The Sandal Maker

By A. Michaelson

During an epic journey in AD 70, the old sandal maker, Caleb, risks his life as he and his daughter battle their way from Cana in Galilee to Jerusalem in the midst of the Roman siege that destroys the Holy City. His intriguing story of the days of his youth, a fascinating tale of hardship, joy, and tears, is a revelation of Jesus of Nazareth’s mission and teachings as never before told. The amazing details from the notes of an onlooker, The Sandal Maker, inspire the mind, uplift the heart, and thrill the soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. Michaelson
• Release date: Jul 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311567796

A. Michaelson

A. Michaelson was born in California in the wake of the last great war. Growing up in the southwestern United States, his eyes and mind were exposed to the wide-open landscapes and expansive skies that would later influence his art and writing. He graduated from the University of New Mexico with a degree in fine arts. As well as artist and novelist, he is an accomplished flamenco guitarist. A. Michaelson does not refer to himself as a writer but rather a storyteller and novelist. He has had a lifetime of religious and philosophical study. Seeking truth in all major religions of the world, he focused most of his efforts on Christianity and its numerous sects.

Book preview

Prologue - History of the Times

Late in the year AD 70, the holy city of the descendants of Abraham was laid to waste. Jerusalem, set afire and burned from within, was leveled to the earth one stone from another. The Jewish war against the invading Roman legions was slow in coming but inevitable and lasted four years spreading throughout the stronghold villages in Galilee and Judea and ending with the final destruction of the sacred temple, the heart of Jewish life.

For many decades turmoil and unrest had ruled the land. When the new construction on the temple was completed in AD, peasant contract workers and artisans were suddenly unemployed and without hope for the future. Tensions between the Roman government and the Jewish citizenry grew with every episode of defiance. Taxation by the empire drove the people into deep destitution forcing many to sell their land and homes. The temple authorities, in order to protect their private interest, had continually negotiated with the Romans to keep the peace from breaking into war at the expense of the populace. The people came to believe the high priesthood to be corrupt and soon acted on their beliefs with the shedding of blood. The war of AD 66-70 became a struggle of the classes as well as a war against Roman domination.

In the year AD 66, a vulnerable Roman garrison in Jerusalem was destroyed and when the last of the Romans in the city surrendered in late 66, they were lynched. The conflicts continued until open war broke out in AD 67. Nero, the emperor of Rome, appointed Titus Flavius Vespasianus, commonly called Vespasian, to be the new commander of the legions in Palestine. With his son Titus as one of his lieutenants, Vespasian struggled for control of Galilee by first taking control of Sepphoris, the Roman Galilean capital, then securing the coastal port cities of the Mediterranean sea, and finally destroying Jewish strongholds like Gabara, Jotapata, and the fortress city of Gamala. At last in early AD 68, Galilee was subdued.

Many of the rebel fighters had fled to Jerusalem where they became engaged in the deadly struggle for control of the city. Three Jewish factions took up arms against one another within the walls of the ancient fortress: the followers of the peasant leader, John of Gischala, the Zealots of Eleazar son of Simon, and the Sadducee temple authorities, the upper-class faction. Later another group joined the Zealots in their struggle led by Simon bar Giora and strengthened by men from Idumea, a location in southern Judea not controlled by the Romans. Thousands upon thousands of Jews died at the hands of each other, and many who survived the bloody internal struggles within the city finally perished by famine. Corpses filled the alleys with an unbearable stench, and bodies were tossed into the ravines outside the city walls due to the lack of adequate burial space.

When Vespasian heard of the civil conflict within Jerusalem, he halted his advance on the city choosing to let the inhabitants destroy themselves in which they nearly succeeded. It was during that time a messenger brought word from Rome declaring the death of Nero by his own hand. A senator by the name of Galba became the new ruler of the empire, and as Vespasian’s son, Titus, was on his way to congratulate the new emperor for his father, Galba was lynched by his own guard. On the death of Galba and because of other circumstances, Vespasian was proclaimed the new emperor and went to Rome. Titus was sent back to Palestine to lead the advance against Jerusalem.

In the spring of AD 70, the Zealots, who had been occupying the temple, opened the sacred precincts to allow the inhabitants to enact their religious duties for the Passover. But the festival was interrupted when the men of John of Gischala attacked the Zealots and took control of the temple. During that Passover season, Titus and his legions laid siege to Jerusalem. He set up camps on the north side of the city walls where the landscape was without deep ravines and on the Mount of Olives across the Kidron stream and facing the Temple’s eastern walls.

With their war machines, the catapults and battering rams, legions slowly and laboriously began to level the city. Many starving inhabitants made attempts to escape into the countryside in search of food but were captured and crucified on the hills surrounding the city where space became scarce and lumber rare. Others surrendered to their attackers but were disemboweled by the Roman’s Arab and Syrian auxiliaries for the gold that might have been swallowed for safekeeping. Those who did not perish during the siege were taken into captivity as slaves. Within a few months, the city of Jerusalem was no more than a pile of rubble and burning embers covering sacred ground soaked in Jewish blood.

