To:
Heather Lazare
From:
H Joseph Horacek, Jr.
Dear
Ms. Lazare,
I listened to an MP3 recording your
presentation “Finding and Working with a Freelance Editor,” at the 2016 SFWC
and reviewed your outstanding background and credentials. I will be attending
the 2017 SFWC next week and hope I will have the opportunity to meet you in
person there, though I am sure you will be very busy.
I am interested in retaining your services
as an editor for my recently completed manuscript of my first novel, “The Merchant
of Arimathea.”
Below are the first 20 pages to help you
determine if this is a project that you might be interested in “macro-editing.”
The Merchant of Arimathea
Prologue
The angelic creature appeared before him, bathed in
blinding light.
“Who are you?” The old man called out.
“I am Gavri'el.”
Then he was the angel.
“Your prayer has been heard, Elisheba.”
Chapter 1
The old man woke with a
start. He was alone. The smell of grain hung heavily in the air, Blurry beams
of light pierced the darkness. He tried to move, but something restrained him,
making a clinking sound. He looked down at his arms and legs but saw only a
blur. He could feel the hard, heavy metal links, however, and knew what they
were.
I am locked in chains!
His heart pounded. He
was terrified, confused. His mouth was dry, his skin hot. He saw halos
surrounding spots of light so bright they were painful to look at. His head
throbbed to a loud pounding in his ears. He felt a pain; an urgent need to
urinate. He tried to but could not. The chains that bound him rattled from the
violent shaking of his body. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what
happened. He could remember nothing. Then he felt a familiar movement, a
rhythmic rocking.
I am on a boat.
The old man heard the
sound of boots descending the stairs into the hull of the ship. Someone was
approaching. “Ah, you are awake at last!” a friendly voice spoke. “I heard you
mumbling in your sleep. A bad dream, perhaps? I brought you something to
eat. It should help you feel better. You have been asleep for at least three or
four days with no nourishment! You are obviously alive which means I won the
bet!”
The smell of food turned his stomach. “Water!” his
voice croaked.
“I have some wine, will that do?”
The taste of wine filled
his gaping mouth. The moisture revived his speech. “What happened? Where am I?
Why am I in chains?”
“Do you recognize me?” The voice
asked.
“No, the old man answered, “Who are you?”
“I am the captain. I
came down to personally check on you and bring you some food. You knew my
grandfather, Daniel, very well. Do you remember him?”
“No.”
“You once lied about him
to Nicodemus when you were in Jerusalem with Yeshua.”
“I don’t remember. Who
are they?”
“Do you remember your
name?”
“No, what is my name?”
"Wait here and I will send someone more familiar
to you.”
The captain’s footsteps ascended the stairs and in a
few moments footsteps descended again, this time lighter, slower, more
tentative.
“Yosef?" A thin, frail, soft voice called out. “Do
you recognize me?”
“I can’t see you or anything.” The old man called to
the voice in the darkness, then begged, “Is my name Yosef?”
“Yes.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Miriam.”
“Do I know you?”
“Yes, Yosef, we have known each other for a very long
time.”
“What happened? Why am I in chains? Why am I on a
boat?”
“If you don’t remember then you are blessed.”
“Blessed? Why? Do you know what happened to me?”
“I am forbidden to speak about it with you until we are
both interrogated in Rome by Flavius Josephus.”
“Do I know him?” Yosef asked.
“You knew him when he was a small child. You used to
call him the Little Pomegranate Kicker!”
He heard a quiet laugh.
It sounded familiar … I know that laugh! “Are you my wife?” He asked.
She laughed again.
He remembered a feeling.
Somewhere … some time long ago.
“No, Yosef, we are not
married. You never asked me!”
A deep, powerful voice
boomed down into the space from the top of the stairs. "Time's up, you
must come back up on deck now!"
“No, not yet! Don’t leave me! Tell me what is going on!
Please!”
He felt a light hand patting his chained arm. “That is
the Centurion. I must go now, Yosef.”
He heard her light footsteps ascending out of the dark,
dusty grain bin and she was gone.
The fat wooden
goose-shaped vessel waddled westward toward the harbor at Valletta Bay, on the
island of Melita. Fully trimmed she sailed as close to the wind as she was able
as she leaned far over and strained to maintain her course. Tacking back and
forth across a stiff southwesterly breeze she had thus inched her way for weeks
across the Mediterranean Sea. The goose came about a final time and slid into
the shelter of the harbor. As the crew quickly dropped the mainsail and
foresail, she slowed and glided to a stop. A many-oared tugboat intercepted and
towed the heavy ship to the wharf until the hull of the great boat gently
kissed the weathered sun-bleached planks of the dock. As the crew secured the
dock lines, they had accomplished - and survived - another leg of the voyage.
The captain granted all passengers
immediate shore leave. As there had been no sight of land since leaving Crete
two weeks before, all were desperate for the sensation of placing their feet on
something that was not in perpetual motion.
The Centurion counted the ragged, dingy survivors as
they scurried down the gangplank to shore. The old woman was petite with brown,
calloused hands and hair as white as lamb’s fleece. Her face, deeply etched had
been sculpted over time from countless smiles and worries. The younger woman,
evidently the mother of the five children, had long dark hair that parted in
the middle to frame a vigilant face. The oldest child, a girl of perhaps
thirteen, was sturdy, her arms appeared strong from labor, her skin darkened
from working under the desert sun. The mop of thick curly hair on her head
looked unruly. Her eyes, dark like her mother’s, kept a constant watch over her
family. She appeared ready to fight anyone who threatened them. The younger
children, small and pale, peered about with the eyes of so many frightened
fawns after getting their first glimpse of violence and death. Two women,
and five children, two boys and three girls … seven. Lastly, the stooped
frail frame of ancient man trudged down the plank to the wharf, his long white beard,
and wisps of hair fluttered in the onshore breeze. Eight, the Centurion
noted. That is all of them. He had no concerns about the prisoners
trying to escape on the small island. There is no place for them to go.
The prisoners were astonished as a group
of friendly Melitean Islanders swept them from under the watchful eye of the
Centurion and led them to a small, though well-appointed, villa. The cozy
estate near the seashore served as a part-time residence for the governor of
Melita.
At first wary of the unexpected hospitality, the prisoners did not long
resist the delicious food, hot baths, and new linen clothing so generously
offered. For weeks, they had been chained and unwashed. The bread brought on
board at Crete had long since turned stale. Now they inhaled the fresh hot food
offered like a lungful of long-awaited oxygen.
Once
clean, fed, clothed, and rested, the time came to meet their benefactor. A
servant came and fetched only the guests’ patriarch, leaving the rest to their
leisure. As the white-bearded old man followed the servant he could not help
but wonder if this was how a sacrificial lamb felt while being led to the
slaughter; only well fed, clean and content animals were fit for pilgrims to
hand over to the temple priests in Jerusalem to serve as burnt offerings to
Adonai. Suddenly he remembered. That is all gone now: the sacrificial
animals, the temple, the priests, even Jerusalem -- all are no more. There was
a war … a terrible war.
The servant delivered the old man
into a large room that looked like it had been the venue for many banquets,
meetings, and events of various social or political importance. The chief of
the island sat at the head of a large dining table. He wore a long, powder blue
silk robe, his face and head were cleanly shaved, his arms outstretched in
welcome. He was a stout, cheerful man who had clearly enjoyed many a rich meal
in this banquet hall. A small white dog on his lap stood and barked earnestly.
"No, Issa!” The robed man scolded.
The tiny warrior quieted, as her master stuffed her into his sleeve.
‘Issa,' the old man pondered, then another scrap of
memory materialized ... ‘Adonai’s Salvation'…as spoken in India
... in Hebrew, ‘Yeshua.'
