Introduction

“Compelling … for both religious readers and others who want to learn more about one of the most well-known historical figures of all time. Thorough research animates an important part of pre-biblical history. Our verdict: Get it"—Kirkus Reviews

In ancient Galilee, his mother Mary called him Yeshua.

Yeshua: The Young Jesus of Nazareth tells the story of the early years (3—28 C.E.) in the life of Jesus. We follow his growth through childhood, family life before and after the death of Joseph, teen years, and young adulthood as the head of his family. Later chapters cover meeting John the Baptizer, and the beginning stages of his ministry in Capernaum. The novel brings history to life — people, culture, religion, and events of Jesus’ time — based on historical studies, ancient pre-gospel writings of the early Christian church, and recent religious literature.

This book offers new insights to understand the person called Yeshua and those closest to him: his parents, four brothers, two sisters, relatives from the families of Clopas and Zebedee, and his fellow Nazarenes. In the fishing village of Capernaum, the mature Yeshua assembles a group of disciples and supporters. Key among them are the twelve apostles, and also many influential women, including Mary Magdalene and Joanna. This novel portrays their lives with candor, respect, and affection.

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

A Very Kind Boy

Village of Nazareth, Galilee, Summer 3 C.E.

(joined in progress)

Yeshua was only a boy of eight the first time we had a conversation. Our families in Nazareth knew each other well, as is common in small villages. His kindly parents, Yosef and Mary, asked that I take him along on my rounds. That was the first day of Yeshua’s training in tending sheep. I was his teenaged sheepherding tutor.

It happened long ago, but I remember our talk on that summer day very clearly still. Over the next twenty-five years, there were many more talks. He began as my pupil, and in time became my teacher.

I should start at the beginning, when Yeshua and I spoke for the first time. Afterwards, the memories stayed with me, because it was clear even then that he was no ordinary eight-year-old boy.

Like many small villages in Galilee, Nazareth was home to less than three hundred people. It is much the same now, a small hillside hamlet built on the brow of a gently sloping hill. A large stream runs along the western edge of the village.

Nazareth is small enough so that every family knows every other family. Most people spend their entire lives there, from infant cradle to burial tomb. Over the years, our neighbors become like family.

I was fifteen years old when I became Yeshua’s tutor. He and I had no prior reason to speak directly with one another before that day. Eight-year-old Jewish boys are children, while fifteen-year-olds are grown men.

(joined in progress)

It was a short walk across the bare earth patio to the house of Yosef and Mary. On the side of their house was a plot of ground filled with green rows of ripening vegetables and melons, glistening with morning dew. The wages Yosef earned in Sepphoris could not provide the large family with all its needs. Each family in Nazareth also grew its own food from a vegetable garden, a melon patch, and a few fruit trees. Most families kept some chickens, a few sheep or goats, and if they could afford one, a cow for milk and cheese.

Mary always tended a large and bountiful vegetable garden for her growing family. After Yeshua, she gave birth to James, Joses, Judah, and Mary. In the next three years, she would bear another daughter, Salome, and another son, Shimon. In most Nazareth households, large families made for happy families.

Approaching their front door, I could hear the loud commotion of children coming from inside, the wail of a baby crying. Mary stepped out to greet me. She was gently rocking and cooing softly to the crying infant in her arms, her daughter Mary.

“Good morning to you, David,” the lady of the house greeted me with a warm smile.

I enjoyed talking with Mary because she always had a pleasant disposition. Her kindness shone through her gentle eyes, dark brown and always full of life. A mature woman at twenty-six, she was already the mother of five children. 

“Peace to you, Mary,” I replied. “I’m here for Yeshua to help me tend the sheep.”

“Yes, of course. We have been waiting for you.” She turned her head and called out over her shoulder. “Husband! David is here!”

I asked: “Is Yeshua eager to learn sheepherding? Many children his age don’t have the patience for it.”

Mary nodded. “Yes, he’s eager. He loves to learn new things, and we run out of things for him to do around the house.” She paused and smiled. “He will be happier helping you with the sheep than sitting around here with nothing to do.”

“Then he’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ll keep him occupied herding in the strays. We’ll be down by the stream, and with some luck we might catch a fish or two.”

