Judith Shadford

“Mother, I must go! The people are following the rabbi. Maybe he will speak and if he does I have to hear him because I want to be his follower as soon as I have my bar mitzvah!”

The real fear clutched at my heart when I saw the gates of the city. How would we ever find our son? Then, the fear traveled deeper. I had lost the miraculous son given to me by Bright Lights because I wasn’t paying attention. I felt I was dropping into Sheol.

Auntie Elizabeth looks so old. All the glow she had after Johanan was born and even while he was growing up is now all gone. She’s just...old. Her body is stooped and leathery, and her eyes that used to sparkle in delight or mischief or love are just dull, staring off into the vineyard.

We set out on the Roman road west out of Nazareth. It was so hot that afternoon. No breeze.

Nostalgia, grief, bloody violence in rapid succession...does it sound familiar to you?

Yeshua inclined his head to the steward. “Tell the boys to fill those jars with water.” The steward’s eyes got very wide. “All of them?”

The next Thursday more than a dozen of us trooped over to Uncle Meshulam’s. His vineyards marched down the hillside on either side of a great terrace.