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As I approached the entrance to the restaurant, I was met at the door by the pungent odor of stale tobacco smoke, mingled with the aroma of spoiling ale. It was quite evident that I was strolling through the less savory part of town. The tavern was only a few blocks from the hotel, but obvious indications were that the neighborhood did not reflect the same pride of ownership that homeowners enjoyed just a few blocks away.

I was barely a meter from the entrance when Ashar threw open the door to greet me. Holding the door open for me, he stood there with a huge grin on his face, as if I was the only important person in his life. Instantly, I wondered, how does that guy get around like that? How is it that he always seems to arrive somewhere before I do? Doesn’t he have family? Doesn’t he have a life? I shrugged it off as soon as Ashar held his hand out to greet me and to usher me inside.

“They are here. They showed up just like I told you they would,” Ashar enthusiastically spouted as he began to verbally pat himself on the back, flashing that big grin. His smile all too often brushed aside his bushy mustache to reveal the many gaps in his brownish teeth. As I neared him, he made a motion to poke me in the ribs, but I intercepted his bony finger.

“Let’s not start that again,” I said in a terse, “I mean it” tone, as I grabbed his wrist. The noise in the tavern consisted of clanking earthen mugs and less than subdued voices. It made it difficult for Ashar and me to understand each other, but I knew, by the look on his face, that he knew what I meant when I grabbed his wrist. The look was classic.

At a booth in the back of the tavern sat three elderly, bearded men. The chairs were obviously arranged for Ashar and me to fill the empty seats. We approached them, dodging servers and unruly, staggering drinkers. One server, a woman holding a tray of ale-filled mugs, tried to avoid an inebriated patron, and accidently hit me with her tray. The ale splashed from the mugs on her tray, and onto my clothes.

Immediately she blurted out, “Oh, I’m sorry sir!” Then began to wipe my wet tunic with a rag.

“It’s all right,” I lamented. It really wasn’t all right, but it truly wasn’t her fault. “I take care of the spill, and change my tunic later. No problem.”

“Okay,” she said. “My name is Ariel, if you need anything, please call for me.”

“Very well,” I replied as I continued to dab at the spill, “My name is Steve. I’m looking for a table where there are supposedly three former shepherds seated. Do you happen to know if they’re here?”

She pointed to a table in the corner, where Ashar was headed already.

With all that sloshed ale from night to night, it’s no wonder how the place earned the stink of putrefying hops and barley.

As we approached the table, one of the seated men looked up, then turned his head to look back at the other men that he was seated with. I saw his lips moving, but in the din, I couldn’t make out what he was saying. They all glanced back at me, then immediately looked straight down at the mugs stationed in front of them. I wasn’t sure what to make out of all that movement. Were they shy? Were they blood brothers forming a pact to tell me only certain bits? It looked suspicious.

Edging up to the table, Ashar greeted the men and threw his arms into the air in an over-acting gesture. Seemed like classical Ashar, always the dramatist. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming here tonight.” Sounding more like the ringmaster of a circus, he continued, “This is Mr. Steve Stanton of the World Observer Gazette. He is here to write your story and buy us dinner!”

Out of politeness and a sheer embarrassment for Ashar, the men looked at me and nodded, acknowledging my presence. I think Ashar embarrassed us all. The man seated closest to me acted as if he wanted to stand to shake my hand, but the confines of the table and the booth prevented him. Motioning with his hand, he invited me to sit with them. “We are pleased to meet with you, Mr. Stanton of the World Observer Gazette, and we are pleased to have dinner with you. We have known Ashar for a long time, and we know of his antics. We are not presuming that you are purchasing our meals. Ashar should be ashamed of himself!” He glanced at Ashar who had helped himself to one of the empty chairs, and was still flashing that cheesy smile. I wanted to reach over and rub that grin off his face. We had begun our conversation in Hebrew. My Hebrew was rough, but conversational.

The lead man continued, “My name is Hananiah. These are my friends. We have been friends for a long time. We’ve known each other since the days we’ve spent in the fields together. But, we are retired shepherds and we welcome you to our town and to this table.” Hananiah was a rugged looking man. It was obvious that he had spent a career exposed to the sun, the weather and the wilderness of Israel.