"Beautiful, isn't she?” Her proud
owner doted. "Her family goes back more than five hundred years here. They
are the ‘Canis Melitaeus,' also known as the ‘Ancient Dog of Melita.'"
The dog lover chuckled as he scratched
his tiny protector behind her ears. "I am often accused of loving her more
than life itself! They are fearless but gentle,” The diminutive canine’s ears
flicked up pointedly as if she knew her master was talking about her. He
chuckled fondly at her astuteness, then added,” Emperor Claudius had one he
named Caradog."
The old man stood frozen, silently
dumbfounded. Another scrap of his past flashed into view. Caradog … the
Celtic name of a defeated Silurian King.
The mysterious Melitean gestured for his
guest to sit in a chair at the head of the table. As the old man reluctantly
complied, wine and fruit appeared on the table between them.
"Welcome to our humble little island
of Melita!" the smiling host announced, again raising a corpulent arm in
welcome. "Here all seafaring visitors are our guests: slaves, masters,
prisoners Jailers, sailors, merchants, or soldiers. All have earned our goodwill
and respect for enduring the dangers and hardships of crossing the sea to
arrive in our midst.
"I am Publius, the island's
governor," he continued, "and your host on behalf of the people of
Melita for as long as you stay with us. I understand that you are called Yosef–
Yosef of Arimathea – is that correct?"
Yosef stared silently at his host. He
attempted to focus his vision through the opaque cataracts of his ancient gray
eyes.
Arimathea … ashes …
nothing left. As he tried to fix his
sight on the governor's face, all he could make out was a blurred outline. How
does he know my name?
The governor continued, “The young
mother, Michal and five children are also of Arimathea. Are they relatives of
yours?”
Yosef remained mute.
"One of your companions is Miriam
of Nazareth. Would, perchance, she be the mother of a certain Yeshua
from Nazareth?"
Yosef sat up as straight as his arthritic
spine would allow as a sudden jolt of fear shot through his body. Who is he?
How can he know?
Publius gave a look of sympathetic
understanding. "I understand both your surprise and alarm at my interest
in you and your band of fellow seafaring prisoners of Rome. Why would I, a
Roman Gentile, have any interest in a few Jewish rebels – an old man, an old
woman, a young mother, and five small children? The lot of you would hardly
pose a risk to a house fly, let alone the Roman Empire!"
The governor chuckled. He had a gleam in
his eyes as if he was about to open a box full of surprises that were far
beyond the listener's wildest expectations. "Perhaps if I told you my
story, you would understand why I am interested in yours. Please indulge me for
a brief while. Soon all will be clear to you."
Yosef did not speak, but
sat and offered his wary attention, remaining mute, skeptical, almost
panicking; he remembered his companions now: Miriam, Michal, and her
children. He now feared for their safety. He did not fear death. I have
seen enough of life. He thought. He was old and tired, but the women and
children's welfare were his responsibility still, and he had vowed long ago not
to rest his bones in the ground until his wards were safe. His Roman guard had
kept him apart from the other prisoners; isolated in the dark hold of the ship
with the cargo. Still, he had occasionally heard the laughter of the children
wafting through holes in the deck over his head, and this had brought him some
amount of comfort. What does this opulent Melitean Roman want? Yosef
wondered. Of what consequence is our fate to him?
Publius Looked at Yosef as though he knew
his every thought. "I can see it will not be easy for me to earn your
trust. To prove my sincerity I am willing to reveal to you an important secret
about myself, a secret no one on this island knows, and I wish to keep it that
way!” Publius beckoned the frail, stooped old man to come closer. "Your
eyes are dim and cloudy. Come closer until you see me clearly."
Yosef reluctantly obeyed, edging closer
until the two old men stood nearly nose-to-nose. He peered with his tired, aged
eyes until he was finally able to focus his hazy vision on the face of his
host.
"Now tell me who you see before
you," the mysterious governor commanded gently.
In a blinding instant, it all came back.
"You are Pilate," Yosef
stammered, "Pontius Pilate!"
Yosef stood paralyzed. Can’t move! His
mind raced. Jerusalem... Pilate …. from a balcony…‘It’s time you understood
what your masters do for you!’ …… screaming and shouting … people climbing
over each other … trying to escape… a girl struck across the face with a club…
blood gushing from her broken nose… arms around her… must protect her…
the wounded … begging for help… Yeshua … through the Genna gate ... crucified.
"Yes, my old friend,” the governor nodded, interrupting the old man’s
nightmarish reverie, “but I would be
indebted to you if you would not refer to me by that name again. Don't be
alarmed,” Publius tried to reassure his dumbfounded guest, "I harbor no ill will towards you or your
companions. In truth, I am in more sympathy with your situation than you would
ever guess. You see, I am a fugitive from Roman justice
myself!”
Yosef was not reassured. He had an
impulse to run out the door and flee. He knew, however, that this would be a
futile effort, even if his feeble legs could have carried him somewhere. How
is this possible? The ancient prisoner of war pondered this unfathomable
situation. He was dizzy from the shock of recognizing the Roman governor of
Judea whom Tiberius Caesar had executed some forty years past.
The former prefect
chuckled. “Allow me to explain how I came to be here. It was about three years
after I ordered the crucifixion of your great
nephew, Yeshua of Nazareth," Publius began, "when Vitellius, the Roman governor of Syria, accused me of
using methods that were too severe in handling the suppression of a small
Samaritan uprising.
“Vitellius had employed a false prophet to work the
Samaritans into a frenzy by convincing them that the Ark of the Covenant was
buried in Mount Gerizim. A large group of faithful Samaritans assembled
there at a village named Tirathana. Before the
crowd could ascend the mountain, Vitellus’s men butchered them. He then
reported that I had given the order, and my men had butchered them. This was a
bold-faced lie! That lie was my downfall. Vitellius sent me to Rome to explain my alleged “actions,” regarding this
incident to Tiberius. As Tiberius greatly favored Vitellius, my
prospects for a long life were not good. I expected Tiberius to extend to me
the courtesy of allowing me to fall on my sword, and thus to die with the honor
that befitted a Roman soldier and officer.
“On the way to Rome, the ship stopped
here just as yours now has. This remote, isolated island
struck me as a carefree place too small for Rome to bother with, and it seemed
to enjoy a rather independent yet prosperous economy. I thought at the time
that I would never pass up an opportunity to live in such a place.
“By the time I arrived in Rome to face
the wrath of Emperor Tiberius, he had
conveniently died, leaving me at a loss for anyone to judge me. I seized the
opportunity to escape and return here to
live a new life under a new name.”
Yosef’s
mind was back in Jerusalem begging Pilate to stop the crucifixion. “I will
give you anything you wish; I will make you rich beyond your wildest
dreams." Pilate scoffing, "I am already rich beyond my wildest
dreams, and it would do me little good to
be richer if I ended up executed, too!”
Publius continued the account to explain
his unlikely appearance on the island of Melita. “I still had some connections
in Rome who graciously helped me to obtain
a position as the Governor of the Island of Melita under a new identity. As a
province of Sicily, Melita is only indirectly subject
to Roman rule, answering only to the government
of the praetor of Sicily, an elected
magistrate of that island. My family
connections, together with a sizable sum
of coin to Sicily's praetor gained me the
title of the Romans' ‘Chief Man on the Island of Melita!’ Here I have lived since – a
quiet and productive life of self-imposed exile.”
Yosef was not listening to Publius.
“May I at least have the body, before it gets dark and the start of the Feast
of Unleavened Bread? I am his next of kin. I have the duty and right to bury
him. My petition for Yeshua’s body is legal under Torah and Roman law.”
Publius finished his story, in spite of
the compromised attention of his audience. “There have been ample business
opportunities available to me. The inhabitants of Melita are famous for their
skill in manufacturing a kind of fine linen from the cotton grown on the island, such as you and your party are now wearing. These
‘Vectis Melitase’ are in high demand in
Rome. I have accumulated a sizable fortune taxing the exchange of these and
other commodities traded here.”
