The week of Passover arrived, and with it came many sentimental traditions. From the days of my childhood, my family and I would gather near the Mount of Olives to watch the Passover lambs enter the city. The children especially loved this event. The days leading up to Passover can be hard on the patience of little ones. Parents are extra busy with endless cleaning, and there are extra chores for every member of the family. Whether you live close to Jerusalem or come from a distance, you will be spending the week in an over-crowded home. Jerusalem is hot, noisy, and practically impassable. There is a lot of change for young minds to comprehend.

But as the lambs are led into the city, we all exchange our burdens for joy. Although their lives will soon be cut short, for this moment, the lambs are the beloved stars of Passover. People shout praises, recognizing the role of the lamb in saving the people from their bondage in Egypt. I think it was always this moment when the excitement of Passover week began for me. My mother and I still do not miss the entrance of the lambs.

We made our way along the familiar road, stopping at our traditional spot, which offered a spectacular view of the city. There was a different excitement in the air today. Many people were gathering myrtle branches from the fields, while others were carrying armloads of palm fronds and handing them out to the people. This was not a tradition associated with Passover! Soon we could hear the words of Zephaniah the prophet proclaimed over and over.

“ Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion! Shout, Daughter Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and victorious, lowly and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

It took only a moment for the implication to register. Jesus was entering Jerusalem…as King! I looked at my mother, whose radiant smile confirmed that she also made the connection. We gratefully accepted the myrtle offered to us. Anticipation built among the people as we all watched the road. But as I waited, the branch grew heavy in my hand. Was I willing to declare him my King here for all the world to see? Before all of the Sanhedrin? I wondered how many hidden disciples were standing along the road, facing the same moment of truth.

Then the stirring began! He was coming! We could hear the shouting, although he had not yet come into view.

“Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”

I was stunned when I saw him, riding slowly up the road, exactly as Zephaniah must have envisioned him. I expected him to arrive discreetly as he had done so many different times in the past. He knew that there were plans to arrest him on sight. Instead, he placed himself on what today was the most highly watched road in the city. And the people were worshiping him and laying their branches before him. Some had nothing to offer but their voices. Others removed their coats and stretched them across the road. The excitement could not have been greater if he were the sacrifice lamb himself. Suddenly, I heard the voice of the Baptist once again. The words that haunted my dreams took on new meaning, and I shivered.

“Behold the Lamb of God that takes away the sins of the world.”

Just before reaching us, he stopped in the middle of the road and stared at the majestic view of the city as if he were seeing it for the first time. The crowd began to still, as he started sobbing. He slid off the back of the donkey, dropped to his knees, and bowed his face to the ground. His voice thundered through the crowded streets.

“If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes.The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side. They will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls. They will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognize the time of God’s coming to you.”

The people were silent as his agonized cried raised to the heavens. Not even his disciples seemed to know what to do. Then, a bold little girl walked over to him, extending her branch as an offering. Jesus received it and placed his hand upon her head, running his fingers through her dark curls. He offered her a genuine smile as he rose to his feet. I glanced down at the branch in my hand, such a simple offering for the Son of David. Did I not have the courage of a small child? Jesus mounted the foal, and started moving forward. Beside me, my mother took the initiative to return the crowd to its former joy, as she cast her myrtle branch onto the road.

“Hosanna in the highest heaven!” she shouted, and other voices renewed their praise.

Once again, I wished that my father was standing with us. I fingered the tassels on his tallit, the one treasure among my belongings that I kept for myself. I could not number the times that I stood under its shadow while my father raised his voice to God. His words and dreams had permeated the fabric, and I always felt a sense of reverence when I draped it across my shoulders. With heart-breaking clarity, I realized that my father needed me to do what he could no longer do for himself.

As Jesus approached, I stepped forward, meeting his eyes. I knelt and laid my myrtle branch in the center of the road, then removed the tallit from my shoulders and reverently stretched it over the myrtle. I lingered there for a moment before looking up at him. He smiled at me, nodded slightly, but didn’t speak a word. Then he turned his eyes back to the road ahead of him and began pressing on toward his destination. I wasn’t aware at the time how much I would come to treasure that moment in time. I never needed to question whether he understood the gesture. He understood.

As I stepped back from the road, my mother took my hand. Without discussion, we began our journey home. We didn’t need to see the lambs this time. We had just encountered the lamb of God.

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