1 O Holy Night ♫: 25 Kislev 3757
Now in the twenty-third year of the reign of Augustus Caesar, and while Herod the Great was still king of Judea, on an otherwise silent night ♫, the seraphim in the seventh and highest Dwelling beheld a most unusual sight: The Throne of Glory stood empty, and The Name was nowhere to be found.
Each seraph had six wings—two to cover their face, lest they be blinded by The Divine Fire, two to cover their feet, that they might remain modest before The Throne of Glory, and two to fly.
The seraphim above cried out to the seraphim below, saying: "Hark! ♫ The Name has forsaken The Throne of Glory! Search the earth from end to end!"
At their cries, the firmament trembled like caroling bells ♫. The sky shuddered, its stars rippling like candle flames caught in an unseen breath. The disturbance reached even to The Builders of Humanity—the divine council of seraphim that held the reins of history: The pontiff (השופט the hands that bind; the bailiff (הסוהר the hands that bring consequence; and the sheriff (השטן ), the hands of final justice, were watching over the affairs of Parthia when they heard the firmament ringing.
The pontiff turned to the sheriff and asked, "Do you hear what I hear? ♫" The sheriff answered, "I have heard on high. ♫" Then the sheriff turned to the bailiff and asked, "Where is The Name?" The bailiff, saying nothing , kindled twin spirals of fire in the sky, their radiance intertwining as they rose, crowned at last by a brilliant beacon to guide The Builders to the newest-born child drawing his first breath.
Then the pontiff said, "Let us conceal our wings and take the form of magi. We shall seek Him, and when we find Him, We shall shower Him with gifts—that He may love the world We have built in His name."
Thus, The Builders set out in disguise: the bailiff bore bags of gold, the pontiff carried frankincense, and the sheriff held myrrh. They took the highland road ♫, winding through the mountains where winter had dusted the earth with snow, their cloaks heavy with frost as they journeyed toward the child. The wind howled through the mountain pass, sharp as a blade. Their breath hung in the air, vanishing like spirits.
The fire in the firmament led them to a house in a village called Nazareth. When they arrived, they found the child with his mother, Mary, and they bowed down before him in reverence. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gold, frankincense, and myrrh. But the child did not reach for them, nor did his gaze falter from the eyes of The Builders. And for a brief moment, a faint smile flickered across his face.
The pontiff asked, "Emat ityəled yaldā?" ("When was this child born?") Mary answered, "25 Kislev, the first day of Neirayya ("Festival of Lights")."
Then the sheriff, speaking for the silent bailiff, asked, "Kāmā bənayyā dələk?" ("How many children do you have?") Mary exhaled softly, glancing toward the child before answering. "He is my seventh."
Then the sheriff asked once more, "Mā šəmāh yahəwīt lə-yalḏā?" ("What did you name the child?") Mary answered, "Jesus." (Which means "Salvation.")
The Builders wished Mary tidings of comfort and joy for her and her family, and then departed for Parthia to resume their management. As they left, Joseph, Mary's husband, placed his hand on the sheriff's right shoulder from behind and said to them all, "God rest you, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. ♫" When they had gone out of sight, Mary turned to Joseph and asked: "What need does a newborn have for such things?"
On the eighth day of The Festival of Lights, Joseph and Mary, along with their six other children, brought Jesus to The Temple to be circumcised. With them, they carried all the gifts The Builders had given, and they offered them to The Temple.
2 Jesus Molds Sparrows
When Jesus was about three years old, a gentle rain had just passed. He and a group of neighborhood children gathered by a small stream that trickled near their homes. The rainwater carried soft clay, which the children eagerly scooped up, shaping it into little mounds and playful figures.
With quiet focus, Jesus molded the clay into the form of sparrows—twelve in all. The other children watched, fascinated by his patience and care. Though it was the Sabbath day, they were filled with simple joy at creating harmless figures, delighting in each other’s company.
