Chapter 3
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 two years 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 4
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 and of the robbing of their
livelihood and land 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 lighted, 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 the night’s rest,
I found myself alone with Yeshua by a dwindling fire.
copyright 2017 H Joseph Horacek, Jr. All rights reserved