Chapter 1 -The Satchel

Fine sand filled the old man’s mouth and caused his eyes to squint in order to see his sandals on the path. The harsh taste on his tongue was not the taste of local sand which occasionally blew across the countryside leaving table tops soiled enough to write verse on, but of the fine sand blown from the east, far from the borders of Palestine and the small village of Cana in Galilee.

As he limped his way down the path to the carved out cavern at the end of the garden, Caleb stopped and spat grains from his tongue and pulled his cloak over his head to protect his eyes. He watched as the darkness moved over the village, reminding him of another day many years earlier when a twin of this storm had darkened the sky over the holy city of Jerusalem. But it wasn’t only the storm he recalled.

The taste in his mouth brought back mournful memories of a day forty years past. A day he thought about many times and many times put out of his mind before tears blurred his sight. After passing through the opening of a cave used as a stable, he turned and again gazed out across the horizon–at least where he thought the horizon should be. The sun had been so obscured by the storm that the landscape blurred into a field of dark gray, no shadows and no sound but the wind.

One animal stood in the dimness of the cave, and Caleb felt his way along the wall to where the large donkey stood tethered. The beast jerked its head as the coarse, weathered hand touched him on the flank but soon calmed down when the familiar voice softly spoke.

Be at peace old friend and rest well tonight. Tomorrow we’ll make one more trip together, and I need you to be strong. Are you hungry?

The creature seemed to understand the tone of voice, but it also knew a treat would soon follow. The old man limped his way to a large cypress wood box in the back of the alcove. His hand reached out and searched in the dimness until it touched the lid of the box. He opened it and felt around until he found a flat clay bowl with which he scooped a mound of oats from the bottom of the box being careful not to fill the vessel too full. The donkey could smell the treat and snorted impatiently in its eagerness.

The quick moving sandstorm faded over the village as the sky changed from a brown to a bluish grey. Caleb held the bowl for the busy mouth as the light slowly came back into the cave filtered through flakes of floating dust. Deep in thought, he stared out onto the day’s second coming of the sun while his mind flowed with images of his youth and days filled with astounding experiences that even now he didn’t understand.

Light filled the grotto, and the old man could see the large flat stone near the back wall where it lay. Almost entirely covered by hay and dust not revealing its true purpose, the stone rose up like a small plateau on a flattened meadow. He reassuringly rubbed the palm of his hand on the rear of the donkey as he moved around it then shuffled over to the stone and lifted one end up against the stable wall. Beneath the rock was a deep hole which had secretly secured its contents for decades. He reached in and pulled out a rolled up, canvas satchel the length of his forearm then moved closer to the light of the late day sun. A sense of pride and accomplishment filled him as he turned the bag over and over looking for signs of damage on the surface. The tree sap, bee’s wax and soot that were smeared on the outside and the wax coating on the inside kept the canvas from being destroyed by moisture and insects. Caleb knew the contents were safe, but he couldn’t resist the temptation. He untied the leather cord wrapped around the middle that held tight the thick bag. He unrolled the top until the opening lay in the palm of his hand, and with a gentle search of the contents a small smile moved across his wrinkled, white-bearded face.

He rolled up the bag and with a few wraps securely tied the cord then placed it under his arm as he strolled out into the late afternoon light. The sudden brightness on his eyes forced them closed for a moment allowing them to adjust to the intense glare. As he stood there, a voice called from the back door of the house. He couldn’t quite make out the words and really didn’t try. He had heard the familiar tone of voice so many times before. It was a call to come and eat.

The path between the garden and the back door curved around the slope of the small hill the house sat upon. Below, a clear view of the town water well could be seen surrounded by decades of weathered rooftops that lined the dirt packed streets and a slightly larger structure, the local synagogue, the center of village activity. The small paths and streets that separated the stone and mud buildings were practically vacant of people, a strange sight to the old man. In his mind he could clearly behold another time when the village vibrated with busy townsfolk scurrying here and there with baskets of bread or clay pots of water, or perhaps leading a donkey with their loads as children darted up to them for a quick pat. Now, most villagers were gone and those who remained stayed close to home. Many had left for Jerusalem some time ago; either fearing for their lives and fleeing to the safety of its walls; or succumbing to the routine of tradition in an attempt to attend the festival of unleavened bread, the Passover–although many suspected there would be no festival. None who had journeyed south had returned.

For an instant, Caleb pictured the beautiful Jerusalem temple with its glistening, bright white stone and the gold trimmed roofs but cleared the images from his mind and focused again on the reason for gathering together his personal belongings. The canvas satchel under his arm was his most valuable possession which he would guard with whatever strength he had left in his feeble body. Everything else could be lost without a care. His thoughts strayed toward tomorrow when he would prepare for the long trip. Before sunrise, he would load the donkey with the wooden cradle that holds a large canvas bag on each side of the animal. In them would travel the tent, sleeping mats, extra clothing, and enough food and water for a week or more.

Inside the house, Miriam, his youngest and only living child, had spent the afternoon preparing their food. Dried fish and bread would be the daily meal varied by dried fruit and grain, or wild berries and vegetables found along the way. The grain was mostly a treat for the donkey but would fill their hunger, too. Caleb knew every water source between Cana and Jerusalem so only a few small, clay water jars would be taken to keep the load light.

