earth's roots and springs. Her soul at peace, she crossed the yard and, fearlessly treading the stars on the ground, went to open the gate. She looked outside, saw that the trail ended a short distance away, as if the iridescence of the leaves had been extinguished or as if, another flight of fancy on the part of this woman who can no longer make the excuse that she is pregnant, the beggar had reverted to his angel form and finally made use of his wings to mark this special occasion. Mary pondered these strange events, and they seemed to her as simple and natural as her own hands in the moonlight. She returned to the house, took the oil lamp from its hook on the wall, and went to take a closer look at the deep hole where the plant had been. At the bottom of it lay the empty bowl. She reached in and lifted it out, the same plain bowl she remembered but with little earth left inside and no longer shining, an ordinary household utensil restored to its proper function. From now on it will be used to serve milk, water, or wine, according to one's taste and means, and how true the saying which reminds us that everyone has his hour and everything its time.
Jesus found shelter on the first night of his travels. It was dusk when he came to a tiny hamlet just outside the city of Jenin, and fate, which had predicted so much ill fortune since the day he was born, relented on this occasion. The owners of the house where, with little hope, he sought shelter turned out to be hospitable people who could never have forgiven themselves if they left a boy of his age out in the open all night, especially at a time like this, with so much fighting and violence everywhere, men being crucified and innocent children hacked to death for no reason. Although Jesus told his kind hosts that he hailed from Nazareth and was on his way to Jerusalem, he did not repeat the shameful lie he had heard his mother tell when she said he left to do a job. He told them he was on his way to consult the teachers of the Temple about a point of holy law that greatly concerned his family. The head of the household expressed his surprise that such an important mission should be entrusted to a mere boy, however advanced in his religious studies. Jesus explained that he was entrusted with this matter as the eldest son, but made no mention of his father. He ate with the family, then settled down under the lean-to in the yard, which was the best they could offer a passing traveler. In the middle of the night the dream returned to haunt him, although this time his father and the soldiers did not get quite so close and the horse's nose did not appear around the corner. Do not imagine, however, that the dream was any less terrifying, put yourself in Jesus' place, suppose you dreamed that the father who gave you life was pursuing you with drawn sword. Those asleep inside were completely unaware of the drama taking place in the yard, for Jesus had learned to hide his fear even while he slept. When the fear became unbearable, he would instinctively cover his mouth with a hand to muffle the cry of anguish throbbing in his head. In the morning, he joined the family for breakfast, then thanked them for their hospitality with such courtesy and eloquence that the whole family felt they were momentarily sharing in the ineffable peace of the Lord, humble Samaritans though they were. Jesus said good-bye and departed, his host's parting words ringing in his ears, Blessed be You, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who guides our footsteps, words he repeated to himself, praising that same Lord, God, and King, provider of all our needs, as can clearly be seen from everyday experience, in accordance with that most just rule of direct proportion, which says that more should be given to those who have more.
The rest of the journey to Jerusalem was not so easy. In the first place, there are Samaritans and there are Samaritans, which means that even in those days one swallow was not enough to make a summer, it took two, two swallows, that is, not two summers, provided there was a fertile male and female and they had offspring. No more doors opened when Jesus knocked, so our traveler had to find somewhere to sleep outdoors, once under a fig tree of the large spreading variety that resemble a dirndl skirt, on another occasion by joining a caravan which, fortunately for Jesus, had to pitch tent in the open countryside because the nearby caravansary was full. We say fortunately because before this, while crossing some uninhabited mountain, the poor boy was attacked by two cowardly thieves, who took the little money he possessed, which meant that Jesus had no hope of finding lodgings at any of the inns, where everything had to be paid for. Anyone witnessing that episode would have looked with pity on the lad, abandoned to his fate by those heartless rogues, who went off laughing at his plight. He lay there in a lamentable state, with nothing but the sky overhead and the surrounding mountains, the infinite universe stripped of moral significance and peopled with stars, thieves, and executioners. One might argue that a boy of thirteen could not have had sufficient knowledge of science and philosophy, or even sufficient experience of life, for such thoughts, and that this boy in particular, notwithstanding his religious studies in the synagogue and his natural talent for debate, was not capable of the words and deeds attributed to him. There is no lack of carpenters' sons in