The Christmas Story as You Probably Never Heard It

You haven't heard much from me in a long time. For several years I have been working on a novel of the life of Christ from the viewpoint of the family of the innkeeper in Bethlehem. This version of the first chapter will upend a lot of your expectations. There is no stable in the Biblical account. There isn't even an inn (except a mistranslation in the KJV), but I have kept that. To encourage a fresh look, I have used Hebrew and Aramaic names. I would love feedback from you on how that works.

​In the days of Caesar Augustus
When Quirinius was governor of Syria
And Herod tetrarch of Yehudah

“Luly lulay,” I hummed over my little son as I sank onto a stool and leaned against the natural rock wall at the back of the house. Light flickered from the small oil lamp on a protruding shelf of rock. Our donkey rustled the straw on the floor of his quarters a few feet below the dais where we sat. Beni tilted his little head back to smile at the friendly beast. I laughed as he turned quickly back to my breast.  

What a day! Was there no end to these visitors to Beit Lechem come to pay their taxes to Caesar? Every space beneath the olive trees outside was taken. Every cave in the hillside was full. Even at this hour my slaves were doing a brisk business selling cheap barley bread and lentil stew up and down the crowded caravanserai. ​

Beni’s bright black eyes smiled up at me, and his fat hand caressed the breast he suckled. I nuzzled his soft head and felt my milk let down. Soon he would be too big for this. Already he was eating bits of barley bread dipped in lentils and toddling around the house, clinging to his sister Tirza’s finger. How long until he preferred to drink from a cup and these precious moments were gone forever? Ah, but tonight, Adonai…

A knock sounded at the door. 

“Tell them there’s no room,” I moaned to my husband.  

Barak left off scooping lentils into a bowl from the pot at the side of the fire and rose to answer. 

I turned back to Beni. It wasn’t our fault the Roman emperor had ordered everyone to their hometown for a census. What are we? Their slaves that they must keep track of how many of us there are? But no, we line up like sheep to be counted. Taxes!—as if it were our responsibility to support his conquering army. The province of Yehudah was poor enough already.  Where, o where, was Adonai’s promise of a savior?

Barak swung open the door.

Yet another stranger stood outside in the frosty night. “Cousin Barak?” came a tentative voice.

The moment my husband hesitated I knew he would not send the man away. I shook my head. Barak was like that, and I couldn’t help loving him for it.

“I…” The stranger stumbled. “I’m Yosef ben Yaacov ben Mattan. I’ve come—”

“Yacov’s boy?” Barak’s weathered face lit with pleasure. “Come in! Come in! You’re the spitting image of your father. I should have known you in a moment. How is the old man? I’ll wager those pagan Gentiles in the Galil have never seen such sturdy houses and furniture.” He nudged Yosef as he drew him in.

The young man’s face relaxed in a smile at the welcome. “My wife…” he began.

“Your wife?” Barak craned his neck to see around the courtyard. “Where is she? Bring her, bring her. We’ll make room. The inn is full, as you can see, but there’s always room for family.”

I sighed and pulled Benyamin from my breast. After all, family is family. Beni whimpered as I thrust him at little Tirza. “Give him a bit of bread,” I said as she rose, “and don’t let him fall in the fire.” I filled a gourd with water from the storage jar in the corner and added it to the pot with a pinch of salt. More mouths to feed tonight.

I glanced at the basket of barley loaves, fresh that afternoon. Plenty. No need to send to the kitchens for more. I still tended to bring enough for a growing boy although Shimon had taken our tiny flock of sheep and goats to pasture with the village boys in the fields outside town—his first season. I couldn’t keep a smile from my lips. My boy was now a full son of the law and thought himself very grand. 

“Come in! Come in!” Barak welcomed the guests. 

“This is my wife, Miryam,” Yosef said in that same hopeful voice, but there was a kind of breathlessness to it that said he adored her.

I looked up to see a young woman, a girl really, not much older than Shimon. My heart softened. Miryam was with child. Her time must be nearly upon her. What a season to make such a journey! All the way from the Galil. Under my breath I cursed that emperor, sitting comfortably in his far-off palace, ordering the movement of people as if they were no more than playing pieces in a game for his pleasure. When would Messiah come and free us from this tyranny?

Barak helped Yosef lead their donkey through the low door. “You can tie him here with ours.” He slapped the rump of our donkey, and it obligingly made room. The nanny goat we kept for cheese was less accommodating. She maaed loudly, but Barak rubbed his hands together. “Another animal will make the house nice and cozy tonight.” 

I motioned the girl across the lower level where our animals stayed and up three steps to the raised living quarters. I plumped an embroidered cushion and put it on the stool for her. After all, she was my guest and family. Miryam smiled her thanks and eased herself onto the stool. Her eyes closed as she leaned against the wall and rested her hand on her swollen belly.

How well I remembered those last few weeks of pregnancy, the awkward movements, the discomfort that made it nearly impossible to sleep. It had been less than a year since I had waddled around with Beni in my belly. But oh, what joy when he was born! I took him from Tirza and kissed his curly head. He pulled at my tunic, his mouth already open to receive the breast. I laughed and gave it to him.

