Daughter of Jerusalem by Joan Wolf Read Free Book Online Page A

recited to me the exact passages in scripture thatpredicted the Messiah’s coming. The Messiah would be a war leader like David and Judas Maccabeus, only greater. It was the Messiah whom the Lord had anointed to restore the lands of Israel to the Jewish people. The Messiah was destined to reign over all the world.
    At night, I contemplated the idea of the Messiah as I lay in the tent that I shared with Aunt Leah and some of the children. It was exciting to think that a great king would arise from our midst, but I had difficulty picturing how it could happen. Our people were farmers and fishermen. Our leaders were priests, scribes, and Pharisees—religious men, not soldiers. When the Roman centurions rode their big horses into Magdala, we all backed out of their way. They wore helmets and breastplates and carried spears. They had conquered the world. How could the men of my little nation hope to defeat them?
    Thankfully, it was up to God to answer that question, not me.

    It took us four days to reach our usual campsite on the gentle slopes of the Mount of Olives. Every year we set up our tents in this same place, away from the crowds that were crammed like bees in a hive within the city walls.
    We arrived just as the sun was setting over Jerusalem, and I managed a short escape from the bustle of getting settled so I could look across the Kidron Valley to the holy city itself.
    This particular picture was imprinted on my mind, and I treasured it. I could close my eyes and call it up whenever I wished, and I did so frequently when I prayed. When I looked across the valley at Jerusalem, I didn’t see the Upper City, where the rich lived amid an array of magnificent palaces, or the great mass of the Citadel, or the huge barracks of the Antonia, where the hated Roman troops were housed.My eyes were filled with the shining white splendor of the Temple, the center of the Jewish world, rising high above the ancient city walls.
    Tonight, with the red sunset sky casting a glow on its marble purity, it was a breathtaking sight. My heart swelled with pride and awe as I regarded it.
    I liked seeing the Temple from a distance better than I did being inside the building itself. We always visited at Passover, when the presence of the Lord seemed lost in the mass of people and animals that were crushed within its walls. But here, on the Mount of Olives, the Lord was very present to me, and I recited to myself the great words of the covenant He had made to Abraham:
I will be your God, and you will be my people.
    I was so moved that tears stung my eyes. As I stood there, with the radiant glory of our Temple before me, I asked the Lord humbly how I had ever deserved to be so happy.

    The following morning our group set out early for the Temple. The road from the Mount of Olives was already crowded with pilgrims waiting their turn to pass through the Valley Gate, the one closest to the Mount. It was dry underfoot from so many feet, and dust rose into the air as we walked. Ivah started to cough, so I tied a cotton scarf over her nose and mouth.
    It should have been a short walk, but at Passover it always took hours. The closer we got to the gate, the more packed together the crowd became. Merchants were lined up along the way, hoping to sell a lamb or some pigeons and doves for Temple sacrifice. The loud voices, promising cheaper prices if we bought from them, scraped on my nerves, as did the whining of the multitude of beggars. Peoplepushed and shoved to get to the merchants, and I picked Ivah up so she wouldn’t be stepped on.
    We finally reached the Valley Gate, which was guarded by a detachment of bored-looking Roman soldiers. I walked through, still carrying Ivah, and one of the soldiers peered at me and made a rude remark as we went by.
    “Disgusting pigs,” Ruth muttered from behind me, and I heartily agreed.
    The crowd outside the walls was nothing compared to the crowd inside. Merchants were lined up all along the narrow streets,