The Builder
Page 4 of 7
The following day he went to the gate where the people were being registered, waiting all day for his turn. Just as he had finally moved to the front of the crowd, darkness fell and the Roman recorder and his hellenized Jewish assistants closed up their wax tablets, rolled up their scrolls and went home for the night. Yosef returned to his cousin’s house, tired and forlorn. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the next day?
Miriam was waiting for him with dinner, once more his favorite honey cakes. They sat in the circle with the family, listening to his father and Uncle Attai discuss the census.
“I will not go until the very end,” Reb Yakov’s brother announced. “I am old enough that I will demand some respect and have people give me way. If we are going to have to pay taxes to these goyim[14]“ — he spat dryly onto the floor beside him — “and their pagan king over the sea, then I will have some respect.”
“Respect is not likely to come from our conquerors,” Reb Yakov intoned soberly.
“Conquerors!” Attai howled. “Just wait until Messiah comes! Yakov, he will rule! He will cast out the goyim. And we will rule with him. We will be kings, brother, you and I!” Yosef’s father sighed and shook his head. That was his younger brother, all full of selfish ambition and seeking power and money. He would not even accord a pregnant woman privacy, much less his older brother a room.
Yosef caught his father’s sad glance. Tomorrow is the day, he thought, though he did not know where the thought came from. The day for what? For Yehoshua’s arrival or for his turn at the gates? He would see.
And so he rose before dawn the next morning. He gently reached down and caressed his wife’s cheek before tying his belt around his tunic and throwing on his cloak. He slipped out of the house with Yehuda and Clopas. The three of them hurried down the street, only to find that a throng had already gathered.
“More waiting!” Clopas moaned.
“We have time,” Yosef replied. “Much time.” And they stood calmly among the people.
Yosef soon found himself talking with a young man named Gibbor. The name was apt, as he was tall and broad and looked as if he could crush a bull’s neck with his bare hands. He was also from Galilee, but from Gamala.
“What I would not give to have this ended,” Gibbor muttered. “I would that Messiah would come. Here he would have two strong arms for his cause.” Yosef nodded absently, thinking of Miriam.
“And you, brother?” the big man asked the builder. “Will Messiah find you ready?”
“Huh?” Yosef felt himself pulled back to the present.
“You are not listening, Nazarene!” Gibbor exclaimed testily. “I asked you if you would be ready to fight for Messiah when he comes.” The question took the builder aback. He could not answer without either incriminating himself to the Romans or to his new-found companion. He paused for a long moment.
“I will be ready to serve Messiah when he comes, brother, in any way he sees fit.” He smiled. “I am a builder, Gibbor, a creator. I do not relish the use of weapons.”
“I farm the land, brother,” the big man replied. “But that does not mean that I cannot draw a sword. Nor does the use of the adz and the saw keep you from doing so.” He continued on with his monologue of how Messiah would come and cast out all foreigners, his voice rising as he continued, unaware at the glances that he was receiving from those around him.
“That’s enough, brother,” Yosef, finally said, laying a hand on his arm. “I know you are zealous for God and for our people, but if you continue to speak like this, you won’t be registering in the gate, you’ll be hanging there.” That very quickly shut the big man up. After a few minutes he muttered to himself a bit.
The builder let his thoughts wander back to his wife. Would she be all right? He remembered the feeling from the evening before: Today is the day. Would Yehoshua be born today or would he be allowed to register? Already he was almost at the front of the crowd. He glanced up at the sun, noting that it was almost noon. Miriam and the other women would be coming with their lunches soon. He would be glad to see her, and not just because of the food.
And then Yosef and his two brothers finally were at the front of the crowd. The Roman was questioning another man and Yosef decided to go next when he called. Just as the man registering was dismissed and the official looked up at the circle of faces before him, the builder felt someone pulling on his sleeve. He looked over, expecting to see Miriam, but found Adoniram’s eight-year-old son Benyamin, face flushed and panting.
“Hello, boy,” he said amiably. “What is it?”
“Mother sends me to tell you that her time is here,” the boy nearly shouted, eyes glowing with excitement.
“Whose time is here?” Yosef demanded, dread and excitement creeping into his heart. He was so close!
“Miriam’s!” the boy cried, fidgeting, wanting to be off. “She’s going to have her baby!” The other men around took notice of the child’s voice.
“What did you say, boy?” Gibbor asked, placing a big hand on Benyamin’s shoulder.