“Your first?” I asked the girl.

Miryam nodded.

“I remember my first. He’s a fine young man now. Nearly grown. He’s out with our sheep.”

She smiled, rubbing her belly. “You must be very proud.”

“Any idea when?”

“Soon,” the girl replied, drawing a deep breath. “Soon.” 

I patted her shoulder. “You’ll do fine, a strong, healthy girl like you.” 

With one hand I balanced Beni and with the other tipped a measure of oats into the manger built into the raised floor of our family quarters. Yosef’s donkey buried his nose in it and munched quietly.
 
*** 

Yosef shared the pot of lentils with Barak. Miryam declined to eat. “I’m just tired,” she said.

“Of course, you are.” I eyed her swollen belly and the way she clutched it. If I knew anything about babies, her time was very near.

Barak cleared out the wine jars and sacks of grain stored in the grotto at the back of the house and brought in a few armloads of straw to spread there. “This’ll have to do. All the guest rooms are full, as you probably noticed, but then, most of them are caves as well.” He winked at Yosef. “Always the coolest in summer and warmest in winter. Why, half the houses in Beit Lechem are built in front of caves.”

Yosef smiled and lowered Miryam to the woolen blanket I had spread over the straw.
The men sat talking by the fire, but I fell quickly asleep.
 
***
 
“Cousin Tamara.” 

I woke with a start. Yosef spoke quietly over me. “Miryam’s time has come. I…I don’t know what to do.”

I was instantly awake. Of course, he didn’t; he was a man! I climbed over Barak, trying not to disturb him or Tirza and Beni in the bed with us, but Barak roused anyway.

“I’m sorry,” the girl whispered when I reached her in the grotto. “I didn’t want to be a bother. I saw how crowded the inn is; you need your rest.”

I waved a dismissive hand and smiled at her. “Can’t be helped. No woman should have to give birth alone.”

I sent the men to the courtyard. “Bring in those old grinding stones,” I instructed. “We’ll use them for a birthing stool.” Barak nodded and nudged Yosef out the door. “Wash them first!” I called after them. “We don’t want filth brought into the house.” Barak nodded again. “And send some women,” I added.

He did. One swooped up a wide-eyed Tirza and carried her out. Another lifted Beni without waking him. My sister Avihail and neighbor Haggit and a half dozen strangers from the camps under the trees stayed to help. An Idumean with tattoos on her forehead and chin stirred up the fire and set stones heating to warm water. While Haggit and I walked Miryam up and down the crowded dais, they told tales of the births of their little ones. Avihail had the sense to shush them when the conversation moved to stillbirths and labors that went on for days and ended in the death of both mother and child.  No woman needed to hear talk like that when her pains were upon her, especially not when the child was her first. 

The girl made hardly a sound as the contractions came one after another. It was well past midnight when Haggit and I helped Miryam to position the clean grinding stones, one beneath each thigh. “Soon,” I assured the girl. “Soon.”

Her eyes were wide with excitement. She showed not a sign of fear. Avihail wiped sweat from Miryam’s neck and forehead with a cloth already damp from the night’s hard work. She closed her eyes and pushed as another contraction came upon her. A dark head appeared.

“Once more,” I urged.

​She nodded, pushed, and with a shout of triumph, brought her son into the world.
 
***
 
When we had cleaned the mother, washed the babe, rubbed him with cleansing salt and swaddled him in fresh cloths, we invited the men back into the house. Avihail handed around cups of watered wine, and Sarai, my slave, passed a tray of skewered meats, hastily prepared. It seemed that half the residents of the inn had crowded into our house to celebrate the birth.

“What will you call him?” Barak asked. 

Yosef looked proudly down at the baby in his arms, his eyes full of tenderness and awe. “Yeshua,” he answered without a moment’s hesitation.

“Yeshua?” Barak frowned. “‘The Lord saves’? You have an uncle of that name, don’t you?”

Yosef waved his hand as if the uncle were of no import. “Yes, but…” He sought and held his wife’s eyes. “That’s not the reason. There’s never been anyone like this child.”

My laugh was almost a sigh. “I think we all feel that way.” I laid a sleeping Beni carefully onto the bed and smoothed the dark curls from his forehead. “All I can say is, we certainly need saving from these Romans.” 

“True enough,” Barak agreed, and several of our guests nodded.

“You’ll need a cradle.” I looked around. “Here, this’ll do for now.” I flicked the last husks of oats from the manger. “Barak, move that donkey.” As he hurried to do so, I piled fresh straw into the feeding trough and covered it with a homespun cloth that had wrapped Beni when he was smaller. “There it is; fit for a king.”

Miryam laughed. “A king! Yes!” She cradled the sleeping newborn in her arms, kissed him tenderly on his forehead and laid him in the manger.

“Tamara,” Barak said. “Where’s your timbral?”

I laughed. “It’s the middle of the night, husband!”

“It’s a celebration!” he replied, and our guests urged me on.