Yosef was placing the body of his great
nephew in his own tomb. Early morning...a sharp rapping on the front
door...Caiaphas and the Temple guards... “Yosef of Arimathea, you are charged
with stealing the body of the crucified Yeshua of Nazareth from your tomb
during the night.”
Publius rambled on, seemingly oblivious to
his guest’s state of shock. Yosef no longer listened to Governor Publius. He
was lost in memories now flooding his consciousness with vivid details.
“You’ll have to admit we
shared some good times in the old days,” Publius sighed nostalgically. "I
haven't forgotten the entertainment that you provided to visiting dignitaries,
mostly paid from your purse. Your vintage of wine from Arimathea was legendary!
Remember the party we threw for the Magi of Babylon?" The governor
chuckled, his belly jiggling as he wiped the tears from his eyes. His demeanor suddenly took on a serious tone. “I
may be able to be of assistance to you
and your companions,” Publius offered. “Would I be correct in assuming you would prefer not to reach your final
destination, that is, the court of Rome?”
Yosef of Arimathea suddenly startled. He
was back in Melita staring at Publius. The old man remained mute, still
astonished by the impossibility of encountering the one who had condemned his
great nephew to death. So many years ago...now here on this tiny, remote
island? I thought Pilate was dead! His failing eyesight did not permit him to scrutinize
his unlikely benefactor by looking deeply into his eyes as he spoke.
“In return for this assistance,” Publius added, “I ask only one favor from my old friend, the Nobilis
Decurion. I want you to tell me whether your great
nephew, Yeshua, was alive or dead when you recovered him from the
crucifixion that I ordered, and laid him in your family tomb and what happened
afterward."
Yosef inhaled slowly, deeply, and exhaled a long slow sigh. “To address your
questions would require telling a long
story, that I am not sure I remember."
"Tell it," Publius insisted,
"We will see what you remember. I am almost as old as you are. I am sure
you appreciate the preoccupation of old men
such as we are with making sense out of the story of our lives. At the time, I
paid little attention to what I thought was just another odd Jewish fanatic
from Nazareth. I have since become aware that a larger story that has now
become an important part of history captured me in its net. I have no purpose
in asking this other than to know where my life story fits into the history of
those times. I want to know what is true. What to believe."
Yosef thought of the words of Miriam on the boat. If
you do not remember, then you are blessed. He did not want to be blessed;
he wanted to remember. "I don’t know if I can tell you what you want
to know,” Yosef declared. “I cannot say for you what is true or what to
believe. I can try to remember what I saw, and you can decide for yourself. To
tell you the story you wish to hear, I would have to begin some years before
the crucifixion."
Publius leaned back in his chair as if he
was prepared to listen however long it was necessary. "Begin as early as
you wish. I will owe you a great debt for this favor."
Yosef again took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. The last person he would have guessed would be his audience was
the former prefect of Judea who now
called himself Publius. He would not tell
it to strike a bargain for Publius’ help. He would tell it because he needed
to.
Chapter 2
I should begin many years ago, with a
funeral. It was several weeks after the death and burial of Yosef bar Jacob
that I finally was able to arrive in Nazareth and visit his burial site. By the
time I arrived, the family was in the midst of mourning. I came as soon as I
received word, but the journey from Jerusalem took the better part of a week,
and custom dictated burial of the body immediately. I missed the funeral and
was not able to participate in the procession. I also missed the common meal of
condolence.
The wife of the deceased was my niece,
Miriam, the daughter of my brother, Joachim. As her next of kin, I was
responsible for her welfare as well as that of her children.
Yosef’s death had been sudden and
unexpected. The word I received was that he died from an accident involving a
scaffold while working on a large new mosaic for a wealthy homebuilder in
Sepphoris.
***
“Yes, Sepphoris is a
beautiful city!” Publius interrupted. “As you know I used to live only thirty miles from Sepphoris, on
the coast at Caesarea. I remember often hearing it referred to then as The
Jewel of the Galilee. Once Herod Antipas decided to make it his capital, Sepphoris
grew quickly as he poured obscene amounts of money rebuilding the city in that
modern, lavish Greco-Roman style. But client Rulers needed to build things so
everyone would know who the ruler was!" Publius shook his head sadly. “It
was my job, then, to keep the people, who were so shamelessly taxed to pay for
such extravagances, from rebelling!” He shrugged. “Well, at least rebuilding Sepphoris kept Yosef
employed.”
"Yes," Yosef retorted.
"Rebuilding Sepphoris kept Yosef employed so he could earn money to pay
his taxes to fund rebuilding Sepphoris!"
Publius shrugged again. “Welcome to the
modern world, the Pax Romana, the “Roman Peace.” That is how it
works!"
Yosef appeared as if he was about to reply,
then paused, as if thinking better of it and returned to the telling of his
story.
***
Yosef had often worked in Sepphoris, as it
was only a five-mile walk from the Nazarene Essene encampment loosely referred
to as, “Nazareth.” He was in much demand in Sepphoris for his crafts of
carpentry, masonry, and the creation of large mosaics.
I had been in Jerusalem when the news of
Yosef's death arrived, having only recently returned there from a year at sea
trading tin from Britannia and silks from India and the Far East. It had been a
long and arduous, but highly profitable, excursion. When I learned of Yosef's
tragic demise, I excused myself from my duties at the Sanhedrin and came with
four hired guards and six horses. It had not been easy to employ professional
guards on short notice, and I had to pay a premium price. Traveling alone along
bandit-infested roads, however, was not an option. It was thus two weeks after
the funeral that I was finally able to pay my respects to the family, and to
offer what help I could. I arrived with my guards on a Friday afternoon, the
day of preparation for the Sabbath.
My niece, Miriam,
greeted me with her seven children, spaced roughly two years apart in age. The
eldest was Yeshua, a young man of thirteen. His younger brothers were Jacob,
age ten, Jude, six, Simeon, three, and the youngest was Yose, age two. His
sisters, also younger, were Marta, age eight and Rut, age four.
The family talked all at once trying to
piece together the details of the tragedy. The resulting story was that it was
because of the falling of a scaffold while he was at work on a mosaic that
Yosef was critically injured. A messenger from Sepphoris stopped at the small
workshop that Yosef had built next to the house. He found Yeshua there working
on a yoke. When he informed Yeshua that his father had been critically injured
when the scaffold fell, they came together to the house to break the news to
Miriam.
"I wanted to go to Yosef
immediately,” Yeshua complained, “But mother made me stay home to take care for
the younger children until she could return. She took Jacob with her to
Sepphoris.”
“No
one knew at first how seriously Yosef was injured, “Miriam reported, “but by
the time Jacob and I arrived Yosef had died. We brought his body back to
Nazareth. The next day, we laid him to rest with his fathers."
Yosef’s brother Clopas spoke up. “In spite
of all of the efforts of my family and the neighbors to comfort Miriam and the
children they remain overcome with grief!”
"Yosef is gone." Miriam
lamented. "He was a good husband and father. We will all miss him. He died
before we could speak to him or hear his farewell blessing." Miriam became
tearful. "He had only one injury, a small wound on his chest no bigger
than a scratch as if something sharp had punctured his chest. There was nothing
else, not even a bruise. I don’t understand how he could die from such a small
wound!” She buried her face in her hands and wept.
I gently touched the shoulder of my
bereaved niece. She took her hands from her face and looked up at me with the
eyes of a helpless and bewildered child. "Miriam," I murmured.
"May I speak to you privately?"
“Yes, of course.” She said. The room emptied
until we were alone and she closed the door. We spoke only briefly. After we
had completed our private discussion, Miriam walked to the door, opened it and
called, "Yeshua, please come in here!" As he came into the room, he
gave us a curious look. He seemed to know well the tone of his mother's voice
and the look on her face when she was about to make a major announcement.
