Years 49 - 50
To travel without purpose is always an escape. We believe that distance and absence will soothe the reason that leads us to leave. We hope that new sights will feed and expand our consciousness, and the distractions we encounter will dull the memories we leave behind. And my escape had to be immediate. I didn’t spend much time with arrangements. Every moment wasted only added to the uncertainty of my decision. Time, time was scarce, and in good time I found myself in the company of Alexander, once more staring at a city that was growing smaller and hazier in the bluish distance
As soon as I had mentioned to Ioanis of my desire to visit Alexandria, he immediately offered me the company of his son. He would not allow me to travel on my own.
“Ahasver,” he assured me, “not only is Alexander old enough to help you in any situation you might find yourself, but it is also an opportunity for him to get to know his mother’s relatives in Alexandria.”
So it happened. I was not very optimistic, nor sure that such a remedy would alleviate the infirmity or ease the pain, but at least I now had a purpose and a goal.
Since the earliest times when I had started to attend the lectures at the agora, I had heard of Alexandria, as most of the speakers that came to Caesarea originated from that city. Their colorful descriptions of its beauty and culture were reinforced in conversations I held with merchants that arrived in the granary ships, filled with barley and corn, lovingly describing what was the most wondrous place in the world. Rome could be bigger and be the center of all power, but Alexandria was the pinnacle of culture, the light of the world, and not just metaphorically. It was in that magnificent city that had been built the tallest lighthouse that the world had ever seen.
I believed that getting to know that city would be a kind of high point of my curious and restless nature, once before dazzled with the splendors of Antioch. If I had left a significant part of myself in Caesarea, who knew what I would bring with me from Alexandria.
After a journey of two days, we docked in the port of Jaffa, an old city, built over large rocks and in the recesses of steep bluffs, a city discolored by the sands, indistinct from so many others in Judaea. The harbor, smaller and shabbier than our own, was filled with ships of various sizes and shapes, most of them revealing their Egyptian origin.
On our arrival, we went up to the local temple where I gave thanks for our safe journey, and we then took ourselves to my local emporium which I had not visited for some time. Received by Hevel, the local overseer, we spent the rest of the day in repose, although Alexander was eager to visit the old town. But there was not much to see, and after two days he was quite satisfied with what he had seen. But we still had two more days to wait until the ship was loaded with the merchandise that was being carried to Egypt.
Irrespective of how short a journey is, one’s eagerness to arrive always seems to extend it beyond reason, or so we feel, but finally, pushed onwards by generous gusts of dry and hot winds, we saw the distant glow of the lighthouse long before we sighted the city. Since it was too late to make our way into the inner harbor, we spent the night close to one of the moles by the island of Pharos.
The lighthouse, revealed in all its grandeur by the morning light, was truly impressive. As we sailed towards the docks and passed by its side, I would never have imagined that something so high could actually be built.
On the whole, it resembled a square fortress, with fortified walls surrounding the existing tower that rose to a height of almost a stadium. This tower was made up of three different stages. The first reaches half of the full height and is square in shape. The second was octagonal in shape and narrower than the base, and finally a round tower, almost like a large column, narrower than the previous one, rises to the top, where it is capped by a small dome where is located the mirror that reflects the sunlight and where at night a fire is lit.
Although it is built in an Egyptian style, we could also see adornments and statuary clearly of Greek origin. A meeting of two millennial cultures and truly colossal. The Greeks were undoubtedly geniuses, confirmed the Greek Alexander by my side.
On the opposite side of the inner bay, high above the port, magnificent buildings and pavilions could be seen among the foliage of gardens that extended down to almost sea level. Given their magnificence and splendor it could only the palace complex. Compared to those, Herod’s palace in Caesarea was a mere shadow. Awed by these sights, Alexander once again praised his own.
We could hardly wait to disembark and further explore the wonders of the city, hidden behind those piers and granaries of the port. When we finally stepped off the ship, Alexander went to look for a litter to take us to a house in the Judaean quarter, known as the Delta, where I was told there were several Judaean boarding houses.
Although Ioanis had suggested that we should stay with his relatives, I believed it would be inconvenient for us and them. After all, I was only too aware that my own religious practices and restrictions might not be understood and even tolerated by Gentiles, especially the Greeks who were the eternal rivals of the Judaeans in that city. Besides, I had no idea for how long we would stay in Alexandria.
But we did visit his relatives, and were received with the utmost civility, notwithstanding the usual acrimony between Greeks and Judaeans. I was even praised for my fluency with their language and my limited knowledge of their culture and customs. I explained about my admiration for the eloquence and the rhetoric skills of their orators, who often visited Caesarea, even comparing some of their differing styles, and willingly they offered to take us to the agora and to explore the Temple of the Muses, close to the Great Library.
“And the Serapeum,” I asked, “can it be visited too?”
“Well, it can… but it is a temple” replied Markus hesitantly, Alexander’s uncle.
“Is there a problem?” asked Alexander.
“It is a sacred temple to the god Serapis, a sacred place. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Judaean there, and it is fair to warn you that it could be a problem.”
I could see that, but what I really wanted was to visit the library there, as I knew that the Great Library at the museum was out of bounds for non-scholars.
“It is a shame. I would have liked to see it.”
Alexander, impulsive as any youngster, asked Markus. “What if Ahasver dressed up as a Greek? Could it then be arranged?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, you could wear some clothes that don’t give you up as a Judaean, more in the local style of the Greeks. We could go together… I don’t look like a Judaean.”
Well, it didn’t take much to convince them, and we all decided to try it anyway. Talking Greek, dressed as a Greek and in the company of Greeks, I guessed it would pass. After all, there was no discernible physical difference between me and most of the other Greeks that I knew in Caesarea. So we did buy some clothes, a tunic that was too short for my comfort — but most adequate for that hot climate — and one of those effeminate sandals with too many straps.
It was in that library at the Serapeum where I spent most of the time while we stayed in Alexandria, reading some of the better known rolls and manuscripts of authors that I knew, and also in conversations with some of the curators and librarians.
