Scripture References: Matthew 2:13–23
3760 AM (8 CE) – A FAMILY REUNION
Miriam looked at her surroundings as they traveled. Finally, the fields no longer looked as they did in Egypt, in Alexandria, and certainly not like the sands of the inhospitable expanse of desert between Egypt and Israel, which, for the occasional traveler, was formidable, yet for armies headed to conquer her homeland, never seemed impassable enough.
Still, the rocks and the trees cried out to the glory of Hashem. This was His land, and this was her country. It was the land of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. It was the land of the house of David, and the King of the Jews.
Miriam looked back to their donkey, being led by Joseph. Their little Yeshua, somehow sleeping on its saddle, clung to the straps securing its load. She could still count his years on one hand, yet it seemed like just the previous day they were fleeing when he was still nursing.
But how had he grown! Miriam felt blessed and loved by Hashem. She was so excited to share all the stories of little Yeshua, the amazing journey to Egypt, and the blessings of Hashem as He cared for them. They would be back at their relatives’ home in a matter of days, and she could hardly wait.
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The road to Bethlehem was well traveled, and for the most part, fairly safe. Joseph’s family dwelling was large and welcoming. For generations, sons had built onto their fathers’ homes, and theirs had many rooms.
Feelings of warmth intensified as they arrived at Bethlehem and wound their way through the streets—streets they had last seen when they had fled that fateful night to preserve the life of their beloved son.
Joseph gave the reins of their animal to Miriam, and he approached the door of his family home. It was oddly quiet. Joseph pounded twice and took several steps back and waited. The sounds of the streets behind them and the activities of life going on filtered in from behind, filling the vacuum of sounds in front of them.
Joseph exchanged glances with Miriam with a slight shrug, as if to wonder aloud about the absence of people. Joseph was about to turn away when the sound of a latch caught both of their attention. The door opened a crack, and an old-looking eye from an older person peered out the crack. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Joseph spoke richly with a tone of expectation. “It’s me, Joseph, son of Jacob.”
He waited as the eye once again looked them all over. This was such a different greeting from that first day of Sukkot, when they came and the house was bustling with children and animals.
Joseph spoke again. “We have come a long way…”
Just then, the door opened, and the older owner of the older eye became visible.
“I am Penina. I do not think we have met. I am a cousin, I think. But I have heard a lot about you two. Everyone is out working. I will show you where you can stay. We … we don’t have much because, um, the Romans.”
Her tone was flat and defeated. Penina walked with a limp, struggling just to get around. She led them in and stabled their animal. She led them to an empty room not much larger than where their donkey stayed.
Joseph unloaded Yeshua into the arms of Miriam and proceeded to unload their things into the guest room. Miriam took Yeshua and went to Penina. “What can I do to help? We don’t want to be a burden.”
“It’s fine,” Penina said shortly. “It’s fine. Do you need a meal, or can you wait until evening?”
“Oh,” Miriam exclaimed with a smile. “We are fine. Really. In fact, we could go to the market if you needed us to pick something up.”
“No,” Penina said in an almost hostile tone. “It’s fine.” Penina turned away and continued making preparations. “Excuse me. I have a lot to do.”
Miriam was speechless as she watched Penina busy herself. Quietly, Miriam retreated to their room. Joseph walked in with a couple of bedrolls and set them down in the corner. He saw the consternation on Miriam’s face.
“What is it?” Joseph wondered aloud to her.
“I don’t know. Something is just off,” she said with a deep sigh.
Joseph thought about it. “We have been gone a long time, and the Romans are terrible to everyone. If anything, she is desperate for the Messiah, as we all are, to free and liberate and restore. I get it.”
“I don’t know, Joseph, maybe that’s it.”
“I am sure it is. Let’s just be patient and wait for the family.”
Joseph let his forehead rest on Miriam’s.
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A sharp knock on their door woke them. It was evening, and they had fallen asleep from the exhaustion of their travels. Miriam quickly rose and straightened her garments. “Yes?”
