The Fabled Night

This is a story about different perspectives of one event, out of which one well-known narrative emerged whose version is by and large accepted even by those who do not believe it as such. Yet, like all narratives, it was constructed from a particular perspective to reach a particular audience for a particular purpose, and its three versions in Christianity, in Judaism and in Islam, still do.

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Where I come from, the longest night is a special night of feasting and music and storytelling. My sabta says that if we don’t honour this night that we might get stuck with long nights and short days for the rest of eternity which is a very long time. My amma says that traditions like the longest night are important because we learn about our history through the special songs and stories that are passed down from one generation to the next. My baba says that the longest night is celebrated in so many ways, that each place has its own stories and music and that travelling with him to far-away towns like this one is more important for my learning than being at home.

‘I have no son,’ Baba says, ‘so I treat you, my oldest daughter, like a son. Most girls are not so lucky.’

We don’t know anyone here in Bethlehem except the innkeeper Isaak so I’m excited that he has invited us to share in their longest night. Baba refused three times but finally had to accept. When I asked him why he didn’t want to go, he laughed and said his refusal was the polite way to accept an invitation. In fact, he is so honoured that he has traded some of our myrrh for a large basket of pomegranates and nuts to offer as a gift.

Dressed in my cleanest shift and best tunic, I am ready to go by sun-down but Baba says we have to wait. He says every place is different in its views on guests and food and he does not know the custom here. In showing self-restraint, we might offend our hosts by seeming unappreciative because they expect us to eat a lot, or they might think us greedy if we show our appreciation by indulging in the feast. Even an unintentional offense could bring dishonour to our tribe.

‘But this is a forbidden month, Baba, when no one is allowed to use his sword.’

‘Right now it is forbidden but at all times we must seek the path towards peace and try to avoid any that might lead to violence.’

‘Yes, Baba. But what if they run out of food before we get there?’

He laughs. ‘They won’t, Tali, it’s a feast night.’ He takes up paper and quill and starts to write his accounts by the light of an oil lamp.

I look down through the wooden lattice at all the children skipping and running excitedly in circles around the grown-ups. ‘Look, Baba. The streets are full of people going to the longest night.’

‘You need to learn to be patient. And respectful.’ His voice is stern.

I curl up on my mat and close my eyes. I don’t want him to notice how much I wish I was at home right now, how much I miss Sabta, Amma, Mar…

A knock on the door wakes me. Baba opens it to a man wearing a short tunic and bare arms – an ebed. Respectfully keeping his head low, the ebed goes to the heavy basket of fruit and hoists it onto his back. I smooth my clothes and follow Baba down the creaky wooden stairs and out to the dark street. Here he takes my hand and we walk along through the smoky night accompanied by a shifting pattern of voices and music, clapping and laughter drifting from behind doors and inner courtyards. 

My stomach grumbles. ‘Baba, will my loud stomach insult them?’

He laughs.

Through the arch at the end of the street, I spot a large bonfire and as we walk across the open field toward the crowd gathered around it, a cool breeze teases me with the smell of spices and grilled meat.

Fortunately, Baba was right and there is plenty of food left. Isaak is pleased with the basket of nuts and pomegranates, even though I see a mound of them on the table behind him. I hop from one foot to the other to keep myself from thinking about the food while he and Baba seem to say the same thing to each other at least ten times. Finally, Isaak notices my hopping and guesses that I’m starving. He waves to an ebed to bring us a platter of meat, bread and fruit.

I am so hungry I could eat a camel then and there but have to follow the platter in Isaak’s hands past several groups of women and sleeping babies sitting on carpets littered with plates of bones and bread, past a group of musicians on stools handing around a keg of wine, their instruments and plates of half-finished food strewn around their feet, and a group of men smoking and joking, until we finally arrive at another group sitting on a large carpet spread out under a palm tree.

