Daughter of Jerusalem

by Joan Wolf

Genres: Historical Christian

Synopsis

In Daughter of Jerusalem, readers will quickly identify with Mary Magdalene - a woman of deep faith who used her wealth and influence to serve Jesus. This fictionalized story of Mary Magdalene is, in the truest sense of the word, an inspirational novel for modern people who are looking to renew in themselves the message of Christ. It's the greatest story ever lived, told by one of the most famous women who ever lived, and it's a page-turner. Joan Wolf's years of success as a novelist enable her to combine storytelling and a faith plot in this beautifully written biblical fiction.

Release date: April 1, 2013

Publisher: Worthy

Print pages: 320

Sample

“The way Ms. Wolf handles this often misunderstood and controversial woman is nothing short of a literary triumph. Bravo!”

—Margaret Brownley, New York Times best-selling author, Dawn Comes Early and Waiting for Morning

“In Daughter of Jerusalem, Joan Wolf has given us a treasure: a new, vibrant perspective on the life of mysterious Mary Magdalene. As the story unfolds it is impossible not to feel afresh the excitement we knew at our early explorations into our faith.”

—Stella Cameron, New York Times best-selling author, Court of Angels series

“Wolf weaves an original and intriguing tale of treachery and lost love with the discovery of forgiveness, hope, and redemption. An inspiring story not to be missed.”

—Cathy Gohilke, award-winning author, Band of Sisters

“At last, a Mary Magdalene we can believe in and root for. Joan Wolf eschews the stereotypes to portray Christ’s beloved female disciple not as a prostitute or ‘fallen’ woman but as a complex, autonomous, intelligent person of beauty and passion as well as piety. Enthralling.”

—Sherry Jones, best-selling author, The Jewel of Medina and Four Sisters, All Queens

“Compelling, thought-provoking fiction. Joan Wolf is a brilliant story-teller, recreating the world that Jesus walked.”

—Patricia Rice, New York Times best-selling author, The Trouble with Magic

“The fictional story of Mary Magdalene drew me in from the first page. Rich with details and wonderful characters, this inspirational tale tugged at my heart and kept me up way past my bedtime. Truly one of the best books I’ve read in a long while.”

—Beth Wiseman, best-selling author, Daughters of Promise series

“Daughter of Jerusalem is a powerful story . . . . Joan Wolf creates [Mary Magdalene’s] world with vivid grace.”

—Mary Jo Putney, best-selling author, The Lost Lords series

“I loved reading the Gospel stories from the perspective of a woman. . . . A must-read for those who enjoy historical fiction!”

—Melanie Dobson, award-winning author, The Silent Order and Where the Trail Ends

“A moving portrait of one of the most curiously overlooked women in history. Wolf deftly shows us . . . that our greatest worth is to be found in the soul.”

—Iris Anthony, author, The Ruins of Lace

“Meet Mary of Magdala, a woman of great courage and love, a woman for all seasons.”

—Catherine Coulter, author, Backfire



It was deep August when my father and I made the journey from my old home in Bethany to what was to be my new home in Magdala. We traveled with a party of friends from Jerusalem going to visit family in Galilee, and we joined up with other groups in Jericho because it wasn’t safe to travel the route along the Jordan if you weren’t with a large caravan.

Papa was taking me to live with my mother’s sister, my aunt Leah, because I did not get on with my stepmother. He had married Judith shortly after my mother died, when I was three. She was never nice to me. As I grew older, I learned to stand up for myself. We disliked each other intensely and made no attempt to hide our feelings.

A neighbor once told me that Judith was jealous of me. Instinctively, I knew that to be true. On the surface, Judith had the authority in the house, but I always felt that I had more power because I was better than she was. I wasn’t petty minded, and people liked me. My little half brother, Lazarus, and half sister, Martha, loved me more than they loved their own mother. But Judith had brought several highly profitable olive groves to Papa when they married, so he always took her side.

