The Story of Joseph, an officer from Jerusalem.

My name is Joseph, I am an officer and I serve in Jerusalem.

Frankly, I do not like this city: it is too hot in summer and too cold in winter, it is too much noise and something like that...

It is an ordinary day, I wake up in a barrack. While shaving, I see my mug that needed a shave long time ago, bags under my eyes and a glitter in my eyes. I feel something coming close, very close…

-         … don't get distracted and don't look  around  by Damascus Gate! There were eight acts of terrorism and constant security warnings in the last three weeks.

I don't want to go to somebody’s parents house to tell them that their son was a hero because that is not true, because if you got slaughtered by some moron with kitchen knife that you allowed to come too close, are you a hero? – this is an ordinary protocol, ordinary day, but there is that  feeling, something  in the air, kind of sixth sense and you feel that cold ball in your guts.

Once I have examined the brain of Wikipedia –there is a hypothalamus inside.  I am curious how the doctors find it.

I've seen quite a few dead people, but I could not find anything similar in their brains.

I check M-16, magazines are loaded,  we  started moving.

The square in front of the gate, the Jerusalem tram blinks while turning, groups of teenagers  looking hatefully at our uniform and  "turrets" on the sleeves.

Street vendors, vehicles abandoning any traffic rules,  empty fruit boxes and garbage all over– that is  real Jerusalem , Eastern Jerusalem, the gathering of dirty thieves and rogues who call themselves Palestinians.  I hate them so much!

But you have to stay alert… This town will never change.

Same thing, doesn't matter if it happened  30 years,  tree hundred years or thousand years ago.

We move back and forth in front of the gates for about half an hour. After receiving a signal we begin  the rotation - patrol across  Arab market.

While walking down through the gates I step on the garbage and look around.

I have to be alert… although my wounds heal fast, like dog's wounds, even faster.

What is it? Enhanced regeneration…

They invent something new every day,  it is impossible to remember everything . It's either steam engine or PC.  What is the world coming to? I am an officer and I am responsible for my soldiers.  It never changes and I am responsible for peace in Baghdad… in Jerusalem…

I can make a joke. After they played a joke on me.

We are moving towards The Holy Sepulcher across the Via Delorosa…  There are groups of Christian tourists. The most active muddle heads caring crosses.

Their faces look  pleased… just wondering do they really believe in all these fairy tales? They take this on trust…

Two ladies, the tourists, cannot make a deal with Arabian coffee vendor.

Attractive chicks… It is hard to choose  between two of them... Maybe take both?

- Madame, je peux vous aider? – however, I am a police officer, a gentleman, and safety of tourists  is  my competency.

Correct me if I am wrong…

After a few phrases I easily switch from Arabic to French and back. Yes, Madam, I was happy to help you and if you'd like I can show you and your girlfriend the evening  Jerusalem and also  make sure you are safe.

Can I give you my phone number? Oh, I am totally courteous. I will make sure,  this ice ball abates, I think.

Sometimes I want to look inside my brain.

The Arabian vendor looks at me with contempt. Maybe he thinks I am a Druz or a Christian because I speak Arabic with no accent. I wish I could whip this profiteer for that gaze. To look this way at the officer is an impudence.  The wineskin with sheep’s fat.

That gathering of dolts annoys me.

Some crazy tourist pushes me; I recognize Russian in him, so I use his native understandable language to explain how to behave politely.

A couple of centuries ago pushing an officer like that would have ended for him with flogging, but now we live in times of democracy and tolerance.

What else can people only think of?

Tolerance… I think a few lashes will replace a hundreds of hours of this blockhead breeding.

The young boarder guard asks me:

-         How do you know so many languages, Joseph?

-         I am gifted in languages,  I picked up some phrases here and there...

-         It’s cool…

-         I am a polyglot, I am really gifted in languages. It's enough for me to live couple of years in the environment , and I can easily learn the language even with no accent.

Another ambiguity with tourists. These Christians: what a gathering of idiots? They hate Jews, pray for the crucified  Jew in temples, and the symbol of their religion is the cross…

The Western Wall: oh, there are crowds of Jews here, who have simply wiped the foundation of the Temple with their palms and foreheads.

Is it not clear that this pile of rocks does not even remotely resemble that gorgeous Temple that was here more than two thousand years ago.

If somebody saw it he would consider it the eights Wonder of the World. But no, a crowd of idiots who think they are Jews, wearing clothes of German  burghers of XVI century and  hitting their heads against rocks. What kind of Jews are they? Can they be compared with those stern sicarii who kept in awe Roman Legionnaires? I hate them so much.

