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As I walk through the outer gate where the beggars camp, I hear the commotion of the markets. I fall into step with the crowds pressing forward. The sights and smells of the festival atmosphere meet me as we surge towards the traders' tents. The pungent odours of sweat and animals rekindle a hundred childhood memories of the city at this time of the year. It's exciting and a little frightening. Celebration, noise, jostling crowds and smoky air that takes days to leave your hair and your clothes.
Visitors haggle with the stall-owners while children duck in and out of the crowds, chasing and laughing. Sheep and goats bleat from their rickety cages and birds, some tethered, some caged, flap about, adding their squawks to the shouts, curses and laughter of the crowd. A vendor chases a small tan and white goat through the crowd, leaving a trail of confusion and hilarity.
I climb the steps onto the main courtyard and turn to look out over the crowd. They come from every corner of the world; Traders, pilgrims, priests and prostitutes all melt together here. Over there, a group of men, visitors, rough looking. With deeply tanned skin and wary eyes they move purposefully through the crowd.
They walk directly towards me and climb the steps, people stand aside, whispering to each other, pointing, watching, and anticipating. One man, their leader, unties a young calf. Our eyes meet and his weary face smiles, as if about to tell an old joke. Suddenly he sends the calf into the crowd with a firm whack on its' rump. The twinkle of mirth in his eyes hardens as he ties knots in the rope, ignoring the protests of the calf's indignant owner. The other men look unsure; one of them quietly pays the owner. There is no such doubt in their leaders' eyes. He has made up his mind. He leans close to me and speaks. There is anger in his eyes but not his voice.
"I am going to leave my fathers' house as it should be."
With that he pushes past the still irate calf owner and tips over his table.
The excitement ripples through the already chaotic crowd. The rope becomes a whip and the traders scatter. Cages topple and splinter in his wake. Birds whip away through the crowd and animals scramble for freedom. Coins clatter to the ground. Children and more than a few adults dive after them.
The angry man continues through the markets tipping tables and chasing away the few traders who try to protect their stalls. It begins to rain, lightly at first then building into a downpour adding to the chaos. For a minute the crowd surges, trying for a better view. The temple police race towards the commotion but are held back, perhaps deliberately, by the now retreating and soaked crowd.
Then it is over. As suddenly as it began. The man and his friends melt away into the rain before the temple guards get near them. The guards shut down the market sending everyone home. It will be an early start to the Passover holiday this year.
I am amongst the last to leave. The courtyard of the temple is quiet, still. So different from the carnival atmosphere of just minutes ago. The rain falls steadily now, refreshing the air and sluicing away all traces of the traders and their wares. The courtyard is washed clean.
A ray of sunlight falls from the leaden sky onto the wet cobblestones. The rain glistens and I've never before seen the temple look like this. Pristine.
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