Separated
a Storykeepers fic
Summary: Ben and Helena are naturals as foster parents, which leads me to believe that they have experience raising kids. They are a Jewish couple in their 40s, and unless one of them is incapable of parenting offspring, they would have had children of their own—albeit grown or at least teenage children. This is my little story exploring that possibility, and what might have happened during the fires.
Disclaimer: Zondervan owns it all, except Keren.
Dedication: To Sabina Wurmbrand, whom I believe is the person upon which the character of Helena is based, and who fostered several children who were orphaned during the Holocaust—Hitler's version of the fire in Rome.
That day had started out like any other. Clear, calm, beautiful. Merchants and vendors lined the streets of Rome, calling out to passerbys to consider their products. Small groups of friends or businessmen gathered on street corners, spreading the latest news and rumors, the two most popular of which concerned the questionable mental state of Nero Caesar (once considered decades ago to be the most dynamic and lovable of Rome's emperors), and the prisoner from Judea who had recently practically given himself up to Roman custody. The Christian missionary, Paul by name, was under house arrest in Rome, awaiting an audience with Caesar that the little ruler was determined would never come.
It was to the latter rumors that one man paid particularly close attention. Benjamin bar Simeon stood at his booth, straining to hear over the noise of the crowd, as two men at a nearby fruit stand discussed their recent visit to Paul in hushed voices. Ben wanted to get closer—even join in the conversation—but couldn't leave his bread and rolls untended. Besides, how would it look if a short, stout baker with a very Jewish face simply strode up to two much taller and obviously very Roman men immersed in a conversation about political prisoners?
Jews were rare in Rome (though their numbers were growing), and those that did live there tended to avoid interacting with Gentiles beyond everyday business. The fact that Christianity, as this new sect of the Jewish religion had come to be called, was now overflowing into the Roman and Greek populations made Caesar nervous. Nero didn't take kindly to being told that "inferior" races refused to acknowledge him as a god. Now these infernal Jews were undermining Rome's authority with their Jesus. Thus those Jews who rejected Jesus (and did so vehemently, according to the reports coming out of Israel and also the prisoner Paul's own testimony) did not want to be pegged by the Romans as being among Jesus' impudent followers—the "little Christs." And so they worked even harder to avoid Roman or Greek Christians.
All these reasons kept Ben firmly rooted to his spot. Joining his Gentile brothers' conversation could do them more harm than would come to his own bread. So the baker simply kept one ear tuned into the chatter from the fruit stand, quietly wondering which fellowship they were a part of, and if they would enjoy visiting Ben's little house church to exchange stories about Jesus.
Baker by day, pastor by night. It wasn't an easy lifestyle. And Ben's fellowship was unknown to Nero. It comprised mostly Jewish Christians, so it was best kept secret from the outside world. Discrimination was significantly worse toward Jewish Christians, and Jews in general, than it was toward low class Roman Christians. Of course, the Romans had no real right to complain. It was they who convinced Nero to uproot Ben from his hometown of Capernaum in Galilee and bring him all the way to Italy, just because they liked his bread. But then, he had no right to complain, either. God had been good to him, and during a brief stop in Ephesus on the way to Rome, Ben had met Helena, a gentle young woman from the small Hellenistic Jewish community in that city, who later became his wife.
Speaking of whom...
"You'll never sell anything if you don't attract the attention of customers."
Concentration broken, Ben cast a glance at the speaker. His wife stood in front of the booth, arms crossed, with a smile on her face and one eyebrow arched.
Ben chuckled. "Sorry. I was trying to...ah...eavesdrop." He gestured to the two men at the fruit stand.
"Ben, what have we told Keren about that?" Helena playfully wagged a finger at him.
"Don't do it unless your life depends on it," offered an approaching teenage boy, walking alongside a girl of similar age and hair and features similar to Helena's.
Helena rolled her eyes at the boy, but maintained her grin. "And how often does your life depend on the latest gossip, Zakkai?"