A moment later, Yosef appeared with Yeshua at his side, followed close behind by the brothers James and Joses. Yosef was a tall man, with the wiry but strong build of a carpenter and stonemason who spent many long days, from sunup to sundown, working on building projects in Sepphoris. He was about the same age as Mary, and blessed with the same honest face and pleasant disposition.

Yosef said to Yeshua: “Today David will be your tutor.”

“Yes, Abba, I know.” He looked up at me with a calm expression. “Peace to you, David.”

He was a slim boy, somewhat tall for his age, with the wiry build of his father. He had the dark brown and gentle eyes of his mother. Even at that age, his eyes shined brightly with uncommon intelligence. He had the same tranquil demeanor as his parents.

I thought then, and not for the last time, that Yeshua looked and sounded mature beyond his years. He was a young boy, and I was a grown man, yet he greeted me as one adult to another.

“And to you, Yeshua,” I said in reply. “Well, the sheep are ready for pasture. Are you ready to get to work?”

“Yes, I’m ready.” His eyes were already looking down the street to my sheep-holding pen.

The younger brothers James and Joses, six and five years old at that time, had been watching me with curiosity. Now they shifted their gaze to their parents.

“Can we go with Yeshua too?” James asked. “Please? We can help!”

Joses remained silent but nodded in agreement. The three boys were close in age and friendly with each other. It was clear that the younger two looked up to Yeshua and tried to emulate him.

Mary shook her head patiently. “No, you boys aren’t old enough to watch sheep. Maybe in three or four years? Be patient.”

The boys groaned with disappointment but accepted her decision. It would be unthinkable for them to argue with a decision made by their parents.

Yosef handed Yeshua a stick, a slim branch trimmed of leaves and cut to be the same height as the boy. Next, he gave him a small cloth satchel.

“Here is a shepherd’s staff fit for a boy, and your noonday meal.”

Mary said: “Now, listen and do what David teaches you. And don’t forget to eat!”

“No need to worry. Yeshua will be fine,” I reassured her.

“I know, but I’m just reminding him,” she replied with a smile. “Sometimes when my son gets busy, he forgets to eat.”

I said to him: “We’ll have our lunches at mid-day. And we’ll watch the sheep to make sure they don’t stray, and that no dogs or other animals bother them.”

“Are you scared that wolves will eat them?” little Joses asked.

His childish fear made me smile. “If any wolves come along, we’ll chase them off with our staff! Right, Yeshua?”

James giggled, but Joses stared at me with a worried look on his face. Like every child in the village, he’d heard the usual stories about wolves meant to teach children to be careful.

Yeshua looked skeptical, but amused by my joke. “But there are no wolves in the hills around Nazareth!”

“David was only talking in jest,” Yosef said.

“I know that, Abba.”

“There are no wolves, but many sheep that are hungry and waiting for us,” I said. “Let’s be on our way.”

I bid farewell to Yosef and Mary with a nod. The two younger boys waved goodbye to their brother as we walked away.

We headed down the narrow street at a fast walk. In Nazareth, as in all villages in Galilee, the streets are unpaved. They are muddy in the winter and springtime during the wet season, and dry and dusty in the summer and fall months during the dry season.

The morning sun was rising fast, and the day would soon turn hot. Yeshua did not trail behind me, as many young children might do. He walked at a brisk pace and stayed at my side. He was barefoot because in the summer children ran around in their bare feet. Sometimes adults did as well. It was more comfortable, and the soles on our feet toughened over time.

The sheep pen was behind our family home, on the western edge of the village and closest to the stream. Our twenty sheep and the neighbor’s fifteen made up my flock. I would watch them all day while they pastured so that none wandered off and got lost.

Nazareth is built on the side of a low hill. We drove the sheep to the pasture field below the village. The ground is flatter there near the stream, and there are scattered green patches of grass, clover, and wildflowers. In summer the grass is still thick, which makes for good pasture for the animals. The sheep were docile and content to roam around lazily, looking for the freshest patch of vegetation.

“Stay by me and do as I do,” I told him. “There is no need to chase after the sheep. It’s good enough to wave your stick and raise your voice when you need to, and they will do what you want.”

