#that sounds like something from the Torah

[penguicorns-are-cool]

Just realized almost all the foremothers had fertility issues

Fertility issues are actually kind of common throughout the Tanakh, like the story of there being an infertile woman who somehow speaks to G-d or an angel and afterward gets a baby

I think this means that G-d is a fertility goddess which makes sense cause a lot of fertility goddesses from the Mesopotamia area have a major part in creation

[hyperpotamianarch]

Hello. Today, I'd like to make some random anecdotes about Rabbi Avraham Ibn Ezra - poet, commentator, linguist, mathmatician, probably not too bad at chess and cursed to be poor for the entirety of his life.

After a cursory look at his wikipedia page, I must admit I didn't really know much about his life: only that he was born and raised in Spain, went travelling, had terrible luck with everything, wrote his commentaries on the Torah for money (which I think didn't help with the "cursed to be poor" thing), befriended Rabbenu Tam in France, possibly married the daughter of Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi and promptly died... somewhere... oh, and also wrote lots of poetry in the middle.

Historically speaking, he lived at the end of the Golden Age of Judaism in Spain, around the 11th-12th centuries CE. This puts him right after Rashi - which allows him to snark at everything he thinks Rashi was wrong about, but before Rambam - which means he doesn't get to snark at everything Rambam got wrong. His commentary on the Torah leans a little towards the linguistic side, though he has a couple of other things going on as well, like roasting people he disagrees with (Ben Zuta is the only friend a bull has, anyone?) and dancing around verses he thinks were added later to the Torah, like every time it says "to this very day".

He also wrote one of the first math books in Hebrew - Sefer HaMispar, he wrote a poem about chess, one about how whatever he'll work at he won't get enough money. And generally, he wrote poems. Quite a lot.

I suppose at this point I should mention something: Hebrew linguists were, at the middle ages, predominantly Sepharadi. I mean, sure, there could be a non-Jewish Hebrew linguist, but for some reason I don't hear much about those. And there probably were Ashkenazi linguists, but there weren't many of them. Rashi does deal with linguistics - but half the time he does, it's using the books of two famous Sepharadi linguists. The Sepharadim, living in Muslim lands as they were, simply had a better background with learning Hebrew, since they were surrounded by speakers of a closely related language - Arabic. And Ibn Ezra's deep understanding of Hebrew led to him loving linguistic riddles, which I can never figure out - and I was reading an eddition with footnotes! Though maybe I didn't make enough effort or something.

But no, the reason I wanted to talk about Ibn Ezra was the impossible standards for poetry, as set by Sepharadi poets. You see, Jews were always influenced by their surroundings, in multiple facets. and poetry is definitely one of them. So, the influence from Arab poets includes strict rules for rhythm and - and this is what I actually wanted to talk about - rhyming.

The rythm thing is bad enough. Only once in my life have I tried keeping up with that. It was very, very hard. It's probably because I'm not used to this, but no song I write can keep a consistent rhythm and meter, and that's without trying to apply the standard Sepharadic rules. So trying to have such a strict meter... didn't work well for me. I guess I'm the frenchman from

וּמִי הֵבִיא לְצָרְפַתִּי בְּבֵית שִׁיר,

וְעָבַר זָר מְקוֹם קֹדֶשׁ וְרָמָס;

וְלוּ שִׁיר יַעֲקֹב יִמְתַּק כְּמוֹ מָן,

אֲנִי שֶׁמֶשׁ, וְחַם שִׁמְשִׁי וְנָמָס.

which was actually written about Rabenu Tam, but I'm a distant relative of his so this might still be applicable. Besides, as far as you know my name is Ya'akov, just like Rabenu Tam! (Sorry for not providing a translation, the gist is "how dare a frenchman trample all over poetry?!")

But rhymes. Oh, the Ibn Ezraic rhyming standards.

According to Ibn Ezra, one must always rhyme with the entire syllable. So no, just the last sound isn't enough. In Ibn Ezra's book, rhyme and dime don't actually rhyme - though I don't think he'd care about English at all. For the Ibn Ezra, shor and ḥamor can't be rhymed with each other; shor can rhyme with Mishor, and ḥamor can rhyme with har hamor, but you can't rhyme any other pair of those with each other. And I can't stay up to this challenge. It's nearly always impossible for me to find proper words to rhyme even without the extra demand for the rhyme to be the entire syllable. With English I don't think I even bothered or ever will. You have too many weird syllables for me. But with Hebrew... I do try with Hebrew, really. But I can't keep this up. And the most frustrating thing? It doesn't appear other Ashkenazi writers had this problem.

Now we get to the interesting part. I have been trying lately a new possible format for my very-anticipated-and-definitely-not-only-I-want-it Jewsade fanfic: introduction, preface and Haskamot to books. I just really enjoy reading prefaces for books, and one of my recent favourite pieces of writing is the conclusion piece of the Vilna edition of the Babylonian Talmud. If you're interested - it can be found in most editions of the Talmud at the very end of Masechet Nidah. The piece describes the trouble they went through to publish this edition of the Talmud and it's very interesting. Another favourite piece of mine is the preface of the Levush, a slightly obscure Halachic book from the time of the Shulchan Aruch. If you've ever seen me talk about the race to Halacha - this is my source for that, because the poor author was upstaged about three to four times by other people doing exactly what he planned on doing. I highly recommend this piece as well, though I don't know how easy it is to find. And the Levush - Rabbi Mordechai Yeffe - is a nice Ashkenazi guy. So he must be more lenient with his rhymes, right?

Well, I guess I didn't establish that part. Yes, the preface to the Levush starts with a poem. It's fun. It's great. It's also up to the Ibn Ezraic standard, while my attempt to write an equivalent is... not.

Huh. This post is oddly rambly. Ah well, maybe someone will like it. Anyway, the preface portion that really takes the cake is actually one from a fairly recent obscure book - like, this one was written barely a century ago. I only found it because one of my favourite singers, Aharon Razel, made a song out of it, but the song doesn't really capture the hilarity of the piece. Do ask me if you want to hear more, this one's great.

Signing off with a "darn you, Ibn Ezra! Why must you set such high standards!"

[girlactionfigure]

Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott was a Torah prodigy whose cleverness and chutzpah saved thousands of Jews from annihilation by the Nazis.

Born in a Polish shtetl in 1897, Reuven was one of fifteen children. His family were Hasidic followers of the Ger Rebbe.

Reuven’s exceptional intellect was apparent at a young age. He was a gifted scholar of Talmud and Jewish scripture, so precocious that he was given rabbinic ordination when only 17 years old.

The Rebbe took a special liking to Reuven, and every Friday night Reuven sat next to the great man at his festive Sabbath gathering. Small in size - he stood only 5’1” - Reuven was known for his big brain, and big heart.

Reuven was selected by his community to represent them as the Jewish voice on the local provincial council. When the Polish president died in the 1920’s, young Reuven stood at the graveside with other clergy and delivered a eulogy on behalf of the Jews of Poland.

Although life seemed fairly good for Polish Jews at the time, the Ger Rebbe sensed that big trouble was coming. He urged his followers to get out of Poland and move to Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel), at that time British Mandate Palestine.

As the Rebbe’s right-hand man, Rabbi Reuven Kott threw himself into the mission of helping Jews leave Poland and return to their ancestral homeland.

The British had a quota system restricting the number of Jewish families they let in. Reuven took advantage of a bureaucratic loophole defining “family” as two parents and an undetermined number of offspring.

Reuven collected money and bribed Polish authorities to get blank birth certificates. He would then “create” new families, matching people up, changing names and identities as needed. Every “family" had at least a dozen children.

Reuven told those he helped that they must stick with their fake identity. Most people complied, but a few didn’t and were caught. Under threat of being sent back to Poland, somebody gave Reuven’s name to the authorities.

Reuven and his brother were on a train in Warsaw when three plain-clothes officers approached. After verifying his identity, they arrested Reuven for bribery and forgery and threw him in jail. As a pious Jew, Reuven couldn’t eat the non-kosher jail food, so every day his daughter brought him a kosher meal - a two hour journey each way.

After several long months, his brother finally got word that there was going to be a hearing in the case. He went to visit Reuven in jail, told him the news and asked which lawyer he wanted to hire.

Reuven scribbled something on a scrap of paper, folded it up and slipped it through the bars of his cell. Outside the jail, Reuven’s brother unfolded the note. He was shocked to read the contents: “Hire me the most anti-Semitic lawyer in Warsaw!“

Reuven’s family was baffled. With so many top-notch Jewish lawyers, why would he want an anti-Semite? Had his incarceration led to a mental breakdown? Reuven’s brother assured them that he was of sound mind, and he went to Warsaw and found an attorney notorious for his fierce hatred of Jews.

The day of the hearing arrived, and the courthouse was packed with hundreds of Hasids from Reuven’s community. Reuven was allowed only three minutes with his lawyer, and then the hearing began.

To everybody’s shock, Reuven’s lawyer stood up, made a brilliant argument, and got the case dismissed.

Back home in the shtetl, everybody wanted to know what Reuven had said to his lawyer in those three minutes. Reuven said his Talmud study had taught him that in a business deal, if you get three “Yes” answers, the deal will close.

He asked his lawyer three questions:

- You hate us Jews, don’t you?

- Do you want to see me rot and die in jail?

- Would you like all of us Jews gone from Poland?

The lawyer answered yes to all three questions. Reuven immediately shot back, “What good would it do if one measly Jew rots in jail? If you set me free, I can get all the Jews out of Poland!”

Reuven got what he wanted by blinding the lawyer with his own hate. He continued his work “creating” large families and helping them move to Palestine. The anti-Semitic attorney even helped him procure more blank birth certificates. People often asked Reuven when he would go to Eretz Yisrael. He said, “I’m like the captain of a sinking ship. It is my responsibility to get all the passengers out before I get in the lifeboat.”

Over the course of 20 years, Reuven helped tens of thousands of Jews escape Poland. Today, almost half a million descendants of those Polish Jews owe their lives to Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott.

Unfortunately, Reuven himself never made it to Israel. He was murdered at Auschwitz in 1942.

For proving that one small man in three short minutes can accomplish miracles beyond measure, we honor Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott as this week’s Thursday Hero at Accidental Talmudist.

This story was told to us by Reuven’s granddaughter, Ziporah Bank. She heard it from her mom - the daughter who brought kosher meals to Rabbi Kott in prison. 

Accidental Talmudist

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

My (non-Jewish) anthropology professor made a really incorrect statement about the idea of Jews as “God’s chosen people”. When I (also non-Jewish but try to keep informed) corrected him, he brought up something else that sounded wrong to me: supposedly only Reform Judaism allows for conversion? I didn’t know enough to contest it at the time, but that really does not sound true to my ear, from the way I’ve heard Jewish people talk about it. Is there any truth to that?

Yeah, the Chosen People thing is often wildly and antisemitically misinterpreted to mean "We think we're G-d's Specialest Selected Elite People and the only people G-d actually loves and cares about" -- which like. Could not be further from the truth. What it actually means is: We were selected to do the project of the mitzvot of the Torah, which is a lot of extra homework that other people don't need to do but someone needs to do it. It's a lot more like "chosen to do the dishes" of the spiritual world than "chosen to be special." Now. Is there definitely some pride of place in doing the extra work? Sure! But at the same time, Jewish eschatology has always made room for non-Jews. We absolutely think non-Jews who live good lives and are decent, moral people have a solid place in the world to come. We aren't angling for a everyone to become Jewish because, kind of by definition, not everyone needs to do the ritual mitzvot. Live ethical lives and be decent to each other and us? Sure. Lay tefillin and daven three times a day and (during the Temple times) offer sacrifices and wave lulav fronds during Sukkot and eat matzah on Pesach and keep kosher and keep Shabbat? Etc.? Nope, that's our task and ours alone.

Now! If you feel personally called to living a life of Torah and believe that you have a Jewish soul and should be made part of Am Yisrael, the Jewish people, you can go through the lengthy process of conversion and (essentially) become a member of the Tribe? Yeah, you can do that. You better be real sure and go into it eyes open. You're going to need to be persistent and dedicated to studying and being present in the community. It's not encouraged, and traditionally rabbis would turn someone asking to convert away three times before accepting them as a student to make sure they were serious. In modern times, most rabbis are a bit more welcoming, but will still push you to seriously consider why you want to be Jewish. If the answer is still yes for you, then you can do it, if you must. Most gerim (converts) describe an experience very similar to how transgender folks describe our gender journeys - we can't be any other way, and wouldn't want to be. I'm both a convert and trans, and my sense of understanding myself as both non-binary and as a Jew are deeply held and equally compelling.

