The Jesus Trail: Following in the Footsteps of Christ

By Pierce Kelley

Mekhaeil Zacharias, a sixteen year-old Coptic Christian, walks from Nazareth to the Sea of Galilee, and then travels on to Jerusalem, following in the footsteps of Christ, hoping to learn more about Jesus, and himself. This is the fifth and final book in this series, which began after Mekhaeil’s two older brothers and nineteen other Copts were slaughtered by ISIS terrorists in February of 2015 in Sirte, Libya.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781973664147

Pierce Kelley

Pierce Kelley is a retired lawyer, educator, professional athlete and now he is a full-time author. He has written over two dozen books, most of which are novels, but some are non-fiction, such as a text book on Civil Litigation which was used in a few colleges and universities for many years. He has recently been inducted into the USTA-Florida Hall of Fame. He now lives in Vero Beach, Florida.

Book preview

THE

JESUS

TRAIL

FOLLOWING IN THE

FOOTSTEPS OF CHRIST

PIERCE KELLEY

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Copyright © 2019 Pierce Kelley.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-9736-6413-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-6415-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-6414-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019906230

WestBow Press rev. date: 6/13/2019

CONTENTS

Other Works By Pierce Kelley

Acknowledgments

Inscription

Dedication

Preface

Prologue

Chapter 1 Santiago de Compostela to Israel

Chapter 2 Tel Aviv

Chapter 3 Tel Aviv to Nazareth

Chapter 4 Fauzi Azar Inn

Chapter 5 Nazareth Village

Chapter 6 The Cathedral

Chapter 7 The Jesus Trail Begins

Chapter 8 Zippori to Cana

Chapter 9 Cana to the Golani Junction

Chapter 10 The Golani Junction to the Kibbutz-Lavi

Chapter 11 The Kibbutz-Lavi

Chapter 12 The Horns of Hattin

Chapter 13 Mount Arbel

Chapter 14 Disaster

Chapter 15 Ishmael

Chapter 16 Karei Deshe

Chapter 17 Magdala

Chapter 18 Tiberias

Chapter 18 Yardenit and Mount Tabor

Chapter 19 Judas Maccabeus and the Maccabean Games

Chapter 20 Mt. Tabor

Chapter 21 Capernaum, the Mount of Beatitudes and more.

Chapter 22 Dalmanutha, Tabgha and Capernaum

Chapter 23 The Gospel of John

Chapter 24 The East Side of the Lake and on to Jerusalem

Chapter 25 The West Bank

Chapter 26 The Old City of Jerusalem

Chapter 27 The Armenian Quarters

Chapter 28 The Jewish Quarters

Chapter 29 The Muslim Quarters

Chapter 30 The Christian Quarter

Chapter 28 The Surprise

Chapter 29 The Garden of Gethsemane

Chapter 29 The Mount of Olives

Chapter 30 A Confused State of Mind

Chapter 31 The Resolution

OTHER WORKS BY PIERCE KELLEY

Pilgrimage (iUniverse, 2018);

Hiding in America (AuthorHouse, 2017);

Hunted (Xulon Press, 2017);

Massacre at Sirte (iUniverse, 2016);

To Valhalla (iUniverse, 2015);

A Deadly Legacy (iUniverse, 2013);

Roxy Blues (iUniverse, 2012);

Father, I Must Go, (iUniverse, 2011);

Thousand Yard Stare (iUniverse, 2010);

Kennedy Homes: An American Tragedy (iUniverse, 2009);

A Foreseeable Risk (iUniverse, 2009);

Asleep at the Wheel (iUniverse, 2009);

A Tinker’s Dam! (iUniverse, 2008);

Bocas del Toro (iUniverse, 2007);

A Plenary Indulgence (iUniverse, 2007);

Pieces to the Puzzle (iUniverse, 2007);

Introducing Children to the Game of Tennis (iUniverse, 2007);

A Very Fine Line (iUniverse, 2006);

Fistfight at the L and M Saloon (iUniverse, 2006);

Civil Litigation: A Case Study (Pearson Publications, 2001);

The Parent’s Guide to Coaching Tennis (F &W Publications, 1995);

A Parent’s Guide to Coaching Tennis (Betterway Publications, 1991).

