The Last Temptation of Christ

Chapter Fifteen

FIRST THE VILLAGE DOGS picked up his scent and began to bark. Soon the children were running to Magdala with the news: “He’s coming! He’s coming!”

“Who, boys, who?” the villagers asked, opening their doors.

“The new prophet!”

The thresholds filled with women young and old; the men abandoned their work; the sick jumped for joy and prepared to crawl out to touch him. He had already won a great name for himself in the vicinity of the lake of Gennesaret. His gifts and powers had been proclaimed from village to village by the epileptics, the blind and the paralyzed whom he had cured:

“He touched my darkened eyes and I saw the light.”

“As soon as he ordered me to throw down my crutches and walk, I began to dance.”

“Whole armies of demons were feeding on my insides. He lifted his hand and commanded them: ‘Be gone, go to the pigs!’ Straightway they bounded out of my bowels, kicking, and entered the pigs that were grazing on the shore. The animals went mad. One climbed on top of the other, and they hurled themselves into the water and drowned.”

When Magdalene heard the good news she came out of her cottage. She had not appeared at her door since the day the son of Mary ordered her to return home and sin no more. She had wept and cleansed her soul with tears, had struggled to erase the past from her mind, to forget everything-the shame, the joys, the all-night vigils-and be born again with a virgin body. For the first few days she beat her head on the ground and wailed, but in time she grew calm, her pain abated, the nightmares which had tormented her disappeared, and now, every night, she dreamed that Jesus came, opened her door like the man of the house and sat down in the yard under the blossoming pomegranate tree. He had traveled a great distance and was tired, covered with dust, and much embittered by men. Every evening Magdalene would heat water, wash his holy feet and then, letting out her hair, wipe them dry. And he, he would relax, smile, and chat with her. She never remembered what he said, but when she awoke in the morning she jumped out of bed buoyant and exhilarated; and the last few days she had begun-in a low voice, so that the neighbors would not hear-to chirp sweetly like a goldfinch. Now, hearing from the children’s shouts that he was coming, she leaped up, lowered her kerchief to hide all of her much-kissed face except her two large, all-black eyes, unbolted the door and went out to receive him.

This evening the village was all astir. Young girls had begun to don their jewelry and make ready their lamps for the wedding. Nathanael’s nephew was getting married. A cobbler like his uncle, he was a chubby, brown, overgrown child with a nose like a cudgel. The bride, covered with a veil so thick that you could see only the two eyes which bored through it and the large silver rings on her ears, sat on a raised armchair in the middle of her home, waiting for the gentlemen guests and the village girls with their lighted lamps, waiting for the rabbi to come to unroll the Scriptures and read the blessing, waiting, finally, for the moment when everyone would decamp and she would remain all alone with her cudgel nose.

Nathanael heard the children shout, “He’s coming, he’s coming!” and ran out to invite his friends to the wedding. He found them sitting by the well at the entrance to the village, drinking water to quench their thirst. Magdalene was kneeling in front of Jesus. She had washed his feet and was now wiping them dry with her hair.

“Tonight my nephew is getting married,” he said. “If you’ll be so kind, please come to the wedding. We’ll drink the wine made from the grapes I trod in Zebedee’s yard this summer.”

He turned to Jesus. “We hear a great deal about your sanctity, son of Mary. Do me the honor of coming to bless the new couple so that they will give birth to sons, for Israel ’s glory.”

Jesus rose. “The joys of men please us,” he replied. “Companions, let us go.”

He grasped Magdalene’s hand and helped her up. “Join us, Mary,” he said.

Feeling in good spirits, he took the lead. He liked festivities. He loved the people’s glowing faces; he loved to see the young marry and keep the fires burning in the hearth. Plants, beetles, birds, animals, men-all are sacred, he reflected as he proceeded to the wedding; all are God’s creatures. Why do they live? They live to glorify God. May they continue to live, therefore, forever and ever!