“Yosef’s wife is having her baby,” the boy exclaimed. “He’s going to be a father!”
“Well, we’d best get you through as fast as we can,” the big man told the builder, “so that you can get back to your wife and not have to worry about coming here again.” He raised his arms and shouted for silence. “Yosef Bar Yakov is to be the next one to register!” he roared out over the crowd, only some of whom were listening. “He is to be a father! Let us honor him!” The men around laughed and cheered.
“God bless!” shouted some. And one or two exclaimed, “May it be a son!”
The builder was nearly thrust forward by the excitement of the crowd and suddenly he found himself in front of the Roman official. He looked up and down Yosef, as if appraising a stallion he might consider buying.
“Name?” he asked in Greek.
“Yosef Bar Yakov,” the builder replied in the same language. The official grunted and scratched something on his tablet.
“Occupation?”
“I am a builder.”
“I take it you’re married?” Here the Roman looked up and there was a slight softening in the cold, gray eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well.” He looked back at his ledger. “Yosef Bar Yakov. Married, one child.” He looked up and cracked a slight grin. “May your god and all the rest that roam the universe bless you. You will be told what taxes you owe when we are finished.” He waved his hand and called out, “Next!”
Yosef remembered very little of the journey back to Adoniram’s house. The men, minus Attai who still refused to vacate the guest room, had congregated on the roof to afford the young woman some privacy in this, her most difficult time.
“How long has it been?” he asked his cousin as he came up on the roof. He heard Miriam cry out.
“It began just as the women were to bring you your meal,” the host replied. “Quite suddenly, actually. It’s a good thing Sarah was ready.”
“So it is,” old Reb Yakov said. “Now we can only wait.” Another moan from below clenched at Yosef’s heart. He made for the stairs, only to be stopped by his younger brother.
“Wait, older brother,” Abiyah coaxed. “This is her ordeal, not yours.” Yosef shook his head.
“How little you know, little brother,” he snapped. His wife was hurting and he wanted to stop it as soon as possible, to protect her. But in a way Abiyah was right. This was her ordeal. The time would come.
It was late afternoon when Miriam uttered a last, loud cry and the lusty scream of a baby filtered up through the floor.
“He’s here,” Yosef breathed. And within minutes young Atarah, Adoniram’s twelve-year-old daughter, rushed up the stairs.
“Uncle Yosef,” she announced, face beaming, “you have a son!”
“I want to see them,” he said, turned and walked down the stairs, ignoring the protestations of it being abnormal. This child was too important. He must see him, his wife’s son. He stepped through the doorway. Miriam was sitting back against one of the walls, a blanket over her lap, shawl around her shoulders, dark hair bedraggled and sweat still glistening on her forehead. She was cradling a small bundle of white in her arms, gazing into its face. As the light from the open door was cut by her husband’s shadow, she looked up and smiled. The builder hurried over to her and knelt down.
“Here is your son, my husband,” she said, raising the child with both hands, presenting it to him. He gently took the bundle in his arms. His son? He looked into the scrunched, pink face. The eyes were closed, and the helplessness was apparent. And yet there was also contentment there. This was Messiah? For an instant the infant blinked his eyes open and favored his mother’s husband with a brief, blue-gray gaze. And in that instant Yosef felt he’d touched eternity. They were a new-born’s eyes, nothing unusual in and of themselves, but the fact that the child had looked at him, and that he was holding such fresh new life made the builder for the first time realize the wonder that birth really was. He looked at his wife again. His son, she’d said. Was this truly his son? I took him as my own the moment I married her, he reasoned. Yes, this was his son. And he would be the best father he could.
Gently, he picked the child up and placed a kiss on its forehead.
“Welcome to the world, Yehoshua,” he whispered in Hebrew, then quietly recited the Shema, the age-old creed of Israel, to this her newest son.
“I’ve had Adoniram clean a stall in the stable below,” Sarah told Yosef after he had returned the child to his wife. It was now contently nursing from its mother. “We think that you will need some privacy and I don’t want anyone stepping on the baby.” That was a real danger at the time, especially because of the many people bustling in and out. Besides, a new mother would want some precious time alone with her baby, something that the constant presence of others in the living room precluded. Atarah eagerly knelt beside Miriam, watching baby Yehoshua.