The man seated in the middle spoke up, “My name is Mishael. I am the oldest of the three of us, but Hananiah likes to do the talking.” Immediately I glanced at Hananiah to gauge his response to the not so veiled aspersion cast on his behavior. I could see that these guys had been together for a long time. They knew each other well and were comfortable enough to speak disparagingly about each other as if they were siblings.

“Are you men brothers?” I asked. Taking the lead, as expected, Hananiah jumped in, “No, not by family or blood, but by occupation and shared glorious experiences. I’ll explain that part in a moment.” As he concluded his sentence, he looked over at the other two. His eyes met theirs and they responded in silent affirmation that they agreed. Something has happened to these three that has made them stick close and to accept each other as brothers. Perhaps they combined forces in the fields to ward off preying wolves, or perhaps they formed a pact that helped them to survive other scheming shepherds or outlaws? I wasn’t quite sure, but I knew they shared a relationship that was very apparent, unusual for the area, and certainly unique to them.

Before I could respond to Hananiah, the third man spoke up, “Well, before Hananiah takes control here, as he is accustomed to doing, allow me to introduce myself. I, Mr. Stanton, am Azariah, and I too am pleased to meet you. How can we be of service to you and your publication? Why would you travel all this way to interview three tired old shepherds like us?” It seemed, from his tone of voice, that he knew why I was there. From what I had gathered up to this point was that they were sort of celebrities in their own right, and the events of thirty years prior rocketed them to the top. At first, their own fellow countrymen discarded their stories, but not now. Apparently, many people throughout the countryside had now changed their minds about what has been called “The claims of the Shepherds” and are agreeing with the “claims.” I wanted to know what occurred to file the “claims,” and why so many thousands agree with it today.

Hananiah cut in, “What is it that you want to know?”

Dismissing his brusque tone and almost feeling baited, I asked, “What does that mean, this claim of ‘glorious experiences’?”

As if on cue, the three men, in synchronous motions, looked to the ceiling, raised their hands and recited a phrase under their breaths. Something sacred was being remembered, and they were moved just at the remembering of it.

“Pardon my ignorance, but what is that all about?” I asked. “I haven’t quite seen that type of response before.”

“Forgive us, Mr. Stanton, but every time we are allowed to share our glorious experience with people, we feel that we are among a privileged few. What I mean is that there are few people that have had the personal attention of Jehovah as we have had.” There was a glow about Hananiah as he spoke. I could sense in his voice that he was winding up, preparing the dissertation about his glorious experience. Suddenly, Hananiah’s face went flat and dour. Before he could start, he saw a waitress approaching the table, it was Ariel, the one I literally bumped into earlier. She was holding a flat tray with spent mugs on it and asked if we wanted to place an order. The men ordered a favorite Israeli tea and recommended the same for me. Hananiah was eager to dismiss her and curtly said, “Now, go fetch us the drinks.” Casting a look at him as if to say, “How rude,” she pivoted around so fast that spilled ale on the bottom of her tray splashed on Hananiah. I felt that she had done it purposefully. Instinctually reacting, Hananiah jumped up in a vain attempt to keep the ale off his clothes. He quickly wiped the ale off his tunic, causing the whole booth to rock. In the old days, Hananiahs’ ensuing stare would have caused wolves to retreat, but the waitress simply tossed an insincere apology over her shoulder as she went to fetch the drinks.

“Mr. Stanton, please forgive my excitement,” Hananiah said, “and I apologize for not allowing you to speak your own order.”

I shrugged my shoulders and in a conciliatory voice said, “I am perfectly fine with your choice. I came through that windstorm we had earlier today, and a cool tea will help wash the dust down.”

“What windstorm are you speaking of Mr. Stanton,” Mishael asked inquisitively.

“Earlier today, as I made my way to Bethlehem from Jerusalem, the wind was so strong that I had grit in every pore of my body.” I acted surprised that he hadn’t experience a strong wind today.

“Hmmm, we didn’t have a windstorm here. It’s been calm, and all too calm to boot,” responded Mishael. “Was extra hot, I mentioned it to Sarah how hot and calm it was, hmmm.”