"She has a point, Zak," Ben said, trying to divert Helena's impending lecture away from himself.
The girl laughed at the expression of mock hurt that her friend now wore. "That's Dad's equivalent of the 'listen to your mother' that I get so often."
Zak crossed his arms. "And they say the husband's the head of the household." He glanced at Ben, who rewarded him with an eye roll of his own.
"True," said Helena, "but the woman is the neck, and she can turn the head any way she wants."
Ben responded with a sheepish grin and a chuckle. "I have to admit, she's right. Ahem. Anyway, what are you kids up to?"
"Following Mom around, mostly," Keren offered. "Checking up on you. Eavesdropping."
That last comment earned her a raised eyebrow from Helena.
"So just what were you trying so intently to hear?" Helena asked her husband.
"Just some news on the missionary, Paul. I've been anxious to go down and meet him, especially after everything we've heard. I've only seen the collateral from the letter he wrote to Rome's largest church, and I'd like to know exactly what it is he did write."
Helena busied herself rearranging the placement of Ben's baked goods. "So you want to try to get down to the docks, then?"
"That's crazy!" Zak exclaimed. "The Romans would be on you in a second. And you know how they treat Jews who wander into their territory."
"Not all Romans are that prejudiced, Zak," Ben countered.
"Oh, yes they are! May I remind you what they've done in Israel? Or how they frisk anyone they want whenever they feel like it? Or all the questions they ask, especially Jews and Africans? Take it from me, Ben. My family's been fighting the Roman occupation for years. Those guys are bad news."
"I'm still trying to figure out how you ended up in Rome," Keren commented.
Zak shrugged. "Inside job. My dad figured that if they could invade us, we could invade them."
"The only invading of Rome to be done will be done by the truth of Messiah," Ben said. "And I'm sure Paul has plenty of advice on how to make that happen effectively."
"So you're determined to see him, then?" Helena asked.
"Yes," Ben answered. "I'm going to go down tonight and try to see him."
"But Dad, we have a meeting tonight," Keren said.
Ben slapped his forehead. "Of course. I'd forgotten. Tomorrow night, then."
Helena shook her head. "I think you can fit both in. Go down to the docks just before sunset. Tomorrow's the Sabbath, and if you're wandering around after sunset, the guards will grow suspicious. But the meeting doesn't start until then anyway. You should have plenty of time."
"Yeah, if you leave...oh, I don't know, ten minutes ago?" Zak offered sarcastically.
"He's right, Helena," Ben said. "I would have to leave now, and even then, there's no guarantee I'll make it back before the meeting starts."
"So we start without you," Keren said. "It's not like we haven't done that before."
"I'll take care of everything," Helena promised. "I know how much you want to meet Paul. So just go. We'll take care of the booth."
Ben slipped out of the booth and hugged his wife. "What would I ever do without you? Any of you?"
Keren smiled. "We get it, Dad. Just go."
Ben gave his daughter a quick hug and turned to give his wife a kiss. "I'll try not to be late. My parents always hated it when one of us was late for the Sabbath."
"Here, take some bread for him," Helena suggested, slipping a rye loaf into a bag and handing it to Ben.
"Of course," Ben said, accepting the bag. "What's fellowship without the breaking of bread? Alright, I'll be back this evening, then."
With that, the baker turned and broke into a brisk walk in the direction of Rome's port.
Ben surveyed the houses that overlooked the port's largest pier. He'd heard that Paul was being kept in one of these houses. He figured he'd know exactly which one by the number of guards surrounding it.
Sure enough, finding the house wasn't too difficult. Getting in was the hard part. Ben exhaled slowly and strode up to the door of the tiny house.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Ben said, greeting the two burly Roman soldiers who stood on either side of the door. "Is the preacher Paul in today?"
The guards cast a glance at one another and fixed their stare back on the baker. "And what business is it of yours, Jew?" one guard demanded.