Although the library was mostly filled with readers and scholars, it was inevitable that our presence would be noticed some day. There weren’t all those many travelers who visited daily, or sat quietly and attentively during lectures, unlike most of the other attendees who repeatedly interrupted with questions and comments. When I enquired about the possibility of having one or two platonic discourses copied, one of the younger librarians, named Nikolaus, asked me if I was a scholar and from where I was. I did invent a bit, but did not deviate much from the truth either. I told him was I was from Caesarea Maritima in the Roman province of Judaea, and I was a merchant who was a keen collector of books and manuscripts.
But Nikolaus, grabbing me by the arm, whispered.
>
“I don’t think you are Greek. Not with that semitic accent.”
Undecided whether to be honest, I interpreted his whisper as positive, and I opted for the truth.
“You are right, I’m originally from Jerusalem, but I am an admirer of Platonism and of rhetoric, logic and Greek eloquence on the whole. I hope that’s enough to justify my presence here” I replied also in a low tone.
“But of course!” he exclaimed into my ear, “Forgive me for asking, but we do get very few visitors who are not Greek or Egyptian… we do see some Romans sometimes and one or two Antiochenes, but that’s about it. But, you are wise in being discreet. Judaeans are not all that welcomed in here.
So it started that friendship where we both profited from each other’s knowledge and opinions. Nikolaus, although much younger that I, was already a traveler of some repute and a pupil of one of the most learned sages of the museum, a famous scholar by the name of Aristarchus, author of several books on mysticism and the Babylonian cults. It was on a visit to Babylon that he had spent some time in Jerusalem and learned to identify my semitic accent.
“In truth,” explained Nikolaus, “master Aristarchus is a theologian, an enthusiast of the rites and dogmas of religions, and an expert in some of the most mysterious rituals.”
“I must confess that I didn’t know that word or science. I’m sure that it’s not easy to study several religions” I ventured, as I thought of all that I had had to learn about my own religion.
“Actually, it is an ambiguous word. There are some who use it to characterize the type of poetry that is written on the behavior and the nature of the gods, but here we use it in the context of the study of religions, also how Plato used it. Master Aristarchus has also studied your religion, and he has a few Judaean friends in the city. But of what I have learned, I think your faith is very restrictive, full of rules and too many restrictions.
“Why do you say that? Isn’t it the same with religion in general? Don’t gods limit our scope, our actions and activities?”
“In general, all gods expect some sort of obeisance, that is true, but not as much as your god, I think. That is very evident for us outsiders, when we consider how truculent and committed your people are in defending your one godhead.”
“Well, I know that my opinion is biased and of little value to you, but I have always thought that our rituals are very clear and explicit, after all, they are clearly written down in our scriptures.
“Yes, I do know that. Ahasver, we have here a copy of the Pentateuch in Greek, the five books of Moses.”
“I had heard of a Greek translation. Not a very accurate work, I was told.”
“Come, let me show you" and standing up we went towards one of the lateral reading rooms, where one functionary took down my name after Nikolaus explained the purpose of our visit.
And that’s where I first saw the Torah in Greek, five thick rolls of papyrus.
“This is the Septuagint, the name by which we call this translation. Your sages did not allow us to call it the Greek Torah or the Greek Law, so we came up with that name that refers to the seventy scholars who did most of the actual translation work.”
I understood such reluctance. After all the Torah was the most sacred book, and it was never supposed to be altered from the original form.
“The translation was done here?”
“Yes, in Alexandria. You see, some of your priests do use it, and it was them who originally asked for its translation, as most of the Judaeans in the city are not familiar with the Hebrew language anymore. But it was quite a task! As I said, your people can be very assertive in these matters.”
I could have explained that Judaism was not meant for everyone, and we all knew that there were many obstacles for conversion. It was exactly that difficulty that made it special, that separated it from all others, as expected of the religion of the people chosen by the Lord, but I nodded in agreement, and just answered him that there were also religions where the initiation rites were secret, mysterious and limitative.
“Yes, but not as restrictive as yours,” he commented, “and none that I know of, forces their followers to such a barbarity as circumcision. I’m sorry, I might seem rude, but we Greeks feel very strongly about the mutilation of such a sensitive part of our body.”
This could lead to a long discussion on customs and cultures, as I had also noticed in the city many Egyptians displaying tattoos, a desecration of the body forbidden by our own Law. But I could also understand the viewpoint of Nikolaus. I believed that what was repugnant to him was not so much the incision, but rather the part of the body where this was performed.
“I understand, Nikolaus, but once again it is a commandment of the Lord, and very clearly expressed in our scriptures,” I replied pointing to the Septuagint, “and I can assure you that it is totally innocuous.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Ahasver,” he said, maliciously smiling, “and as far as we know, with no impact whatsoever in terms of your people’s fertility.”
Conversations or remarks over sexual issues always left me uneasy.
Impure thoughts or a too vivid imaginary was frown on, and even condemned by the scriptures, and there was a whole set of rites to cleanse us spiritually of such thoughts. But not so with the Greeks. Their own culture extolled the libido in all its forms and shapes. Statues of naked women and men were exhibited not only in temples, but also in residences and public places. Vases and amphorae were grotesquely decorated with intimate and provocative scenes, not to mention pederasty, which was praised by philosophers and practiced earnestly by statesmen, warriors and scholars.
Many were the days spent in that library, so many that Alexander soon abandoned me. Bored with all the many parchments and manuscripts, and in the company of his cousins, he started to attend the enormous public gymnasium, which was undoubtedly the biggest and most beautiful that I had ever seen. Also, tired with our lodging in the Judaean quarter, we rented a small house closer to the Serapeum and to Alexander’s family.
With the exception of Shabbats, I went almost daily to that library, occupying myself with reading some of the works that Nikolaus would point out to me, or listening to classes that were open for anyone interested in attending them.
My friendship with Nikolaus grew in those days and weeks, cemented by our mutual interests and the passion for literature on the whole. I was enthralled to be there, reading comedies of Aristophanes and Menander, and the melodramatic tragedies of Euripides and Aeschylus. But also delighted with our walks about town, where I was shown the splendor of the temple of Poseidon, the femininity of the temple of Isis, and the lushness of the gardens in the palaces of the Ptolemy, heirs of the old King-gods of past ages.
During those weeks, I met a few of his friends, mostly scholars at the Great Library, and also his former mentor and one of the most famous philosophers of his time, Master Aristarchus. Nikolaus, given the unusual circumstances and exoticism of my presence at the Serapeum, was keen to show me off, and the old Master, with the natural tolerance of the wiser, was extremely courteous and cordial.