The freshly bathed girls already stood in their white robes outside the closed richly ornamented door. They held their lighted lamps in their hands while they sang the ancient wedding songs which praised the bride, teased the groom and called on God to deign to come in and join the rest of the company. A wedding was taking place, an Israelite was being married, and the two bodies which would couple that night might engender the Messiah… The girls sang to deceive the time, for the groom was late. They were waiting for him to come and throw open the door so that the ceremony could begin.

But while they were singing, Jesus appeared with his train. The virgins turned. As soon as they saw Magdalene their song came to an abrupt standstill and they recoiled, glowering. What business had this slut among virgins? Where was the old village chief to bar her? The wedding was soiled! The married women turned also and eyed her fiercely; wave after wave of movement could be seen in the murmuring crowd of guests, the respectable householders, who were also waiting outside the closed door. Magdalene, however, was resplendent, a lighted torch. Standing by Jesus’ side, she felt her soul newly virgin and her lips unkissed. Suddenly the crowd made way and the village chief, a tiny, desiccated old man whose nose dripped venom, came up to Magdalene, touched her with the end of his staff and nodded for her to leave.

Jesus felt the envenomed glances of the people on his hands, face and uncovered chest. His body became inflamed, as though pricked by countless invisible thorns. Looking at the old chief, the honest wives, the scowling men and flustered virgins, he sighed. How long would the eyes of men remain blind and fail to see that all were brothers?

The murmur had now grown intense; the first threats already resounded in the darkness. Nathanael went up to speak to Jesus, but the teacher calmly pushed him aside and, making his way through the crowd, approached the virgins. Lamps swayed; room was made for him to pass. He stopped in their midst and raised his hand. “Virgins, my sisters, God touched my mouth and confided a kind word to me to present to you on this holy wedding night. Virgins, my sisters, open your ears, open your hearts; and you, my brothers, be quiet, for I shall speak!”

They all turned, uneasy. From his voice the men divined that he was angry, the women that he was sad. No one spoke. The two blind musicians in the courtyard of the house could be heard tuning their lutes.

Jesus raised his hand. “Virgins, my sisters, what do you suppose the kingdom of heaven is like? It is like a wedding. God is the bridegroom, and the soul of man is the bride. A wedding takes place in heaven, and the whole of mankind is invited. Forgive me, my brothers, but God speaks to me thus, in parables, and it is in parables that I shall speak now.

“There was to be a wedding in a certain village. Ten virgins took their lamps and went out to receive the bridegroom. Five were wise and took along flasks filled with oil. The other five were foolish and carried no extra oil with them. They stood outside the house of the bride and waited and waited, but the bridegroom was late and they grew tired and slept. At midnight there was a cry, ‘Behold, the bridegroom is coming! Run out to receive him!’ The ten virgins jumped up to fill their lamps, which were about to go out. But the five foolish virgins had no more oil. ‘Give us a little oil, sisters,’ they said to the wise virgins, ‘for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise replied, ‘We haven’t any left for you. Go and get some.’ And while the foolish virgins ran to find oil, the bridegroom arrived, the wise virgins went in, and the door was shut.

“A little while later the foolish virgins returned, their lamps lighted, and began to pound on the door. ‘Open the door for us!’ they cried and pleaded. But inside, the wise virgins laughed. ‘It serves you right,’ they answered them. ‘Now the door is closed. Go away!’ But the others wept and begged, ‘Open the door! Open the door! Open the door!’ And then…”

Jesus stopped. Once more he surveyed the old chief, the guests, the honest housewives, the virgins with the lighted lamps. He smiled.

“And then?” said Nathanael, who was listening with gaping mouth. His simple, sluggish mind had begun to stir. “And then, Rabbi, what was the outcome?”

“What would you have done, Nathanael,” Jesus asked, pinning his large, bewitching eyes on him, “what would you have done if you had been the bridegroom?”

Nathanael was silent. He still was not entirely clear in his mind what he would have done. One moment he thought to send them away. The door had definitely been closed, and that was what the Law required. But the next moment he pitied them and thought to let them in.