"Well, you see, I'm a baker, and I'm here delivering bread."
The other guard snorted. "The prisoner has already had his fill of bread today."
"Ah, yes, but he has never tasted the bread of Caesar's favorite baker," Ben bragged. It was no exaggeration. Ben had been granted the occasional audience with Caesar or his senate because of his skills.
The second guard laughed. "You? Yeah right! Caesar's favorite baker is a Jew? Is that why you shave your beard? To fit in at the palace?"
Ben ignored the comment, but his hand found its way to the stubble on his chin.
The other guard joined in his comrade's laughter. "Even if what you say is true, the prisoner does not deserve such fine bread." The man's voice dripped with sarcasm on the word 'fine.'
"Ah, but Paul is a very influential figure among Christians," Ben said. "If anyone can act as a spokesman on behalf of Rome to the Christians, it's him. Perhaps Caesar's hospitality is his way of showing Paul that Rome is not as terrible as we Jews have made it out to be." He smiled wryly at the guards. "Or perhaps you would like to explain to Nero why you turned away his finest baker, on a goodwill mission to help keep the peace between Rome and the Way sect of the Jews?"
The guards looked around nervously. "Be quick," said the first guard, moving aside to let the baker past.
The second guard opened the door and called inside, "The prisoner has another visitor."
Ben slipped inside and glanced around. There was only one window in the room, and it bathed about half the room in sunlight. A guard stood at a table on the other side of the room from the window. Behind the table sat a man who looked far older than his 60 years. His hair was almost white, and the shadows emphasized the wrinkles and scars on his face.
"Do not take all night," the guard at the door said gruffly. He closed the door, shutting Ben in with the third guard and the missionary.
Paul smiled warmly, rising from his chair to greet Ben. "And by whom do I have the honor of being visited?"
Ben suddenly felt nervous in the presence of this hero of the faith. Paul had obviously been through so much. Here before him was the man who had started dozens, if not hundreds, of churches throughout Asia Minor and the known world. He was street wise and spiritually wise. Though the baker couldn't understand why, when Paul was so human and so flawed, but Ben felt just as intimidated by this man as he had as a boy, nervously offering his lunch to Jesus' disciples to be used by his Lord to feed thousands. That act had gotten him an audience with Jesus Himself. It was a moment Ben would remember vividly all his life. As was this moment now.
Ben swallowed. "Uh...shalom. Greetings in the name of Messiah our Lord. My name is Ben. I'm a baker. I've come to offer you some bread from my bakery."
Paul kept smiling as he accepted the gift. "A fellow Jew. I don't see many of my people these days. Welcome to my humble abode, and thank you for the bread. Please, sit."
He gestured to a stool at the table. Ben mumbled a thank you and sat down, while Paul took his own seat. Ben glanced over the scrolls laid out on the desk.
Paul followed his gaze. "This is a letter to Timothy, a dear friend of mine who is a pastor in Ephesus," the missionary explained.
"I've heard only good things about Pastor Timothy," Ben said. "My wife is from Ephesus. She was very close to Eunice, Timothy's mother, and the two of them still keep in touch. Eunice is very proud of her son, isn't she?"
Paul chuckled. "Indeed she is. But she doesn't brag about him quite the way her mother does. Oh, you should hear Lois go on about her grandchildren."
Ben laughed. "I'm sure my wife will do the same thing when we become grandparents."
"How many children do you have?"
"One daughter, and she is the light of our lives. She's become very close to a young man we took in after his father died. Though neither of them will admit it, it's quite obvious that they like each other."
"Best keep an eye on them, then," Paul said.
Ben smiled. "Keren and Zak are very responsible. They are scarcely alone together, mainly because each is embarrassed by the thought of the other finding out how he or she feels." He chuckled at the awkwardness of the teens whenever they were alone together in a separate room of the house, or even outside in the street. "Do you have children?"