“Forget windstorms,” interrupted Hananiah. “I want to tell Mr. Stanton about the event that sent him here to talk with us about.” Looking at his friends, and Ashar, then to me, he said, “May I continue?”

With a collective assent from the group, as demonstrated by their sudden clamming up, I nodded and said, “By all means Hananiah, please continue.” I reached into my pocket to remove a pen and pad. I dared not bring my laptop through this part of town. I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to leave it in the care of the innkeeper either, but I figured the risk was more minimal in his care than on the streets, and a tavern!

With my concentration on Hananiah broken by my task to retrieve pad and pen, I felt 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.”

“Of course, all of you saw this, all of you are witnesses to this and testify to this glorious experience,” I asked, looking up and making eye contact and pointing at each one of them with the back of my pen. I thought it was interesting that as my eyes panned their faces, I came to Ashars face. He was looking at them as if he were the one asking the question. He was quite amusing at times.

“What did you do? How did you react to such an eerie event?” I asked.

“Please Mr. Stanton, this was not eerie, it was spectacular,” defended Azariah. “Of course, we were taken aback at first, a bit spooked, but the lead angel calmed us right away, assured us that they had been sent by God to deliver a fantastic message.” His face lit up as he concluded his sentence. Actually, the countenances of all three men were lit up at this point. It was as if the whole tavern had silenced in reverence. I actually looked up to see that nothing had changed, the crowd continued to revel. Yet to me, it seemed as if the whole world focused on Azariah’s.

“What did this spokes-angel say to you? What was this fantastic message? And, how did you know they weren’t locals trying to steal your sheep?” I knew that last part of the question was going to get their ire up. Men that are this convinced of receiving heavenly guests are not going to take a challenge to a personal event without an ardent defense.

“Sir,” came Hananiah’s terse retort, “We are here because someone informed us that you were interested in the glorious event that occurred to us.” His tone told me that I had struck a nerve. “And if what you are really interested in is trying to write a story to challenge or debunk our experience, then we will part company at this time.” Along with a collective nod, and a slight movement from Hananiah, the three men began to move as if to get up.

“No, now wait a minute,” I exclaimed holding out my right hand as if I were halting traffic. “Please understand, I wasn’t there. So I have to ask you questions that others would ask and perhaps questions that would be going through my mind at that time too. Please forgive the frank questions, but I must think of how readers would view the event and anticipate their challenges.” They seemed to appreciate my apologetic reasoning and re-seated themselves. “Surely, you men must have received some resistance to your story over the years, haven’t you?”

For the first time, Mishael interjected, speaking in a calm, resigned voice, “Yes, not everyone believes us, but quite frankly, that challenge has gotten old. We’re tired of people thinking that for the past thirty years we are out of our minds. But I tell you this, and my brethren here will support this statement; we received a host of angels that night. They approached us personally. And that is a fact!”

“What did they say to you?” I asked with genuine concern.

“First, they had to reassure us that they were sent from God and not the evil one. Second, they were excited to tell us that the long awaited king had arrived. The King of the World, the Meshiach Nagid – the Messiah!” responded Hananiah with reverence, adding a tone of exuberance as he said “Messiah.”

“But why did these angels come to you? Why not Herod, he was in charge at the time. Couldn’t they, shouldn’t they, have gone to the leadership of the land? Why didn’t they go to Rome and announce this new King?” I could tell that they took a little offense to my emphasis on the word King.

“Well, it was quite obvious once we put two and two together, using the events and what we knew of the prophetic scriptures,” began Hananiah in defense of my comment. “The Holy Scriptures speak of a messiah that is to come, to free the Hebrew people from their slavery to worldly empirical rule. The new king, we are told, would be born in Bethlehem. And that is what the angels were there to tell us that the event had occurred, that indeed this King was born to a couple in Bethlehem that very night. That was the ‘glorious experience!’ We had received a calling card, or what you would call, a baby announcement, in person – from God to us – through his messengers!” Hananiah’s voice was beginning to crescendo a bit. The other two were reveling in hearing the story one more time.