The old man felt it would be best to rise early and journey in the cool of the morning, then set up camp mid-afternoon to give his crippled foot a rest. A map of the roads and trails of Palestine were ingrained in his mind from years of travel. He decided that the trail along the ridge of the Jordan River valley would be the best route–the safest route. Not near the river for it would be too hot and not on the highland plateau for it would be too dangerous.

His main concern was for their safety. There had always been robbers on these roads at certain times, in certain places, and particularly during the seasons of festivals. At the time of celebrations, even thieves were pious enough to head for Jerusalem. Perhaps they were devoted in some sense, but Caleb suspected they were wanting to be near the crowds and therefore near the money they so desired. He knew how to handle these lazy men who preyed upon others. Around his waist he carried a small pouch with just enough coins to satisfy a greedy band of thieves. His real treasure was hidden somewhere they would never think to look nor dare to search. He chuckled to himself when he thought of his cleverness. But these were the normal everyday thieves he was prepared for, not the desperate robbers who roamed the land in a time of social disorder.

Caleb’s most dreaded fear was not from his own countrymen, be they friend or foe, but from the leather and metal clad gentile invaders from Rome. He had loathed them all his life as did most of his countrymen. They had become so oppressive that open resistance broke out. He mourned that so many fellow Jews died fighting for a freedom they would never know. The revolt of the Jews had become more devastating by the day and over the years. Much of Galilee had been decimated as Vespasian, the Roman commander, ordered his troops to rout out and destroy all Jewish rebels and those who harbored them.

The old man had only heard what came to him from messengers or from those who had escaped the savage brutality. He heard of the destruction and massacres in places like Jotapata, and Tarichea on the Sea of Galilee, and Gadara and Gamala across the Jordan River. Places he knew well. Jotapata was not far from Cana to the northwest, toward the sea that carried thousands of Roman troops to crush the Jewish defiance. Fortunately, Cana was not a target of destruction, not a town of Zealots, but even so, over a period of a year most of its inhabitants had fled to Jerusalem for protection.

The holy city, far south of Cana, took three-days by foot for a person in good health. The old man couldn’t recall the last time he went straight to Jerusalem from the lintel of his house. There had always been business to do on the way, stopping here and there to trade his goods and purchase supplies. ‘This trip may be a first nonstop journey’ he thought. It would take longer because of his age and his crippled foot. For a man of seventy-six, he was in sturdy condition except for minor aches and pains in the joints, some loss of sight, difficulty hearing Miriam scold him for plodding in the garden nonstop, and for a deformed right foot that bent inward at the ankle where it had been broken in his youth and forced him to limp on its outer edge. As he walked along, a peculiar set of tracks remained in the dust– on the left a clear sandal impression and on the right a narrow furrow. Fortunately, he could craft his own sandals with an extra thick piece of leather on the outside edge that curved up half way to the ankle and tied about his leg with straps.

Caleb became aware of Miriam’s sweet voice calling again. Paba? Her childhood name for him brought a smile to his dry crusty mouth. He turned his head toward the house and away from the village below. She stood in the back doorway with folded arms indicating her annoyance at his dawdling along the path.

Hurry, Paba! The soup is getting cold with your lingering. She disappeared from the doorway into the shadows of the room where meals were prepared and eaten.

Her father loved her as much if not more than he had his other children but was sorry she resembled him more than her mother. Undeniably, she had his facial features and not so softly arranged like her sister’s, but no woman was more graceful in her movements as she walked through Cana on some errand. The old man was saddened that the young men of Cana, Nazareth, and the other nearby villages had never asked him permission to visit her at home. None had courted her, but she didn’t seem to mind. She always felt she had another mission in life and for now taking care of her father in his old age was her mission. Caleb thought about her often when they were apart, about her kindness and her sweet disposition when she wasn’t annoyed with him. In his eyes she had been a delicate child, but now he saw her as a strong woman who he cared for and loved deeply. Without her, the later years of his life would have been too much to bear.

The old man limped his way through the back door and set the satchel down against the inside wall. Miriam glanced his way. He then poured water from a stone vessel into a bowl to cleanse his soiled hands. As he wiped his wet hands on his equally dirty cloak, he hobbled over to the low stone table in the center of the room and crouched down into a sitting position. Several oil lamps lit the table covered with wooden utensils, clay bowls and plates, while several others lit the room filled with wooden shelves, a table for preparing food and a fire place vented through the wall to simmer soup and savory stews. An archway separated the eating area from the rest of the big house with a half-dozen sleeping rooms. The meal that late afternoon was typical of the meals they often shared, lentil bean and vegetable soup, dried fish, bread, herbs and fruits, usually dates or dried apricots. Times were harder now and meals were simpler.

Smells delicious as usual, my dear. He sat on a floor cushion in his customary place at one end of the table and ran his finger through the fine sand that covered its surface. He felt a grain of sand on his tongue and stuck a finger in his mouth to scrape it away. I see you didn’t close the door in time again!

Yes, but caught it soon enough and the food was covered, she answered. I see you didn’t close your mouth in time, either.

After a smug glance, the old man said the blessing. Miriam served his soup and filled his plate with fish and fruit. She then poured water into his well-worn, cypress wood cup. As she sat opposite him and served herself, she asked, Tell me why you feel such an urgent need to leave tomorrow morning for Jerusalem? I sense there’s something more than a city you need to see for the last time. You haven’t been there in many years, so why now?

