“He stirs up the people from here to Galilee. He’s a troublemaker. He drove us out of our temple market.” At that moment Pilate may have become aware of my accent or remembered I was born in Nazareth for he ordered me brought to trial before Herod, the local governor. Herod, I thought, the name stunning me as I recalled his crime. We crossed a bridge, a hostile crowd following; young Herod welcomed me because he had heard of my miracles and wanted me to perform for his benefit. Was I wizard, necromancer, fakir? I could not speak to this murderer: I envisioned John in prison, waiting, waiting for the liberty that never came. I saw his decapitated head on a tray, displayed for a dancing girl. Because I could not speak Herod had his men throw a purple robe over my shoulders and place me on a chair. They mocked me, spat on me, and demanded I save myself. Herod refused to try me and ordered guards to return me to Pontius Pilate. It was then, as we recrossed the bridge where the populace jeered, it was then I attempted to think of home. Something like an actual wall blocked me. All the emptiness of life, the savageness of the wilderness, the enmity of mankind, came into being. I prayed but prayer was useless. A man held my arm or I would have fallen: his sword hit my side. Peter’s Iyyar 25 Pilate resented a jeering mob and tried to establish order. He commanded men to assume positions in the Babbatha yard. Calling several priests, he said, shouting at them: “You have brought this man before me. You say he perverts the people. I find no fault in him. I will punish him and release him.” He sat on his tribunal chair, his wife beside him. Raising his hand he resumed: “I will free a man. Who will it be? Barabbas? Do you want Barabbas free or Christ? Choose your man.” “Barabbas...Barabbas,” the priests shouted, and the crowd repeated his name, a man known for his crimes. “What shall I do with Jesus?” “Crucify him...crucify him.” “What has he done?” The crowd answered: “Crucify him.” Shall I continue this journal? Will others accept my account? Shall I simply destroy these words? As days pass I am able to re-live the sadness. There is a chance to diminish man’s cruelty. I take that chance. We are here in this world to make life worthy. We are here to teach others. Teaching is no easier than learning. No one has ever had my vantage point: this permits me to continue. I searched for a friendly face among the mob...Peter...Mother...Matthew... Clibus... Barabbas was brought before the judges and liberated with jeers and laughter. He passed by me, a great, tall man. As he walked away I was led to a whipping post, bound, and lashed with thongs; I was lashed until unconscious. Courage, where was my courage to bear the cru- cifixion. I tried to think... In a barren hall soldiers stripped me and put a filthy robe around me and forced a crown of thorns on my head. Six or eight men confronted me. They mocked me.