“I see that,” Yeshua replied. “The flock is easy to lead.”

“This job isn’t very exciting, but it’s important,” I explained. “And just think, Yeshua, in two or three years from now you can herd sheep all by yourself!”

“Yes, I understand,” Yeshua said in a quiet and distracted tone.

He was being respectful, but completely lacking any sign of interest or enthusiasm. His lackadaisical tone made me curious.

“Or would you rather be doing something else entirely in two or three years?” I asked. “Instead of herding sheep, I mean.”

“I will do as my Father wishes me to do,” he replied.

“Oh, yes. Of course. Yosef is a carpenter. And sons usually follow in the footsteps of their fathers and learn their father’s trade.”

“No,” Yeshua said, looking slightly puzzled. “I mean, yes, you are right that my abba is a carpenter. But I’m not speaking of him.”

“Oh, you’re not? Who, then?”

“I’m speaking of the Father who watches over us all.”

His serious tone surprised me. These were words I might hear from a rabbi, but not from the mouth of a child so young.

I turned to look again at this young boy who was speaking with the voice of an elder. He was not simply parroting words he heard from others, from his parents, or perhaps at a synagogue service. He was speaking naturally, from his own heart.

Everyone in the village knew that Yosef and Mary were very devout believers in the faith. They followed and obeyed all the religious laws and celebrated the holidays. They made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem often for the feast of Passover. They passed on their strong faith to their children.

There was no school in Nazareth, or in other villages in Galilee, and no expensive private tutors to hire as in Sepphoris or Jerusalem. The rudimentary education of children was done by their parents and other adult relatives. Even with parents as devout as Yosef and Mary, however, it was unusual to hear such a proclamation of faith from such a young child.

“You are right to think of Him, Yeshua,” I acknowledged. “We must always obey our great Father and do as He asks of us.”

He met my gaze but said no more. I had spoken a simple truth, and no reply was needed. As I later learned over the years, this would be a lifetime habit for Yeshua. Once a point was understood, he did not wish to go on about it.

The sun beat down on us from a cloudless blue sky, and we were perspiring in the heat. A short distance away was a broad-leafed maple tree that offered shade and relief from the sun.

“Let’s go sit over there,” I said, gesturing toward the maple. “We can rest in the shade for a while.”

As we walked, he turned his head to me with a quizzical expression on his face.

“David, I have a question for you?”

“Yes?”

“Would you rather be doing something else entirely, instead of herding sheep?”

Again, his words took me by surprise. Children don’t ask such direct questions of adults.

“Yes, sometimes I wish I was doing something different. Sheep are not very interesting to watch all day long,” I said with a chuckle.

“But you still come here and watch over the flock, day after day?”

We sat down on the grass beneath the leafy canopy of the tree and drank from our water skins. It was much more comfortable to sit in the shade, and we could still keep an eye on the sheep.

I asked: “And do you wonder why I do this every day, Yeshua?”

“Yes. Because there are many other things you could do that aren’t too boring.”

“Because it’s a very important job to watch and protect the sheep. We depend on them for milk, cheese, and wool. We use some, and sell the rest. They provide wool for sale in the spring, and milk and cheese for the market all year round. This modest flock of sheep helps keep our family alive. What worth is a day job in Sepphoris compared to this?”

“So, you do what’s more important for your family, and not what pleases you most.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Now, tell me this. Which is more important, doing what is right or doing what pleases you most?”

He answered without pause. “Doing what is right is always more important. This is what our Father teaches us.”

“That is true.”

Yeshua continued: “We must follow our Father’s commandments and obey His will.” He spoke with the high-pitched voice of a child, but in a serious tone that was wise beyond his years. “And if we can’t do that, then we dishonor the Lord.”

I agreed with a silent nod. If only more of the adults in the village would understand and obey the Law of Moses so well.

“Your parents teach you well,” I told him.

“Yes, they do. But I don’t learn only from them.”

“Oh? Not just from your parents? Do you have a rabbi, perhaps, who gives you lessons? But we have no rabbi in Nazareth.”