Oops, I started wobbling - ice, as if there is ice in my head... He is here. He is coming.

-         Josie, are you ok? - a worried soldier, a Jew from Yemen looks at me.

-         No, Ilan, it feels awesome... really awesome. I can feel it, I can't describe...

-I am going down to the Garbage Gate

- But we have to stay here...

- I am an officer, I give the orders. There will be a suspiciously looking  guy in the crowd.

I describe  him  briefly. I explain that we have to seize him ourselves: he is dangerous, he is really dangerous. It is the Security Service mission .

The guys are walking behind me, and I feel him, I can feel him.  Some  kind of sense that a dog has while following  a track, like a new GPS invention, like an app on  your smart phone  “find a friend” . Oh, my friend, my brother, you cannot hide from me… I will find you and will give you so much love, we are tied  together for a long time ahead.

He has already passed the gates…

We come back, the patrol passes by towards Via Delorosa. So, here… I see his long hair and his backpack in the crowd…

I send the guys back as if  to wait for the backup, and I run… I run, I can't shoot, it is unreasonable, I don't want to shoot a bystander, I don't want to harm anybody -  you people must live as long as God has proclaimed.  And bullets will not stop him - there is nothing better than knife.

To kill somebody with a bullet or a knife is not the same thing - it is like to participate on a battle field or to watch a movie about war.

There should be a personal contact, when you feel the handle, wrapped in a shark skin, the way Vikings were doing it, so that slimy sward, slimy from the blood of your enemies and your own , won't slip out of your hand, out of my hand.

He turned his head towards me, pity in his eyes, but he can't deceive me and he ... hits first. Well, he prepared himself well... Not good enough for someone who learned pankration from the descendants of Tsar Leonid - Greeks, and they were masters in their business, there was poetry in their fights. Not the ones who learned  by steeling magic from Jewish boys -mathematicians, who calculated every hit with mathematical accuracy.

The vendors are yelling and running away in different directions - they are scared of fights between terrorists and security patrol. 

Crowd of tourists is pushing and that mass of small fry separates us for just a moment, then unites us like lovers and I yell right in his face:  "What for, bastard? Why for so many years in a row?” He fights silently, saving his breath, I take him by his head in clinch  and jump against the wall so I can fall beside him, I hit him in the face with my elbow but he dodges and runs away...

His broken arm is hanging - I run after him, the crowd separates us. My nose is broken, my finger bones hurting and my leg doesn't want to obey...

The soldiers came running and grabbed me by the arms. We didn't complete our mission... Now he will dive and hide for a while - I have to find him but they seize me and twist my arms. And he - he will heel. It's not blood that runs in his veins, it's ichor...He will be fine the next day, but he didn't make it to Jerusalem, the city that I hate. The thunder rattles, unbelievably  streams of water begin pouring from the sky as though the Flood is on the way.  I stand at the crossing by the house where he left his handprint on the stone. V station Via Delorosa. Rain, it's good that it's raining - it means that You know that I hadn't let him into the city, into Jerusalem and I won't let him till I find answers to my questions and the main one: "What for?" Hasn't I been punished enough?  I even served for life...

There is his handprint on the house, his handprint on my house! Your son's hand! He left his print on my house...

I am sitting all wet.  You've seen everything, it rains only if you want it to rain - nobody can interfere...

I will need to hide for a couple of years... To become a Jew, an Arab, Syrian refugee or Egyptian  Copt...or go to Europe...Not many places on this planet...Interesting places which I've have not been to yet.

My name is Joseph, I was born in year 32 before your era in Jerusalem. I had a wife and three kids. You know, it's hard to provide for three kids, hard to provide when you have a big family and that's true for all times. That day they were brining for execution some criminal, another prophet. I was standing by my house feeling tired. He leaned on a freshly laid brick and left a print. I got furious and sworn at him.

- Go, why are you slowing down? The sooner they execute you, the sooner you will revive. Aren't  you a prophet, - I am not a cruel man I was just very tired.

- I'll  go but you will be waiting for me...

And I wait for him, I am waiting for him constantly, once in 33 years he tries to get to Jerusalem, but I don't let him, because I am already tired, tired of going from one place to another, I am tired of people, I hate them. How much longer and what I've been punished for? My name is Joseph, Josie, that's how my mom used to call me. But she died and my wife and kids died, but I am still alive... I became a soldier, an officer, I went to wars but nothing can harm me. Joseph, does that name tell you anything? You call me different - Agaspher  and I don't believe in anything, but I know for sure that GOD exists. That's him who punished me with that long-long lonely life.

*in Jewish tradition rain is the only phenomenon  that only God can control

*ichor - Gods' blood