Breaking off a piece of bread, he answered, To be honest with you, dear, I had considered going earlier when others had left for Passover, but I wasn’t sure there would be a celebration. I only supposed there would be one. But with the Romans heading in that direction, too, I’m not sure of anything outside of Cana. I’ve heard they’re only destroying towns where resistance meets them and are heading toward the holy city. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know that many citizens have gone to Jerusalem for safety. Our own village is practically deserted and none have returned. The old man soaked his bread in the warm soup and placed it to his lips.

Miriam stared at him for a moment then said, No, I’m sure that’s not the real reason we’re going to Jerusalem. We’re not fleeing there for our safety. We’re not so threatened here. The Romans came through Cana not long ago without so much as turning over a water pot, so now, tell me why we’re going!

You know me much too well, my daughter. I can’t fool you any more than I could fool your mother, peace be with her. He picked up a dried date and rolled it between his thumb and fingers. You’re right, though. We’re not that threatened here. The Romans seem to be harming only those who cause them trouble, and you and I are no trouble. But they can be extremely cruel for no reason if they are bored. I don’t trust them.

The old man stopped talking and squirmed in his seat. Miriam knew he would speak again when he was ready with his thoughts. He needed time to arrange them. He always took time to gather his thoughts which annoyed her. Sipping water from his cup, the old man glanced at the door as if checking for eavesdroppers. Then, he swallowed a bite of date and cleared his throat.

Miriam, I need your help in getting to Jerusalem because I want to find someone. He cleared his throat again. I’ve heard that one by the name of Isador resides there and is composing a written record. The old lips stopped as if frozen on the words and couldn’t move. He broke off another piece of bread and sopped up the tiny bit of soup left in his bowl. He looked at her as if waiting for a question to blurt from her mouth. He stared at her lips intensely, then it came.

Who’s Isador, and what do you mean–a record? A record about what? You need to make yourself clear, Father. I can’t read your mind. If you need me to help you, then I need to know the reason. She was satisfied that her sternness reflected her seriousness.

He wiped the moisture from his mouth with the sleeve of his cloak. I’ve been told that Isador was an associate of Matthew–one of his disciples in fact. Matthew I knew in my youth, you see. The last anyone heard of him was near thirty years ago when he left Jerusalem during the persecutions of many of my friends. It’s rumored that Isador has in his possession notes written by Matthew and a narrative record written by a young lad who went by the name of Mark, John Mark, the son of Elijah and Mary Mark who once resided in Nazareth but had moved to Jerusalem several years before John was born.

The old man stopped to breathe for a moment before continuing. I don’t know if I’ll find this Isador. I’m not sure he’s still in Jerusalem. But, if he’s not to be found there, the trip will not be in vain. We’ll take a few extra days to journey over to Philadelphia in the Decapolis to visit a dear friend of mine whom I’ve not seen in many, many years. His name is Abner. I’ve often wondered if my friend Lazarus is still there with him. I’m now regretting that I’ve grown old and haven’t seen my friends in so long a time. I’ve only heard of them now and again when messengers have brought me news. He rubbed his hands together in sorrowful strokes as moisture clouded his vision and his breathing became deep and distant.

Miriam had seen this sad, faraway look before. Whenever she would question him about it, he would only wipe his eyes and say that he would tell her someday soon. She gathered his bowl and plate and stacked them together with hers and put them to one side then reached over and put her soft, gentle hands upon his. In a low, calming voice she asked, Is now the time you’d like to share your hidden thoughts? She remained silent and held still, anticipating an answer. Gently, she put a small amount of pressure on his fingers letting him know she was willing to listen.

He didn’t look up as he spoke. I want to tell you everything, dear, but not just yet. When we begin our journey, I’ll begin my story. We’ll walk and talk to pass the time and when we stop for our rest, I’ll tell you more. There’s so much I need to say.

He slowly removed his hands from beneath hers and stood up. The garden called to him–a place to be alone and think and to enjoy for possibly the last time. Miriam busied herself with cleaning the table and poured water in a large bowl to wash the tableware. She also wanted time to think and be alone in the house with a need to have things tidy and put in their places before leaving. When the house was neatly arranged, she gathered items for the trip. She worked and wondered what he would tell her while they traveled. What could be so important to him for so long, and he not speak of it before now? Nothing came to mind. She knew it was something from the past, before she ever existed and that it had something to do with the friends he had not seen for so long. When he spoke of them, he faded to melancholy.

The rooms of the house darkened as the twilight overtook the sky. After lighting clay oil lamps in every room, she went to the back doorway facing the garden area and the small cliffs that lay beyond it. The ridge, made of soft limestone, had natural, shallow caves in it which were easily hewn to make the stable, storage rooms, and a family burial tomb that could be enlarged as needed. There, her mother lay in the sleep of death accompanied by Miriam’s two siblings. A flat, round stone sat in a groove and could be rolled in front of the passageway. She worried that soon she’d be laying her father to rest beside the woman he loved so much and still to this day grieved over.

