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Her life had led her through so much grief and separation. Truncations to her life that she had defined as worth their sacrifices at the time. She had turned her back on her family - those that she had once loved and grown up alongside in the image of their lineage and wealth. She had removed all chance of a suitable marriage for one of such a birth as she in her renouncement of her engagement to Lord Alexios. She had abandoned her native faith, her belief in the Olympian pantheon of the Gods that looked down with eyes of avarice and jealousy, turning towards the judgement but loving God of the Judean people.
Even her name.
She had given up her name, for the want of one that would allow her to join with the people of her husband; that would give her a home and a sense of belonging.
But no name alone could support the connection that she had now lost.
With Isaiah taken from her, taken to the ships of the Greeks and forced into a slavery of galley work, Hannah had lost her relationship to the Hebrew world. Still uncertain of all the details and practices of Jewish praise, she had not yet secured her place among the faithful of Yahweh. Without a Judean on her arm as her marital connection, her Hebrew name meant nothing alongside her Grecian features.
And worst of all, she had lost Isaiah himself.
Her husband, her rock, the love of her life and - above all else - the conduit through which she had discovered a self she loved more than that which she was born with.
All of it. Gone.
Sold now into slavery and still recovering from the trauma of physical loss, Hannah had found a moment of time outside of the gaze of her master to seek answers from those wiser than herself. Here, at the Sanctuary, she mounted the front steps, dressed from head to toe in a complete and respectful simlah that was old but cleaned to the best of her abilities. She kept her mitzpahath in place around her head and stepped beneath the first arches into the cool interior of Ammun's most devout and holy place for both preachers and scholars.
The entire building was large and imposing but there was a hush of reverence echoing about its walls and inside of her ears as she stepped carefully over the stone floors, avoiding the torches that burned even in the daytime and the bells that chimed at particular points during the day.
Hoping her injured hand closer to her chest within her sleeve, away from prying eyes that might notice the bandages, Hypatia wrapped her other hand around her waist in a protective gesture across her middle and tried to peer down corridors that seemed otherwise empty. Even here she felt as if she were the last being in the world. But perhaps she would be lucky...
Perhaps there was someone here who could guide her to accepting her future and healing her past?
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Hannah was lost.
In all the ways a person could be lost.
Her life had led her through so much grief and separation. Truncations to her life that she had defined as worth their sacrifices at the time. She had turned her back on her family - those that she had once loved and grown up alongside in the image of their lineage and wealth. She had removed all chance of a suitable marriage for one of such a birth as she in her renouncement of her engagement to Lord Alexios. She had abandoned her native faith, her belief in the Olympian pantheon of the Gods that looked down with eyes of avarice and jealousy, turning towards the judgement but loving God of the Judean people.
Even her name.
She had given up her name, for the want of one that would allow her to join with the people of her husband; that would give her a home and a sense of belonging.
But no name alone could support the connection that she had now lost.
With Isaiah taken from her, taken to the ships of the Greeks and forced into a slavery of galley work, Hannah had lost her relationship to the Hebrew world. Still uncertain of all the details and practices of Jewish praise, she had not yet secured her place among the faithful of Yahweh. Without a Judean on her arm as her marital connection, her Hebrew name meant nothing alongside her Grecian features.
And worst of all, she had lost Isaiah himself.
Her husband, her rock, the love of her life and - above all else - the conduit through which she had discovered a self she loved more than that which she was born with.
All of it. Gone.
Sold now into slavery and still recovering from the trauma of physical loss, Hannah had found a moment of time outside of the gaze of her master to seek answers from those wiser than herself. Here, at the Sanctuary, she mounted the front steps, dressed from head to toe in a complete and respectful simlah that was old but cleaned to the best of her abilities. She kept her mitzpahath in place around her head and stepped beneath the first arches into the cool interior of Ammun's most devout and holy place for both preachers and scholars.
The entire building was large and imposing but there was a hush of reverence echoing about its walls and inside of her ears as she stepped carefully over the stone floors, avoiding the torches that burned even in the daytime and the bells that chimed at particular points during the day.
Hoping her injured hand closer to her chest within her sleeve, away from prying eyes that might notice the bandages, Hypatia wrapped her other hand around her waist in a protective gesture across her middle and tried to peer down corridors that seemed otherwise empty. Even here she felt as if she were the last being in the world. But perhaps she would be lucky...
Perhaps there was someone here who could guide her to accepting her future and healing her past?
Hannah was lost.
In all the ways a person could be lost.
Her life had led her through so much grief and separation. Truncations to her life that she had defined as worth their sacrifices at the time. She had turned her back on her family - those that she had once loved and grown up alongside in the image of their lineage and wealth. She had removed all chance of a suitable marriage for one of such a birth as she in her renouncement of her engagement to Lord Alexios. She had abandoned her native faith, her belief in the Olympian pantheon of the Gods that looked down with eyes of avarice and jealousy, turning towards the judgement but loving God of the Judean people.
Even her name.
She had given up her name, for the want of one that would allow her to join with the people of her husband; that would give her a home and a sense of belonging.
But no name alone could support the connection that she had now lost.
With Isaiah taken from her, taken to the ships of the Greeks and forced into a slavery of galley work, Hannah had lost her relationship to the Hebrew world. Still uncertain of all the details and practices of Jewish praise, she had not yet secured her place among the faithful of Yahweh. Without a Judean on her arm as her marital connection, her Hebrew name meant nothing alongside her Grecian features.
And worst of all, she had lost Isaiah himself.
Her husband, her rock, the love of her life and - above all else - the conduit through which she had discovered a self she loved more than that which she was born with.
All of it. Gone.
Sold now into slavery and still recovering from the trauma of physical loss, Hannah had found a moment of time outside of the gaze of her master to seek answers from those wiser than herself. Here, at the Sanctuary, she mounted the front steps, dressed from head to toe in a complete and respectful simlah that was old but cleaned to the best of her abilities. She kept her mitzpahath in place around her head and stepped beneath the first arches into the cool interior of Ammun's most devout and holy place for both preachers and scholars.
The entire building was large and imposing but there was a hush of reverence echoing about its walls and inside of her ears as she stepped carefully over the stone floors, avoiding the torches that burned even in the daytime and the bells that chimed at particular points during the day.
Hoping her injured hand closer to her chest within her sleeve, away from prying eyes that might notice the bandages, Hypatia wrapped her other hand around her waist in a protective gesture across her middle and tried to peer down corridors that seemed otherwise empty. Even here she felt as if she were the last being in the world. But perhaps she would be lucky...
Perhaps there was someone here who could guide her to accepting her future and healing her past?
Dark eyes swept across the sanctuary, observing the quiet reverence of the Ammun citizens as they came in from the lobby. His uncle had disappeared into the midst of the synagogue, Jorah assumed the man had entered an area that the unlearned boy was not permitted. The morning prayer was over, and there was still a little time before the midday prayer would begin. He adjusted his simlah, breathing in the smell of incense that lingered from the early morning session. He observed that the rabbis were deep in discussion and Jorah didn’t dare interrupt them, so he stepped out of the sanctuary and into the foyer. There were a few people who had already arrived, milling around to greet each other before stepping into the silent prayer room. It was a beautiful place of worship, although so far he'd been unable to find one that wasn’t gorgeous in its own way. He was so very grateful to have visited Ammun, with his learned uncle. Jorah didn’t dare deny his privilege, in his ability to travel with his uncle Naftali to the holy places of Judea. He also knew that it was only his hard work in his studies that had allowed him to be granted permission to attend alongside his family member.
He'd been told that travelling in winter was much preferred than any other time, although the sun had been just as harsh as it was in the summer months. When Naftali had brought up the prospect of travelling to Ammun, Jorah had practically leapt on the opportunity to depart from Israel felt like a blessing. It was a respite from his pressing brother and his irate father. They stirred up anger and wrath that should be reserved for their lord. It'd been a year since his uncle had introduced him to the more detailed side of the Judean faith, and his determined and devoted attitude was the true reason he'd been along. His uncle had been travelling, apparently it had made sense to introduce a new pupil to the temples. Since he was still young, barely on the cusp of manhood, and mostly unlearned, there were parts of the synagogues that he was barred from entering. That was until he was older, and more learned. Still, this was an opportunity that he'd never really considered before. He'd never truly thought deeply about the path his life was taking. As the youngest son, there was not too much pressure to run the family business or truly pursue anything he didn't want to. Jorah felt so relieved to have found his passion in his faith, in his Lord.
Jorah’s pleasant expression twisted for a few moments before he eased his furrowed brows. He was getting a little unnerved being out of the sight of his uncle for such a long time, but he knew that Naftali would be inside somewhere. In his distracted thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the extra citizens that had filtered in. He appraised them, a married couple and a lone woman in Jewish clothing with Greek features. He found his interest piqued, trying to meet her peering eyes as he approached slowly. He was thrown off-kilter by the idea that Greeks were in more place than just his city, and he’d never seen one dress so respectfully- or even dare enter the temple. The only logical conclusion he could come to was that she had married into a Jewish family, although what respectable Judeans would do that- he was unsure.
“Shalom.” Jorah’s brown eyes gazed across at the petite woman, “May I help you? Are you here with your husband? Can I help you find him?”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Dark eyes swept across the sanctuary, observing the quiet reverence of the Ammun citizens as they came in from the lobby. His uncle had disappeared into the midst of the synagogue, Jorah assumed the man had entered an area that the unlearned boy was not permitted. The morning prayer was over, and there was still a little time before the midday prayer would begin. He adjusted his simlah, breathing in the smell of incense that lingered from the early morning session. He observed that the rabbis were deep in discussion and Jorah didn’t dare interrupt them, so he stepped out of the sanctuary and into the foyer. There were a few people who had already arrived, milling around to greet each other before stepping into the silent prayer room. It was a beautiful place of worship, although so far he'd been unable to find one that wasn’t gorgeous in its own way. He was so very grateful to have visited Ammun, with his learned uncle. Jorah didn’t dare deny his privilege, in his ability to travel with his uncle Naftali to the holy places of Judea. He also knew that it was only his hard work in his studies that had allowed him to be granted permission to attend alongside his family member.
