More significant than you’d care to know…

          More than just a hill, the hike up Tabor was extra arduous than they thought it would be. The magician wasn’t just taking them up there to show a birds-eye view of his little village without a name. He had something far more important to do than that. The posse staggered up the rocky way, past two women grinding flour with mules that drudge-encircled generous flat mills. A few meters ahead and an old man would offer the men to stop and drink tea. Master obliged.

After washing their feet under conservative glugs of a large jar, they sat in the shade of a wicker-thatch by the roadside dwelling. While the tea brewed, a waft of ashen-mixed herbs dry marinated their simple garments.

Rabbi, why have we left the other disciples behind?

You’ll see.

He was artificially reserved, as if working extra hard to cover his excitement.

They were rather lethargic so not much was said apart from pointing out random domestic observations. Kephas smiled to himself, remembering the expressions on peoples’ faces from the day before.  Yo Hanon and Ya’ Qub played some bored-games with sticks in the dirt.

A young boy emerged from the house, hardly splashed some wake-up water on his grimy face, and helped his elderly father serve the beverages. Ya’ Qub paid careful attention to the youth’s toffee-brown eyes and subservient body language, noticed the way he twitched when flies landed on his cheeks while he kept the sweltering teapot steady. He wondered what his young soul would witness when the revolution began.

          "Why is this such a special place?" Asked Yo Hanon.

The Master laughed,

          "You will remember this place more clearly than anyone."

Yo Hanon looked at Ya’ Qub rather baffled, but both of them were used to such puzzles so left it at that.

After a silence, the Master took his last and third swig and rose to his feet.

          "Come on! Shalom is almost upon us. She won’t delay." He meant              the dusk.

"Thank you good man". He said to their host, while patting his son on the head.

Parting greetings were exchanged and they carried on.

          “I first saw this peak when I was working with Yusuf over there on              Zipporah. Can you see it, across there?”

The men shaded their eyes and gazed out.

We were completing a house for some rich Roman and from the rooftop Ysusuf said, ‘Us Branchies have a theory that some special bones are buried there.’ From below us a Hebrew servant yelled out, ‘Shalom!’ Turned out he was one of our clan, a mix of Luw’ay and Nathani too. He’d overheard Yusuf and warned us not to talk about such things openly.

The Master paused and span round on his heels.

          “Sons of Abraham, what you will witness today cannot be uttered             —not even to the other nine—so long as I am with you! Do you                  understand?”

          “Yes, Rabbi.” They said in unison.

None of the men were game to speak; each one wrestling inside with his curiosity. Especially Kephas, who didn’t like surprises. This weighed on them heavy and tired them on the march. The Reader of Hearts tried to boost the morale.

          “What have I told you?” said the Master “Keep your peace.”

He wanted them to be happy, but he could see that they were not and understood why. Keeping secrets isn’t fun. He pulled them to the side of the road.

          “Kephas, Yo Hanan, Ya’ Qub.”

He straightened their shoulders and looked them in the eyes one by one.

          “I have brought you here today to witness the second key event in              prophetic history. You will see men we’ve recited about, men of              old.”

Kephas spoke seriously,

          “Rabbi. We believe already. We don’t need a history lesson.”

          “Yes Master, we’ve followed. We’ve seen your miracles.”                        said Ya’Qub.

The Master laughed insanely, 

          “Perfect. Then you are the ones who need to be here tonight.”

          “Is it so we can teach others? Is that why we need to see these                  bones?” asked Yo Hanan

          “Great question. Yes and no. Come on let’s go!”

The Master’s enthusiasm was electric. Sensing his deep joy now, they picked up pace and their fears and doubtful intrigues were replaced with genuine anticipation. 

When they got to the top, the sun was just about to start its quickening descent beyond the horizon. Near The Branches’ camp, stood the stark white face of a small limestone cliff where Yashua had been hurled by zealots.  He managed to hit the ground without a scratch. Below that the meandering entry path and gate into the village fell to a lull as a few dawdlers brought their livestock home and locked them in their domestic pens.

To the left, in the background was Zipporah; a few alabaster lamps already lit and the faint echo of theatrical reveling could be silently heard in the memory for those who’d stayed a night in the city.

The vast stretch between these and lesser hills was dotted with brittle scrubland or agricultural fields and the blurred clusters of some sheep still grazing under the eye of now invisible shepherds, as the rays of the setting sun began to brush out the day.

            “Let us pray.” commanded the Master.

Knowing the usual protocol, the men took a little water into their cupped hands from the Master’s goat hide flask and lay their cloaks on the ground in the direction of Jerusalem.  

            “Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight we are praying to the All for the              world.”

Ya’ Qub was the first to remind the others in a whisper that God was not want to dwell in temples made by human hands, and that there was nothing in the Law that specified which way to pray.

            “So Rabbi, how should we pray?” asked Kephas.

“I must pray South East for that is where I will come from again. Kephas you pray West, for that is where your bones will be buried. Yo Hanan you face North West and Ya’Qub you face North East.”

The three looked at each other in a panic. Were they about to die? What did the Master mean? Yashua burst out with deep laughter.

            “I can read your minds. No, I didn’t bring you here to die. Loosen              up!”

The tension relaxed but only slightly as the four renegades of the Age prayed— each one very fervently, for different reasons. The Master had taught the others to pray from the heart; to magnify God but to also expose their deepest thoughts, and to use the Psalms of David when words fail.

After almost an hour, Yashua’s voice started to reverberate at increasing volume. Even the air and the ground was filled with buzz. His words were audible across the entire top of the mount so that even the olive trees and acacias shook out all their occupants: owls, bats, rodents flying or scattering away. Yet, the words were unintelligible.

Oschederbami-ve-oschedermah-qooM!

This was the last and loudest part of his magical utterance and as the men looked to where their Rabbi had been praying they saw three auric figures in large bright celestial bodies.

Then Kephas recognised the Master and understood. Beside him were the bones of Moses and Elijah, only with flesh!

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Note: Oschederbami and oschedermah are the two powerfully anointed ones in Zoroastrian holy texts, who would witness the final Messianic figure of Persian apocalyptic literature.