and ordering their older ones to stay near them.
Father and the other knesset leaders stood on an elevated stone platform in the middle of the knot of men. Father looked tall and distinguished up there. On level ground, he was a handbreadth shorter than Lev and me. The assembly opened with the shema‘, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.” Conversation faded as the prayers continued. “Graciously favor us, our Father, with understanding from Thee, and discernment and insight out of Thy Torah. Blessed art Thou, O Lord, gracious bestower of understanding. Behold our afflictions—”
“Our afflictions,” shouted tiny Samuel, who was perched atop the olive press. “We’re here to discuss our afflictions.”
Namir screamed and shook his fist at the knesset leaders. “Yes, get to the point—the afflictions Rome will send our way when they find their capital city has been looted!”
Ze’ev, Samuel’s father, rattled his walking stick at my father. “This is your fault, Micah.” His voice quavered with age and fury. “You incited your son and those boys with your Lord’s Kingdom blather!”
Aaron’s father stood up on the bench where Ze’ev sat. “You even taught your girl to read, you fool. You’re supposed to teach Torah, not revolution!”
A stone landed near Father. Several women standing near me backed away. More accusations were flung at Father, and the space between the women and me widened. I stared at them and turned up my nose, but a little voice within me cried, “Mama, Papa.” My fear of losing Father, buried in a cave deep within my heart, sprang out from its confinement. But at that moment, my friends Naomi and Miryam and their mothers pushed through the cold circle enlarging around me and grasped my hands.
Father held up his arms and shouted, “Enough!” The strength of his voice surprised me. His eyes burned with intensity. “I have never counseled violence. You know that I oppose it.”
The denouncements faded. Though Lev often complained that Father’s scholarship was useless, most of the villagers respected him for it. Father’s learning, which he had brought with him from Jerusalem many years ago, gave him power in our little world.
The men then turned on each other and argued about the attack. Our neighbor Amos raised his arms in praise of it. “Away with the Roman infidels and their Jewish allies!” he declared.
“The Romans steal our land; they tax us into poverty; they worship false gods,” cried Oron. “It’s time we drove them out. These brave rebels are showing us the way.”
Another leader of the knesset quoted the prophet Isaiah. “I will contend with those who contend with you, and I will save your children.”
“Silence.” Father’s voice rose above all the others. “We haven’t assembled to debate the wisdom of this attack. It has happened, and, though we don’t know when or in what way, there will be retaliation. We must decide how to protect our people and property from Roman vengeance.”
The assembly dragged on into the night, but after much wrangling, decisions were made. Most people agreed that it was best to flee and seek safety elsewhere, taking their valuables and animals with them. Since it was so close to the harvest, some people insisted on staying behind to bring it in. They would store or sell the flax, barley, and wheat and then they, too, would flee. In the meantime, the Jebel Qafzeh caves south of the village would be provisioned as hiding places for them.
Back in our house after the meeting, Father fell asleep sitting upright on our dining bench. I laid a barley loaf, olives, and dates on the table and kissed the shock of thick white hair that crowned his head. “Supper is ready, Father.”
At mealtimes, Father was usually quiet and distracted by his own thoughts. “What mysteries is he unraveling, what truths is he formulating?” Lev would whisper, and then make me laugh by imitating Father’s faraway gaze and his laborious chewing of food.
But tonight Father fixed his eyes on me throughout our meal, studying me as if I were a difficult text. His attentiveness made me anxious. I worried that he might know of my attempt to follow Lev and that I would be punished for it.
When we finished eating, Father said, “I’m going to take you to Jerusalem, Danya. You’ll stay there with your brother Chuza until it’s safe for you to return to Nazareth.”
Father rarely spoke the name of his son Chuza, the only child of his first marriage. Five lonely years after the death of his first wife, Chuza’s mother, Father married Nahara, the woman who became the mother of Lev and me. My half-brother Chuza had gone off to Jerusalem when I was very young, so I hardly knew him.
Lev had the courage to fight for our people. I must be brave enough to tell Father I wanted to do the same. With my eyes down, but my voice firm, I said, “No. Not to Chuza’s. I want to go with Lev. To join his group.”
“That’s no place for you, daughter.”
Heat flamed up my neck and onto my face. “It may be The Holy One’s will for me.These men are heroes, Papa. They will free our people. I want to do that, too.”
He tugged at his beard. “They’re not heroes. And armed revolt won’t liberate us.”
“If I can’t go to Lev, I’ll wait here for him. He’ll come back for me.”
Father stood and walked over to the doorway. He pushed back its covering and stared out at the darkness. “It breaks my heart that your brother has joined this violent movement. Lev may never come back; I may have lost another son.”
I blinked hard to keep my tears from spilling over. “He will come back someday, Papa. I know it.”
Father left the doorway and sat next to me. Gently, he lifted my chin until my eyes met his gaze. “And if he does, I will be here to shelter him. I’m needed here. I plan to return to Nazareth once you’re settled in Jerusalem. You’ll see Lev when it’s safe for both of you here.”
I knew my father was being kind and protective. But scalding tears erupted from my eyes at the prospect of having to live in a strange city with a half-brother I barely knew. I slammed my wooden plate on the table and broke it in two. “Chuza is a Roman collaborator, and you know it. That’s why we don’t see him anymore, isn’t it?”
Father enclosed my work-roughened hands in his. “Chuza is an important man in Jerusalem. He can protect you, and that’s what matters now. I can’t risk losing you, too, my little light.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks until I tasted blood. “I never get my way, Papa.”
Father kissed my right palm and then my left. His tenderness drained the heat from me. “This is your way, Danya. You don’t see it now, but you will. If you are searching for the Holy One’s will, the first step is to stay alive.”
* * *
Quickly, our villagers began to scatter like mustard seeds, flying with the wind from Galilee to wherever they had family or the possibility of work. Some went to other regions of the land of Judah, like Judea or Idumea. Others set out for Phoenicia or Syria or cities like Scythopolis that had large Jewish communities. Father planned that we would make the five-day journey to Jerusalem with a group of thirteen others from our village. Most of us hoped to return to Nazareth someday, but we had no idea when that would be.
The