He'd been told that travelling in winter was much preferred than any other time, although the sun had been just as harsh as it was in the summer months. When Naftali had brought up the prospect of travelling to Ammun, Jorah had practically leapt on the opportunity to depart from Israel felt like a blessing. It was a respite from his pressing brother and his irate father. They stirred up anger and wrath that should be reserved for their lord. It'd been a year since his uncle had introduced him to the more detailed side of the Judean faith, and his determined and devoted attitude was the true reason he'd been along. His uncle had been travelling, apparently it had made sense to introduce a new pupil to the temples. Since he was still young, barely on the cusp of manhood, and mostly unlearned, there were parts of the synagogues that he was barred from entering. That was until he was older, and more learned. Still, this was an opportunity that he'd never really considered before. He'd never truly thought deeply about the path his life was taking. As the youngest son, there was not too much pressure to run the family business or truly pursue anything he didn't want to. Jorah felt so relieved to have found his passion in his faith, in his Lord.
Jorah’s pleasant expression twisted for a few moments before he eased his furrowed brows. He was getting a little unnerved being out of the sight of his uncle for such a long time, but he knew that Naftali would be inside somewhere. In his distracted thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the extra citizens that had filtered in. He appraised them, a married couple and a lone woman in Jewish clothing with Greek features. He found his interest piqued, trying to meet her peering eyes as he approached slowly. He was thrown off-kilter by the idea that Greeks were in more place than just his city, and he’d never seen one dress so respectfully- or even dare enter the temple. The only logical conclusion he could come to was that she had married into a Jewish family, although what respectable Judeans would do that- he was unsure.
“Shalom.” Jorah’s brown eyes gazed across at the petite woman, “May I help you? Are you here with your husband? Can I help you find him?”
Dark eyes swept across the sanctuary, observing the quiet reverence of the Ammun citizens as they came in from the lobby. His uncle had disappeared into the midst of the synagogue, Jorah assumed the man had entered an area that the unlearned boy was not permitted. The morning prayer was over, and there was still a little time before the midday prayer would begin. He adjusted his simlah, breathing in the smell of incense that lingered from the early morning session. He observed that the rabbis were deep in discussion and Jorah didn’t dare interrupt them, so he stepped out of the sanctuary and into the foyer. There were a few people who had already arrived, milling around to greet each other before stepping into the silent prayer room. It was a beautiful place of worship, although so far he'd been unable to find one that wasn’t gorgeous in its own way. He was so very grateful to have visited Ammun, with his learned uncle. Jorah didn’t dare deny his privilege, in his ability to travel with his uncle Naftali to the holy places of Judea. He also knew that it was only his hard work in his studies that had allowed him to be granted permission to attend alongside his family member.
He'd been told that travelling in winter was much preferred than any other time, although the sun had been just as harsh as it was in the summer months. When Naftali had brought up the prospect of travelling to Ammun, Jorah had practically leapt on the opportunity to depart from Israel felt like a blessing. It was a respite from his pressing brother and his irate father. They stirred up anger and wrath that should be reserved for their lord. It'd been a year since his uncle had introduced him to the more detailed side of the Judean faith, and his determined and devoted attitude was the true reason he'd been along. His uncle had been travelling, apparently it had made sense to introduce a new pupil to the temples. Since he was still young, barely on the cusp of manhood, and mostly unlearned, there were parts of the synagogues that he was barred from entering. That was until he was older, and more learned. Still, this was an opportunity that he'd never really considered before. He'd never truly thought deeply about the path his life was taking. As the youngest son, there was not too much pressure to run the family business or truly pursue anything he didn't want to. Jorah felt so relieved to have found his passion in his faith, in his Lord.
Jorah’s pleasant expression twisted for a few moments before he eased his furrowed brows. He was getting a little unnerved being out of the sight of his uncle for such a long time, but he knew that Naftali would be inside somewhere. In his distracted thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the extra citizens that had filtered in. He appraised them, a married couple and a lone woman in Jewish clothing with Greek features. He found his interest piqued, trying to meet her peering eyes as he approached slowly. He was thrown off-kilter by the idea that Greeks were in more place than just his city, and he’d never seen one dress so respectfully- or even dare enter the temple. The only logical conclusion he could come to was that she had married into a Jewish family, although what respectable Judeans would do that- he was unsure.
“Shalom.” Jorah’s brown eyes gazed across at the petite woman, “May I help you? Are you here with your husband? Can I help you find him?”
Hannah was calm as she entered the temple and looked about the initial rooms, chambers and corridors. But it was the sort of calm that was that of ice not water. A single disturbance in the surface of a lake could easily be absorbed, controlled and managed as the elegant surface returned to its still and peaceful beginnings. But ice... when the calm of such frozen water was broken, it shattered, in a way that could not be put back together, regardless of the skill of the sculpture.
One wrong word, one wrong phrase in this place - where all was calm and she was seeking the very last of her hopes - and she might shatter.
With her mind so engrossed, it took a few minutes for Hannah to notice that others had followed her into the temple - Judeans from all walks of life, from all of the Six Cities. They did not cluster around or bowl her down with their motion but moved like a slow trickle or stream, flowing into the temple with an air of patient reverence. She looked to the left and then the right, her light eyes casting her as different from those that kept their distance. At least in this place, she could ration their separation as them seeking privacy in their prayers rather than xenophobia over her appearance.
Ensuring that her mitzpahath was in place around her head so as not to insult the faith of the place in which she stood, Hannah kept her eyes downcast and avoided speaking with anyone directly. Yet, how was she to know what to do, where to go, if she feared speaking with any of the people to whom she was supposed to now belong?
When a young man - perhaps her own age, perhaps a little younger, came forward to speak with her, she responded with an easy sense of habit -
"Shalom aleichem." She murmured respectfully, her accent still not native to the lands she now belonged but fluid and fluent after over a year of practice and immersion.
The next words from the boy's lips, however, were perhaps the worst he could have chosen. Again, Hannah was reminded of that lake, of that ice and how a single strike or hit of emotion might be nothing to one but entirely disable the other. In her brittle state of recent trauma, it was no surprise that such a simple question probing the wound that bled the most in her heart caused so surprising a reaction.
With just the one query from the young boy, tears pooled in Hannah's gaze and immediately fell to her cheeks, to heavy with volume to be kept in her eyes. The tears fell heavy and salty against the fabric over her nose and quickly began to soak a dampened mark beneath each eye.
She tried to respond; to offer some kind of reply and explanation for her tears. Yet behind her mask her lips trembled and her stuttered and were unable to form anything that felt like real words, rendering her silent as she cried before this utter stranger and struggled to breathe as her restrained grief broke its way to the surface.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Hannah was calm as she entered the temple and looked about the initial rooms, chambers and corridors. But it was the sort of calm that was that of ice not water. A single disturbance in the surface of a lake could easily be absorbed, controlled and managed as the elegant surface returned to its still and peaceful beginnings. But ice... when the calm of such frozen water was broken, it shattered, in a way that could not be put back together, regardless of the skill of the sculpture.
One wrong word, one wrong phrase in this place - where all was calm and she was seeking the very last of her hopes - and she might shatter.
With her mind so engrossed, it took a few minutes for Hannah to notice that others had followed her into the temple - Judeans from all walks of life, from all of the Six Cities. They did not cluster around or bowl her down with their motion but moved like a slow trickle or stream, flowing into the temple with an air of patient reverence. She looked to the left and then the right, her light eyes casting her as different from those that kept their distance. At least in this place, she could ration their separation as them seeking privacy in their prayers rather than xenophobia over her appearance.
Ensuring that her mitzpahath was in place around her head so as not to insult the faith of the place in which she stood, Hannah kept her eyes downcast and avoided speaking with anyone directly. Yet, how was she to know what to do, where to go, if she feared speaking with any of the people to whom she was supposed to now belong?
When a young man - perhaps her own age, perhaps a little younger, came forward to speak with her, she responded with an easy sense of habit -
"Shalom aleichem." She murmured respectfully, her accent still not native to the lands she now belonged but fluid and fluent after over a year of practice and immersion.
The next words from the boy's lips, however, were perhaps the worst he could have chosen. Again, Hannah was reminded of that lake, of that ice and how a single strike or hit of emotion might be nothing to one but entirely disable the other. In her brittle state of recent trauma, it was no surprise that such a simple question probing the wound that bled the most in her heart caused so surprising a reaction.
With just the one query from the young boy, tears pooled in Hannah's gaze and immediately fell to her cheeks, to heavy with volume to be kept in her eyes. The tears fell heavy and salty against the fabric over her nose and quickly began to soak a dampened mark beneath each eye.
She tried to respond; to offer some kind of reply and explanation for her tears. Yet behind her mask her lips trembled and her stuttered and were unable to form anything that felt like real words, rendering her silent as she cried before this utter stranger and struggled to breathe as her restrained grief broke its way to the surface.
Hannah was calm as she entered the temple and looked about the initial rooms, chambers and corridors. But it was the sort of calm that was that of ice not water. A single disturbance in the surface of a lake could easily be absorbed, controlled and managed as the elegant surface returned to its still and peaceful beginnings. But ice... when the calm of such frozen water was broken, it shattered, in a way that could not be put back together, regardless of the skill of the sculpture.
One wrong word, one wrong phrase in this place - where all was calm and she was seeking the very last of her hopes - and she might shatter.
With her mind so engrossed, it took a few minutes for Hannah to notice that others had followed her into the temple - Judeans from all walks of life, from all of the Six Cities. They did not cluster around or bowl her down with their motion but moved like a slow trickle or stream, flowing into the temple with an air of patient reverence. She looked to the left and then the right, her light eyes casting her as different from those that kept their distance. At least in this place, she could ration their separation as them seeking privacy in their prayers rather than xenophobia over her appearance.
Ensuring that her mitzpahath was in place around her head so as not to insult the faith of the place in which she stood, Hannah kept her eyes downcast and avoided speaking with anyone directly. Yet, how was she to know what to do, where to go, if she feared speaking with any of the people to whom she was supposed to now belong?