Isaak starts to introduce us – Cephus (that’s Baba) and Tali (me) – to each of the men in turn but my stomach interrupts him halfway through. I quickly cover it with my hands, fearful of insulting Isaak and his friends. Everyone laughs and Isaak gestures for Baba and I to sit and eat. My stomach wouldn’t care if I was eating a dried lizard but my tongue is happy that the bread is soft and the meat is as juicy and delicious as it smells.

The music starts up again with a mesmerising rhythm that hops and skips between the players. A few children run and dance near the musicians. Baba notices them too and nods to me to join them but I press my lips and give him big doe eyes. Just then a man with a thin face and a nose the size of a cactus fruit offers him wine. Baba declines with a smile. (That’s because wine jinn can make a man do things he wish he hadn’t.)

‘Where do you come from, Cephus? South of Mecca? You are fortunate that Isaak gave you a room. Not all are so fortunate on the longest night.’

Isaak puts out a hand as if to stop any hard feelings. ‘Abi…’

‘I know, I know. Your inn was full. They were strangers arriving in the dark. How could you know they were blessed? So it’s good someone had room, eh Faysal?’

Faysal is swaying to the music, his fingers tap to its the rhythm. ‘It was a fabled night.’

‘Fabled night. You hear about it?’ Abi asks Baba. His eyes glint like metal in the firelight and I’m glad that fighting is forbidden.

‘Bits and pieces here and there.’ Baba shrugs as if he doesn’t really care.

‘You’re a trader in these parts, even here in Bethlehem, and you haven’t heard of the fabled night?’

Baba bows his head humbly. ‘Where I come from, we say, Be careful of eating too many dates.’  (That means if you are too curious, you might end up with a stomach ache.)

‘It took place on the longest night. Yosep and his wife Maryam who was pregnant with child arrived on a donkey. No one could give them a room except for Jal who let them stay in his stable because he believes in being kind. And poor Maryam gives birth to her child, a boy, that night, the longest night, in Jal’s stable. Imagine that.’

I can imagine it easily. Baba and I have slept in several stables on our long journeys and not always with permission. At least stables are warm and don’t hide evil spirits because Baba says that animals keep jinn away. It’s a lot better than having to sleep out in the cold desert.

Isaak says, ‘No one wanted to give them a room. Yosep’s family – the House of David, I’m sure you’ve heard of – were ashamed that Maryam had become pregnant before the marriage. They said they couldn’t be sure that the baby was his. But think about it: if Yosep had had his doubts, he would have dragged Maryam to the courts and she would have been stoned.’

‘If the baby is his, he didn’t behave honourably. And if he is honorable, then the baby is not his. And if Yosep is not the father, where did the baby come from?’

‘An angel—’ Isaak starts to say.

‘An angel?’ Abi chuckles. ‘Come on. Angels can’t procreate.’

‘Sure, angels can take the form of a man. You know that. They are divine messengers. The baby has a sacred purpose.’

A man says, ‘Divine or sacred or not, the woman should have been amongst her folk. How shameful to give birth in a stable.’

Another leaning against the palm tree laughs. ‘Have you seen Jal’s stable? He treats his animals with the same kindness as he does people.’

Faysal turns away from the music. ‘Stable aside, this birth was blessed. There is the prophesy, the visions, the magi.’

‘Cephus, you have surely heard about the vision of the angel, but you probably haven’t heard about the shepherd, Kokab,’ says a man as wrinkled as a dried watering hole. ‘Now, Kokab spends many nights in the desert guarding his sheep, but on that longest night he had planned to be home except that several of the ewes went into labour one after the other. He says that on that night he was looking at the sky over Bethlehem and saw two stars join together to became one bright one that settled right over Jal’s stable. It was another sign of the fabled birth.’

‘Fabled birth, divine seed…’ Abi looks to the stars as if he is reading a night map. ‘A vision or a convenient dream, who can say for sure. Kokab, ha, well, he drinks wine like a thirsty camel so it’s no surprise one star looked like two.’ A number of the men chuckle. ‘As for the magi, the time of their arrival was coincidence. They came from the east like Jal’s family and have great knowledge of the stars which guide them. And of course they carried with them special kingly gifts, perhaps as a tribute to King David.’

