A Line in the Sand

The hills surrounding Jerusalem are exquisitely carved, like giant brown sculptures, enticing the eye of the observer. They flank an often clear blue sky, with little on its clear beauty, and a sun that beats down mercilessly in the summer. Palestine is, after all, a Mediterranean country, and not too dissimilar from the far-away Italian and Greek shores. For those who have to travel through these hills often, and who have been traveling for far too long, they only seem to stretch on in monotonous patterns. The heavenly city can be a city of dirt and grime for those who go there for commerce, not to worship.
Alphaeus, of Jericho, was but one of the hundreds of travelers along the two-tracked road winding its way through the Palestinian hills. Many of them were pilgrims, coming to offer sacrifices in Herod's temple, but Alphaeus was a date farmer, a hardy occupation and one that required long journeys when the harvest ended. Today was as rotten a day as ever--Friday--to be walking market, in Alphaeus' opinion. He kicked small clumps of dirt along the road as he slowly plodded on. His dark brown robe, which had a sizeable ring of sweat around his neck and running down his back, swayed back and forth in a regular rhythm, keeping pace with his aching movements. His donkey carried four sacks of cured dates, from his own palm trees at his house near Jericho, and he hoped--oh did he ever hope--that he could fetch a better price than last year. The half-shekel for a sack of dates he earned last year was a pittance in a home with four children and a hard-working wife.
Granted, Alphaeus thought, living off his olive groves, vegetable garden and date palms secured each year the food for the table--it was rare that his family ever went hungry. His land had been his father's, Ben Ached, who had given it to him, the firstborn, at his marriage to Lena, his second cousin on his mother's side. His brothers, of which there had been three, had to move off the land to seek their fortunes in other trades, and all of them were now living respectably, if not with great abundance. A blessing, Ached thought, if only he could make it work so that he had enough pure hard shekel to add something of worth to his residence. So, for the tenth time that morning, he rehearsed again in his mind exactly how he would go about ensuring the highest price for his dates. He hoped for three-quarters a shekel per bag: such a gain would enable him to walk home with a new shawl for his wife, or a new iron handle for his plow, or even a small bag of sweets from the famous Jerusalem bakeries. Just one blissful day--one glorious day of plenty--was all he wanted. He would have to take two more trips besides Jerusalem to other town seeking to sell his dates, but Jerusalem always promised the highest prices since there were so many who came here, faithful Jews, seeking to worship God.
The problem, of course, was the traders. Mean, grubby men, who held spots in the central market that had been handed down to them from their fathers, they controlled trade with the farmers who came from outside the town. Alphaeus and his friends always complained over their selfishness and miserly prices, but there was little that could be done about the matter as any of them who dared sell their goods directly to passerby in Jerusalem was likely to be reported to the guards. With a small percentage from the traders, the guards were more than willing to make sure that only the Jerusalem traders sold dates at inflated prices to the spiritually enthused pilgrims.
Alphaeus spat on the dirt. It made a small wet mark, and was quickly gone as he plodded unsteadily on.
"Ech, Alphaeus, who will you go see first at market?"
It was Ben Hadad, a neighbor of Alphaeus, though not quite a friend. He was heavy-set, with grizzled black hair kept very short on his head. Ben Hadad was known for having a temper that could blaze easily and for little reason. He was both an asset and a curse in dealing with the merchants in Jerusalem. He could bully and get better prices than most, but he could also get himself and his compatriots in trouble with the guards. Alphaeus had spent a whole day in stocks once because Ben Hadad had called one date trader's mother a Roman dog.
Alphaeus thought for a moment. The gentle breeze that was coming on as the afternoon was wore to a close ran through his matted hair. Alphaeus was sure that in only a mile he would be able to see the top of the heavenly city in the distance, floating above the hills.
"Ya'achel ben Rabin."
Ben Hadad looked at him with a smile curling his bear-like face. "Ya'achel? The man who always forgets your name and pretends like he knows you?"
Alphaeus turned and smiled, briefly.
"Ah Ben Hadad... I don't need him to know my name. I need him to buy my dates. He can call me the son of a Greek prostitute for all I care..."
Ben Hadad roared in laughter. It did not take very much to make him laugh.
He put his hand on Alphaeus' shoulder--a meat-like blob of fingers whose weight Alphaeus could feel distinctly.
"Ben Hadad... you must remember that he owes me. If he remembers. I lied to the guards when they wanted to know who had been buying spears and shields."
Ben Hadad became very serious and stared straight ahead.
"He says He is a Zionist," Hadad muttered gruffly. "But he could care less for us... the real Jews... who have to spend the day before the Sabbath walking to on our own feet to sell him our wares that he pays less than he gives the Romans for taxes."
Alphaeus looked at Ben Hadad.
"Honestly, Hadad, he could be the rear end of a camel and I wouldn't care at all. I just want him to buy my dates and give me enough shekel to last to the next feast."
This time, Ben Hadad didn't laugh, but stared down at his own feet. Up ahead, the walls of Jerusalem were just coming into focus, the fortress on a hill.