When a young man - perhaps her own age, perhaps a little younger, came forward to speak with her, she responded with an easy sense of habit -
"Shalom aleichem." She murmured respectfully, her accent still not native to the lands she now belonged but fluid and fluent after over a year of practice and immersion.
The next words from the boy's lips, however, were perhaps the worst he could have chosen. Again, Hannah was reminded of that lake, of that ice and how a single strike or hit of emotion might be nothing to one but entirely disable the other. In her brittle state of recent trauma, it was no surprise that such a simple question probing the wound that bled the most in her heart caused so surprising a reaction.
With just the one query from the young boy, tears pooled in Hannah's gaze and immediately fell to her cheeks, to heavy with volume to be kept in her eyes. The tears fell heavy and salty against the fabric over her nose and quickly began to soak a dampened mark beneath each eye.
She tried to respond; to offer some kind of reply and explanation for her tears. Yet behind her mask her lips trembled and her stuttered and were unable to form anything that felt like real words, rendering her silent as she cried before this utter stranger and struggled to breathe as her restrained grief broke its way to the surface.
It only took a few moments for Jorah to notice the tear stains on her mitahath, and he paled. It wasn't too hard to come to the conclusion that he'd made a significant misstep in mentioning a husband. He glanced side to side, trying to find someone who could approach and take this out of his hands. No one seemed willing to meet his eyes, so he turned back to the greek woman who appeared to be attempting a reply. His head was swirling with all kinds of scenarios, what he could do or say that would fix this immediately. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to upset you. Would you like to sit down? I can get you some water?" He felt out of his depth, but the guilt was starting to eat at him. His presumptuous words had obviously struck a chord, and it was very possible that he'd pushed her over the edge of being upset and crying.
"Would you like to talk about it with me, or one of the Rabbi? I'm more than willing to be an open ear. Or anything at all? You live here? I'd love to learn about what food stalls to try." The young boy tried to coax a few more words from the lady, uncertain if she genuinely understood him despite her initial greeting. Plenty Greeks in his city had been able to grasp the basic hello and goodbye. Jorah stepped beside her, instead of in front of her, and placed a light hand on her shoulder. It was an attempt to steer her towards one of the benches across the room, where he could sit her down. If she agreed to the water, he could contact a rabbi, someone with more spiritual and emotional knowledge than he has a young man.
Jorah's older sisters did not cry very much, and neither did his mothers. If they did, he was not around to see it. Many mourning and heartbroken women visited the temple, but he was not to approach them. It was common knowledge that one would learn best by learning, but he thought now would be different from the women in his own temples. He didn't have to figure out what he'd done wrong while simultaneously trying to comfort them. It distressed him that he appeared to be reason for the tears, he'd never made anyone cry before, especially moments into meeting them. He wanted to ask again, what male relative that he could contact, but he was wary of asking that question again, as it was improbable that she had any Judean brothers or father. He had a sinking suspicion that her husband if he existed at all, was not anywhere that he'd easily locate.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It only took a few moments for Jorah to notice the tear stains on her mitahath, and he paled. It wasn't too hard to come to the conclusion that he'd made a significant misstep in mentioning a husband. He glanced side to side, trying to find someone who could approach and take this out of his hands. No one seemed willing to meet his eyes, so he turned back to the greek woman who appeared to be attempting a reply. His head was swirling with all kinds of scenarios, what he could do or say that would fix this immediately. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to upset you. Would you like to sit down? I can get you some water?" He felt out of his depth, but the guilt was starting to eat at him. His presumptuous words had obviously struck a chord, and it was very possible that he'd pushed her over the edge of being upset and crying.
"Would you like to talk about it with me, or one of the Rabbi? I'm more than willing to be an open ear. Or anything at all? You live here? I'd love to learn about what food stalls to try." The young boy tried to coax a few more words from the lady, uncertain if she genuinely understood him despite her initial greeting. Plenty Greeks in his city had been able to grasp the basic hello and goodbye. Jorah stepped beside her, instead of in front of her, and placed a light hand on her shoulder. It was an attempt to steer her towards one of the benches across the room, where he could sit her down. If she agreed to the water, he could contact a rabbi, someone with more spiritual and emotional knowledge than he has a young man.
Jorah's older sisters did not cry very much, and neither did his mothers. If they did, he was not around to see it. Many mourning and heartbroken women visited the temple, but he was not to approach them. It was common knowledge that one would learn best by learning, but he thought now would be different from the women in his own temples. He didn't have to figure out what he'd done wrong while simultaneously trying to comfort them. It distressed him that he appeared to be reason for the tears, he'd never made anyone cry before, especially moments into meeting them. He wanted to ask again, what male relative that he could contact, but he was wary of asking that question again, as it was improbable that she had any Judean brothers or father. He had a sinking suspicion that her husband if he existed at all, was not anywhere that he'd easily locate.
It only took a few moments for Jorah to notice the tear stains on her mitahath, and he paled. It wasn't too hard to come to the conclusion that he'd made a significant misstep in mentioning a husband. He glanced side to side, trying to find someone who could approach and take this out of his hands. No one seemed willing to meet his eyes, so he turned back to the greek woman who appeared to be attempting a reply. His head was swirling with all kinds of scenarios, what he could do or say that would fix this immediately. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to upset you. Would you like to sit down? I can get you some water?" He felt out of his depth, but the guilt was starting to eat at him. His presumptuous words had obviously struck a chord, and it was very possible that he'd pushed her over the edge of being upset and crying.
"Would you like to talk about it with me, or one of the Rabbi? I'm more than willing to be an open ear. Or anything at all? You live here? I'd love to learn about what food stalls to try." The young boy tried to coax a few more words from the lady, uncertain if she genuinely understood him despite her initial greeting. Plenty Greeks in his city had been able to grasp the basic hello and goodbye. Jorah stepped beside her, instead of in front of her, and placed a light hand on her shoulder. It was an attempt to steer her towards one of the benches across the room, where he could sit her down. If she agreed to the water, he could contact a rabbi, someone with more spiritual and emotional knowledge than he has a young man.
Jorah's older sisters did not cry very much, and neither did his mothers. If they did, he was not around to see it. Many mourning and heartbroken women visited the temple, but he was not to approach them. It was common knowledge that one would learn best by learning, but he thought now would be different from the women in his own temples. He didn't have to figure out what he'd done wrong while simultaneously trying to comfort them. It distressed him that he appeared to be reason for the tears, he'd never made anyone cry before, especially moments into meeting them. He wanted to ask again, what male relative that he could contact, but he was wary of asking that question again, as it was improbable that she had any Judean brothers or father. He had a sinking suspicion that her husband if he existed at all, was not anywhere that he'd easily locate.
Whilst his appearance had seemed to be more of her age, when the young boy spoke - in the higher pitches of some so young - it became obvious to Hannah that she had made an error of judgement. For this boy - this child - was not yet a grown man by any standards and was perhaps simply tall for his age. Absently, she wondered if he had even reached the official age of manhood of twelve summers, for his expression turned to one of such shock and worry at her tears that it belied his inexperience with the grieving.
Though this made Hannah suddenly uncertain of how to approach him and whether or not she should be burdening a young student of the temple - a child no less - with her concerns and worries, it also helped to stem her tears. As the boy took on a comforting stance, moving to her side and offering a hand to her shoulder, the sheer fact that she required a youth to steady her, made her own tears slow and cease for just a moment. Guilty that she required a child to give her comfort, Hannah was able to find some grasp of normalcy again.
Taking a calming breath, the Grecian woman nodded a little when the boy suggested sitting down, allowing him to guide her towards a bench that she could sit upon. Reaching up beneath her headscarf, the tips of her slim fingers could be spotted beneath her eyes where her hands had lifted to wipe away at her tears. Her lashes were dark spikes of dampness as she blinked to try and clear her vision.
"Forgive me." She murmured over her embarrassment at such an emotional display.
Then, as the boy asked about food stalls, the random change of topic had its intended effect. With a sudden blink of surprise, Hannah's eyes widened and she looked out towards the main doors of the temple to the street beyond, her mind now occupied and effectively distracted. "Um..." She coughed a little to clear her throat which had heated and drawn tight in her moment of hysteria. "I think the bean paste pitas down the street are good." She said her hand brushing beneath her nose and setting her mitzpahath shifting.
Swallowing, she then attempted to answer his previous question - the reason for her presence in the temple and for her tears.
"I do not know if any can help me." She said in a tone that was less defeatist and more practical. "There is nothing that can be done I just... I was seeking help regardless."
Lowering her gaze in shame that her words made no sense, Hannah felt guilt that she had burdened a child with so severe a problem. Especially one that, deep down, she knew could not be solved in a manner that would stop her heart from aching.
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Whilst his appearance had seemed to be more of her age, when the young boy spoke - in the higher pitches of some so young - it became obvious to Hannah that she had made an error of judgement. For this boy - this child - was not yet a grown man by any standards and was perhaps simply tall for his age. Absently, she wondered if he had even reached the official age of manhood of twelve summers, for his expression turned to one of such shock and worry at her tears that it belied his inexperience with the grieving.
Though this made Hannah suddenly uncertain of how to approach him and whether or not she should be burdening a young student of the temple - a child no less - with her concerns and worries, it also helped to stem her tears. As the boy took on a comforting stance, moving to her side and offering a hand to her shoulder, the sheer fact that she required a youth to steady her, made her own tears slow and cease for just a moment. Guilty that she required a child to give her comfort, Hannah was able to find some grasp of normalcy again.
Taking a calming breath, the Grecian woman nodded a little when the boy suggested sitting down, allowing him to guide her towards a bench that she could sit upon. Reaching up beneath her headscarf, the tips of her slim fingers could be spotted beneath her eyes where her hands had lifted to wipe away at her tears. Her lashes were dark spikes of dampness as she blinked to try and clear her vision.
"Forgive me." She murmured over her embarrassment at such an emotional display.
Then, as the boy asked about food stalls, the random change of topic had its intended effect. With a sudden blink of surprise, Hannah's eyes widened and she looked out towards the main doors of the temple to the street beyond, her mind now occupied and effectively distracted. "Um..." She coughed a little to clear her throat which had heated and drawn tight in her moment of hysteria. "I think the bean paste pitas down the street are good." She said her hand brushing beneath her nose and setting her mitzpahath shifting.
