Earlier she had walked through the village and heard the men talk in subdued voices about the Romans who had conquered all of Palestine decades before. The Nazarenes were a proud group. The yoke of captivity, euphemistically called the Pax Romana, weighed heavily on their shoulders, as did the burden of having to help feed the Roman legions. Additionally, they suffered the onerous insult of their land being called Palestine ... the despicable word derived from the Philistines, their enemy of old.

     On the surface, the girl's townsmen had adopted the survival mode of "live and let live." This adaptability had become inborn in the Hebrews. Had they not survived attacks for centuries, internment in Egypt until led to freedom by Moses, attacks by the Assyrians, captivity in Babylon during the diaspora, attacks by Persians and the Greeks? As a once nomadic band, they had faced uprooting from their homes and torment from heathens and pagans. They were, according to the scriptures of their forebears, God's Chosen People. Underneath their survival masks, there was the fire of a people who resented their captors but, despite everything, carried the belief that Yahweh would protect them and would one day send them a Messiah.

     Mary, the girl, was removed from the discourse of politics. She did her household duties, obeyed her parents, and accepted the marriage proposal of the carpenter Joseph. It was said in the village that Joseph's lineage was traceable back to King David.

     Above Mary's shining black hair, a branch of ripe figs jiggled in the breeze. She reached up and plucked one to taste its sweetness. Was not God great for providing such good food only an arm's length away? As she savored the taste of the fruit, she became aware of a foreign presence. She looked in all directions, but saw no one, only the trees of the orchard. A wave of the same apprehensions came over her that had been with her several times during the last month. Despite searching in every direction, she saw nothing, but the feeling of an impending action would not leave her normally peaceful, resigned demeanor.

     Suddenly there was a rush of air ... then all was quiet and calm; not even the tree branches moved. A voice spoke, as if it was coming from the fig trees. Mary was frightened ... she could see no one ... what was this mysterious and frightening voice ... a spirit. She trembled, pulling her outer garment tightly around her body. Then the voice announced that it was an angel of the Lord.

     ''An angel?" she muttered. She had never heard an angel. She gasped, was it the angel of death ... what had she done? She buried her face behind her raised arm.

     "Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God. And behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus. He shall be great, and shall be called the son of the Highest and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father, David."

     She tried to speak ... words formed, but hung on her lips. She felt the angel smile ... she wondered, did angels smile? Then all was quiet; the funny feelings, at least for the moment, had left her, but she was totally bewildered by what she had just heard. When ... where ... would this conception take place? Didn't she know that babies weren't made by spirits, but by the way they had always been made, by men to whom women were married? Would it be like she had overheard from her parents' side of the curtain in her home? Should she tell her parents ... Joseph, her friends, the rabbi? They'd laugh at her. Again, she felt queasy; she wasn't married to

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Pilate took monies from the sacred temple treasury to pay for an aqueduct into Jerusalem. When he heard the righteous uproar over this, he mused, “The aqua will do more for them than a lot of idle shekels.”

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When the brief service was over, Schwartz’s M16 was jammed upright in the sand, muzzle first. His helmet was placed on top of the rifle’s butt – a small token – a gravestone in the wilderness – a Marine’s tribute to one of their own.

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