Looking me straight in the face, being deadpanned serious, Haniniah said, “And, to address your question about why lowly shepherds, instead of monarchy; we are still unsure, however our reasoning is: Why not us? If God would have made this announcement through royalty it would have been more ignored by the populace, another royalty event to glorify more royalty. As it were, shepherds weren’t the country’s favorite people; treated pretty rudely by most; what better group of people to announce a new king to; and to have shepherds go out and tell the world! At least that’s what we think.”

“So, what happened to the angels?” I asked.

Azariah took the lead. “They stayed with us as we allowed the message to sink in. They told us that that night the messiah had been born to a virgin in Bethlehem not far from our camp. We wanted to go see, to check it out, but we were afraid to leave the flock unattended. They were the Temple sheep after all.”

Azariah’s voice remained reserved and seasoned with reason. They had dealt with this experience for thirty years, and while they were excited, it appeared that they had reached the part the stories recollection that others have scoffed at or scorned them for so long. It was obvious that Azariah was making sure that a reasonable voice would minimize my rebuttal. He continued, “They offered to tend the flock as we went to check out their story. We were half-scared and half-excited. Could it have been that during our lifetime, the promised Messiah had actually arrived? And these troubadours of God were heralding the news right before our very eyes?”

Looking down at my notepad, I began to recite a summary of the story as I had heard it. I was taking measures to assure that I really was catching the gist of the story and getting the facts correct. I surprised myself with my ability to concentrate, apparently the din of the tavern barely affected me. “Okay, so I have written here that you are shepherds, not societal elites, doing what you are hired to do and minding your own business in the fields. You are debating the significance of some sort of ‘unusual’ star overhead when angels, sent by God, apparently thousands of them, surrounded your camp to announce that this promised messiah you have been waiting for, for thousands of years, had finally arrived. Coincidentally he was born in Bethlehem, not far from your campsite. And they were inviting you to abandon your flocks to witness this event at the place where he had been born. Is that correct so far?”

The three men looked at each other as if to see which one was going to answer. Hananiah was accustomed to being the spokesperson for the three, but the others had been doing a fine job of contributing, and he looked as if he were willing to yield to one of the other two. My eyes scanned back and forth to see who was going to speak up, no one was, so I did. “Look, it’s an easy question. Do I have it all correct so far? It’s simply a raw summary of the facts. When I start writing my article, I will fill in the details.”

Hananiah perked up. “Steve,” that was the first time anyone in Judah had called me by my first name since I’ve been on this assignment, “with all the due respects to you and your tenured professionalism, we don’t believe that you really have all the facts, nor do we trust you – no personal offense,” holding out his hand toward me in a conciliatory fashion, he continued, “but, since this glorious experience occurred, again, some thirty years ago, we have shared it with many a journalist – and none have gotten it right. You are the first reporter from the World Observer Gazette that we shared this with, and quite frankly, we don’t expect you to get it right either.”

In my career of collecting data for stories, I have been put in my place. So, this sudden turn wasn’t either offensive nor unexpected. After all, most reporters enter an interview with a black mark against them. A reputation caused by the few obnoxious reporters that ruined it for the many.

Looking at each one of the men, including Ashar, I began a defense of myself that I really didn’t think was warranted. “Hananiah, no offense taken. Listen, I know that you have been burned by reporters in the past, and in your eyes, I am no different – until proven different.” They nodded as if to agree with and understand the logic. “And you probably have discovered that most journalists are trying to find the sensational angle, their thinking is, ‘how can I really make this story bigger than it is,’ but haven’t you noticed that my questions, even my recital from my summary notes, show you that I want to down-play, if you will, or de-sensationalize this event, which serves to actually filter out the truth?” I know I sounded like I was up against the ropes. I wasn’t worried so much about losing the interview, but I do think that I was trying some lines on them that I wished that I had used several interviews ago in similar situations. “So, gentlemen, are we on the same path here? Seeking the truth, leaving out the extra-curricular sensationalism and telling the truth about your glorious experience?” I felt the tensions easing a bit. These poor guys had been run through the proverbial journalistic ringer and felt a deep distrust. I wanted them to feel a trust in me and a confidence that I wouldn’t distort the facts.