Nikolaus highly praised my enthusiasm for the Hellenic culture on the whole, pointing out my transformation into a native Greek, and maliciously implied how hard that must have been for a devoted Judaean from Jerusalem.
“I must admit, Master Ahasver,” said Aristarchus, “that I was surprised when Nikolaus recently described you to me. Not because you are a Judaean interested in our culture, that is not so unusual. We do have a few here in Alexandria, Philo, for example, but because you are a trader, a merchant. That to me is what makes you unique.”
“Master, I’m afraid that one of my vices is curiosity.”
“I wouldn’t call it a vice, but a virtue,” and he concluded, “as long as we use it for purposeful ends and not for the collecting of mundane gossip.”
As is usually the case in conversations among relative strangers with conflicting interests and degrees of knowledge, our conver
sation was mostly about trivial matters, but Nikolaus, all too aware of the theological interests of Aristarchus, led us to speak about the religious divergences between our two cultures.
“Master,” addressing Aristarchus, “I have shown Ahasver the Septuagint.”
“Oh, yes, the famous Greek Torah that half the Judaean community abhors and the other vehemently refutes” sighed Aristarchus.
“You’re being too negative, Master. We do know of temples where it is used.”
“Yes, yes… to be read to Judaeans who are too lazy to learn Hebrew, or so say most of your priests, Ahasver. And there are those, quite a few actually, who accuse us of subverting your culture. And others accuse us of heresy and conceit for having it translated.”
“As I said, Ahasver,” commented Nikolaus, “yours is a difficult people to content.”
How could I deny ?
“I somewhat agree with you on that argument, but you mustn’t take it personally. Even within our own religion there are contentious groups.”
“Oh yes, Master Ahasver,” said Aristarchus, “We do know about them too. Your own philosophers also disagree on some interpretations of your law, the Saducees, the Pharisees…”
“Exactly, Master, but there are no arguments over the scriptures. It’s the interpretations that are sometimes distorted to suit specific purposes, and, as if all that was not enough, we also have the false prophets who claim to be bearers of the divine will and end-up distorting the commandments.”
“Oh yes, and your messiahs too, the so called liberators.”
“Yes” I agreed with Aristarchus.
“Most complicated, isn’t it?” sentenced Nikolaus.
“Not so much Nikolaus,” smiled Aristarchus, “after all they only have the one god. What is that compared with the Babylonians who have more than sixty thousand deities? But tell me, Master Ahasver, have you ever heard of Jesus, one of those liberators who was executed by the Romans ?”
Until that very moment, no one had yet mentioned the Nazarenes in the city.
“Yes, Master, I have indeed,” and propelled by vanity, I bragged, “and I’ve had some dealings with them in the past.”
I could see that Aristarchus was eager to know more.
“But tell me, Master Aristarchus, how did you hear about them? Are they preaching here in Alexandria too?”
“I first heard of them from an old friend with whom I keep regular contact in Jerusalem. I would say about ten to fifteen years ago. Then, when we were in your city,” pointing towards Nikolaus, “must have been about seven years, wasn’t it… yes, well, I heard of them again, which at the time surprised me, as these Messianic movements are usually very ephemeral.”
He went on. “I don’t recall if I commented it at the time,” looking to Nikolaus, “well, it doesn’t really matter. But I was curious, yes, I must admit. Again in Damascus we heard of them from the Judaean community there. But I actually never met any of them or know what they profess. But their longevity is most intriguing, and because of that I am curious to know what is so different about them, when compared to the other groupings that rose in the past.”
We spent most of that afternoon talking about the Nazarenes, and Nikolaus, asked by Aristarchus, took notes of some of the events and facts that I recalled about Yeshua. At some point, Aristarchus interrupted me.
“Master Ahasver, are you a follower of this cult ?”
“No, no.”
“But how do you know so many details about them?”
I then mentioned Joseph’s book, not disclosing Ruth’s intentions to convert, which I assumed that by this time she had already done so.
“Do you have this manuscript with you?”
“No, Master Aristarchus, it’s at my place, in Caesarea.”
“How unfortunate…”
But Nikolaus, whose interest had also been roused by our conversation, suggested. “Ahasver wouldn’t it be possible to have it copied and sent to us? I am sure that Master Aristarchus would reciprocate your generosity with a copy of some book here in the library.”
Aristarchus agreed readily, and suggested that I take one of Plato’s discourses, since we had been talking of the afterlife and the dogmas defended by the Nazarenes.
“The book I refer, Master Ahasver, is Plato’s dialogue between Phaedo and Echecrates, where they discuss the death of Socrates and the nature of the afterlife. As you know, Socrates was also condemned to death for not believing in the gods, so there is an interesting parallel to this Yeshua. I believe it will be a fair exchange, don’t you?”
I would not think that, rather the opposite. It would be far more interesting to read about Socrates than about the Nazarenes, but I kept this opinion to myself and just nodded in assent.
“It will be my pleasure, Master,” and I added sardonically, " I do hope you will enjoy the miracles, most enlightening…”
“Miracles?”
“Yes, miracles. The book is very repetitive in enumerating miracles.”
“Well, that’s even more interesting. I suppose these are miracles performed un public, witnessed by many?”
“Yes, so they claim. Is it really that interesting to you?” I wanted it confirmed as I could hardly believe that such a distinguished scholar could take miracles seriously.
“Oh yes, of course It has been years since we have heard of miracles here. Not since the last Pharaohs and the arrival of the Ptolemy,” and he added with the hint of a smile, “I believe that we Greeks killed that practice.”
“Master, you exaggerate" commented Nikolaus amiably.
“Not at all, Nikolaus. Don’t you know what is the nemesis of a miracle?” and not waiting for an answer, he continued, “Knowledge… philosophy exterminates them!”
It would take four weeks at least, to have the dialogue copied. Alexander was not pleased, confessing to me that he was homesick and fed up with his relatives, a bunch of libertines, as he described them. Feeling somewhat guilty for having neglected him for some time, we went out more often, visiting some of the sights, attending the theatre and the games. But the high point of all this exploration, at least for me, was the long awaited visit to the museum, also known as the Temple of the Muses, guided by two of his cousins who were attending classes there.