Swallowing, she then attempted to answer his previous question - the reason for her presence in the temple and for her tears.
"I do not know if any can help me." She said in a tone that was less defeatist and more practical. "There is nothing that can be done I just... I was seeking help regardless."
Lowering her gaze in shame that her words made no sense, Hannah felt guilt that she had burdened a child with so severe a problem. Especially one that, deep down, she knew could not be solved in a manner that would stop her heart from aching.
Whilst his appearance had seemed to be more of her age, when the young boy spoke - in the higher pitches of some so young - it became obvious to Hannah that she had made an error of judgement. For this boy - this child - was not yet a grown man by any standards and was perhaps simply tall for his age. Absently, she wondered if he had even reached the official age of manhood of twelve summers, for his expression turned to one of such shock and worry at her tears that it belied his inexperience with the grieving.
Though this made Hannah suddenly uncertain of how to approach him and whether or not she should be burdening a young student of the temple - a child no less - with her concerns and worries, it also helped to stem her tears. As the boy took on a comforting stance, moving to her side and offering a hand to her shoulder, the sheer fact that she required a youth to steady her, made her own tears slow and cease for just a moment. Guilty that she required a child to give her comfort, Hannah was able to find some grasp of normalcy again.
Taking a calming breath, the Grecian woman nodded a little when the boy suggested sitting down, allowing him to guide her towards a bench that she could sit upon. Reaching up beneath her headscarf, the tips of her slim fingers could be spotted beneath her eyes where her hands had lifted to wipe away at her tears. Her lashes were dark spikes of dampness as she blinked to try and clear her vision.
"Forgive me." She murmured over her embarrassment at such an emotional display.
Then, as the boy asked about food stalls, the random change of topic had its intended effect. With a sudden blink of surprise, Hannah's eyes widened and she looked out towards the main doors of the temple to the street beyond, her mind now occupied and effectively distracted. "Um..." She coughed a little to clear her throat which had heated and drawn tight in her moment of hysteria. "I think the bean paste pitas down the street are good." She said her hand brushing beneath her nose and setting her mitzpahath shifting.
Swallowing, she then attempted to answer his previous question - the reason for her presence in the temple and for her tears.
"I do not know if any can help me." She said in a tone that was less defeatist and more practical. "There is nothing that can be done I just... I was seeking help regardless."
Lowering her gaze in shame that her words made no sense, Hannah felt guilt that she had burdened a child with so severe a problem. Especially one that, deep down, she knew could not be solved in a manner that would stop her heart from aching.
Jorah's startled expression softened as she was finally able to stop crying, relieved when she sat on the bench he'd lead her too. He shook his head as she apologised, "No, no, I shouldn't have upset you." He murmured in reply, giving a glance around the now mostly empty room before returning his eyes to the woman as she coughed. He wondered if he should have gotten the water anyway, despite the lack of response to his question, as it didn't sound easy to talk. And she'd apologised for crying, did that mean that his concern had made her uncomfortable? That hadn't been the purpose at all. The smell of incense still hung in the air, but it was no longer as strong, he was sure it had to be relit. The younger boy gave a solemn nod as she recommended the bean paste pitas, reminding himself to request his uncle to buy them before they left. One of the reasons for travel was to try new things, and food was different in each city. But that was beside the point; it seemed like his question had distracted her. Although it wasn't a fix, it certainly made Jorah feel more at ease. He supposed he should be grateful that he wasn't used to dealing with upset women, but at the moment, Jorah thought that it gave him a disadvantage.
Jorah was more than a little surprised as the woman finally answered his first question, one he assumed that would be avoided. Although her words didn't make much sense to him, he tried to piece it together. She was seeking help about something that was set in stone, whether future or past, but didn't think help would achieve anything? Maybe she was seeking a more emotional kind of support, one that the rabbi and prayers to Yahweh could offer? Jorah was neither of those things, but he supposed that a kind shoulder would always be received well by upset individuals. "Do you think talking about it would help you feel better? I can pray with you if you'd like?" he offered, knowing he was allowed to enter the children and women's prayer area as he was younger than twelve. They were still in the foyer, so unable to pray; however, if they moved onwards, they would not be able to talk.
A breeze travelled through the still space, bringing in a wave of noise from outside. Jorah, unable to keep eye contact with the stranger, chose to sit down next to her and stare across to the other side of the building. "I know I'm young, but I've been told that I give good advice for my age." he attempted to allay any kind of fear she'd have, but after the words came out of his mouth, he wondered if he genuinely wanted her to vent about her personal matters. Inevitably he'd be thrown out of his depth again? He was sure if he had the words, any awkwardness Jorah felt could be offset if he made her day...but if he made her uncomfortable, the whole interaction would be a failure, and it would be his fault. Perhaps he was too pessimistic; he supposed that was because of his nerves. In a rush of realisation he blurted out, "I'm Jorah, by the way."
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Jorah's startled expression softened as she was finally able to stop crying, relieved when she sat on the bench he'd lead her too. He shook his head as she apologised, "No, no, I shouldn't have upset you." He murmured in reply, giving a glance around the now mostly empty room before returning his eyes to the woman as she coughed. He wondered if he should have gotten the water anyway, despite the lack of response to his question, as it didn't sound easy to talk. And she'd apologised for crying, did that mean that his concern had made her uncomfortable? That hadn't been the purpose at all. The smell of incense still hung in the air, but it was no longer as strong, he was sure it had to be relit. The younger boy gave a solemn nod as she recommended the bean paste pitas, reminding himself to request his uncle to buy them before they left. One of the reasons for travel was to try new things, and food was different in each city. But that was beside the point; it seemed like his question had distracted her. Although it wasn't a fix, it certainly made Jorah feel more at ease. He supposed he should be grateful that he wasn't used to dealing with upset women, but at the moment, Jorah thought that it gave him a disadvantage.
Jorah was more than a little surprised as the woman finally answered his first question, one he assumed that would be avoided. Although her words didn't make much sense to him, he tried to piece it together. She was seeking help about something that was set in stone, whether future or past, but didn't think help would achieve anything? Maybe she was seeking a more emotional kind of support, one that the rabbi and prayers to Yahweh could offer? Jorah was neither of those things, but he supposed that a kind shoulder would always be received well by upset individuals. "Do you think talking about it would help you feel better? I can pray with you if you'd like?" he offered, knowing he was allowed to enter the children and women's prayer area as he was younger than twelve. They were still in the foyer, so unable to pray; however, if they moved onwards, they would not be able to talk.
A breeze travelled through the still space, bringing in a wave of noise from outside. Jorah, unable to keep eye contact with the stranger, chose to sit down next to her and stare across to the other side of the building. "I know I'm young, but I've been told that I give good advice for my age." he attempted to allay any kind of fear she'd have, but after the words came out of his mouth, he wondered if he genuinely wanted her to vent about her personal matters. Inevitably he'd be thrown out of his depth again? He was sure if he had the words, any awkwardness Jorah felt could be offset if he made her day...but if he made her uncomfortable, the whole interaction would be a failure, and it would be his fault. Perhaps he was too pessimistic; he supposed that was because of his nerves. In a rush of realisation he blurted out, "I'm Jorah, by the way."
Jorah's startled expression softened as she was finally able to stop crying, relieved when she sat on the bench he'd lead her too. He shook his head as she apologised, "No, no, I shouldn't have upset you." He murmured in reply, giving a glance around the now mostly empty room before returning his eyes to the woman as she coughed. He wondered if he should have gotten the water anyway, despite the lack of response to his question, as it didn't sound easy to talk. And she'd apologised for crying, did that mean that his concern had made her uncomfortable? That hadn't been the purpose at all. The smell of incense still hung in the air, but it was no longer as strong, he was sure it had to be relit. The younger boy gave a solemn nod as she recommended the bean paste pitas, reminding himself to request his uncle to buy them before they left. One of the reasons for travel was to try new things, and food was different in each city. But that was beside the point; it seemed like his question had distracted her. Although it wasn't a fix, it certainly made Jorah feel more at ease. He supposed he should be grateful that he wasn't used to dealing with upset women, but at the moment, Jorah thought that it gave him a disadvantage.
Jorah was more than a little surprised as the woman finally answered his first question, one he assumed that would be avoided. Although her words didn't make much sense to him, he tried to piece it together. She was seeking help about something that was set in stone, whether future or past, but didn't think help would achieve anything? Maybe she was seeking a more emotional kind of support, one that the rabbi and prayers to Yahweh could offer? Jorah was neither of those things, but he supposed that a kind shoulder would always be received well by upset individuals. "Do you think talking about it would help you feel better? I can pray with you if you'd like?" he offered, knowing he was allowed to enter the children and women's prayer area as he was younger than twelve. They were still in the foyer, so unable to pray; however, if they moved onwards, they would not be able to talk.
A breeze travelled through the still space, bringing in a wave of noise from outside. Jorah, unable to keep eye contact with the stranger, chose to sit down next to her and stare across to the other side of the building. "I know I'm young, but I've been told that I give good advice for my age." he attempted to allay any kind of fear she'd have, but after the words came out of his mouth, he wondered if he genuinely wanted her to vent about her personal matters. Inevitably he'd be thrown out of his depth again? He was sure if he had the words, any awkwardness Jorah felt could be offset if he made her day...but if he made her uncomfortable, the whole interaction would be a failure, and it would be his fault. Perhaps he was too pessimistic; he supposed that was because of his nerves. In a rush of realisation he blurted out, "I'm Jorah, by the way."
The boy was sweet. Of that, Hannah was able to tell without wisdom or psychic knowledge. His expressions betrayed almost every thought that slipped through his mind, his youth not yet offering him the control he might one day achieve at moderating such a reaction. His eyes were kind and intense in the way only youth seemed able to manage, focusing on a single element in a way that made her both uneasy but also just uneasy enough to feel real. It was so often, in her position as a slave, that any looks or glances offered in her direction were cursory at best. They were made to skim over the top of her head or past her shoulders. Or she was never glanced to at all, the words and orders of her masters, leaving their lips without so much as a sideways look. To have this boy - however innocent and young he was - look upon her with a directness that reflected her real and tangible presence... it was strangely comforting, despite the awkwardness it caused. Like a scratch that hurt but was needed to remove the torment of an itch that would not subside on its own.