When I was ten, and the confrontations between us were growing worse, my father decided to send me to live with Aunt Leah. He told me it was for Aunt Leah’s sake; her husband had died, and she had no children of her own. I would be a comfort to her, he said. My mother would have wanted me to go.

I knew the real reason behind my banishment was that he was tired of having to listen to Judith’s complaints. He saw an opportunity for peace in his house, and he was going to take it.

It’s not that I didn’t love my Aunt Leah. She lived with her husband and his brothers in a house on the Sea of Galilee, and she always stayed with us in Bethany when she came to Jerusalem for the holy days. She was my mother’s only sister, and there had always been a special bond between us. If my aunt had lived in Bethany or anywhere close by, I would have been thrilled to make my home with her. But I could not feel happy about being sent to Galilee.

Judeans believed Galilee was a barbarian place. All my life I had heard that Galileans weren’t strict Jews, the way we were in Judea. They were lax in their practices, unclean in their table manners, and poorly educated. None of the great Temple scholars came from Galilee. Nobody of any importance had ever come from Galilee. I couldn’t understand how my father, who had often said these things himself, would want me to live in such an uncivilized province.

When I told him this, my father got the hard expression on his face that meant he wasn’t going to change his mind. So Judith packed my belongings, and my father and I left Bethany, the only home I had ever known, to make the long, hot walk north to Magdala in Galilee. Lazarus and Martha cried and clung to me when I left, making me feel even worse, and I was thoroughly miserable as we joined the group of people who were to be our companions on the road.

The trip north wasn’t as horrible as I feared. The farther we walked, the lovelier the landscape became. In August, Bethany was hot and brown and dry; Galilee, in contrast, seemed cool and lush. Dark evergreen forest covered the hillsides, and the sheep looked fat and healthy in their lush pastures. The wheat had been harvested, but everywhere figs hung ripe on trees, and we could see men at work harvesting dates.

After two days of walking we arrived at the southernmost tip of the Sea of Galilee. The sun was setting as we came into the village, and the lake waters reflected back the streaky gold colors of the sky. The hills on the western side of the sea rose like shadow guardians out of the sunset. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

One of the men in our party saw my face and chuckled. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“I never saw so much water!”

The man laughed. “One day perhaps you will visit the Great Sea, where you can sail for days and never see land. Then you will understand just how tiny this so-called Sea of Galilee is.”

One of the men traveling with us was from Capernaum, another city on the lake, and he was quick to defend his native province. “You have nothing nearly as beautiful in Judea. The Dead Sea is ugly, and nothing can live in it. Our lake teems with fish. You can’t get fish like ours anywhere in Judea.”

The Judean exploded into a defense of his province, but I stopped listening to the squabble. Instead I stood quietly, looking at the beauty that lay stretched out before me, praying in my heart that God would let me find happiness in this new place.



It was too late to go on to Magdala, so my father and I spent the night at one of the inns that served travelers and merchants along the well-traveled route. We set forth early the next morning, taking the road that ran along the west side of the lake. The first town we came to was Tiberias, a new city that was still being built by Herod Antipas, the ruler of Galilee.

I was hungry, but we didn’t stop. My father told me Tiberias was a Roman city and that no good Jew would sully the soles of his sandals by stopping near it.

“It’s almost as bad as Sepphoris,” my father said with disgust, as he marched me along, determined to put the polluted city behind us as quickly as possible.

“What’s Sepphoris?” I asked, skipping along beside him.

My father spat, something he rarely did. Then he told me that Sepphoris, the capital of Galilee, was a den of sin. It had been built by Herod the Great using Greek architects and was the seat of the Roman occupation in Galilee. Herod Antipas, my father said, his voice dripping with scorn, was as in love with the Greeks and Romans as his father had been.

It was early afternoon when we arrived in Magdala. As the first houses started to appear, I noticed that most of them were built of a light-colored stone, not the mud bricks we used in Bethany. It was very pretty.

