"Whew, it’s freezing."
The cold bites through me, making me shiver. Having grown up only in warm Alexandria, I’m not used to this highland climate. Honestly, if it weren’t for my father’s stubbornness about keeping our family registration in Bethlehem, I wouldn’t have had to come all the way here for the census.
Many Jews, myself included, live abroad. Ever since the fall of the Jewish kingdom-through the Ptolemaic and Seleucid dynasties-there have been waves of Jewish migration. Some were taken captive, some fled oppression, and many left simply to make a living-like my family.
My father is a grain merchant, trading between Egypt and Judea. He’s originally from Bethlehem, but moved us to Alexandria for a better life. That was just after I was born, so it’s been over ten years now. Alexandria, though foreign to Jews, is a Roman city with a large Jewish population, so it isn’t such a difficult place to live. In fact, it’s probably a much better place than Judea. Unlike Judea’s cities, perched in barren mountains, Alexandria is a thriving port on the Nile and the Mediterranean.
They say Alexander the Great built cities with his name everywhere he conquered, but the most splendid is Alexandria in Egypt, where I live. It has everything: the Ptolemaic royal palace, the Lighthouse of Pharos-one of the Seven Wonders-the Great Library, research institutes, museums, observatories, even zoos. Someone once called Alexandria the pearl of the Mediterranean, and I agree.
Of course, not everyone shares my feelings. Some Jews dislike Alexandria for religious reasons, unsettled by the mix of so many peoples. Egyptians, Africans, Asians, Greeks, Romans, and Jews all live here together. I can see why it might bother some. Many Jews go beyond discomfort and come to hate gentiles altogether. But what can we do? Alexandria belongs to its native people, and we’re just diaspora Jews.
To be honest, my father is almost one of those Jews who dislike gentiles. Even though he moved to Alexandria when I was born, because times were hard, his heart is still back in Judea. That’s why he’s kept our family’s registration in Bethlehem. Usually, when Rome orders a census, people register where they live. But some stubborn Jews insist on returning to their hometowns. Once, when my mother suggested updating our registration, I thought the house would explode. I knew my father could be stubborn, but his reaction that day was beyond anything I’d seen. He’s truly frightening when his pride is wounded.
My father’s argument is always the same: our real home is Bethlehem in Judea, not here. Alexandria is just a branch of his grain business. I understand his feelings-his hometown must mean everything to him. But the problem is, there’s no “main office” left in Judea. It’s a ridiculous situation: only a branch, no headquarters. No matter how I look at it, I just can’t understand my father.
Among the Jews around us, unlike my father, some have adapted to their new lives, and a few have even left Judaism behind. From my father’s point of view, those people deserve a beating, but I can see why they’d live that way. Maybe it’s their way of rebelling against the narrow-mindedness of people like my father. But what good does it do? I can’t even open my mouth in front of him.
Because of my father, I’ve had my share of hardships. Lately, I’ve been learning the grain trade from him, and now I get scolded all day, not just at home. It’s natural to make mistakes when you’re starting out, but my father has no patience for that. Worse than the scolding, though, is his attitude. Why is he so harsh with his family, yet tries to look good in front of others? I’m sure he has his reasons, but seeing that two-faced behavior makes me dislike people in general. Of course, what I hate most is how I freeze up every time I stand before him.
I’m naturally easygoing and hate feeling stifled. I tend to go with the flow, but if I show that side of myself at home, I get a severe scolding, so I pretend to be quick and sharp-which is exhausting. At home, I lock myself in my room to recover, and when I’m outside, I always look for quiet places. When I come to Judea with my father to sell grain, I search for quiet corners at relatives’ houses or inns, but this time every house is packed, so despite the cold, I have no choice but to be outside.
Sitting on a broad rock by the roadside, I look around Bethlehem-my father’s hometown. It’s where King David was born, and my father’s so proud of it that I thought it would be something special, but it’s just a small village. And a good part of it is taken up by the baggage of people like me. They say everyone’s here for the census, but is everyone also here to do business? My father saw this as a golden opportunity and stocked up on grain, and it looks like plenty of others had the same idea. Jews really are unmatched in business. I’m Jewish too, but I have to admit, it’s impressive.
* * *
"Excuse me, do you have any rooms available?"
"No, we’re already full."
"My wife is about to give birth. Please, I beg you."
"I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do-try another house."
I hear voices from down the road. Peering into the dark street, I spot a man-he’s knocking on every inn, looking for a room. Is there even a single room left? My father, who passes through Bethlehem several times a year, says he’s never seen it like this before. In just a few minutes, I watch the man get turned away over and over. He’s brought his pregnant wife, and I’m starting to worry. They can’t sleep outside on a night like this.
Now the man is knocking on every door he sees, not just inns. But all I hear are rejections. Isn’t there anyone who’ll give up their space for a woman about to give birth? The couple is getting closer. Just as he said, the woman on the donkey looks ready to deliver any moment. I can’t just stand by and do nothing.
"Sir, are you looking for a room?"
"Yes, do you have a spare room at your house?"
"Not at my house, but maybe at my relative’s. Let me ask for you."
When I see their tired faces light up, I feel like I’ve done something good. My relatives’ house is crowded, but I’m sure my father will figure something out. No matter how strict he is, he wouldn’t turn away someone in need like this. At last, we reach the house where I’m staying. The door opens, and warm light spills out into the cold night. My father stands in the doorway.
"There you are! Where have you been wandering in this cold?"
My heart starts pounding as soon as I see him.
"Uh... I just..."
He glances at the couple behind me, his face hard in the moonlight.
"What’s going on?"
"I’m sorry, but do you have any spare rooms?"
"No."
"This is the last house. Please, I beg you. Even a small corner would do. We can pay. If not for both of us, at least for my wife..."
My father opens the door wider, showing the packed house.
"See for yourself. Is there any space left?"
"Ah..."
He’s right-the house is full. But if we squeezed, we could fit one more. And if it comes to it, I could give up my spot. I don’t mind sleeping outside, like I did on the way here.
"Fath-"
But my father’s sharp look and cold voice stop me.
"You, keep quiet and stay put. And you two, don’t waste your time here. Try somewhere else."
Any hope I had crumbles. What’s the point of hearing the Law read every Sabbath if it never shows in daily life? They’re always saying Jews are the best, but if they really believed it, shouldn’t they show at least a little kindness? Instead, they cozy up to the rich and ignore the poor. They’re merchants who are only kind to those who can benefit them. Looking at the closed door, anger rises inside me. Should I keep following someone like my father?
"Sigh... What do we do now?"
"I never imagined this would happen."
"I’m sorry, sir. This is all because of me..."
"No, it’s all right. We’ll find another way."
"That’s right. Don’t worry about us. Thank you for your concern."
They really are warm-hearted people. If it were me, I’d be too angry to stay calm.
"Is there anywhere around here to get out of the wind?"
"Out of the wind?"
"Yes. Even a cave would do."
"Oh, right. There’s a small cave nearby. I heard shepherds use it as a stable, but it looks empty now-maybe they’ve all gone out to pasture."
"Really? That should be enough. Could you show us where it is?"
"Of course."
"Thank you."
They smile at each other, and seeing their warm expressions even in this hardship, I feel happy too. How can they smile like that in such a difficult situation?
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