My name is Yeshu.

The neighbors had their thoughts when my parents did not name me after my father or grandfathers. My brothers do carry their names: James, Joses (for Joseph), Jude and Simon. My mother does not want to talk about it. "Perhaps later," she said. But I like Yeshu. It is the name of Moses' servant Joshua, who led the people into the promised land. "The LORD saves us." Sometimes I feel like the name calls out to me, as if God is with me wherever I go.

We grew up in the hills of a hamlet by the name of Nazareth where my parents let me herd the goats and my younger siblings. Nazareth's only redeeming factor is the Via Maris that runs from Egypt to Damascus, and runs past the hill fortress of Megiddo,  the lush Valley of Yizreel, up the hills along Nazareth and Cana, and then down to Magdala along the Sea of Galilee. If I saw traffic coming from the valley, I could lead the herd towards the road to see carts and camels carrying spices, pickled fish and garum, or linen cloth. On a clear day we could see the snowcapped Hermon in the far north, or - from the right spot - the Mediterranean in the west. 

When I grew up, I helped my father transporting his handiwork to Sepphoris, the elegant capital of the Galilee, perched like a dove on her nest. I loved the sounds of Aramaic and Greek in the streets, and sometimes even Egyptian, Latin or Parthian in the market. Sepphoris was the city where he earned most of his income as a builder and furnisher in wood and stone, although he would rather raise us in a purely Jewish village. My parents took their heritage seriously. They taught us the Jewish laws and customs. Although we did not have a synagogue, my father made sure to teach us psalms and prayers, and how to read out loud our Hebrew scriptures. When I was twelve they took me with them to Jerusalem for Pesach. The three days of walking through Jordan valley and the Judaean desert, the camping out with tens of thousands of pilgrims on the mountains of Jerusalem, the ritual washing in Siloam, the offering or our lamb in the temple, and the public debates about the Law - I loved all of it.

*

I was about fourteen years old when it all changed. My father worried about his work in Sepphoris. Herod Antipas, the ruler of the Galilee, was moving his capital to the new city on the Sea of Galilee. He called it Tiberias in honor of the Roman emperor. All government money now went to that new city and the economy around the lake was booming. My father wanted us to move. My mother, however, felt sick of it. Her family lived in and around Nazareth and she needed them with my younger brothers. My sisters had already been promised in marriage in Nazareth, and she had always imagined herself at their side when they would have children of their own. 

In the end, economics won. My parents used all their savings to buy a house with a workshop in Capernaum, a border town on the lake side where my mother's sister Salome lived. Her husband Zebedee owned a fishing boat and owned one of the larger houses on the harbor front. I missed Nazareth but the new town suited me. The Via Maris run straight through the town. It even had a synagogue and a rabbi Joshua who taught me the oral traditions and the logic of the law. My cousins, James and John were a bit younger, but they taught us to fish and I was happy that they took my younger brothers of my hands. I discovered a new pride as I witnessed how soon my father earned a reputation for quality and fair prices. He worked hard to pay for the dowries of my sisters and for my education. It made me want to become like him. I did not know, then, how quickly that day would come.

The wages of sin

Within our synagogue there were people who disapproved of my father. They thought it wrong that he would work for weeks in Tiberias. "It is a pagan city," they said, "built on ancient burial grounds. How can we now that you don't bring that impurity into our community?" My father kept silent, because deep within he agreed with them. Although he liked to train me as his apprentice, he never allowed me to go with him to the construction site in Tiberias. "That is no place for you, my son." And every Friday when he came home, he would bathe himself in the lake before entering our house or praying at our synagogue. We needed the money.

One Friday, not long after I had turned eighteen, my father did not come home. Instead a messenger came to tell us of the building accident that had left him gravely injured. My mother and I rushed off to Tiberias, but we came too late. When we buried him, I had to say the prayers. People cried. But some murmured softly: "the wages of sin."

*

I took over my father's workshop, but my mother would not have me do any work in Tiberias. My mother's hands were tied with raising my two sisters and four brothers. At times, my aunt Salome stepped in with the younger ones. Rabbi Joshua offered to teach me for free, but I had to work as much as I could to make up for the loss of my father. By then I had memorized the psalms and parts of the prophet Isaiah, and I would recite them as I worked the wood. "But please continue with James," I said, "he really enjoys your lessons." Thus I became a husband to my mother, a father to my brothers, and a rabbi to my tools.

These were difficult years, but not without joy. We managed to get my sisters married in Nazareth, fulfilling the promises that my father had made. James showed real talent in his studies and continued with rabbi Joshua. Jude found a job with the farmers outside Capernaum. And Joses and Simon - when he was old enough - came with me to the workshop. Just as our father had done with me, I would teach them Thora and woodworking at the same time.

Levi, the son of my father's brother Chalpai came to live with us in Capernaum. He could write and keep accounts. Somehow he had secured work as a customs collector for the government, taxing the traders on the Via Maris that crossed the border just east of our town. The Government levied taxes on the farmers for their crops, the fishers for their catch and a poll tax for anyone who dared to be alive. That is how Herod got the money for building his new capital. Some hated Herod for it, and some hated my cousin Levi as well: "Is it not a sin to help sinners sin?" But he was a gift of God to us: we needed the rent he paid and he kept the accounts of our small business in order.

The Baptist

A few years ago, when I was about twenty-two years old, a new hope took hold of our nation. A voice in the wilderness that reminded us all of who we are: the people of God's calling. "Return to the king of heaven, and he will turn our fate." Preaching along the pilgrim routes through Jordan Valley, John baptized the pilgrims on their way to the temple. He made people remember the story of the Exodus: "Leave slavery behind and step into the promised land." "How do we do that?" people asked. "Let those who have two shirts give one to those who have none. Let those who have food share it with those who are hungry." Even tax collectors came to him with this question, as did soldiers. "Don't demand more than what is strictly prescribed. Stop looting and extortion. Be content with your wages."

The authorities could not be opposed to this message, and yet it was a subversive one. People's dignity was no longer dependent on a ruler's grace or a temple ritual, but now came from within. John's message did not just change people's behavior, it changed their expectations. God is our king and He is the ultimate ruler of the world. But when I looked at a freshly minted coin in my hand, it said it was the fifteenth year of Tiberius as the imperator. 

*

One of those year, we went up to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover in the temple. On our way, we saw a large crowd of people by the river, listening to a thin man dressed only in a camel hair cloak. My brothers were enthusiastic. "It's John the Baptist. Shall we be baptized too?" I laughed and asked: "What must I repent of in order to be baptized?"