When the child mentioned about offering good advice and of praying with her, Hannah smiled a little more brightly than she had since entering the temple - more brightly still than she had been able to offer since recent events had taken her life and rearranged them to their liking. Whilst her face was still mostly hidden, Hannah hoped that the boy's familiarity with the headdress of Judean females would make it easier for him to read the smile in the way her eyes narrowed and her cheekbones drew up to meet them.
"I would like that." She offered. A soft nod accompanied her words. "I have tried to pray. But I have been unable to find comfort or seek an answer. Perhaps I am rejected by God in my grief." This last was spoken quietly, fearful in the temple that such words might be considered blasphemy. Not only this, but her diminished words were evidence of her secondary fear that they be true. For who was she to the God she had given her spirit to? A Grecian? Now that her husband - her only true tie to the Judean spirit - had been taken from her, who was she to Yahweh? Why might she be given any consideration?
Closing her eyes and bending her head at the admission, Hannah was forced to look up when a low and quiet gong was sounded throughout the temple and the visitors of the holy place were diverted to their appropriate prayer rooms. She glanced around at the young boy who had offered her his company. For at his age he was certainly permitted in the female prayer rooms with her. And perhaps, given his Judean heritage, he would know more than her - more of how to connect with the Holy Spirit than she. Hannah was no fool to her ignorance. She had been Judean but a year. Even at the tender age of youth that this Jorah could claim, he would know more of his religion than she ever could.
"Please..." She asked with a soft and sweet request, her gaze darting towards the prayer rooms. "Will you please pray with me? For guidance...?"
For what else could she ask for? The Almighty could not return her husband to her. The Almighty could not relent on her punishment as a slave and set her free. Such laws and rules were made by mortal hand and could only be broken by such. But Hannah needed something. Some kind of guidance, some kind of answer to how she was supposed to carry on and live. How was she supposed to bring a child into the world - into the world of slavery? How was she to exist without the man that tied her to this land, to his people? As she had said to Jorah... There was no help to be given. No real and tangible efforts that could be made. She needed to pray simply for guidance and answers on how she might continue to be strong...
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The boy was sweet. Of that, Hannah was able to tell without wisdom or psychic knowledge. His expressions betrayed almost every thought that slipped through his mind, his youth not yet offering him the control he might one day achieve at moderating such a reaction. His eyes were kind and intense in the way only youth seemed able to manage, focusing on a single element in a way that made her both uneasy but also just uneasy enough to feel real. It was so often, in her position as a slave, that any looks or glances offered in her direction were cursory at best. They were made to skim over the top of her head or past her shoulders. Or she was never glanced to at all, the words and orders of her masters, leaving their lips without so much as a sideways look. To have this boy - however innocent and young he was - look upon her with a directness that reflected her real and tangible presence... it was strangely comforting, despite the awkwardness it caused. Like a scratch that hurt but was needed to remove the torment of an itch that would not subside on its own.
When the child mentioned about offering good advice and of praying with her, Hannah smiled a little more brightly than she had since entering the temple - more brightly still than she had been able to offer since recent events had taken her life and rearranged them to their liking. Whilst her face was still mostly hidden, Hannah hoped that the boy's familiarity with the headdress of Judean females would make it easier for him to read the smile in the way her eyes narrowed and her cheekbones drew up to meet them.
"I would like that." She offered. A soft nod accompanied her words. "I have tried to pray. But I have been unable to find comfort or seek an answer. Perhaps I am rejected by God in my grief." This last was spoken quietly, fearful in the temple that such words might be considered blasphemy. Not only this, but her diminished words were evidence of her secondary fear that they be true. For who was she to the God she had given her spirit to? A Grecian? Now that her husband - her only true tie to the Judean spirit - had been taken from her, who was she to Yahweh? Why might she be given any consideration?
Closing her eyes and bending her head at the admission, Hannah was forced to look up when a low and quiet gong was sounded throughout the temple and the visitors of the holy place were diverted to their appropriate prayer rooms. She glanced around at the young boy who had offered her his company. For at his age he was certainly permitted in the female prayer rooms with her. And perhaps, given his Judean heritage, he would know more than her - more of how to connect with the Holy Spirit than she. Hannah was no fool to her ignorance. She had been Judean but a year. Even at the tender age of youth that this Jorah could claim, he would know more of his religion than she ever could.
"Please..." She asked with a soft and sweet request, her gaze darting towards the prayer rooms. "Will you please pray with me? For guidance...?"
For what else could she ask for? The Almighty could not return her husband to her. The Almighty could not relent on her punishment as a slave and set her free. Such laws and rules were made by mortal hand and could only be broken by such. But Hannah needed something. Some kind of guidance, some kind of answer to how she was supposed to carry on and live. How was she supposed to bring a child into the world - into the world of slavery? How was she to exist without the man that tied her to this land, to his people? As she had said to Jorah... There was no help to be given. No real and tangible efforts that could be made. She needed to pray simply for guidance and answers on how she might continue to be strong...
The boy was sweet. Of that, Hannah was able to tell without wisdom or psychic knowledge. His expressions betrayed almost every thought that slipped through his mind, his youth not yet offering him the control he might one day achieve at moderating such a reaction. His eyes were kind and intense in the way only youth seemed able to manage, focusing on a single element in a way that made her both uneasy but also just uneasy enough to feel real. It was so often, in her position as a slave, that any looks or glances offered in her direction were cursory at best. They were made to skim over the top of her head or past her shoulders. Or she was never glanced to at all, the words and orders of her masters, leaving their lips without so much as a sideways look. To have this boy - however innocent and young he was - look upon her with a directness that reflected her real and tangible presence... it was strangely comforting, despite the awkwardness it caused. Like a scratch that hurt but was needed to remove the torment of an itch that would not subside on its own.
When the child mentioned about offering good advice and of praying with her, Hannah smiled a little more brightly than she had since entering the temple - more brightly still than she had been able to offer since recent events had taken her life and rearranged them to their liking. Whilst her face was still mostly hidden, Hannah hoped that the boy's familiarity with the headdress of Judean females would make it easier for him to read the smile in the way her eyes narrowed and her cheekbones drew up to meet them.
"I would like that." She offered. A soft nod accompanied her words. "I have tried to pray. But I have been unable to find comfort or seek an answer. Perhaps I am rejected by God in my grief." This last was spoken quietly, fearful in the temple that such words might be considered blasphemy. Not only this, but her diminished words were evidence of her secondary fear that they be true. For who was she to the God she had given her spirit to? A Grecian? Now that her husband - her only true tie to the Judean spirit - had been taken from her, who was she to Yahweh? Why might she be given any consideration?
Closing her eyes and bending her head at the admission, Hannah was forced to look up when a low and quiet gong was sounded throughout the temple and the visitors of the holy place were diverted to their appropriate prayer rooms. She glanced around at the young boy who had offered her his company. For at his age he was certainly permitted in the female prayer rooms with her. And perhaps, given his Judean heritage, he would know more than her - more of how to connect with the Holy Spirit than she. Hannah was no fool to her ignorance. She had been Judean but a year. Even at the tender age of youth that this Jorah could claim, he would know more of his religion than she ever could.
"Please..." She asked with a soft and sweet request, her gaze darting towards the prayer rooms. "Will you please pray with me? For guidance...?"
For what else could she ask for? The Almighty could not return her husband to her. The Almighty could not relent on her punishment as a slave and set her free. Such laws and rules were made by mortal hand and could only be broken by such. But Hannah needed something. Some kind of guidance, some kind of answer to how she was supposed to carry on and live. How was she supposed to bring a child into the world - into the world of slavery? How was she to exist without the man that tied her to this land, to his people? As she had said to Jorah... There was no help to be given. No real and tangible efforts that could be made. She needed to pray simply for guidance and answers on how she might continue to be strong...
Jorah gave the young woman a soft smile in return, relieved that his offer had not offended or upset her further. She still seemed teary, but her eyes had brightened under the headdress at his suggestion, and upon his acceptance, he nodded. His pleased smile fell as she explained that she felt rejected by Yahweh, and he shook his head once. What could be seen of her face had betrayed her Greek heritage to the Judean, and he wondered for how long she'd been in Judea, long enough to convert and marry? Was that whom she held grief for, a lost husband or child? He was familiar with the conversion process, nor whether she was considered a Jew, but he knew, with all the certainty that a child could feel, that Yahweh would not abandon anyone in a time of great sorrow."You may not feel him right now ma'am, but he is always with us. I- it's...It can be hard to feel his comforting gaze through your grief, but I assure you that he will not have abandoned or rejected you." he insisted.
Jorah was morbidly curious of the fake gods that she may have grown up with- or was she raised in Judea? He almost couldn't believe that Greeks believed in beings that would be so frugal with their love, surely that is where she'd gotten the idea that Yahweh would forsake her in such a moment in her life. One of the guiding principles was to reject other fake gods, and he wondered if that was something she struggled with- which was a much more reasonable reason to her feelings of uncertainty in God. He gave an encouraging nod of his head as she requested ever so politely for him to pray with her. It made sense to him that she would ask for guidance, for a way forward in her grief, but also in her own faith.
He stood with her, giving a polite murmur of greeting to the young family that passed them, and indicated that she should walk with him. The woman's prayer room wasn't different from the men's, in size or decoration. Still, Jorah understood that the adults must be separated to avoid distraction; however, as a child, it was assumed that he would pray with the women. He'd been allowed into some of the men's prayers by his uncle, but the divide was not something he'd have to abide until he was 13. Usually, he resented his position as a young boy, but it was times like this, he was soothed with the knowledge that his teachers knew much more than he to make such rules. There were few people present, but their voices were hushed as they offered their prayers to Yahweh.
