My son was a good man and upright.

He was tender and kind to me,and he loved his kin and his counrymen.

And he hated our enemies,the cursed Romans,who wear prurple cloth,though they spin no thread nor sit ar any loom: and who reap and gather where they have not ploughed nor sowed the seed.

My son was but 17 when he was caught shooting arrows at the Roman legion passing through our vinyard.

He was my son,my only son.

And now they tell me he is dead by his own hand;that he flung himself from the High Rock in remorse because he had betrayed his friend Jesus of Nazareth.

I know my son is death.But I knoe he betrayed no one;for he loved hid kin and hated none but the Romans.

When he met Jesus on the highway he left me to follow Him.And in my heart I knew that he was wrong to follow that man.

I loved him and shall love him forever more. If love was in the flesh I would burn it out with hot irons AND BE AT PEACE. But it is in the soul.

And now I would speak no more.Go question the mother of Jesus.The sword is in her heart also.She will tell you of me,and you will understand that Mary's love for Jesus was no more than my love for Judas.