Long Tale Press

1.

It was spring. The air, fresh and clean after the winter rains, was fragrant with the scent of brushwood. The hills and valleys sparkled green. Trees and bushes blazed with the colours of their blossoms, reds and mauves and yellows and soft creamy whites. Fields of golden dandelions dotted with blood-red anemones carpeted vast stretches of the countryside.

It was spring and the Galil sang with the season. More particularly, it was but ten days to Passover. One could listen to the tramp of Roman feet on the holy soil with a lighter heart for it was the time to remember how the Almighty, blessed be His Name, delivered His people from the yoke of another oppressor. Perhaps this year in Jerusalem the Messiah would reveal himself and rally the people to drive the heathen Romans, those uncircumcised idolaters, from their shores. Perhaps this year God would establish His Kingdom and the righteous would rise from their graves, the blind would see, the deaf would hear and the lame would walk. The gentile world would acknowledge the God of Israel and they and their kings would bow down to Him in the World to Come.

In the synagogue at Nazareth, the Sabbath before the caravan left for Jerusalem, Yeshua sat by his father's side chanting the prayers with a light heart. In two days, he would be setting out for the Holy City and soon he would be in the Temple, that glorious edifice the late King Herod, the one called Great, had built for his people. The prospect stirred his young emotions and lifted his spirits. Oh, to be so close to the Name, blessed be He, to stand upon the ground where even King Solomon had bowed his head, to be within the portals of the House of his Father in heaven!

It was said that, of the ten measures of beauty given to the world, nine were allotted to Jerusalem. Herod had seen to it that Jerusalem's claim would not be unjustified. A lonely, bitter man, he had nursed the desperate desire to be loved by his subjects. The Jews, at best, had tolerated his rule. His ruthlessness had made him a dreaded monarch. With the heavy taxation he imposed, he undertook great public works and filled the country with splendid buildings and monuments. Old fortresses were repaired and new ones built. Ruined cities like Samaria enjoyed a rebirth and he made Caesarea a port unrivalled even by Piraeus.

The Helenization of the Holy City started before his reign, Herod continued with a magnificent flourish. Spectacular palaces rose on the hovels. A theatre, an amphitheatre and a hippodrome that drew large crowds (to the chagrin of the chief priests and elders) added a further elegance to the Jerusalem scene. But the crown of Herod's achievements was the Temple, built of polished stone and coloured marble, of gold and of cedar wood, with large courts and graceful pillars, with imposing towers and enormous gates, where within its Sanctuary, its Holy of Holies, the Presence could be felt.

The thought of being within the walls of Herod's glorious Temple filled Yeshua with elation. At twelve, Yeshua was the eldest of seven children. They lived with their parents, Miriam and Yosef, in a simple mud house on the village outskirts. The house served also as a carpenter's shop for his father, now in his fiftieth year, though toil and the burden of the times made him look a decade older. His mother was not yet thirty, but her round, rather attractive face already bore the lines of care and responsibility. Yosef encouraged his son's interest in the Holy Books and the carpenter glowed with pride every Sabbath in the synagogue when Yeshua read and discoursed with the most learned of the community.

More than two years previously, the aged Rabbi David had left his Judean home in Bethanya to spend his remaining years in the relative peace and quiet of Nazareth. He had noticed Yeshua in the synagogue arguing with the elders and had been impressed with the knowledge the boy displayed. He had approached Yosef one Sabbath morning. "Is that your boy?" The Rabbi was held in awe. Rarely did he speak to anyone.

Yosef answered with deference: “Yes, Master.”

“What is he called?”

“Yeshua.”

“Send him to me after sunset tonight.” With that he turned away and returned to his seat in the front pew.

At the far end of the Street of Lights stood the singular house of the Rabbi. Built from the stones of the mountain and standing a little apart from its neighbours, it had an aura of simple grandeur. Yeshua entered it with a thudding heart. He did not know what the Rabbi wanted of him. Emerging a half-hour later, his excitement too great to contain, he ran all the way home. He burst in upon his parents and his brothers and sisters grouped around the table together with some of their neighbours come to learn of the outcome of Yeshua's talk with the Rabbi. Breathless, his eyes shining, and with great effort to control his voice, he announced: “He wants to teach me! He wants me to learn Torah through him!” Soon the whole village buzzed with the news.

A small village, Nazareth, but not an unimportant one. It was situated on one of the few trade routes through the Galilean mountains. Camels and asses loaded with silks and other fine cloths from the East, ornaments and adornments from the West, pungent spices and fragrant oils, often passed through the village and a flurry of excitement gusted up with the coming of every caravan. Letters were received and the latest news about the country was passed around. You could enjoy entertainments in the form of storytellers, camel rides, dice games and games of skill. You could watch, if you could overcome your scruples, a trial of strength between two nude muscular giants in Greek-style wrestling. The religious frowned upon this heathen sport but the amme ha'aretz, the non-practicing masses, who were generally illiterate, who neglected the donning of phylacteries, who omitted the ritual fringes from their garments and for whom the laws were too numerous to remember and too onerous to keep, enjoyed the spectacle, cheering wildly to see their favourites win. At night, there was the thrill of joining the singers round the flickering red-gold of the campfires in the market square or on the hillsides.