The place filled as people began to attend the midday prayer, and Jorah's askance for guidance for the sorrowful woman turned towards the directed prayer for that day. Once completed, he lingered with the woman in the lobby, head feeling a little stuffy and stomach rumbling quietly. He blinked owlishly at her before requesting to go for lunch, "Should we grab some of those pitas you mentioned? On me, of course." He offered, slipping his hand into his pocket, where Naftali had told him to keep his lunch money allowance. It felt too cold to leave this young woman by herself after service, especially since she'd been so emotional beforehand. He was sure that his uncle wouldn't mind, Jorah wasn't worried about getting in trouble.
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Jorah gave the young woman a soft smile in return, relieved that his offer had not offended or upset her further. She still seemed teary, but her eyes had brightened under the headdress at his suggestion, and upon his acceptance, he nodded. His pleased smile fell as she explained that she felt rejected by Yahweh, and he shook his head once. What could be seen of her face had betrayed her Greek heritage to the Judean, and he wondered for how long she'd been in Judea, long enough to convert and marry? Was that whom she held grief for, a lost husband or child? He was familiar with the conversion process, nor whether she was considered a Jew, but he knew, with all the certainty that a child could feel, that Yahweh would not abandon anyone in a time of great sorrow."You may not feel him right now ma'am, but he is always with us. I- it's...It can be hard to feel his comforting gaze through your grief, but I assure you that he will not have abandoned or rejected you." he insisted.
Jorah was morbidly curious of the fake gods that she may have grown up with- or was she raised in Judea? He almost couldn't believe that Greeks believed in beings that would be so frugal with their love, surely that is where she'd gotten the idea that Yahweh would forsake her in such a moment in her life. One of the guiding principles was to reject other fake gods, and he wondered if that was something she struggled with- which was a much more reasonable reason to her feelings of uncertainty in God. He gave an encouraging nod of his head as she requested ever so politely for him to pray with her. It made sense to him that she would ask for guidance, for a way forward in her grief, but also in her own faith.
He stood with her, giving a polite murmur of greeting to the young family that passed them, and indicated that she should walk with him. The woman's prayer room wasn't different from the men's, in size or decoration. Still, Jorah understood that the adults must be separated to avoid distraction; however, as a child, it was assumed that he would pray with the women. He'd been allowed into some of the men's prayers by his uncle, but the divide was not something he'd have to abide until he was 13. Usually, he resented his position as a young boy, but it was times like this, he was soothed with the knowledge that his teachers knew much more than he to make such rules. There were few people present, but their voices were hushed as they offered their prayers to Yahweh.
The place filled as people began to attend the midday prayer, and Jorah's askance for guidance for the sorrowful woman turned towards the directed prayer for that day. Once completed, he lingered with the woman in the lobby, head feeling a little stuffy and stomach rumbling quietly. He blinked owlishly at her before requesting to go for lunch, "Should we grab some of those pitas you mentioned? On me, of course." He offered, slipping his hand into his pocket, where Naftali had told him to keep his lunch money allowance. It felt too cold to leave this young woman by herself after service, especially since she'd been so emotional beforehand. He was sure that his uncle wouldn't mind, Jorah wasn't worried about getting in trouble.
Jorah gave the young woman a soft smile in return, relieved that his offer had not offended or upset her further. She still seemed teary, but her eyes had brightened under the headdress at his suggestion, and upon his acceptance, he nodded. His pleased smile fell as she explained that she felt rejected by Yahweh, and he shook his head once. What could be seen of her face had betrayed her Greek heritage to the Judean, and he wondered for how long she'd been in Judea, long enough to convert and marry? Was that whom she held grief for, a lost husband or child? He was familiar with the conversion process, nor whether she was considered a Jew, but he knew, with all the certainty that a child could feel, that Yahweh would not abandon anyone in a time of great sorrow."You may not feel him right now ma'am, but he is always with us. I- it's...It can be hard to feel his comforting gaze through your grief, but I assure you that he will not have abandoned or rejected you." he insisted.
Jorah was morbidly curious of the fake gods that she may have grown up with- or was she raised in Judea? He almost couldn't believe that Greeks believed in beings that would be so frugal with their love, surely that is where she'd gotten the idea that Yahweh would forsake her in such a moment in her life. One of the guiding principles was to reject other fake gods, and he wondered if that was something she struggled with- which was a much more reasonable reason to her feelings of uncertainty in God. He gave an encouraging nod of his head as she requested ever so politely for him to pray with her. It made sense to him that she would ask for guidance, for a way forward in her grief, but also in her own faith.
He stood with her, giving a polite murmur of greeting to the young family that passed them, and indicated that she should walk with him. The woman's prayer room wasn't different from the men's, in size or decoration. Still, Jorah understood that the adults must be separated to avoid distraction; however, as a child, it was assumed that he would pray with the women. He'd been allowed into some of the men's prayers by his uncle, but the divide was not something he'd have to abide until he was 13. Usually, he resented his position as a young boy, but it was times like this, he was soothed with the knowledge that his teachers knew much more than he to make such rules. There were few people present, but their voices were hushed as they offered their prayers to Yahweh.
The place filled as people began to attend the midday prayer, and Jorah's askance for guidance for the sorrowful woman turned towards the directed prayer for that day. Once completed, he lingered with the woman in the lobby, head feeling a little stuffy and stomach rumbling quietly. He blinked owlishly at her before requesting to go for lunch, "Should we grab some of those pitas you mentioned? On me, of course." He offered, slipping his hand into his pocket, where Naftali had told him to keep his lunch money allowance. It felt too cold to leave this young woman by herself after service, especially since she'd been so emotional beforehand. He was sure that his uncle wouldn't mind, Jorah wasn't worried about getting in trouble.
Hannah's heat had split in two different directions over the kindness of the young boy - a boy she now knew to be so much younger than she had expected, despite his height and the maturity in his gaze. Part of her felt great shame that so young a being clearly felt the need to consider himself responsible for her. To have known and witnessed that she clearly required such tender care and consideration in her fragility. That he would see her as something to be delicate of, despite the difference in their ages. Though, in truth there was only perhaps a handful of years difference between them. Despite her seventeen summers and winters, Hannah felt already ancient beyond her years. Abandoned to times of difficulty by her family, her husband and her faith, she was forced to endure beyond that of any normal teenager of youth. In a moment, she caught a flash in her mind's eye of the life of luxury and lack of care that she would be enjoying had she remained with her mother, or married the man that Europa had deemed fit to have her. Such lightness, such relief that the visions brought, however, was accompanied but a sense of falsehood. For she was not that young woman anymore. That Grecian lady without concern or distraction simply wasn't who she had become in the last eighteen months. Now, she was a Judean. By the name of Hannah. Married to a man she could not have and expecting a child that she could not raise.
Hannah swallowed back her fears and her doubts, emboldened by the boy's claims that Yahweh did not reject or abandon. She tried to remember these words and focus on them, repeating them in her mind over and over. Whilst only minimally... it helped. And Hannah was reminded why it was that she had come to the temple in the first place. For that was the other thought - the second half of her heart. Where in some ways she felt shame for relying on one so young, she then also felt a warmth and support. For this was what the Jewish community was all about; what their faith was about. The collective aid that a people could give to one another; the kindness that they were expected to show to all. The validity and ethical reality of their faith, saved Hannah from feeling so entirely retched in her reliance upon a youth such as this boy Jorah.
It was because of this that, when he turned to escort her to the prayer rooms for the women, Hannah permitted him. He did not reach out or try to touch her but, instead, simply walked beside her with a sense of companionship. He greeted other users of the temple as he walked and Hannah kept her eyes cast downwards. This was her own act of kindness. For she did not wish to disturb the prayers of others by the invasion of a foreigner. The alien eyes that she sported might seem an intrusion on their privacy and most sacred of times and she wished not to disturb them like that.
As they found their way inside the prayer rooms, the chambers were fairly empty when they at first settled upon the rugged floor. As the prayers moved onwards, other bodies entered the room and swathed around them until the chamber was much warmer. Hannah felt such warmth, her mind turning it into the physical manifestation of communal spirit. She closed her eyes and prayed with as much ferocity as she felt able. Her lips mouthed some of the more pertinent words but in general she stayed silent, her murmurings of faith and beseechment private and her own.
When the individual prayers fell into the daily prayers of the noonday sun, Hannah fell into step and word with everyone else. She offered up her own voice and her own thoughts to all those who suffered and asked Yahweh to help all of his people who might be in danger or in strife. She thought this most especially for Isaiah... the man whose name still filled her heart with a pain of loneliness. But she bore it and thought on, imagining his face, his voice, his smile... She thought of where he might be in the seas to the north and begged with all her heart that his God - that her God - protect him and bring him home to her.
Hannah was unaware that she had been silently crying for at least ten minutes when the gong was sounded to announce the end of the prayers.
Wiping at her face quickly beneath her mitzpahath, Hannah glanced at the boy beside her apologetically and then smiled. She hoped that her eyes conveyed it to him. For she had felt his presence and his support through the prayers and was greatly thankful for it.
When she rose to her feet and turned to leave the temple, her steps slow as she wished to bid farewell and thanks to the child that had aided her, she was surprised when his voice spoke before her own at the chance, suggesting that they find the stall of pitas that she had mentioned before. About to offer her apologies that she had no money for such things - for slaves were rarely permitted to carry their master's coin unless for a direct task or reason, Hannah was saved from such an embarrassing admittance that would have clearly declared her as enslaved, when Jorah spoke up to offer his own gold to the cause.
Her eyes widening with surprise and not wishing to insult the boy who had helped her ever since she had entered the temple and who had been given nothing for his kindness besides her tears and enigmatic comments about the sorrow of her life, Hannah tried to smile again - a little watery this time - and nodded in agreement.
"Yes, let us." She agreed. "For Yahweh would see us enjoy what we can, even in trying times, is that not right?" She asked him, swallowing, sniffing and then stepping out into the sunshine outside the temple with a slightly lightened spirit...
Looking about herself once on the street, Hannah raised a pointed hand down to the eastern walkways. "I believe it is that way."