Miriam looked toward the garden and could see flames rise and fall in the low, circular wall that was the fire pit. It wasn’t cold out, so she knew he had built it for comfort. The yellow and orange warmth it provided soothed the old man’s nerves, but it couldn’t lessen the worry he felt about the long trip toward the holiest city the world has ever known, and the brightest and darkest moments of his life.

Chapter 2 – The Wedding

The night passed with a light, drizzling rain that kept the dust on the ground in place. The dreams of the old man were visions of his youth and as vivid as the day he lived them. The morning came quickly, and long before sunrise a rooster somewhere in the village announced its coming. Caleb rose and shook the curled up body sleeping in the adjoining room, and with his rolled satchel made his way to the stable in the earliest light of dawn.

He comforted the donkey as he laid the blanket on its back then carefully set the wooden cradle on the blanket and cinched it tightly beneath the belly of the beast causing its skin to quiver from head to tail. Taking the large canvas bags that would hold their supplies, he hung one on each side of the cradle and secured them with leather strapping. He then loaded one of the bags with the tent, woven grass sleeping mats, grain for the donkey, oil lamps, and other odds and ends he thought they might possibly need. In the bottom of the other bag he carefully placed the rolled up canvas satchel. One more item found its way into the hands of the old man–something he hadn’t seen in many years. Out of an old, hardened-leather sheath he pulled a small sword the length of his forearm. He felt the edge of the blade. ‘Still sharp!’ he marveled. The memory of the time and place he acquired the blade surged through his mind, delighting him in its clarity. With the donkey half packed, he led it to the house and tethered it to a post.

That morning in the portico outside the backdoor, Miriam had placed all she planned to take. The night before she had filled several cloth bags with things they would need. She packed extra clothing for them both and an extra pair of sandals for herself. The food for the journey was put in another bag along with several moderate sized clay vessels filled with water, the openings closed with sponge stoppers.

Do you have everything ready to go, dear? Caleb glanced in the doorway but didn’t see her. From another part of the house he heard her voice shout back a few words he couldn’t make out, so he nodded to himself and packed the other side of the cradle with their personal belongings.

Miriam appeared at the door dressed in her deceased brother’s tunic, cloak, and turban wrap which her father had taken out of a storage box where things of his wife and other children were kept. She stood there for a moment wondering if she had forgotten anything and pondered the strangeness of the situation. A woman dressed as a boy with a crippled old man and a loaded down donkey traveling alone toward the center of Jewish culture for some mysterious reason, the nature of which she hoped to eventually learn. She looked fondly upon her father who stood near the donkey, and as he smiled at her, she wondered how he could be so cheery in these troubled times. Their countrymen were dying because they refused to be subject to Roman rule. She worried some but knew to trust her father’s wisdom.

Closing the door behind her, Miriam stepped down into the yard and stood on the opposite side of the donkey’s neck. She reached out and put a hand on her father’s hand at the bristly mane of the beast and placed her other hand on the side of her father’s bristly face. I’m ready whenever you are. Lead on!

Caleb patted the hand on his face then reached down to grab the rope tied around the donkey’s head. He turned the animal around and faced the path that led down the hill to the road heading out of town. He took the lead for a short distance until the path widened at the main road, then Miriam quickly made her way to his side. The idea of seeing the Jerusalem temple for the first time excited her. She had only heard of its exquisite beauty of glistening, white marble walls and gold trimmed roofs, covered porticoes and healing pools.

At reaching the last high point on the road from where Cana could be seen, the old man turned to behold the little town that held for him many memories. As the first light of day filtered up into the darkness giving depth to the features of his old face, he turned to Miriam and spoke for the first time since leaving the house. She had been patiently waiting for him to speak first not wanting to appear too anxious.

I‘ve decided to go over toward the Sea of Galilee near Tiberias, and then take the trail south along the ridge of the Jordan River valley to Jericho, then into Bethany and Jerusalem. I feel we’ll be safe in going that way, and I know the route well. We’ll have shade and water most of the way. That was all he said. He stopped talking as suddenly as he had started. Miriam rolled her eyebrows together and tightened her jaw. Her frustration built with every step and with every step she slowed her pace until she came to a full stop. The old man walked another three donkey lengths before realizing he was alone with his thoughts.

Without turning all the way around, he spoke out. Where are you, Miriam? Am I walking too fast for you? He turned completely around. She was some distance behind him standing with her arms crossed. Turning the donkey around, he moved back to the spot in the road where she stood fast. What’s the matter, dear? Didn’t you hear me calling you? Why did you stop here in the middle of the road? His nervous voice became higher pitched as he spoke. Let’s be on our way. We have a long road ahead! His nervousness was due to thinking he had annoyed her by walking too fast, but then he was overcome by a familiar fear that only his daughter could cause with a fixed frown on her face. As a child, Miriam had learned that this look of irritation would spark a response in her father. She loved him and respected him, but there were times when he annoyed her to the bone and brought forth a well-guarded temper lying deep within her–a temper inherited from a mother she hardly knew.

Paba! I’m so disappointed! I’ve been waiting patiently to hear why we’re traveling in this manner, as you promised, and now you only talk of our route to Jerusalem. I’m not some small child who can’t be told the truth! If you’d have me continue, then tell me why we‘re here–without delay! She uncrossed her arms and proceeded down the road, confident that he got her point. The frown left her face replaced by a slight smile, one the old man couldn’t see.