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I thank those who have supported and encouraged me on this project, which is the final piece in a five book series. It is the culmination of several years of effort, which included a five hundred mile walk across northern Spain, a fifty mile walk from Nazareth to the Sea of Galilee and beyond, in addition to reading many books and watching many movies and television shows about the topics of religion and the history of the Middle East.

I relied upon the King James version of the Bible for the most part, though I read other versions as well. I read A History of Israel, by John Bright (Westminster Press, Third Edition, 1981); The Holy Land of Jesus, by Daniel Cohen (Doko Media, 2008); The Innocents Abroad, by Mark Twain (American Publishing Company, 1869); Copernicus and the Jews, by Daniel Gruber (Elijah Publishing, 2005); and The Zen Teachings of Jesus, by Kenneth S. Leong (The Crossroad Publishing Company, 1995), among others.

I found several PBS specials to be of great interest, as well, but nothing prepared me to write this book as well as the trip I took to the Holy Lands last spring and walking the Jesus Trail. Seeing things with one’s own eyes, in person, is much different from reading about them or watching a movie or a television show, no matter how well done the production.

I wish to again thank Vettereeth and Annamma Mathew, who provided me with much insight into India, Mar-Thoma Christians and their passage to America, which is a large part of this project. I thank Pastor Hugh Sherrill, of Lake City, Florida, for his insights. We had many interesting conversations about various aspects of this book. He also provided me with a copy of The Zondervan Pictorial Bible Dictionary, (Zondervan Publishing, 1993), which was extremely informative and helpful.

I also thank those within the Coptic Church who have assisted me on this project, and helped me to better understand the Coptic religion. The massacre of twenty-one Copts in Sirte, Libya, by ISIS in February of 2015 provided the initial impetus for this journey. The Copts continue to be victimized by acts of violence to this day by terrorists solely because of their religious beliefs and, more recently, those senseless hate crimes are spreading across the globe to other religious groups.

I remain grateful to all of my fellow peregrinos who I met on my trek to northern Spain in the Fall of 2017, prior to writing Pilgrimage. Their stories, and what I learned from them, helped shape the final product.

Pierce Kelley

INSCRIPTION

"And Jesus went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people;

And his fame went throughout all Syria and they brought unto him all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and torments, and those that were possessed with devils;

And there followed him great multitudes of people from Galilee, and Decapolis, and from Jerusalem, and from Jordan, and from beyond Jordan." Matt. 4: 23-26 KJV

DEDICATION

This book, as were Massacre at Sirte, Hunted, Hiding in America, and Pilgrimage, is dedicated to the 21 Coptic Christians who were beheaded in Sirte, Libya in February of 2015 by members of ISIS, and to all others who have been killed by terrorists in recent years because of their religious beliefs. It is because of them, and their story, that I began this project. The names of those twenty-one Copts are as follows:

• Milad Makeen Zaky;

• Abanub Ayad Atiya;

• Maged Soliman Shehata;

• Youssef Shukry Younan;

• Kirollos Boshra Fawzy;

• Bishoy Astafanous Kamel;

• Samuel Astafanous Kamel;

• Malak Ibrahim Sinyout;

• Tawadros Youssef Tawadros;

• Gerges Milad Sinyout;

• Mina Fayez Aziz;

• Hany Abdel Mesih Salib;

• Samuel Alham Wilson;

• Ezzat Boshra Naseef;

• Luka Nagaty Anis;

• Gaber Mounir Adly;

• Essam Baddar Samir;

• Malak Farag Abrahim;

• Sameh Salah Farouk;

• Gerges Samir Megally; and

• Mathew Ayairga.

PREFACE

M ost of what follows is not intended for those of you who have read any of the previous four books in this series. All of these books are works of fiction, but they are based upon what actually happened in Sirte, Libya in February of 2015 to twenty one Coptic Christians, who were beheaded by Muslim extremists. There were no survivors, so no one knows what actually took place after the men were captured and before they were killed. What began in the first book as an intense theological discussion between men who expected to die within hours of their capture has morphed into a journey of discovery for a fictitious sixteen year-old Egyptian boy, Mekhaeil Zacharias, who was spared by those terrorists and told to tell the world what he had seen and heard.