All branches of rabbinic Judaism accept converts. Some have a more strenuous process than others, and some take on very few converts. The more traditional the movement, the more likely it is that the person will be encouraged to explore other options. The reason for this is that the more traditional the movement, the more serious they take the binding nature of the commandments, and therefore adding another Jew (especially one who has so much to learn in a comparatively short time rather than being raised in it) is a risk that the person will revert back to their old ways or find something else later. Since we are judged collectively (Torah is a group project) and the future world to come hinges on us scrupulously observing the mitzvot (according to the more traditional movements) it is imperative that any late additions to the People be very serious and rigorous in their observance.

The liberal movements are a lot less intense about that, although it's also a spectrum. The Reform movement does not hold the ritual mitzvot to be binding, only the ethical mitzvot. They therefore lack the same incentive to avoid failed conversions. The Conservative/Masorti movement and some of the other traditional egalitarian communities do hold the mitzvot as binding, but are a lot more flexible about their expectations that everyone follow them. It's a lot more of a "do your best; we're here to support you" vibe. (That's my branch that I converted through.)

Each branch, to be clear, has their strengths and weaknesses, their merits and their drawbacks. Every Jew brings something to the table. The Reform movement (and similarly liberal smaller movements) are probably the most welcoming to gerim and have the fewest hoops to jump through, but every branch has a process and some amount of converts. Those that choose a more traditional movement typically support, respect, and value the extra hoops of the traditional movements and are willing to work within that system; at least that's how it was for me. I wanted it to be rigorous so that I was prepared and certain; I got that out of my giyur process. Other people have different needs and value systems that are equally valid.

[the-lesser-light]

In my journey to learn everything I can, I've been come acutely aware of the fact that any time I look up something like learning Hebrew, how to put on a tallit, how to have a Seder, or a discussion on something from the Torah, I am faced with endless things that basically boil down to: "Hebrew for Christians" or "Should Christians wear Zitzit?" or "Finding Jesus in the Torah".

At first it was upsetting. I quickly learned how to check my sources and how to pick up red flags. Is there a cross in the background of the video I'm watching? What is the person in the video wearing? Does this article sound suspiciously like a white Christian lady poaching Jewish culture because it looks nice? Does this artist also have several pieces that proclaim Yaweh as the true name?

Now I'm angry. I had a recent incident where I mentioned to someone I was learning Biblical Hebrew to read my prayer book and they started talking to me about going to a nice Synagogue in a city south of us and various Jewish activities. It surprised me because everyone thought she was Baptist. Looking it up later, I found out it was a Messianic church.

I wish Christians had distanced themselves further. How dare they continue to use the Jewish text and corrupt it to fit their ideals. Why couldn't they have just written their own book and done what they already did and decided what they wanted it to include and then fucked off? Why do they have to keep digging into Jewish culture while also looking down their noses at it? Learning Hebrew does not help you 'find Jesus' as if Jews are purposefully sneaking him out of our texts.

As someone who learned from an early age how to spot extremists and the sort of Christian who was ready to convert you at gunpoint if they had to (Texas everyone), I go into everything with intense scrutiny. I feel for those that don't know how to do this and end up using resources that aren't accurate or that are tainted with a Christian ulterior motive.

I know I'm not the only one with resentment and me complaining about this is old news for people that have been Jewish their whole lives.

I suppose my question is: Is it getting worse? I've never looked for this before, but all my searches have come up with things made in the last 5 years.

With growing antisemitism, are you finding that more people and groups are having no hesitancy to pull out Jewish things and twist them into their own use?

[fattened-goose]

In love with your sister | Andrew, Big James, John

A/N: requested by @jo-renee I apologize for the delay and I appreciate your patience. I hope these are close to what you wanted.

Warnings: possible angst depending on your definition of the word. Also, my GIfs aren’t probably as good as they could be.

~*~

Being the daughter of Zebedee meant that any man that took an interest in you, had to go through not only your father but your two brothers as well. And Andrew, even though he’d known your brothers James and John for awhile, was no exception. He’d never planned on falling for you, it had just happened, so gradual had the descent into love been that he’d not even really realized it had happened until you were constantly on his mind.

The gentle curve of your smile and the gleam that came to your eyes when amused was all he could see when his eyes shut for the night. The sweetness of the thought bringing a smile to his own lips, you were so soft spoken compared to your brothers, not to mention beautiful, it was no wonder you captured Andrew’s heart.

Andrew, had also captured your heart much to your surprise. A fact that delighted your Father and Mother, but left your older brothers feeling somewhat dismayed.

They watched with crossed arms as the two of you interacted, a welcoming smile on your face as you laughed at something Andrew had told you. All the while he smiled even wider at the chipper sound that left your lips that he’d caused, a blush rising to tint his cheeks a lovely pink as you lightly touched his arm.

At this James rolled his eyes, hitting John with his knuckles before motioning over to the two of you.

“Let’s head over, huh? Have a little talk with our future brother-in-law.” The suggestion of the elder making the younger one’s brown furrow before nodding, “sure.”

Both sets of eyes remained locked on you and Andrew, as the two approached you, eyes narrowed and arms crossed when they stopped in front of the two of you.

“James, John, it’s nice of you to join us.” You beamed, the brightness of your smile causing your oldest brothers lips to quirk up into a grin, “Andrew was just telling me about the time that -“

“Y/N!” Mary’s voice rung out across the camp as she waved you to come over, “it’s time for our Torah lesson.”

Nodding at her, you smiled gently at Andrew before leaving him with the promise of getting together with him later, a promise he told you he’d look forward to. Turning to take your leave, your gaze fell on your brothers, narrowing your eyes at them you mouthed a hurried, “play nice” before heading toward Mary.

The three of them watched your retreating figure before turning to face each other. James and John recrossed their arms as they refocused on Andrew, who countered the action with a nervous gulp of air.

Their attempt to intimidate him obviously working judging from his expression much to their delight as they moved closer yet. The proximity causing Andrew to stumble backward in an attempt to distance himself slightly.

James reached out a hand to latch on to his shoulder to steady him, “why do you look so nervous?” John questioned, a half sneer covering his lips at Andrew’s wide eyed expression as his eyes were glued to James’ much larger hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, do we scare you or something?” James’ added, still gripping onto Andrew’s shoulder.

“N-no.” His voice not as steady as he would’ve liked it to be, his whole body covered in sweat and his heart thumped wildly in his chest.

“Good.” John replied, reaching out to roughly pat his other shoulder, the action causing Andrew to flinch.

“We’d hate for our future brother-in-law to be scared of us.” James added, his brow somewhat furrowed as he looked down at the quivering mass that was currently Andrew.

“We’d also hate what we’d have to do if you did something to hurt Y/N.”

The two brothers sharing a smile as Andrew blushed, nodding as he wrung his hands, “I’d never do anything to hurt Y/N.”

“That’s good, let’s try to keep it that way, hm?” The elder of the two suggested, squeezing Andrew’s shoulder before the two of them took their leave. Their departure making Andrew sigh in relief, dabbing his forehead lightly in an effort to make himself appear less frazzled. The only thing soothing his nerves, being the sight of you huddled around the fire with Mary as you studied.

~*~

You’d known the sons of Zebedee for awhile, not quite as long as your brothers Simon and Andrew. But, you’d known them long enough to know that Big James had taken a liking to you.

A fact that delighted you and discontented your brothers, Simon especially. While Andrew wasn’t exactly crazy about the idea of you and James together, he at least trusted the idea that with James you’d be safe and well cared for. Simon on the other hand, didn’t like it at all and was not the least bit scared to let his opinions be known.

It all kicked off one day when you were at Simon’s house with Eden, she had asked you to help her repair the fishing nets, and you of course obliged. The two of you had worked together all day, laughing together at many different things until you both decided to stop for the day when your brothers came back, the Sons of Thunder directly behind them.

Upon spotting you at the table, James eyes immediately lit up, a smile replacing the slight frown he’d been sporting after a rough day on the water. All of which, Simon had not failed to pick up, causing his brow to grow heavy with frustration.

“Y/N, what a pleasant surprise to find you here.” James exclaimed, moving over to take a seat next to you.

“A pleasant surprise considering Simon told us Y/N and Eden were mending nets today.” John snickered before shooting you a good natured wink, only to be glared at by James. The scene making you laugh lightly as Eden nudged you with raised eyebrows before making her way over to Simon.

“How was your day, James?”

His smile only widened at your inquiry before leaning forward towards you a bit, the sight making Simon want to lunge forward, and he would have, had it not been for Eden grabbing his arm.

“Oh it was ok, we didn’t catch much though, it was pretty rough out there, nothing I couldn’t handle though.” He reassured, your eyes drawn to the muscles that flexed in his arm that he’d drawn up to himself so he could rest his chin on his hand. A slight blush crossed your cheeks at the sight of the veins that were laced around the muscle, this only gave James all the more confidence.

“I’m sure it was nothing if not easy for you.” Your reply and smile along with your batting eyelashes prompting Simon forward, out of the clutches of Eden.

“Y/N, you need to head home before it gets dark.” He moved to help you up, pushing you away from the table and positioning himself between you and James.

“It’s an hour before it gets dark though.” Focusing now on your brother, before looking back out the window at the sky, “the sun is still out.”

“Which is exactly why you need to start making your way.” He pushed, ushering you towards the door, you locked eyes with Andrew who just shrugged at you before turning back to his conversation with John.

“Simon.” Eden spoke, her tone sharp as her eyes narrowed at him, but your brother paid her no mind in his effort to shuttle you out the door, his main objective to get you away from James.

“I can walk her home if it gets dark.” James offered, smiling gently at you before fixing your brother with a perplexed look. At this you nodded, welcoming any time you could get with James, his offer tuning the corners of your lips upward and causing your stomach to flood with butterflies.

“That would be lovely, James.” You blurted, watching as Simon opened his mouth in exasperation, his arms crossed as you went back over to sit with James, the two of you talking and laughing until the sun went down, much to Simon’s annoyance and Andrew’s dismay as Simon had made him stay there waiting.

His plan obviously being to have Andrew take you home instead of James. When you finally decided it was time to go it was almost pitch black outside aside from the flickering light that came from the torches on the buildings. Saying your goodbyes to everyone you gathered your items and walked over to the front door with James behind you.

“Andrew is going to go with you, Y/N, that way James doesn’t have to go all the way through town and back.” Simon informed walking over and dragging Andrew with him, in an effort to push Andrew out the door first.

At this you and James exchanged looks, the slightly deflated look in your eyes making his heart melt, before his dark brown eyes turned toward Simon, “I don’t mind taking her, I’m sure Andrew is tired after being out on the water all day.”

“Andrew is right here though, it only makes more sense that he takes her, brothers are more protective after all.” Simon’s eyebrow raised as he glowered slightly at the bigger man.

“I’d protect Y/N, you need not worry.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about!” Simon yelled, the volume of his voice causing you and Andrew to exchange nervous looks.

“I’m trying to protect her from you!” He continued, finger pointing at James in an accusatory manner, both you and Andrew moved closer to the door before looking over at James, who stood with a clenched jaw and crossed arms. His mouth opened to reply before he looked back over at you, your anxious expression calming him a bit, he nodded closing his mouth as he did so.

If he was going to argue with Simon, he wouldn’t do it in front of you, “ok.”

“I’m serious, James, leave her alone.” Simon warned as you all headed out the door, not before you shot a glare at the back of Simon’s head. Andrew nudged you towards the road, eager to get away from the hostile environment. You ignored him however and waited for James to appear, shooting him an apologetic look, “James, I -“

“Come on, Y/N.” Andrew spoke quietly, loitering awkwardly as he waited, “It’s ok, I look forward to seeing you again, soon maybe?” James spoke, eyes gleaming at you with hope.

“I’d like that.”

“I would too.”

Watching him smile at you one last time, you allowed Andrew to pull you away, calling out over your shoulder, “Goodnight, James!”

“Goodnight, Y/N!” His large hand waving at you as you parted ways, he wouldn’t leave you alone, he’d see you again. Besides that, it was only a matter of time before he’d ask for your hand with no fear of either of your brothers.

~*~

Being the sister of Philip, you’d not started to follow Jesus until later, when Philip had invited you to join them. When you’d come in, the group was already well established and bonds had been formed making it a bit more difficult to feel like you really fit in. Except of course, for John who always made sure you were included.

After a while though, your feelings as well as John’s had blossomed into something more than just friendship. And while the two of you hadn’t told anyone but each other about your feelings, your brother Philip had taken a notice of it. The looks that the two of you would share with glimmering eyes, and the smiles that would light up both your faces at the sight of the other doing little to hide your affections for the other.