“What would you have done, Nathanael, if you had been the bridegroom?” Jesus asked again, and slowly, persistently, his beseeching eyes caressed the cobbler’s simple, guileless face.

“I would have opened the door,” the other answered in a low voice so that the old chief would not hear. He had been unable to oppose the eyes of the son of Mary any longer.

“Congratulations, friend Nathanael,” said Jesus happily, and he stretched forth his hand as though blessing him. “This moment, though you are still alive, you enter Paradise. The bridegroom did exactly as you said: he called to the servants to open the door. ‘This is a wedding,’ he cried. ‘Let everyone eat, drink and be merry. Open the door for the foolish virgins and wash and refresh their feet, for they have run much.’ ”

Tears welled up between Magdalene’s long eyelashes. Ah, if she could only kiss the mouth that uttered such words! Simple Nathanael glowed from head to toe as though he were actually in Paradise already. But old poison nose, the village chief, lifted his staff.

“You’re going contrary to the Law, son of Mary,” he screeched.

“The Law goes contrary to my heart,” Jesus calmly replied.

He was still speaking when the groom made his appearance, bathed, perfumed, a green wreath over his thick head of curly hair. A few drinks had put him in the best of moods, and his nose was dazzling. With one thrust he threw open the door. The guests flowed in behind him, and Jesus entered also, holding Magdalene by the hand.

“Which are the foolish virgins, which the wise?” Peter asked John in a low voice. “What did you make of it?”

“That God is our Father,” replied the son of Zebedee.

The rabbi arrived and performed the ceremony. Afterward, bride and groom placed themselves in the middle of the house, and the guests filed by, kissing them and expressing the wish that they might give birth to a son who would rescue Israel from its slavery. Then the lutes started to play, the guests danced and drank, and Jesus and his companions danced and drank with them. The hours passed, and when the moon rose they resumed their journey. It was autumn now, but the great heat of the days had not abated, and it was delightful to travel in the moist coolness of the night.

Their faces directed toward Jerusalem, they proceeded. They had drunk, and everything appeared transformed. Their bodies had grown buoyant, like souls; they walked with winged feet, with the Jordan on their left, and on their right, lying tame and fertile under the moonlight, the plain of Zabulon, tired and satisfied this year too, after having once more fulfilled the obligation which God had entrusted to it for centuries and centuries: to lift up the grain to the height of a man, to load down the vines with grapes and the olive trees with olives. It lay now, tired and satisfied, like a mother who had just given birth to her child.

“What a joy this is, brothers!” Peter said over and over again. His delight in this nocturnal march and in the sweetness of the camaraderie was insatiable. “Is it real? Is it a dream? Have we been bewitched? The way I am, I feel like singing a song, or else I’ll burst!”

“All together!” cried Jesus. He went in front, tipped up his head, and was the first to begin. His voice was weak, but pleasant and full of passion. To its right and left were the voices of John and Andrew, melodious and tender. For some time these three high voices chirped their graceful vibrato all alone. They were so mellifluous, your heart skipped a beat: they can’t keep it up, you said to yourself. So much honey will surely make them dizzy and sick, one after the other. But the voices spurted forth out of a very deep spring, and every time they were about to falter, they steadied themselves again. Suddenly-what joy! what strength!-the baritones of Peter, Jacob and Judas shook the air, heavy, triumphant and full of virility; and all together, each with his own grace and force, the companions lifted high to the heavens the jubilant psalm of the sacred journey:

The hours passed, the stars dimmed, the sun rose. Leaving the red soil of Galilee behind them, they entered black-soiled Samaria.

Judas halted. “Let’s change our route,” he proposed. “This is a heretical and accursed land. Let’s cross the Jordan bridge and go along the other bank. It’s a sin to touch those who transgress the Law. Their God is contaminated and so is their water and their bread. A mouthful of Samaritan bread, my mother used to tell me, is a mouthful of pork. Let’s change our route!”

