© Johny Noer -

Chapter 10

Jeff Straw was on his way to Jerusalem. His reporter-flair told him that big things were happening; all centered around the Holy City! Traveling the 60 miles from the Mediterranean he took film shots; the 20 miles to the Dead Sea were behind him.

"That’s enough for now," he promised his exhausted crew. "Next comes the million dollar shot, 800 meters above sea level: "The lighting is always great. You’ll be delighted! Before we get to the real thing, we’ll concentrate on the religious sites. All the holy places of the Jews, Christians and Muslims. Then we we’ll film the old, oriental part of the city, the Kedron and Hinnon valleys. Before the interview with professor Fruchtenbaum. I want every mile of the wall, all 34 renovated towers and every one of the 8 doors in brilliant colours."

The crew listened. Glancing at each other. Sighing. Jeff Straw continued: "The interview will be titled:’ A Word from Jerusalem’, connecting with the 3000-years of history. Therefore you’ll also film Golgotha, the grave of Jesus, The Christ Church, erected by Kaiser Wilhelm II…"

At the mention of ‘Kaiser Wilhelm’ the crew shook their heads. They were reminded of the ‘good soldier’ they all had come to know …

"….I want lots of pictures of the temple," noted Jeff Straw. "Pictures that will arouse the world as never before. For the interview we’ll need great shots of the building of The Third Temple, but they will be useful for later! Something big is going to happen! At the temple square! The world will hold its breath…."

The film crew split into groups and went to work. Jeff Straw started for the old city; he found the wooden door and entered professor Fruchtenbaum’s yard.

"Welcome, welcome," called the professor. Both men took seats in the cool garden yard. The professor poured water from the glass jug on the table. "You must drink a lot in this climate," he explained. "A few quarts a day…."

"Let’s organize our talk," began the TV-reporter. "I want to talk about The Third Temple!"

"Don’t forget Brussels," retorted the professor. "Mentioning Jerusalem, we’ll have to take Europe into consideration."

"What do you mean?"

Professor Fruchtenbaum arose, giving the reporter a secret sign. They came aside to a corner of the inner yard. "A few days ago an EU-officer was here; his people erected built-in cameras and microphones all over the place. I know where they are. Here we can talk."

Jeff Straw nodded. "Why are they watching you? You are an innocent rabbi writing about The Third Temple!"

"They know that I am researching ‘the mark’, editing circular letters..."

"What kind of letters?"

"The writings by pastors in Europe, making an uproar in their congregations. ‘EU-bishops are no longer our spiritual mentors’, they say. "A growing revolt! Bishops want to marry homosexuals. This may cause serious repercussions. There is a power-vacuum. The president has been taken hostage."

Jeff Straw took notes. Not however on the building of The Third Temple. A riot in the totalitarian EU surely had to be closely monitored; he moved closer to the whispering professor, appreciating the fact that he sat in the center of Jerusalem, getting insights into some secret events in Europe…

"The riot began a few years ago, when the late Danish minister of foreign affairs, Per Stig Moeller, sent a homosexual diplomat and his male partner to Israel as ambassadors," the professor explained. "Jerusalem was dumb-founded when the Danish homosexual ambassador settled in Tel Aviv. This provocative act was not considered as ‘Danish’; it was ‘European’! The Hebrew writings and laws were ridiculed."

The professor took off one of his shoes, went to the wall and hit a place near the door. Jeff Straw followed this sudden attack with surprise.

"A minimicrophone," sighed the professor. "Well, now let’s talk. It seems that the turmoil already started in the beginning of the 21st century with the new European laws. Much was in question, especially the war against discrimination’.

The leaders of the revolt agreed that in general discrimination is an evil. But the paragraph about ‘sexual orientation’ was the ticking bomb…"

The professor lowered his voice, took off his shoe, and went to the doorpost. "Another dangerous ‘wasp’?" His shoe hit the wall. "Another one!" he cried out

Then he continued: "My letters were first published, as the homosexual mayor of Paris paraded with 700,000 followers through the boulevards of the capital. The homosexual mayor of Berlin followed suit. Then Hamburg. These men are now in their graves; only eternity can tell what they brought forth. The turmoil is growing in France; revolutionary letters are lying around in churches, advising not to follow these bishops."

Jeff Straw tried to order his notes. He wanted to keep the title: ‘A Word from Jerusalem’.

"In Sweden the fire has been smoldering for many years. A pastor was jailed for preaching about the subject. A Swedish editor of a daily newspaper continued to publish the sermon of the jailed preacher. The archbishop of Canterbury had to step in to avoid an open riot against the ‘homo-bishops’. Right now the revolution inside the church is a reality; millions of people are participating. It is said that there is a connection between this rioting and the hostage drama in Brussels."


A new day broke over Babylon; the waters of the Euphrates and Tigris glistened. Under the burning sun the water flowed silent and clear. A small group of world-bankers met on this day. A large, distinguished, visibly influential man, Mr. Aldrich Nelson of the ‘Monetary Commission’ of the EU asked: "By the way, what’s in those circular-letters? Are they endangering our project?"

"More than twelve battalions of well-trained troops!" The brief answer came from a short, heavy-set man in the back-ground.

"What’s the goal of these letters?" The tone of the silver haired diplomat was nonchalant.

"A definite ‘NO’ to our referendum. A refusal for a global constitution. Similar to the revolt against the European constitution years ago. The attack is vehement and better organized. At that time nobody had ever read the contents. Now they know! Even illiterates know what it’s about; they have felt the system on their bodies!"