“No, not a rabbi,” Yeshua replied, his eyes drifting to watch over the sheep. “I mean that I learn from our Father, God Almighty. I always know what He wants from me.”

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant. “How do you know what the Lord wants from you?”

He looked at me silently for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know how I know. I just know.”

“Does God Almighty speak to you, as He did to Moses on Mount Sinai?” I asked him with a smile.

“No, I don’t hear God’s voice. I only know in my heart what He wants me to do.”

I had no reply to that. Perhaps some educated and wise priest in Jerusalem could explain what Yeshua described as his communion with God. I was no priest, just a simple shepherd.

I glanced up between the leafy branches of the maple.

“The sun is at the mid-day point. Let’s stop now and eat our meal.”

“Yes!” he agreed with a cheerful grin, sounding like a typical young and carefree boy again. “I’m starving.”

We each spread our food on a cloth napkin on the grass in front of us. The loaves of flat bread had been baked the night before and still emitted the delicious smell of fresh bread. Cheese was cut into small chunks, and its pleasant aroma made my mouth water. The radishes were a bright red, plump and juicy, plucked from the ground and washed only the day before.

This was simple but hearty fare, a feast for a shepherd and his helper. Yeshua’s eyes brightened at the sight of the fresh figs I laid out before us.

“These are a treat from Abana,” I told him. “First, eat the food that your mother prepared for you, then we can share the figs.”

Yeshua said a prayer: “Blessed are You, Lord our God, who provides us with this food.”

He paused, then gave a delighted grin.

“And many blessings on our kind neighbor, Abana!”

From time to time, we herded the sheep down to the stream so that they could drink. The water was only thigh high for an adult, but it flowed swiftly and was clear and cool. Yeshua waded in up to his chest to cool off. The stream bottom was sandy, not mud, and provided solid footing.

In the late afternoon, it was time to herd the sheep back to their pen. They had grazed enough for one day, and we both had enough of sweating under the scorching sun.

“I’ll take this side and drive the flock up the hill,” I told Yeshua. “You watch the other side. See those two strays drifting away? Bring them back to the flock.”

“Yes, teacher,” my pupil said eagerly.

He was just as tired of the heat and tedious work as I was, but ran after the sheep like a young fawn. Yeshua waved his stick around, shouted a few words, and guided the strays back into the fold. He was a fast learner and diligent in his work.

The sheep picked up their pace as we herded them back up the hill. They willingly filed into their holding pen, one at a time, through the narrow gate in the fence. This was a familiar daily routine for them.

As we closed and latched the gate of the sheep pen, my mother came out to greet us. She smiled sympathetically at our tired faces, glistening with sweat.

“Come inside and have some cool water,” she beckoned us with a wave. “How did you like your first day as a shepherd, Yeshua?”

“It wasn’t bad,” he said politely as we moved into the cool shade inside the house. “The sheep were easy to herd, and also we discussed religion.”

Sarah handed us cups of water and turned to me with an amused smile. “Discussed religion while herding sheep, did you?”

“Yes, Emma. We did. Yeshua has impressive knowledge for a boy his age.”

“Mary tells me the same,” she said. “He’s a very smart boy.”

“He will soon get tired of herding sheep, I think. Sheepherding is too simple a job.” I turned to him. “We should find you a smart rabbi to be your teacher instead of me, eh, Yeshua?”

But the boy was no longer listening to me. He was looking intently at my sister on her bed, on the other side of the room. My sister was also eight years old, the same age as Yeshua. They often played games together along with other children their age.

He turned to my mother with a worried look on his face.

“Is Eva ill today?”

“Yes, she is sick. It is kind of you to ask, Yeshua.”

“What is the illness?” I asked.

Eva rarely felt ill, and when she did, it did not last long. She had been sick that morning when I left.

We walked over to stand by her bedside. Eva was a small and thin girl then, with long curly black hair. Her face was pale, and her eyes were closed.

Sarah explained: “She woke up this morning with stomach pains. I made her some chicken broth, but that only helped a little.”

Eva heard us and opened her eyes. She looked first to Mother, then noticed Yeshua. She gave him a shy smile. Although feeling unwell, she was happy to see her friend.

