not heal his papa, well then, he had done what was right, and would still be able to help his father. On the other hand, if the prophet did heal his father, he would not be needed anymore.
Shimri decided to do the right thing, and swallowed the lump in his throat. He looked up at his father and smiled. He made a sign like they should go in that direction. His father agreed. He was curious too. So father and son took the left course also.
When they arrived at the crowd, people began shouting and waving their hands in the air. A woman screeched and nearly fainted. It was the wife of Aholiab, the blind man. Shimri was nervous. He had never seen such a display by the townsfolk in this area. His hand was beginning to sweat inside his father’s huge hand.
Then Aholiab burst through the crowd, and yelled for his wife. “Here I am, my husband.” Her voice was tiny and scared.
Aholiab stopped in front of the woman and Shimri realized he had never seen his wife before! “Abigail, is that you?” he asked, afraid to touch her, in case this woman was not his wife.
“Yes, Aholiab, my husband! It is I!” and with that, she burst into tears as the two fell into each other’s arms. Shimri’s eyes grew large with wonder. He had never seen men and women embrace in public before. This was not the sort of thing that his people did. In embarrassment, he looked down at his feet. But then the whole crowd rejoiced and sang and cried out in glee. Aholiab’s wife presented her sons and daughters to their father, who took each of them in his arms and gave them all great hugs.
Shimri found himself crying. How could he have been so selfish, to want to keep his father from experiencing this? Then it became evident to Shimri that his papa had never heard the sound of his voice, or that of his mother or brother. Shimri knew what he had to do.
Shimri grabbed his father’s hand in his, and pulled and tugged him as hard as he could. He never looked back at his father, he was just going to lead him to the prophet. He knew he must do this now, before his selfishness took him over once again. They fought their way through the throng of people. Shimri pushed and squeezed between the large adults.
Suddenly they were at the front of the crowd. A man was there whom he had not seen in the town before. ‘This must be the prophet,’ Shimri thought. The man was speaking, but Shimri barely heard his words. Shimri had a mission, and he knew he must accomplish it. He quickly glanced over his shoulder and saw his father coming. He looked intently at his papa and pointed to the man – the prophet. He motioned for his papa to come!
As Shimri approached the man, he began trembling. Something was different about this man! And then the man looked down at him. “Yes, son, what may I do for you?”
Shimri stood there for several long moments, forgetting the words he had known he would say. But then his father caught up to him and took him by the hand. Joash tried to pull Shimri away from the prophet. He made a sign that told Shimri they needed to go. But Shimri pulled hard on his papa’s hand and would not let him go. His father looked baffled and embarrassed. Then a few of the men of the town gathered around Joash and ushered him up to the prophet. One of them explained to the Prophet that Joash was deaf and mute. It was apparent that Shimri’s papa didn’t know what was going on. The men motioned for him to stand before the prophet.
Shimri pointed to the prophet and at his father. His father was trying to understand. Then the man, the prophet put out a hand toward his father and motioned for him to come closer. Joash looked at his son and then at the man in front of him, and slowly and carefully stepped up to the man.
The Prophet put His fingers into Joash’s ears, and then spat and touched his papa’s tongue. He looked up into the sky and said, “Be opened.”
Joash looked around, startled. He twirled this way and that. “What is this great noise? I can hear!” Shimri’s papa looked around, for the sounds all around him were new and astonishing! “I hear – I hear sounds!” he fumbled his ha
nd over his mouth as if to feel the words as they came out. “And I hear the sound of my own voice!”
Someone in the crowd said, “He has done all things well. He makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.” And the entire crowd shouted with glee! Joash covered his ears, unaccustomed as he was to hearing so many voices!
Shimri tugged on his papa’s arm. The big man had tears running down his face. “Papa?” asked Shimri.
His father moved his big bulk down to the level of his son and said, “Say that again, my son!”
“Papa?”
“Yes! My son speaks and I hear the sweet sound of his voice!” he looked up at the Prophet and thanked Him with tears of joy washing his face. “Thank you, my Lord. I never knew prophets could do such wonderful deeds!”
He looked back at his son, and asked, “Speak to me again, my son.” Then he looked around for the man who had healed him, but he was already in the midst of the swarm of townsfolk.
“Yes, Papa. I have so much to tell you.” Shimri found that he was crying also.
“And I have so much to hear!” he hugged his son tightly to his chest and cried mightily for several moments, for the sound of his son’s voice was the sweetest sound he could imagine.
“We must rush home! I must tell your mama what has happened! And I must hear the sound of her voice also. Oh great and glorious is our Almighty Lord who has sent a prophet this day to bring me such joy!”
~ ~ ~
When the two got home, they burst into the house. Mama and brother were in the kitchen and they both looked at the two in surprise. Then Joash made a motion to Shimri that he should say something to his mother.
“Mama – Say hello to Papa!”
“Why Shimri, you silly child!” Mother chuckled.
Then Shimri’s papa began crying all over again.
Shimri’s older brother asked, “What is all this?”
His father smiled greatly at him, then said, “Speak again, my wife, my son. For I shall never cease to be amazed at the wonderful sound of your voices!”
Shimri’s mama dropped the pot she had been holding. “You hear my voice?”
“You hear my voice also, Papa?” asked his older son.
“Speak, and I shall hear your words, for today a prophet sent from the Lord has opened my ears and touched my tongue and made me able to sing!” Papa shouted.