Embedded. Marc Knutson
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an unexplainable unease. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it wasn’t because of the company I was keeping. Nor was it the fact that this tavern was overcrowded with patrons. Purposely, I feigned accidentally dropping my pen under the table, which gave me the excuse to look around the room. As I searched for it on the damp, smelly floor, I was able to notice that a lone man sat three tables away. For a tavern that was filled to capacity, to see a lone figure in such a crowded place was odd. All I could make out was his slight profile. In the meantime, patrons and waitresses kept walking by and obscuring my view of the man. Pretending to struggle with my search, I saw two other men approach the single man at his table. I couldn’t hear what they were saying in all the clamor of the room, but, as he looked up at them, he invited them to sit. That’s when I recognized the man as Eshek. Why does it seem that he keeps following me? Why is he turning up wherever I go? Why do I always feel uneasy when he is near? Was this a coincidence, does this just “happen” in Judah because it is such a small country? I needed to find out more about him.
Finding my pen, and re-diverting my attention back to the men I was with, I looked at Hananiah and said, “All right, Hananiah, I’m ready. Tell me your story, and why I need to know it. Also . . .” I caught Hananiah in mid gulp as he took a breath, “I want permission to interrupt you and to ask clarifying questions. I find that if I am too polite during an interview, I may forget an idea or a fact, in the name of politeness. If I interrupt, please don’t see me as rude, but as doing as effective a job as I can. Understood?”
“Of course Mr. Stanton,” he said as he gestured with a shrug of his shoulders and opening the palms of his hands. “Please feel free to ask questions, that is why you are here.” I think, if I hadn’t missed my guess, that he was attempting to be a bit sarcastic. “Mr. Stanton, your Hebrew is quite accomplished. I am afraid that Hebrew men, who have spent their entire careers as Shepherds, really didn’t take much time to study English. Thank you for allowing us to tell our story to you for your publication. I trust the whole story will come out in the translation.”
“Please call me Steve, and thank you for your compliments. Spending as much time as I do in this area of the world has helped me to gain a grasp of conversational Hebrew. I am convinced that we’ll not lose much in the translation. Speaking of that, may I take notes as you speak? I don’t want my notepad to intimidate you as you tell your story, but I must sketch down the salient points to assist my memory, you know–crippled by age.” Everyone at the table laughed.
“Thank you. Now, please start from the beginning. You really have piqued my curiosity.” With pen in hand, amid the drowning noise of the other patrons droning on, I set my ears and focus totally on him. I truly had to resist the occasional glance at Eshek’s table.
“It was about thirty years ago when I, Mishael and Azariah were out in the fields near Bethlehem. It wasn’t an unusually different night. Not really any different than many of the other cold, autumn nights although the sheep were a bit listless. We had just finished the evening dinner and were spending time around the campfire. Although we had been friends for a long time, and we pretty much had talked ourselves out. I do remember that we were still in debate about what we called our new ‘heavenly friend.’ And that’s the night when it all went down.”
“What do you mean ‘heavenly friend’?” I asked.
“Well, that’s just the point of our debate. It was difficult to describe. It resembled a star to be sure, but it had characteristics that made it unique. We had become quite accustomed to the brilliance of our new friend. Because it had been hanging around for some time.” The three men chuckled as they realized Hananiahs’ pun. “So, we discussed it; was it a star or not? What made it unusual was that it appeared to be lower in the sky than the other stars; they, little pin points of light, whereas this one was large, lit the night like the moon, and strangely enough, or at least exaggerated by our prejudice, it seemed to be hovering over Bethlehem, as if it was purposely placed there. Of course after the events of that night, we then knew what it was and why it was there.” Just as Hananiah was winding down his conclusion, the waitress returned with a tray of mugs and a small basket of what appeared to be small bits of falafels. Setting the mugs in front of each of us as with respect of their order, she flashed a brief, but fake, smile and asked if there was anything else that we could desire at that time.
Looking at me she asked, “Can I get you anything more, Steve?”
“No, thank you, Ariel.”
“Oh, I see you two have met,” commented a frustrated Hananiah. He tried to be as polite as he could be and but still dismissed her with the sweeping motion of his hand. Her scowl spoke without saying a word.
“Okay,” I said, “You were out in the fields, tending to the sheep, that for which you were hired for. Did you own any of the sheep you were caring for?” I was trying to determine the investment they had in the animals. If I determined that they were hirelings, then the results of their tale could speak to the immediate investment they had.
“Well, no, we didn’t own them. They were assigned to us to care for by the Temple priests. We have special herds of screened sheep that were, and still are, being raised specifically for use in Temple sacrifices. We were selected through a process that the priests use to hire only the best, and most qualified shepherds in the country. Well, you know, considering the value of the little lambs.” This was the first time that I had observed a genuine honesty and humility in his voice. He really was acting somewhat embarrassed as it sounded like he was boasting. “I am not trying to make myself, or my friends here, to be any more special than any other shepherd in Judah, but the truth is, we were selected, and we did do a good job with them. Then the event occurred.”
“One more question, please, forgive my ignorance, but what is so special about Temple sheep?” I asked with all the genuine curiosity I could muster. I couldn’t quite see the relevance to the types of sheep they were hired to tend. I realized it had to do with their religion, but I wasn’t so sure it meant anything to me, or the story I was working on.
“Allow me to address this one guys,” broke in Azariah. It was evident that Azariah was quite knowledgeable about their profession, and apparently quite motivated to share. His entire body language changed as he leaned over the table. His hands were in front of him on the table, and you could see where the years of toting a shepherd’s staff had built up calluses on the pads of his palms. It was also obvious that arthritis had crippled a number of his knuckles. They were the hands of a rugged individual, who had experienced many improperly set broken fingers. Despite all that, passion filled his face as his penetrating eyes, piercing through the lingering smoke, peered directly into mine. Taking a deep breath, he began to spell out the details.
“As we mentioned before, it was after dark. The flocks were down for the night and we had felt pretty secure that the area was free of predators. That’s when we began to notice that our campsite was beginning to brighten. None of us said anything about it at first, each of us thinking that it was only our eyes playing tricks on us. But a bright glow it was.” As Azariah took a breath, he looked over at the others who gave him reassuring nods. “The next thing we saw, standing in the midst of all this brilliance were angels.”
I stopped writing on my pad and looked up at Azariah. “Angels?” I asked, sounding a bit sardonic. I knew by their reaction that I should be careful with my own responses. If I don’t believe in angels, I can’t allow that to influence their story.
“Yes, angels,” repeated Azariah.
“I am sorry to interrupt, but this is fascinating, how did you respond? How did you know they were angels, and where were they from?” Hopefully my probing questions would get Azariah off the defensive mode and back into the story.
“They were angels, sent by God in heaven to deliver a message to us.” Azariah was regrouping after my interruption and was back on track. “We knew they were from heaven because they told us. The one that was taking the lead spoke to us. There were hundreds of them standing around us. Their combined brilliance lit the landscape as if it were day.”
“More like thousands really,” interjected Hananiah. “Brighter than day! In a huge circle around us.”