"I have one of these letters here," interrupted a heavy-set gentleman, with red cheeks, who (surprisingly for this climate) wore a black suit. "It happens to be in English. Found in some church in Wales."

"Read it!" several men called. "Read it, Mr. Morgan!"

Mr. J.P. Morgan, a member of a European bank dynasty, arose with some difficulty. He solemnly read the contents.

The room was filled with murmuring.

"Impertinent!" called the World Bank president, Mr. Frank A. Vanderlip, "Here we have worked for years! Now these misfits maintain that the World Bank is enslaving the people!"

"Quiet down, Frank," interrupted a Scottish industrial magnate, Mr. McFadden, "you know, as well as I do, that world-powers today are so well organized, so qualified, so watchful, deeply rooted and all-pervasive that you should not speak too loudly!"

The World Bank president turned angrily at Mr. McFadden. "Paper tiger! These people will never shut up unless we become like these." He pointed at the temple lions in the entrance of the library. "Not just some roaring. Attack!"

"Shall I continue?" asked Mr. Morgan.

Everybody looked grimly at him, as if he were responsible for the rebellion.

"Read on, Mr. Morgan. We need to hear the voice of the enemy."

Mr. J.P. Morgan continued: "In spite of our warnings, that brought us persecution, jail and heavy punishment, you attacked Israel! For seven months they buried our fallen men. Now we are against another global law introducing another attack on Jerusalem."

"Idiots," interrupted the World Bank president, Mr. Frank A. Vanderlip.

Mr. Morgan read on: "When Turkey entered the European community the third world war started. We became part of ‘The house of Togarma’. The prophesied last battle at Bozra in the Edomite Mountains is at hand!"

"The letter ends," finished Mr. Morgan quickly, "…with a focus on the ‘totalitarian rule’ in Europe …and" here he stopped and looked around,"and the militant power of homosexuals in bank circles.""

Two members of the European commission rose and left the room. Obviously offended. One of them bumped against a temple vase showing naked men bringing offerings. The large alabaster vase toppled and fell. The two men stood shocked a moment, then rushed away. Mr. Morgan folded the letter. The small meeting disbanded.

"Fantasies," hissed the president, leaving the room. "Bozra? Never heard this name. Is it anywhere on a world map?"


"Fly towards Bozra in Edom," instructed Jack Robinson. The military transport plane was on its way from the deserts of Saudi Arabia towards Aquaba at the Red Sea. Everybody had watched the jump of the kidnapped EU-president Pierre Henri Clark. On his back was strapped the parachute he had chosen. Nobody knew, as he was floating between heaven and earth, if he had chosen well. Would the parachute open, or would he crash to his death?

All were relieved. The parachute opened. The EU president landed in the wilderness.

Jack took the consequences of his generosity. Only one option remained. He quickly made the decision for a bleak desert region, near Bozra.

During the Gog war Jack had been part of parachute actions. He knew the regions well; that’s why he chose the Arava desert, south of the Dead Sea. 30 minutes later they arrived. He ordered: "Fly towards the desert of Zin!" The Saudis had turned away. All was clear for the command: "Get ready to land!"

The huge transport plane vibrated in the rising heat of the sand dunes. Like a giant bird the machine searched the area for a place to land. The terrain was not flat, the distance between the mountains too short, the wings of the plane shivered like sails. Would the sand give way under the weight, when the colossal bird tried to get a footing? The desert looked like a sea in turmoil, with sand and more sand whirling about.

The burning, tired eyes of the pilots followed the signals on the instrument board; they tried to obey Jack’s command. There was danger of crashing into the granite caves before them. Just as Jack was ready to comply with the begging glances of the pilots, he changed his mind. He saw a desert jeep dimly in front of one of the caves. "Bring the bird down!" he called. Here’s a chance to move on….!"


John Williams Andersen and Jan Apostolou had brought Antoinette from the cave into the parked jeep; they decided to spend the night there. Next day they would clean up after the bloody attack of the wolves and try to collect the scattered goats and sheep. Antoinette slept deeply, and the two men took turns in the night watches.

In the moonlight the desert plane was an icy grey meadow. The stars passed by in the sky like peacefully grazing, white goat herds. The glimmer of the night threw a mysterious cover on the tops of mountains. Busy shadows chased howling along the white, chiseled cliffs.

Once in a while the men would raise their guns and stare into the darkness, then the first grey of the morning stole the gleam from the stars. A flaming torch arose in the East.

When the men returned from gathering all the goats, Antoinette was still sleeping; she was woken only when all was ready to move on. With Jan, she followed a stubborn buck into a cave. Both disappeared in the darkness. Eventually the buck came out alone, without the young pair. At last they appeared, with Antoinette holding Jan’s arm. "Today it seems to take longer, getting the herds together," John Williams smiled.

Jan jumped into the driver’s seat. Antoinette moved in close to him; John Williams walked behind with the goat herd. The strange procession moved ahead.

Suddenly a roar thundered over their heads. A huge bird with a black, silver-iron cross hovered over the desert plane. In seconds, the EU-transport plane sailed in tired circles towards the open sandy space. With a violent crash the landing gear grasped the earth. The brown, round nose bored like a drill through dwarf-bushes, sand and stones, slowly moving towards the jeep and the scattering goat herd. With an ear-splitting bang one of the plane motors exploded, and oil and pieces of metal rained on the vehicle and its passengers. Then all was still.

The giant settled to one side, like a seagull with a wounded wing. A young, tanned man opened the cabin door, jumping out, smiling. He spread out his arms, calling: "Good morning! Can you take me along? I’m headed south!"