It is fairly quiet in town finally. The crowds have been noisy, as one might expect, the entire region teeming with too many people, mostly strangers arriving only recently to conduct business not entirely of their own choosing. (While the exact details are debated, some form of government mandated census has led to this overcrowding and is the reason Joseph and Mary find themselves not only in Bethlehem but also in their current surroundings.)
As Joseph observes his wife, and the newborn infant resting comfortably in the small spray of relatively clean hay, his jumbled thoughts swirl amid conflicting emotions. Virgin. Pregnancy. Angel. Census. Travel. Messiah! Am I dreaming?
Now when strangers show up in town looking for some so-called king of the Jews, there is one man in particular who sits up and takes notice. Oh, and know this, he is not a happy camper. For you see, he is himself the king of the Jews. In fact, he is not only King Herod, but he is Herod the Great. And no one, no one, is going to threaten his throne, no sirree.
Centuries before, Israel had taken refuge in Egypt and, led by Moses when the time was right, returned to their Promised Land. Now, the Hope and Promise of Israel—the Messiah child—is also to leave Egypt and return to the land of Israel, in the care of Mary and Joseph. And so they go, settling in Galilee, in their hometown of Nazareth.