“There is the house,” my father said, and I stared in amazement. Built of stone, it was situated directly on the lakeshore. And it was huge! It had two stories, supported by a series of stone arches. Gardens stretched out on either side, and the roof was tile, not the packed clay I was used to.

The people who live here must be very rich, I thought. My father was considered a well-to-do man in Bethany, but our house was tiny compared to this.

I felt my chest growing tight with anxiety as my father opened the gate that gave onto a path to the front door. Close up, the house looked even more enormous, sprawling over a huge plot of land, with outbuildings and an orchard of date palms and fig trees.

“Papa,” I whispered, as I trailed behind him, “are you certain this is the right place? This house is so big!”

He didn’t appear overwhelmed. “Benjamin has obviously done well with his business.”

He kept going, and I followed reluctantly, forcing one foot to move after the other. I was frightened and had a dreadful feeling I might cry. I never cried, and I was proud of that distinction. No matter what Judith said, no matter how many times my father locked me up in my room, I never cried. I would not start now.

But the outlines of the huge house had become suspiciously blurry. I ground my teeth together to gain control.

The gate banged behind us, and someone called out my father’s name. We stopped and waited while a well-dressed boy came down the path toward us. He addressed my father politely: “You must be Jacob bar Solomon. Welcome to our house, sir. I am Daniel, Benjamin’s youngest son.”

My father smiled and reached out to embrace the boy. “I thank you, Daniel bar Benjamin,” he replied, turning the full strength of his charm on the boy. My father was a very handsome man, with thick black hair only beginning to turn gray, dark brown eyes, and imperious black eyebrows. People often joked that there was no way he could deny my paternity, I looked so much like him. I was never quite sure I liked the comparison. Certainly I had his hair and eyebrows, but my nose did not jut out like his, and my cheekbones were high and thin, not broad and solid.

Lately I had taken to stealing peeks at myself in Judith’s polished bronze hand mirror, and I had been pleased with what I saw. Judith caught me once and called me ugly names, and I lost my temper and told her she looked like a cow. That was when my father made the decision to send me to live with Aunt Leah.

My father introduced me to Daniel, and we stood, silent in the sunlight, looking at each other. He was the handsomest boy I had ever seen, with clean, dark brown hair and reddish brown eyes. We knew immediately that we would like each other.

“Welcome to our house, Mary,” he said and smiled. Daniel had a wonderful smile; it lit up his thin, boyish face and made me feel that I truly was welcome here.

“Come into the house with me,” he said, glancing back at my father and then again at me. “I’ll find Leah and my mother to greet you.”



My aunt was waiting just inside the front door. and I ran into her outstretched arms. They closed around me tightly. “Mary,” she said, her lips pressed against the top of my head, “I’m so glad you have come to me.”

I was glad too. Daniel’s smile and Leah’s welcome had washed away the tears that had threatened on the path, and my old confidence came rushing back. My father said, “You have contributed greatly to the peace of my household, Leah, by having Mary live with you. I thank you with all my heart.”

“We are happy to have her,” another voice said, and I lifted my face from my aunt’s shoulder to greet Daniel’s mother, Esther, the matriarch of the family.

Her eyes were the same color as Daniel’s, and she looked at me for a long moment before she said, “I hope you are used to working, Mary. In this family, everyone has responsibilities.”

I bowed my head respectfully and assured her I would happily do whatever she might ask. I felt Aunt Leah take my hand and squeeze it, and I squeezed hers back.

Suddenly I was glad to be here in Magdala, in this house set on the beautiful Sea of Galilee, where Daniel lived.



It didn’t take long for me to learn that fitting into a large, new family wasn’t going to be so easy. The head of the household and the family business was Benjamin, Daniel’s father; next in authority after Benjamin was his younger brother, Joses. Counting from Benjamin down to the youngest baby, the household numbered thirty-two people in all. For a girl from a small family of five, it was overwhelming.

Aunt Leah had been married to Benjamin’s other brother, Isaac. When Isaac died, Leah, having no other place to go, remained with her relatives by marriage. That’s why she had been so happy when my father asked her to let me come live with her. I was someone of her own blood.