The fact that the two of you talked about the other nonstop, was also a dead giveaway to Philip. One day, when John had talked to you and asked you about asking Philip for your hand you were both nervous and excited. The two of you having no idea that Philip was already onto you.

“What if he says no?”

“What if he says yes?” The two of you beaming at each other as you made you way towards your brother. Elbows brushing slightly in your close proximity, causing the both of you to blush madly, before John cleared his throat and moved over a step.

Upon spotting Philip the two of you exchanged nervous smiles before heading directly for him, John whispering a hushed prayer as he approached your brother and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Turning, he smiled at you happily, giving you a hug in greeting and an affectionate kiss on the cheek before releasing you, “You two look excited today.”

You nodded as John cleared his throat nervously, hands on hips as he puffed his chest out slightly. The three of you all looking quietly at each other for a second before Philip’s smile disappeared and his brow furrowed with concern.

“Is everything alright? Did something happen?”

“Everything is fine.” You reassured, looking from your Brother to John whose brow was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard before looking Philip directly in the eye.

“I’m in love with your sister!” He blurted, the words so rushed you barely comprehended them. His confession making your eyes widen at him as this wasn’t the way you’d planned for this to go.

“You think I don’t know that already?” Philip laughed, patting John on the shoulder lightly, “you had me worried for a second.”

“Philip…” you whispered, shaking your head at him in an effort to quiet him, your gaze finding John’s again, who smiled now, your brother’s cheerful demeanor obviously relaxing John a bit.

“I was wondering if I might um…” his voice wavering at the end as he looked over at your expectant face. Your excitement making him swoon internally and a blush rise on his cheeks. Philip smiled at him patiently as he worked up the courage to ask his question.

“I was wondering if I might ask for your sister’s hand in marriage?”

Philip’s smile dropped for a second as he looked over at you, your face still as you looked between John and your brother.

“Well, Y/N, is this something you’d want?” Your brother questioned, now turning to give his complete attention to you. Your cheeks hot as you wrung your hands together anxiously before shooting John a hopeful smile.

“Yes.” You responded quietly, just daring to glance up at Philip who was now smiling widely.

“Then I guess welcome to the family!” His tone elated as he hugged John, thumping him on the back as he did so. Your stomach flipped joyfully at the words of approval, smiling so widely your cheeks hurt you let out a gleeful chuckle.

“Praise Adonai! I was so nervous!” John exclaimed hugging your brother back, before beaming over at you. Moving closer to you, he looked over at Philip who nodded at him, as John’s fingers linked with yours.

“Now, comes all the plans and preparations.”

“And you thought asking me was the hardest part, wait until you start planning with Y/N.” Philip teased playfully, earning him a slight shove from you and a laugh from John, smiling at the two of you he departed, knowing that you couldn’t have chosen a better man for a husband.

[thora-sniper]

Crosscember Day 8: Crosshair in coat

This was very hard morning before the ball. Crosshair said "yes" to this invitation but he never thought that he will be nervous like that. Two days ago he met Thora in office, they have very strange private dialogue and she didn't even allow him to say "happy birthday" to her. There is a high probability that they can meet again today and he can't understand - should he look his best at the same time, or should he dress up the way he usually dressed for such events.

The phone call beat him out of his mind. Hunter. Yes, of course, his brother came with his advises at the right time.

-What's going on, Cross? - he was little worried. - You didn't say me, that you going on to this ball. It's not in your style.

-Times changes, - answered Crosshair, looking to two suits in front him. - Brown, or black?

-Those suits? - Hunter clarified.

-Uhu.

-Black. If you think about girls it suits you better. Your ass... you know.

-If I think about one girl...

-It's still black. Did she see you in your uniform?

-Of course, yes. It's only for department workers, and if you want to know, we even worked together, talk each other not so long ago and I still don't understand her completely. She's dying of guilt because I got shot.

-Easy, boy, - calming voice from phone tube trying to purr this words. - Never hear you talking about girls this way.

-I never ever meet such girls as she. Even if she think that she screwed up, I don't want her blame herself until the end of the world. I am clearly not worthy of such an honor.

-As always, - Hunter sighed. - You fit each other, if you want my opinion.

-No. But ok, I'll take black one.

-Have fun.

-Thanks.

*******

Party, ball, fourchette were not that type of event where he can fill himself comfortable. Crosshair put his own sarcastic face to shield himself from different attacks. His scowl and the most inconspicuous position in the corner of the hall helped to keep the brand.

Some ladies tried to push him out of his place, but he was unmoved. He spent two hours and haven't catch any hint of the presence of the Torah in the hall. Sighing heavily, he got up from his seat and went to the cloakroom. He was trying to put his injured arm in the sleeve when felt that someone trying to help him.

-Not necessary... - he said turning over.

-Think so? - she asked. - Looks like you're little drunk and this coat is not your usual cloths choice, and I sure that your arm isn't so well yet.

-Ahhh, you could be little shitty if nobody watching you, yes? But so kind.

Thora nodded with wide smirk.

-It's neutral place, we are not on duty, and I think it is unfair hiding anymore. I wasn't sure that you will go here, and decided to late. I fill very sorry, - she sobbed, changing in her face. Crosshair knew this type of inner struggle, it was his own every day battle, but he never ever seen this in others.

-You can break through the line of raiders but you don't know what to say if you fill something different, - the voice was sharp but his speech was full of empathy. - We don't have to go there, if we don't want, - he nodded to the hall. - I know that all this costumes and dresses looks good and respectful, but sometimes we don't fit them. And today is one of those days.

-Crosshair, - it was the first time she called him by his first name, and this sounds like a light gust of wind. - I can't just disappear, and I can't ask you to stay, but...

She pulled him out of cloakroom, guided to the distant corner and without any other words kissed. She took her time, clinging to him with her whole body, holding his face with her fingertips under his chin. It wasn't one of those tentative kisses, hastily concocted out of insecurity and embarrassment. She knew what she wanted.

-You are incredible, - he grinned when the woman pulled back to straighten her clothes and put her hair in the right condition before going to the hall. - But I really don't want to stay, it's not the place for both of us. If I had been braver, I would have invited you for the weekend. But you would have refused anyway.

He sighed and headed for the exit. Thora called out to him:

-And if I agreed...

He turned over, looked at her hopeful face and answered:

-I'll send you address.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Jesus | Blinded To The Truth | Platonic

Dialogue prompt: “You really like making things difficult.”

Requested: Yes

After inviting you to listen to His meditation at Synagogue, your childhood Friend Jesus makes the boldest of claims.

“Hey, you’re cheating!”

“I am doing no such thing!” you quip, throwing the small ball towards Rafi in the hopes he will not catch it– 

–He catches it with his left hand and you huff, preparing yourself to get it hurled back at you in return. However, Rafi tosses it with a firm movement of his arm towards Jesus, Who misses it by a hair. The ball falls to the grass and Rafi cheers, causing you to roll your eyes. Aaron lets out a sigh of defeat.

“I win!” Rafi exclaims. 

You place a hand on your hip. “Fine, you win. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to get myself some snacks to comfort myself at this incredible loss.”

“Nah, (Y/n), you are just being sarcastic now even though I know quite certainly that you are upset.”

“I’m not! It’s Rosh Hashanah, I will not allow myself to sulk over something like a game.”

Jesus chuckles at your response and runs a hand through His hair, sighing deeply. “You did better at this game than I did, (Y/n),” He reassures you. You smile at your childhood Friend, Who heads over to you. “I will join you for that comfort snack, okay?”

You nod in agreement and both of you head for the nearest platter of sweet treats. You scoop a whole load of honey onto a slice of apple and give it to Jesus. He thanks you with a word of gratitude and waits for you to get one for yourself as well. 

“Hey,” Jesus begins as the pair of you bask in the sunlight, enjoying the fruit. “I am going to give a Torah reading tonight at the synagogue. Would you like to attend as well? You’re a good friend of Mine, so I would appreciate it if you were to–”

“Of course!” you say without hesitation, “I knew that You were a Rabbi now. Your mother told me about Your ministry.”

Jesus hums. “I don’t think she told you all of it.”

You frown in puzzlement. “What do You mean?”

The Nazarene gives you a look. “You’ll see.”

Trusting Him enough to not ask, you decide to not press any further. 

“Time for a rematch?” you suggest, nodding at Lazarus and Rafi, who are still gloating in their victory. 

Jesus nods in agreement, polishing off the honied apple. “Let’s go.”

_

In spite of the heat outside, the synagogue is cool and dark, apart from some light drifting in through the small windows above. The village of Nazareth has gathered and you’ve taken a seat with two women who introduced themselves to you as Martha and Mary, whom you’ve started to mingle with in anticipation of Jesus’ reading. You’re curious to see what He will choose to read. 

The crowd’s chatter falls silent when Rabbi Benjamin walks up to the pulpit and stretches his arms in a way to lead everyone into prayer. You bow your head and close your eyes.

“Blessed are You Lord our God, King of the universe. Who has kept us alive and sustained us for another year. Who bestows kindness, restores and redeems. Praise to You, Adonai our God, sovereign over creation. Who has chosen us from all the peoples. May Your blessings be all who seek You earnestly. Bring joy to Your land and gladness to Your city. In Your mercy, bestow on us a prosperous year, a bountiful harvest, and the promised arrival of Meshiach. Your anointed One, the Son of David.”

The congregation replies with an agreeing ‘amen’ as the sound of the shofar fills the room in a few quick puffs of noise. Goosebumps litter your skin at the sound like it does to you every time, and you smile, watching Jesus across the room. 

“Thank you for the call to repentance and rest.” Rabbi Benjamin comments. “And now, for the reading and interpretation we have with us Jesus bar Joseph. He was one of my students in Torah class and we’ve heard reports–” he turns to Jesus, “Some of them very positive, of His rabbinic journeys.” Jesus and Lazarus chuckle a bit, “Jesus.”

Jesus heads for the pulpit and smiles. “Thank you, Rabbi Benjamin. Ah, please.” He gestures for the person carrying the scroll to lay it out for Him.

“You know, it’s not easy to share in front of Nazareth’s most pre-eminent Rabbi, but I will do My best. And I’m certain that if I miss a word or two, one of you at least will speak up, huh?” 

A few of the men make sounds of agreement, Lazarus leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed. “Oh, don’t worry.”

“I wonder who it will be,” Jesus murmurs in amusement before turning to the scroll.

“A reading from the scroll of the prophet Isaiah.” Jesus announces, then lifts His eyes upwards for a few silent seconds. He unfurls the scroll and takes the yad to point at the text He is reading to follow along.

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me. Because the Lord has anointed Me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted; to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovery of sight of the blind. To the opening of the prison for those who are bound; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”

With bated breath, you watch as He steps away from the scroll and rolls it up, handing it back to the assistant before taking a seat in the chair placed in the middle of the room. For a moment, He locks eyes with Lazarus, then with you, until He opens His mouth to speak.

“The fulfilment of this Scripture as you have heard it is today. This is the year of the Lord’s favour. This is a year of jubilee. A year the poor, the brokenhearted, the captive and the blind are offered redemption.” 

Your heart stutters inside your chest. Are you hearing this correctly? 

Rabbi Benjamin’s posture stiffens. 

“Here. Now.”

Jesus pauses for a few moments, and Lazarus speaks up. “We are here with You,” he remarks, “Keep going.” He seems just as interested in Jesus’ words as you are. “Not bad for a carpenter’s son, yes?”

You cannot fight the small laugh that escapes you, and Rabbi Benjamin gives you a sharp look. 

“I mean, especially Joseph…” Lazarus continues, “May he rest in peace…”

Rabbi Benjamin has a stern look on his face when he speaks up.

“Jesus, please explain why You stopped the reading before Isaiah spoke of the day of vengeance of our God? Especially during a time of such oppression.”

A few silent moments as you keep your gaze focused on Jesus, anxious what He will say. You have never heard this interpretation before, and you’re only hoping that Jesus will not say anything that could get Him in trouble. 

“The day of vengeance is in the future. I’m not here for vengeance. I’m here for salvation.”

Rafi and Aaron’s brows furrow, as does Rabbi Benjamin’s. “You’re here for salvation?” the Rabbi mutters, “What are You saying?”

Over her shoulder, Mary looks at you with a delighted look on her face. Your expression resembles confusion as your heart hammers inside your chest. “It’s Him…” Mary whispers, “He is trying to say that He is… You know…”

You swallow thickly. Thinking of the rumours that have been going around about Jesus, and now… Could He be…

“You know what I am saying.”

Your heart skips a beat. 

