From the Sanhedrin police records

I am sitting in this cell. Until yesterday, I was the one to put people here. But I’m a fugitive now – at least I was for a few hours.

On the eve of the feast, my master’s lieutenant came to me. He told me to find and watch a certain house in town.

I’m not quite sure what this feast is about. Some spirit or god passing over, or something. I was born far away and my master’s lieutenant bought me off the street in Hebron years ago. Mind you, I don’t even know how old I am. Continue reading


Every Easter, this text returns to haunt me. Written by Hungarian writer Frigyes Karinthy in 1917, it’s an anthem of moral individualism: a reminder that liberty and moral integrity are gifted to the individual – and that the collective can only corrupt them.

Although I’ve already posted this piece last Easter, I thought it had a place on this blog, too. The translation from Hungarian is mine, although I took hints from another, heavily abridged version.

For those of you who read Hungarian, here is the original:

It’s only fitting that I post this on Good Friday – but this is my Easter greeting, too: let us all have a happy time, but not an oblivious one.


by Frigyes Karinthy

On the third day, at dusk, he stepped out of the tomb, and quietly began to walk down the road. Black smoke was rising from the ruins, and surrounded him. At the bottom of a dry ditch, he found the first of those who, in front of Pilate’s house, had shouted the name of Barabbas. The wretched man was wailing at the red fumes with a blackened tongue.

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