these parts, or of sons whose fathers were crucified, but even if another man's son had been chosen, we are confident that whoever he was, he would have given us just as much food for thought as young Jesus. First because it is well known that every man is a world unto himself, by the path either of transcendence or immanence, and secondly because this land has always been different from any other, one need only consider how many people, both rich and poor, have traveled here to preach and prophesy, from Isaiah to Malachi, nobles, priests, shepherds, men from every conceivable walk of life, which teaches us to be cautious about jumping to conclusions, the humble origins of a carpenter's son do not give us the right to dismiss him. This boy who is on his way to Jerusalem at an age when most children do not venture outside the front door may not be a genius or luminary, but he deserves our respect. His soul, as he himself confessed, has been deeply wounded, and since the wound is unlikely to heal quickly, given his reflective nature, he has gone out into the world, perhaps to combine his scars into one definitive sorrow. It may seem inappropriate to put the complex theories of modern thinkers into the head of a Palestinian who lived so many years before Freud, Jung, Groddeck, and Lacan, but if you will pardon our presumption, it is not all that foolish, when one considers that the scriptures from which the Jews derive their spiritual nourishment consistently teach that a man, no matter the age in which he lives, is the equal in intellect of all other men. Adam and Eve are the only exceptions, not just because they were the first man and woman but because they had no childhood. And while biology and psychology may be invoked to prove that the human mind as we know it today can be traced back to Cro-Magnon man, that argument is of no interest here, inasmuch as Cro-Magnon man is not even mentioned in the Book of Genesis, which is all Jesus knew about the beginning of the world.
Distracted by these reflections, which are not entirely irrelevant to the gospel we have been telling, we forgot, to our shame, to accompany Joseph's son on the last leg of his journey to Jerusalem, where he is just now arriving, penniless but safe. Although his feet are badly blistered after the long trip, he is as steadfast as when he left home three days ago. He has been here before, so his excitement is no greater than one might expect from a devout man whose God is about to manifest himself. From this mountain known as Gethsemane, or the Mount of Olives, one can get a view of Jerusalem's magnificent architecture, of the city's Temple, the towers, palaces, and houses, which give the impression of being within reach, but this impression depends on the degree of mystical fervor, which can lead the faithful to confuse the limitations of the body with the infinite power of the universal spirit. The evening is drawing to a close, and the sun is setting over the distant sea. Jesus begins his descent into the valley, wondering where he will spend the night, whether inside or outside the city walls. On other occasions, when he accompanied his parents at Passover, the family spent the night outside the walls, in a tent thoughtfully provided by the civic and military authorities to receive pilgrims, all of them segregated, needless to say, the men with the men, the women with the women, and the children divided according to sex. When Jesus reached the city walls, the night air had already turned chilly. He arrived just as the gates were being closed, but the watchmen allowed him to enter, and as those great wooden crossbars slammed into position, Jesus may have begun to feel remorse for some past sin, imagining himself caught in a trap, its iron teeth about to snap shut, a web imprisoning a fly. At the age of thirteen, however, he cannot have sins that numerous or serious, he is not at an age yet to be killing or stealing or bearing false witness, to be coveting his neighbor's wife or house or fields, his neighbor's male or female slave or ass or ox or any other thing that belongs to his neighbor, therefore this boy walks pure and undefiled, though he may have lost his innocence, for no one can witness death without being affected.
The roads become deserted at this hour as families gather for supper, and on them there are only beggars and vagabonds, who will also retreat into their dens and hideaways, because any minute now Roman soldiers will be scouring the streets in search of malefactors that venture even into the capital of Herod Antipas's kingdom to commit every manner of crime and iniquity despite the severe sentences that await them if they are caught, as we saw in Sepphoris. At the end of the road a night patrol with torches blazing marches past amid the clang of swords and shields and to the rhythm of feet clad in military sandals. Hiding in a dark corner, the boy waited for the soldiers to disappear, then went to look for a place to sleep. He found one among the many building sites around the Temple, a gap between two great stone slabs, with another slab on top to form a roof. There he munched what remained of his hard, moldy bread, along with some dry figs he found at the bottom of his pack. He was thirsty but resigned himself to going without water. Stretching out on his mat, he covered himself with the little mantle he carried as part of his baggage and, curling up to protect himself from the cold, which penetrated from both sides of