“And this year of jubilee, this year of the Lord’s favour, is not about release from financial debts. I’m here to provide release from spiritual debt.”

“We are the chosen seed of Abraham.” Benjamin darkly sounds, “We don’t have spiritual debt!”

Jesus purses His lips and looks away. 

“Jesus,” Aaron starts. “We’ve been hearing about the signs and wonders, and now this? Are You claiming to be more than a Rabbi? More than even the Baptiser?” Aaron has the exact same question as you.

The room is tense and you lean closer towards Him, not wanting to miss a single word.

“No doubt one of you will quote me the Proverb; ‘Physician, heal yourself’. The things we heard You did in Capernaum and in Syria, do here in Your hometown, yes?”

“Why not?” 

“I get it.” Jesus counters. “It’s always easier to accept hard truths and even greatness from strangers than from those you know well, especially those you knew as awkward teenagers or even as adults as some of you saw earlier today. Laz here would make a more believable prophet.”

You grin as the two chuckle, until Jesus’ smile falls. 

“But this brings up an important truth. No prophet is acceptable in his hometown.”

Around you, people start to mutter amongst themselves.

“Be careful with what You call Yourself.” Benjamin growls.

“This should be easy to prove!” Aaron says, “Dinah and Rafi, you say you saw it, yes?”

Rafi nods. “Yes! Yes, we saw it, but… He did not claim this…”

“A true prophet from Adonai would not deny His own people signs and wonders.”

Jesus takes a sharp breath. “Listen carefully. When a great famine hit Israel during the days of Elijah. Three years and six months. There were many widows, yes? And we know how the Father cares for His chosen people, especially widows. But Elijah was sent to none of them… Not one.”

You drink in every single word He says, your mind spinning with questions and clarity at the same time. 

“Instead he was sent to a widow in Sidon, in Zeropath. A Gentile woman. Martha, what happened?”

Jesus turns to her and for a moment, He locks eyes with you. It is as if He can read your mind - your soul - and He nods. He nods to answer the question bouncing around in your skull, and you have to prevent yourself from gasping.

“She gave up her last flour and oil for one more cake and gave it to Elijah.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Elijah told her the Lord said to do so.”

Jesus turns back, “Yes. The Lord said that He would make it so that her flour and oil would never run out. And she believed. A pagan Gentile in a pagan land. And she was hungry enough to know that she needed God and to obey Him. And so, God sent Elijah to multiply our food forever.”

He shortly pauses to let the words sink in. 

“What about Elisha, and Naaman? There were many lepers in Israel during this time, but none of them were cleansed except Naaman. Only a Gentile, a Syrian soldier and enemy of the Lord’s people. But he was so desperate, he trusted Elisha, and his leprosy was cleansed.”

The tension in the synagogue rises with every word that falls from His lips, and your throat runs dry at the expression many hold on their faces; deep, unadulterated offence.

“You may be the chosen seed of Abraham, you may be the people of the covenants, but that will not bring you My salvation.” Jesus’ eyes are shimmering with both sadness and persistence, “If you cannot accept that you are spiritually poor and captive, in the same way that a Gentile woman and a Syrian leper recognised their need–”

He pauses, the words getting stuck in His throat as He pinches together his fingers to emphasise the message. Across the room, you see Aaron shake his head slowly, and Rafi’s expression is conflicted. 

“If you do not realise that you need a year of the Lord’s favour… Then I cannot save you.”

You can hear a pin drop as the hostility in the room advances, your heart almost leaping out of your chest in fear as Aaron slowly stands, his brow knit together in rage.

“Who do You think You are?!” His voice drips with malice. 

“This is what Hannah talked about.” Martha says in front of you, making your chest tight with anxiety for His safety. “That He even called Himself the Messiah!”

Rabbi Benjamin takes a step in Jesus’ direction. “Are You claiming to be the Messiah, or are You merely claiming to speak for the Lord as a prophet?”

Jesus, turned away from the Rabbi at first, slowly pivots in His seat. 

When He opens his mouth to answer, your face pales. 

“Yes.”

For a moment, you lock eyes with Lazarus, who looks from you to his sister Mary, who has a certain sparkle in her eye that makes you convinced that she believes, too. 

And so do you.

Something within your spirit puts you on edge in a way you have never experienced before. It reels inside your gut in a strange way, as if everything in your soul is teetering on the edge of interfering, but that same spirit holds you back from doing so, convinced that He knows how to handle this all.

“You are a false prophet!” Benjamin accuses. 

Mother Mary gasps in shock and you put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her immediately. Lazarus reaches over to put a hand on the elderly Rabbi’s shoulder. “Woah, that is quite a thing to say! Jesus, maybe we should leave.”

Aaron interrupts: “Lazarus, you’re His friend, you cannot be involved! You know what the law of Moses says–”

“We are all His friends, Aaron,” Lazarus counters. “We cannot say things like this!”

“Jesus, stand up at once!” Benjamin orders, but Lazarus tries to fan the flames. 

“Rabbi, please. Rafi, come with Jesus and me, we will leave, and you can all continue the service.”

Slowly, Jesus rises from the chair. 

Rafi clearly draws his own conclusions. “Rabbi Benjamin has asserted false prophecy and I cannot argue it.”

Lazarus will not have any of it. “You said you saw the miracle!”

“He’s saying only He can save us!” Rafi bites.

“He did not use those words–”

“–It’s what I meant.” Jesus quips, earning Him a glare from Lazarus.

“Jesus, you’re not helping!” Lazarus pleads.

Deciding to intervene between your bickering childhood friends, you stand and make your way down to them. “Rafi, are you deaf? And blind? Have you not heard the stories of the miracles? Have you not tasted the wine?”

Aaron scoffs. “Those are just rumours! You’ve got no evidence, and people can say whatever they want. As long as enough people tell the same story, you’d believe anything, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)? Always so gullible…” He shakes his head almost pitifully.

You let out a noise. “And you, not even considering the words of a Man you know to be trustworthy, even though He makes things so clear right now! You really like making things difficult!”

Jesus puts a hand on your shoulder and you turn to Him. He smiles at you softly, His gaze containing a certain kind of warmth that fills you with rest. It is the briefest of moments, but intense nevertheless.

Rafi points a finger at Jesus, breaking the moment of eye-contact. “He’s saying we are not the Holy One’s chosen!” 

“Now, He did not say that!” 

Rabbi Benjamin’s voice is like ice, full of fury, unlike anything you've ever heard before. It makes the hairs of your neck stand on end. “In words, the book of Moses; ‘But the prophet who presumes to speak a word in My Name that I have not commanded him to speak, that same prophet shall die.’...”

As Lazarus leans closer, he lowers the volume of his voice. Jesus’ mother seems distraught and anxious. “Rabbi Benjamin, I beg of you… Not this…”

“Lazarus,” Jesus calmly hums, “It’s fine…” 

“Jesus they’re going to–” Jesus leans closer to His friend and whispers something in his ear for a few moments. As soon as He pulls back, Lazarus stares at Him rather nervously. 

“Yes?” Jesus acknowledges, and Lazarus reassures Him. 

Before you can speculate, Lazarus locks eyes with you, and nods towards Jesus’ mother Mary, whose eyebrows are furrowed in fear of her Son’s safety. You immediately understand the hint, rushing over to her and crouching down to take her hand in yours. She gives you a grateful glance, but it soon focuses back to her Son, Whose safety she so desperately fears.

“Jesus…” Benjamin utters, “If you do not renounce Your words, we will have no choice but to follow the Law of Moses…” 

You can hear your own blood rush inside your ears as the strain within the synagogue reaches its breaking point. The Messiah steps closer to the Rabbi, His eyes filled with heartache. 

When Jesus speaks, it is the straw that breaks the camel’s back: 

“I AM the Law of Moses.” 

Benjamin staggers back, gasping in indignation. Before you can truly process what is going on, Jesus is grabbed into His tunic by Rafi and Aaron, who shove Him towards the exit. They yank off the tallit that is still draped over His shoulders and Mary reaches out. You can barely hold her back to keep her from harm, but Lazarus soon assists you. 

Before He is pushed outside, Jesus has a moment of intense eye-contact with His mother, but then, He is forced out.

As Jesus is led out of the synagogue by the angry mob, Mary starts to sob. You can barely look at what is happening, your entire being frightened and shaking, but you cannot follow the crowd to see if there is a way to save Him. All you can do is comfort His mother, who accepts your embrace as you pull her into your arms. Her form trembles in agony. 

“Jesus promised that He’d be alright,” Lazarus reassures both His mother and you as everyone pours out of the synagogue, “We will meet Him after sundown on the outskirts of Nazareth, where His father is buried. Mary, you know the place, right?”

Slightly calmed by the words, Mary nods meekly, but her demeanour remains distraught. And who could blame her? Although she trusts that her Son’s word is true, and that He will be alright, a mother’s instinct is ever so strong.

“It will be fine, Mary,” you whisper, yet still filled with questions. “Is this all true? Is He truly the Messiah?”

Mary nods, her lips trembling as fresh tears brim on her eyes. 

“He is.”

Your mind spins with everything you feel in this very moment - confusion, happiness, relief, fear. “Then why do they not accept Him? I don’t… I don’t understand. The signs and wonders…”

Mary slowly shakes her head, sniffling a bit, seemingly calming down. “I do not know,” she whispers, “But what I do know is to trust Him on His word.”

“Always, Mary,” you reassure her, “Always.”

You remain in the synagogue until the sun has fully set.

[idylls-of-the-divine-romance]

Just dumping a whole lot of Christmas Matins in your inbox. Analyse as much or as little as you like (don't do all of it if you don't want this post to be obscenely long)

Openly portrayed by the bush that did not burn, Ever-virgin Mary’s hallowed womb carried God the Logos, united with human nature, releasing Eve’s unhappy womb from the bitter curse she heard years and years before. We humans now glorify Him.

Skilfully the Master fully eradicated atrocious enmity towards Him by His incarnation, killing the power of the soul-corrupting Devil, establishing unity of the world with the Angels. Forevermore He reconciled us to His Father.

He is come made flesh: Christ our God, whom from the womb before the morning star does God the Father beget. He who rides upon the immaculate host of the heavenly minds now is laid in a manger of irrationals. He is wrapped in tattered swaddling clothes, but He looses transgressions’ entangling bonds.

I see here a new and paradoxical mystery. For the cave resembles heaven, the Virgin, the cherubic throne, the manger, a grand space, in which He Whom nothing can contain was laid, Christ our God; Whom we extol in song and magnify.

Your nativity, O Christ our God, has caused the light of knowledge to rise upon the world. For therein the worshippers of the stars were by a star instructed to worship You, the Sun of Righteousness, and to know You as Orient from on high. Glory to You, O Lord.

I will try my best to exhibit discipline lol 

Dude. “Openly portrayed by the bush that did not burn, Ever-virgin Mary’s hallowed womb carried God the Logos, united with human nature, releasing Eve’s unhappy womb from the bitter curse she heard years and years before.” Jesus as a greater-than-Moses (Matthew and John would be proud), the Logos-became-Flesh, Yahweh’s Lament from Genesis 3!!! Mary as the New Greater Eve is definitely very dear to me (was reading Rev 12 yesterday and this morning). Jesus portrayed by a bush that did not burn… something to contemplate. 

“Skillfully the Master” this sounds like wisdom literature to me. Reminds me of Proverbs 8 and also as a subversion of Gen 3 where the nakhash is skillful. And God as Father is both Lady Wisdom and Adam. 

“He who rides upon the immaculate host of the heavenly minds now is laid in a manger of irrationals. He is wrapped in tattered swaddling clothes, but He looses transgressions’ entangling bonds.” Savage. Absolutely amazing lines like what!? 

“For the cave resembles heaven, the Virgin, the cherubic throne, the manger, a grand space, in which He Whom nothing can contain was laid” Whoa. I… I need to meditate on this for a long time. I literally have no notes. Feels like something from a mystic

“Your nativity, O Christ our God, has caused the light of knowledge to rise upon the world.” Proverbs 8/John 1. Especially John 1. Also Psalm 19, I learned recently all the adjectives about the Torah in that psalm are references to the sun. “For therein the worshippers of the stars were by a star instructed to worship You, the Sun of Righteousness, and to know You as Orient from on high. Glory to You, O Lord.” YES!!!!! I Read this one last week it is sooooo cool. Combining Isaiah and Matthew and Malachi so marvelously!!

[artist-issues]

Fair enough, you did request this continue in the asks.

1) you talk about the Jewish God, then use orthodox Jewish beliefs as an example, and then excoriate Sugar - who is not orthodox - for not meeting those standards. And then go back to saying Jewish. You talk about Jews but every time you try to prove something, you specify orthodox. Which makes it sound like you think the only authentic way to be Jewish is to be orthodox. Which is both wrong and woefully incomplete, given how wide ranging orthodox approaches are.