‘No, Abi. The gifts were given to the baby.’ The air crackles with disagreement as others join in. ‘And they were not birth gifts, no, they were fit for a king.’ ‘Perhaps to honor him as an heir of David?’ ‘They came to the stable.’ ‘The House of David have welcomed Yeshu and believe in the divine signs of his birth.’

‘Because it suits them.’ Abi smiles as if pleased with the commotion he has caused.

I look at Baba wishing I could ask him so many questions about the fabled night. Just then the man leaning against the tree turns to Baba. ‘Cephus, honoured guest, my daughter Naila would like to invite yours to meet the other girls.’

Baba smiles broadly. ‘How kind of Naila!’ When he turns to me, I can see in his eyes that pressed lips and doe eyes won’t work this time; I have no choice but to go with the girl.

Al-Lat, goddess of the moon, is hiding tonight after her fast and will start eating again tomorrow to grow full. In her absence, the fire paints the gathering with its orange light and sends sparks flying up to join the stars as an ebed throws more wood on. Another song has started up. I glimpse the black satin ribbon of a river snaking between the palm trees.

Naila leads me towards a group of children playing hide-and-seek amongst the crowds and behind tree trunks. We join in, Naila holding my hand as if I’m a sacred stone she mustn’t lose. But soon the curiosity of the other children stops the game and I answer the

usual questions of where am I from and why am I here and what do I think of Bethlehem?

One girl, Gabri, takes hold of my other hand. ‘Come. Meet my family.’

She and Naila steer me around the fire to a carpet full of women. They are chatting and laughing and Gabri runs up to one of them, a woman of wealthy proportions with the dark eyes of a gazelle, her arms richly decorated with bands of gold. Gabri introduces me, telling her all about me in a language I can’t follow.

The woman holds out her arms, ‘Tali, come to Irit, come,’ and pulls me into her lap.

Irit rocks me for a while saying, ‘Oh my child, what a long journey and so young still. May Asherah, supreme mother goddess, protect you and guide you back home, Tali.’ My eyes smart with tears. It has been so long since I have been encircled by the soft warmth of my amma’s body.

Naila sits down next to us and says, ‘I rescued her from the men’s talk about the fabled night.’

‘Al-Manat, bless us!’ sighs a woman dressed completely in white and gold. ‘May the boy become a prophet.’

‘He will, Bakyt, he will,’ Irit says. ‘You know that the angels of Yahweh told Yosep this in several dreams, that Maryam would give him a boy, born to be a prophet and king of kings.’

‘Well, he’d have divorced her if–’ A woman, thin as a stick, starts to speak but the one next to her with a tasselled scarf interrupts, ‘Also, some say an angel visited Maryam before conception… ‘ glances nervously at Irit, ‘…but the dreams are of more importance  because men need to hear it themselves, and especially in a case such as this. Yosep was right to be cautious.’

The thin woman gives Irit a thin smile and says, ‘There is no doubt that the House of David has been honoured by another kingly prophet.’

I feel Irit breathe deeply. ‘Some people have criticised the House of David for not taking Yosep and Maryam that night, but perhaps not everyone is aware that we were dedicating that night to the glories of King David. So so many had arrived to pay their respects and the house was bursting at its seams. Yosep, knowing this, did not want to burden his relatives, especially given his wife’s fullness. Such a thoughtful man, Asherah bless him. The House of David was not part of the fabled night, but of course it was not meant to be. That night will always be blessed by the birth of Yeshu and rightfully so.’

In the moments of silence that follow, questions buzz like flies through my head. What did the angels say? What did they look like? Why would Yosep divorce Maryam? Who is this Yeshu? Is he here? I glance past Naila to the fire where some boys are playing with sticks as swords. I recognise some of the sword moves that Baba has taught me on our nights camping in the desert. He says it’s so that I can defend myself, as a daughter-son, should we have to confront danger on our journeys.

