The wind out here didn’t sound like any wind I’d heard before. It moaned through the rocky cliffs like something hungry. I had wrapped my shawl tight enough to feel my heartbeat, but still, the desert’s cold found ways in. And we’d only been out here one day.
My name is Malka. I came with my brother Elad and others from the town after we heard about the man at the Jordan—the one John had baptized. The one who, right afterward, vanished into the wilderness.
People whispered he might be the one—the Messiah. The one the prophets promised. But others just laughed and said he’d gone mad. Forty days out here alone? No food, no water, no home?
We didn’t go to interfere... mostly. We just wanted to see. Was this man really sent by God?
At first, we couldn’t find him. The wilderness was endless; it swallowed everything. Sand, stones, sun—nothing but silence, and then... there he was. Sitting beneath a crooked tree, dust on his robe, lips cracked, his face thin from hunger. But his eyes—I still can’t explain it. They weren’t desperate. Just... steady. Like he knew exactly who he was, even while starving.
That’s when we saw another figure. He didn’t come from the path. He didn’t seem to come from anywhere. One moment there was just desert—and then there he was.
He looked like a teacher. Calm. Confident. The kind everyone listens to, not because he demands it, but because he seems to know things no one else does.
He crouched beside the man and spoke so softly, I had to lean closer. “If you are really the Son of God,” he said, “turn these stones into bread.”
My breath caught. Bread… after forty days with nothing? Even I thought it sounded fair. But the man shook his head.
“It is written,” he said, lifting his face to the sky, “Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.”
The other man didn’t move at first—just studied him, like he was trying to read his thoughts. And then, in the blink of an eye, they were gone—both of them.
My brother grabbed my arm. "Did you see that?" he whispered. I couldn’t answer. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would bruise my ribs.
Later, Elad told me he’d spoken with a traveler who had seen them again—this time at the top of the temple in Jerusalem. “He told him to throw himself down,” Elad whispered. “Said angels would catch him.”
I couldn’t believe it. “What did he do?”
“He refused,” Elad said. “Quoted the Scriptures again. Said not to put the Lord to the test.”
That night we made camp near a dry wash. None of us spoke much. The fire crackled and spit. Some were scared. Others were angry. “If he truly has God’s power, what is he waiting for?” someone asked.
But I thought about his face—that calm, steady way he stood, even when tempted with food, fame, and power. I didn’t know much, but I knew courage when I saw it. And obedience.
On the third morning we heard the story spread among those who knew—how the man had been taken up to a high mountain. Offered the whole world if he would bow down. But he didn’t. He quoted the Holy Law one more time: “Worship the Lord your God and serve him only.” And then the tempter left him.
They said angels came and cared for him. Real angels. Right there in that dry, haunted land.
I’ve never forgotten that week. Not the wind. Not the hunger on his face. And not the strength in his voice when he rejected every shortcut, every lie, every deal the enemy offered.
In that wilderness, I saw what a real king looks like—not one with an army or crown, but one who listens to God even when no one is watching.
He could have claimed power. He chose obedience.
The Messiah didn’t win by conquering. He won by trusting.
And from that moment on, I didn’t just believe in him—I wanted to follow him. Because anyone who can say no to evil when no one is clapping… is someone worth everything.
The wind out here didn’t sound like any wind I’d heard before. It moaned through the rocky cliffs like something hungry. I had wrapped my shawl tight enough to feel my heartbeat, but still, the desert’s cold found ways in. And we’d only been out here one day.
My name is Malka. I came with my brother Elad and others from the town after we heard about the man at the Jordan—the one John had baptized. The one who, right afterward, vanished into the wilderness.
People whispered he might be the one—the Messiah. The one the prophets promised. But others just laughed and said he’d gone mad. Forty days out here alone? No food, no water, no home?
We didn’t go to interfere... mostly. We just wanted to see. Was this man really sent by God?
At first, we couldn’t find him. The wilderness was endless; it swallowed everything. Sand, stones, sun—nothing but silence, and then... there he was. Sitting beneath a crooked tree, dust on his robe, lips cracked, his face thin from hunger. But his eyes—I still can’t explain it. They weren’t desperate. Just... steady. Like he knew exactly who he was, even while starving.
That’s when we saw another figure. He didn’t come from the path. He didn’t seem to come from anywhere. One moment there was just desert—and then there he was.
He looked like a teacher. Calm. Confident. The kind everyone listens to, not because he demands it, but because he seems to know things no one else does.
He crouched beside the man and spoke so softly, I had to lean closer. “If you are really the Son of God,” he said, “turn these stones into bread.”
My breath caught. Bread… after forty days with nothing? Even I thought it sounded fair. But the man shook his head.
“It is written,” he said, lifting his face to the sky, “Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.”
The other man didn’t move at first—just studied him, like he was trying to read his thoughts. And then, in the blink of an eye, they were gone—both of them.
My brother grabbed my arm. "Did you see that?" he whispered. I couldn’t answer. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would bruise my ribs.
Later, Elad told me he’d spoken with a traveler who had seen them again—this time at the top of the temple in Jerusalem. “He told him to throw himself down,” Elad whispered. “Said angels would catch him.”
I couldn’t believe it. “What did he do?”
“He refused,” Elad said. “Quoted the Scriptures again. Said not to put the Lord to the test.”
That night we made camp near a dry wash. None of us spoke much. The fire crackled and spit. Some were scared. Others were angry. “If he truly has God’s power, what is he waiting for?” someone asked.
But I thought about his face—that calm, steady way he stood, even when tempted with food, fame, and power. I didn’t know much, but I knew courage when I saw it. And obedience.
On the third morning we heard the story spread among those who knew—how the man had been taken up to a high mountain. Offered the whole world if he would bow down. But he didn’t. He quoted the Holy Law one more time: “Worship the Lord your God and serve him only.” And then the tempter left him.
They said angels came and cared for him. Real angels. Right there in that dry, haunted land.
I’ve never forgotten that week. Not the wind. Not the hunger on his face. And not the strength in his voice when he rejected every shortcut, every lie, every deal the enemy offered.
In that wilderness, I saw what a real king looks like—not one with an army or crown, but one who listens to God even when no one is watching.
He could have claimed power. He chose obedience.
The Messiah didn’t win by conquering. He won by trusting.
And from that moment on, I didn’t just believe in him—I wanted to follow him. Because anyone who can say no to evil when no one is clapping… is someone worth everything.
