Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt

  Joseph considered and then gave me a denarius, which was quite a lot. I took it and ran at once to sit down at the feet of the man.

  It was beautiful Greek he was speaking, smooth as Philo would have spoken it. He was reciting from the Psalm:

  " 'Let my cry of joy come to you, Lord, give me understanding as you promised. Let my plea for favor reach you; rescue me as you've promised. . . .' " He stopped to feel the coin I'd laid in his lap. I touched the back of his hand. His eyes were pale gray, covered with film.

  "And who is this who gives me so much, and comes to sit at my feet?" he asked. "A Son of Israel or one seeking the Lord of All?"

  "A Son of Israel, Teacher," I said in Greek. "A student who seeks the wisdom of your gray hairs."

  "And what would you learn, child?" he asked, staring forward. He slipped the coin into his girdle beneath the fold of his woolen robe.

  "Teacher, tell me please who is Christos Kyrios?"

  "Ah, child, there are many anointed ones," he said. "But the anointed one who is Lord? Who do you think it would be, if it would not be the Son of David, the anointed King come from the root of Jesse to rule over Israel and bring peace to the Land?"

  "But what if angels sang when the anointed one was born, Rabbi," I asked, "and what if magi came following a star in the sky to give him gifts?"

  "Oh, that old story, child," he said. "The story from Bethlehem, the story of the babe born in the manger. So you know it. Almost no one talks about it anymore. It's too sad. I'd thought it was forgotten."

  I was speechless.

  "People say 'Here is the Messiah,' and 'There is the Messiah,' " he went on, saying the word "Messiah" in Hebrew. "We will know when the Messiah comes, how can we not know?"

  I was too excited to think what to say.

  "Tell me the words, child, from Daniel. . .. 'One like the Son of Man coming.' Are you there, child."

  "Yes, Rabbi, but what is the story, Rabbi, of the child in the manger, in Bethlehem?" I asked.

  "That was too dreadful, and who knows what really happened? It was so quick and so terrible. Only Herod could have done such a thing, a bloodthirsty and evil man! But I mustn't say these things. His son is King."

  "But Rabbi, what did he do? We're alone here, there's no one near us."

  He took my hand.

  "How old are you, child? Your hand is small and rough from work."

  I didn't want to tell him. I knew he would be surprised.

  "Rabbi, I must find out what happened in Bethlehem. I beg you, tell me."

  He shook his head. "Unspeakable things," he said. "How did we come to be ruled by such a family? These men, given to rages, murdering their own children? How many of his own children did Herod destroy? Five? And Caesar Augustus, what did he say of Herod after the man had slain his two sons? Td sooner be Herod's pig than his son.' " He laughed.

  So did I out of respect for him, but my mind was racing with thoughts.

  "Child, answer for me," he said. "In my blindness I can no longer read my books and my books were all to me, my consolation, and it costs for me to have someone to read to me, and my books are my treasure. I will not give them up to pay for a boy to read to me what is left of them. I cannot give up those I copied myself, or those copied so carefully according to the Law. Tell me, Zechariah: 'On that day... On that day . . .' the last line, child . . . ?"

  " 'On that day there will no longer be any traders in the house of the Lord,' " I said.

  He nodded.

  "You hear them?" he asked.

  He meant the money changers, and the people who disputed with them.

  "Yes, I hear them, Rabbi."

  "On that day!" he said. "On that day."

  I looked at his eyes, at the thickness of the film. It was milk over his eyes. If only, but I had promised. If only I knew that it was right, if only, but I had promised.

  His fingers tightened on mine, dusty, soft.

  And I held tight to him and I prayed in my heart for him. All merciful God, only if it is your will, grant him consolation, grant him some relief. . . .

  Joseph stood beside me. He said, "Come, Yeshua."

  "May God bless you, Rabbi," I said, and I kissed his hand. He was waving to me, though I was gone.

  As soon as Old Sarah was on her feet, and Riba had the baby securely tied up to her, we started on our journey out.

  At the top of the stairs into the tunnel, Joseph stopped. He held my hand. James had gone on.

  The blind man ran towards us, his eyes dark and fierce with light. He squinted, looking to left and right and back at Joseph. It couldn't have been more startling to see a dead man back to life.

  My heart pounded.

  "There was a child here!" the man said. "A child!" He glanced over me and down the stairs and over the crowd. "A boy of twelve or thirteen," he said. "I heard his voice just now again. Where did he go?"

  Joseph shook his head, and picking me up with a strong right arm, he swung me up against his shoulder and carried me down and through the tunnel and away.

  Not one word did he say to me on the way home.

  I wanted to tell him the words of my prayer, that my prayer had come from my heart, that I had not meant to do what was not right, that I had prayed, and put it in the hands of the Lord.

