Christmas Bits and Thoughts and Midrashim #7

          

     With haunted eyes peering out across the hills, he asks me, or no one, "I wonder--what do you think became of them?"

          I know who he means. I have wondered too, at times, as I lay plates on the table that they left in payment for their stay. Since the slaughter, I have wondered about them often in this bleak, grey season, grey with sackcloth, grey with ash. They were such a sweet couple. I won't forget them, that's for sure!

          I wasn't there when they came. So much to do with the travelers and the Romans in and out. And Eli -- I could not believe it! He put them in the stable! Said he didn't even see she was with child ~ the LUNK!! He just thought they looked tired, and as he was about to turn them away, he thought of the stable. Huh! He could have put those camel drivers in the stable. How could he not have seen?

          I found out in the middle of the night--it was a funny night.  It had been cold and drear all week, but that night the stars shone so it looked almost like day. And there was music. I heard it.  Eli said it was a dream, but I heard it clear as clear, even above his snoring! Anyway, it was in the middle of the night that I found out about them. After the music, first I heard a commotion in the yard--yammering and talking and the baaing of sheep. Then, as if hit with a rock from a spinning sling, we were hit with the squalid smell of unwashed shepherds. Eli woke up yelling, "Oy! and what now??"

          We went, Eli and I, thinking it was some rabble too full of drink, to tell them to clear off. It was as we walked out to the stable that he told me of the couple. "A girl, and her husband...in the stable, Eli, the stable?! And what was in your head?" As we got close we realized that the noise had stopped. In the yard, in the doorway and all around the stable were shepherds. Then the shepherds fell to their knees, and tears fell in muddy streams down leathered faces. There, by the manger we could see the girl and in her lap was a baby. She sang softly to him as he slept,  as babies will on their first night. Her husband, seeing us, came and oh, so humbly, begged some water and perhaps a blanket if we could spare it.

           "Yes, sure, but you'll not be sleeping here! Eli, rouse those camel drivers. They'll not know the difference. Get them out here, and clean the room--they'll have left the room a filth, to be sure. Wake Sarah; get her to help  you."

          "Why?" I asked the young father, "Why didn't you send for me when the baby came?"

          "It was so fast, and well, I didn't know. I mean I didn't want to disturb you all. Your husband was so kind to give us shelter with all the streets so full"

          "Kind? He should have seen. How could you not have seen, Eli? But come, let's get your wife inside.  You there, move the lambs. Get back! Ah there, sweetie. Come with me. The fire will be warm inside. What's your name?"

          "It's Mary." she whispered. She was trembling.

          "Eli, hurry! Is the room ready? Here, I will hold the baby while you walk inside." But her husband was there before I could lift the child from her lap. He took him and held him while he helped his little wife to her feet.

         

          "Joseph, I am ok. I can walk, I think. Look how strong he is.  See how he grips your finger. He'll be helping you in the shop before we know it.  Isn't his face so sweet!"

          This Joseph, so strong and tall, looked like a little boy, his face still full of tenderness and fright. "It is. He looks just like you when you're asleep."

          So Sarah cleaned the room and Eli cleared the way. And as I gently led them in, I heard the shepherd's unhushed voices whispering of music and of angels.

I wonder.