Nazareth was perched on the top of a hill bordering the Jezreel valley. The south side that faced the valley was a sheer rock cliff. The neat cultivated plots below stretched out in a beautiful patchwork design as far as the eye could see. To the east stood Mount Tabor, queen of the Galil rising regally alone from the valley floor in all its symmetrical splendour to a small round plateau at the top. No wonder Rabbi David had chosen this spot to end his days.

From the start the Rabbi had been amazed at Yeshua's quick perception. The boy was fervidly interested in the teachings of the Torah and the Prophets. He could memorize passages with the greatest of ease. He was able to grasp the inner meanings of the written word and the subtleties of a passage, sometimes suggesting different and novel interpretations. The Rabbi would often catch himself staring quizzically at the boy and wondering... wondering. This was an age when all men looked skyward, praying for the coming of the Messiah. How long were they to be ground under the heel of their oppressors? How long were they to continue paying tribute to Rome? How long must their eyes alight on the writhing, agonized figures on crosses? Surely it was time the yoke was lifted from off their necks. Could it be that this boy...? Ridiculous, the son of a Galilean carpenter! Was it not said nothing good comes out of the Galil, only cutthroats and robbers?

Situated in the north, Galilee was cut off from Judea, the heart of Judaism and the centre of Jewish thought and learning, by Samaria, land of the profaners of the name of God. Inhabited by the heathen Samaritans, who claimed to be Jews but who accepted only the five books of Moses simplified to their own taste, who refused to accept the Temple at Jerusalem as the House of God and had built one of their own, Samaria and the Samaritans had been damned and no Jew would willingly set foot on Samarian soil. Their hate for each other had reached such proportions that already much blood had been spilt. The Galileans, being thus cut off, were never taken seriously by their sophisticated Judean brethren and were indeed looked down upon. Still, the boy Yeshua intrigued the old Rabbi and he wondered...

Yeshua went to see Rabbi David the evening before his departure for Jerusalem. He knocked on the door and being bidden to enter, kissed the mezuzah and went in. The old Rabbi was seated in the comfortable chair that Yosef, Yeshua's father, had made for him. Two braziers were lighted and, for Yeshua, the heat in the room was oppressive. “Peace be unto you,” said the old man and held out his hand.

“Shalom, Master,” responded the boy, taking the aged hand and kissing it. He sat on the rug by the Rabbi's feet.

“I hope it is not too hot for you, my son, but the blood does not pump so strongly in my veins and the cold is an implacable foe of my old bones.”

“It does not trouble me, Master,” said Yeshua with a twinge of pity.

“So, you leave tomorrow for the Holy City.” The Rabbi stroked his thick white beard thoughtfully as he regarded his pupil. He observed the excitement, the shining eyes as the boy replied simply: “Yes, Master. My first visit.”

“This then is a special occasion. You must drink a cup of wine with me. You will find a bottle and goblets in the cupboard by the wall. Light another taper. We could do with more light. Then come and sit by me again.”

Yeshua lit the taper and set it on a high shelf. He poured out two goblets of wine and handed one to the Rabbi.

“Only our Carmel grapes can produce wine of this delicate flavour,” said the old man as he took the cup from Yeshua. “Sit down, sit down.” He waved his hand to indicate that Yeshua seat himself as before at his feet. Yeshua took his place and looked up into the kindly eyes of the venerable old man. He watched as the Rabbi blessed the wine and sipped. He waited for him to speak but the old man remained silent, deep in a reverie. Finally the Rabbi turned to him and Yeshua was looking again into eyes that reflected the understanding age brings to a sensitive and intelligent man, one who not only knew the law but understood how it should be applied. How lucky! How lucky indeed, was he to be seated at the feet of this good man. The Rabbi began to speak.

“Tomorrow my son, you will be embarking on an exciting adventure. Although you are soon to be Bar Mitzvah, you are not yet a man and tomorrow you make a man's pilgrimage. The caravan will take you through Perea into the great depression, south along the banks of the Jordan river, up over the Mount of Olives and into Jerusalem. A new world will open unto you.”

The Rabbi paused and sipped his drink. Yeshua, his attention fixed upon the old man, remembered his wine, drank hastily and found himself coughing and spluttering with embarrassment. The Rabbi leaned forward and patted him on the back. “There, there!” he smiled. “Control yourself.”

