A middle-aged man wearing a biblical robe enters the sanctuary,
coming up the aisle. His name is Nahum. He has a big armload of palm
fronds, which he hands out to the congregation with great gusto,
making sure that he connects with the children. He may mumble the
occasional greeting, but nothing beyond that until he has finished
handing out the fronds and started his monologue.
I only have the one donkey.
That’s all I’ve ever owned at one time. That’s all I’ve ever
wanted. Suits my every need. Down to a tet*.
She’s a cute little number, good, solid. Built a little close to
the ground, but sturdy and dependable. And maneuverable? You should see
how she handles a corner!
And she easily takes, oh, probably two or three times her weight in
cargo!
Nice little number, and I don’t know how many miles she has
on her.
So it was the day after the Sabbath, and I had taken Becky—that’s
my donkey—her name is Rebecca, but I call her Becky—I had taken
Becky down to the well to get some water. I know it’s woman’s work,
but it’s been a long time since a woman—. Well, my wife was—.
Anyway, I’ve never gotten the hang of carrying a water jug on my
head—don’t know how the womenfolk do it. But I’ve got good old
Becky, and that way I can get two water jugs back to the inn.
So, I’m getting back from the well, and I tether Becky up outside
the inn door, and I take both water jugs off her back. And I’m proud
to say that I didn’t even spill a drop.
It was actually more of a slosh, and it amounted to about two thirds
of the second jug. (short pause) Becky was none too pleased.
So, I’m getting that second jug picked up, before I’m lugging the
first one into the inn. So, I’m coming back out to get that second
jug, when I see these two guys just kind of gawking at Becky.
I’m wondering if maybe this is the first time either of them has
ever seen a donkey, which I figure would be kind of peculiar if true,
but maybe it’s just ’cause they’ve never seen one so sleek and
sturdy as old Becky. So I’m saying to ’em, "Howdy! You can call
me Nahum [pronounced NAH-hoom.] (short pause) Because, you
know, that’s my name. What can I do yuh for?"
And one of ’em says to me (altering his voice, almost as a
question), "Uh, the Lord needs your donkey?"
Now, you know, this ain’t really like me, but somethin’ come over
me, and even though I know I must’ve had a real puzzled look on my
face, I just said, "Uh, okay. (brief pause) You’ll bring
her back later, right?"
And the other one, he said, "Oh yeah, sure."
So I let them go.
A little later on I heard a bunch of shouting and carrying on a few
blocks over. Bunch of teenagers or seminary students I expect.
Anyway, they brought Becky back just fine. In fact, if donkeys could
smile, I guess she looked like she would be. And they asked if they
could use my room upstairs Thursday night for the Passover feast, and
could I cater it for ’em. Which saves me from having to advertise.
They seemed like nice fellows.
Oh, yeah—found all these palm fronds a couple of streets over. Boy,
I tell you (shaking his head), the vandalism these days. But they
looked kind of festive, and that made me think of you.
Take care, now, and we’ll see you come Thursday.
He leaves.
