The Broken Woman and The Compassionate Rabbi

It was such a chore.

Just getting up that morning and dressing for church. For almost two decades it had been painful to bathe and took her so long to dress. Even though it was a difficult task she faithfully engaged in it sabbath after sabbath. For generations her mothers had been faithful. Even though they weren't allowed into the inner workings of the synagogue, they still attended. On this particular morning the woman's daughter and granddaughter were ready long before she was and they waited. They waited as they had for the past eighteen years. They knew it took her very long to prepare and they knew that one day they, too, would be in her shoes.

And those shoes....how would they ever fill them and how would the woman manage to get them on her twisted feet for another Sabbath? She didn't know. They didn't know. But, as was always the case, after a couple of hours she was ready to go. And then it began.

The long, twisted trek through the dusty streets to the largest building: the Synagogue. Husbands, brothers, fathers, and sons had left hours earlier to attend the male-only meetings. The women, though, were only allowed to come later when the Rabbi of the day came to the outer portico to speak. They were only allowed to listen on the outside, never on the inside.

The daughter and granddaughter gently moved the crowd aside so their mother and grandmother could safely make it close to the front. They had to provide a corridor of safety because she couldn't see. She couldn't lift her head enough to look straight ahead because her back was twisted and bent so far forward that she almost toppled over while walking. As was the case each week, she and they made it to the front row and waited. Waited on the teacher to come.

It was such a chore.

Sometimes they wondered, even aloud, why they went through all of this every week only to hear some Rabbi speak for a few minutes. But, there was something inherently mysterious and enticing about the possibility of a different kind of message in the midst of all the regular bland teachings from the same worn out regular bland Rabbis. Just the possibility for something new, something exciting, something revelatory made the weekly chore tolerable.

The crowd of women jostled and rambled around a bit when it sounded like today's Rabbi was coming out of the synagogue. Something akin to an electric current passed through the crowd and almost toppled the woman over, but her daughter and granddaughter sustained her. 

Then she heard his voice. She heard this voice and it surely wasn't that of a worn out regular bland Rabbi. No, this voice had some kind of authority. Some kind of charisma that completely demanded her attention. High voltage passed through the crowd. 

And then he called.

He called her out of the crowd. He called her out of the crowd. He called her out of the crowd.

She walked as best she could while looking at the ground and when she got to him she stopped as gracefully as her bent and twisted body could allow. Her mother taught her to walk proudly and she was determined to present herself as a graceful daughter of Zion in her very broken condition.

"Woman, you are set free from your infirmity" and with these words he placed his hands on her and she immediately stood up.

You are set free.... He placed his hands on her.... She stood up.

What?

She had not asked to be healed nor he did not ask if she wanted to be healed.

She was not part of his family and yet he placed his hands on her in public.

She stood and her body straightened for the first time in 18 years.

She was outside the religious structure and he came out to find her.

What had been such a chore for so very long became her vehicle of grace.

So many rules were disregarded and rewritten in this unsought and brief encounter between the broken woman and the compassionate Rabbi -

And this is only part of the story.......