The last several days had been a blur for Achim. After the hours spent at the foot of the cross and watching as Yeshua breathed his last breath, Yochanan had escorted Achim along with Mariam and the other women back to what he called the “upper room”. From what Achim could gather it was where Yeshua had held the seder. Yochanan had showed Achim to a mat, and the boy had gratefully collapsed on to it. On the first day of the week, Achim awoke to shouts.
“We thought the world of him, but we weren’t sure who he was. It wasn’t until the last year or so that we began to believe, truly hope, that he was the promised one. We saw the miracles, the people healed, the blind given sight, the dead brought back to life. It was unbelievable, and yet it was real. What was even more so was the way he treated everyone. He had utmost compassion. His tears were never for himself, but for others.”
They waited in the shadows, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. Before too long, voices rose above the walls of the fortress, angry and demanding. Achim looked at Yochanan. What was going on? He wondered. Yochanan just shrugged. The front gate lumbered open. Achim watched as a man walked out with a bowed head. His steps indicated extreme exhaustion. The moon, which had been dancing with the clouds, shone full on him as Roman soldiers took his arms to direct him down the street. It was Yeshua! Where were they taking him now?
To Achim’s side, Yeshua walked through the door, or rather was pushed. His hands were tied behind his back. Whether it was the eery lighting of the courtyard or something else, Achim wasn’t sure, but it appeared that Yeshua’s face was black and blue.
The moment passed as the men led Yeshua on. Achim’s mind whirled, but he followed at a discrete distance. This time Achim noticed his surroundings, making sure he knew where he was. The men led him across the city without fear or much variation in their route. A sinking feeling settled in Achim’s stomach. It was similar to when Momma became too ill to move about. He pushed the thought of Momma aside and focused on Yeshua. Soon, the temple loomed above them. The men paused in the street as if waiting for a door to open and then filed through.
Unlike Achim, the crowd moved without fear. Their feet pounding first on the dirt-packed path, then on the cobblestone streets. Their movements echoed from the stone walls as they entered the city. The torchlight lent an eery, orange glow to people ahead of Achim and to the buildings they passed. No one moved in the homes. No one stirred to look outside to see who or what was making the racket in the streets.
This past weekend I had the privilege of going to Writers' Weekend at the Beach in Ocean Park, Washington. I loved being able to network with the small group of writers, learn from my first critique sessions, and have time to write. One of the activities was a first hundred word contest. I started a story that I decided to share with you all. It will be a continued story spanning throughout this week and finishing on Resurrection Sunday! I hope it will give you a fresh look at Holy Week and maybe something to share with your family as you celebrate.