Caleb threw his arms in the air unintentionally jerking on the donkey’s snout. He knew he couldn’t win in this contest of stubbornness and hurried to catch up to Miriam’s side. He paced her for a while before feeling comfortable enough to speak. Very well, Miriam, I’ll tell you now as we walk. I was planning to tell you all soon anyway. His words were an attempt to be brought back into her good graces. Her cold nature when angry was more than he could bear. He cleared his throat before beginning.

I told you yesterday that I wished to see a man by the name of Isador, a disciple of Matthew who I knew years ago. I have something for him that may be of great interest. There are others who may have interest in what I have to share, but Matthew was a close friend, and I trust that Isador knows of his whereabouts. Word has come to me recently of another teacher by the name of Paul, and of one of his disciples, a physician from Antioch known as Luke. I haven’t met them, but I’m sure they’d also be interested in what I have to share. Actually, I prefer finding Isador first if I can.

Please, Paba, don’t you think I‘d be interested in what you have to share? I don’t know these men or what you’re talking about, but I’m feeling ignored. She tempered her voice to hide her agitation at his slowness.

I’m getting to it! The old man wiped his forehead with his free arm. As I was saying, I’ve heard that Isador is compiling a record from the notes dictated to him by Matthew concerning a man named Joshua, his followers, and the teaching of the multitudes. Perhaps you recall me speaking of this man to your brother and sister when you were young. Your tiny ears may not have understood the memories of my youth. I haven’t spoken of them in a long time, and so all that I’m about to tell you may seem new and strange.

Miriam went deep into thought then looked at the eyes in the old face. Now that you speak of it, I do recall hearing a story about a man you knew and that this man fed many people one day who wanted to make him a king, but he refused. This is a vague memory. Why haven’t you talked of these times since I was a child? If these were stories you shared with the family before I was able to remember much, then why did you stop telling them when I was older?

Caleb switched the rope to the other hand and continued. "I don’t expect you to remember much of those times. You were quite young and suddenly without a mother to care for you. When she died after only a few days of sickness and fever, I was devastated and left to care for you and your brother and sister–a chore I wasn’t prepared to do. She was such a fine, hard working woman leaving little for me to do in the rearing of children, so I knew nothing of these matters. Fortunately, for me, your aunts came to our aid for a few years until your older sister could manage the family home. I was much too busy with my trading in and around Galilee to attend to the family properly. I have always regretted not being there for you more. The sudden death of your mother affected my life, stealing my time and desires. That was when the stories stopped. You were only five then. That’s why you remember so little, but you’re correct about the little that remains in your memory.

A man I knew many years ago could have been king of all. I knew him and those who followed him and served them on many occasions. My memories of those days haven’t faded in the least and, in fact, have become clearer as the years pass. I kept records of everything I saw and heard at the time. Up until your mother died, I continued to gather information from others who heard and saw what I didn’t. All that information is with me now as we walk. It’s rolled up in a canvas satchel in the bottom of the supply bag."

Was that the canvas bag you set by the water pots yesterday as you came in the back door? Miriam knew he’d be impressed with her attentiveness. This knack for noting things others may not was a gift inherited from her father, one she now revealed for the first time. Her eyes stayed fixed on the path as the light crept over the horizon, and the long, morning shadows diffused into the dirt.

The old man turned his head toward the voice in the dawn’s dim light. Yes, my most observant one, that’s the bag I’m talking about. That satchel is the real reason we’re traveling away from the comforts of home and toward possible danger. I’m compelled, before it’s too late, to bring the information I’ve gathered to those who may make use of it, and I’m in dire need of your help to carry out this task. I don’t expect you to understand, at this moment, the importance of our mission, but as I tell you what I’ve seen and heard in my youth, I know you’ll agree that our obligation deserves the dedication that only you and I can bring to it.

Caleb halted in the middle of the trail and Miriam did likewise wondering why they stopped. He turned to face her and concentrated his look with a wrinkle in his brow. The first time I saw him was at the wedding of your uncle Johab, my youngest brother, and your aunt Naomi, at the time one of the most beautiful young women in all Cana–maybe in all Galilee. Naomi’s father was a wealthy, prominent citizen of Cana, an owner of much property and rental houses. My father, your grandfather Nathan, provided the garden space at his home for the wedding festivities. I hauled most of the supply needs paid for by the parents of the bride and groom.

You said it was the first time you saw him. Who is ‘him’? Miriam showed her impatience at his tendency to make a story long and drawn out.

I’m getting to that dear, just give me some time and lots of it. This story isn’t a short one and will take me days to tell. So, as I was saying, I supplied tables, tents and booths for guests to stay several days. Many had come quite a distance. Others supplied smaller items like flowers, colorful decorations and food. I hauled the drinking water, and near the servant’s station I set aside six stone pots of water to be used in the purification ceremonies. I also provided almost as many pots of wine to be drawn and served with each stage of the wedding ceremony. That would have been plenty of wine if only the invited guest had shown up. A month before the wedding, around two hundred people were bid to attend. We had enough accommodations for those invited, but were not prepared for the large, unannounced crowd, about seven hundred I’d say.