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Hannah's heat had split in two different directions over the kindness of the young boy - a boy she now knew to be so much younger than she had expected, despite his height and the maturity in his gaze. Part of her felt great shame that so young a being clearly felt the need to consider himself responsible for her. To have known and witnessed that she clearly required such tender care and consideration in her fragility. That he would see her as something to be delicate of, despite the difference in their ages. Though, in truth there was only perhaps a handful of years difference between them. Despite her seventeen summers and winters, Hannah felt already ancient beyond her years. Abandoned to times of difficulty by her family, her husband and her faith, she was forced to endure beyond that of any normal teenager of youth. In a moment, she caught a flash in her mind's eye of the life of luxury and lack of care that she would be enjoying had she remained with her mother, or married the man that Europa had deemed fit to have her. Such lightness, such relief that the visions brought, however, was accompanied but a sense of falsehood. For she was not that young woman anymore. That Grecian lady without concern or distraction simply wasn't who she had become in the last eighteen months. Now, she was a Judean. By the name of Hannah. Married to a man she could not have and expecting a child that she could not raise.
Hannah swallowed back her fears and her doubts, emboldened by the boy's claims that Yahweh did not reject or abandon. She tried to remember these words and focus on them, repeating them in her mind over and over. Whilst only minimally... it helped. And Hannah was reminded why it was that she had come to the temple in the first place. For that was the other thought - the second half of her heart. Where in some ways she felt shame for relying on one so young, she then also felt a warmth and support. For this was what the Jewish community was all about; what their faith was about. The collective aid that a people could give to one another; the kindness that they were expected to show to all. The validity and ethical reality of their faith, saved Hannah from feeling so entirely retched in her reliance upon a youth such as this boy Jorah.
It was because of this that, when he turned to escort her to the prayer rooms for the women, Hannah permitted him. He did not reach out or try to touch her but, instead, simply walked beside her with a sense of companionship. He greeted other users of the temple as he walked and Hannah kept her eyes cast downwards. This was her own act of kindness. For she did not wish to disturb the prayers of others by the invasion of a foreigner. The alien eyes that she sported might seem an intrusion on their privacy and most sacred of times and she wished not to disturb them like that.
As they found their way inside the prayer rooms, the chambers were fairly empty when they at first settled upon the rugged floor. As the prayers moved onwards, other bodies entered the room and swathed around them until the chamber was much warmer. Hannah felt such warmth, her mind turning it into the physical manifestation of communal spirit. She closed her eyes and prayed with as much ferocity as she felt able. Her lips mouthed some of the more pertinent words but in general she stayed silent, her murmurings of faith and beseechment private and her own.
When the individual prayers fell into the daily prayers of the noonday sun, Hannah fell into step and word with everyone else. She offered up her own voice and her own thoughts to all those who suffered and asked Yahweh to help all of his people who might be in danger or in strife. She thought this most especially for Isaiah... the man whose name still filled her heart with a pain of loneliness. But she bore it and thought on, imagining his face, his voice, his smile... She thought of where he might be in the seas to the north and begged with all her heart that his God - that her God - protect him and bring him home to her.
Hannah was unaware that she had been silently crying for at least ten minutes when the gong was sounded to announce the end of the prayers.
Wiping at her face quickly beneath her mitzpahath, Hannah glanced at the boy beside her apologetically and then smiled. She hoped that her eyes conveyed it to him. For she had felt his presence and his support through the prayers and was greatly thankful for it.
When she rose to her feet and turned to leave the temple, her steps slow as she wished to bid farewell and thanks to the child that had aided her, she was surprised when his voice spoke before her own at the chance, suggesting that they find the stall of pitas that she had mentioned before. About to offer her apologies that she had no money for such things - for slaves were rarely permitted to carry their master's coin unless for a direct task or reason, Hannah was saved from such an embarrassing admittance that would have clearly declared her as enslaved, when Jorah spoke up to offer his own gold to the cause.
Her eyes widening with surprise and not wishing to insult the boy who had helped her ever since she had entered the temple and who had been given nothing for his kindness besides her tears and enigmatic comments about the sorrow of her life, Hannah tried to smile again - a little watery this time - and nodded in agreement.
"Yes, let us." She agreed. "For Yahweh would see us enjoy what we can, even in trying times, is that not right?" She asked him, swallowing, sniffing and then stepping out into the sunshine outside the temple with a slightly lightened spirit...
Looking about herself once on the street, Hannah raised a pointed hand down to the eastern walkways. "I believe it is that way."
Hannah's heat had split in two different directions over the kindness of the young boy - a boy she now knew to be so much younger than she had expected, despite his height and the maturity in his gaze. Part of her felt great shame that so young a being clearly felt the need to consider himself responsible for her. To have known and witnessed that she clearly required such tender care and consideration in her fragility. That he would see her as something to be delicate of, despite the difference in their ages. Though, in truth there was only perhaps a handful of years difference between them. Despite her seventeen summers and winters, Hannah felt already ancient beyond her years. Abandoned to times of difficulty by her family, her husband and her faith, she was forced to endure beyond that of any normal teenager of youth. In a moment, she caught a flash in her mind's eye of the life of luxury and lack of care that she would be enjoying had she remained with her mother, or married the man that Europa had deemed fit to have her. Such lightness, such relief that the visions brought, however, was accompanied but a sense of falsehood. For she was not that young woman anymore. That Grecian lady without concern or distraction simply wasn't who she had become in the last eighteen months. Now, she was a Judean. By the name of Hannah. Married to a man she could not have and expecting a child that she could not raise.
Hannah swallowed back her fears and her doubts, emboldened by the boy's claims that Yahweh did not reject or abandon. She tried to remember these words and focus on them, repeating them in her mind over and over. Whilst only minimally... it helped. And Hannah was reminded why it was that she had come to the temple in the first place. For that was the other thought - the second half of her heart. Where in some ways she felt shame for relying on one so young, she then also felt a warmth and support. For this was what the Jewish community was all about; what their faith was about. The collective aid that a people could give to one another; the kindness that they were expected to show to all. The validity and ethical reality of their faith, saved Hannah from feeling so entirely retched in her reliance upon a youth such as this boy Jorah.
It was because of this that, when he turned to escort her to the prayer rooms for the women, Hannah permitted him. He did not reach out or try to touch her but, instead, simply walked beside her with a sense of companionship. He greeted other users of the temple as he walked and Hannah kept her eyes cast downwards. This was her own act of kindness. For she did not wish to disturb the prayers of others by the invasion of a foreigner. The alien eyes that she sported might seem an intrusion on their privacy and most sacred of times and she wished not to disturb them like that.
As they found their way inside the prayer rooms, the chambers were fairly empty when they at first settled upon the rugged floor. As the prayers moved onwards, other bodies entered the room and swathed around them until the chamber was much warmer. Hannah felt such warmth, her mind turning it into the physical manifestation of communal spirit. She closed her eyes and prayed with as much ferocity as she felt able. Her lips mouthed some of the more pertinent words but in general she stayed silent, her murmurings of faith and beseechment private and her own.
When the individual prayers fell into the daily prayers of the noonday sun, Hannah fell into step and word with everyone else. She offered up her own voice and her own thoughts to all those who suffered and asked Yahweh to help all of his people who might be in danger or in strife. She thought this most especially for Isaiah... the man whose name still filled her heart with a pain of loneliness. But she bore it and thought on, imagining his face, his voice, his smile... She thought of where he might be in the seas to the north and begged with all her heart that his God - that her God - protect him and bring him home to her.
Hannah was unaware that she had been silently crying for at least ten minutes when the gong was sounded to announce the end of the prayers.
Wiping at her face quickly beneath her mitzpahath, Hannah glanced at the boy beside her apologetically and then smiled. She hoped that her eyes conveyed it to him. For she had felt his presence and his support through the prayers and was greatly thankful for it.
When she rose to her feet and turned to leave the temple, her steps slow as she wished to bid farewell and thanks to the child that had aided her, she was surprised when his voice spoke before her own at the chance, suggesting that they find the stall of pitas that she had mentioned before. About to offer her apologies that she had no money for such things - for slaves were rarely permitted to carry their master's coin unless for a direct task or reason, Hannah was saved from such an embarrassing admittance that would have clearly declared her as enslaved, when Jorah spoke up to offer his own gold to the cause.
Her eyes widening with surprise and not wishing to insult the boy who had helped her ever since she had entered the temple and who had been given nothing for his kindness besides her tears and enigmatic comments about the sorrow of her life, Hannah tried to smile again - a little watery this time - and nodded in agreement.
"Yes, let us." She agreed. "For Yahweh would see us enjoy what we can, even in trying times, is that not right?" She asked him, swallowing, sniffing and then stepping out into the sunshine outside the temple with a slightly lightened spirit...
Looking about herself once on the street, Hannah raised a pointed hand down to the eastern walkways. "I believe it is that way."
Service was an emotional experience for some, and more so it seemed for the sorrowful woman he'd encountered. It almost seemed that she'd reject his offer to have lunch together, but a gentle smile fell across his lips as she agreed. She still seemed upset, but she was making an effort. He gave a nod to her reasoning, "He encourages us to do so." Jorah raised a hand to shield his eyes to the light outside, which seemed blinding to the man who'd been inside all day. With the curtains down, which the Ammun Sanctuary seemed to favour, the corners became tenebrous. The fresh air was a relief to his nose, as the synagogue had begun to feel a little stuffy too. The midday sun beat down on his olive skin as he watched the bustle of Ammun, stepping onto the stairs.
He fell into step with her as she pointed to the eastern walkways, glancing up at the young woman. "May I have your name? Or something to call you?" He inquired, trying to sound polite although he was still squinting, Jorah thought his question was only fair since he'd shared his name. She'd been visibly upset when he'd told her, so he didn't mind too much that she hadn't responded immediately, but he felt that if they were to become acquaintances, it would be best to know her name.
Since he was a young child, although it could be argued that he was still so, kindness was a quality his mother had saught to teach him. A quality that the Temple had reiterated. He knew that charity and kindness were different; one was performed with heart and the other with money. He felt that by performing both, he was fulfilling the commandments and bringing self-satisfaction to himself. 'Mitzvah goreret mitzvah' he'd always been told by the Rabbi. One good deed will lead to another good deed. He didn't expect her to repay him for the food he offered, only that one day she'd do the same if she encountered someone upset. If she were a widow like he assumed than his faith commanded that he deal her no suffering, and he'd certainly made her upset with his thoughtless words. In any case, he thought it was foundational kindness to cheer another person up with prayer and good food. Although his family would chide him, telling him that kindness did not extend to all, Jorah believed they would approve of his actions at this moment. As a young woman, dressed conservatively as Jewish traditions required, he had no reason to treat her like she was other, despite her strange eyes.