The various buildings that made up the museum were done in a less adorned style than the surrounding temples and palaces, since they were built in the initial days of the Ptolemy dynasty, and still showed the usual characteristics of the older Egyptian architecture. They were located not far from the sea harbor, close to the royal palaces, and amongst them the more impressive edifice is the Great Library itself. Although it was easy enough to enter the museum — paying a small entrance fee — we could not visit the Great Library, only accessible for registered students and the resident scholars.
Aristarchus, notwithstanding his cordiality, had never mentioned the library to me, and despite my curiosity I never enquired of him about the possibility of visiting it.
I can frankly say that the day proved to be as fascinating as I had expected. Our guides, familiar with the contents and the layout of the various buildings, were tireless and eager to show us as much as it was possible.
We saw true wonders, starting with the cosmological model of Aristarchus — another Aristarchus, not the scholar I had met. Amazed with all that surrounded us, we visited rooms where intricate apparatuses were on display, solar clocks of complex design and dubious utility, ingenious clepsydras moved by water, and engines working with steam. We furtively looked on rooms filled with students hearing of anatomy, medicine and astronomy. We visited halls where scribes, sitting in long tables, meticulously copied texts of different languages, and we finally went out into the gardens to admire exotic species of plants brought from all over the known world. We also gazed at animals that I had never seen before, including elephants, truly magnificent creatures. Even Joseph, a well traveled man, would have been amazed by their size, recalling a conversation we had in Antioch wh
ere these beasts had been mentioned.
Overall I was awed, exhilarated with all that I had seen, the variety, the scope of inventiveness that was displayed there, and the actual size of the whole complex. So, I was not at all surprised when someone mentioned that there were more than a thousand scholars, from all over the world, permanently residing in that most impressive temple devoted to learning.
As soon as Plato’s work was copied and ready, we started with the arrangements for our trip back home, and I went to say my farewells to Nikolaus.
“It has been a very great pleasure to have met you, Ahasver” he vowed as he kissed me Greek-style.
“I will never forget you my dear friend. If there is ever a way for me to return your kindness, you know where to find me. Always!”
“Who knows what the future reserves us?”
“Probably only one of your famous oracles” I replied smiling.
“Delphi is too far for me, and anyway, the Sibyls are silent these days. Maybe nearby in Buto, on the Nile delta, Uadjit might be more responsive.”
It was not difficult to find a ship, destined for Sidon but stopping at Caesarea too. Overall our stay in the city had lasted for more than six months, immersed in wonder with all that I had seen, read and heard. And only on the very last day, before our actual departure, did I get rid of those Greek sandals and returned to my usual attire.
We now had a long journey ahead of us, but I was not too eager to arrive, despite the longings that long journeys always bring on us. I was not looking forward to what waited for me at home.
At our arrival, I was once more surprised that nothing seemed to have changed in the city during our absence. The port was still the same, the movement in the docks as regular as ever, the same welcoming columns in the moles were still there, the temple to the divine Augustus as immaculate as always. Even the palace, abandoned once again, was as haughty as it had always been in that promontory. I was the one who had changed, older, and I hoped, wiser because of my stay in Alexandria. And since no one knew of our arrival, we had to arrange for transportation for us and for our voluminous luggage. I had brought presents for some friends, some of the staff, and even for the older servants, as well as some clothing and Egyptian jewelry. Also a heavy bust of Pythagoras for Ioanis, knowing how he liked the old philosopher.
Alexander, exuberant to return home, and by some of his conversations, I deduced into the arms of his beloved, had been a most helpful assistant, and on the way I appointed him to be my secretary, following on his father’s footsteps. Despite his youth, he had amply demonstrated his resourcefulness, and in truth I was very fond of him, seeing in him much of what I had hoped to find in my Yeshua.
When he finally got to the house, almost everyone rushed to welcome us, hugged by tight embraces and the soft sobs of the women. This was a reception worthy of two intrepid travelers from one of old Homer’s odysseys, as Ioanis later commented, visibly relieved with our safe return.
But Ruth wasn’t home. And Ioanis, before I could comment her absence, soon explained.
“Ahasver, mistress Ruth wouldn’t stay in this house.”
“What do you mean? Where is she?” I asked anxiously, “What’s wrong?”
“I did find a house, as you asked me to, but mistress Ruth didn’t want to stay here and took residence in the other one.”
“Did she explain her decision?”
“She said that this house was too big for her, and since it was close to the emporium it would be more convenient for you to continue to live here. Also, because it was also known to all to be your place of work.”
Yes, I knew that too. One of the reasons for wanting her to remain in the house was so that I would be able to see her regularly.
“Where is this house?”
“Not too far, close to the temple of Isis.”
“Did she take some servants with her?”
“Yes, she asked for two of the girls, nobody else, but I sent her a boy from the stables to be her porter.”
“You did well, Ioanis, as always. I’ll go there later on. Now I want to take a good bath to get this salt off my skin and some lighter clothing. Later we’ll talk more, I want to know what is going on in the city and how we’re doing business-wise.”
The house that Ioanis had bought was the former residence of a Greek broker who had hurriedly left the city when Agrippa died, believing that the Judaeans would soon rebel against the Romans. Ioanis had bought it at the time. I liked it, and I would have enjoyed living there. It was comfortable and airy, open to the breezes that rolled off the seashore.
Surprisingly, I was effusively received by Ruth, more than I had hoped for, and we sat on the small atrium, richly decorated with a magnificent floor in mosaic, and to the sound of water bubbling off some fountain deeper within the house.
“Are you well?” I asked amiably.
“Yes, Ahasver, very well,” she almost mumbled in reply, still visibly moved by seeing me, “and now much relieved with your safe return, thanks to the Lord. Ahasver,” she quickly added softly, “I was afraid!”
“But why?”
“I had evil premonitions,” she meekly added, “Bad dreams…”
I had to admit that she didn’t look too well, and I could not help feeling some guilt for having left her for so long. She was still wearing those same blacks gowns, a vision of widowhood. Her face, once ripe and shiny with health, was now a map of sadness, where deep wrinkles framed those teary eyes and encircled colorless lips.
“But are you well?” I insisted once again.
“Yes, more consoled, more at peace, certainly. And I missed you, your company…”
And quickly added. “But I know all too well that you will never forgive me for my conversion and I ache for that too.”