“I’ll help carry the bed-rolls down,” the builder announced and picked up one of the bundles. He stopped by Miriam and smiled down at her. She returned it, eyes shining. He gently touched her head and then headed down to the place that they would stay for a night or two. The smells were not offensive to Yosef, having lived around them for his whole life. As a matter of fact, the smell of fresh straw had always been invigorating. Adoniram and Benyamin had just finished spreading out a thick layer on the floor as Yosef arrived. He quickly spread out the bed-roll and went back for the other one. When he returned the second time, he noticed that Benyamin was carefully smoothing a bundle of straw in one the large stone feeding trough that stood in the corner.
“What’s that for?” the builder asked.
“Mother said to make it up for the baby,” the boy explained as Atarah came in. She hurried over and spread some fresh pieces of linen over the hay and tucked them down. A baby in a manger. How strange, Yosef thought to himself. The child was born in Bethlehem, the city of his forefather, but he wasn’t even accorded a real cradle. Still, Adoniram and Sarah were doing their best to make this newest addition to their extended family as comfortable as the circumstances would allow.
Miriam moved down to the stable in the course of the afternoon, having carefully washed herself and changed her clothes once she’d regained some of her strength. Baby Yehoshua slept peacefully in his new manger-cradle, unaware that his bed was unusual. The man and woman sat on their bed rolls, she leaning against him, watching the side of the manger.
“He has come at last,” she whispered after a long moment, then turned her head slightly. “And now I am truly yours, my husband,” she sighed.
“Not for a little while yet,” he replied. “You must finish your days.” She nodded sadly. Forty more days would pass before she would be pure and able to please her husband. Still, the time would pass quickly, she believed. They had waited this long, they could wait a bit longer.
Evening descended and Miriam and Yosef lay together, back-to-back, wrapped in their blankets. The builder drifted off quickly and it seemed only a moment later when a loud thudding at the gate brought him awake. What is going on? he wondered, blinking his eyes open. Was there something wrong? He listened, but no one else seemed to hear the noise. The pounding repeated again and Yosef thought he could hear rough voices. He quickly rose, grabbed his belt and wrapped it around himself.
“What is it, husband?” Miriam asked, sitting up. She looked lovely in the amber glow of the oil lamp that was set on a little rock shelf above them.
“There is someone at the gate,” he told her. “I’m going to go tell them to be quiet.” He took the lamp, hurried over and drew the bolt.
“They’re here!” he heard a muffled voice say. He pulled the door open to see perhaps ten men and boys. They were all dressed in rough garments, most carried staffs and a few even had broad sheepskins thrown about their shoulders.
“What is it you want at this hour of the night?” the builder demanded.
“We beg your pardon, good sir,” the eldest of the men replied, pushing his way forward. “We have come to see Messiah.”
“What?” Yosef was taken aback.
“There is a new-born boy-child here?” the old man asked again, scarcely hiding his impatience.
“Well, yes, if you must know.”
“And he is lying in a manger?”
“How did you know that?” the builder exclaimed.
“The messenger told us!” a boy piped up from behind the old man.
“What messenger?” Yosef demanded. “I sent no one to notify anyone.”
“A messenger from God!” the boy shouted. “And there were hundreds more! They shone bright like the sun and they spoke words to us?”
“What is this?” The boy’s words made no sense to the man with the lamp. He glanced at the old man.
“It is as he says, good sir,” the aged shepherd explained. “We were watching our sheep this evening when suddenly a man appeared. He glowed brighter than the sun and his clothing was white — whiter than my sheep after shearing.” The memory shone in his eyes as he recounted his tale. “We all fell down in fear.” There was affirmative muttering from the other men. “And then the messenger spoke to us.
“‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said, ‘I bring you good news of great joy for everyone! The Savior — yes, Messiah, the Lord — has been born in Bethlehem, the city of David! And this is how you will recognize him: You will find the baby lying in a manger, wrapped snugly in strips of cloth.’[15] And then there were many more of them — the shining ones. They filled the skies! A thousand, no, ten thousand! And they were calling to one another.” He looked at the men around him, before chanting in a singsong, similar to that used when reciting the Torah.
“‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.’[16]” Yosef could see moisture at the edges of the old man’s eyes. “I have never heard anything so beautiful in my life, good sir. And now, if you please, may we see Messiah?” Dumbfounded, the builder nodded, backing away from the doorway, lighting the way with the lamp. The men came in silently, reverently. By the time they’d reached the stall, Miriam had composed herself and wrapped her shawl around her head. Yosef glanced at her, wondering if she’d heard the exchange. Her eyes were shining and there was a look of rapt delight on her face.