"How long have you been in Ammun? I'm travelling with my uncle, Rabbi Naftali, from Israel. I want to be a scholar or a rabbi, I think. So I told him this and he decided to bring me along to see Ammun. I think it's wonderful here."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Service was an emotional experience for some, and more so it seemed for the sorrowful woman he'd encountered. It almost seemed that she'd reject his offer to have lunch together, but a gentle smile fell across his lips as she agreed. She still seemed upset, but she was making an effort. He gave a nod to her reasoning, "He encourages us to do so." Jorah raised a hand to shield his eyes to the light outside, which seemed blinding to the man who'd been inside all day. With the curtains down, which the Ammun Sanctuary seemed to favour, the corners became tenebrous. The fresh air was a relief to his nose, as the synagogue had begun to feel a little stuffy too. The midday sun beat down on his olive skin as he watched the bustle of Ammun, stepping onto the stairs.
He fell into step with her as she pointed to the eastern walkways, glancing up at the young woman. "May I have your name? Or something to call you?" He inquired, trying to sound polite although he was still squinting, Jorah thought his question was only fair since he'd shared his name. She'd been visibly upset when he'd told her, so he didn't mind too much that she hadn't responded immediately, but he felt that if they were to become acquaintances, it would be best to know her name.
Since he was a young child, although it could be argued that he was still so, kindness was a quality his mother had saught to teach him. A quality that the Temple had reiterated. He knew that charity and kindness were different; one was performed with heart and the other with money. He felt that by performing both, he was fulfilling the commandments and bringing self-satisfaction to himself. 'Mitzvah goreret mitzvah' he'd always been told by the Rabbi. One good deed will lead to another good deed. He didn't expect her to repay him for the food he offered, only that one day she'd do the same if she encountered someone upset. If she were a widow like he assumed than his faith commanded that he deal her no suffering, and he'd certainly made her upset with his thoughtless words. In any case, he thought it was foundational kindness to cheer another person up with prayer and good food. Although his family would chide him, telling him that kindness did not extend to all, Jorah believed they would approve of his actions at this moment. As a young woman, dressed conservatively as Jewish traditions required, he had no reason to treat her like she was other, despite her strange eyes.
"How long have you been in Ammun? I'm travelling with my uncle, Rabbi Naftali, from Israel. I want to be a scholar or a rabbi, I think. So I told him this and he decided to bring me along to see Ammun. I think it's wonderful here."
Service was an emotional experience for some, and more so it seemed for the sorrowful woman he'd encountered. It almost seemed that she'd reject his offer to have lunch together, but a gentle smile fell across his lips as she agreed. She still seemed upset, but she was making an effort. He gave a nod to her reasoning, "He encourages us to do so." Jorah raised a hand to shield his eyes to the light outside, which seemed blinding to the man who'd been inside all day. With the curtains down, which the Ammun Sanctuary seemed to favour, the corners became tenebrous. The fresh air was a relief to his nose, as the synagogue had begun to feel a little stuffy too. The midday sun beat down on his olive skin as he watched the bustle of Ammun, stepping onto the stairs.
He fell into step with her as she pointed to the eastern walkways, glancing up at the young woman. "May I have your name? Or something to call you?" He inquired, trying to sound polite although he was still squinting, Jorah thought his question was only fair since he'd shared his name. She'd been visibly upset when he'd told her, so he didn't mind too much that she hadn't responded immediately, but he felt that if they were to become acquaintances, it would be best to know her name.
Since he was a young child, although it could be argued that he was still so, kindness was a quality his mother had saught to teach him. A quality that the Temple had reiterated. He knew that charity and kindness were different; one was performed with heart and the other with money. He felt that by performing both, he was fulfilling the commandments and bringing self-satisfaction to himself. 'Mitzvah goreret mitzvah' he'd always been told by the Rabbi. One good deed will lead to another good deed. He didn't expect her to repay him for the food he offered, only that one day she'd do the same if she encountered someone upset. If she were a widow like he assumed than his faith commanded that he deal her no suffering, and he'd certainly made her upset with his thoughtless words. In any case, he thought it was foundational kindness to cheer another person up with prayer and good food. Although his family would chide him, telling him that kindness did not extend to all, Jorah believed they would approve of his actions at this moment. As a young woman, dressed conservatively as Jewish traditions required, he had no reason to treat her like she was other, despite her strange eyes.
"How long have you been in Ammun? I'm travelling with my uncle, Rabbi Naftali, from Israel. I want to be a scholar or a rabbi, I think. So I told him this and he decided to bring me along to see Ammun. I think it's wonderful here."
At the agreement of the young boy - a child barely an adult who knew more of the faith than she already - Hannah's smile grew a little in confidence.
The two of them stepped from the temple and into the sunlight in a manner that seemed to have her heart lift just a little - a single reminder from God that life went on and that the sun did offer light and joy to all, regardless of past sufferings. A symbol of equal love to the faithful and to the sinners. She exhaled slowly on such an idea and then, after implying which way they were to go, Hannah stepped out and down the street with the boy at her side.
It was only when he mentioned her name and asked her for something that he could call her that Hannah realised that she had never introduced herself to the other. Her face blooming with the heat of shame and her eyes widening in awkward embarrassment, Hannah's feet stilled immediately and she turned to him, offering a shallow bow of respect and apology.
"Ani mitnatzel bekhenut!" She claimed, apologising profusely. "I am Hannah." She gave the name quickly and concisely, having gotten used to not using the latter part of her name. Even though it hollowed out a space in her gut where her pride should have been. She was no longer of her Grecian family so she could not offer up "of Acharist" to the end of her name. Her husband was a registered criminal which meant that she could not offer up his. And she had not been born Judean so her mother's name was not to adorn her own. She was simply a single word. Detached from all else.
She swallowed away such feelings and pressed her palms together, bowing a little over them in greeting and introduction. "Forgive me for not saying sooner." She requested, before they were each distracted by the smell of bean pittas nearby.
As they moved towards the stall that had been set up craftily less than a hundred yards from the entrance to the temple, the young man offered her a change in conversation that she as grateful for when her belated introduction laid bare an awkward quiet between them.
"Not long." She stated calmly. "A few months at most. I was in Israel before then. I... I was sold here." She added, her gaze looking to the man at her side with a hint of the uncertain. She had just admitted herself to be a slave. What would he think upon that...?
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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At the agreement of the young boy - a child barely an adult who knew more of the faith than she already - Hannah's smile grew a little in confidence.
The two of them stepped from the temple and into the sunlight in a manner that seemed to have her heart lift just a little - a single reminder from God that life went on and that the sun did offer light and joy to all, regardless of past sufferings. A symbol of equal love to the faithful and to the sinners. She exhaled slowly on such an idea and then, after implying which way they were to go, Hannah stepped out and down the street with the boy at her side.
It was only when he mentioned her name and asked her for something that he could call her that Hannah realised that she had never introduced herself to the other. Her face blooming with the heat of shame and her eyes widening in awkward embarrassment, Hannah's feet stilled immediately and she turned to him, offering a shallow bow of respect and apology.
"Ani mitnatzel bekhenut!" She claimed, apologising profusely. "I am Hannah." She gave the name quickly and concisely, having gotten used to not using the latter part of her name. Even though it hollowed out a space in her gut where her pride should have been. She was no longer of her Grecian family so she could not offer up "of Acharist" to the end of her name. Her husband was a registered criminal which meant that she could not offer up his. And she had not been born Judean so her mother's name was not to adorn her own. She was simply a single word. Detached from all else.
She swallowed away such feelings and pressed her palms together, bowing a little over them in greeting and introduction. "Forgive me for not saying sooner." She requested, before they were each distracted by the smell of bean pittas nearby.
As they moved towards the stall that had been set up craftily less than a hundred yards from the entrance to the temple, the young man offered her a change in conversation that she as grateful for when her belated introduction laid bare an awkward quiet between them.
"Not long." She stated calmly. "A few months at most. I was in Israel before then. I... I was sold here." She added, her gaze looking to the man at her side with a hint of the uncertain. She had just admitted herself to be a slave. What would he think upon that...?
At the agreement of the young boy - a child barely an adult who knew more of the faith than she already - Hannah's smile grew a little in confidence.
The two of them stepped from the temple and into the sunlight in a manner that seemed to have her heart lift just a little - a single reminder from God that life went on and that the sun did offer light and joy to all, regardless of past sufferings. A symbol of equal love to the faithful and to the sinners. She exhaled slowly on such an idea and then, after implying which way they were to go, Hannah stepped out and down the street with the boy at her side.
It was only when he mentioned her name and asked her for something that he could call her that Hannah realised that she had never introduced herself to the other. Her face blooming with the heat of shame and her eyes widening in awkward embarrassment, Hannah's feet stilled immediately and she turned to him, offering a shallow bow of respect and apology.
"Ani mitnatzel bekhenut!" She claimed, apologising profusely. "I am Hannah." She gave the name quickly and concisely, having gotten used to not using the latter part of her name. Even though it hollowed out a space in her gut where her pride should have been. She was no longer of her Grecian family so she could not offer up "of Acharist" to the end of her name. Her husband was a registered criminal which meant that she could not offer up his. And she had not been born Judean so her mother's name was not to adorn her own. She was simply a single word. Detached from all else.
She swallowed away such feelings and pressed her palms together, bowing a little over them in greeting and introduction. "Forgive me for not saying sooner." She requested, before they were each distracted by the smell of bean pittas nearby.
As they moved towards the stall that had been set up craftily less than a hundred yards from the entrance to the temple, the young man offered her a change in conversation that she as grateful for when her belated introduction laid bare an awkward quiet between them.
"Not long." She stated calmly. "A few months at most. I was in Israel before then. I... I was sold here." She added, her gaze looking to the man at her side with a hint of the uncertain. She had just admitted herself to be a slave. What would he think upon that...?