“So you went ahead…”
“Yes, Ahasver, I told you. I believe, unlike you, that we all deserve an eternal life of bliss and not in sheol.”
“Well, it’s your decision. You’ll have to live and die with it” I said more bitterly than I originally intended.
“It was also for you, and for Yeshua…”
“Please do not bring me into it.”
“Ahasver…”
“Yes?”
“Ahasver, be brave, Joseph has died…”
Joseph ! My dearest friend, my second father and brother! I could not believe it. I did not want to believe it.
“Ahasver, Saul sent a letter. Ioanis has it.”
Abruptly, I stood up, shaken, stunned, and casting a last look into Ruth’s mournful eyes I went out into the street, blinded by that harsh midday sun. Suddenly I was back in time. Again in a day of interments, of odoriferous death and colorless caskets. Again in that cursed place, wearing the same anguish, reliving the same morbid moments and black sentiments. And I cursed. I cursed against the inequity of fate, of injustice… I cursed Chronos… and mostly the Nazarenes who had taken him down to the path of sheol where his spirit would now roam forevermore in eternal damnation.
I returned home literally in tatters, under surprised gazes of passers-by. Ignoring all, I went up to the terrace and sat on one of the couches looking at nothingness, totally abstracted, immersed in fading light, waiting for the coveted dark of night. I recall someone coming up the stairs and enquiring after me, but I do not remember the answer, and there I laid for the remainder of that evening, that first night of my return home.
Saul’s note, written in too flowery koine, explained what had happened. Joseph had fallen ill during their return trip to Antioch and passed away as they arrived in Tyre, in peace — so he claimed — comforted by their almighty messiah. His last words had been to the Lord, appealing for the salvation of his soul and the grant of eternal life in Yeshua, and ended this piece of prose assuring me that Joseph was now seating — whatever that meant — in heavenly bliss, by the side of their savior.
Not too comforting those words, at least for me, but that was Saul, a serious demagogue, too long anchored in his con
victions. And the message was short and little else added, ending with promises to write more as soon as he arrived in Antioch.
And since misfortune delights in repetition, I still had to read in another letter, this one from Jerusalem, that Gamaliel had also died. Another loss and we were all so much poorer.
I gradually fell into a state of apathy, with no will and motivation to sustain me. I attempted several times to read that pristine copy of Plato’s dialogue between Phaedo and the other philosopher with a complicated name, but I could not concentrate enough to make anything of it. I wandered among the phraseological structure, the grammar, the orthography and, in better days, I even tried to decipher some of the semantics.
Ioanis and Alexander came by almost every day. There were things to do, they claimed. Urgent things, they reinforced. They sent Ruth also. I found myself telling her about Alexandria, and of the more picturesque episodes of our journey. We talked much, but I recall little. And, one day, I began to awake from that turpitude.
I reread Plato once more, determined to wrest from that manuscript the sapience of Socrates, but I finally gave up. The very first pages were nothing more that the justification and preparations for a suicide. Not the most adequate reading for that particular moment. Maybe some day I would give it another try.
Year 51
The next few days and months were spent in the normal affairs of a merchant. I handled the sale of the businesses of Joseph, as we had agreed, and waited for word from Antioch in regard to his final testamentary dispositions.
A copy of his will, sent by Saul, and duly recognized by the authorities, stated that all his assets were to be given to various Nazarene congregations in Judaea and Galilee. Saul had also informed me that Joseph had been interred in a tomb in the city of Tyre, in a sepulcher belonging to a Nazarene, and that his final wish had been for his body to be laid in Jerusalem, in the same tomb that he had previously used for their messiah. But, added Saul, it would not be easy to do so, for there would be strong opposition in Jerusalem for the use of this most sacred place.
Indignant with this opinion, I wrote to him informing that I would retain all of Joseph’s legacy until this final wish was fulfilled. I also added that I would gladly pay for the transfer of the corpse from Tyre to Jerusalem, and asked him to make his brothers in Jerusalem well aware of my intentions. Furthermore, I added that I knew all too well where the tomb was, in case someone thought of using another for this purpose.
Nearing the month of Nisan, I suggested to Ruth that we should go to Jerusalem for the pesach, but she refused, alleging that she was not feeling well enough for such a trip. For some days, not too willing to go on my own, I was also undecided, and it was Alexander who persuaded me to go.
“Ahasver, why don’t you? I would like to go…”
“You? How come? Are you thinking of converting to my faith?” I enquired with a hint of a smile.
Timidly, not knowing whether I was being ironic, he replied. “No, Ahasver, but I haven’t been to Jerusalem for many years, and I would like to see your temple. Father never took us to visit it, and besides…”
“Yes?”
“Father doesn’t want you to go alone.”
“Really? Why is that? Am I too old to go on such a perilous journey all by myself?” I asked mockingly.
“No. I’m sure it’s nothing like that but there could be dangers on the road…”
“And you are the one who will gallantly protect me?”
“Of course, if it’s necessary!” how rash are the young !
I promised to think on it, but shortly afterwards I was already issuing orders for the preparations. As we were still a few days away from the festival, I decided that we would initially take the road to Arimathea, the birthplace of Joseph, which I had never visited before. One of his dispositions allotted 20 minas to the brotherhood of Arimathea. Despite my decision of not handing anything over to the Nazarenes until we settled the issue of Joseph’s funeral, I relented in this case of his native town. Since I would be taking Alexander with me, I would not even have to concern myself with it.
Arimathea was a small hamlet, with the virtues and defects of a town almost forgotten in that arid geography. In the public house where we spent the night, almost everyone knew of Joseph, and we were well received once they became aware of our relationship, and mournful once we passed on the sad news of his demise. We did have some difficulties in finding Nazarenes, and we were cautious in enquiring after them, not knowing how well accepted they were in the town. But once again, due to Alexander’s resourcefulness we did find one that lived close to an Essene community on the outskirts of the town.
Surprised to know that there was a Greek believer in town looking for him, Abiram came looking for us, even more surprised when Alexander told him of the reason for wanting to see him. Naturally we explained that this was Joseph’s bequest to his brotherhood, and he stared at us speechless, either from hearing that the famous Joseph was a Nazarene, or because of the large amount that he was now receiving. There certainly weren’t many Nazarenes in that town, but at least now there was a wealthy one.