Why did so many show up at a wedding of someone they didn’t know? You’d think they had better things to do!

Caleb petted the donkey on the nose then began walking again. "That’s a good question. You see, in those times the majority of our people were in dire need of someone to lead them away from their problems, a Deliverer–someone to save our nation from foreign rule, a king to sit on David’s throne. A man many hoped might be the answer to their prayers caused quite a stir. His name was John, son of Zacharias. I’d never seen the one they called the Baptizer, but I’d heard about him from my business customers. They said he was calling the nation into repentance and baptizing people along the river Jordan. Although many followed him, he also made some potent enemies. His popularity grew and hundreds repented and were baptized believing it would keep their sins from cursing the nation. Others more pious and pure submitted themselves to baptism merely for the good of Israel.

Several weeks prior to the wedding, three brothers, who were also cousins of the Baptizer, came to him for submission–to the cleansing of water. That was while he baptized at a shallow point on the river, a crossing point near the town of Pella. The oldest of the three brothers was called Joshua, who had been recently residing in Bethsaida at the home of a man called Zebedee, a boatbuilder. He worked at the Zebedee boatshop located south of Capernaum on the Sea of Galilee, the lake. The other brothers were James, who came over from Nazareth, the original hometown of the entire family, and Jude who then lived in Magdala, down the coast from Capernaum. They were three of the sons of Joseph, a one time carpenter and contractor in that area. Caleb paused a moment, sensing a question in Miriam’s silence. You may be wondering what all that has to do with the wedding of your aunt and uncle."

As a matter of fact, I was! You’re straying in your story. So, what does all this have to do with the wedding?

"Well, I’m getting to that. When Joshua and his brothers got in line with those waiting to be cleansed, John the Baptizer was unaware of their presence. For many weeks, he had been proclaiming the coming of the Deliverer and that he, John, was preparing the way so others would know who to follow. John already had many followers and a few close disciples, but he made it clear that he was not the Messiah come to save the nation. He was heard to say there was another yet to come whose sandal traps he was not worthy to tie. I don’t know what made him think that.

Well, when John looked up and saw Joshua before him, he knew his work was through. He knew the awaited one had arrived. After he baptized the three brothers, he dismissed the crowd until the following day and went off with Joshua to discuss matters in private. Joshua then went alone into the hills beyond Pella where no one would follow. After several weeks alone in the wilderness, Joshua returned to John’s camp. When John saw him coming he proclaimed to his followers that the man was the Son of God, the Deliverer of Israel. John said that he had baptized with water, but this man would baptize with the spirit. Of course, I wasn’t there but only heard about that event sometime later. They parted ways and John went back to his preaching on the river Jordan where he continued attacking the wicked rulers of that time telling them to repent of their evil ways. His popularity among the people had grown enough that even I heard talk of him in Cana.

The cold-hearted ruler, Herod Antipas, became annoyed and threatened by John and soon had him arrested and imprisoned. In the territory of southern Perea, John was captured and taken to the fortress of Machaerus where eventually his voice was permanently silenced.

Joshua went back to work in the Zebedee boatshop, but not before gathering a few disciples about him. I later met those followers and learned how they became his disciples. I’ll tell you about them soon.

A couple of months after the baptizing came the day of the wedding, and as I’ve told you, the invitations had been sent out about a month before. By chance, your aunt Naomi was related to one of the new disciples of Joshua. The disciple’s name was Nathaniel, son of Bartholomew. He lived in Cana, as well. I knew him but rarely saw him because, as the youngest child in a large family, he was left to care for his aging parents. The family of Nathaniel was among the invited guests, and Nathaniel thought it only natural to bring his new group of friends including Joshua, the recently proclaimed Deliverer. That’s how I first saw the famous man of Nazareth, at the wedding. I had no idea he was coming and neither did anyone else in our family, but apparently half of the countryside did.

I had finished setting up the water pots along the backside of the house near the servant’s station in the shade of the covered porch and was taking my mule back to the shelter to feed him. I’ll tell you about that eccentric mule later. As I rounded the mound near the end of the garden, I could see down the slope to the road below that ran past the house. A commotion caught my attention. At least a hundred people, or more, were coming up the hill following a smaller band of seven men who were walking and talking together. The strange scene pricked my curiosity. I hurriedly put the mule away and rushed back to learn of the oddity before me.

As I rounded the back porch heading toward the front of the house, I heard voices exclaiming ‘There he is’ and ‘Here comes the Deliverer.’ It didn’t dawn on me, at first, who they spoke of, and it had been several months since I’d heard anything about the Baptizer. I thought possibly it could have been him, but upon seeing the center of attention slowly stroll up the hillside greeting everyone and patting children on the head, I changed my mind. From the descriptions of the Baptizer, I knew that wasn’t him. He wasn’t the lively wilderness man who wore animal skins. We had recently heard that the Baptizer had found the chosen one, the one being called the Deliverer. When I saw him, I knew it wasn’t John who graced us with his presence. A strange sense of excitement flooded my body. I don’t know why! I’m not easily impressed by new and strange charmers and soothsayers. Having never seen a prophet though, I always imagined I wouldn’t be fascinated, much less follow one around."

