bulged out of his head. They would tear his arms out of their sockets. They told each other they were stronger and meaner than anyone else in the city. Josef was relieved when he crossed the next square and could no longer hear their boasting.
•
Late one morning the following week, Josef was resting in the courtyard by his house. He had already made deliveries and done a lesson with Mosche, and had just finished hauling water to the shops around the courtyard.
Now he was playing with the blacksmith’s cat. He happened to look up and see Father Matthias, the young priest from St. Paul’s Church, peering over the gate. Father Matthias lifted the latch and came through. He was a stocky, red-faced man with straight black hair.
“Hello, young man. You are Josef, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Father.”
The priest sat on a ledge of the stone wall and motioned for Josef to sit beside him. “I was passing through your neighborhood and thought I might have a word with you.”
“With me, Father?” the boy asked incredulously.
“Yes. Old Father Albert spoke to me the other day and said you seemed to be interested in books and reading and that sort of thing.”
“Yes, Father.” Josef looked up at him eagerly.
“Perhaps some day you would like to be a priest and a learned man?”
“I want to learn as much as I can. If I didn’t have to work all the time, I could go to school.”
“There are no schools in Worms.”
“The Jews have schools.”
Father Matthias narrowed his eyes. “Who told you that? What do you know about Jews?”
“A boy I met. He said all the boys in his street start school when they’re six.”
Father Matthias assumed a serious tone. “Now, listen. You must not mingle with Jews. They are infidels and Christ-haters. We allow them to live near us because they are masters of commerce. It’s all right to buy and sell with them but not to talk to them about other things. Do you understand?”
“I guess.”
“And besides, it’s not necessary for all boys to learn to read. In fact, it would be harmful. Most of what has been written is utter trash. The common people get all the learning they need from the creeds and what the priests teach them. Anything else is likely to undermine their faith.”
Josef remained silent.
“Here is what we will do. In two years you may commence your study of Latin. I myself will instruct you. In the meantime, Father Albert will teach you creeds and doctrines so that you may be ready to read Holy Scripture with the right understanding.” As he said this, Father Matthias leaned closer, and Josef could smell his breath. “If you make good progress in Latin, perhaps you may someday study with the monks at the cloister. We’ll see if we can make a scholar of you.”
The priest rose and opened the gate. As he was leaving the courtyard he said, “You may speak to your mother about this, but no one else. And, mind you, stay away from Jews.”
Chapter 2
What was Josef to do now? His best friend Mosche was a Jew, and yet Father Matthias had told him to stay away from Jews. The two boys had been meeting early in the morning almost every day for several weeks. Josef helped Mosche unload heavy cheese wheels from his cart, and he had found other ways to be helpful as well. He wanted to do as much as he could to show how grateful he was for all that Mosche was doing for him.
Mosche had continued teaching Josef. Already they had worked through most of the Hebrew alphabet, up to the letter tzadi. Mosche had taught him many words, most recently words that began with tzadi, like tzedaka. It was the duty of every Jew, Mosche said, to practice tzedaka, to give alms to the poor and show kindness to the needy. It sounded exactly like what Jesus said. Hadn’t his own mother told him that Jesus taught us to give alms to poor beggars? Father Matthias had said Jews were Christ-haters, but how could it be that Mosche would hate a man who taught tzedaka?
Suddenly Josef had an idea. He would ask Mosche if he hated Jesus. If Mosche said no, then they could still be friends. Maybe Father Matthias was wrong—maybe some Jews didn’t hate Jesus after all.
At their next meeting Josef brought up the subject cautiously. “What would you think of a Christian who did tzedaka?”
“Perhaps he studied Torah,” said Mosche, “and that would be a good thing.”
“What if he was also a teacher?”
“You know that many of our rabbis are great teachers. We respect them above all others.”
“Have you heard of someone called Jesus?”
“Yes, he was a Jew and a rabbi.”
Josef could not believe his ears. “Jesus was a Jew? Then how could you hate him?”
Mosche looked at Josef with a puzzled expression. He seemed to be thinking how best to respond. “Who said I hate Jesus? He was just a man who lived a long time ago. His followers did some crazy things, but that doesn’t mean I hate him.”
Josef, who had been holding his breath, exhaled. “I’m glad,” he said. “Now we can still be friends.”
Mosche shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. Let’s do our lesson.”
When Josef returned home that morning, his mother was waiting for him at the gate. She looked agitated. “Josef, I must speak to you right away.”
“What is it, Mutti?” Was she going to reprimand him for staying away too long in the mornings? Had she found out about his meetings with Mosche?
“You know times have been hard lately. Since the price of grain went up, everything else has been more expensive too.” She sighed. “After we pay the rent and buy sewing supplies, we have barely enough left for food.”
Josef was relieved to know the source of his mother’s anxiety. “It’s all right, Mutti. We’ll gather more this year after the harvest. I’ll stay longer in the fields, and fill more baskets and carry more loads.”
“But it will be two months before harvest season is here. I’ve found a way to get a few more pennies each week. We’ll rent out the back room to a boarder. There’ll be less space for you and me, but it can’t be helped. I’ve already moved my sleeping mat to your corner by the fireplace, and I found another stool to put at the table. He’ll be taking most of his meals with us.”
“Who?”
“The boarder. That’s why I wanted to talk to you right away. He’s already moved in. His name is Joakim.”
Josef followed his mother across the courtyard and up the stairway. Once inside, he saw a middle-aged man with stringy hair and stubble on his chin sitting on a stool at the table. The man glanced up at them as they entered.
“Joakim, this is my son Josef.”
Joakim