In Massacre at Sirte, I took the liberty of creating characters and dialogue in order to tell a story of what might have happened to those men that awful day in February of 2015 so that the world could remember what took place there and, perhaps, gain a better understanding of why such things happen in the Middle East and parts of Africa. At book’s end, Mekhaeil had become a celebrity in his homeland of Egypt and within the Coptic community. He doesn’t embrace the role that has been thrust upon him.

In Hunted, Mekhaeil’s journey took him to India to escape from ISIS assassins who changed their minds, after he gained such notoriety, and sought to kill him. In it, he learned of Mar-Thoma Christians, Hinduism, Buddhism and what life on a farm was like. He experienced the Maramon Convention and began to see things from a much different point of view. He came to realize that the world was a much bigger place than al-Aour, Egypt, where he was born and raised, and he learned of religions with beliefs which differed from those of Christians, Jews and Muslims. At book’s end, Mekhaeil must flee India, after ISIS discovered his whereabouts.

In Hiding in America, Mekhaeil traveled to the United States and discovered a life of freedom and all that it entails. In it, Mekhaeil’s story turned inward, as he lost his way amidst the splendor and glitter of New York City, a far cry from the life he knew in al-Aour. He is a confused sixteen year-old boy in a foreign land, a long way from home.

In Pilgrimage, at the urging of his mentor and friend, Father Bishoy, Mekhaeil walked el Camino de Santiago seeking guidance and direction from a higher power as he struggles with his own identity. On that trek of over five hundred miles, he meets people from all over the world, learns about the rich history of Spain, and discovers why Christians have made the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, where the bones of St. James, the apostle, are said to be buried, for over a thousand years. Although he was greatly enriched by the experience, the answers he seeks continue to elude him.

In this book, Mekhaeil walks in the footsteps of Christ, seeking to learn more about Jesus’ life on earth. Who was Jesus Christ? Was he divine at all times, as Copts believe? Or was he both fully divine AND fully human at all times while he was on earth, as many, if not most, other Christians believe? Or was he fully human, and not divine at all, when he suffered, died and was buried, as Jews, Muslims and others believe? Mekhaeil is questioning the things he has been taught to believe since he was a young child.

As this book goes into publication, ISIS continues to exist, though it has been, we are told, completely defeated from a military point of view. In Mekhaeil’s world, the year is 2015 and he is still in danger. Despite that, Mekhaeil has decided to follow in the path of Jesus and, by going to the same places where Jesus walked, find answers to the questions which trouble him so. As the book opens, he arrives at the airport in Tel-Aviv with little more than the clothes on his back, some money in his pocket, and a vague idea of what awaits him.

PROLOGUE

S o tell me … are you a Copt? That is what I really want to know, he said. The glimmer in his eyes dimmed, and his look seemed to penetrate into the back of my skull.

The moment had come. That was the same question he had asked me in the apartment back in Brooklyn. That was the reason I came to Spain … that was the question I knew I would have to answer.

I heaved another large sigh and said, I am a Copt, and I am proud to be one. I am also proud to say that I am from Egypt. I love my country, my family and my church, I told him, and all of that was true.

And what about Jesus Christ? he asked. Who do you say he is?

That reminded me of the biblical passage where Jesus asked Peter, Who do you say I am?

He was the Messiah, I answered, just as Peter had told Jesus.

And? he persisted.

He is the greatest man to ever walk the earth, I responded.

…the greatest man to ever walk the earth … Father Bishoy responded, repeating my words, slowly, much slower than I had said them, and said no more.

Yes, Father. I am still struggling with who and what Jesus Christ was and is. I’m sorry … I know that offends you, but I can’t lie to you. I can lie to everyone else, as I have been doing for months, as you know, and I could tell you what you want to hear, but I can’t lie to you, Father … I can’t.