The shepherds came to the manger, and gathered around it. The baby was lying on its back, sleeping soundly. And, as Yosef watched, the unbelievable happened. Ten rough shepherds, knelt around the manger and the boy-child. The old man raised his hands to heaven and spoke what was on all of their hearts.
“Be praised, O God of Israel,
May your name be exalted.
For you have brought us salvation,
Redemption has been given us!
Messiah is come.
The king is born.
And he will liberate his people
And set the captives free.”
“Amen,” the rest of the shepherds echoed heartily. The eldest shepherd then rose, placed a hand on the child’s head and whispered in his ear. Then, in silent awe, they all took their leave. Yosef closed the gate behind them and returned to the manger. The words from his night-vision echoed in his ears.
“She will have a son, and you are to name him Yehoshua, for he will save his people from their sins.”[17]
How can this be my son? he asked himself, looking at the baby. He reached out and stroked one of the tiny hands. He is Messiah. Who am I to raise him — a simple builder? I do not have the strength.
“Guide me, O God,” he whispered into the night. “Strengthen my hands. May this child grow to be Messiah as you promised.”
IV. Jerusalem
Forty days had passed since the child was born. Miriam had cleansed herself physically and now she and her husband were to offer the prescribed offerings at the Temple. As they wound their way through the tightly-packed streets of Jerusalem, Yosef thought back to the circumcision and naming of the child in the Bethlehem synagogue. When asked by the rabbi what the child’s name should be, Yosef paused.
“Q’ara shmo Yehoshua,” he intoned in Hebrew. “Call his name, Yehoshua.” The rabbi looked at him, just a bit surprised at his clean diction, then affirmed the choice.
“Shmo Yehoshua.” And he’d cut the foreskin. The baby cried at the unexpected pain, and Yosef gently took it into his hands after the rabbi had applied a clean linen rag to the wound. At that moment the builder whispered into the child’s ear,
“Your name is Yehoshua, for you will save your people from their sins.” Little Yehoshua didn’t seem to hear, but just went on squalling, now supremely uncomfortable. Yosef passed him to his mother who did her best to quiet him.
That day they had finally been allowed to take the guest room in Adoniram’s house, as Uncle Attai and his entourage had left. The old man had staunchly refused to give up the room, even after Adoniram had asked him politely.
“I will not be bothered for a newborn!” he thundered. “No matter who everybody thinks he might be. I will know Messiah when he comes and that baby isn’t him.” Yosef had winced at those words, but the memory of the shepherds came back to him. How different those poor, simple men from than this rich, educated builder! How much more easily they listened to God. And may I ever remain so, Yosef prayed silently.
“What about the offering, husband?” Miriam whispered as they came up on the western entrance to the Temple.
“We’ll find what we need in the temple courts,” the builder explained. She nodded. They climbed up the stairs beneath the royal porch and then emerged into the Court of the Gentiles. Yosef looked around, a bit disconcerted. He could see piles of stone lying around and there were builders here and there, shouting to each other as they carried pieces into place to finish parts of the royal porch. Besides that there were money changers and marketers all over the place. Yosef recognized a few priests at the various stalls where offerings were sold. And above it all towered the great Temple, serenely looking over the hubbub. This was the one place that Yosef wished above all to enter, to see his God face-to-face, to know him and to worship him. But that would never be. The veil was firmly in place and the priests were the only one who could go behind it. Oh, that he, like David, his forefather, could worship and sing before the Lord!
He tore his eyes away from the building and looked around.
“A young lamb,” he muttered, “and a pigeon.” That was what the Law required.
“Or two turtledoves,” his wife reminded him gently. He nodded and headed for the nearest pigeon dealer. The man was short and extremely corpulent. Yosef didn’t like the glint in his eye as he sized up his customer.
“Turtledoves?” he echoed when Yosef explained what he wanted. “I sell the best. You won’t find purer ones anywhere in Judah. I am authorized by the High Priest himself!” And he puffed out his chest.
“And how much do you wish for them?”
“Remember, these are the best turtledoves. It is guaranteed that the priests will not reject them!”
“How much?” Yosef pressed. The man named a price that made the builder balk, wanting almost as much as for a yearling lamb. They haggled for some minutes, Miriam quietly watching what was going on and holding her son up to see all the people around them. Finally, Yosef was able to get the price down to a level that he could afford, though it was still grossly over-priced. It used up the small amount of Jewish money that he possessed and he had to go find a money changer to convert his drachmes into the five Sanctuary Shekels needed to redeem Yehoshua according to the law.
