Don Flint

2026-04-03 20:48:31 -

(An excerpt from a historical fiction story I wrote of a follower of Jesus.)
When the news of the arrest broke, Shiphrah hid in the shadows of the market. The shock was a physical sickness. She stood at a distance at Golgotha, the smell of vinegar and death replacing the sweetness of the palms. The most jarring part was the sky—the way it went black at midday. It felt as though the light he had brought into her life was being physically extinguished by the Roman hammers. She realized then that the "Kingdom" he promised required a price she never imagined he would have to pay.
It had been dark for several hours now. Shiphrah clung to the corner of a limestone dwelling, her fingernails scraping against the rough, sun-baked stone. The world was no longer solid. The "Hosannas" of Sunday felt like a lifetime ago, swallowed by a darkness so thick it felt like felt against the skin—cloying, dusty, and smelling of ozone and disturbed graves.
Then came the vibration. It wasn't the rhythmic dance of the crowds she had joined days before; this was a low, subterranean growl that seemed to start in the very marrow of her bones. Jerusalem had known tremors before—quick, jerky shudders that rattled the wine jars—but this was different. This was the earth itself screaming.
The Quake of the Soul
Shiphrah felt the ground heave beneath her sandals. To her left, a garden wall cracked with a sound like a bone snapping, the scent of crushed herbs and ancient dust exploding into the stagnant air. She collapsed to her knees, the sharp grit of the street biting into her skin.
"Hashem!" she gasped, her voice lost in the roar. It wasn't just the ground shaking; it was as if the very foundations of her reality were being uprooted. The man who had healed her daughter, the one she had cheered as he rode the donkey, was dying on the hill—and the world was tearing itself apart in protest.
The Sound of the Veil
As the shaking subsided into a series of sickening aftershocks, a new sound cut through the gloom. It wasn't a roar, but a rending. It was a sound so violent and unnatural that it made the hair on her arms stand up—the sound of massive, heavy fibers being forced apart by a strength that defied physics.
Minutes later, the screams began to drift down from the Temple Mount. These weren't shouts of anger or Roman commands; they were the shrill, hysterical cries of the Levites and the Temple guards.
Shiphrah grabbed the arm of a fleeing man, his priestly robes disheveled, his face the color of bleached linen. "What has happened?" she demanded, her voice trembling.
"The curtain!" he wheezed, his eyes wide and vacant. "The Great Veil... torn! From the top, Shiphrah! From the very top down to the floor!"
Shiphrah’s breath hitched. She knew that curtain. It wasn't a flimsy piece of Egyptian lace or a common household drape. It was a wall of woven splendor—sixty feet of blue, purple, and scarlet thread, as thick as a man’s hand. No human could reach the top, and no team of horses could have pulled it apart. To tear it from the top down... it was as if an invisible, gargantuan hand had reached from the heavens and simply unzipped the barrier between the Holy of Holies and the world of men.
The Barrier Broken
She looked toward the Temple, her heart hammering against her ribs. The logic of it terrified her. The Veil was there to protect them, to shield the common people from the raw, consuming fire of the Presence.
"If I had been the priest on duty," she whispered to herself, "I would have dropped dead of the shock alone."
The thought of standing there, censer in hand, only to see the massive fabric rip apart like a piece of old parchment, revealing the secret heart of the Temple, made her lightheaded.
But as she sat in the settling dust, a strange, terrifying realization washed over her. If the curtain was gone, the barrier was gone. Hashem wasn't hiding anymore. He was breaking out—or perhaps, He was letting them in. The "something good" Miriam had sensed began to take root in Shiphrah’s fear. The King hadn't taken a throne in the palace; He had broken the door to the Heavens.

(An excerpt from a historical fiction story I wrote of a follower of Jesus.) When the news of the arrest broke, Shiphrah hid in the shadows of the market. The shock was a physical sickness. She stood at a distance at Golgotha, the smell of vinegar and death replacing the sweetness of the palms. The most jarring part was the sky—the way it went black at midday. It felt as though the light he had brought into her life was being physically extinguished by the Roman hammers. She realized then that the "Kingdom" he promised required a price she never imagined he would have to pay. It had been dark for several hours now. Shiphrah clung to the corner of a limestone dwelling, her fingernails scraping against the rough, sun-baked stone. The world was no longer solid. The "Hosannas" of Sunday felt like a lifetime ago, swallowed by a darkness so thick it felt like felt against the skin—cloying, dusty, and smelling of ozone and disturbed graves. Then came the vibration. It wasn't the rhythmic dance of the crowds she had joined days before; this was a low, subterranean growl that seemed to start in the very marrow of her bones. Jerusalem had known tremors before—quick, jerky shudders that rattled the wine jars—but this was different. This was the earth itself screaming. The Quake of the Soul Shiphrah felt the ground heave beneath her sandals. To her left, a garden wall cracked with a sound like a bone snapping, the scent of crushed herbs and ancient dust exploding into the stagnant air. She collapsed to her knees, the sharp grit of the street biting into her skin. "Hashem!" she gasped, her voice lost in the roar. It wasn't just the ground shaking; it was as if the very foundations of her reality were being uprooted. The man who had healed her daughter, the one she had cheered as he rode the donkey, was dying on the hill—and the world was tearing itself apart in protest. The Sound of the Veil As the shaking subsided into a series of sickening aftershocks, a new sound cut through the gloom. It wasn't a roar, but a rending. It was a sound so violent and unnatural that it made the hair on her arms stand up—the sound of massive, heavy fibers being forced apart by a strength that defied physics. Minutes later, the screams began to drift down from the Temple Mount. These weren't shouts of anger or Roman commands; they were the shrill, hysterical cries of the Levites and the Temple guards. Shiphrah grabbed the arm of a fleeing man, his priestly robes disheveled, his face the color of bleached linen. "What has happened?" she demanded, her voice trembling. "The curtain!" he wheezed, his eyes wide and vacant. "The Great Veil... torn! From the top, Shiphrah! From the very top down to the floor!" Shiphrah’s breath hitched. She knew that curtain. It wasn't a flimsy piece of Egyptian lace or a common household drape. It was a wall of woven splendor—sixty feet of blue, purple, and scarlet thread, as thick as a man’s hand. No human could reach the top, and no team of horses could have pulled it apart. To tear it from the top down... it was as if an invisible, gargantuan hand had reached from the heavens and simply unzipped the barrier between the Holy of Holies and the world of men. The Barrier Broken She looked toward the Temple, her heart hammering against her ribs. The logic of it terrified her. The Veil was there to protect them, to shield the common people from the raw, consuming fire of the Presence. "If I had been the priest on duty," she whispered to herself, "I would have dropped dead of the shock alone." The thought of standing there, censer in hand, only to see the massive fabric rip apart like a piece of old parchment, revealing the secret heart of the Temple, made her lightheaded. But as she sat in the settling dust, a strange, terrifying realization washed over her. If the curtain was gone, the barrier was gone. Hashem wasn't hiding anymore. He was breaking out—or perhaps, He was letting them in. The "something good" Miriam had sensed began to take root in Shiphrah’s fear. The King hadn't taken a throne in the palace; He had broken the door to the Heavens.

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2026-04-01 09:56:39 -

My wife and I prepared this Ceder plate to commemorate Passover. We went through the readings and the blessings with the help of a YouTube video showing a Jewish family doing the entirety of the meal. However, we've left the 4th cup as we will drink that together with Jesus in heaven. Perhaps sooner than anyone thinks!

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