But Jesus took Judas calmly by the hand and they continued on together. “Judas, my brother,” he said to him, “when the pure man touches the soiled man, the soiled man becomes pure. Do not object. We have come for them, for sinners. What need do the righteous have of us? Here in Samaria a kind word may save a soul-a kind word, Judas, a good deed, a smile at the Samaritan who goes by. Do you understand?”

Judas glanced furtively around him to be sure the others could not hear. “This is not the way,” he said softly; “no, it is not the way. But I’ll be patient until we reach the wild ascetic. He will judge. Until then, go where you like, do what you like. I won’t leave you.”

He passed his crooked staff over his shoulders and walked on ahead, all by himself.

The others conversed as they marched. Jesus spoke to them of love, the Father, the kingdom of heaven. He explained which souls were the foolish virgins, which the wise, what the lamps were and what the oil, who the bridegroom was and why the foolish virgins not only entered his house, as did the wise, but were the only ones to have their tired feet washed by the servants. As the four companions listened, their minds widened, received all that was being said to them, and their hearts grew firm. Sin now appeared to them like a foolish virgin standing with her extinguished lamp, imploring and weeping before the door of the Lord…

They marched and marched. The skies above them clouded over and the face of the earth grew dark. The air smelled of rain.

They arrived at the first village, at the foot of Gerizim, the holy mountain of their forefathers. At the entrance to the village, surrounded by date palms and reeds, was the age-old well of Jacob. It was here that the patriarch had come with his sheep to draw water and drink. The stone lip of the well was eaten away by the ropes which had rubbed over it for generations and generations.

Jesus felt tired. The stones had cut his feet; they were bleeding. “I shall stay here,” he said. “You go into the village and knock at the doors. Some good soul will be found to give us a loaf of bread as alms; and some woman will come to the well and draw water for us to drink. Have faith in God, and in men.”

The five left, but on the way Judas changed his mind. “I’m not going into a contaminated village,” he said, “and I’m not going to eat contaminated bread. I’ll stay here under this fig tree and wait for you.”

Jesus had lain down meanwhile in the shade of the reeds. He was thirsty, but the well was deep: how was he to drink? He inclined his head and gave himself up to thought. He had placed a difficult road before him. His body was weak, he grew tired, his knees sagged, he did not have the strength to support his soul. He fell, but straightway God always blew a cool, light breeze over him, his body found strength again and he rose and continued on. For how long? Until death? Until beyond death?

While he reflected on God, man and death, the reeds stirred and a young woman wearing bracelets and earrings and carrying a jug on her head approached the well and placed her jug down on the brim. Jesus saw her through the reeds let out the rope she was carrying, lower the bucket, draw up water and fill the jug. His thirst increased.

“Woman,” he said, emerging from the reeds, “give me a drink.”

The woman was startled by his sudden appearance in front of her.

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “I am an honest man. I’m thirsty; give me a drink.”

“How is it,” she replied, “that you, a Galilean-I can tell by your clothes-ask a drink of me, a Samaritan?”

“If you knew who it was that says to you, Woman, give me a drink,’ you would fall at his feet and ask him to give you immortal water to drink.”

The woman was perplexed. “You have neither rope nor bucket, and the well is deep. How could you draw up water to give me a drink?”

“He who drinks of the water of this well will thirst again,” Jesus answered, “but he who drinks the water that I shall give him will not thirst again for all eternity.”

“Sir,” the woman then said, “give me this water so that I will not thirst again for all eternity or have to come here every day to the well.”

“Go, call your husband,” Jesus said to her.

“I have no husband, sir.”

“You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband,’ for you have had five husbands until now, and he whom you have at present is not your husband.”

“Sir, are you a prophet?” the woman asked, filled with admiration. “Do you know everything?”

Jesus smiled. “Is there anything you wish to ask me? Speak freely.”