Yeshua greeted her and returned the smile. His face glowed with kindness and affection. He reached out with his right hand and took Eva’s hand.

Yeshua told her: “The Lord is with you. You will be well.”

Eva’s face relaxed. She looked into his eyes and smiled again.

“I know so,” Eva replied, her voice as gentle as his. “Thank you for coming to see me, Yeshua.”

Mother took me by the arm and led me away.

“Come, walk with me. Let them visit with each other in peace for a while.”

When we were a distance away, I turned to face her.

“Did you see that? He took her hand, and just like that, she grew stronger.”

“Yes, I saw.”

“But how can he be a healer? He’s only Eva’s age.”

Many wise men travelled throughout Galilee and Judea and made a living as healers, exorcists, and workers of wondrous feats. These men were much sought after, and very well paid by those who hired their services. They were all grown men of mature years, however. Learned and wise men, not young boys.

“He has the healing touch,” my mother said calmly, as if she was discussing the weather. “Yeshua is a very kind boy. Everyone knows that the healing touch works because it drives out the evil spirits that cause illness, but it begins with kindness.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “But I tell you, there are some things about Yeshua I really don’t understand.”

She gave me a curious look. “You sound perplexed. Does he trouble you for some reason?”

“No, not troubled. I agree with the things he says. I just” – I paused briefly to search for words – “there are some things I can’t explain.”

“What do you mean? You’re not making any sense, David.”

“Yeshua is not a typical eight-year-old boy.”

“Ah,” Sarah said. “Perhaps you’re right. He is very bright for his age. He is very kind, like his father Yosef. And he has a healing touch.”

She paused and raised her eyebrows in a manner that I recognized as her way of mocking me gently.

“But why should that vex you, my son?”

“Because I’m not sure it’s so simple. There’s more to it than that.” I gave a small shrug. “I don’t have the words to explain it.”

“Then stop trying to explain it and accept it.” She turned her head toward the children. “Look at your sister. She’s feeling better already.”

Eva was indeed looking better. She was sitting up in bed and talking with Yeshua in a lively manner. Her stomach pain had subsided or gone away completely.

I could not explain what I saw at that time, but I was only fifteen years old and so listened to the wise words of my mother. I took her advice to heart because she was much wiser than me about people and life. I accepted Yeshua’s maturity, his comforting manner, and his healing touch. He was a very kind boy, and much more than that.

Over the years, as I watched the young boy mature, I learned to better understand Yeshua’s many unique gifts and talents. He was perhaps the smartest man or woman I ever knew. He learned so easily, even as a child, and understood profound matters in a way that most people could not match. Later, in his adult years, he would teach what he knew to many thousands of people across Galilee, Samaria, and Judea. That work became Yeshua’s holy mission in life.

Most remarkable of all, Yeshua had a way of showing uncommon kindness toward everyone he met. Others tried to follow his example, and by so doing also did many good things, but none could equal him. That was not a measure of their failure, but rather a measure of his grandeur. He had a rare gift for reaching and touching people, unlike anyone else.

One of his unique qualities, which at first I could not put into words, was this: when Yeshua looked into your eyes, you had the feeling that he could see into your soul. The feeling that brought forth was not fear, nor was it a feeling of being judged, not at all. It was rather a profound sense of the purest loving compassion and understanding. It was a feeling, as many described it over the years, of being touched by God. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the author:

1. What made Yeshua (Jesus) an unusual and precocious child?
2. How did the strongly devout Jewish religious faith of Joseph and Mary influence the young Yeshua in his religious and moral development?
3. How did the death of Joseph impact Yeshua in his growth and maturity as a young adult? How did it form his relationships with his four brothers and two sisters?
4. What social and political factors drove the young Yeshua to develop a passionate desire to help the poor and afflicted people of Galilee? How did it strengthen his devotion to the reign of God?
5. How did meeting John the Baptizer influence Yeshua to start his own religious ministry? In what ways did Yeshua design his ministry to be different from that of John?
6. What were the methods used by Yeshua to recruit and train his earliest disciples in Capernaum, including the 12 apostles? What were the most critical lessons he instilled in his disciples?

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