THE JEWISH CARPENTER

The end was really sharp and it seemed it was destined to be where it belonged.
As I watched my dad hammer the last nail into the wood, I had decided then and there that I wanted to become a carpenter. Not just any carpenter, but the best carpenter in entire Jerusalem.
I imagined people coming to me asking me to make them things from wood. But the only dilemma I was in was that I really didn’t know what to make.
Maybe I was too small to understand.

Or maybe I didn’t understand why my dad was making more of these things that just had a really long and big vertical wood piece with a smaller in length but equally big one going horizontal, both that could be dismantled from the point they join and fit again. I wondered what they called it.
I had seen his other friends making more of other funny looking things which had long and thin pieces of wood at the four sides with a base on top and the rear end of two of the pieces stretching upwards attached to another sideway base. I had overheard them saying it was a ‘chair’ for the rich.

Funny ‘chair’ I thought. The rich must’ve gone bonkers to sit in this high-rise furniture. And later I saw them making another big and wide furniture that they called as the ‘table’ for the rich. Now it all made sense to me.
Coming back to where I was, I never saw my dad making furniture for the rich. He occasionally made some stools and things like that. Not that he was a lazy man or anything. He worked into many nights to make the best stools available.
As my mind wandered into the array of questions, the door of my dad’s workshop opened and two soldiers walked in.

“Have you finished it yet?” they asked.
“Yes! Almost done. You can pick it up tomorrow morning”, replied my dad.

And they left nodding their heads.
My dad after a few minutes gave a last look to his creations and went off to bed. He would stand in a very peculiar way when looking at his work for one last time. I stood there watching for a while longer at what he had made. Didn’t make sense to me.

I was nearly getting up to go to bed when something struck me. Similar sizes of wood piled up in one corner of the room caught my attention.
I did not think further.

I dragged two of the big pieces of wood to the center of the room and looked at them. I closed my eyes and tried visualizing how my dad made these things. I had watched him closely making it many times. Everything came to my mind. I set my eyes on the hammer, picked up some sandpaper and nails. Big ones.

And I set into the night eagerly looking forward to creating my first ever work. I carefully carved out the edges of the wood and scraped with sandpaper and another tool (which I don’t know the name of) that my dad used for smoothness. I cut out the part of the wood pieces carefully where both of them would fit into each other and kept on going till first light.
There! I had finished at last even though it took me twice the time my dad usually took. I stood up and imitated how my dad would look at his work. It looked nice to me. I decided to show it to him when he woke up.
I even engraved my initials at the side of both the wood pieces, just for the feel of my first ever work. I knew I would become a carpenter now. Not just any, but the best.

Content with what I had made, I went out to wash my face clean from the dust and lot.
Just then I heard a sound in the workshop. I ran and peeped in to see what it was.
The two soldiers were back, to pick up their order.

They scanned through all the wood pieces and one of them said, “Hey! This one looks really well done. I think we’ll pick this one up for the Jew. Waddya say?”
The other agreed. “Yeah!! Let the self claimed king rest on the best!” and they walked out carrying it, laughing out loud.
I didn’t quiet understand what they meant, but I left it to their humor. I went to sleep, content with what I had done.
I woke up after a couple of hours to the grumbling of the earth beneath me. I thought it was an earthquake and ran out through the main door only to see people moving in packs up the road. It looked really puzzling to see all these people in the street. I ran up to the top of my house to see what was happening ahead.

My eyes widened in wonder as I saw a sea of people walking up the hill. I didn’t know where they were all heading. And then suddenly up far away on the top of the mountain I couldn’t believe my eyes. What my father had made yesterday all night was actually up there at the top of the mountain.
So I ran. I ran as fast as I could to see what was happening. As I was running, I saw some people crying and some of them cursing. All of them, taking the name ‘Jesus’.

The name struck my mind. I’ve heard this name before. Of course! In fact I have seen this person up close before. I was buying something from the market in front of the temple and then I saw this man destroying everything people were selling inside and outside the market. And I could hear him scream on the top of his voice, “This is the temple of the Lord!” At first I thought that he had gone mad. Then I had heard people talking about him, his teachings. I heard from my friends that he used to tell nice stories. They all liked him. I liked him. Even though I never got an opportunity to listen to him speak.
I continued running and finally reached the top.
And the sight there was gruesome. Two of dad’s works were already up with people hung on it. Their hands and feet were nailed to the wood. It was quiet a bloody sight.

As I moved into the crowd I saw my dad’s third work on the ground and I did not recognize at first, but then I realized that it was Jesus lying down there. As I came to the front a nail went hammering into the wood. But this time through his right hand. He screamed his throat out. Blood sprouted. The same was repeated to his left hand and his feet. The soldiers seemed to have fun doing this as people and I stood watching in horror.

I didn’t know why this was happening. Why they were doing this to him? As far as I knew, everyone liked him very much. Then why? I simply couldn’t understand. Just then it was time to raise this one too just as the other two. I stood there watching in horror as the soldiers raised the cross (I knew by now what they called it).
They pulled the heavy cross with thick ropes and slid the base into a hole that they had dug to hold it upright. Everyone there watched in horror. Many cried, many cursed and I could make out nothing at all.
I looked at him. I saw him looking at me. His bleeding eyes were fixed on me. As though he knew me. His body was beyond human figure and I couldn’t stand there anymore.

I ran. I ran down the hill as fast as I could. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to get away from this as far as I could.
Just then, the earth trembled, the ground shook violently, and there was a violent wind as though a storm was fast approaching. I stopped short. I couldn’t stop myself from looking back. So dark was the sky; I thought I was going to die. Everything was dark behind me. I was scared.

Just then far away a streak of lightning flashed across the sky and the cross came visible to me.
I was scared, but I knew I wanted to go back. I did not think further. I went back. It was so dark I couldn’t see the ground beneath me. I didn’t know which way to go. Once in a while a streak of lightning would guide me.
As I reached up the hill everything suddenly came to a standstill. The ground stopped shaking, earth stopped trembling and the wind stopped its violence.

As the sky cleared up, I realized that I was standing before the cross. As the vicinity became more visible, I looked around and saw nobody there except for a few people.
I moved up close. I was scared no more. The fear in me just vanished.

I just stood there, my head buzzing with questions.
What just happened?
Why did this happen?
Why did people kill him?
And moreover why did my dad make cross for such a gruesome act?
As I stood there wondering and questioning myself, something suddenly caught my eyes. I wasn’t too sure to believe what I had just seen.

I moved up closer to the cross and couldn’t believe my eyes.

On the cross, just below the feet, there were the initials.

My initials. Covered in blood.

I looked up and saw Jesus.

Just then from behind me, I heard someone say, “He truly was the Son of God”.