"Yeshua, your great-uncle is now
your father. Obey him as you did Yosef.” Miriam’s voice was firm. “Tomorrow
afternoon you may take your Sabbath walk with him to show him the tomb.”
“The next afternoon, after returning with the family
from the small synagogue in Nazareth, I followed Yeshua as he silently led the
way up the path to the tomb: a winding, dusty, narrow footpath that snaked up
to limestone ridges. These rose steeply around the secluded encampment like the
edge of a shell.
I left my bodyguards at the house to tend to the
horses. We would not need them as long as we remained in Nazareth. They would
again be on duty when we left Nazareth to travel again via the bandit-infested
highways back to Jerusalem.
Yosef had carved the
family tomb himself from the limestone so plentiful in the slopes of the hill
that rose some five hundred feet above the Nazarene encampment. In the grave,
Yosef's body lay on a stone slab, washed, anointed with oils and perfumes, and
wrapped in white linen. The corpse would rest there for several years until
only a skeleton remained. A second funeral would lay the bones in a small stone
box in the tomb. There they would stay, to wait for the company of other family
members as future funeral processions eventually carried them up the same
narrow winding path to the limestone hilltop.
After visiting the tomb, we sat in
silence outside and gazed across the landscape that sprawled beneath us. The
encampment of Nazareth lay in one of the most beautiful places in the Galilee.
You could not see any of this view of the surrounding country from the
settlement, as it was in a basin; but when you climbed to the edge of this
bowl, you could see thirty miles in three directions.
I tried to think of something to say to
break the silence. “I can see the road that I arrived on yesterday afternoon,”
I offered, as I pointed towards the foot of the hill.
“Yes, the Via Maris, the ‘Way of the
Sea,’ Yeshua added. “ It is one of the major Roman roads in Judea and the
Galilee. To the north, it connects Damascus with the Mediterranean seaports. To
the south, it follows the coast all the way to Egypt.”
I was sure Yeshua knew I was familiar
with this major Roman highway, but he seemed to be trying to make conversation.
I tried to keep the conversation going. “One thing you have to give the Romans
credit for, they build a good road.”
A look of contempt darkened Yeshua’s
countenance. “Yes, with our money! They tax us at forty percent. That is why
Yosef had to start working in carpentry and mosaics - to earn extra money to
pay the taxes. Otherwise, they would have taken our land. It’s not possible to
keep the land and feed a family when they take forty percent of everything you
grow.”
“He must have been gone a lot working,” I
surmised.
"Yes, he was."
Life in Galilee is difficult. Many families have lost their land because they
were unable to pay the taxes. There is a lot of starvation here. Most families
lose half of their children before they reach five years of age. Yosef promised
me, ‘We will not lose our land, nor even one of our children!' He worked hard
to provide for our family and counted on me to take his place when he had to be
away working. When I got older, he started taking me with him and teaching me
his trade. By then Jacob was old enough to take over helping mother with the
younger children. On the Sabbath, Yosef and I always took a walk together, just
the two of us. That is when we had our talks. He would try his best to answer
the questions that I had saved for him during the week. He taught me a lot of
history sitting right here. You can see where a lot of it happened. To the
north, you can see the plateaus on which the tribes of Zebulun and Naphtali
lived, and the mountains of Lebanon, and that's Mount Hermon over there."
The mountain he indicated spanned the border between
Syria and Lebanon. Towering above them all,
it raised its glistening white snowy peak in majestic splendor three thousand
feet above the lower slopes.
Yeshua pointed out the coast of Tyre, the
famous Phoenician seaport destroyed by
Alexander the Great, and beyond the coast, the blue waters of the Mediterranean
to the West. “That’s where Elijah competed with and exposed the priests of
Baal.” He said, indicating the long ridge of Mount Carmel running down to the
sea.
Every inch of the landscape that
stretched before us was abundant with history. To the south, there was Megiddo
and the whole Plain of Esdraelon, the site of many of the most historic battles
of Israel. There was also Tabor and the hills of Gilboa where King Saul committed suicide
when the Philistines defeated the Israelites. Mount Ebal and the land of Shechem lay in the background with the
uplands of Gilead and Samaria. To the east, one could look across the Sea of
Galilee and the Jordan Valley to the mountainous regions beyond.
Yeshua pointed to the horizon, shielding
his eyes with his hand against the setting sun. “To the West, you can just make
out the sailing ships on the Mediterranean. You can only see them at this time
of day when the sun is going down.”
“Yeshua,” I began slowly and deliberately, trying to choose my words carefully.
"You will be returning with me to Jerusalem. Now that Yosef is no longer
with us, I will be taking care of you. Your mother tells me that you have
always loved to visit Jerusalem for Passover. Now you will be able to live in
this beautiful and most holy city, and you will not have to walk for a week
anymore to see the temple. You will be
living just a stone’s throw away from
it!” Yeshua was silent.
"I'm sure you know that your
mother spent several years of her childhood living in the Temple compound. She loved her experiences and
the excellent education she received there. I understand you are quite the
scholar for one of your age. In Jerusalem, you will find more students with
whom to debate the scriptures than in
this little country encampment of farmers."
Yeshua silently traced a circle in the
dirt between his feet with a small stick. He would not defy his elder, but I
could see he was not happy about this announcement.
After a moment, I tried to speak for him.
“I’m sure that you are worried about your mother and your brothers and sisters. They will be all right. I
will see that they have whatever they need, and your father’s brother Clopas
will keep an eye on them. It is best that
they remain here in Nazareth to look
after the crops.”
I reached out and placed my hand gently on
Yeshua’s shoulder. "I’m sure your cousin Yochanan will be excited to see
you. You and Yochanan are practically the
same age, and I know you are good friends,” I offered.
“Yochanan has been living with the
Essenes in the desert near Ein Gedi since
Uncle Zechariah died,” Yeshua answered as
if to remind me.
“Well, we’ll just have to go into the desert where he lives and pay him a visit.” I
stood up and tried to sound cheerful. “The sun has set. Let's head back to your
house. We will leave in the morning for Jerusalem. I must be back soon to tend
to some urgent business. There is a caravan that passed by on its way to
Jerusalem yesterday that we can catch up with.”
Yeshua dropped the stick in the dust.
"I have to be about my Abba’s business. I must discuss this with my mother.” The lad rose from where he had been
sitting and led the way along the narrow path snaking down the ridge into the pear
shaped basin that nestled the tiny secluded collection of dwellings.
That evening we ate a simple Sabbath meal of grain, olives, and
grapes. We also enjoyed wine made from deep blue grapes grown on trellises on
the southern facing slopes. The jars for storing the wine were Galilean-made,
milled from local chalk-like soft limestone.
During dinner, Yeshua tried to discuss
with his mother my intention to take him with me to Jerusalem, but she had little
to say about it. I could see that he sensed a struggle inside of her. Yeshua’s
thoughts were easy to read on his face, which always seemed to express his
every thought and emotion. I knew he could sense that his mother wanted him to
leave quickly. He also was aware of her great difficulty in letting him go, the
holding back of a flood of tears. Yeshua seemed to know his mother well enough
to detect that there were important things she had not told him, and about
which he must not ask.
I was sure Yeshua felt he was abandoning his mother and his
family. With Yosef often gone in Sepphoris working, Yeshua, as the oldest of
the seven children, had provided critical assistance to his mother in helping
her care for his younger children siblings. During the time he grew up, his
mother was usually pregnant and nursing infants. Yeshua was ten years old when
the last child, Yose, was born. Yosef had to work hard to keep his growing
family fed. Miriam could not travel with all those youngsters. She had to stay
home with Yeshua assisting her when Yosef was away working. Yeshua was not sure
Jacob was ready to take over these responsibilities yet.