“Yes, there is one thing I would like you to answer for me, sir. Until now our fathers have worshiped God on this holy mountain, Gerizim. Now you prophets say that we ought to worship God only in Jerusalem. Which is right? Where is God found? Enlighten me.”

Jesus bowed his head and did not speak. This sinful woman, so tortured by her solicitude for God, deeply agitated his heart.

He struggled for her sake, struggled within himself to find the right words to console her. Suddenly he lifted his head. His face was gleaming.

“Woman, keep what I shall tell you deep in your heart. The day will come-it has already come-when men will worship God neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. God is spirit, and spirit must be worshiped only in spirit.”

The woman was confused. She leaned over and looked anxiously at Jesus. “Can you be…” she asked, slowly and in a trembling voice, “can you be the One we’re waiting for?”

“Whom are you waiting for?”

“You know. Why do you want me to pronounce his name? You know it. My lips are sinful.”

Jesus leaned his head against his breast. He seemed to be listening to his heart, as though he expected it to give him the answer. The woman, bending over him, waited feverishly.

But while the two of them, both troubled, stood in silence, happy voices were heard, and the disciples appeared, triumphantly waving a loaf of bread. Finding the teacher with an unknown woman, they halted. Jesus was delighted to see them, for now he was saved from having to answer the woman’s terrible question. He nodded to the companions to approach.

“Come,” he called. “This good woman has come from the village, sent by God to draw water for us to drink.”

The companions approached, all except Judas, who stepped aside in order to avoid being contaminated by Samaritan water.

The woman tipped her jug, and the thirsty men drank. She refilled the jug, placed it skillfully on her head and proceeded toward the village, thoughtful and silent.

“Rabbi, who was that woman?” Peter asked. “You were talking together as though you’d known each other for years and years.”

“She was one of my sisters,” Jesus answered. “I asked her for water because I was thirsty, and it was her thirst that was quenched.”

Peter scratched his thick skull. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jesus replied, patting his friend’s gray head. “Don’t be impatient. You will understand in time, bit by bit… Right now we’re hungry; let’s eat!”

They stretched. out beneath the date palms. Andrew began to relate how they entered the village and started asking for alms. “We knocked at the houses and were hooted and chased from door to door. Finally, at the opposite end of the village, a tiny old lady half opened her door and looked carefully up and down the street. Not a soul in sight. She handed us a loaf of bread on the sly and immediately shut the door. We grabbed it and ran for our lives.”

“It’s a shame we don’t know the old lady’s name,” said Peter. “We could ask God to remember her.”

Jesus laughed. “Don’t feel bad on that account, Peter,” he said. “God knows her name.”

Jesus took the bread, blessed it, gave thanks to God for having put the old lady there to give it to them, and then divided it into six large pieces, one for each of the companions. But Judas pushed his portion away with his staff and turned aside his face. “I don’t eat Samaritan bread,” he said; “I don’t eat pork.”

Jesus did not argue with him. He knew that Judas’s heart was hard and that for it to soften, time was needed-time and skill and much love.

“We shall eat,” he said to the others. “Samaritan bread becomes Galilean when eaten by Galileans, and pork becomes the flesh of men when eaten by men. So, in God’s name!”

Laughing, the four companions ate with relish. Samaritan bread tasted delicious, like all bread, and they were elated. After the meal they crossed their hands. They were tired, and they slept-all except Judas, who remained awake and struck the ground with his stick as though thrashing it. Hunger is better than shame, he reflected, and this consoled him.

The first drops of rain began to beat against the reeds. The sleepers jumped to their feet.

“It’s the first rain,” said Jacob. “The earth is going to quench its thirst.”

But as they began to consider where to find a cave in which to shelter themselves, a wind arose from the north and chased away the clouds. The skies cleared. They resumed their march.