He leaned back in his chair, studying me, clearly disappointed by what I had said to him, and he asked, So what are you going to do about it, Mekhaeil? I sense that you are still wrestling with the issue … is that true? Or have you come to a firm decision about it? he asked.

Oh, that’s true. I haven’t come to a decision at all, Father, let alone a firm one. I’m like that man from Brazil I told you about. I want to believe. I want to have faith. I want to be as devout a Christian as can be … I just haven’t reached that point yet, I told him.

So what are you going to do about it, Mekhaeil? What are your plans? Where do you go from here? he asked.

I had been thinking about what I would say to him over the entire journey, and I had answered the question, though it wasn’t a good answer … not a complete one, for sure. Questions still remained. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, now that I’d finished my pilgrimage, other than go to Jerusalem to see Theo’s family, and that’s what I told him.

And what else do you plan to do while there? he asked.

I’m going to walk in the footsteps of Jesus. That thought had been swirling around in my head for the last few days and it just popped out. I really hadn’t thought it through, but out it came.

You’re going to walk in the footsteps of Christ, he responded, again repeating my words much more slowly than I had said them.

I am, and who knows where that path will lead me, I responded, sensing that he was pleased with what I had said, "And maybe I will become a true believer … one who has faith in all that I have been taught by you and others, Father.

Did you know that Gandhi said a believer who does not live what he believes is a fraud or a fake … something like that? I want to be a man of courage … a good man, Father … not some wishy-washy person who doesn’t know who he is or what he believes.

Slowly, a smile came over his face as the words I said to him sunk in. It continued to grow and, moments later, he began to laugh, which grew louder and louder. Then he stood, embraced me, and said, I am so glad to hear you say those words, Mekhaeil, and so glad that God has brought you into my life. Until we meet again, I wish you a ‘Buen Camino.’ Your pilgrimage is not yet over. I hope that Jesus Christ will reveal himself to you on your journey to the Holy Land!

CHAPTER 1

SANTIAGO DE COMPOSTELA TO ISRAEL

N ow what am I going to do? I wondered, as I stepped off the plane in Tel Aviv. The flight from Lisbon had been only five hours long, nothing like any of the other flights I’d taken in the last five months. I was now a seasoned traveler, which was hard to believe, since I’d never flown on an airplane before that first one from Cairo to Rome.

It was now late in the day, but the sun was still out. Clocks all over the airport showed the time as being a few minutes past 21:00. The first thing I needed to do was find a place to sleep. I didn’t have a book about Israel, as I did on my trek across Spain, to tell me what to do and where to stay, so the first thing I did was to find a store and buy one of those touristy guide books. Fortunately, stores were still open and I bought one of the many books intended for people like me.

I sat down on a bench off in a corner and began reading. It didn’t seem as if this trip was going to be anything like Spain. All I saw were ads for expensive hotels on the beach, for the most part. I doubted that there would be any alburgues or places like that to stay anywhere in Israel.

I read where nearly half a million people live in Tel Aviv, well more than double any of the cities I had been in on el Camino. It was the second largest city in Israel. Jerusalem was almost twice as big.

There weren’t many people dressed as I was, either. I didn’t see anyone who looked like a peregrino. There were a few people walking around with packs on their backs, but not many.

Most of the signs were in a language I didn’t recognize. However, there were also plenty of signs in English and Arabic and none in Spanish. I was sure that language wouldn’t be as big a barrier for me as it had been in Spain. I read where the official language for Israel was Hebrew. I had always thought that it was Yiddish.

According to my book, Yiddish was the language of Jews from Germany and many people in Israel still spoke that language. That made sense because I had learned that most of the Jews who initially settled in what is now Israel came from Germany after WWII. It didn’t matter to me as I couldn’t understand a word of either one. What was important was that the second and third most commonly spoken languages in Israel were English and Arabic.

After saying my final good-byes to Father Bishoy, and shedding a few tears, I had taken a train from Santiago de Compostela to Vigo, which was an hour away. From there, I caught a flight to Lisbon, which was another hour away. I had been traveling all day and I was tired, but not nearly as tired as I had been for virtually each and every one of the last thirty-one days.