In
any case, the issue was not open for discussion. Before Yeshua knew it, it was
early Sunday morning and I was calling him out of bed and telling him to saddle
up.
Chapter 3
We left at first light. It was still dark
and chilly outside, and the moon illuminated the hillside as we finished
packing our provisions and saddling the horses. Miriam gave Yeshua a reassuring
smile as he mounted his steed. “You look so handsome and grown up riding such a
big animal!” she exclaimed proudly as she handed her son a packed lunch to eat
while we rode. “Don’t forget to eat!” she urged.
“I
didn’t get to say goodbye to everyone.” Yeshua apologized to his mother. “Will
you say goodbye for me, especially to Jude and Marta?” Miriam nodded. Tears
filled her eyes in spite of her best efforts to hold them back. “And tell Jacob
for me that he is now the man of the house until I return.” Miriam again nodded
her promise to do so as we left her standing in the dim morning light in front
of the small rock and mud house that until two weeks before had sheltered her
husband and all of her children for the last time.
Yeshua had never ridden a horse before, but
he had ridden his share of donkeys and seemed to take to the transition with
little difficulty. From Nazareth to the Via Maris was about six miles. The
hired guards escorted us with two preceding and two bringing up the rear. We
proceeded down the hill in single file by way of a small, winding footpath.
The guards looked
formidable. Each guard wore a bronze helmet that flashed in the moonlight.
Hinged cheek plates, also of bronze, were tied together snugly under the chin.
Arrow-deflecting segments of metal joined by bronze hinges protected the torso.
On the right side, a long sword in a scabbard hung from a belt flung over the
shoulder. A short dagger belted to the left hip, and a long lance in the left
hand completed the weaponry. Armed for fighting from horseback, their weapons
had a long reach. Any attacking bandit approaching on foot would be easy prey.
This narrow path had made trading
dangerous and impractical for the secluded encampment near the top of the
Nazareth ridge, far from the reach of trade caravans. Life was thus
predominantly local. Travel was dangerous. People moved about little. When they
did go to the city for festivals or markets, family members or friends
accompanied them with clubs and staffs. Some Galileans might make the lengthy
pilgrimage to Jerusalem by traveling with large caravans that had hired guards.
Our aim was to connect with such a train before dark.
We had not been traveling for more than
an hour when the path threaded through a shallow rocky ravine that was so
narrow you could almost reach out and touch both sides at the same time. The
dawn was just breaking, turning the sky from a deep blue to a light pink. About
midway through the crevasse, we encountered a man lying face down on the path
who appeared to be dead.
“Keep a watchful eye,” I warned. “He
could have been murdered by bandits!” Before I could stop him, Yeshua was off
his horse and at the man's side, crouching down to see if he could be of
assistance.
“Yeshua, leave him be!” I shouted. “It
could be a trap!”
Before I could get all of the words out of
my mouth, bandits leaped from the rocks above onto the mounted guards, pulling
them to the ground. Once on the ground, the guard’s long swords and lances were
worthless. The assailants slew all four guards before a single one of them
could unsheathe his dagger. Their blood drained quickly and joined as one
trickle that snaked its way down the path, quickly disappearing as the limestone
dust eagerly drank it. The "dead" man got up, cackling over how we
had fallen for his trick.
I had pulled my sword but to no avail. The
bandit put his knife to Yeshua’s throat and commanded that I drop my sword to
the ground. I complied, and my blade clattered as it hit the stony path.
A dozen bandits mounted on horseback
surrounded us. They dismounted and quickly stripped the slaughtered guards of
their armor and weapons.
The leader of the bandits rode up,
looked us over, and, mocking us, proclaimed, "Well, what have
we here? We have a well-dressed man and six beautiful horses! Now, what amount
of treasure would warrant such a heavily armed escort? Looks like today's our
day, boys!"
By this, he meant it was their time to
take back the monies they felt had been robbed from them by the Romans. Farming
families just barely subsisted growing the food they needed. The heavy taxes
caused many to lose their land and thus their livelihood. Some turned to
itinerant trade work, others to fishing, some to begging, and still others, to
banditry. Parents sold daughters into slavery to pay tax debts, and women
became prostitutes or begged. Once a family lost its land, they almost never
got it back.
"Are you a tax collector?" The
leader asked with a sneer. Jews hated tax collectors not only for collecting
the resented taxes but also because they usually forced the collection of even
larger amounts than due so that they could pocket the difference. The taxpayer had
no recourse as the Roman soldiers enforced collection of taxes. Jews considered
other Jews who became tax collectors for Rome to be the worst kind of traitors.
“I am just a humble merchant who is
bringing my nephew with me back to Jerusalem from Nazareth due to the recent
death of his father. Your presence here justifies the need for guards to assure
our safety. We have no money. We just want to travel to Jerusalem safely.”
The head bandit laughed.
“I hope you did not pay too much for your armed escort. They did you little
good!”
“Please allow us to pass in peace,” I
begged. “The boy has suffered enough with the death of his father not two weeks
ago.”
“You say this boy is from Nazareth?” The
bandit turned to Yeshua. “What is your name, boy?”
Yeshua was mute with fear.
“His name is Yeshua!” I offered.
“Let the boy speak for himself!” The
bandit insisted, holding up a hand to silence me.
“Never let others speak for you, boy.
Now, again, what is your name?”
“Yeshua.” He answered his voice barely
audible, his face pale.
The bandit moved his mount closer and
peered down at the lad, his eyes narrowed with interest.
“Was your father Yosef bar Jacob?”
Yeshua nodded silently.
“And your mother is Miriam bat Joachim?”
“She is.”
“Adonai, forgive us!” The leader
exclaimed as he dismounted and dropped to the earth and bowed with humble
respect to Yeshua. All of the bandits followed his example.
The angry and challenging manner of the
band of thieves evaporated. Suddenly humble and gracious, they admonished me
for traveling without an adequate escort.
“You should know better than to be
traveling alone in these parts,” the leader scolded me. “There are many bandits
and other desperate people about who would kill you just for your horses. You
must not put the boy at such risk. He is our greatest hope. You must always
assure his safety. Four guards, even professional ones are not enough security,
as you have seen today. I must insist that we escort you safely to a caravan
that is not far ahead on its way to Jerusalem. You must join this procession if
you are to be safe. Always travel with a large and well-armed group.”
I did not comment that this had been our
plan before the bandits molested us.
The head robber addressed Yeshua. ”Your
father was a brave man and died well. Please accept our heartfelt condolences.”
Yeshua gave me a look of complete shock
and bewilderment.
It was close to sundown before we caught up
to the caravan. We had known for some time that we were getting close. The odor
of sweaty men and animals and various excretions that the convoy left lingering
in the air became stronger; the piles of dung on the road fresher. The tail end
of the train finally came into view in the dim of the evening twilight.
The leader of the bandits raised his
arm and pointed. "There it is!" The thieves came to a halt.
We could easily see why the villains
would come no closer to the caravan. A sizable number of fierce-looking guards
armed with spears and swords, maces, bows, and arrows accompanied the
procession of several hundred donkeys, camels, and pedestrians.
“Now, please excuse us as we bid you
farewell.” The head bandit said as the mob quickly spun around. “May Adonai be
with you!” He exclaimed.
The bandits disappeared back into the
landscape as quickly as they had first appeared, taking with them the four of
our horses that the killed guards had ridden.
Yeshua appeared visibly shaken.
Death was not new in his experience, but I doubted he had ever seen anyone
murdered before. I could see that the killing of our guards and the sudden
change in the attitude of the bandits had Yeshua profoundly affected and
confused. He remained silent, his face still pale from fear and shock. I knew I
needed to have a talk with him and soon.