Once again in Jerusalem, once again at home, the same where I could still feel Joseph’s presence. In all those years, since I had taken residence there, I had not changed most of the furniture or the disposition of the house. In the study there were still many rolls and parchments annotated in his careful calligraphy.
I informed everyone of his passing, and as expected, all were consternated with the news, and most went up to the Temple with their clothes tattered and faces covered in ash. The rites of mourning and the solace we find in the habits and customs of our faith.
Isaac came over too, and so did Rebecca and little Simon, now a boy, and so much like the Isaac I remembered from my own childhood. And after the usual family prattle, we took ourselves to the terrace where we partook of refreshments and some appetizers.
“I am sorry that Ruth decided not to come this year” vowed Isaac.
“Yes, I did insist,” I replied, “but she said that maybe next year she might come, she wasn’t feeling well and I didn’t want to force her either.”
“A lot of maybes in there” he teased.
“Yes, well, you know how she is…” I reminded him.
“Yes… and now, with Joseph’s death, what is going to happen to all this?" he asked gravely.
“Well, the proceedings from all that is to be sold, as I mentioned to you on that last letter, is to be given to his heirs. The rest I had already purchased from him.”
“I didn’t know of any heirs.”
“Yes. He had drawn a will in Antioch. I received a copy.”
“A legal will?”
“Yes, all legal and proper, dully recognized by the magistrates and appointing me as executor for the province.”
Isaac had always been transparent. His interest in the will was clearly to see whether he had been included. Maliciously, I admit, I made it quite clear that he was not, but that his son, Simon, was one of the inheritors.
“Really? And what does he get?”
“Well, the will states that he would get this very house after my death, but I’m afraid that it doesn’t apply anymore as I have bought it from Joseph since the time the will was drawn.”
“Oh! I see. So he gets nothing, really” he concluded sourly.
“Cheer up, brother! Have you forgotten that I don’t have any direct descendants of my own? I will not forget him, rest assured.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, he just has to wait…”
“Don’t go morbid on me now. By the way, you are looking well, Ahasver. You are looking younger than I. I don’t know how you do it… time just doesn’t seem to pass for you.” and gazing at me intently, “Is it some potion that you found on one of your trips? You can tell me, I won’t spread it…”
I could only laugh at that. Such a pious and devout man believing in the effectiveness of potio
ns.
“Don’t be silly, of course not.”
“I’m serious, Ahasver… it’s not normal. You are nearly fifty!”
“Forty-eight" I corrected him.
“Well, whatever it is, people will soon start noticing it and commenting.”
“What people?”
“Friends, acquaintances, whoever has known you for a while. Actually, Rebecca has made some remarks on it already.”
Trust Rebecca to do such, always vain. I was sure that she would certainly appreciate a potion, but, unfortunately, I couldn’t help her. We ended with the usual arrangements for the festival. This time I asked Isaac to buy the lamb, I wasn’t in the right mood to look for one nor to haggle over pricing.
One or two days after arriving in Jerusalem I received a message from Simeon, the son of Gamaliel, asking me to visit him as soon as I had some free time. Not knowing him personally, I asked Isaac about him.
“Simeon ben Gamaliel? Of course I know him. I am surprised that you don’t! He replaced his father as Nasi of the Sanhedrin. Every one knows it.”
I knew that Gamaliel had some sons, but I didn’t recall their names or faces, and I wasn’t, in those days, too aware of who was who in the city. Naturally, I could not refuse his invitation.
In the house that had been Gamaliel’s, I was received as an old friend of the family. Simeon looked very much like his father, the same posture, the same vivacious gaze and almost the same tone of voice.
“Master Ahasver, I can see that you don’t remember me, but we have met before when you were a member of the Sanhedrin, and I waited on my father.”
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t recall.”
“Well, I believe you, it has been some years. But let me tell you, I would recognize you anywhere. You haven’t changed much since then. Amazing!”
“Well, thank you. I have been told that…”
“But you must be curious why I asked for you to call on me, and the reason is very simple. My late father left you a letter. When he fell ill, he soon realized that he would not live for much longer, so he took the time to write a few letters for his dearest friends. When I heard that you were in town, I decided to give it to you personally.”
I thanked him again, and our conversation flowed into other subjects, and I even mentioned my recent trip to Alexandria.
“I can easily imagine how gratifying it must have been for you. Alexandria was father’s favorite city, I can tell you. He actually considered moving there, if it weren’t for those constant riots between the Greeks and the Judaeans. I haven’t visited it yet, but I hope to do so someday.”
“I certainly hope you will do so, and I am sure you will be well received there,” and I added, “I met some Greeks who are most tolerant with our practices and our beliefs, and you do know that they have a Greek version of our Torah?”
“Yes, it is known, the famous Septuagint.”
“Yes, and according to them, not so well received by some of our priests and sages.”
“Well, there are various opinions regarding it, but in the end I believe that the essence of the Lord’s message is the same in any language. Naturally, in Hebrew it is closer to the original, and carries all the subtlety of the sacred language, but I find it preferable that our believers know of it in Greek than not knowing it at all. But as I say, opinions diverge. And on the whole, what say our people over there?”
I could not really elaborate much as I did not recall any commentary of any Judaean that I met over there on that subject.
“Unfortunately I didn’t have an opportunity to speak of it to any of our brothers over there. What I heard was from a Greek scholar that I met at the Serapeum.”
“You visited the Serapeum? How interesting. A devoted Judaean in one of the great pagan temples of our age" he observed amused.
Ignoring his remark, I continued.
“Well, their position is that we are too rigid and even belligerent in regards to our faith.”
“I can imagine that, yes…”
The arrival of a secretary interrupted our conversation, reminding the Nasi that he had another imminent appointment.
“Master Ahasver, it was a pleasure to have seen you again, and I thank you for this most enjoyable conversation. If you remain in Jerusalem after the pesach, I would be very pleased to meet again and continue our conversation. I am most interested in hearing more about Alexandria. Unfortunately, I have to go to the Temple now.
Gamaliel’s letter was not extensive, and it clearly was a message from someone who knew that this was a last conversation. He briefly recalled some of our meetings, discussions about faith, about dissidence, on losses and options. He continued to recommend moderation, and to keep the faith with our beliefs, reminding me of the Lord’s justness, even when his designs seemed questionable and cruel for us mortals. He ended the note showing his conviction that I would still have important missions to carry out before we met again at the end of days.
