Jesus' First Day of School

There was a tender look in Mary’s eyes as she watched her small son slip his hand into Joseph’s large, calloused one. He skipped along as carefree as a lark down the dusty, village street while the muted light of early dawn cast a glow on the white mud-brick houses and nearby palm trees. As sure as her given name was Mary’am, she knew that no longer would Jesus be her baby, but he would grow up and away from her. Today, at five, he was skipping off to the synagogue school for the first time, so totally unafraid. It was she that had the mixed emotions. It was she that longed to hold him close just a little bit longer, but nay, he must go, and grow, and there was nothing she could do about it but hope for the best and pray for his safety. 

               Safety; Mary shuddered and drew her shawl closer although it was not a cold day. How well she remembered the terrifying night when they fled to Egypt. He was just a wee lad, then. Not even out of his swaddling clothes, and they had to pack with such haste and escape with their lives while the shouts of soldiers, screams of mothers, and wails of babies ricocheted all around them.  Then her panicky breathing slowed. HaShem had protected them then, and He would protect them now. After all Jesus (Yeshua) was His Son; His only begotten son.

               A small hand was tugging at her garments, and a plaintive voice penetrated her consciousness. James was up and getting hungry.  As she tended to the needs of the little ones, prepared the daily bread and tended the chickens and goat, her thoughts wended off down to that orderly synagogue school.

               It was so easy to picture Jesus sitting there, cross-legged like all the rest, in a semi-circle around their teacher. She frowned slightly. I do hope that the school master will be patient with him if he speaks out of turn. He is such a bright, inquisitive lad that it will be hard to restrain himself when a question pops into his dark, curly head.

               Joseph stooped to enter the door right then, and he reached for the Torah as Mary laid out the breakfast food on the table. It was rare for them to eat without their eldest son, but since this was his very first day at the synagogue school they thought it best if he ate a little earlier so that he would get there in plenty of time.

During a lull in the childish prattle that filled their two room house, Mary thought she could faintly hear the chanting of a dozen voices come floating down the street. She smiled gently. Yeshua (Jesus) is in good hands, and when he comes home his father and I will continue to nurture and guide him to the very best of our ability.

This is NOT part of Mary's Diary, but if you think I should insert it somewhere in the second edition which will be printed soon, please let me know.
 Mary's Diary; the Life of Jesus through His Mother's Eyes is available from iuniverse, Amazon, and elsewhere. www.iuniverse.bookstore