Was the man at the wedding a prophet? Is that what you’re saying? Miriam’s question caught the old man off guard and caused an itch to develop under his turban to which a loose finger found its way.

"Well! The truth is . . . I don’t know what I’m saying! Let me tell you about my years with him and you decide. I saw and heard many things, and what I didn’t see and hear for myself, I heard from others. I have most of it written down, and the rest is in my head. Now, where was I? Oh yes, standing in front of the house looking down upon the crowd slowly making its way up the slope. It was early afternoon and not all the expected guests had arrived. My brother, Johab, and his wife-to-be, the parents, and many guests stood in front of the house, gazes fixed on the approaching figure. Naomi became filled with glee at seeing her cousin Nathaniel standing near the man of honor. The excitement of the wedding had been overshadowed by the man’s presence.

Naomi whispered something to her father as she pointed down the hill. Her father nodded in agreement and descended the slope through a noisy maze of gawking sightseers and barking dogs into the immediate presence of Nathaniel and Joshua. I remember thinking how tall the man of honor was compared to those around him except for Nathaniel and another of his followers whom I later came to know as Andrew. Joshua appeared robust and strong which made sense if he was a woodworker and boatbuilder. Naomi’s father, Jason, spoke to them waving his hands and pointing up the hill in our direction. Joshua nodded his head as he listened, and those around them became excited, happily glancing at each other.

What did her father ask Joshua that made everyone so excited?

"Naomi suggested that the Deliverer lead the wedding procession as guest of honor. His agreement to do it brought joy to those around him, and of course, Naomi was beside herself with anticipation.

Not much later, a woman accompanied by two young men came to the house. Word circulated among us that she was Joshua’s mother and the two men his brothers, James and Jude, the two who were with him at the baptism. Above the sound of laughing children I could hear the whispers in the crowd speculating that his mother had come to see her son make a pronouncement. That was the first we’d heard of a possible declaration, and I tell you, Miriam, the excitement in the air increased as the day drew on.

The invited guests arrived and mingled around the large house and in the garden area trying to catch a glimpse of the presumed ‘Deliverer.’ I kept an eye on him, also. His mother, along with one of her sons, pulled him aside and spoke with him. He listened attentively but when he spoke their faces turned sour and disappointed. The mother and brother left his side as if scolded and stayed clear of the other guests for some time. Joshua also went into solitude finding a quiet spot on the roof of the house. We used the roof for storage and to raise doves. As I was growing up, it was my favorite place to be alone and practice my writing with charcoal and board."

What did they ask him? It must have been upsetting–perhaps about the announcement? Miriam was fascinated with the mystery.

That I don’t know, but it seemed to displease him as if they asked him to do something he was unwilling to do. Anyway, like I said, he was up on the roof for awhile but finally came down in a joyous mood that set the tone for the beginning of the ceremonies. The procession went well and all were happy as the two young people wed. You’ve seen weddings, so I’ll spare you the agony of listening to a detailed account. Nevertheless, the day was a happy one for Johab and Naomi–one they would never forget, but not because it was their wedding day.

Do you mean to say they forgot their wedding day or did something else happen? I have a feeling you’re building up to something and will eventually get to it, won’t you! Miriam wasn’t asking a question. This was an attempt to get him to stop any unnecessary rambling.

Nothing concerning the Deliverer had happened yet. Many there thought he would surprise them during the evening supper. The idea probably took seed when Joshua pulled his six associates aside before the supper and spoke to them for some time. We assumed he gave them instructions on how to best handle the crowd as he made his announcement. The meal began, continued and ended without a word of intention from the special guest. Everyone was sorely disappointed because he made no statement but instead just ate, drank, and seemed to have a wonderful time socializing with newly made friends.

So, that was it? He only came to have a good time with friends and family and then bid them farewell? Miriam’s voice had a slight tone of disappointment as if she were there at the wedding waiting in heightened expectation.

"Oh no, dear, not at all. There was something about to happen which no one could have predicted, expected, hoped for or believed. To this very day, I‘m still bewildered by what I witnessed. I have no way to explain it to myself or to any other. Now, listen.

My father had provided for the drink that day. I transported ample wine for the intended guests, but we never imagined we’d be hosts to the entire countryside of expectant well wishers to the newly found ‘Messiah.’ As the formal supper drew to a close, the servants came to my father informing him of the emergency at hand. The supply of wine was about exhausted if not already entirely drained to the bottoms of the pots. Now, let me tell you, your grandfather spared no expense in getting the best wine available, which was from his favorite vineyard near Magdala.

When my mother heard the news of no wine, she said she’d speak to her new friend, the one person she felt could remedy the situation. Moments later, a woman hurried past everyone and came to rest directly behind me where I stood near the servant’s station. As I spun around, my eyes fell upon the face of the one person I least expected to see–Mary, the mother of the boys from Nazareth. A servant pulled an empty ladle from a stone pot. Mary replied, ‘Don’t be concerned. I’ll speak to my son of this matter and he’ll help us.’ And off she hurried in search of Joshua.

I glanced around the yard and garden but didn’t see him. I climbed upon a small bench to get a better view of the crowd. Then, I could see Mary asking guests where her son might be found and the guests pointing toward the far corner of the garden. I looked in that direction and saw him