It was his last goodbye, eloquent as ever. I would miss him, his cordiality, his open-mindedness and his sagacious advice. Not only I, but all Judaeans.
After our noonday meal, I went to the Temple with Alexander, an exercise of both patience and of physical persistence. The usual crowds filling the same alleys and staircases, made it almost impossible for us to get into the great courtyard. We tried to locate Isaac, who I knew was there somewhere, but it was useless in the midst of that multitude. Only the Romans patrolling the cloisters seemed calm and serene.
Alexander, upon my insistence, had dressed up as any normal devotee, and always curious, wanted to follow me in the various rituals, mimicking prayers and acclamations. I was not too pleased, but at least he did it well and didn’t raise any suspicions from those closer to us. He was obviously a devoted adherent to the art of pantomime, and why not, it was one of the classic forms of expression of his people.
On our way out, I recognized some familiar faces among the crowd, but it was useless to try to approach them, much less have any conversation there, and I just waved in recognition and continued with our struggle to leave that area.
As we reached the bottom of the great eastern staircase, we were suddenly flooded by a furious clamor that came down from the Temple. A most disturbing sound echoing through the walls and entrances of the great enclosure.
Immediately, I figured it could only be some disorder in the courtyard, and grabbing Alexander’s arm, I pulled him down the remaining stairs and walked as quickly as we could manage towards the lower part of the city. Whatever it was, I had no intention of getting caught in some riot. And the crowds continued to flow around us, some going up to the Temple, mostly driven by curiosity or fervor, and others following our direction. Through the commotion I could understand some words that came down from the Temple… sacrilege… indecency… Romans… heretics… vengeance… and others intoned in this same vein.
Alexander, visibly agitated, asked me if this was usual, all this enthusiasm, but I just ignored him, determined to get out of that street where we could hardly move. Finally we managed to cross the bridge that gave unto the small public square close to the theatre of Herod. The roar and the clangor from the Temple continued to rise, and we could now see the stairways completely jammed with people, loudly complaining in voices that reached us distortedly. Some, having managed to escape the turmoil, joined us and stayed there wondering about all that was happening.
On the opposite side of that square where we stood, was the old Hasmonean palace, for some time occupied by Agrippa during one of his stays in the city. Unused since then, it was now assigned to the Sanhedrin, and guarded by a small garrison of city guards. These, attracted by all the commotion, were now gathered at one of the entrance gates by the side portico, and clearly undecided with what course of action to take. One of the officers came towards us and enquired for further information, but we did not know the reason or the cause for all the upheaval.
Still we could hear the loud and frenetic shouting
and the crowds ululating in sympathy.
Alexander, approaching and questioning all that passed by us, soon gathered that there had been some provocation from the Roman soldiers stationed within the Temple, and that the people who had witnessed this had reacted with indignation and vociferous protestations.
If the reaction did not go beyond that clamor, probably the Romans would not act further, or with violence, as they were physically separated from the crowd within the Temple itself. Hopefully, with the coming dusk and the imminent closing of the Temple, the mob would disperse naturally.
In the meantime, the guards that were by the palace gate were called within, and shortly afterwards we saw them marching out towards the Temple and the crowds. Almost simultaneously the bustle seemed to decrease slightly, and as we looked upwards to the main entrances of the Temple, the movement of the crowds in the stairs seemed even more erratic and frantic, now shifting direction downwards towards the lower city.
Suddenly the tone of the clamor changed. It was not just the frantic shouts of indignation but also the howling and screaming of desperation. With horror we now watched the mob, even more compact than before, running down the staircases, a torrent of people trying to escape some foe that was not visible to us. All the clamor had now turned into howls of despair. The crowd, ever more convoluted, collided with itself, forcing its passage between protests and fighting.
I was horrified, imagining the desperation of all who were caught in that blind and wild flux. Even more so when I saw that the mob now hesitated with the direction to take. The explanation was the Romans who had now arrived in large numbers at the bottom of the stairways, climbing and clashing violently against all who stood in their way. It was a massacre. There was nothing human in all that noise, just the cacophony of butchery echoing through the city.
And more Romans arrived.
Some in the upper crowd managed to get back into the Temple, but were soon seen retreating. Something or someone was also within, barring the entrance and forcing them out of the courtyards.
We then began to see the first survivors passing us by, running and inciting us to follow them. Soon enough, I saw the Romans marching in our direction, brandishing short swords and using their shields to push others off their way, and I grabbed Alexander by his arm and started running up the hill towards the mount and home, pursued by the howling that was now slowing fading in the distance.
In that rush, I could not help but to think of Isaac, Rebecca and little Simon, somewhere up there in the Temple.
We later learned, in horrid detail, what had actually happened. An obscene and unnatural act by a crude legionnaire caused one of the deadliest incidents in the city. There was talk of over 3000 dead and maimed, and others mentioned ten times this number. Even one would have been too many.
When we finally reached home, the rioting sounded almost over, and the screams, the shouting and the clamor were now faint murmurs in the distance. Night was falling, and my primary concern was with the family who I knew were at the Temple that afternoon. As soon as I saw the streets almost deserted, I went over to Isaac’s house, but they were not back and no one had yet heard from them. Alexander wanted to go and look for them, but I could not allow it. He was under my responsibility, and neither of us had any idea of what was happening in that part of the city. Two of my braver servants offered to go, but they came back with no further information regarding Isaac and family. Tormented by this involuntary inaction, I feverishly searched for anything to do and all through the night we waited for further revelations.
It was known that the uprising had now ended, and the Romans, helped by the city guards, were removing the bodies from the stairways and the streets, and carrying them in carts to the hippodrome, apparently under the direct guidance of the Procurator Ventidius Cumanus and his tribune Celer. The Temple was also firmly shut, and the priests themselves were forced to collect the bodies that had laid in the inner courtyards.
The next day, after a very short and restless sleep, I decided to go search for Isaac, employing all endeavors, even the help of the Nasi Simeon, if necessary. But thankfully, I received word that Isaac and his family had just arrived, safe and unhurt, at his home.