2) you could probably have avoided a lot of grief if you prefaced that “the Christian perspective (or specific to a denomination) is that…”.

Because while you have the same right to claim what your religion says as any of us, it is equally correct for me to make those claims about mine. Christianity thinks that Jews and Christians worship the same God. Jews think that the invention of the trinity and the idea of a divine messiah is deep fundamental heresy and that the god you worship is as far away from our God as Zeus. It is disingenuous to talk about what Christians believe is true about Jews without noting that Jews disagree.

Which gets me to my next point—the things you say Jews believe is incorrect.

- We don’t believe that Tanakh contains all that can be known about God. The entire rabbinic project has been about engaging with the Torah as the starting point for a deep and ongoing conversation with God and that halakha - Jewish law - is God’s invitation for us to build a world with God. And the capacity of halakha to shift and move and remain both rooted in tradition and open to the world is a sign of what some Jewish theologians calls cumulative revelation. As new ideas become widespread in Judaism, their acceptance is a mark of God’s will. God speaks to us through us.

- what I mean by “you’re telling the Christian story” is that no Jewish person ever would describe what we did as ignoring God. We would describe ourselves as being in ongoing relationship with the TV show’s creator while Christianity decided the plot was too hard to follow halfway through season 2 and went off to create an unlicensed spin-off with none of the original creative team.

Again, it’s abundantly clear to me that that’s not how you conceptualize your own religion. But when you’re describing why Jews and Christians are similar, you’re characterizing Judaism in ways that are not internally true. It’s like saying “we’re best friends” when what you mean is “I think you’re my best friend, but you think we are passing acquaintances.” Or, to put it another way, saying “they’re the same god” is no less true than calling Christianity an idolatrous offshoot insofar as one reflects the Christian worldview and the other the Jewish. We each have the right to affirm our own theologies, but it’s important to note that they are internal theologies and Jews don’t agree with your characterization. We think you left our God and made up your own when Jesus become understood as divine.

- this is also not internal to Jewish theology. There’s a whole debate about what is called טעמי מצוות - the reasons for commandments - and the debate includes but ranges far beyond the particularity of the Israelite nation and right worship. This also gets back to the point that rabbinic Judaism takes the Torah as a gift from God and the starting point for the formulation of halakha. Not the end point. We’re expected to come back and negotiate and ask for clarification. Rabbinic literature is RIFE with the stories of how we negotiate with God, including the famous story of the Oven of Akhnai where (were in around 120 CE at this point) a heavenly voice emerges telling the rabbis who is correct and the rabbis disagree anyway and God in heaven laughs with delight and says “my sons have defeated me”. An integral part of Jewish theology is the idea that we too have authority when it comes to the meaning of the Torah and the ability to interpret and make meaning. So any time you claim that something is explicit in Tanakh and supports the Christian perspective, the odds are very good that it’s an interpretive move made by Christians and not Jews. (There is no such thing as a plain meaning of the text, all meaning is interpretation.)

Also point 2 is outside of Jewish theology. There’s no idea in Judaism that we NEED to fix our relationship with God from the get go. It is possible for an individual to sin and need to repent, but the idea is always that human beings have in themselves the capacity to do that. And some rabbis even say that baalei teshuva - those who have erred and repented - stand higher than the completely righteous. There’s also a saying in the Talmud: רצה הקדוש ברוך הוא לזכות את ישראל, לפיכך הרבה להם תורה ומצות - The holy blessed one wished to bestow merit upon the Jewish people and therefore made for them much Torah and many mitzvot. It’s an opportunity.

3) I assume others have mentioned the No True Scotsman fallacy and…it’s just not true that Christians who do terrible things in Christ’s name are not Christians any more than Jews who do terrible things stop being Jews. The relationship between Judaism and Christianity is possibly irreparably harmed because of how often people calling themselves Christians murdered Jews. And it is still Christianity’s failure as a religion that it creates people who so horribly violate its tenets in its name. It is the responsibility of a religion and those who adhere to it to do something about those who claim to follow it and go on to commit atrocities. Even if they are no longer Christians in your view, they are Christianity’s problem and Christianity’s responsibility.

And making claims about what Jews believe without even having the grace to note that you are speaking of the Christian conception and that Jews would not agree with this view is…not reassuring me that Christianity as such has gotten better about seeing the real, distinct humanity of the Jewish people beyond their usefulness in making Christianity look older.

I think I actually have no fundamental disagreement with you on points 1 and 2, with the exception that I don’t believe it was necessary for me to clarify “Christians believe this” more than I already did. I presented it as objective truth because that’s what it is; I didn’t want to focus on “my belief,” and the cultural preference for couching everything in terms of “my truth but maybe not your truth;” I wanted to focus on the truth, and so I presented it as such.

My point was that Christians believe that God did and said what He did and said as recorded in the Old Testament, and as I understand it, so do Jews. I have met with those who do, so that is who I am talking about. Those Jews who do not believe that the Old Testament all literally occurred in history as written, or that God is not who He presents Himself to be in the Old Testament, are not who I’m talking about.

In that sense, (my point) we believe in the same God, and then when we disagree about the person and deity of Jesus Christ, sure, we no longer do. Because how could we believe in the same Being if one “version” of that Being did something the other “version” did not do? That was sort of my whole point. That’s common sense. Obviously if you tell me your life story, and I agree with you that that happened, and then you move away and continue living your life, but I make up stories about what you’re continuing to do thousands of miles away, we’re no longer talking about the same “abotl.” Again, that’s common sense. I didn’t communicate that clearly enough, evidently. So I’m glad you pursued sending this ask.

Another exception to my general agreement with you would be that, if you check the comments where Sugar’s being a Jew was originally brought up, I made the point that I did not know what branch of Judaism she was claiming to adhere to, but if her show did not communicate values in line with Judaism, it had no bearing on the commentary on God I was observing. Because she can’t be the kind of person who says “I believe in God’s authority” but also “I don’t believe God has any authority.” If she says both those things, she’s lying about one or both; they contradict one another.

Obviously, in addition, I think it’s sort of fruitless to talk about different interpretations of the Torah because we’re coming at it from two completely different bases. I think the most foundational difference is that you believe that “there is no such thing as a plain meaning of a text, all meaning is interpretation.” That’s not true. You’re arguing with words I wrote down concerning Jewish theology; that would be totally pointless if you didn’t assume I had a intended meaning as the author, and pursue the points I made as if you had discovered what that intended meaning was. Now, you might be wrong about my intended meaning (which would be incorrect interpretation.) But even to be “wrong,” that necessitates that there is a “right.” Your statement also implies that any practical, useful, applicable or important information (“meaning”) that can be found in Scripture is assigned by the humans reading it, which re,elates Scrioture to the same level as any man-made text (albeit remarkably well-preserved and ancient.) Unless my interpretation of your words is incorrect.

So I can’t reasonably discuss the meaning of something with someone who doesn’t believe in plain meaning regardless of interpretation.

As for point 3…

The relationship is not “irreparably harmed.” I can’t fix it, but Christ can. It’s a bold claim to make that any human relationship can be “beyond repair” when there’s a sovereign God.

I have answered this repetitively, and I’ll do it one more time, but then I have to be done because it’s falling on deaf ears: the word “Christian” means “little Christ.” Therefore if you do not act like Christ, especially in major lifestyle choices, you are not being, in that moment or as long as you defend and embrace those choices, a little Christ. Even if you still claim the title. Even if you go to church. Even if you and your actions are associated with the name. Because the only qualifier for the word “Christian” is “lives in Christ.” And like I said: the murder of Jews, or anybody, or the torture of , racism toward, and cruelty toward anybody, is in no way what Jesus taught, or would do. Again; if a vegetarian eats meat, they’re not a vegetarian. It sounds like you’re confusing people calling themselves something with them actually being that thing. The “No True Scots” fallacy requires that I change the definition of “Christianity” to make exceptions when counterexamples to my original definition are brought up; nowhere have I changed the definition of “Christian” from my original explanation to do that. Therefore, it’s not a “No True Scots” fallacy, just like a professed-Christian who isn’t in Christ is not a Christian.

“And it is still Christianity’s failure as a religion that it creates people who so horribly violate its tenets in its name. It is the responsibility of a religion and those who adhere to it to do something about those who claim to follow it and go on to commit atrocities. Even if they are no longer Christians in your view, they are Christianity’s problem and Christianity’s responsibility.”

That’s very untrue. First off: suggesting that Christianity “failed” as a religion because “it created” the people who do the opposite of what Christ teaches is impossible, because it would be like saying “a mom taught her son to never eat meat and because of that he ate meat.” Okay, well, you could come up with a connection between the two, like, “the son felt so desperate to eat something other than fruits and vegetables that he decided to try meat.” But the mom and her teachings are in no way responsible for that connection. If the son followed her teachings and, what’s more, believed in them, he wouldn’t have eaten meat. That’s what necessarily follows from genuine adherence to a belief faithfully taught. Instead, it is because of something in the son, disliking or disagreeing with the teaching, not something in the teaching, that he deviated from it. His reaction to the teaching is not prescribed by the teaching. He can blame his reaction, or his actions independent of the teaching, on the teaching. He can say it was too restrictive, but ultimately, his choices are his. And the teaching told him to do the opposite of what he’s doing.

It’d be the same if you asked me to walk your dog, with those words exactly, and I went out and killed your dog in the middle of the street, then grabbed your neighbors dogs and started adding them to the murder scene—and did it all screaming at the top of my lungs, “this is what abotl told me to do! I do this in the name of abotl!” And later, when I’m accused and denounced, I say, “abotl said to walk their dog. Walk means kill, and kill progressively, like taking one step in front of the other. I’m a follower of abotl, so I did what they said to do.” All I did was take the opposite of what you told me to do and claim that that opposite was the correct interpretation of your words.

But are you responsible for that? Are any of your actual followers who do safely walk and care for your dog responsible for my actions? Of course not.

You could contrive some responsibility. You could say, “well in that scenario, abotl should’ve known enough about artist-issues to see that their interpretation of words was seriously flawed and they just wanted to kill dogs; abotl never should have entrusted their dog to someone like artist-issues, or should’ve explained more clearly, just like Christians should have seen the danger of murderers in their midst and taught them not to murder more clearly.” But that’s still only responsibility up to a point.

Christians aren’t omnipresent, omnipotent, or omniscient. They can’t be expected to know every thought and intention of the members of their congregation. They can’t explain any more clearly than God Himself does, and they can’t change man’s hearts. All they can do is be faithful to replace lies with the truth of what Christ said and fight injustice when and where they have the opportunity, the way God tells them to fight in Scripture.

That said, we do do something when people commit atrocities; both in the misuse of the name of Christianity, and not.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the Christian pastor, is a prime example. (I know that it’s popular to call him “antisemetic,” but if all that term means is “believes the Christian doctrine that Jews should become Christians,” well, that’s not discriminatory toward Jews, because we believe that about everybody, including ourselves before we became Christians. It’s not a special desire to wipe out any one culture or people and swallow them into our religion; it’s a doctrine of general “humanity is broken, but in Christ can be made whole, and should be.”) And the point here is that he, flawed though he was, knew that Hitler’s German Christianity regime was anti-Biblical, and anti-teachings-of-Christ, just like the vegetarians that eat meat. He not only gave up his life, his career, his safety, and his good name to protect Jews from the Holocaust, but he also actively spoke out against Hitler, Hitler’s German Christianity institution, any professing Protestant who welcomed the Nazi regime or teaching, and eventually was hung for trying to assassinate Hitler. And he’s just a big name representative of many Christians who protected the oppressed or died trying, against people who were doing the oppressing in Christ’s name.

In America, the slave trade was long defended by people who claimed Christ. They even had Scripture, incorrectly interpreted and improperly applied, to back up their oppression and cruelty. But people like William Wilberforce, John Newton, and Harriet Beecher Stowe (who quoted or alluded to Scripture almost 100 times in the abolitionist book Uncle Tom’s Cabin) pointed out how definitively anti-Christian the slave trade and the oppression of people were with their whole lives; they correctly interpreted Scripture and properly applied Jesus' teaching to do this.

Christians are fallen human beings saved by the grace of Christ who are not perfect, nor do they fight for truth and the protection of the innocent perfectly. In fact, they get it woefully wrong a lot of the time. But Jesus said we would. And that His grace is sufficient for our weakness. So our failures don’t mean we stop trying, and it certainly doesn’t mean that any time we fail, we discredit the teachings of Christ.