They made their way into the court of the women, where Miriam was left behind on the stairs while Yosef took the birds in to be sacrificed. He returned with the priest who gently sprinkled the mother and child with some of the blood as the ritual required. The five shekels were passed to him and they received the blessing.
Throughout the whole thing, Yosef found it difficult to concentrate on the ceremony, still being a bit upset from being cheated in the Temple court of all places.
“Let’s go back,” he said to Miriam.
“But we just got here, husband, aren’t you going to take time to worship?” she asked.
“I honestly don’t feel like it, wife,” he sighed. “These people here are interested in money, not in worshipping God. And I’m not sure that I can worship in such a mood today.” She laid a hand on his arm.
“Do as you must, husband. God knows your heart.” It was said gently and he found her eyes reassuring. She was right. He must worship.
“I won’t be long, my dove,” he whispered and went back up into the temple courtyard, where he recited a prayer, thanking God for his provision. As he returned, he noticed an old man standing besides his wife, talking to her. The builder was surprised as the old man was dressed in the garb of one who was extremely religious, with phylacteries tied to his forehead and forearm and long, blue tassels at the edge of his robe. He hurried over and reached them just as the old man took the child into his arms and held him up to heaven. He called out in a loud voice,
“Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
you now dismiss your servant in peace.
For my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the sight of all people,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people Israel.”[18]
Yosef was too stunned to speak, not even noticing that a crowd had gathered as the old man spoke his prophecy. He looked at the prophet, who gently returned the child to his mother’s arms, and noticed the glint of tears in his eyes, belying the strength of the voice that had uttered those powerful words only moments ago. The old man then raised his hands and held them over Miriam and her son.
“May the Lord of Hosts bless and keep you ever,” he said in rich, full Hebrew. “May he protect your going out and your coming in and may he be the one to guide your paths. Amen.” And he dropped his hands.
“Who are you?” Yosef asked, mystified.
“I?” The old man chuckled into his beard. “I am simply an old man, a servant of God. I have been waiting for Messiah my whole life and now I have seen him.” He gave a little half-bow. “Simeon is my name.”
“We thank you for your blessing,” Miriam told him, beaming at the affirmation.
“You are welcome,” Simeon said quietly. “But know, that this child will be rejected by many in Israel and it will be their undoing. But he will be the greatest joy to many others. Thus, the deepest thoughts of many hearts will be revealed.” And here his gaze turned pained and his voice cracked. “And a sword will pierce your very soul,[19] my child.” Miriam’s brow furrowed, uncertain what to make of those words. The old man gazed at both Yosef and his wife with his rheumy eyes, before turning and hobbling off.
“What did he mean by that?” Yosef wanted to know. Miriam was silent, clutching her son to her breast. Nothing would get between them if she could help it!
“May I?” came another old voice, this one belonging to a bent woman dressed all in black — a widow. She was very thin, her face creased with years, and the hair peeking out from under her shawl was the color of spun silver, but her dark eyes were clear and bright, having lost none of their youth. Miriam was loath to pass her son to any at this point, but she released her hold on him enough so his now rapidly darkening eyes could meet those of the old woman. She smiled a craggy, toothless smile at him.
“Hello, Messiah, I welcome you,” she whispered, gently reaching out and touching one small hand. He quickly curled it around her finger and cooed in delight.
“May God bless you ever, my child,” she said to Miriam. “And may God bless your son. He will redeem us. God has promised it.” She bent and placed a kiss on the child’s forehead and then slipped into the crowd. Yosef thought he could hear her excitedly talking away. He could catch the word “Messiah,” but not much else.
“Yosef, let’s go home,” Miriam said in a small voice, clutching Yehoshua to her again. “I want to go home.” He put his arm around her and guided her out of the Temple courts. They had nearly reached the gates of the city before they could breathe more easily again. Miriam finally let Yosef take Yehoshua into his arms. The baby burbled a happy sigh, and closed his eyes.
“So our son is Messiah,” Yosef said quietly. “Who would have thought?”
“Yes, husband,” she affirmed, looking at the child. “And we will protect him.”
“Until his time has come and then God will look after him.” The moment he uttered it, the builder wondered where the thought had come from. Perhaps it was the spirit of prophecy burning in the air. Even so, he knew with all his heart that God would protect this child. It was his responsibility to provide for the little one until he could stand on his own.
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