  24

  THE FOLLOWING DAYS were cheerful and rich days for the family. We went to the sprinkling in the Temple, and bathed after the second time as was required. And during the period of waiting, we wandered the streets of Jerusalem in the day, marveling over the jewels, and books, and fabrics for sale in the marketplace, and Cleopas even bought a little bound book in Latin, and for my mother, Joseph bought some fine embroidery which she could sew to a veil to wear to the village weddings.

  At night there was much music and even dancing in Bethany among the camps.

  And the Feast of Passover itself was a great marvel.

  It was Joseph who slit the throat of the lamb before the priest and the Levite who caught the blood. And after it was roasted, we dined according to the custom with unleavened bread, and the bitter herbs, telling the story of our captivity in the land of Egypt, and how the Lord had ransomed us from Egypt and brought us through the Red Sea and to the Promised Land.

  The unleavened bread we ate because we had had no time in fleeing Egypt to make bread with leaven; the bitter herbs we ate because our captivity had been bitter; the lamb we ate because we were free now and could feast for the Lord had saved us; and it was the blood of the lamb on the lintels of the Israelites that had caused the Angel of Death to pass over us when that Angel had slain the firstborn of Egypt because Pharaoh wouldn't let us go.

  And who among us, in our little gathering, could not attach a special meaning to all of this, since we had a year ago come from Egypt, through war and suffering, and found a peaceful Promised Land in Nazareth from which we'd come joyfully to the Temple of the Lord?

  The day after the Feast, when many were leaving Jerusalem, and the family was talking about when to go, and what should we do, and was Old Sarah ready to make the journey, and thus and so, I looked for Joseph and couldn't find him.

  Cleopas told me he'd gone back into Jerusalem with my mother, to the marketplace, now that the crowds were gone, so that she might buy some thread.

  "I want to go back to the Temple, to hear the Teachers in the portico," I said to Cleopas. "We won't be leaving today, will we?"

  "No, not at all," he said. "Find someone to go with you," he said. "It's good for you to see it when it's not so full of people. But you can't go alone." He went back to talking to the men.

  Now all this time Joseph had not said one word to me about the blind man. What had happened with the blind man had made him afraid. I hadn't known it when we hurried down the stairs that evening, but I knew it now.

  And I didn't know whether he could see the change in me or not. But I was changed.

  I knew that my mother saw it. She marked it, but she didn't worry. After all, I wasn't sad. I ha
d only given up running with the other boys. And because I saw things with different eyes, I was quiet but not at all unhappy. I listened to the men when they talked. I paid attention to things that before I would not have noticed. And I kept to myself most of the time.

  Now and then I knew the temptation to be angry, angry with those who wouldn't tell me all the things I wanted to know. But when I remembered the blind man's unwillingness to say these "terrible things," I understood why I wasn't told. My mother and Joseph were trying to protect me from something. But I couldn't be protected any longer. I had to know.

  I had to know all that others knew.

  I went to the road now that led down to the Temple. Joseph Caiaphas was on his way down with several members of his close family, and he nodded to me and smiled.

  I fell in behind him.

  He looked back once or twice, calling me by name, which surprised me, and motioned for me to come up beside his party, and I did do it but still kept a little behind. After all, I was very dusty from the camp, and he was in his usual fine linen, and so were those with him who must have been priests as well.

  But I was doing what Cleopas had told me to do. I was going with someone. I was not alone.

  When we reached the Temple Mount, I slipped away.

  The crowds in the Court of the Gentiles were loose and free, and for the first time I could really see the great size of the Temple, and the scale of the adornments. It was just as Cleopas had said.

  But it was not this that I wanted to see.

  I went to Solomon's Portico to hear the Teachers.

  There were many there, some with larger crowds than others. But I was looking for a very old man, a man who was frail with years as well as white hair.

  Finally I came upon the very oldest, a man who was gaunt, with deep glowing eyes, and no hair on the top of his head beneath his shawl, but gray hair flowing down over his ears. He was well dressed and he had his blue threads sewn in his tassels. He had a fair crowd of young boys around him, some much older than me.

  I watched him and I listened to him.

  He threw out questions to the eager boys. He looked carefully into the face of each boy who answered him. He had a quick laugh that was friendly and kind; but there was a sharp authority in him. He said what he had to say. There were no wasted words with him. And his voice had the quickness of a young man.

  His questions were questions our own Rabbis might have asked us. I came in close and I gave back answers. He was pleased with my answers. He gestured for me to come closer. The boys made room for me to sit at his feet. I didn't even think about James. I offered answer after answer to the questions. Rabbi Berekhaiah had trained me well. And soon, the Rabbi passed me over with a smile, to let the other boys have a turn instead of me.

  When the horn was blown for the evening sacrifice, we stopped to say the prayers.

