OVADYA – A SLAVE

Slavery in my time was like a last resort for most. Those who had special talents or abilities had better lives to look forward to. Imagine, standing on an auction block, waiting for the highest bid It is humiliating and pushes your self-worth into the ground. Try to think of yourself being a piece of meat or worse yet, something of very little or no value at all. As time passes, you become used to your position, but still your very existence is reliant on someone else to feed and clothe you, in exchange for those special abilities. I was born into slavery. My mother gave birth to me, knowing that I had no future to look forward to other than serving others. My father would never have his own land to work. He would forever be a victim of his circumstances, just as I would. I’m not complaining. I have a decent place to live and food to eat, I’m just at the lowest rung on the ladder of humanity.

My job is to wash the feet of my master, his family and any guests that come and go throughout the day. I know you don’t understand the idea of washing feet as I do. You complain when you have to wash your hands more often than you like. Sandals were worn to protect the feet, but still they were exposed to the dirt of the city, the desert and the barnyard. As you can imagine, feet need washing every day and sometimes even more. Remember, I’m talking about the metropolis of Jerusalem, where people threw their garbage out the windows and onto the streets. Where animals roamed freely and were left to their own natural use for the roads. The road to Jerusalem was lined with rocky terrain, sand from the desert and dirt being carried in from all over the known world.

My job requires ignoring your senses and proceeding in spite of them. It isn’t just a matter of washing the dirt off but getting between the toes and under toenails to remove the grime. Feet get calloused, blistered and broken. It’s not something you ever get used to, but I know that being a slave requires me not to think too much about things like that. My own hands have grown rough and dry from having them in water all day long. My nose is exposed to all kinds of smells. I get no thanks, because I am a slave. I desire the chance to prove myself in other ways but have been condemned to this life and must learn to accept it. Anyone who would actually want my job, would be considered a fool. No one wants to give up their freedom.

A young man came to the city this week. At first, I thought he was just another religious fanatic trying to change the world. This isn’t an unusual occurrence, but his words were different. He gave us hope for our desperate condition. His words struck a chord. He related to everyone he spoke to. He even spoke of himself as being on a mission to take away the sin that haunts each of us. There was something about him that made me feel special – as though he was speaking directly to me. He gave me comfort hat this world was not my final resting place. I noticed his willingness to reach out to help others without expecting anything in return. It was as if he was walking in my shoes. He knew my plight. He had experienced everything I’ve lived. He knew the pain and anguish this life has to offer and yet he gave me hope for a better future – one that would set me free from my bondage.