“You are not my father!” A hateful accusation when it comes from your own child. But oh, pity the poor child who hears the man he calls father reply “I know.”

Yosef continued to work the wood with his tools, barely raising his eyes to the young boy. “Did your mother tell you?”

Yosef hardly noticed when Yeshua ran off, crying.

That night, while the brothers lay in their beds there was shouting and crying, and the sounds of heated arguments. After a time, Yosef came to the boys, and placed his hands on their heads. The boys were awake, but knew they should be asleep, so they kept their eyes closed.

“You are my son,” he whispered. And then he left them alone, and returned to his weeping wife.

Yehudah whispered to his twin in the darkness. For though he was the elder by minutes only, Yeshua often acted as if he were senior by several summers.

“What do you think he meant by that, my brother?”

Yeshua, through his tears, said harshly “How can you be my brother? You are the son of Yosef. And I have no father.”