I was relieved, enormously, not to have to walk too far. Sitting on a cushioned seat on a train, bus, plane, or in a chair at an airport, was pleasurable in comparison. My feet, and my toes, in particular, were most grateful for the day off. They didn’t know that their respite would be short-lived.

Since I had no baggage, other than what was on my back, I walked straight towards the exit and ground transportation. I had given almost everything I owned to Father Bishoy, except for the shirt on my back and little else. Although I told him that I would be giving him my backpack, I ended up keeping it, together with all of my personal hygiene stuff and a few other things. That was about it.

I had given him all of the cold weather clothing, such as my gloves, long-sleeved shirts, my I love NY sweatshirt and wool cap. I kept my red jacket and hat, though. They had become prized possessions. They reminded me of my time in New York. I rarely took the hat off.

He understood and was grateful for all that I gave him, especially the Brierley guide book. He would need that, just as I did. Actually, it worked out well for me. Otherwise, I probably would have thrown most of that stuff away, which would have been a waste.

I was ready for a fresh start in a completely different climate, one that I was much more accustomed to. I had purchased a couple of much lighter shirts at a store at the airport in Vigo. I also bought a pair of shorts. It was summer time in Israel and it was sure to be hot. Of that there was no doubt. Those, too, were in my backpack.

I hadn’t had much to eat all day, as the fare on the plane was less than satisfying, so I stopped at one of the restaurants to get something to eat. I ordered some kushari, which is a typical Egyptian dish, and consists of rice, lentil and macaroni. I hadn’t eaten it since leaving Egypt months and months ago. It was wonderful.

I also had some eish baladi, which people in the United States called pita bread, and some hummus. I was a little surprised to find the two items on the menu, but I realized that a lot of Egyptians probably traveled through this airport and that was why they were sold here.

As I sat there eating my food, I read more about Israel and decided that I would start this journey in Nazareth, since that was where Jesus grew up and that was his home up until the time his ministry began. I would visit Jerusalem after that. I was surprised to read that it was only a hundred kilometers away. That would take me about an hour or two, at most, to get there.

I was even more surprised to read that Israel was only about twenty-thousand square kilometers in size. Egypt was almost fifty times as large at well over a million square kilometers. I knew it was a small country, but I didn’t realize it was that small.

I drank some sobia with my food. It’s made with coconut milk. It was my favorite drink and I hadn’t had it in months, either, ever since leaving Egypt.

Sitting there, all by myself, eating Egyptian food, I realized how much I missed my country, and that I wasn’t far from home. Cairo was less than eight hundred kilometers away … a little less than what I had walked on el Camino. I could walk home, if I had to, but I wasn’t about to do that. It wouldn’t be safe, for one thing, and my feet would totally rebel if I tried. That was for sure.

I was homesick and really wanted to go back to al-Aour, right then and there, but I knew that I wasn’t ready. I still didn’t know what I would say to people back home. I couldn’t go home until I did.

I had to finish what I went to Spain to do … figure things out … that was why I was here. I really wasn’t looking forward to finding Theo’s family, because I knew what that conversation was going to be like, but I was going to do what I said I was going to do, and I would try my best to find them. I felt like it was my duty to find them and tell them what happened in Sirte.

I was lonesome and not having anyone to talk to made it worse. Even though I walked alone in Spain, I was never really lonesome. I met people on a regular basis, each and every day, and that had been enough.

Maybe I’d meet someone on this trail … maybe even a girl my age, like Lee had told me to do weeks ago. That now seemed like a distant memory because of all that had happened since. Those were good memories. He and his wife, Bebian, had been very nice to me, as had most everyone else on that trip.

I was busily studying the various ways to get to Nazareth, and there were a few. I could either take a train, a bus or a taxi, even, because it wasn’t that far. I guess I could have flown, too, but that wasn’t really an option. I was looking at the bus and train schedules to see what would get me there the earliest in the morning. I wasn’t going to try to get there tonight.

