Shevat 25
Tomorrow is my last day here.
As I lay on my pallet I heard rain lash our roof; I heard the wind in the trees. Then my mind dropped back and I remembered Mother singing, crooning to me, as I lay sick as a boy. I remembered songs in the evening. I heard her laughter as we played jacks. I smelled her barley bread... I smelled roasting lamb.... Father was in his workshop, his plane sliding; he was singing. As a child I loved his singing.
Now, silent, worried, he works in a preoccupied state, bothered by frequent visitors, concerned about my future. “It is wrong of you to go to Jerusalem, wrong to throw yourself into the hands of your enemies.”
There will be no more Festivals of Light.
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At Nazareth I used to have a pet goat.
Memories... I can not tolerate juvenile memories any longer. I am not an old man. Memories must not impede my ministry.
There must be beauty. Life must have beauty.
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