Paul shook his head. "My wife and I didn't plan on having children right away, which I admit is a little unusual for a Pharisee like I was at the time. When I became a Follower, my wife tried to persuade me to go back to the legalistic life that I once knew—a life that had put her in good standing in society. Of course, I refused. So she left. In spite of all my old teacher Gamaliel did to persuade her to stay with me, she packed up and went back to her parents' house. As far as I know she has never remarried. It is difficult enough for a woman to initiate a divorce, which she only accomplished with the help of former friends of mine in Jerusalem. It is even more difficult for the divorced woman to marry again."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Ben said. "I admit, I've often wondered if you had once been married. I know it's required to become a Pharisee or a rabbi."
Paul shrugged. "It's in the past. I don't even know if she's still alive. But whatever her status, I pray that she did come to recognize Jesus as Messiah."
Ben nodded in agreement.
"But enough about me," Paul said. "I have already written too much about my troubles, I think. I wouldn't be surprised if the churches are starting to complain about my complaining!" He chuckled. "Tell me, what brings you to my door?"
"Well, I'm a pastor myself," Ben explained in a low voice, glancing nervously at the guard. The man stood on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes were closed, and he seemed to be paying little, if any attention. Ben relaxed a bit and continued. "I had heard about the letter you wrote to one of the fellowships here in Rome, but I haven't had a chance to read it myself. I guess you could say, I've come here to learn."
Paul's smile grew until it almost touched his ears. "And I am always glad to teach, my friend."
For the next few hours, Ben remained completely transfixed on Paul's every word, soaking up as much wisdom as he could. He scarcely noticed when Paul got up to light a candle in the failing evening light. The sun was going down.
As the sun dipped behind the horizon, two figures darted in and out of the shadows dominating the alleys. Two young men with dry bundles of sticks headed toward the middle of town.
"Here," whispered one of the men to his partner. "If we start it here, it will catch all of the buildings for miles."
"Remind me why we're doing this again?" the second man asked.
"Nero wants to renovate the palace, and this is the only way he can make the room he needs. It's not for us to question his orders."
"But why are we dressed like civilians?" the second man complained. "We're members of the imperial guard. There is no honor in this."
"How much more honor will there be if Rome finds out Caesar burned down his own city, and we were the instruments he chose to do so?" the first man snapped. "Just light your torch and throw it in that window over there."
The second man produced flint and iron, striking one against the other until enough sparks were created to light the torches. Then, both men tossed the torches into a nearby open window and fled as smoke, flames, and panicked screams began to dominate the night.
AN: This chapter contains a lot of history, I know. In an effort to keep the setting of the story fairly simple for young minds, the creators of Storykeepers did little to explore the backgrounds of the characters. What information they did provide I've simply expanded upon, making assumptions based on what I know from church history and first-century Judaism. As for Paul being divorced, that is a theory that not all Christians agree upon. He could also be widowed. But since he was a "Pharisee of Pharisees," he had to have been married at some point. Needless to say, I've taken a little bit of historical license here. Paul's past relationships are mainly speculation on my part.
The reference to the "Way sect of Judaism" is from the first few chapters of Acts. Early Christians called themselves Followers of the Way, and were considered a sect among the Jews. The word Christian was first given to the Followers in Antioch. It was intended to be an insult, as it meant "little Christ," but the Followers took it as a compliment, and the name stuck. Similar instances have occurred since then, when people try to find insulting names for Christians, which Christians then gladly adopt to describe themselves. The term Jesus Freak is another example of this.
As for the fictional characters, Ben's backstory and name are completely canon. Helena's background is a little less clear, though it is implied that she is a Hellenistic Jew. Zak's father and uncle were zealots (called Zionists today). The name Keren means 'horn' or 'ray of light.' Originally her name was Kristin, a name I'd assigned her years ago as it was meant to be a transliteration of Christian. But I changed it to a Jewish name in order to keep it historically relevant.