She was so sweet and gentle that I often thought my mother must have been like her. I had no memories of my mother, but that didn’t stop me from missing her. If she had lived, she would have taken care of me and loved me. If she had lived, I would never have had to deal with Judith.

Esther, Lord Benjamin’s wife (we were all supposed to call him Lord to show our respect for his position), put me to work right away. Even though some girls came from the village to help, there was still a lot to be done each day. Just getting enough water for the daily household needs was a huge task, as were milking the goats and making cheese and curds from the gathered milk. The daily bread had to be baked and the food for supper gathered and cooked. Squeezed in between these chores were the ongoing tasks of spinning cloth, making the cloth into garments, and caring for the large vegetable garden.

I tried hard to do everything the way Esther wanted, but I had learned little about housekeeping or cooking from Judith. Nothing I did had pleased her, and she banished me from her kitchen.

Aunt Leah gently tried to show me what to do, but I was miserably homesick for Lazarus and Martha. I would often slip away into the courtyard to play with the young children. It was much more satisfying than trying to carry out tasks that everyone scorned me for doing poorly.

Eventually Esther settled on the jobs most suited to me. I would rise early and prepare the day’s bread, do the weeding in the vegetable garden, and help look after the children. I didn’t mind doing any of these things and tried to go about my work as quietly and competently as I could.

My biggest misery of the first few months in Magdala came from the girls my age, the daughters of Benjamin and Joses. They all slept together in one of the big upstairs rooms, and none of them was nice to me. Fortunately, I got to sleep in a small room with my Aunt Leah so I didn’t have to put up with their snide comments at night, but they kept it up in the daytime. Or they just turned their backs and ignored me. I knew I shouldn’t respond, but it was hard to keep a quiet tongue.

I explained this to Daniel one day, when he came home from the synagogue. He saw me in the vegetable garden viciously pulling weeds and came to speak to me. He was the only male in the family who did not work in the family business of salting, packing, and shipping fish. Instead he went into town every day to study with the rabbi. Lord Benjamin’s plan for his brilliant youngest son was to send him to Jerusalem when he was sixteen to complete his studies at the Temple and become a scribe.

On this particular afternoon I watched him making his way along the narrow garden paths, and I smiled. He was twelve, two years older than I, tall and slim and elegant looking in his immaculate white linen tunic and cloak of fine blue wool. Its ritual blue tassels swung rhythmically as he strode along.

It was not the first time we had talked together in the garden, and he grinned as he came up to me. “You are certainly attacking those weeds, Mary.” He looked around. “Where is Rachel? I thought she was supposed to help you today.”

“She said she had a headache and went to lie down.” I ripped out another weed and tossed it into my basket.

Rachel was Joses’ daughter and my chief tormenter. I thought the rest of the girls might be friendly if not for Rachel’s influence. They seemed to be afraid of her.

“Come and sit down,” Daniel said, gesturing toward the wooden bench that was nestled in the shade of the house.

I sat next to him, licking the perspiration from my upper lip. I poured a cup of water from the jug I had brought with me and offered it to him. He took a sip and then gave it back to me. I drank thirstily.

“Is Rachel still making life difficult for you?”

I put the cup down on the seat next to me with a loud click. “She hates me. I have tried to be nice to her, Daniel, but she goes out of her way to be mean. And she makes all the other girls act mean too. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

“She’s jealous of you,” Daniel said.

I frowned. “What does she have to be jealous about? She’s the granddaughter; I’m only a poor cousin.”

“You’re prettier,” he replied and stretched his legs comfortably in front of him.

“Much good that does me.”

He turned his head to look at me. “Before you came, Rachel was the prettiest of the unmarried girls. You’ve taken her place, and she resents you for it. Give her time, and she’ll come around. She’s spoiled, that’s all.”

“I don’t care about Rachel,” I said with a sniff. I turned my face away so he couldn’t see my expression and regarded the sparkling lake that lay beyond the walls of the house. “I just want the other girls to like me. I have to spend so much time with them, and they’re either mean or they act like I don’t exist.” I swallowed. “It’s horrible.”