If you want to imply “well some Christians oppress savagely, and some Christians protect the innocent, so who’s to say which one is “real Christianity?” All Christians, the whole religion, is corrupt!” The Christian would answer, “well, yeah. We’re human. We never said we were following Christ’s teachings perfectly. We’re just trying to do it increasingly, by grace, through faith. We’re not perfect. Christ’s teachings are perfect.”

You can call it a cop-out if you want. But honestly, the responsibility for sin is on the sinner alone, unless they give their life to Christ, then He takes the punishment and enables them to live the rest of their lives as imperfect but increasingly sanctified followers of His teachings. Ultimate judgement belongs to God alone, even if there are consequences to wrongdoing on earth. And that’s been a tenet of the Christian faith since the Christian faith existed. So nobody’s moving the goalposts or re-defining the original definition.

Finally, we acknowledge Jewish people’s real, distinct humanity. Just because we also acknowledge the connection between the history of the Jewish people and faith and our faith does not mean that we’re minimizing you, your experience, or your humanity. But the truth of the matter is, either Jesus was the Son of God or He wasn’t. We can each believe we’re right, but one or both of us have to be wrong. We can’t both be right. And there’s no “ignoring of humanity” that comes with a Christian saying, “I am right about this.” Any more than there would be any “ignoring of Christians’ humanity” that comes along with a Jew saying, “No, I am right about this.” That’s what it boils down to. Also, who’s doing that? Who’s trying to say that Jews are only valuable because they make Christianity look older? I’d like to talk to that person. If it’s me, you’ve wildly misunderstood and mischaracterized me.

Thanks for wording this so thoroughly and pursuing a conversation with me.

(NOTE: Anyone who wants to dogpile on here, find their own offenses with what I’ve said or what abotl’s said, and decry one of us as racist or bigoted or stupid or whatever, I’m not talking to you here. Don’t expect any replies. I’m all done with the trolling. On this particular post, I’m talking to abotl. If you’ve got something to add respectfully, or to defend because you genuinely believe it, you can do it in my Inbox. It’s open to anybody who can reason because they’ve thought through what they believe and want to defend it beyond name-calling and reading what they want into other people’s words.)

[nonstandardrepertoire]

Parashat Vayéishev: יְפֵה | yəfeih

It takes so much work to pretend that gender is real.

The Torah has some compliments for Yoseif in this week’s portion. Not only is he good at running a household, he’s also nice to look at. That’s almost literally what the text says in Bəreishit 39:6, where we read that Yoseif was יְפֵה תֹֽאַר וִיפֵה מַרְאֶה | yəfeih tó’ar vifeih mar’eh | “beautiful of shape and beautiful of sight”.

Translations get a bit swimmy here because these two phrases are so similar to one another — tó’ar and mar’eh aren’t all that clearly differentiated from one another; they both basically mean “something looked at”. The point, tho, is clear: Yoseif is easy on the eyes.

If you’ve been reading the Torah in the original Hebrew this cycle, this little descriptive clause might sound familiar. Indeed, it’s the exact same clause (other than a tweak of grammatical gender) that gets used to describe Yoseif’s mother, Raḥeil, in 29:17 — Ya’aqov’s favored wife is described there as יְפַת תֹּֽאַר וִיפַת מַרְאֶה | yəfat tó’ar vifat mar’eh | “beautiful of shape and beautiful of sight”.

You could be excused for not knowing this if you’ve been reading along in English instead. There’s a real resistance among English translators to translate these two identical clauses identically. Sefaria hosts twelve English translations of Genesis, and of those twelve, only one — the 1917 JPS translation (not any of the later JPS editions!) — uses the same English clause both times. Adding Robert Alter’s version brings us slightly up to two out of thirteen, but the KJV, Yale Anchor Bible, and Oxford Annotated Bible versions push us back down to two in sixteen. It’s a strong, clear, and persistent pattern: Almost every English translation I have access to masculinizes Yoseif with adjectives like handsome and well built while feminizing Raḥeil with adjectives like shapely and beautiful.

Now, a good translation usually shouldn’t be entirely mechanical. Natural language isn’t formal logic — words are fuzzy, and no two languages’ words are all fuzzy in exactly the same way. The English word set can be used of going down (as the sun below the horizon) and also of a collection of things (as in chess pieces). That’s not going to be the case in every other language; when translating out of English, it’s often necessary to use two different words to capture these two different meanings. Even in less extreme cases, the same word may sometimes be best translated differently depending on context, nuance, and valence. This can get very tricky if a text is using the same word in different senses to make a pun or a point or for some other artistic, philosophical, or idiosyncratic reason — if I say, “Zie couldn’t be elected because of hir convictions”, I may mean both hir beliefs and hir having been found guilty in a court of law [a], which is going to be difficult to translate succinctly into a language that doesn’t have a singular word with that same double meaning. Different translators make different choices and tradeoffs in navigating issues like this, and that’s one of the things that makes different translations interestingly different. That’s all well and good.

[a] Or even hir having found guilty in a court of law because of hir beliefs!

Nevertheless, I struggle to believe that these kinds of considerations are driving this pattern of differentiated translation. The clause in question is long enough to be its own self-contained grammatical thought; it doesn’t need to change to fit the syntax of the sentence around it. And in neither case is there punning wordplay going on; these words were doubtless chosen specifically, but all signs point to that choice being based on sense, not sound.

And that sense seems like it could well be important. We know Ya’aqov loves Raḥeil more than his other wives, just as we know he loves Yoseif more than his other sons. In both cases, this preference leads to problems, with rivalry, deception, and a long sojourn in a foreign land ensuing. And here we have Yoseif described with the exact same set of words as his mother. It’s a linguistic linkage that’s easy enough to preserve in translation. So why not keep it?

יָפֶה | Yafeh is an adjective that just means beautiful. It comes from a root that also just means beautiful. It’s not a particularly specialized type of beauty — it’s used of women and men, sure, but also of cities and trees and even, in Qohélet 3:11, of abstract things in their proper times. It’s not wrong to translate it as handsome, but neither is it obligatory to do so when yafeh is applied to a man.

These differing translations are not linguistically required. Instead, they reflect a retrojection of a contemporary gender framework back onto a text that doesn’t fully support it. The Torah is, to be sure, a deeply patriarchal document, but that doesn’t mean its patriarchal gender norms function identically to ours. The near unanimity of English translations in masculinizing Yoseif’s beautiful while feminizing Raḥeil’s betrays a deep discomfort with men and women being alike. I doubt this was a conscious thing for the most part, but the prior belief that men and women should be linguistically distinguished distorts the translations, occluding the identicality of the Hebrew text. A distinction between genders isn’t being found here, it’s being built.

Many people would have you believe that gender is a natural phenomenon, that differences between men and women are not created but discovered, things somehow baked into the fabric of the world and then subsequently reflected in culture at large. But here we can see very directly the work going on in the background to maintain this illusion. These differing descriptions of masculine vs feminine beauty aren’t in the original text; they’re not a Hebrew phenomenon dutifully carried over into contemporary English; they’re an invention, pushed onto the text after the fact.

This happens all the time, and is one of the perils of translation. Your own cultural assumptions can be as imperceptible as clean air on a calm day, and it is terribly easy to let them push your understanding of a different culture’s texts off kilter without even realizing it. This is especially true when those assumptions work in favor of preserving existing power imbalances. Resisting this is hard work, but it is work that must be done if we are to have any hope of grappling with texts like the Torah instead of with our phantasmagorical mis-imaginings of them. We must let Yoseif and Raḥeil be beautiful in the same way.

[shalom-iamcominghome]

Do you know why some converts are named bat Avraham Avinu ve Sarah Imenu instead of just bat Avraham ve Sarah? Cause I kind of like the first one better as it clearly signifies which Avraham and Sarah I am a child of. I also wanted to know if you know of any converts with multiple first names? Cause I like the idea of getting all of my three first names translated to Hebrew/finding Hebrew names similar in meaning or sound to them. But if I do that all I’ll have a pretty long name and I’m scared people might not like it/judge it. I know I should probably talk to a rabbi about it but I’m still somewhat early in my conversion and i feel embarrassed going to him about names already

From what I've found, that (imenu) is used to mean "our mother," though I am obviously not entirely familiar with this yet, honestly.

As for your names, it's probably very early to consider seriously in the sense that as you "mature" in your understanding of judaism, you may find yourself gravitated toward many other names for reasons stemming from a richer understanding of judaism and how you fit with it. I haven't heard of a person choosing multiple names, but honestly, I can imagine that somebody may choose to have more than one, even if it's uncommon. When it comes to your hebrew name, certainly think of where it will be used upon after your official conversion - to be called upon to read torah, marriage if you choose, and children if you choose, just to name a few. This isn't me trying to pressure you one way or another at all - this will be your name, after all. I hope, when the time is right for you, that you find something that suits you and your journey.

[fierceawakening]

So I posted a question the other day about the bit in the "Old Testament" about David bringing a pile of foreskins to Saul, and asked if that was one of the passages Christians have mistranslated from the Torah, and got no reply.

Well, yesterday in our sermon we were talking about the Ten Commandments, and as part of the Bible reading the person read a bit where God said something like "for I am a jealous God, and punish the sins of the father to the third generation"

And once again, I'm wondering: is that one of the mistranslations? Because collective punishment is... very wrong, and current events are showing it, I think. Most people I know, of any religion, are against it from what I can tell. But there it is in the text, unless the text I have is wrong.

When I read the "Old Testament" and decided God sounded cruel and capricious and decided to deconvert in part because of that, those were the passages I was reading. (The other one was "no one who is damaged in the stones may enter the temple." I was deeply uncomfortable with a God who didn't want disabled people close to Him, and felt that pledging my loyalty to such a God would mean accepting my oppression as deserved.) Those were where I was getting "this guy sounds abusive and power-mad."

Are those the mistranslations, or are the mistranslations somewhere else?

If those aren't the mistranslations, where are they?

Why exactly shouldn't people raised Christian read those bits for ourselves, blink uncomfortably, and think "this guy sounds like a creep?"

[fattened-goose]

Stargazing | Philip, Simon the Zealot, and Big James.

A/N: I realize some of these aren’t really under the brim of stargazing, but I couldn’t think of something else that would fit for a title ‘cause I’m not that creative. 😅 these are my first preferences on this blog, and I’d like to thank my dear friend @multifandomsofficial for helping me out with them.

Warnings: possible bad writing and punctuation.

From the first day you’d started to follow Jesus you’d caught his eye. The memory of your first day brought the corners of his lips into an upturned U shape. You looked lovely that day too, but following Jesus had made you even lovelier. You never seemed to pay him any mind though, always spending your time learning scripture with Mary M and Matthew.

Sure, you’d greet Philip in passing but you never seemed drawn to him. He was drawn to you though, which is what made him approach you even though he was nervous. Wiping his palms against his tunic, he approached you, a small grin twisting his lips upward when you greeted him with a smile.

“Shalom, Philip.” The words left you gently and quietly, the small nod of your head that accompanied them boosting his moral.

“Shalom, Y/N, may I join you?”

He fidgeted slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a hopeful glint as he waited for your reply. Heart warming at his inquiry, you nodded quickly before patting the blanket beside you.

“Of course!”

With a widening smile, his skin crinkled around his eyes a bit as he sat down. Scooting so there was a respectful space between you, his fingers brushed against yours lightly in the process, bringing a red tint to his cheeks as well as your own. You, however, failed to notice the blush that covered his cheeks as you gazed up at the stars that blanketed the sky.

Beautiful, dazzling orbs of milky crystal that twinkled brightly around the perfectly full moon. The sounds of the crickets chirping and the wood crackling on the fire only adding to the peaceful delight. The ambience of it all bringing a grin to your face which Philip hadn’t failed to notice, all the more adding to his own grin.

Where you had failed earlier to notice his blush when his fingers brushed yours, you didn’t fail to pick up on him glancing at you from the corner of your eye. It was now your turn to blush, a gentle laugh escaping from your lips at the attention. The sound making him chuckle gently, the two of you breaking the comfortable silence you’d been in.

Daring to look over at him, your eyes landed on his kind dark ones, twinkling in the fire light. A shy smile covered your lips before looking back at the sky.

“Do you like stargazing?” The question breaking the comfortable silence you both had been resting in.

“Yes, but I don’t know enough about it to even know what I’m looking at…” you admitted, eyes drifting back over to his, “I’m a novice.”

“We all have to start somewhere, huh?” Tone light as he winked at you before motioning back up to the sky, his hand sweeping in an arc over it, “would you like to learn some constellations?”

