Novel
In this section we present our english translation of ‘Jesus of Nazareth’. It is the first such translation of this unique novel.
Yosef the Carpenter's Morning
Having awakened early in the morning, the carpenter Yosef ben Yaakow got up from a reed-made mat with some difficulty and, stumbling over the carpentry tools scattered around, he went outside his house (which he inherited from his deceased parents; his older sister lived with her husband on the other side of town), as he wanted not only to get rid of the remnants of the sleepy stupor with which his body was still filled, but also to delight his eyes with the spring landscape – a vivid opposite of the grey and dour interior of his mud hut standing there on a lonesome hill. From here there was a view of the mountains of Naphtali, Tabor and Gilboa, of the valley of Jezreel sloping down towards the sea, of Sepphoris, a bustling pagan city, reluctantly frequented by the Galileans; the view of the olive and fig groves surrounding tiny Nazareth, a town akin to an amphitheater, lying below on several hills and blending into one colorful and pastel whole with the landscape. The houses and the mud huts, and even the pride of the town – the synagogue were merging so indivisibly with the hills and fields, at some distance it would be hard to tell the houses from the hills, and the synagogue from a golden field of barley. It was a quiet, peaceful view, almost still in its patriarchal dignity, and only a flock of white sheep and lambs running merrily downhill towards the valley, and the narrow swath of the sea flickering in the sun, only these would invigorate the stern and intense face of this land. But Yosef wasn’t leaving his house in the mornings just to appreciate the landscape. The view was indeed admirable, but regardless of its charm, it posessed one quality above all, a priceless value for the carpenter: that it was a suitable setting for a small, rock-hewn house (he just fixed his eyes on this place) where his little Miriam lived with her parents. He would often compare her beauty to those vineyards, cypresses, and olives, though he knew deep down (and this is the uncharted paradox of all comparisons) that his Miriam was more beautiful than the most beautiful vineyards, cypresses or olive groves.
Yosef went back to the mud hut and quickly returned with a prayer shawl and tefillin. He kissed them intently, he covered his head with the shawl, he rolled up the sleeve on his left hand, and, praising the Lord, facing south towards Jerusalem – the city towering far beyond the dark mountains of Samaria – he slowly wrapped his palm and his bare arm with black straps. A leather tin containing the sacred verses of the Pentateuch on parchment was placed on his forehead: while praying, he fastened it to his forehead with straps, which, like the offshoot of a vine, twined around his fingers, arms and head, and throughout his body they spread the life-giving juice of God’s Word. When he felt in his veins the warmth of the prayer growing within, he pulled the white-blue shawl over his eyes and, swaying slightly, he blessed the Lord and His angels, men, animals and plants, the land of Israel and Jerusalem; the Temple, and Bethlehem, the city of David, the city of his own cradle, and he blessed Nazareth, the city of little Miriam. Then he straightened up and, making sure that his head was covered tightly, he took a deep breath and intoned Shema Israel, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad – a confession that sounded in his mouth like the sound of palm trees and like a triumphant fanfare of trumpets, but at the same time it was a humble sobbing and a supplication; and it was due to this mix of triumph with humility and supplication, that it came off so true and poignant. His eyes found the rock-hewn house of little Miriam again, and he was deeply moved by the sight, as he thought how he will bring her to his home soon, among the hymeneal singing, and The Invisible One – blessed be His Name – will touch the womb of his wife, from whom his son will be brought forth into the world, and this son will bring forth his own sons, and they in turn will conceive their own sons, and as Yosef does today, his son and the sons of his son, and their sons to the farthest generations, will live here on this hill, and in the silence of the morning they will praise The Lord Sabaoth.
Giving way to his imagination, Yosef ben Yaakow, in great joy and elation, wondered what name he should give to his firstborn, for he knew the name is an inseparable part of a human being, shaping, according to its meaning, the life and fate of a person; but unfortunately, despite his pious zeal, he could not think of a name expressing the perfect fullness of these qualities that his son should shine with.
He returned to the hut, took off the tefillin and the shawl, kissed them, and put them in a chest.
He put on his sandals and ran down the hill.
