I continually bless Thy name. I seem to hear John’s commanding voice, his loving benediction as I left his prison: The Lord bless thee and keep thee, the Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee... Ephraim Nisan 14 I am staying at a beautiful old stone house in nearby Ephraim. I have allowed myself a respite, among pomegranate, olives, roses. Herons fly at dawn and evening. Children run in and out. A boy with shaggy head has a pet dove. A girl with almond eyes is learning to weave. My disciples are here, the new and the old. We have met in a low room, plain and bearded men, clothes new and disheveled; Ezra shows me his injured leg; Luke works over it; Lamech (a strong youth) is from Casarea, an expert swimmer, he said. “I will walk to Jerusalem tomorrow. I’ll remain there. The high priests will accost me. They may mock and scourge me, as they have many others...but I will return.” I tried to speak calmly. I could not be forthright... Calling me “Rabboni,” a pretty girl knelt in the jammed room and anointed me with fragrant oil. It was a moment of calm, a moment of beauty. Nisan 15 Holy Week has begun. I walk accompanied by my disciples. As we pass a tall wooden cross I remembered that the Romans have crucified as many as two thousand men at one time because of religious dedication. Almost every single one of us has witnessed a crucifixion. Hail Caesar! Ours was a solemn path on a clear morning, larks singing, the air brisk. Carrying fronds, waving, hoping to speak to us, hundreds filled the paths and streets, wanting the miracle of love and life. Our path crooked upward to the “House of the Figs,” where I was given a donkey, a tall, white one. Children shouted joyously. For me, he was my donkey of peace. I waved as I rode along. Some women cut branches and tossed them in front of me. Others threw flowers and shouted “Hosanna.” Jerusalem spread around me, blocks of stone, yellow walls, piles of ancient masonry, new porticos, towers, shops... It was my city, my hated city; I esteemed the meaning it has for my forefathers, men who slept in the valley, with peaked cypresses above their graves. Dust fanned over us as we followed a narrow way. Romans turned on me and turned on the crowd but I warned them to desist. At the temple I found more money changers. The courtyard was cattleyard; waiting rooms were storerooms. Animals bellowed. I struck again at the vendors, toppling tables, hurling money trays. The crowd screamed, cheered. In the midst of this bedlam strangers, travelers, stopped Philip and Andrew. They insisted upon being presented to me. The four men offered me sanctuary in the kingdom of Edessa. Priests, soldiers, young and old crammed around me as I explained the life eternal, the image of redemption, eternal salvation and the price we must pay.