The veteran protest activist

A rather strange meeting in broad day light.

Last week I drove to Jerusalem, I wished to visit The Wailing Wall; I haven't visited Jerusalem and that sacred site for quite a while, for truth sake since my young brother's 'beret march'. You know the march recruits are doing at the end of their basic training, which ends at the Wailing Wall vast square . It was high time to do it I thought, while I was driving to our eternal capital.

I reached Jerusalem after an hour or so, parked my car near the Damascus gate and crossed it on foot, on my way to the Wailing Wall. As I reached the beginning of Via Dolorosa, a tall lean type came towards me. He was bare foot and a white galabia stained with blood covered his lean body. His disheveled hair and beard looked as if he didn't touch a comb some several centuries, I thought amused.

He was moving slowly towards me dragging his legs in a rather strange way, dried up blood covered both his palms. I hardly managed to have a good look at him, and he reached me and blocked my way. I took a coin from my pants pocket to give him, and get rid of him.

'Have I asked alms from you, you miserable mortal?' He retorted and an expression of deep scorn appeared on his features.

'I want to help you while you…' I was astounded and could not add another word. Who is he I wondered, maybe it's a mad man that bothers me.

'Do pardon me,' he said. I don't behave that way, and I've never preached violence, but your body language and that futile gesture of yours, made me lose my temper.'

'It's okay,' I said, but you must be thirsty and it's hot today. Listen no one will be able to let you enter the cheapest tavern the way you look, to my regret… I didn't mean to offend you, but if you'll wait here I'll fetch you a glass of  mineral water from the nearest cafe.'

He put his left hand on my shoulder leaning on me, his head moved forward, and if I wouldn't have supported him right on time, he would have collapsed on the hot road's cobbles. I've sat him on the near curb, while he was mumbling under his breath. 'Where's Simon, where're all my disciples; all my believers, have I turned to be a ghost an anonymous?'

He was quite right people passed us and went on the lot of them, as if we did not exist..

He did remind me some paintings of saints in the European museums, in which I've visited, but who knows who is he…

'Where are you bound for do tell me? You're hardly able to stand up right, no need to mention to keep walking.' I asked watching his bruised feet that I've just now noticed, covered with dried up blood, just like his palms.

'I'm on a personal protest parade,' he replied as if my question energized him all of a sudden. 'I've led in my time a reformation movement that was changed from one end to another; I want them to recognize me as a Jew, while they say I've to convert to become one! Can you believe it…?'

'Tell me don't you feel well, shall I call an ambulance?'

'I looked back and saw a middle aged man, an Arab merchant no doubt. His pronunciation and his bushy moustache gave up his nationality. The veteran activist that sat beside me vanished into thin air, as if he existed just in my imagination..

'I'm okay thanks,' I said and stood up.

'Come on in I'm the owner of that café, the first glass is on the house.'

'Thanks a lot,' I replied smiling and followed him inside.

'What will you have, a cold drink maybe?'

I'll have mazut if you don't mind.'

'What, are you serious?!? Some bad thing has really happened to you!'

'I'm serious It's coca cola and whisky, Glen Fiddich it should be, if you don't mind.'

 

 Haim Kadman December 2012 " all rights reserved.