Daniel took my hand. “I’m your friend, Mary. Try to remember that when they upset you; you do have a friend in this house. And my sisters and cousins will come around eventually. They’re good girls at heart, truly.”

I turned back to him. He was so handsome, with his warm red-brown eyes, chiseled nose, and neat ears.

Without thinking, I blurted, “You were lucky you didn’t get your father’s ears.”

He looked startled, and then he burst into laughter. I put my hand over my mouth and stared at him in dismay. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve had the same thought myself.” He was breathless with mirth.

Lord Benjamin had huge ears. Sometimes, as we all sat in the courtyard in the evening, I would find myself staring at them. Aunt Leah had once leaned over to remind me that I wasn’t being very polite.

“They’re enormous,” I said now with awe.

“They are, aren’t they? My mother once told me large ears were a sign of God’s special blessing.”

“I never knew that.”

Daniel grinned. “She made it up. I’m sure of it.”

We both laughed.

After that day, Daniel made a point of seeking me out when he got home from school. Spending time with him made all the difference in the world to me. I was no longer alone in the hurly-burly of this big, confusing family. And he was right about the girls too. As time went by they did soften their attitudes, and I actually began to feel at home in Magdala.



I stood on a bench and surveyed the courtyard where I had brought the nine children in my custody to play. Like everything in the house, the courtyard was large, with three fig trees strategically placed to give the greatest amount of shade.

I wasn’t looking for shade at the moment, however. I was enjoying the feel of the warm spring sunshine on my head and shoulders. I inhaled the soft air, relishing the scent of the almond blossoms the breeze carried from the garden. I could hear the faint hubbub of men on the shorefront haggling over the price of fish. Lord Benjamin was the biggest employer in the area; most of the fishermen in town sold their catches to him. Lord Benjamin once told me that their fish was sold as far away as Rome. I was very impressed.

This would be my second spring in Galilee, and I was a very different person from the girl who had first arrived in Magdala. I was a real part of the family now, assured of my place and my status. Even my girl cousins had become my friends—with the exception of Rachel, who was just as nasty as ever.

Sometimes I felt sorry for Rachel. Ruth had told me that nobody liked her because she was such a bully. Ruth and I had become very close, so now Rachel didn’t like Ruth either, even though Ruth was her sister. It must be horrible to be a jealous person, I thought, with the superiority of one who has never had that particularly spiteful feeling.

I no longer missed Bethany. The previous spring, when we went into Jerusalem for Passover, I had spent a month in Bethany with my family, and I was glad when it was time to return to Galilee. I had wished I could bring Martha and Lazarus with me, but leaving them wasn’t as hard as it had been the first time.

I thought of my little brother and sister as I stood on the bench surveying my charges, who were playing a throwing game with a ball I had made by winding cord. They became more and more noisy as the game went on, and I was just telling Amos to lower his voice when Daniel came strolling out of the house eating a slice of bread.

I frowned at him. “You sneaked that from the kitchen.”

He grinned. “Leah is such an easy mark.”

“Daniel!” The cry went up from all nine of the children. “Play with us! Play with us!”

Dinah came running up to me and grabbed my hand. “You too, Mary! You too!”

Daniel finished his bread, and the two of us joined in the game. Twenty minutes later I called for a respite, and the children sat cross-legged on the ground and drank water from earthenware cups I had filled and passed around.

They were lovely children, full of life and exuberance but obedient as well. After they had finished their water, I distributed small clay animal figures and told them to play quietly. Then I went back to Daniel.

This time together had become part of the pattern of our days. Daniel would come home from the synagogue, change into the same plain tunic and brown robe that the rest of the men wore, and then join the children and me. His father never expected him to join his brothers and cousins on the shore, doing the hard physical labor of packing salted fish into great wooden barrels for shipping.

Daniel was his father’s pride and j. . .