As they played, a local man spotted them. Disapproving of any work on the Sabbath—even shaping clay—he went straight to Joseph and complained, “Look at your son! He is making clay figures on the Sabbath. This is not permissible by our law.”
Hurrying to the stream, Joseph found Jesus standing before the small flock of clay sparrows. Joseph watched in silence. Then he exhaled sharply, “My child, why are you doing this on a day set apart for rest? People say you have broken the commandment!” Jesus didn’t answer at first. He brushed his fingers against the sparrow’s wing. Then he looked at Joseph, eyes shining. “Father, we are creating and learning. The Sabbath is sacred, yes—but should we not also celebrate life and the beauty of creation? We harm no one by shaping clay.
The bystander and a few curious onlookers drew closer, expecting an argument. Instead, Jesus gently touched one of the sparrow sculptures and said, “We remember the Sabbath with reverence for the One who made all things. In forming these little birds, I only hope to reflect that same spirit of wonder. Is it truly against the Sabbath to celebrate creation and the companionship of friends?” At these words, those gathered felt their frustration soften. The man who had accused Jesus hesitated, realizing that the child’s gentle reasoning was not defiance but an innocent joy to the world ♫.
Seeing the clay sparrows remained just as they were, Joseph sighed with relief. Then he spoke to his son in a softened tone, “You have reminded me that reverence and play need not be in conflict. The Sabbath is meant for rest, yes—but also for remembering the goodness that underlies all creation.” Turning to the onlookers, Joseph added, “If I have misunderstood, forgive me. Let us remember the spirit of the law, not just its letter.”
A hush fell over the crowd. A few began to smile, realizing the child’s innocence and insight.
Though no bird took flight that day, some left with hearts strangely lifted. Many whispered among themselves, “This child sees truth beyond his years,” and marveled that such wisdom could arise from so ordinary a scene.
3 Annas’ Son Learns Compassion
Two years later, one Sabbath day, the young Jesus was sitting by the river, gently gathering water into small pools that reflected the sunlight. The son of Annas the high priest passed by and rebuked him, saying, “Why do you occupy yourself with work on the Sabbath, which is meant for rest and reflection?”
In his anger, the boy took a branch of willow and pushed it through Jesus’s little pools, destroying them and letting the water run away. When Jesus saw this, he paused with a calm gaze. Rather than rebuke him harshly, Jesus said, “Even now, we are both embraced by a love that is deeper than these waters. Though you have scattered the pools, you have not diminished the light that shines in all things.”
Hearing these words, the son of Annas felt a twinge of shame for acting out of anger. Yet, he was also touched by Jesus’s gentle response. “Are you not angry with me?” he asked. Jesus smiled and replied, “True rest is found not in blind observance nor in harming others, but in the compassion that is always calling us back. Just as water flows naturally, so does a boundless compassion hold even those who act in ignorance or anger.”
Struck by this, the son of Annas realized how easily he could cause harm when driven by pride. His heart felt as though it withered under the weight of his own regret. But Jesus, seeing him tremble, spoke again: “Even your remorse is held in a vast embrace. Take refuge in the light that shines beyond our misdeeds, and it will restore you.”
In that moment, the son of Annas felt warmth flow through him, like water replenishing the land after a drought. The harshness in his heart softened. He bowed his head in gratitude and said to Jesus, “Teach me to see with eyes of compassion and humility.” And Jesus answered, “Remember always that THE Aן50 Nי10 Cמ40 Iו6 Eי10 Nק100 T Oת400 F Dע70 A Y S embraces all, even those—”
From that day on, Annas’s son no longer took pride in scolding others for their actions.
He ran away the moment Jesus uttered THE Aן50 Nי10 Cמ40 Iו6 Eי10 Nק100 T Oת400 F Dע70 A Y S.
4 Nazareth Is Afraid
As Jesus walked with his father, Joseph, through a narrow street, a young boy came running at full speed and accidentally collided with Jesus’s shoulder. Startled, Jesus nearly lost his balance. The boy, realizing what he had done, scowled and muttered under his breath, “Watch where you’re going!”
