ענינא
Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, ‘Lord, are you going to wash my feet?’ Jesus answered, ‘You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.’ Peter said to him, ‘You will never wash my feet.’ Jesus answered, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.’ Simon Peter said to him, ‘Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!’ Jesus said to him, ‘One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.’ For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, ‘Not all of you are clean.’
After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, ‘Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.’
(John 13:3-15)
She watched as the men argued about how to carry out the Lord’s instructions. Who should be washed first? Who should do the washing? Were they supposed to have a complete bath beforehand?
True, ordinary people usually washed their own feet. Even if they did not bother with any kind of bathing, regularly.
She wrinkled her nose.
But they had surely seen this done many times before, she thought to herself.
Feet which had trod the grimy roads of Judea—filthy with dust and waste and animal droppings—such feet had to be washed. It was a dirty job, and inconvenient. But necessary.
She remembered that evening when they ate their last supper together. How Jesus rose from the table and removed his outer robe to keep it clean. She had carefully folded it for him, then set it aside.
He wrapped the towel around his waist. Like a slave would do before kneeling at the feet of his master. Or as a woman might do for her husband.
The scene was indelible in her mind: their Lord and teacher, stripped to the waist, on his knees washing his disciples’ feet.
Stunned. Silent. Shamed. Confused. All they could do was accept his humble service. Until he came to Peter, of course.
She shook her head at the memory. Simon Peter. He always felt he had to take charge.
Rising, she crossed the room and picked up the towel.
“Here, let me do this for you,” she said.
The men turned to her with shocked expressions.
Scandalized, Peter spoke forcefully.
“Woman, you cannot wash our feet!”
“Why on earth not, Simon?”
“Because … because we are men!”
And we’re not supposed to touch each other, even though the Teacher had made no distinction, she thought. She could still feel Jesus’ gentle hands caressing her tired feet.
Casting the towel aside, she left the house, closing the door firmly behind her.
As she sat on the ground beside the entrance, she felt her eyes welling up. Whether from sorrow or umbrage, she was unsure.
The door swung open, then closed again. Thomas came and sat beside her.
“Ahot …” he began.
“Why must you always call me ‘sister’? I have a name, you know.”
Thomas smiled.
“Anina,” he said. “My beloved Anina.”
She smiled back.
“I call you ‘sister’ out of respect. After all, you are older than me.”
She scowled.
“By a few minutes!”
She teasingly punched his shoulder.
“I love you, too, Thomas.”
“Come back inside.”
She shook her head.
“No, really. Come back inside.”
He took her hand, lifted her to her feet, and led her through the doorway.
There stood Peter, a towel around his waist.
“Anina,” he said. “Please, let me wash your feet first.”