After we had taken a place in the
procession, we spent the remainder of the day's light passing mile after mile
of olive trees, planted in groves along the road. Our first day's journey
concluded with the caravan's nightly routine, the setting up of the night's
encampment. As night came upon us, donkeys and camels were unloaded, tents
pitched, carpets spread, fires lit, guards set, and beasts fed and watered from
a nearby stream.
Soon many campfires blazed, and after a
meal, groups of travelers huddled around the fires hugging their warmth and
entertained each other with conversation, debate, news, and details of
elaborate adventures that provided unending amusement for the weary travelers.
The first night Yeshua recited the story of Abraham to the group that
surrounded our fire. A diligent student, Yeshua had committed the Torah to
memory. He found an interested audience, since many in the caravan were of
Hebrew descent but incompletely schooled in the Torah as well as much of their
Hebrew heritage. Most could not read or write and had heard at best bits and
pieces of stories handed down orally around similar campfires.
After a time, as the fires burned low and
the groups of sleepy travelers disbanded into their tents for their night’s
rest, I found myself alone with Yeshua by a dwindling fire.
Chapter 4
“Uncle,” Yeshua began as he poked the
fire with a stick, “What did the bandits mean when they said I was their
greatest hope and that Yosef died bravely?”
It is time to have that talk,
I told myself. "Yeshua," I began delicately, trying to frame in my
mind how I might explain complex and difficult things to this young man.
"I must tell you some things that you need to know and to understand. They
are things no one should ask a young man of your age to grasp. I know you have
advanced knowledge of the Holy Scriptures. Your mother and father taught you
well, and you have committed the Torah to memory. This scholarship is
commendable. There is still much you must learn that is not in the scriptures,
however. If you wish to keep your mother and your brothers and sisters alive
and safe, you will listen carefully to what I have to tell you. You must also
swear never to tell anyone any of the things I will say to you, now and in the
future."
“Essenes don’t make oaths,” Yeshua
reminded me. “Everyone knows Essenes are trustworthy.”
“Of course,” I apologized. You are an
Essene like your father Yosef was. You will have to tell me more about that
sometime. First, however, I need to explain some things to you.”
I paused, clearing my throat, at a loss
for words. “Perhaps I should start by telling you a brief story.”
Yeshua stared at me, aware of my
obvious discomfort. I pressed on. "When you were about seven years old, a
new Roman governor came to Judaea named Coponius. As soon as he arrived, he
tried to levy additional taxes. This incited a massive rebellion led by a
Galilean named Yehudah of Gamala. He proclaimed that this taxation was no
better than slavery and urged the nation to refuse to register for the tax.”
“My earthly abba, Yosef, had an
uncle who was called Yehudah the Galilean from Gamala.” Yeshua interrupted, “We
used to visit him and his brother Hezekiah and Yosef's father, Jacob, in
Bethlehem each year when we went to the Passover festival in Jerusalem.
Hezekiah had a son, also named Yehudah, who was Yosef's cousin. When I was
about eight or nine, we stopped visiting Yosef's relatives."
“Do you know why you stopped visiting
them, Yeshua?” I asked.
“When I asked my mother she told me to ask
Yosef. When I asked Yosef, he did not want to talk about it. I remember they
used to call them Jacob the Patriarch, Yehudah, the Galilean
from Gamala, Hezekiah the Zealot and his son Yehudah the Zealot. ”
“Did you know what a Zealot was, Yeshua?”
“Not exactly,” Yeshua answered. “Yosef said
it was someone who was not afraid to die and would serve no master except
Adonai. Isn’t that true of most Jews, Uncle?”
"Well, it's more complicated than that, Yeshua. The Zealots believe they
should take military action to drive the Romans out of their country. In
addition, they consider anyone who does not agree with them to be their enemy.
They attack and kill any Jew that they consider cooperating with the Roman
occupation."
“What happened to them?” Yeshua asked,
already appearing to have guessed the answer to his question.
“King Herod the Great, the Roman client
king, brutally crushed the revolts led by the Zealots and executed all four of
those relatives of yours. That is why you stopped visiting them.”
“Why were they executed?” Yeshua asked.
“For their rebellion, but more so because
they were Davidian princes - descendants of King David - and thus potential
heirs to the throne of King David – just as you are.
“The
Romans allowed Herod to crown himself as the King of the Jews but the Jews
would not accept him as their king because he was not a descendant of King
David, or even really a Jew, for that matter. Herod had an Arabian mother, and the Jews
commonly hold that one can only be a Jew when one was born from a Jewish
mother. Herod
hunted and killed any descendants of David that he could find to prevent the
nation from rebelling and trying to replace him with a Davidian King. Do you
know that King Herod the Great tried to kill you too when you were just a few
years old, and your parents had to flee with you to Egypt to save your life?”
Yeshua looked surprised. “I knew we lived
in Lake Moreots Essene Community in Egypt and stayed with Yosef’s relatives
there. They never told me it was because someone was trying to kill me!”
“I’m sure they didn’t want to frighten
you,” I said. ”After Herod’s death, you returned with your parents from Egypt.
It was still too dangerous to live in Judea, as Herod gave the rule of Judea to
one of his sons Archelaus
in his will. An immediate uprising ensued, and Archelaus killed thousands of
Jews as a result. Instead of returning to Judea your family decided to go back to the Galilee,
where another of Herod's sons, Antipas, ruled and who they hoped he would be
less dangerous. There in the obscure Nazarene encampment of Nazareth, your
family could live a quiet and safer life. Your parents still took great care to
keep your identity a secret especially from the High Priest in Jerusalem and
Herod's sons."
"But
they shouldn't have worried about me," Yeshua said. "I don’t want to
be a king or a high priest. I just want to serve Abba and be obedient to his
will."
“May
I ask you something, Yeshua?”
“Of
course,” Yeshua consented.
“As you recall,” I began. “When your
family traveled to Jerusalem for Passover earlier this year, just after you
turned thirteen years old and became a Son of the Law, you went as an adult
Jewish male to worship in the temple at Jerusalem. It was after a day’s journey
on the way back to Nazareth that your parents realized that you were not with
the caravan. They returned to Jerusalem looking for you. It took three days of
searching before they finally found you in the temple engaged in an intense
discussion of the Torah in the presence of the esteemed elders, rabbis, and
priests. They were all impressed with the depth of your knowledge and
understanding of the scriptures. Do you remember your reply to Yosef and Miriam
when they told you how worried they were when they could not find you for three
days?”
Yeshua nodded, “I told them that they
should have known I would be about my heavenly abba’s business in his house.”
I nodded, in agreement, to what I had
heard. “Yeshua, what did you mean when you said you would be about your Abba’s
business?”
“My earthly abba Yosef taught me
prophecies from the scriptures to guide me in this,” Yeshua answered. “For
example, it is written in the book of Isaiah:
The Spirit of the Sovereign
Lord is on me because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to
the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom
for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the
year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our Lord, to comfort all
who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion — to bestow on them a crown
of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment
of praise instead of a spirit of despair.1
"Yeshua," I tried to explain,
"Isaiah was giving hope to the Jews during the Babylonian exile that
Adonai would deliver them from bondage and restore their former kingdom. Isaiah
spoke those words six-hundred years ago and was referring to the Persian King
Cyrus as the one anointed by Adonai.”
"That's true," Yeshua, agreed,
"But Yosef said it has two meanings. The second meaning is that it
predicted what would happen six-hundred years in the future when someone would
help bring relief from suffering and help people to be closer to Abba. He told me that I would grow up to be such a
person. All Jews should be such a person, not just me. I
will not help people by controlling the money of the Temple, as a High Priest
does or by making war as a king does. Those things are not important. What is
important is to obey Abba and teach by example how to help people to return to
Abba before The End of Days.”
“Did Yosef mention anything about
your being a prince of David and growing up to become the King of Israel?
