He sweated. Silent and still in the crowd, Talmon kept his distance from the rest. Not touching, he strained to keep others from touching him. He strained to keep the loose, light robe from swaying and touching his skin so that the sweat would glide in cascades undisturbed. He hated being touched. The crowd‘s noise rose in a crescent with the dust kick by their many feet. They stood in a semi-circle as if in an amphitheater to watch the grand spectacle. And it would be a spectacle of noise, blood and the strange release of hatred thrown at another who you fear. But the woman was a not the one feared, it was the teacher. Talmon did not understand why it was made known to him that he should be at the foot of the olive grove and to be prepared. It might be fun – a stoning and then maybe another if the crowd could be worked carefully enough. So he stood the morning sun, hot, and waited.
The teacher came first with the usual crowd of indigent, intelligent and curious onlookers. Some were there to listen and learn while others were mere spectators waiting for an event so they could rush off and tell other and reflect the glory of the event with its retelling. Talmon had seen the man often enough in the temple and streets. He was never alone, always trailing humanity buzzing like flies with incessant talk and laughter. Even Talmon had followed and waited for something to happen, hoping to hear something that would explain the crowds. There was a wonderful quietness and lack of striving in this man. Many of the other teachers or masters had an edge and attitude, but not this one. As the teacher sat, there was an odd heaviness as if he carried a burden. But maybe, like Talmon, it was the sweat and he moved slowly so as to avoid the cloth touching skin. He was very still and Talmon appreciated this stillness. And in this stillness, the people came and sat near him to wait, and watch, and listen. His message as always was simple and straightforward. In some ways too simple for the scholar Talmon, who, when struck with a moment of humility, liked the idea that he could as easily confound his students and friends as enlighten them, and there was power in this shading.
The teacher came first with the usual crowd of indigent, intelligent and curious onlookers. Some were there to listen and learn while others were mere spectators waiting for an event so they could rush off and tell other and reflect the glory of the event with its retelling. Talmon had seen the man often enough in the temple and streets. He was never alone, always trailing humanity buzzing like flies with incessant talk and laughter. Even Talmon had followed and waited for something to happen, hoping to hear something that would explain the crowds. There was a wonderful quietness and lack of striving in this man. Many of the other teachers or masters had an edge and attitude, but not this one. As the teacher sat, there was an odd heaviness as if he carried a burden. But maybe, like Talmon, it was the sweat and he moved slowly so as to avoid the cloth touching skin. He was very still and Talmon appreciated this stillness. And in this stillness, the people came and sat near him to wait, and watch, and listen. His message as always was simple and straightforward. In some ways too simple for the scholar Talmon, who, when struck with a moment of humility, liked the idea that he could as easily confound his students and friends as enlighten them, and there was power in this shading.
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