Now calmer, we finished the morning meal and rushed off to Isaac’s place. The streets were now deathly quiet, especially for such a period of festival, and the city seemed cloaked under an eerie silence.
“Ahasver, it was a massacre! A true carnage! I’ve never seen so much blood in my whole life. I think that not even all the thousands of lambs that are usually sacrificed could ever match such bloodshed. There were hundreds of bodies…”
“Thousands…” added Rebecca visibly shaken with the thought.
“Yes… you’re probably right. Thousands actually… and when we left they had already removed most of them, but we could see and smell that blood… puddles and pools of blood. Oh Lord ! The horror…”
Isaac and the family were in the women's enclosure when it all happened.
The legionnaire, without reason — and what reason could justify such actions? — climbed the railing of the gallery where they usually stood watching the crowds in the inner courts, and exhibited his private parts, calling on everyone’s attention with gross claims and gestures.
In any place, at any moment, and for whatever reason, such gestures would be unacceptable and abhorrent. A soldier, belonging to an oppressive and hated army, doing that in our holiest ground, during one of our most sacred feasts, and in the presence of so many men, women and children, was beyond the most implausible imagination. The outcome could not have been different. To such despicable gestures, verbal insults were proffered from all who saw it, and soon enough, stones were thrown indiscriminately towards the soldiers who stood idly by, amused and sharing their comrade’s jocosity.
But when the first legionnaire was struck down by a stone, all the others immediately took refuge, but the clamor did not diminish at all, and they quickly exited the cloisters. Soon enough other soldiers returned, this time with shields, while others entered the Temple grounds from the direction of the Antonia fortress with the purpose of scattering the masses, and they were equally received by another barrage of rocks. Unfortunately, stones were aplenty in that Temple, always undergoing reforms and other construction jobs.
Isaac, according to him, undecided as to the wisest course to take, took refuge in a corner of the women’s court, and familiar with most of the priests, was given refuge in a chamber where they locked themselves. They were lucky. Almost everyone who had been in those same courts were either killed, wounded, or violently expelled — men, women, children and even some of the more unfortunate priests. The Romans, once more, proved themselves insensitive to the plight of the people.
When I returned home at the end of that morning, there were more people and movement in the streets, morbid, silent, almost funereal, with the few who spoke doing it lowly, and all wearing black. It looked as if the city had been invaded by giant silent crows, aimlessly drifting downhill towards the hippodrome.
In an edict, proclaimed that same day in the main squares and streets of the city, the Procurator forbade any type of gathering, promising severe punishment against any and all who instigated any kind of sedition and violence. In another, he announced the reopening of the Temple, with controlled and limited access, patrolled by legionnaires stationed at the entrances and spread amongst the faithful in the outer courts. Nothing was mentioned in regard to the previous day’s barbarism. I had no doubt that that day would be well remembered by all, and that the Zealots would most certainly retaliate violently against the Romans for what they had done.
With all that had happened, the question now was if in the next day, the day of sacrifices, it would be prudent to observe the rituals. Isaac would not even consider not attending, but I had some doubts. But I was persuaded to go, more in solidarity for his determination, than by my own convictions. The Temple was not as crowded as usual, and all who attended were subdued
and mournful, fulfilling the rites under the bored and vigilant gaze of the many legionnaires present.
All the attention and the heartfelt devotion of those days took place in the hippodrome, where bodies were identified and taken for burial by friends and family. Unfortunately, with so many pilgrims from out of town, most were buried by the guards in large ditches excavated for this purpose outside the city walls.
Yes, one day we would retaliate, one could hear it whispered in the streets.
I have no doubt that it was on those days that the seeds of retribution were planted that would lead to the future destruction of so many lives.
The next few days were still days of mourning, and although we, as a people, were not given to profound manifestations of sorrow, the horror and the dismay were patent in every face. At the end of the festival, right after pesach, the city seemed abandoned, and even the Temple, according to Isaac, was almost deserted. Taking advantage of such an exodus, I began with my preparations to return home. I sent a message to the Nasi Simeon announcing my departure and inviting him to visit us in Caesarea. I later learned that some of his relatives had perished in the incident. I am sure that if Ruth had been there, she would have claimed to have been a miracle that none of us, or any in the family had been hurt in the commotion.
But, that same year yet reserved us some further unpleasant surprises.
First there was an incident involving the assault and robbery of Roman citizens on the road to Jerusalem.
When the Procurator heard of this, he immediately sent some soldiers to locate the assailants. After searching various villages and hamlets, frustrated by not finding any evidence of the robbers or the loot, the soldiers themselves took to raid some of the wealthier homes, and during one of these robberies one soldier set fire to a Torah.
Immediately, a delegation was formed and sent to Caesarea to demand justice and the appropriate punishment of the perpetrators. Cumanus, who had been in Judaea for some time, knew too well how the Judaeans reacted to such affronts, and he did not hesitate in finding and executing the responsible legionnaire. For some days, Cumanus was a popular man, but no one had forgotten his involvement with the killings in Jerusalem.
The second incident happened shortly after, when a Galilean pilgrim, on his way to Jerusalem for the festival of the Tabernacles, was killed on the road by Samaritans, apparently for no known reason.
This time, most of Galilee rose up in revolt, and although some had asked the Procurator to intervene, he preferred not to attend such a call. Only when alerted by the Sanhedrin, where news of the revolt interrupted the festivities, did he decide to act.
But it was too late. Although he captured and punished some of the responsible parties for the mutiny, the Samaritans had also appealed to Gaius Quadratus, the Governor of Syria, and he did not hesitate to come down to Galilee and crucified the main instigators, both Samaritans and Galileans. As he came to realize the seriousness of the situation, Quadratus dispatched the Procurator Cumanus, his tribune Celer, the High Priest Ananias and some other Samaritan and Galilean leaders to Rome for a hearing before the Emperor.
In conclusion, Claudius decided to punish the Samaritans and banished Cumanus. The entourage of Ananias returned to Jerusalem, with the tribune Celer, who was executed in the city by his own peers.
The news of the replacement of Cumanus by Marcus Antonius Felix, brother of the secretary of the Emperor, was jubilantly received by all, and a lot was expected of the new Procurator. Descendant from former Greek slaves, from a family of freedmen, Felix could only be more tolerant and just than his predecessor.
THE DILIGENT