Wide awake, Tirza squirmed from the arms of her Aunt Avihail and ran to the chest. She held out the instrument to me. I looked at her bright eyes and shook it. At the silvery jingle. Avihail raised her arms over her head and began to sway. The other women joined her, clapping and weaving their hips and shoulders in rhythm. Tirza imitated their every move. Soon Beni rolled over and sat up. From the corner of my eye I could see him, laughing and clapping his fat little hands.

“Outside!” someone called. “There’s more room.” The celebration spilled into the yard, where circles formed, men and women, moving in opposite directions. More timbrels appeared from the traveler’s baggage and two pipes. 

I danced that night with abandon, the music of the timbrel shivering down my back. The tiredness fell away. The work was forgotten. A babe had been born. Who knew what this new life might mean? 
 
***

The new mother was asleep when we slid exhausted back into our bed. I had barely settled a drowsy Tirza when voices came from the courtyard. The door burst open without a knock.

“Abba! Imma! You won’t belie—” Shimon broke off at sight of the babe in the manger. His mouth fell open, and his dark eyes grew wide. Without waiting to explain, he darted out the door again. “Kofa! Ezra! Here! He’s here!”

In a moment the smell of unwashed shepherds—half a dozen of them—filled the room as they crowded in. They weren’t all village boys. Some were older, Idumeans from the desert who brought vast herds to sell for temple sacrifices. Their eyes were rimmed with black kohl against the desert sun, and their bodies reeked of garlic.

Beni woke and cried. I picked him up and dandled him on my hip. What was Shimon thinking, bringing these people here at this hour? 

Tirza sat up and rubbed sleepy eyes for the second time that night. “Is the dancing over?” 

“Go back to sleep, my jewel,” I told her, but she didn’t.

Shimon and the other shepherds knelt and bowed in front of the manger as if it were indeed the throne of a king. Miryam sat up on her heap of straw and looked around in wonder. 

The one Shimon had called Kofa set down a young lamb he’d been carrying. He looked from the babe to the mother. “This’ll make a fine broth,” he said in an Idumean accent so thick I wondered if her Galilean ears could understand him. “You must eat well to make strong milk for your son.” 

Miryam smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “You are kind.”

The lamb put his head into the manger and nuzzled the infant. I would have pulled him away, but Tirza slipped out of bed and buried her fingers in the lamb’s wool, gazing with him at the baby. Yeshua opened his tiny mouth in a yawn and stretched within his swaddling bands.

Barak sidled up to Shimon. “You are welcome, my son, but…why did you come? Now—in the middle of the night?”

Shimon turned wide eyes to him. 

“We saw angels!” He announced in an awed voice. “There in the fields. Great and terrible messengers of God. All wings and fire and eyes! So many eyes that saw straight to the heart.” He shivered. “Their captain told us not to be afraid.” 

Ezra grunted. “As if we could do that with a whole army of heavenly beings burning up the sky!” 

A chilly breeze blew in from the caravanserai. Inn guests crowded the doorway and spilled inside. They hung on every word. I made to shoo them out of our private quarters—once in the night was quite enough—but Barak put out a hand to stop me. 

Shimon spoke louder so all could hear. “The angel said he had good news. Good news of great joy. Not just for us—” He gestured to the now crowded room “—but for all people.” 

Ezra’s head bobbed in agreement.

“All people?” an old man murmured doubtfully. He eyed the Idumean shepherds. Kofa eyed him back, his kohl-rimmed eyes never blinking. 

“Good news for Romans won’t be good news for us,” someone said. He turned his head to spit through the door into the courtyard. 

Ezra nodded. “But that’s what the angel said: good news for all people.” 

“Messiah!” Shimon burst out.  

“Messiah?” someone scoffed. “The promised one? After all these years?” A murmur passed through the crowd. 

“That was what the angel said,” Shimon assured him. “‘Today in the town of David’—that’s Beit Lechem! Right here!” He pointed excitedly at the ground beneath his feet. “‘A Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, Adonai.’”

“But this is only a baby!” I insisted. “Not a warrior to fight the Romans.”

Ezra shook his head. “But that’s what the angel said to look for. I was trembling so much I could hardly look, but I heard the words. Clear as if it was you, Barak, talking to me. ‘A Savior. Messiah. Adonai.’”

I shook my head. There had to be some mistake. “Shimon, this is your cousin Yosef and his wife, come from the Galil because of the census. This baby has nothing to do with angels.”

“Don’t you see?” Shimon insisted. “It’s the sign the angel gave: ‘You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.’” He gestured to tiny Yeshua.

I stared. Miryam had wrapped the baby. I myself had cleared the manger for him to sleep. “It couldn’t be,” I whispered.

Miryam gave Yosef a long look as if there were things they hadn’t told us, things she kept in her heart. She picked up her son. Yosef bent over her and studied the baby with awe-filled eyes. What had he said? “There’s never been anyone like this child.” The lamb rose and hovered protectively. A hush fell on the room.

​“Born this day in the city of David,” Shimon repeated. “A Savior who is Messiah—Adonai.”