There was a long pause at the end of my last sentence. Each man looking down at the table, or twisting their mugs around, stalling to answer me. Finally, Azariah spoke. “We went into the town that night, all excited, pumped up from the angelic visit. Yes, we left the flocks in their care, how could we not?” He waited for a response from me. My shrugged shoulders showed him that I was listening and answering his question. He went on, “They, the messengers, told us that He wasn’t in the hotel. That the couple had gotten there way too late to get a room, if they were willing, the only place available, that would provide some comfort for a very pregnant woman, was out in the stable. I guess the thinking was that at least there was some soft hay to lie her down in. When we arrived, the stable was full, not of people, but animals. The dad, his name is Yoseph, the mother, her name is Mary, were cuddling the new baby, and another contingent of angels was there, too. As we recalled the prophets’ words that the messiah would be born in Bethlehem, we rejoiced. Our glorious experience of being witnesses to the birth of the new king of Judah gripped us. We had to run out and tell the world. We ran through the streets of Bethlehem shouting and rejoicing. People were yelling at us. Guess I can’t blame them ‘cause it was in the middle of the night, but our excitement about a fulfilled prophesy, well, they had to be told. For weeks after that night, there was a buzz around the marketplace. People of the town were marveling about how they noticed that the strange star in the heavens was beginning to fade. Funny thing, this issue wasn’t just a local event either. You’ll have to talk with Melchior about that, too.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “It was then that we should have retired. We really weren’t needed to watch the sacrificial sheep any longer, as Yaohan stated a couple years ago at the Jordan River, ‘behold, the lamb of God.’ We don’t need sheep any longer. We have the lamb that God sent.” With that, everyone fell silent again. The only sounds were that of the tavern buzzing around us.

I took advantage of the break Azariah took to collect his thoughts and asked, “Who is Melchior, another shepherd?”

“No,” began Azariah. “Melchior is an interesting story. He is a member of the Persian sect of Magistanes, the Persian government. Apparently they studied and were knowledgeable of the Hebrew Torah and other books of the Prophets that were brought along during the great captivity days in our nation’s history. This was a group of socially well placed people who, during the time of the prophet Daniel’s’ days, and the captivity of our people in Babylon, came to know the scriptures and studied the God whom Daniel served. Being well acquainted with scriptures and being students of the stars, they could see our heavenly friend from Persia. It was simple for them to put two and two together. So, they came to Bethlehem when Yeshua was about two years old. The star we told you about had tipped him and his colleagues off. They could see it that far away and having knowledge our scriptures, they were aware of the prophecy that spoke of a star that would appear to announce the messiah. You see we were only shepherds but we knew the star thing was a phenomenon, that it wasn’t a normal heavenly object.”

“Now, hold on just a moment before we go on,” I cut in. “I want to know more about this fella Melchior showing up. How did you know he was here? How do you even know his story? Did he make friends with you? Isn’t a trip from Persia to Judea rather risky? Especially thirty years ago?” I riddled them with questions, and they appeared eager to respond.

The waitress made another pass by the table and pretended to ignore us. Hananiah looked up at her and rather gruffly said, “Hey, can’t you see that our mugs are empty? What’s it take to get refills, all around,” his hands motioning to all the cups placed on the table.

She stopped, looked directly at Mishael and said, “Would you like more Jerusalem tea sir?”

Embarrassed, Mishael sheepishly replied, “Well, as a matter of fact yes, please. And may we have more for my friends too, especially Mr. Stanton. He’s traveled a long way to visit with us and has much of area’s finest soils coating his throat. Thank you Ariel.” She gave Mishael a nod, glanced around at all the men at the table, who were giving her a visual assent to wanting more to drink and stopped at Hananiah’s eyes. Then, without saying a word she pivoted to the right and headed back towards the bar.

“Oh,” I broke the awkward silence, “you know her Mishael?”

“We all do,” he commented, then all eyes turned to Hananiah. “Especially Hananiah. Years ago they married. But, after the night of our glorious experience and the months of grief we received from the townsfolk, well it was eventually too much for her. We all stuck to our stories through the years; how could we not, we lived it. And even Melchior’s eventual move to Nazareth from Persia, following the growth of the young Yeshua, didn’t convince her that we were witnesses to the birth of the prophesied coming one. She couldn’t take the pressure and told Hananiah that it was either going to be her in his life or the “mistress” of his glorious experience. In her mind there wasn’t room for two in their marriage.”