It was Penina’s voice that answered. “The meal is ready. The family is assembled. Everyone is waiting on you.”
Miriam looked back and saw Joseph standing with Yeshua in his strong arms. She opened the door, and her eyes locked with the bitter eyes of Penina, who had bitter tears streaming down her bitter face. She turned and quickly headed away.
Joseph and Miriam followed.
The table was set, and they were set in the most prominent place, the place of honor, as was their custom. They sat, Yeshua sitting in the lap of Miriam. They looked to the host, whom they also didn’t know.
Finally, the host spoke. “Greetings. Welcome home.”
His voice was flat, and his tone was not exactly sarcastic, but rang with a quality of disingenuousness.
Everyone stared at Joseph and Miriam.
“We do not have much, but we offer to you what we can.” The host closed his eyes and lifted his hands. “Blessed are you, Hashem, ruler of the universe, who sustains us and brings both blessing and curses.”
Everyone at the table, except Joseph and Miriam, said together in loud agreement, “Amein!”
Miriam and Joseph looked at each other in astonishment. Miriam saw it in Joseph’s body language and reached for his arm to try and stop him, but it was too late.
“What is the meaning of this?” Joseph demanded of the host and all his family who were in attendance.
“Ah,” the host confirmed. “Finally.” The host motioned with his arm, and food began to be passed around. “What, indeed. For starters, we thought you were dead. We hoped, actually. You can imagine our surprise, you two showing up as you have… especially with him.”
The host stared indignantly at little Yeshua, who was oblivious to the conversation and devouring a kind of flatbread and hummus.
“What do you mean?” Joseph once again demanded.
“What do we mean? What do we mean?” The host shook his head slightly, with a kind of mocking grin. “He asks us what we mean,” the host said as he gestured around the long, low table. “You look, but you do not see; you listen, but there is nothing to be heard. You wonder why we wonder at your return with your legacy, while we grieve at the absence of our own?”
Miriam spoke. “I don’t understand. What do you mean? Your children?” she asked, looking around, realization falling on her awareness like a heavy weight: there were no children whatsoever with them around the table, save little Yeshua. “Where are your children? I don’t see any.”
“Yes, you don’t, and you won’t, because of what you two have done. You murdered our legacy,” the host said in an almost violent tone, “and Adonai has not replaced them.”
“What?” Joseph answered, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
Penina spoke. “You act as if you did not know! Aren’t you collaborators with Rome? How else would you have known? You have to be, otherwise, you would have told us!”
The host jumped in. “Quite right. Collaborators! Stealing away in the dead of night, just hours before the Romans killed every child in Bethlehem, even tearing open pregnant women.”
Silence followed the tumultuous outburst of the much pent-up anguish. Joseph’s face was beet red in agony from the accusations, and Miriam was bitterly weeping softly behind Joseph.
Slowly, Joseph collected himself and, in turn, locked eyes with each person seated around the table. Firmly, yet gently, Joseph rebuked the whole lot of them. “We are not collaborators with Rome or any enemy of Israel.”
Joseph let the words hang, but then continued. “It was Hashem who told us.”
“Oh, sure,” the host interrupted, “just like when Miriam was—”
“Let me stop you right there,” Joseph interrupted. “Do not blaspheme Adonai. Do not call what is good evil. The Spirit of Hashem came upon Miriam when we were betrothed, and He woke us up and told us to flee. We knew nothing of what was going to happen. Hashem said move, and we moved.”
“But,” Penina spewed with utter desperation, “why did you not tell us? Wake us up?”
It was Miriam who finally answered. “In the moments we had to act, or maybe react, our sole directive was to protect the Messiah, to protect Yeshua.”
“Some Messiah,” Penina wailed. “Were our children not worth delivering? Isn’t he our Messiah, too?”
Miriam looked to Joseph, who just shrugged.
The host spoke. “Stay here tonight, but tomorrow you must leave.”
Used with permission by the author. Find the author’s complete works online: Complete Works of Mack Samuels