So, first thing to do was to find a place to stay for the night. Everyplace around the airport was really expensive, like hundreds of shekels. I learned that one Euro equaled about four shekels, but still, that was a lot of money for me. I wanted to find something much cheaper.

I was used to paying ten Euros per night. That wasn’t going to happen here. I wasn’t sure what to do. I was going to have to find someone to ask. My waitress was of no help whatsoever.

After finishing my dinner, and paying my bill, I continued on my walk out of the airport, still unsure of where I was going. The airport wasn’t nearly as big as the ones in New York, Rome, New Delhi, or even Lisbon and Barcelona, but it was much bigger than the one in Vigo or Cochin. I came upon a booth in the middle of the main aisle leading out of the airport which said, Traveler’s Assistance.

Two women were there to assist me, both of whom spoke English and Arabic. I spoke to them in English. I was becoming more accustomed to speaking in that language than my own, it seemed.

They took one look at me and said that the best thing for me to do was to stay at one of the least expensive hotels in Tel Aviv and take a bus to Nazareth in the morning. I didn’t take offense. I was sure I looked to be exactly what I was … a disheveled young man with little money.

When I asked about the least expensive places to stay, one suggested a youth hostel. There is one here in Tel Aviv called Abraham Hostels. It is on Levontin Street, which isn’t too far from here.

The other then added, And there are Abraham Hostels in Jerusalem and several other cities in Israel, if you like them. They’re much less expensive than anywhere else you’ll find.

I thanked them and turned to leave, but the first one stopped me and told me to wait a minute while she checked for availability. While she was calling, the other one was writing down the address.

The driver will know where it is, I’m sure, but it won’t hurt to have this, she told me.

The first woman then asked my name and, instinctively, I told her my real name. I immediately wished that I hadn’t done that, but it was too late. Seconds later, she said, You’re all set. Enjoy your stay in Israel, Mr. Zacharias.

Hearing my name said out loud as she did caused me to tense up. It had been a long time since anyone had called me by that name, especially out loud, where others could hear it. I was still partly afraid of being discovered, especially here in Israel, back in the Middle East, but I assured myself that there was little chance anyone from ISIS would be within hearing distance and, even if they were, it was extremely unlikely that anyone would make the connection.

At this time of night, you’ll have no choice but to take a taxi. The buses no longer are running. It won’t cost you too much, the second one told me. She, too, wished me well.

They pointed me in the right direction and off I went. I found a taxi easily and was at the Abraham Hostel within fifteen minutes. I still had trouble handing over a shekel with the number one hundred on it, but I told myself it was only the equivalent of twenty-five Euros, not a bad price at all.

I was in a room, by myself, with a shower and a toilet, moments later … and it was as nice as any I’d stayed at in Spain, except for the castle in Belorado where I’d met Katherine and Caroline, but that was a rarity … an unbelievable experience, in fact. It remained one of the highlights of the trip. Just thinking of them and staying at that place brought a smile to my face. I was asleep within minutes. I had safely arrived in Israel. My next adventure was about to begin.

CHAPTER 2

TEL AVIV

T he next morning, as I was checking out, I asked the man behind the desk where to catch the bus to Nazareth. The man, said, Why don’t you take a shuttle? They’re much faster and not that expensive? Fifty shekels …

He was a young man, not much older than me, and he raised his eyebrows and gave me a quizzical look as he spoke, as if to say, why would you do anything else? The bus costs twenty shekels but it takes several hours and isn’t too comfortable. A shuttle is better.

So where would I catch one of them, I asked.

Right here, he told me. Right in the parking lot. I will call one for you. One will be here within ten minutes and you’ll be in Nazareth in less than two hours. Sit over there, he told me, gesturing to a couch over in the corner. I will tell you when he is here.

I did as I was told and ten minutes later an older man, much older than me, and probably as old as my father, if not older, walked in and said, in a heavy Israeli accent, Shuttle to Nazareth?

I stood and said, That’s me, and off we went. I thanked the attendant, who waived and said Shalom!