“Only if you’d like to teach me some.” You beamed at him, the sight making his stomach as well as your own flutter.

“Sure, it’s one of my talents; being able to recite Torah at the drop of a hat and pointing out constellations.” His good natured bragging followed by a chuckle and a smile.

“Surely, you have more than two talents.” You teased back, eyes meeting his again as you worked up courage to be a little bolder. Your nerves relaxing a bit due to his kind and goofy demeanor.

“Well, nobody wants to be around a braggart.” He joked, “besides, if I tell you everything I’ll have nothing left to impress you with.” With this he shrugged slightly, pointing back up to the sky and tracing an imaginary line to explain a constellation.

Giving him your full attention, a smile painted its way over your lips, as you listened to him intently. Little did he know, he never really had to do much to impress you.

(Also, if anyone could teach me how to slow gifs down I’d be very thankful.)

~*~

You tossed restlessly in your bedroll, everyone around you in the women’s tent experiencing the most peaceful sleep, except for you of course. It’s not that you weren’t tired, you were of course, it had to be well past midnight after all. You just were having trouble quieting your mind, rolling flat onto your back you sighed deeply. Staring at the darkness that blanketed the inside of the tent.

Sitting up you looked around, making sure everyone was asleep before quietly tiptoeing out of the tent. Looking back one last time you shut the entrance flap, before making your way to the log that sat on the other side of the camp.

The cool air causing goosebumps to rise on your skin and the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. Instantly you wished you’d thought to bring your shawl or your blanket with you in order to stave off the cold. Daring to perch on an end of the log, you let out a gasp of surprise when it turned out to be wet. The sound echoing through the quiet atmosphere, making you hold your breath for a minute before standing back up.

A grimace covered your face before a quiet laugh escaped your throat at the ridiculousness of the situation. You shook your head, moving over to the glowing embers that were now the remnants of the once roaring fire that had danced in the makeshift pit situated in middle of the camp. Figuring it would still be somewhat warm you squatted down, settling on the edge of the pit.

It wasn��t as warm as it could be but it would suffice until you went back to the women’s tent. Staring softly at the orange and red embers your mind soon slowed down. Slowed down as much as possible before you were startled by someone coming up behind you. You barely heard them, had it not been so quiet you wouldn’t have heard them at all.

What if it’s a Roman?

Panicking, you stood and turned a bit too quickly, stumbling backward as you rocked abruptly on your heels, the only saving grace being the person’s hand grabbing onto your shoulder in order to steady you.

“Y/N, are you ok?”

Taking a minute to get your bearings, you rocked forward slightly on your toes before steadying yourself. You were embarrassed to say the least, especially after you saw that it was Simon. Your cheeks pink due to the epic blunder you’d just subjected him too. Exhaling, you nodded quickly as you smiled up at him, “I’m glad it’s you!”

The expression rushing out before you’d fully formulated what you wanted to say making your cheeks grow even redder and butterflies start up in your stomach. Simon on the other hand looked at you with slightly widened eyes for a second, smiling at you gently before squeezing your shoulder lightly. Your breath catching in your throat slightly, at this point he had to know how you felt about him. He was too perceptive not to.

“Let’s sit down.” Releasing your shoulder, he removed his cloak with a flourish, laying it on the ground for you to sit on. The chivalrous act making your heart melt slightly as he studied you carefully.

“You’re cold.” He mumbled, stoking the embers to get the fire going again, your eyes drawn to his muscles that moved in perfect sync under the sleeves of his tunic. Your face grew hot and you forced yourself to look away, thankful that you did before he turned around again. Fixing you with a friendly grin, he reached out to pluck a leaf out of your hair with gentle precision.

“It should start getting warmer now.” motioning to the fire in front of the two of you.

“How’d you know it was me out here?” Your eyebrows raising slightly in bewilderment as the question rolled off your tongue. His head cocked while he surveyed you, lips poised in a warm smile, “I heard someone moving around out here, so, I looked out the tent and saw that it was you.”

This surprised you even more, you’d tried to be quiet but you’d failed, with your mouth agape you gawked at him, eyes wide and unblinking causing a chuckle to leave his throat, “don’t worry, you weren’t being loud.”

“How’d you hear me then?”

“I have very keen senses.” He smiled at you, the affectionate look causing your stomach to drop and your cheeks to heat up.

“So, keen in fact…” he paused, his finger drawing an imaginary line across the sky, the line following a glistening silver streak, making your eyes light up as you gazed after it.

“It’s a shooting star.” He stated, watching you look at it with amazement still glistening in your eyes, “make a wish.”

“Simon, it’s beautiful.” The words a whisper, your eyes following it until it disappeared from view. Turning to see him grinning at you, you grinned back, “I wish I knew how you spot stuff so quickly.”

“Time and practice.” His voice almost lower than a whisper now and laced with embarrassment, “I’ve spent a lot of time outside at night…”

He was no doubt referring to his former days, too embarrassed to meet your eyes, a sight that made you frown a bit.

“But, that’s all behind you now, Jesus said that we’re no longer what we once were.” The words comforting him enough that he shot you a shy smile. You both sat in comfortable silence for a few seconds, hugging your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. While he looked to be in thought, laughing at the yawn that left you.

“I think I’ll head in now.”

Nodding at you, he stood and offered you his hand to pull you up off the ground, your stomach dropping at the contact of his calloused palm against your skin. He smiled at you, watching as you walked a few steps toward the tent before whispering, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Simon.” The tired smile you gave him melting his heart as you entered the tent. Smiling softly to himself, he walked back to his own tent. Fingers laced behind his head as went, hoping one day he’d be able to work up the courage to tell you about his feelings for you.

Laying with your head on your husband’s arm that was positioned behind you, you both gazed up at the stars.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” You asked, cuddling up closer to James only to have his arm wrap around you tightly in an effort to shield you from the cold. His lips pressed gently onto your temple, the scruffiness of his beard tickling you slightly.

A laugh rose from your throat at the sensation, your head turned toward his, giving him a return peck on the cheek. His eyebrows raising at you slightly, before smiling over at you, his fingers tangling in your hair.

“Not as beautiful as you, my heart.”

“James…” his name left your lips with a giggle, the soft blush that covered your cheeks melting his heart and making his smile widen as you snuggled closer to him. The sounds of the others laughing and joking around the fire just barely audible as the wind carried their voices toward you.

“I’m glad we were able to sneak away for a bit even though it’s cold, you’re a far better companion for looking at stars than John is.”

The shiver that raced its way through your body causing James to pull you even closer. Turning onto your stomach, you rested your chin on James’ chest, a coy grin making its way to your lips. The sight making him release a breathy laugh, “what?”

His fingers gently separating strands of your hair, while his dark eyes drank in the sight of you, obviously pleased with the jest that was poised on your lips.

“You did a lot of stargazing with John, did you?”

At this his brow furrowed slightly at you, as he fought off a smile, “In a manner of speaking.”

The mischievous glimmer in your eye forcing the smile onto his face, a throaty laugh escaping past his lips as he elaborated, “the stars are still out in the morning if you get up early enough, although, I don’t snuggle up to John like this.”

His arms giving you a tender squeeze in an effort to emphasize the word snuggle, eyes meeting yours with a warm affection glinting in them. Smiling at him, your fingers traced along the neck of his tunic before teasing, “you don’t snuggle up to Andrew or Simon either do you?”

A sour look crossed his face for a second, only to be replaced by a gentle smile as a playful tut left his lips, “especially not to them, not even for all the silver in the world.”

You laughed quietly, as his fingers tangled in the ends of you hair, “how fortunate for me to get all your cuddles.”

“How fortunate indeed.” He quipped, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose, his heart swelling with tenderness and warmth as you curled into him more, your eyes looking back up at the sky with admiration as he glanced at you with equal parts love and awe.

[fictionkinfessions]

@ Zara Anon (related to Jewish Kin Convo)

Hello friend! I'm in the conversion process currently and have been for a handful of years now. I've read everything you've submitted about it and maybe I have some advice? Maybe?? Take it with salt I suppose.

I can understand where you're coming from, with feeling stuck yet being unable to fully convert. It sounds like you may be being called to the Torah which is a wonderful thing! It's not silly that fiction has led to this at all. Fiction can always spark curiosity. But it sounds like you have already looked into a lot of things including conversion!! That's lovely!

But I do agree with the other anons here as well. I wouldn't call yourself Jewish, as you are moreso "on the outside". I would also take this time to continue exploring Judaism and all of it's facets respectfully, especially from the perspective of a (tentative) convert. There are lots of great books, online groups, podcasts, etc that can really help. The fact that you also have Jewish family members is also great! It may be worth talking to them about it, that something in fiction sparked your curiosity to learn more.

I would not turn away from your calling home, even if you feel discouraged right now. But I hope to be another kind soul welcoming you in the future, friend. Take care of yourself. 🫂

-🌠-

x

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Give My Madness Rein - a Magnus Archives Fanfic

The Archive saw all.

The Archive felt nothing.

Then the river dried up, the knowledge stopped, and the only thing that mattered was him.

“Say I am mad and give my madness rein to wreck itself; the worst that can befall Is but to die an honorable death.” —Sophocles

Spoilers for the whole show. This is post-MAG 200.

Part one of the Magnus Monsterverse AU.

AO3

---------------

They saw all.

Everything that was.

Everything that had been, stored in memory and revisited.

Nothing that would be, for that was Future, and Uncertain, and It did not like Uncertain things.

It, however, did not care. It couldn’t.

And then, for no reason, They saw nothing, nothing at all.

Something had come between It and It.

As the river that was knowing dried, a hollowness of need and hunger and pain rushed into its place.

It did not know that It was screaming until It had reason to stop.

#

It stopped because It could see the eyes.

Green eyes, flecked with brown, framed with red-gold lashes. Eyes It knew, eyes that felt like—

“It’s really Jon?” said the owner of the eyes.

(Jon, Hebrew, derivative of Jonathan, meaning God has given, first recorded in the Torah. Notable Jons through history include Adkins, baseball player; Anderson, musician; Cuishaw, comedian; Davidson—)

“Yeah,” said someone else, someone familiar who did not matter. “Gotta clean him off—eons of muck all over—but it’s him.”

“But he doesn’t know me,” said the owner of the eyes, voice suddenly hoarse and tight. (Tension dysphonia, evidenced as incoordination of the vocal control system, which can be caused by stress and anxiety—) “He doesn’t know me!”

“Told you he wouldn’t right away.”

All that mattered was the owner of those eyes. It did not care who else was speaking, and that made Them of two minds.

It wanted to look at the other person, too, and see as much as It could.

It did not want to look away from the eyes.

It needed the gap filled, the hollowness no longer emptied, knowledge and dreams and fears in a river.

It chose to continue looking at the eyes and nowhere else. Home safe settled still—

The eyes grew wet. (Lacrimation, an abnormal or excessive secretion of tears due to local or systemic disease or emotional distress—)

And then the eyes turned away.

Screaming took their place.

#

It screamed.

(Lost aching empty)

(Big hungry dark adrift)

No up, no down, no ground. It screamed.

Until the eyes came back, and then It was able to stop.

#

“Really?” said the owner of the eyes. “The whole time?”

“Yep. Whatever was done to his physiognomy, we can’t put him under. It just doesn’t stop—unless you’re here.”

The owner of the eyes said, “I need a minute,” and left. (Slammed the door, which is a common symptom of psychological distress or emotional hijacking, communicating anger or a need to close one off from whatever caused the outburst—)

It had felt nothing for so long that this new emotion was not easy to identify, but It thought this might be “heartbreak.” (Stress cardiomyopathy, also called broken heart syndrome, often brought on by stressful situations and extreme emotions—)

It did not like the ache, but had no recourse. To bring the eyes back was doing. That was planning.

It did not do those things.

But It used to. Did It not?

This was… a memory of Its own, not through the churning mind of another. It used to plan.

The eyes returned, and the question of planning ceased to matter. “Sorry.”

“For crying out loud, did you have to slam the door? You woke up Agnes,” said the one-who-did-not-matter (and It grew vaguely aware of another sound elsewhere, muffled, like crying and crackling fire, but that did not matter either because the eyes were here).

“Sorry,” said the eyes again.

“I swear, you’re either Martin the Invisible or Martin the Big Stomping Elephant.”

“Very funny. And wouldn’t some kind of whale be more appropriate?”

Martin.

“No, because they don’t have gills.”

Martin?

“Point,” said Martin.

(Beeping annoying unimportant background—)

“Wait, what’s happening? What’s going on?”

“Oh, hell. Step back. There’s activity. The monitors—”

Martin!

“Activity? What does that mean?”

