"And they did not understand the saying which he spoke to them." --Luke 2:5O
I
The first evening. Our tent is cold.
My chest aches. My stomach is wrenched
with doubts, imagined dangers, threats.
Our only recourse--retrace the route.
II
Fear rages with each step
and frustration burns the day.
Looking yields nothing
and night devours the tents.
With tomorrow's dawn we'll re-enter the walls--
anxiety overwhelms me.
His mother calls
but his name is smothered by the wind.
III
The temple, yes.
My words of reprimand bring words of reproof.
Confusion is buried by joy.
Relief.
Like an oasis.
Now we can move on.
IV
We knew, naturally, he'd be different.
But not until he could speak could we hear
he has been like a visitor to Israel,
acquainted with our customs, our scrolls,
as one, indeed, who fashioned our ways,
but is not comfortable with the forms which comfort us.
Three days has changed my knowledge of him---
and he is not yet a man.
What will three days do to us then?
The return to Galilee is tedious.
He mentioned the temple;
it will not last, he said.
And I dreamt our traditions were,
like dead camels,
left in the sand for desert birds and black flies.
Returning.
I feel we shall not do it,
ever again.
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