The figs which remained on the fig trees gleamed in the damp air. The pomegranate trees were loaded with fruit. The companions reached out, picked some pomegranates and refreshed themselves. The farmers were lifting their heads from the ground. They looked with amazement at the Galileans. What business had they in Samaria? Why were they mixing with Samaritans and eating their bread and picking fruit from their trees? They’d better get out of our sight, quickly!

One old man could not bear it. He left his orchard and stood before them. “Hey, Galileans,” he shouted, “your unlawful law hurls the anathema on the sanctified land which you now tread. So, what are you doing on our soil? Out of our sight!”

“We are going to holy Jerusalem to worship,” Peter answered him, and he stopped in front of the old man and bulged out his chest.

“You should worship here, apostates, on Gerizim, the mountain trodden by God,” the old man thundered. “Haven’t you ever read the Scriptures? It was here at the foot of Gerizim, under the oak trees, that God appeared to Abraham. He showed him the mountains and the plains from one end to the other, from Mount Hebron to Idumea and the Land of Midian, and said, ‘Behold the Promised Land, a land that flows with milk and honey. I gave you my word I would present it to you, and present it to you I will.’ They shook hands and sealed the agreement. Do you hear, Galileans? That is what the Scriptures say. Whoever wants to worship, therefore, ought to worship here in this holy land and not in Jerusalem, which murders the prophets!”

“Every land is holy, old man,” Jesus said with a calm voice. “God is everywhere, old man, and we all are brothers.”

The other turned, astonished. “Samaritans and Galileans too?”

“Samaritans and Galileans too, old man-and Judeans. All!”

Stroking his beard, the old man fell deep into thought. He examined Jesus from head to toe.

“God and the devil too?” he asked finally. He spoke in a lowered voice so that the invisible powers would not hear.

Jesus was terrified. Never in his life had he been asked if God’s mercy was so great that one day he would forgive even Lucifer and welcome him back into the kingdom of heaven.

“I don’t know, old man,” he replied; “I don’t know. I am a man, and my concern is for men. What’s beyond is God’s affair.”

The old man did not speak. Still stroking his beard and still deep in thought, he watched the strange passers-by proceed, two by two, and disappear under the trees.

Night fell; a cold wind arose. They found a cave and burrowed in, huddling all together in a ball to keep warm. A left-over piece of bread remained for each, and they ate. The redbeard went out, collected wood and lighted a fire. This revived the companions, and they sat in a circle, silently watching the flames. They heard the whistling of the wind, the howling of the jackals, the faraway, muffled thunderclaps which rolled down from Mount Gerizim. Through the opening of the cave a large comforting star could be seen in the sky, but soon clouds came and covered it up. The companions closed their eyes and leaned their heads on each other’s shoulders. John secretly threw the woolen cloak he was wearing over Jesus’ back, and all of them, squeezed closely together like bats, slept.

The next day they entered Judea. They observed a gradual change in the trees. The road was now lined with yellow-leafed poplars, locusts heavy with fruit, and ancient cedars. The region was rocky, arid, rough; even the peasants who appeared in the low, dark doorways were made of flint. Now and then a blue wildflower, humble and graceful, emerged from between the rocks; and sometimes in the mute loneliness, deep in a ravine, a partridge cackled. It must have found a sip of water to drink, Jesus thought as he heard it, and he felt the bird’s warm breast in his palm and rejoiced.

As they came closer to Jerusalem the land grew fiercer and fiercer. God changed too. The earth here did not laugh, as it did in Galilee, and God himself, like the villages and the people, was made of flint. The heavens, which in Samaria had tried for a moment at least to rain and refresh the earth, here were red-hot iron. The panting companions marched forward in this deep furnace. When nightfall came again they saw a large group of tombs cut into the rocks and shining in all their blackness. Thousands of their ancestors had decomposed inside and turned again to stone. They burrowed into the empty tombs, lay down and went to sleep early, in order to be fresh for their entry into the holy city the next day.