Gabbri holds out her hand to me. ‘Come Tali, let’s go play.’ She and Naila lead me away but my curiosity is giving me a stomach-ache and I say, ‘Please, sisters, can we stop?’

They look at me. ‘I’m sorry. My head is dizzy because…’ I stop and wonder whether it is polite to bring up the subject of the fabled night but Al-Lat blesses me even from her hiding place in the heavens because Naila divines my thoughts. ‘Are you confused? Confused about the fabled night?’

I nod. The girls exchange looks and Gabri says, ‘Let’s go sit under that palm over there where it’s more quiet.’

In a hushed tone, Naila suggests telling me the story of the fabled night and Gabri smiles mischievously. ‘I’ll go get a cover to sit on.’

Gabri returns with a brightly woven blanket. After some bumping and tumbling and much giggling, we finally settle on one edge and cover ourselves with the rest of it. Huddled in our blanket cave, Naila says, ‘Now you tell it Gabri, you are from the House of David.’

‘I might forget something, Naila, you tell it.’

‘Alright I will start but correct me if I say something wrong.’

‘I will.’

We snuggle even closer and then Naila begins.

‘Maryam lived in Nazareth and was betrothed to Yosep from the House of David. Before they were even married, Yosep had a dream –’ ‘four dreams’ ‘…four dreams and in each one an angel came to him and told him that Maryam would give him a boy and that this boy would become a king of kings –’ ‘and a prophet of Yahweh.’

Naila sighs impatiently.  ‘Alright.’ She continues, ‘When Maryam was big with child, they left Nazareth to come to Bethlehem, and they arrive on the longest night but –‘ ‘all the inns are full except for one’ ‘…but even that one only has room in a stable with a cow and sheep and chickens and that’s where the little baby boy is born.’ ‘And the magis come and give him gifts.’

‘In the stable?’ I ask.

‘Yes, because the magi read the stars and the stars say that the baby Yeshu will be a king prophet.’

I don’t remember getting back to Isaak’s inn because I fall asleep under the cover with Naila and Gabri, but I guess Baba carries me back when the stars are fading. We honoured the longest night and even though it was not the same as celebrating at home, it was one that I will remember forever and especially each time I retell the story that Naila and Gabri told with me of the fabled birth of Yeshu.

My version has the angel appearing to Maryam because it’s more realistic to tell the eema Maryam than the baba Yosep, especially if he isn’t the baba. And I leave out the part about the divorce because it didn’t happen so it doesn’t matter (and I’m still confused about how all of that works). Also, I include the shepherd seeing the double star that burned so bright and the magi seeing it too because they must have if they were guided by the stars. Baba says that I tell the story very well and that perhaps I will learn other stories on our journeys so that when I am an eema I can recount them to my children.

But I have a secret future, may Al-Lat forgive me. My secret future is to continue as the eldest daughter-son crossing deserts and mountains, rivers and seas as a trader of myrrh by day and by night, learning the wisdom of stars and searching out wondrous stories to share wherever I go.

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We are constantly constructing or following narratives whether personal, about ourselves and our families, or public, about well-known political figures or larger events, that reinforce the beliefs we hold dear. However, much of what we choose to believe is not solid truth; rather it is fragments of truth woven together with personal perspectives and fables of our own making – and this has been true throughout human history. Just understanding this about narratives and truth can hopefully make us more compassionate even towards those whose views are in direct opposition to our own.

What are the differing narratives of our time? Which current narratives divide and destroy? Which narratives can encourage changes that will help heal our planet and benefit humanity? And which ones will survive and become part of culture, history, belief in the future?

As an endnote: on December 21^st, Saturn and Jupiter will form the ‘Great Conjunction’ coming close enough together to look like an especially large and bright star, similar perhaps to the one that occurred at the fabled birth of Jesus.