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Our people had become used to  foreign rule.  It was part of our heritage for as long as I can remember.  The Herod family considered themselves to be Jews, but they followed the ways of Rome and embraced their politics and laws.  They ruled during my life.

Every day life was much simpler then, but not without challenges.  Women were considered second class citizens, but we were held in high esteem by our husbands and families.  Our daily tasks included gathering water from the well, grinding wheat into flour, making bread, milking the goats and making cheese. We made clothing for our families too, spinning wool from our sheep into cloth.  Life was hard.  We didn’t have the luxuries of our leaders who seemed to always be building something and taxing the population to fund their projects.  There were really only two classes of people – the very rich and the poor.  The middle class consisted of the merchants, but even they had to submit to Roman rule and heavy taxes.

I will never forget the fear that filled every woman’s heart at the time of my firstborn’s birth.  Herod, the Great had ordered the death of all boys under the age of two.  We were fortunate to escape to Egypt, but so many babies perished at his hand. Blood flowed like rivers through the city streets.

Now another Herod was ruling.  This one just as brutal as the other.  My cousin, Elizabeth knew him as the man who took the life of her son, John – only a few months older than my own boy.  John was thrown into prison for stirring up the people with his words.  His life was snatched from him as his head was removed and presented to Salome as a trophy.  The cruelty never ended with this family.

What would happen next under these devilish facilitators of Roman rule?  Would we never be free of these Herods?  My heart weighed heavy with these thoughts as my son continued His mission.