“Okay, that’s enough information for Mr. Stanton here,” broke in Hananiah. “This gentleman is here to get the facts on the Meshiach, not the sordid details of my life.” Disgust and embarrassment registered on his face.

“That was a sad and needless event too, sorry Han, I have to add a little here to fill in some blanks,” added Azariah. “There is no discounting the fact that the Magistanes from Persia added fuel to the frenzy fire, and King Herod’s outlandish response to their presence. May his soul squirm throughout eternity for his atrocities!”

“Are you referring to the time that he had all the two year old male children killed? Throughout all of Judah, right?” I added, “and these Magistanes, what did they want?” I knew that I had studied this in school, but I couldn’t remember all the details. Perhaps I could get a refresher from these men. It certainly couldn’t hurt my background research.

Hananiah liked to talk. And, seemingly fully recovered from the affront on his personal life, he began a slow and deliberate response. “Many things have changed since those days, what with the tight Roman rule we have now. But in those days the Magistanes of Persia, as we used to know them, were assigned the responsibilities of both priestly duties and governmental responsibilities. Actually, they were dubbed, or nick named ‘king makers,’ since they were responsible for choosing and electing a king to a realm. The Romans have changed all that, but people seem to forget the old ways. Anyway, they told us that they had studied our scriptures and prophets since the days of our national captivity. Apparently, our prophet Daniel, had a greater impact during his days as a prisoner than ever imagined. But, it was Zoroaster, who was a student of the Hebrew Prophet Daniel, who incorporated the Hebrew prophecies of a coming Meshiach into his writings, called the Zend Avesta. Have you heard of that movement?”

Leaving me space to answer I quipped, “Of course I have. Zoroastrianism is the state religion of Persia.”

“Okay, good,” he continued. “So, these religious, yet government men, having read the prophesies, saw the star that we’ve told you about, and they saw it as a sign from God that another king needed to be anointed to a throne.” Barely taking a breath he continued, he was in a groove now and really couldn’t be stopped with questions. So I let him proceed. I was quite fascinated that Persian or Babylonian priests would give value to Hebrew scripture, but it would appear that that the Magistrates shared that information with the people of Jerusalem during their state visit.

“They entered Jerusalem in full regalia. Mounted cavalry, a huge cavalcade of men, horses, camels and banners, headed straight for Herod’s palace. By the looks of it, Herod wasn’t aware of their schedule, as there was no indication of a welcome mat for them. But the crowds pressed in on them as they performed their royalty march. It was a sort of gait and pace that was reserved exclusively for coronation ceremonies. Don’t you know that that caused Herod to flip out!” Everybody at the table, as if on cue, clucked their tongues at the thought of Herod’s maniacal response to the Magistrates presence.

Hananiah continued, “Imagine what life was like in the palace as Herod saw these guys coming? They were known as ‘king makers,’ and everyone knows that Herod bought his way in to his position. So, if you’re as paranoid as Herod, don’t you know that he was scrambling?” Hananiah hesitated for a moment, took a sip of his tea, and said, “Herod was paranoid. The rumor in those days had it that Herod killed off so many members of his own family, because of his paranoia, that the national joke arose. It was said that it was better to be one of Herod’s pigs than one of his family members.” His conclusive comment caused everyone at the table to roar in laughter. Each knowing that it really wasn’t funny, as in humorous, but laughing at the ridiculousness of Herod’s actions.

“Well, were they here to oust Herod,” I asked. “You say you know one of these kingmakers. What has he told you?”

“He claims that when they arrived at the palace in Jerusalem, Herod received them, how could he not, what with the grand entrance they made, and when they asked him where the new king child was, he was all nice and treated them like literal royalty.” Hananiah made a sour looking face and concluded his comment in a highly sarcastic tone. “He wanted them to go find the child, then swing back through the palace on their way back. His outward reasoning was so that he could know where the new king was, that he could recognize him also. But they could see right through him, and determined among themselves, as they headed to Bethlehem, that they weren’t going to give Herod any information that they uncovered.”

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