Jesus was the only one who did not sleep. He roamed the tombs, listening intently to the night. His heart was uneasy. Inside him were obscure voices, a great wailing, as though thousands of suffering men were shouting… Toward midnight the wind stopped and the night grew silent. And then, in this silence, a heart-rending cry tore through the air. At first he thought it was a hungry jackal, but then he understood, with terror, that it was his own heart.

“Dear God,” he murmured, “who is shouting within me? Who is weeping?”

Fatigued, he too entered one of the tombs, crossed his hands, and gave himself up to God’s mercy. At dawn he had a dream. It seemed that he was with Mary Magdalene, and that both of them were flying tranquilly and noiselessly above a large city, just grazing the rooftops. When they reached the edge of the city the very last door opened, and a huge old man appeared. He had a flowing beard and blue eyes which shone like stars. His sleeves were rolled up, his hands and arms were covered with mud. Lifting his head and seeing them fly above him, he shouted, “Stop. I have something to tell you.” They stopped.

“What, old man? We’re listening.”

“The Messiah is he who loves the whole world. The Messiah is he who dies because he loves the whole world.”

“Nothing else?” asked Magdalene.

“Isn’t that enough for you?” the old man shouted angrily.

“May we enter your workshop?” Magdalene asked.

“No. Can’t you see that my hands are all covered with clay? Inside I am constructing the Messiah.”

Jesus awoke with a start. His body was truly weightless; he felt he was flying. Day broke. The companions had already risen, and their eyes leaped from rock to rock, hill to hill, in the direction of Jerusalem.

They set out, anxious to arrive. They marched and marched, but the mountains in front of them always seemed to recede and the road to become longer and longer.

“I don’t think we’ll ever get to Jerusalem, brothers,” said Peter in despair. “What is happening to us? Don’t you see-she gets farther and farther away.”

“She comes closer and closer,” Jesus answered him. “Courage, Peter. We take a step to find Jerusalem, and she takes a step to find us. Like the Messiah.”

“The Messiah?” asked Judas, turning abruptly.

“The Messiah is coming,” Jesus said in a deep voice. “You know very well, Judas, my brother, whether or not we are going in the right direction to find him. If we do a good or noble deed, if we pronounce a kind word, the Messiah quickens his pace and approaches. If we are dishonest, evil, afraid of everything, the Messiah turns his back on us and moves farther away. The Messiah is a Jerusalem in motion, brothers. Jerusalem is in a hurry, and so are we. Let’s move fast and find her! Have faith in God and in the immortal spirit of man!”

Encouraged, they all quickened their pace. Judas again went in front, his whole face happy now. He speaks well, he said to himself as he marched. Yes, the son of Mary is right. The old rabbi shouts the same thing at us: salvation depends on us. If we cross our hands the land of Israel will never be delivered. If we all take up arms, we shall see freedom.

Judas continued on, talking to himself. But suddenly he stopped, confused. “Who is the Messiah?” he murmured. “Who? Is it perhaps the entire people?”

Grains of sweat began to run down his fiery brow. Is it perhaps the entire people? This was the first time this thought had come to him, and he felt troubled. Can the Messiah be the entire people? he asked himself over and over. But then, what need do we have for all these prophets and false prophets? Why must we grope in an agony, trying to see which one is the Messiah? That’s it: the people are the Messiah-I, you, every one of us. The only thing we have to do is take up arms!

He started marching again, waving his club in the air; and while he proceeded, playing happily with his new thought as with the club, suddenly he uttered a cry. In front of him, flashing on a double-peaked mountain, was Holy Jerusalem, beautiful, white and proud. He did not shout to the others, who were coming up behind him. He wanted to enjoy the sight by himself as long as he could. Palaces, towers and castle doors glittered in the pupils of his blue eyes; and in the very center, protected by God, was the Temple, all gold, cedar and marble.

The remaining companions caught up, and they too shouted for joy.

“Come, let us sing the beauty of our Lady,” suggested Peter, the good singer. “Ready men, all together now!”

All five began to dance in a circle around Jesus, who stood motionless in the center and started the sacred hymn: