It was midday, just near the time of Passover when I heard shouts along the road. I put the mixing bowl down and ran to the window to see what was going on. Mother was outside placing clothes on the line tied between our home and my parents' friends. Joshua was helping Father with the woodchips. A strange air blew in the window and I breathed in the dusty, sultry air.
"Mother, what is that sound?" I said.
Mother's stern gray eyes turned to the road and heard the shouts of people.
"I don't know, my daughter," the wind blowing her brown-gray braids past her olive skin and into the horizon.
I went back to my mixing. I was to try to cook supper for the family this evening, but I was having trouble concentrating on the bread when the shouts grew louder and louder. I finally gave up for the moment and peered outside the smooth, adobe window.
What I saw horrified me and made me want to vomit.
I saw this beaten and bruised man carrying a cross up the hill to Golgotha. His body was soaked with blood, including his robe, and his face was covered in blood and what looked like a thorny crown from a bush nearby the temple.
I gathered up my skirt and ran outside to the crowd forming around him. Some were throwing stones; some cursing at him. I bobbed up and down trying to see the man up close. A loud thud resounded and the crowd gathered inward.
Mother ran up behind me, as did Father and Joshua.Mother clutched to me and Father held Joshua next to him, as if to hide us if something awful did arise.
I stood tip-toe to overlook the shoulders of the others in front when the crowd suddenly backed away and I was standing alone in the circle with the bleeding and beaten man, and my family.
Mother gasped, as did Joshua. Father covered his eyes and Mother reached for me, but I tugged away. I was drawn to the dying criminal.
He laid his head down, covered with sweat, blood and sand. He looked up and eyed me with his working green eyeball. I stood still. His eye was on me, yet I couldn't move. I felt drawn to this man. I gathered up my skirt and gently, oh so gently, dabbed his face.
He spoke to me.
He said,"You help the Son of Man on his way to death, yet you are of ones who don't believe in me."
I stuttered. For a moment, I didn't know what to say. I wanted to so believe in this man, whatever he said. But, he was right. I was a Jew. He, himself was a Jew, but believed he was the Son of God. I couldn't believe in him. He was not Messiah. No way.
But still...
"I want to believe," I said.
His eyes grew kind as he stood up. He looked brutal, beaten, and near death, yet he continued to tell me what he was sent for and why he was there. The crowd grew restless and began throwing stones at him, cursing him and the Pharisees begin to whip him down.
I was perplexed at what had just happened and jumped back a little. Mother ran to grab me, but I clung back to the body before me. I wanted to believe in this man so much that I didn't care what was going on. I only knew that this man was Messiah and there was no doubt anymore that Messiah had come.
"You are Messiah! You are Messiah! Mi Adonai! I want to believe in you! You are Messiah!" I cried out, my mother dragging me backward, her face flushed and Father grabbing Joshua and sending him into the home.
I scrambled my feet against the dust in hopes of setting myself free when a small, still voice spoke inside my head and heart.
"Dear one of mine, your faith has made you whole and you have therefore been born again."
My heart was bursting with love and I broke free of my parents grasp and ran to my Messiah. I grabbed his arm with my left and grasped the hem of my dress with the free hand and tore a piece off. I began to wrap his arm with it, his deep crimson blood seeping through as soon as I tied it.
He looked again into my eyes. One eye was still disconnected and didn't roam like the other. The one eye that was looking toward my general directions was red-tinted, yet still deep and soft. I wanted to just pick this man upand carry him into the house to care for him...
"GET UP, JEW! GET AWAY FROM HIM! HE'S OFF TO GOLGOTHA!!" shouted a Pharisee. He pushed me back and I fell into the dirt, a plume rising from the ground.
He ripped off the cloth I had tied and slashed him with the cat-o-nine tails.
"NO!!!!!" I cried out.
He stumbled and fell again until one of the Pharisees became enlightened and grabbed a nearby man. He looked disturbed and the Pharisee told him to carry the cross the rest of the way.
"I cannot do that.
I won't carry another man's blame!"
"Do it, Jew."
As he slowly picked up the cross, he shouted to the audience, "I am not the criminal. I am only doing this because I must! I am not the criminal you see before you!"
He slid the man's hand around his shoulders and the cross and began to slowly begin the descent to Golgotha with a sin-stained cross.
Many more jeerers and people mocked the bloodied man and the the one carrying the criminal's load. I watched them as they stepped out of sight. I knew better than what everyone had said. My mother had went into the house, as did my brother and father. They both said it to be shameful in God's eyes to look upon such a dispicable criminal. I didn't think him to be such a criminal. I thought him to be more than meets the eye.
Somehow, somewhere, I could tell. He was just not an ordinary man proclaiming he was the Son of God. Many people had done such things and I would always disbelieve every blahemous word they ever said. But not now. This man, whom he calls himself Jesus, is unlike anyone I have ever seen. He was THE Messiah. He was Messiah.
The wind blew into my face and I could feel the grains of sand kick into my eyes and up my nostrils. A storm was coming, and I had to see Him again. Just one more time before they crucified him. I had to know for sure....