Jesus, regaining his footing, looked at the child with gentle eyes. Though he felt the sting of the collision, he did not lash out. Instead, he said softly, “We share this road and this life together. Let us not harm one another with our rushing and our pride. May you be mindful in your steps, and may I hold no anger in my heart.
Nearby onlookers, seeing Jesus speak these words, suddenly grew uneasy. Rumors spread that the child might be “cursed” or somehow wounded by Jesus’s words. When the boy stumbled moments later—his foot catching a loose stone—some cried out, “See how his words come to pass? Where does this child get such power?”
The boy’s parents, frightened by the rumors, confronted Joseph, saying, “Look what your son has done! His words seem to carry strange power, and now our child is hurt. If you insist on staying in this village, teach your son to bless us instead of invoking harm. We only want peace for our children.”
Joseph sighed, rubbing his temples. “My child, they worry that your words cause harm. We must show them we mean no ill. Let us ease their hearts, so that no one thinks we bring curses.”
Jesus tilted his head, frowning slightly. “Father, I have only wished to awaken kindness in the careless. Yet people hear echoes of their own fear. Let us comfort them and remind them that in the greater compassion which holds us all, there is no curse—only the call to be kind.”
Upon hearing this, some onlookers scoffed, saying, “He dares to claim our fear deafens us? This child speaks as though he knows more than our elders!” In that moment, Jesus gently turned toward them, his voice filled with empathy: “We all share a natural ignorance, unable to see that we are embraced in a vast love greater than our own. Like those who have yet to open their eyes to light, we stumble and blame the darkness. I do not wish to punish you; I only wish for our hearts to awaken.
Embarrassed by the growing tension, Joseph pulled Jesus aside more firmly. “My son,” he said, “Have a care in how you speak. People are afraid and might turn their anger on you—or on me!”
Jesus bowed his head in deference to Joseph. “Father, I am yours to guide. I will remember that love and understanding, not force or clever words, bring harmony to the world.”
Realizing his child’s sincerity, Joseph held Jesus close. He then addressed the gathered people: “He is young and still growing in wisdom, just as we all are. Let us not forget that we are like children before the greater mystery of life. If my son has caused confusion, we ask your forgiveness.
Touched by Joseph’s humility and Jesus’s gentle spirit, many who had doubted felt a softening in their hearts. Though some still held onto their suspicion, many others left that place with a newfound willingness to consider that even their fears and faults were welcomed by an infinite compassion—one that held them all, whether they understood it or not.
5 The Teacher Becomes The Student
A teacher named Zacchaeus overheard young Jesus speaking to the people. Astonished by the child’s remarkable words, he said to Joseph, “My friend, let me teach your son. I’d like to guide him in letters, so that he might grow in knowledge and learn to honor his elders. In time, perhaps he, too, will become a teacher who shares what he knows with the children around him.”
Joseph replied with concern, “I appreciate your offer. Yet, understand that my son is no ordinary child—he does not learn as others do. If you wish to instruct him, you must be prepared for surprises.”
Undeterred, Zacchaeus insisted, “Entrust him to me, my friend. I have taught for many years, and I am certain I can guide him in the ways of knowledge.”
Jesus looked at the teacher with a gentle gaze and said, “Teacher, you have grown skillful at instructing others. Yet not all wisdom is found in scrolls or letters. The deeper truth—like the compassion that holds us all—is both within you and beyond you. Before the foundations of any lesson, there is a greater source, a wordless teaching that no ordinary school can provide.” Turning then to Joseph, he added quietly, “Father, there is a teaching that you and I share—something that surpasses this world’s knowledge. Let this teacher come and see if his heart is ready.
Those who heard Jesus marveled, saying, “This child can hardly be five or six, yet he speaks as though he has lived beyond our generations.”
Jesus addressed their astonishment: “Do not be surprised. The truth binds all who have been, are, or will be. We share one origin, though we each awaken to it in our own time.” Many were left speechless. Jesus, sensing their wonder, smiled gently and continued, “Let us learn from one another, for even the simplest lesson can reveal a vast compassion that no single mind can fully contain.”
Desiring to see if he might truly teach the child, Zacchaeus led Jesus into his classroom. He wrote down the alphabet and began reviewing each letter carefully. But Jesus did not respond as the teacher expected.
Growing impatient, Zacchaeus tapped the child on the head in exasperation. Jesus, though momentarily startled, spoke calmly: “I respect your efforts, Teacher, but knowledge is more than repetition. It must be rooted in open-hearted wonder. I hear your letters, but to me they sound as echoes of a deep melody whose meaning has not yet been heard.”
As Jesus’s momentary irritation passed, he recited the entire alphabet—clear, precise, and beyond the teacher’s expectation. Turning to Zacchaeus, he said gently, “We must understand the ‘𐡀 ālap,’ in its fullness before we hasten to the ‘𐡁 bēṯ.’ If you truly know one letter—its shape, its form, its meaning—then all letters become illumined. True learning begins in awe, not in force.”
In the presence of many onlookers, Jesus described the first letter’s lines and angles as though revealing a hidden art: “Observe how each stroke may stand firm and balanced, yet also move, connect, and return, like steps in a dance. Such knowledge isn’t limited to scrolls; it arises when the heart is free from fear, ready to discover the infinite in a single mark.”
Hearing Jesus’s profound explanation of even a single letter, Zacchaeus felt overwhelmed. He lamented aloud, “Woe is me! I approached this child thinking I could teach him, yet his words soar beyond my lessons. My mind can’t contain the wisdom he reveals!”
Zacchaeus sighed to Joseph, “Take him from me, my friend, for I cannot bear the clarity of his gaze or the depth of his speech. He seems beyond earthly ways—perhaps like an angel or a reflection of the divine. The more I try to test him, the more I see my own limitations.”
The teacher’s voice trembled as he continued, “I am old and thought myself learned, yet a child has unveiled my ignorance. It feels as though my pride has been stripped away. How can I remain here, when everyone has witnessed me humbled by such a small boy?”
Zacchaeus turned to his peers: “What shall I tell people of this ‘ālap’ he describes, when I hardly grasp its simplest meaning? In truth, I understand neither where learning begins nor where it ends.”
Finally, he said, “Joseph, take your child home in peace. I do not know what to name him—whether heaven-sent or otherwise—but I can’t confine him to my ordinary school. He has opened my eyes to a light beyond letters. Let him go with my gratitude, for he has taught me the humility I sorely needed.”
Jesus, hearing Zacchaeus’s lament, offered a kind smile. “Teacher, do not lose heart because of your bewilderment. May the barren find fruit, and may those who do not see awaken to the light. I have come to show that no one is left behind—not by knowledge, nor by the heaviness of doubt. There is a compassion that calls each of us to rise and see our true nature.”
In that moment, those who had felt shamed, confused, or even cursed by their own fear began to sense relief. It was as though their hearts, once burdened, were now lifted. No one dared to argue with the child any further, for they perceived his gentle nature rather than a threat.
Standing before them, Jesus revealed not a demand for obedience, but an invitation to deeper understanding. Many left that day pondering his words, their curiosity awakened. Some felt as though they had glimpsed a vast horizon through the eyes of this child—one who reminded them that true knowledge and true compassion are inseparable.
From then on, few provoked the boy. They recognized that, despite his youth, Jesus carried an immense love and insight that came not from mortal pride, but from a source that embraced all—even those who did not yet understand.
6 Jesus Eulogizes Zeno
News spread quickly among the families in town: a tragic accident had happened on the rooftop where children often played. Young Zeno had fallen. Before anyone could reach him, he was gone. The other children scattered to their homes in shock. Only Jesus remained, standing on the edge of the roof with sorrow in his eyes.
Zeno’s parents arrived, hearts torn by grief. Seeing Jesus alone above, they cried out in their pain, “What have you done to our son? You must have pushed him—how else could he have fallen?” Their voices trembled, half in rage, half in desperation. Jesus slowly descended the steps and, with gentleness, said, “I understand your anguish. Your beloved child is lost, and you search for answers. But I tell you truly, I did not push him.”
Word of the tragedy spread through the streets, and neighbors gathered around Zeno’s still form, weeping at the life cut short. In the hush that followed their accusations, Jesus knelt beside the child, motioning for the distressed parents to join him.
With a voice soft yet resolute, Jesus spoke: “Friends and neighbors, we stand on sacred ground whenever we gather around one who has left us. Our brother Zeno, though small in years, left a light in our midst—his laughter echoed across rooftops, and his curiosity seemed boundless. A spirit like his may appear briefly in this world, yet it can leave a lasting warmth in our hearts.”
Jesus continued, addressing Zeno’s parents directly: “I saw how he played, how he dreamed. He was quick to offer a helping hand, whether drawing water from the well or carrying bread for an elder. Such small gestures shine brighter than we realize. Let us remember Zeno for the joy he brought—his imagination, his kindness, his bright spirit. Our grief is great because our love for him is great. May that love guide us even now.”
Turning toward the gathering crowd, Jesus spread his hands as though cradling their sorrow: “In times of loss, we may cast blame out of our heartbreak. We may feel anger or confusion. But I ask you to remember that each life is held in a compassion that surpasses our fears—no one is ever truly lost to it. Even in this moment of darkness, that compassion still lights our way.” He paused, letting the words settle. Some wept openly; others gripped one another’s hands.
Quieting the murmurs, Jesus addressed Zeno’s still body, calling his name in a voice both solemn and gentle: “Zeno—bright soul, beloved son, dear friend to many—rest, secure in the love you have always known.”
Moved beyond words, Zeno’s parents bowed in gratitude, praising the mercy they had witnessed. The townspeople, hearts hushed in reverence, recognized something beyond mere marvel: in the face of death, they felt embraced by a vast compassion that had touched them all through the child Jesus’s tender care. As neighbors whispered prayers of thanksgiving, Jesus quietly slipped away, leaving behind the memory of a child’s life honored and a grief transformed by gentle words of solace.
7 Jesus Carries Water For Mary
When Jesus was about seven years old, Mary sent him to the town cistern to fetch water. The place was crowded, and in the jostling, the clay pitcher he carried was knocked from his hands and shattered on the ground.
Though startled by the accident, Jesus calmly gathered a few pieces of cloth he had with him—part of his cloak—and fashioned them into a makeshift pouch. Carefully, he scooped what water he could from the cistern, moving gently so as not to spill it.
Onlookers, initially perplexed by his attempt, soon realized how cleverly he was preserving the precious water. “This boy is quick-witted,” they whispered, impressed by both his resourcefulness and calm demeanor.
Returning home with water in the cloth, Jesus presented it to Mary. She placed a hand on his shoulder, saying, “My child, you have a gift for finding solutions where others would despair. May you always keep that compassionate heart—caring for those around you no matter the setbacks.” Though Mary marveled at his ingenuity, she felt more awe at his empathetic spirit than at any seeming marvel.
8 Jesus and James Plant An Abundant Harvest
In sowing season, James, Jesus' eldest brother, scattered his usual share of wheat seeds in the fields. Inspired by his brother’s work, Jesus took a single measure of seeds—enough for a small patch—and planted them carefully, making sure the ground was well-tilled. He also invited neighbors who had no land to sow a few seeds alongside him, sharing what little he had.
Over the following weeks, Jesus encouraged everyone to care for the fields in common. Neighbors helped water not just their own rows but each other’s, ensuring that all the seedlings thrived. Though small, Jesus’s plot became a symbol of cooperation.
By harvest time, Joseph found that his fields had produced more grain than he expected—enough to share generously with families in need. Meanwhile, Jesus’s small patch likewise yielded enough to distribute to orphans and the elderly, just as he had hoped.
James, moved by such abundance, said, “Brother, you and I sowed seeds with open hearts; now we reap a harvest that blesses our neighbors with peace and goodwill toward one another.” ♫
9 A Bed Made Right
Joseph—a skilled carpenter—accepted a commission to craft a large bed for a wealthy client. He measured and sawed carefully, but one plank turned out to be too short. Realizing he had no spare board of matching quality, Joseph despaired at how to complete the project.
Seeing his father’s frustration, Jesus offered a simple yet practical suggestion: “Father, line the boards up on your end. Then let me see if there’s a way to adjust what remains.” Joseph complied, though somewhat skeptically, setting the boards as best he could.
With care, Jesus showed Joseph how to cut and reposition the shorter plank at just the right angle, so that it would meet the length of the longer one. By carefully joining the pieces—using a hidden seam and a bit of extra reinforcement—the bed frame would be balanced and sturdy.
Astonished at his son’s clever solution, Joseph exclaimed, “I never thought to fit them together like this! Your insight has saved me from throwing away a precious piece of wood.” Grateful, he embraced Jesus, saying, “May you continue to use your gifts to help others find a way forward when they see none.”
10 A Child Among Elders
When Jesus was twelve years old, he traveled with his parents, Joseph and Mary, to Jerusalem for the festival of Passover. When the time came for everyone to return home, the boy lingered behind in the busy city—unseen by his parents as they joined the caravan of relatives and friends heading northward.
Joseph and Mary assumed Jesus was among the traveling company. After a full day’s journey, they realized he was nowhere to be found. Worried, they asked their relatives if anyone had seen him, but no one had. Fearing the worst, they hastened back to Jerusalem to search the bustling streets and alleys, hearts weighted with concern.
Three days later, they discovered him in the Temple courtyard, seated among esteemed scholars of the law. Instead of merely listening, Jesus engaged the elders in a lively discussion—posing thoughtful questions about sacred teachings and, in turn, offering his own reflections. Those present marvelled at his depth of understanding, even at so young an age. Some Temple teachers later recalled that he did not speak as one delivering final answers; rather, he spoke as one earnestly exploring the spirit behind the words—“digging into the heart of the prophets,” as one elder described it.
Spotting Jesus in the midst of these learned men, Mary’s pent-up worry poured out in her voice: “My child, what have you done to us? Your father and I have been searching for you anxiously. We feared for your safety!” Jesus rose and gently inclined his head toward her. Calmly, he replied: “Mother, why were you troubled in your search? Could you not guess that I’d be here—among those speaking of the deeper purposes of faith and compassion?” The teachers watched this reunion with softened hearts, recalling how, in these few days, the boy had shown them a gracious manner that bridged generations and learning.
Several scribes and elders approached Mary, saying, “You are this boy’s mother?” She nodded, anxiety still giving way to relief. They continued, “Truly you are blessed. Few children so young engage our teachings with such eagerness and respect. He has awakened us to reflect more deeply on the spirit of our law.”
With gratitude and no small measure of awe, Joseph and Mary took Jesus from the Temple. He followed them without complaint, mindful of their worry, and resolved to care for their feelings as carefully as he did the lessons he pondered. Mary, though still caught between relief and astonishment, quietly held these memories in her heart—wondering how a boy of twelve could speak with such compassion and insight.
From that day on, people saw that Jesus continued to advance in understanding, maturity, and kindly regard for others. His humility deepened alongside his knowledge, and he began to shine as one who valued both the learning of the elders and the simple needs of everyday people. Thus, in the eyes of Wisdom and of the community, he grew in grace—reminding all who met him that true wisdom is not measured in years, but in the depth of one’s empathy and care for all.
Merry Kingmas to all, and to all a good life! ♫