The man, who was shorter than me, and much heavier, had a yarmulke on his head, with black, curly hair on his head and face. He opened the passenger side door to what was a large van with three rows, capable of seating maybe ten people, not including the driver, and said, My name is Moshe. Welcome! Hop in!

Since there was no one else in the van, I asked, Would it be alright if I sat up front, next to you?

Of course, he responded. You are my first customer. Welcome!" He closed what was the middle door to the van and opened the front door for me.

No luggage? he asked.

Nope. This is it, I replied, as I jumped in, putting my backpack on the floor in between my feet.

He walked around to the other side of the van, got in and put the key in the ignition. Before starting the engine, he looked over at me, with a questioning look, and asked, again, No bags? His look suggested that he was asking how I could have nothing more than a backpack.

I’m here to go hiking. This is all I can carry, I responded.

You’re going on a hike? he asked. To where?

I’m going to start in Nazareth and walk in the footsteps of Jesus, I told him. I’m not exactly sure where I’m going, to be honest, but that’s my plan. I’ve never been here before.

He started the engine, backed up, turned the van around and said, Oh, so you’re walking the Jesus Trail?

I didn’t know what that was and told him so.

He didn’t respond immediately as he was now whizzing down the road, looking at people on the sidewalk to see if anyone would be flagging him down. The buildings were old and the road was narrow, barely wide enough for two cars going in opposite directions. Vehicles were parked on both sides of the road, and people were crossing in front of us, too. To me, it seemed dangerous, like we could easily get in an accident. I thought he was going too fast. It was a little scary, actually.

This van will be full by the time we leave the city, or otherwise I lose money, he told me. We’re going to go down to the beach, where all of the expensive hotels are. It won’t take long. You’ll be in Nazareth in less than two hours, I promise.

No problem, I responded. I’m in no hurry. Should I pay you now? I asked.

No, no, no! Not to worry. You can pay when you get out. No problem, he assured me. Then he asked, So how is it you’re going for a hike and you don’t know where you are going?"

I laughed and said, That’s a good question, and it’s a little hard to explain.

He looked over and said, So tell me. We have time.

I thought about just how much I should say, and then blurted out, I want to find out more about Jesus Christ, so I’m going to walk in his footsteps.

That’s the Jesus Trail … very good! Jesus Christ was a Jew, you know … that is the most important thing for you to always keep in mind! he told me. He turned his head towards me, looked me straight in the eye, and pointed his finger at me as he spoke. Always remember that!

I laughed, though there was nothing humorous about the way he said those words or what he had said. I responded, I know that, but his message wasn’t too well received by the Jews of his day, was it? They killed him, that’s why there are Christians, like me, yes?

He was a rabbi … but he said some things that were heretical … the chief priests of his day were not happy with him, but we did not kill him … the Romans did, he responded.

Well, there was that thing about Pontius Pilate washing his hands and all, I said, so I guess that’s true. I stopped there, hoping that would end the discussion. I really didn’t want to engage in a heavy theological discussion about Judaism and Christianity with this man, who was obviously Jewish, who I just met. I certainly didn’t want to get into an argument with him, or offend him. I just wanted to get to Nazareth.

He wasn’t going to let it go at that, though. He kept driving, fast, looking over at me as he did, waiting for a further response, but I didn’t say anything more. His eyes were a dark black, with no sparkle to them. He was deadly serious about what he was saying to me.

When I didn’t speak, he said, The Romans had their feet on our necks, he continued, putting his right hand around his neck as he did. They didn’t want any trouble from us Jews … none, but the Jewish people didn’t like being in bondage and, eventually, not too long after Christ was killed, we revolted … we lost, and the old city, our temples, our synagogues, the walls and everything else, was completely destroyed, Jews were banned from Jerusalem and sent into exile, all of which was catastrophic and we suffered mightily for it, but we would not remain slaves. That is what we were … slaves, and we didn’t like it … and we will never be slaves to anyone ever again.

He turned to me, again, pointed his finger at me, again, and said, Never!

When I still didn’t respond, he went on, "As we have been forced to do throughout all of history, we find a way to survive. Somehow … some way … we survive. Even now, we fight to survive. Every day is a fight for survival.