“He said something about this when
I was very young but he stopped saying that about the time we stopped visiting
his family. After that he just said I would bring comfort and hope to people
and set a good example for others to follow.”
“Maybe
after his relatives got killed for being Davidic princes he wanted to avoid
encouraging you to pursue the Davidic throne.”
“He
still told me that I had a special mission as I would bring good news to the
poor and bind up the broken hearted as Isaiah foretold.”
“So you believe this scripture speaks to
you, that Adonai calls you to this mission of bringing comfort to people in the
present age?”
Yeshua nodded.
“Yeshua, what you speak of has
far-reaching implications for you which I don’t believe you fully understand
yet. Are you sure that this scripture refers to you, personally?”
Again, Yeshua nodded.
"Perhaps
it does. Even so, after the demonstration of your scholarship at the Temple and
your announcement that you were the one Adonai chose to fulfill this mission, or
as you put it, to be ‘about your heavenly Abba's business,' the secret of your
identity was disclosed. Regardless of how you see yourself and your mission,
you were viewed by many others from your birth as the long anticipated Davidic
prince, the rightful heir to the throne of King David, the baby that King Herod
the Great feared and sought to kill, but failed to find when you escaped to
Egypt."
“Yosef taught me about
such a person that the Pharisees and Essenes expect to come in the future. He
will be from the House of David that Adonai will choose to help him redeem Israel from
captivity, return the exiled Jewish people to the Land of Israel, restore King David’s throne and the Temple in Jerusalem. He said that would be another person, not me. This king
will help lead the Jewish people and the entire world to Abba. This will usher
in an age of justice and
peace in which nations will recognize that
Abba is the only true god. Abba will resurrect the dead and create a new heaven and
earth. He said the Essenes called this
“The End of Days,” and there would be a battle between the Sons of Light and
the Sons of Darkness that would destroy all of the evil in the world.”
“What did your mother
say about this, Yeshua?”
“My mother was raised as
a Sadducee and hadn’t been taught much about the End of Days and the final
battle between good and evil until she was taught by some Essenes just before
she went to serve in the temple as a temple virgin. I don’t think she agreed
with the Essenes but she never argued with Yosef about their differences.”
“As a Sadducee she must
have been taught to not expect the expected redeeming of David’s throne.”
“Yes, but she married an
Essene and her cousin Elisheba shared many beliefs with the Essenes. She taught
my mother to await a future Davidian king, one the call “The Anointed One.”
“Did she believe you
were to become that king?”
“That is what Elisheba
told her. My mother just said that she believed Abba has a special mission for
me to carry out that was the reason that I was placed on this earth. She said
that Abba would reveal his will to me for this in his own time and that it was
just between Abba and me. She warned me to be careful about what others might
say about it.”
“Yeshua,” I said, “Many
people believe that you will become this long awaited King. That is why Herod
tried to kill you.
“But King Herod is dead now,” Yeshua reminded
me, “and his son Antipas doesn’t know about me.”
“He does now,” I corrected, “but
Herod Antipas is not who you need to fear most now, Yeshua.” I leaned closer
and lowered my voice to a whisper. “It is the priests of the temple in
Jerusalem, and especially the High Priest, Annas, who want you dead.”
“Why?” Yeshua repeated.
“They want you dead because, as a
descendant of Aaron, you are also the rightful heir to the office of High
Priest after your cousin, Yochanan. Quirinius, the Roman governor of Syria,
appointed Annas as High Priest because Annas offered Quirinius the highest
bribe. Just as Herod the Great had, no rightful claim to be the King, Annas
also lacks a rightful claim on the office of the High Priest. As the Jewish
nation never accepted them, they fear Israel will rise up against them and
support anyone with a legitimate claim to the throne, or the office of High
Priest. You can make both claims, Yeshua.”
“This is not about who can make a
rightful claim to power, Uncle. Only Abba has the real authority and power of
righteousness and life. He gives these to whom he deems worthy to serve Him.
Serving Abba is not about trying to murder rivals, it’s about being obedient to
Abba’s will and to teach this to others by example.”
“That’s not the way many other people see
it, Yeshua. I must explain something to you, and you must understand me. After
your family’s return home to Nazareth, my position on the Sanhedrin allowed me
to monitor the repercussions of your memorable visit to the Temple. The High
Priest, Annas, realized that you could be not only the King, but also the High
Priest. He saw you as a great threat to his power and wealth. Annas dispatched
assassins to execute you like your father’s father Jacob, his uncles, Yehudah
of Gamala and Hezekiah the Zealot and your father’s cousin, Yehudah the
Zealot. King Herod was not who sent the assassins this time. It was Annas.
Yeshua, your father Yosef, did not die from a building accident in Sepphoris.
He died defending your life.”
Yeshua sat without moving – stunned by
the realization of the true cause of his earthly father’s death. I pressed on.
“When
I learned from a contact in Jerusalem that assassins were on their way to
Nazareth to kill you, I sent a warning ahead to Yosef, but there was not enough
time to flee. Yosef and a group of other men ambushed the would-be assassins and killed them to the last
man. Your father, Yosef, died in that fight. The reason that it was necessary
for you to leave Nazareth immediately was that, as long as you were there, your
life, and the life of your whole family was in great danger. As we speak, Annas
and his inner circle of the Temple elite must be wondering why there has been
no word back from the assassins. It is just a matter of time before Annas sends
another larger and more determined group to
Nazareth. If they were to catch you there, it would put you and your
family in great peril. Now that you are no longer there your family will
hopefully be left in peace."
Yeshua remained silent.
"This
was the real reason why you had to leave immediately and come with me." I
continued. "I will smuggle you aboard one of my trading ships that even
now readies to weigh anchor at the port of Yafo and set sail for Albion, a land
far to the north at the edge of the known world. In a few weeks, we will be far
beyond the reach of anyone wishing to do you harm."
I tried to brighten my tone. “Think of this
as a great opportunity for adventure, for seeing the world! As you accompany me
on my trading voyages, I will teach you how to become a wealthy and influential
merchant. The best way to protect your family from the rich and powerful is to
become even richer and more powerful than they are. I have powerful friends all
the way up to Caesar in Rome and the High Priest
and Governors of Judea and the Galilee. I
hold a seat of honor on the Sanhedrin, the Seat of David. I possess a passport
that allows me to travel anywhere in the world, and a fleet of ships to take me
there.
"You must keep out of sight
until we are well at sea and far from the Galilee and Judea. I have seen to it
that your mother and family are well looked after. When the time is right for
you to return safely, you may rejoin them."
Yeshua’s face was grim. “Who were the men
who helped Yosef fight the assassins?”
“You met them today, Yeshua. They were
the bandits. Two of those men, Jacob and Simeon, were sons of Yosef’s cousin
Yehudah of Gamala. Their manners changed when the realized they were robbing
the future King of Israel, the one who Adonai will choose and anoint to throw
out the Romans from their promised land!”
"I didn't recognize them,"
Yeshua said. "They were older than me, and I didn't play with them when we
visited in Bethlehem. I mostly played with their dog."
"Well, they didn’t recognize you
either at first, Yeshua," I replied. "But it didn’t take them long to
realize who you are! You see, you are part of a vast history and extended
family that has been at war with Rome and internal Jewish corruption for a long
time. No matter what Yosef taught you or how you see yourself, you must
understand how others see you. You carry the hope of many people for a new and
better life under the rule of Adonai. Unfortunately, if you listen to these
people you will end up dead, just like Yosef’s relatives. Our first priority
right now is to make sure you stay alive. The rest we will figure out in time.”
“Was Yosef a ... bandit?”
