I was a merchant in Jerusalem.  I sold tall clay jars and wine in tall jars in a narrow stall on a big street of such stalls.  My business was a profitable one, I made a good living, and I enjoyed my work.  I had many friends, some very close.  My wife was a wonderful woman; we were very happy together, and our children were a joy to us.

One day—I was alone in the shop, looking, as I did, onto the street—three bearded men in white walked by.  One of them stopped, and, from the street, caught my gaze in his.  In an instant, I knew that he Knew.  He knew everything about me: my life, my pleasures, my hopes, my worries.  But that was not important.  He knew something else.  He was that something, and as he looked at me—ten seconds perhaps—I saw that my life was a little thing, an unimportant thing.  It meant nothing whether my business failed or I became rich, whether I had a shrew for a wife or an adoring woman.  None of it mattered.

And this man had not said a word to me.

For the next weeks, I was like a man in a daze.  Nothing had changed in my life, yet what I now understood made it all like ashes.  There was nothing to say, even to my closest friend.

I had no desire to see this man again, but somehow, quite by accident, I came on him preaching in one of the squares, and although I didn’t stay to hear him, I later asked and found out his name.

When I next heard of him, I heard he was to be crucified.  That day, I went down to my stall, went inside, but did not open the front of the stall.  I spent the day inside the dark stall, crying.

I did not look for the man then, or since then, but that one look—I could not help it.  I have looked for myself since.

AFTERWORD:

For months I did not know what to do.  My business was fine, my marriage fine, my friends still friendly.  I was not fine.

This man had opened a door in me, a door to a large, empty room.  From time to time, I would feel completely hollow and find myself in tears.

Less than a year later, I told my wife I was going on a voyage, left her with most of my money, and sailed for Greece.  I was looking for something: I did not know what.  In Delphi, at the temple of the oracle, I wished to enter, but I did not know what to ask.  The eyes of the priest so reminded me of His eyes that I left.

I believe I spent many years as a solitary teacher of boys in Eastern Europe, in a place where I was unknown.  I do not know if I ever saw my family again.

Lou Gottlieb                                                   11/13/1988

(If you wish to know what happened to me next, click on the following words: “Since Jerusalem“).