“It means he’s getting really upset and accessing his powers, and we can’t do a damn thing to stop him. Step back!”

(Martin Blackwood, no middle name, K does not mean Kartin, poet, marked by the Lonely, marked by the Eye, four inches taller than—)

Than

(Than what?)

Than

They remembered. 

Martin was dead.

Vaguely, It was aware that It screamed, and that Its scream did harm, and the owner of the eyes cried out.

(“Fucking powers!” cried the one-who-did-not-matter.)

Sparking and cracking sounds, bad sounds and shouting. (Beeping, unknown, electronic in origin, possibly an alarm signifying a system of biological or mechanical nature no longer working as intended—)

Martin cried out, and It responded to Martin’s cry, because harming Martin was the worst thing that could ever be.

Stopped. Stopped screaming. Fell silent, gasping, choking it in.

And time slipped, lost.

#

“—understand what just happened!” Martin’s voice. (Martin: Latin, meaning warrior of Mars, dedicated to Mars, given to the god of war—)

“He recognized you. I knew he would, but not this quickly.”

Martin was dead.

“Recognized me? Look, I’ve never met this fucking thing before!”

“Nice. I’m sure that won’t come back to bite you.”

Martin was dead.

“Sash, for fuck’s sake…”

Pain.

(I’ve never met this fucking thing before—)

Rejection?

It knew rejection.

It did not acknowledge rejection.

It knew rejection, and knew it well. It hurt.

“What did you want me to say, then?” said Martin. “After everything we did to get him back—”

“What? You thought he’d just wake up and know you at once? After floating as the Pupil for centuries?” The one-who-did-not-matter sighed. “It takes time. It took you time.”

“I need him so much. I don’t know if I can wait. I… I’ve waited already. I don’t know if I can...”

Gentler. “I know you don’t mean that.”

Martin sighed. “You’re right. I don’t.”

(Choked. Kept it in. Did not scream. Must not hurt him—)

“What if we were too late, huh? What if there’s nothing left?”

“If there wasn’t, he wouldn’t give a damn what your name was.”

Martin.

“I need a minute,” Martin said, and walked away again.

Slammed the door again.

Rejection.

The eyes.

The voice.

Martin.

But Martin was dead.

Its eyes rolled back in Its head (all of them all of the eyes) and everything went dark.

#

“Jon. Please wake up. I’m sorry. Please wake up.”

The eyes.

The voice.

Him.

It wanted to speak. To say Martin’s name. It moved Its tongue to find only eyes.

“He’s responding,” said the one-who-did-not-matter. “Keep it up.”

“Hi, Jon,” said Martin, said the anchor-the-one-who-mattered (but Martin was dead). “I’m here. I’m here.”

It cried because it could not say his name.

It did not understand.

It needed to say his name.

It only needed to know his name.

It needed—

Opened mouth throat thought tongue, past eyes, past shapes, past things that only saw and did not speak.

“Why is he crying?” said Martin.

“I don’t know, but it’s a good sign. A display of human emotion is a hell of a lot more important than why he’s doing it.”

“I don’t like this,” said Martin.

Had to say the name. “Martin.”

“Oh!” said the other person-who-did-not-matter. “Did you hear that? Did I have a stroke? Did he say it?”

“He said it,” whispered Martin.

It hurt. This was too much, hurt too much. Like peeling open Itself, reaching in, taking out everything.

The green eyes, there. Just there. Here.

Martin was de-

It knew that was wrong. Martin was alive.

It knew this was not wrong. Martin was dead.

It did not care what It knew, what was wrong, whether this fact mattered or could be recalled. “Martin.”

“Yes, Jon, it’s me.”

The strain—

It could not accept the untruth.

It needed the untruth.

Its eyes rolled back again into the dark.

#

“Easy.”

Martin.

Martin’s voice.

Martin. Hand on his face. (Face? It had a face? It… I… I had a face?)

But Martin was—

“I’m here. It’s okay. Hey… hey, look at me, would you?”

It did, with all of Itself. I did. With… all of… It… I… me.

Martin shuddered, seen, stripped, beheld.

(Martin.)

“Easy,” said Martin, voice shaky, as the beep of monitors dinged confusingly, like multiple hearts.

It could—I could—only see him.

His eyes. Here. Now. His hair, touched with white like frost. His smile, hopeful, trembling. His tears.

Martin.

“But you died,” came from my throat, and I almost went away again.

Wanted to, to disassociate, to… (A disconnection between a person’s thoughts, memories, feelings, actions or sense of who they are—)

“No, Jon,” said Martin, tight. “You did.”

“I did?”

It disagreed. I had not died. He had.

A gasp. The other person who-did-not-matter. “He asked?”

“You’re asking questions.” Martin wiped his eyes. “You’re really in there. You aren’t gone.”

I was shaking. It sh… I shook. “No,” I said. “I remember. You died. We… he went for you. Trevor Herbert. I was wrong. He went for you, and he shot you. You died. And I—”

“It’s okay,” Martin said, but it wasn’t.

“I gave myself to It because I could not—”

“It’s okay!”

Nothing was okay. “I screamed!” I said, unable to look away from him, unwilling to even blink. “I screamed, but it didn’t bring you back. That’s the last thing I recall as… myself. And now, I screamed here, too—the first thing I recall, finding myself. You must have had me, all along.”

I didn’t even know what I was saying.

Martin sniffled. Tears slid down his cheeks (and I remembered those cheeks, remembered them against my lips, remembered his scent, remembered his sweet stubble). “You’re in there. She was right. You’re in there.”

“Told you,” said the one-who-did-not-matter (though I knew her voice, and that was strange).

“You died,” I said, and the words stuck in my throat.

“No. We made it to the Panopticon. And I had to kill you there.”

“What?” I said, because that had not happened. “I ring like a bell,” I said then, because every word I spoke echoed in me.

“Easy,” said the other voice. “Keep breathing.”

Suddenly, I knew her. “Sasha?”

“Hey.” She came into view.

And it was her. It really was her. Just a few years older, a pinch more gray at her temples, but alive. “Hi, Jon,” she said, her crooked smile, her slightly uneven teeth, her eyes big and brown behind her glasses.

“You aren’t not-Sasha,” I told her.

“Right,” she said. “In my timeline, I didn’t go into Artefact Storage. It didn’t get me. It got Tim.”

“Tim?” I said.

“He’s alive here,” said Martin. “In his timeline, he didn’t blow up the museum. Daisy did.”

“Tim is alive?” (tension dysphonia). I was so confused, and there was such a beauty to it; to being confused, to not knowing, a sweet and magnificent ache that I didn’t know I missed until this moment. “How?”

“Oh, we were a nexus, or something,” said Sasha. “Everybody there was basically a chosen one, you know? So we all got our chance.” Her voice dropped, bitter. “And we all blew it. Ended the world. Go, us.”

“What?” I said.

“It’s okay,” said Martin. “You’ve got time. You don’t have to understand it yet.”

Martin was alive, and I laughed.

Sasha looked startled.

Martin smiled. “Something funny?”

“Yes! Yes, I…” I didn’t even remember reaching, grabbing, closing the eyes on my hands and my arms so I could pull him close, and he sat on the bed with me, letting me pull him close. “We’re here, and…we’re alive, and… it’s too ridiculous, and…”

“Jon,” whispered Martin.

“You know what? How about I give you guys a minute?” said Sasha. “If anything on these monitors changes…”

“I’ll get you,” he said, thick, not taking his eyes from me.

I couldn’t see properly. The room was a fuzzy white, too bright, sterile. But I could see Martin. “How is this possible?”

“Leitner,” he said.

“Leitner?” And I kissed Martin, because Leitner could go to hell. I remembered Martin. His lips. His teeth. His chin, the way it bumped against mine. “If I close my eyes, you might go away again,” I said against his perfect mouth.

“I won’t,” he said. “I’ll never. You’re really you,” he said, his hand in my hair, and he sobbed.

My body ached, felt weird; most of my eyes were closed. “How?” I said again, because I had to know.

“Would you believe there’s one universe where Leitner wasn’t an ass?” said Martin, and laughed.

I laughed, too. I remembered how to do it so easily now. “I do not believe that.”

“I mean, he still fucked it up. We all did. All of us here, our universes ended. All of—”

“Then you’re not my Martin?” I said, interrupting him.

He stroked my hair. “I am. I mean. I’m the one you knew. We just… we all branched off. We—our group, in the Archives—we were the breaking point.”

“Breaking point?” I kissed him again. Same taste. Same scent. Same—

He had a tiny scar on his cheek that he didn’t before. A little notch, barely visible.

He let me touch it, and didn’t flinch away. “Got that when the Panopticon fell.”

Was I crying? I was crying. “I made you kill me?” Because of course, it had to be something I did. He wouldn't have just done it.

He swallowed.

“What did I do? You still won’t go away?”

“Never. Where you go, I go.”

“Even though you had to kill me?” I could barely hear my own words.

“I had to,” he whispered. “To stop the Eye. But it ended everything. I was in… I was in some kind of endless sea for… I don’t know how long.”

He still wanted to be near me after that?

I couldn’t comprehend it. Or what I must have done. Or how he could forgive. “But how am I here? I’m not killed,” I said, because I had to know.

Martin’s smile. Patient. Longsuffering. Fond. Knowing me. (I was known.) “Leitner and Manuela, who… isn’t awful? She’s an impossible physicist. Into wormholes. Alternate universes. Anyway, Leitner’s trying to make up for what he did by rescuing remnants. Us. Leftovers from universes that died because of our little group. It’s a mess.”

It had been so long since I felt anything, and now I felt too much. “He is? Why?”

“Guilt. He fucked up, and he felt shitty, and this is how he decided to atone.”

“By kidnapping people?” I blurted, feeling stupid, trying to make it make sense.

Martin laughed. “I missed you so much,” and then he was holding me, and it was so tight, and it was him, and that was his heart, and this was my Martin, and I—

Martin was dead.

So maybe I’d gone crazy.

Maybe the Eye did too much to me, and I was still in the world the Eye made, floating, mind snapped like dry wood, imagining things.

If it was, if I’d really lost it, and this wasn’t happening… I didn’t care.

“I want this,” I told him, clutching, keeping all my extra eyes closed. “I need you.”

“I know.”

“I love you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I got you killed.”

He looked so pale. “Jon… it wasn’t your fault. I know that, now,” he said to me, and I knew (knew, which I didn’t want to do anymore, but apparently, that still happened) I was forgiven.

And then I cried, and it was good, and painful, and human, and I let it come and didn’t try to stop it because that was a thing I’d forgotten how to do and finally remembered.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered again.

And my fingers dug into his back, and he kissed my jaw.

“I’ve got you, Jon,” he said, and I knew he meant it.

(But I’ve never met this fucking—)

Erased. He no longer thought that. And even if he did, I no longer cared.

If this was the lie, I would live it.

It was not happy.

I did not care. “I have too many eyes.”

Martin laughed. “Um. Ask me about gills sometime.”

“What?”

He laughed again, and his cheeks went red, and his eyes were shiny, but not from sorrow.

I pulled him down to the bed, on top of me like a heavy, hot blanket. “I want to know about gills.”

“I promise I’ll tell you all of everything,” Martin said, and settled, his breath against my neck.

I held him.

He held me.

He went to sleep like that, on me, like he hadn’t slept in twenty years, breathing just under my ear.

I still could not sleep, but that didn’t matter. Only one thing did: him.

Sasha came to check, smiled to find him unconscious, and left us alone.

I didn’t understand what happened. Not really. Not yet. Eventually, I would. It didn’t matter.

Martin was d

I could not live with that truth anymore.

Martin was not dead. He was here. And so was I. (And maybe Martin needed that untruth, too, if he’d had to kill me.)

I closed all my eyes, and ignored Its complaints, and held my Martin.

If this was madness, it was also my joy, and I would wrap it around my heart and engrave it on my bones and sear it in the backs of all of my eyes.

If this was madness, it was mine, and I would never let it go.

-----

Notes:

So in case it wasn't clear: There was ONE universe where Leitner was not a complete asshole, but was trying to run around sort of... Gertruding his way through life, being a "good" guy. He blew it, and his universe died. But not before he could connect with Manuela, who, instead of a Dark Sun, was working on wormholes. They got out. He felt bad. He discovered that there were numerous universes like his thanks to group of people going back about forty years, all of whom were somehow connected. They also all managed to end the world like he did - in flame, or darkness, or any number of things. He felt bad. One thing led to another, and... it's puppy-rescue time. What will happen with them all back together in one place? Nobody knows! No one is the same. They've all been changed. Most are monsters. But Martin is alive, and to at least one person, that's the only thing that matters.