  Then came the moment for which I'd been waiting, and I hadn't even known I was waiting for it. My heart was beating fast. The boys went their way into the rooms where they slept, or to their homes in Jerusalem. And the Rabbi was making his way into the library in the Temple, and I followed him, along with one or two of the other boys.

  The library was very big, bigger than that of Philo, and full of scrolls. There were scribes at work there, at tables, copying, with their heads bent, and they rose out of respect for the old man.

  But the Rabbi passed through these rooms into his own place of study, and he let us come with him, one of the other boys talking to him, questioning him on the Law.

  I heard all this, but it didn't go deep into my mind. I had but one purpose.

  At last I stood alone before the Rabbi. He had taken his seat at the desk, and a cup of wine had been brought to him. The lamps were lighted, and all around him were the scrolls. The scents of the room were of the parchment, the papyrus, and the burning oil. If my heart had not been pounding in my chest, I would have loved this place.

  "What is it you want of me?" he asked. "You've waited a long time for this. Say what it is."

  I waited for a moment, but no thought came to me, no design. I matched his words with my own.

  "Eight years ago, a child was born in Bethlehem. Angels sang to shepherds when he was born. The angels called him Christ the Lord. Days after that three men from the East came, Persian magi who offered him gifts. They claimed a star had led them to this child."

  "Yes?" he said. "I know this tale."

  "What happened to this child?"

  "Why must you know this? Why do you care about this at all?"

  "I beg you to tell me. I can't think of anything but this night or day. I can't eat or drink until I find out about this child."

  He thought about this. He took a drink of his wine.

  "I'll tell you," he said. "So that you may put it out of your mind and be done with it. And study as you should."

  "Yes," I said.

  "These magi, as you call them, these wise men, they came to Jerusalem. They came to Herod's palace just south of Bethlehem. They claimed to have been following a star. They said they had seen signs in the Heavens that told of the birth of a new King." He stopped for a moment, then went on. "These were men of wealth, richly dressed, with a caravan and servants, advisors to their rulers. They had gifts to present to this child. But now close to Jerusalem, the star hovered over a vast collection of settlements. They could find no one place where the child might be. Herod had received these men, pretended that he wanted to know who this King might be himself." He smiled a bitter smile. He took another drink of his wine.

  I waited.

  "He called us together, the elders, the scribes, diose who knew the Scriptures as to where the true King of Israel would be born. The Christ. He was full of pretense as he always was in such matters, putting on quite the show for these magi, begging that we tell him what the Scriptures foretold."

  He shook his head. And he looked away, his eyes moving up the walls and then slowly back to me.

  "We told him Bethlehem would be the birthplace of the Messiah. It was the truth, no more than that. Would we had told him nothing at all. But we didn't know then that a child had been born in Bethlehem surrounded by miraculous signs! We hadn't heard the stories yet because the child was only a few days old. We didn't know yet the talk of angels, or the virgin mother. All that we learned later, much later. We knew only the Scripture, and we thought these men from the East were Gentiles on a foolish quest, really. So we answered, not with cunning, but with the truth. As for Herod, we understood perfectly that the very last thing the man would ever want was to find the true King, the Christ."

  He bowed his head.

  When he said nothing, I couldn't bear it.

  "Rabbi, what happened?" I asked.

  "The magi went there. We learned that afterwards. They found the child. They presented their gifts. But they didn't return to Herod as he'd asked of them. They went away, homeward, by some unknown road. And when Herod discovered this deception, he went into a rage. Early in the morning, while it was still dark, he sent the soldiers down from his fortress and while he watched from the parapet, they went through every house in Bethlehem and slaughtered every child under two years of age!"

  I put my hands up. I felt the sob rise in my throat.

  "They dragged the children from the arms of their mothers. They bashed their heads against the stones. They slit their throats. They killed them all. Not a single little one escaped."

  "No, this couldn't have happened!" I cried out under my breath, the words almost strangled. "No, they didn't do that!"

  "Oh, but yes they did," he said.

  The sob in me rose higher and higher. I couldn't move. I tried to cover my face but I couldn't move.

  I began to shake and to cry with all my body and my soul.

  The Rabbi's hands tightened on my shoulders.

  "My son," he said, "my son."

  But I couldn't stop.

  I couldn't stop and I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell anyone! This had
happened because of my birth! I began to scream. I screamed as I had that night when I saw Jericho burning

  and this horror that gripped me now was a thousand times that fear, a thousand times. I couldn't stand upright.

  People held me. The Rabbi spoke gentle words to me. But the words were lost in my terror.

  I saw the babies. I saw them dashed on the stones. I saw the throats slit. I saw the throats of the lambs slit in the Temple at Passover. I saw the blood. I saw the mothers screaming. I couldn't stop crying.