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:

STREETS, rooftops, courts, squares: Jerusalem was entirely clothed in green. It was the great autumn festival, and the Jerusalemites had constructed thousands of tents from olive and vine branches, palm boughs, pine and cedar as prescribed by the God of Israel in remembrance of the forty years which their forefathers had spent under tents in the wilderness. The harvest and vintage were finished, the year had ended, and the people had suspended all their sins around the neck of a black, well-fed billy goat and, stoning him, had chased him out into the desert. Now they felt greatly relieved. Their souls were purified, a new year had begun, God had opened a new ledger, and for eight days they would eat and drink under the green tents and sing the glories of the God of Israel who blessed the harvest and the vintage and also sent them the billy goat to bear their sins. He too was a God-sent Messiah: he bore all the sins of the people, perished of hunger in the desert-and with him perished their sins.

The wide courtyards of the Temple overflowed with blood. Every day flocks of burnt-offerings were slaughtered. The holy city stank from the smell of meat, dung and drippings. The sacred air echoed with horns and trumpets. The people overate, over-drank, and their souls grew heavy. The first day was all psalms, prayers and prostrations; and Jehovah, invisible, strode joyously into the tents and celebrated too, eating and drinking with his lips and wiping his beard. But starting with the second and third days, the excessive meat and wine went to the heads of the people. The dirty jokes and the laughter and the bawdy tavern songs began, and men and women coupled shamelessly in broad daylight, at first within the tents, and then openly in the roads and on the green grass. In every neighborhood the celebrated prostitutes of Jerusalem appeared, plastered with make-up and smeared with aromatic oil. The simple farmers and fishermen who had come from the ends of the Land of Canaan to adore the holy of holies fell into these accomplished arms and were amazed. They had never dreamed that a kiss could involve such art and such savor.