"No, he wasn't a bandit. Had he
been, he might not have died. He was not an experienced fighter like them. It
was probably for this reason that he was the only member of his band killed
that night. He was strong, brave and ferocious, and skilled in the use of all
sorts of knives and other tools that he used in his daily work as a builder. He
had no experience, however, in using the blade for the killing of other men. He
was no match for a group of professional killers. He did have friends and more
than one relative in his extended family who were so-called ‘bandits, ' and he
had appealed to them for help. They don't consider themselves to be bandits,
actually, but ‘Freedom Fighters,’ resisting the Roman occupation of their
promised land and oppressing their people.”
“If they weren’t bandits why did they
steal our horses?” Yeshua asked.
“Well, most freedom fighters become
partly bandits too,” I tried to explain. “It’s a hazard of the occupation.”
Yeshua, frowned, not sure, he was
satisfied with this explanation.
“The long tradition in your father’s
family of resisting Roman occupation, the corrupt Temple
priestly elite, and Roman puppet Kings,”
I continued, “has long been shared by the Galilee in general.
Yeshua listened intently – a look of concern
on his young face.
“Unfortunately, the
methods used by the Zealots have always ended with the same result…being killed
by the Romans or their puppets. You must not make the same mistakes as they
did, Yeshua. You must be smarter than they were. I will teach you how to own
the Romans, temple priests and puppet kings. It is suicide to take them on
directly by force. A smarter strategy is to own them, to outsmart them
through commerce. That is where the real earthly power lies. Money is not only
what feeds politics but also the aristocratic Temple
priesthood in Jerusalem. It is a sad but true reality.”
"Does my mother know about these
things?" Yeshua asked.
"Yes, Yeshua, I had to tell her. It
was the only way she would have let you go with me."
Yeshua looked wounded. "Why would
Abba allow such a thing to happen to Yosef and my family?"
"I don't know," I answered
honestly. "That is the sort of question we all find ourselves asking from
time to time. Job found himself wondering the same thing many times in his
life."
Yeshua nodded solemnly, staring at the
ground, remembering this story from the ancient Hebrew Scriptures.
“Job
remained faithful to Abba and did not curse him, no matter what suffering Satan
visited upon him.” Yeshua recounted the ancient story.
“But the story of Job does not answer the
question of why Adonai allows Satan to do these things," I commented.
“No, it doesn’t” Yeshua agreed. “But
Yosef taught me that Abba will defeat Satan in the “End of Days. He said that
until then the wicked will continue to be rewarded with wealth and power and
the righteous will be poor and suffer.”
“I am an obedient Sadducee whom Adonai has entrusted with wealth
and power." I pointed out. "I am not given these by Satan but
entrusted with them by Adonai so that I may have the means to glorify and serve
Him. I serve him now as I protect you from the forces of darkness that seek to
take your life.”
Yeshua sat in silent contemplation.
“So what do you say?” I asked. “Shall we
sail to Albion?”
"I will go with you and
learn what you have to teach me," He agreed. "But when the time is
right, I will resume being about Abba's business, by helping to bring comfort
to the sons of Adam and help them to return to a closer relationship with Abba
before the End of Days and the rule of Abba on earth."
“If
and when that time comes, you can count on me to help you do just that!” I
assured. “We will stop only briefly in Jerusalem before passing on to the port at Yafo and board one of my ships that
will be waiting for us. Tell no one of our plans or our destinations. Your
family does not know where we are going. It is much safer for them to know
nothing."
We bedded down for the night on beds of
fur with lamb’s wool blankets. Silence fell upon the camp, and scarcely a sound
broke the stillness.
It seemed like we had just gotten to
sleep when, an hour or so before sunrise, a cacophony of sounds assaulted our
ears. Laden beasts groaned as their drivers lashed more weight onto their
backs. The neighing of horses, braying of asses, stamping, kicking, and
squealing of mules all added to the orchestral babel.
When the captain stepped forth, everyone
followed. Bells tinkled, banners flew, spears flashed, turbans nodded, and
children laughed. The shrill rousing ululations of hundreds of women assured
that no one was still sleeping. All the while, men begged for the blessing of
Adonai as the dawn of another day flashed across the sky.
We had caught up with the caravan in
the Jezreel Valley. The crossing of this fertile swath of land would be the
easiest part of our journey. The vast region provided convenient passage for
international travelers and was a principal thoroughfare from the Mediterranean
Sea to the Jordan River and Egypt. The fertile alluvial soil made this the
country's breadbasket. It also made it the largest source of tax revenue.
The caravan moved slowly and stopped
frequently. Whenever we came upon a city or sizable village, drums, trumpets,
horns, tambourines, and loud cries announced our arrival. Aggressive
self-promotion was a timeless attribute of these nomadic merchants. They
brought news from distant places as well as goods to trade and were thus
heartily welcomed. At the same time, local beggars and prostitutes who were
just as tenacious and persistent in plying their trades inundated the caravan.
It could take over a week for this caravan to amble the ninety-mile distance to
Jerusalem. Still, it was worth the security it provided, and we had no other
option than to take a position in the train. Most of the travelers in the
column were on their way to Egypt from Mesopotamia. For such a long journey,
the caravan used donkeys and camels to transport goods, young children, women,
the elderly, and the infirm. Most others walked. We were among the privileged
few who rode on horseback.
It had been a month since the Passover,
and several weeks since Yosef bar Jacob’s death. It was now mid-May. The heat
was intensifying, and the rain would soon cease for the next five months. The
grass had begun to wither, the flowers to fade away in the lowlands, and the
harvesting of the golden wheat had begun. The spring fruits were ready, the
green almonds, apricots, plums, and the vines were in blossom. The greenery
would linger a few weeks longer in the highlands. By June, the highlands too,
for the most part, would become barren and parched.
"I know every nook and crag of
this road to Jerusalem," Yeshua bragged, "including the history of
the regions it traverses. My family walked this road many times on pilgrimages
to all kinds of festivals. If we could only manage one trip in a year, we would
never miss the feast of Passover. We always traveled together with the Essenes
and other families from Nazareth and tried to arrive in Jerusalem a week before
Passover. The Essene pilgrims all dressed in white and carried weapons, forming
a caravan large enough that we did not fear bandits as we walked the roads over
the hills and valleys between Nazareth and Jerusalem."
Yeshua made no further reference to
bandits or our encounter with them. As we passed through the valley, he spotted
pink-backed pelican and yellow-billed storks. When we passed a reservoir of
water, he told us where the white-headed and marbled ducks congregated in the
winter and where to find the red-footed falcons in the fall. He talked eagerly
about where the spotted honey buzzards could be located, especially in the
first half of September, as well as various spotted eagles and Levant sparrow
hawks. He talked on and on but seemed to avoid mentioning our deadly encounter
that morning as we descended the hill from Nazareth.
The caravan’s march continued until the
sun reached an altitude that made it too hot to proceed. We then heard the
captain’s whistle signal the midday halt. The spot chosen was shady, where a
grove of olive trees offered the prospect of protection from the searing solar
heat. A deep well provided fresh water for the entire caravan and their beasts.
There was no time to pitch any tents. Everyone sat or lay on the ground in the
densest shade that could be found, and rested, chatted, took some slight
refreshment, or indulged in a short nap.
Before long, we heard the signal to
resume the march. Then the conditions were less pleasant. The sun burned
overhead; the air glowed and quivered as if the land were an oven. Our bodies
were weary, our limbs were heavy, and our mouths were parched and full of dust.
The hours dragged on until the sun at last declined, lost its fiery heat, and
suddenly set, bringing the night with its bite of bitter cold.
We stopped for the day at the foot of the Ascent of Gur that we would climb the next
morning as we made our way into the hilly terrain of Samaria.
At the second night's encampment, the
group encouraged Yeshua to continue his storytelling from the Torah. That
evening, by the fire, he told the story of Moses leading the Jews out of
slavery in Egypt to the Promised Land. As we huddled close to the fire, the
stars shone in the vast sky above us, and the still cold darkness enveloped us.
I imagined that we were there with Moses, wandering through the wilderness.