“I am sorry. I swallowed the wrong way,” said Yeshua abjectly as the spasm passed.

“My dear Yeshua,” said the Rabbi leaning back and running his fingers through his beard, “I know exactly what you are feeling and what you expect. The Holy City! The city in which God dwells! A city of heavenly beauty, throughout which a pious atmosphere pervades. Jerusalem is all these things my son, and more. It is the city of tentmakers and cheese-makers, of candle-makers and winemakers. On its streets you will rub shoulders with Jews and gentiles, merchants and thieves, rich and poor, clean and unclean, good... and bad.”

The Rabbi paused. As he put his cup to his lips he was thinking that ten years ago - was it as long as that? - with the death of his only son, all that had been left to him in the world, he had lost the power to love. This had frightened him, for with this lack of feeling came a complete deadening of responses, even at the sound of the Holy Name. What worth all his knowledge without the spark of love? This boy, Yeshua, a carpenter's son in a remote village in Galilee had set the flame alight within him and brought him back to his God. He wondered if the boy knew he engendered such emotions. He had observed that in the village, for the boy's peers, it was a matter of personal pride to be a friend of Yeshua ben Yosef. Now he must continue and strike a hard blow.

“Yeshua, do you not see me, a Pharisee and a servant of the Temple, living here in Nazareth? I left my home near the Holy City to come to this little village to find God. I have discovered God dwells here just as happily as he does in Jerusalem - even in the Temple.” This brought a startled look to his pupil's face. “Have I shocked you, Yeshua? Do you think Temple sacrifices are so important? Do you believe God really needs them? Not a whit! Remember the words God put into the mouth of the prophet Isaiah –”

Yeshua quoted for the Rabbi: “ 'Your countless sacrifices, what are they to me? I am sated with the whole-offerings of rams and the fat of buffaloes... The offer of your gifts is useless, The reek of sacrifice is abhorrent to me.' ”

“You have learned your lessons well, Yeshua,” said the Rabbi. “Good deeds, the pursuance of justice, help for the oppressed - and there is no dearth of the oppressed in these terrible times - these are the things the Lord requires of us. It is we who have need to offer sacrifice. They give direction and purpose to our faith." He looked into the boy’s wide eyes and continued. "Do you imagine a house made of pure gold would make God happy? To Him, we, His children are more precious than all the world's gold. And do you think Mount Moriah is big enough to encompass the Almighty whose mansion is the universe? I believe He prefers to dwell in the hearts of men. I believe He is happier at your table on the Sabbath with your parents, your brothers and sisters and you, than He is in the seclusion of the Holy of Holies." Yeshua gasped, made as if to speak but the Rabbi interrupted. "No, Yeshua, not till I have finished." He drained his glass, waited for Yeshua to take a shy sip before continuing.

“Pesach is a dangerous time in Jerusalem. A wonderfully gay and joyous feeling runs through the city but there is an undercurrent of hate, distrust and suspicion. The Romans become the Egyptians in the minds of our people and everyone looks at his brother's face to see if, perhaps, he is the Messiah. For it is true, Yeshua. The prophecies are being fulfilled. I believe the Messiah will soon be among us. I pray I may be alive to see him. But...,” the Rabbi raised his finger to emphasize the point, “...the people expect a king who will victoriously battle the Romans to establish the Kingdom and usher in the New Era. It is possible he will come as a warrior. We have read together many passages that indicate he may. Consider the psalm that describes him accoutred for war in royal armour and sword at his side. But I prefer to believe the psalmist had in mind symbolic armour, for is it not also written: '...his mouth shall be a rod to strike down the ruthless and with a word he shall slay the wicked.' ?"

A thrill ran through Yeshua. It was as if the prophets were speaking through his Rabbi. The Rabbi creased his brow searching, as Yeshua knew from long intimacy, searching in his mind for prophecies to bear out his belief. Yeshua offered: " '...he shall not put his trust in horse and rider and bow nor shall he multiply unto himself gold and silver for war...’”

“Good,” said the Rabbi. “And again - "'Behold, your king is coming to you humble and mounted on an ass…’”

The Rabbi looked down at Yeshua. “Be that as it may, a great many of our people expect a warrior king and, because of the very nature of the feast we commemorate, feelings run high and a great number of Messiahs declare themselves. They all have their followers: brave, desperate men, ready to dare anything to rid the land of the heathen oppressors, anything.”

Yeshua heard a strange note creeping into the Rabbi's voice. As the old man continued with rising emotion, he knew he was seeing the Rabbi stirred to his very soul. The Rabbi raised his eyes and seemed to speak to the ghosts of those heroes.

“Ah! Poor misguided fools! Wonderful, beautiful fools! What do they achieve? Certainly their own destruction by the most barbarous of executions, lingering painfully on their wretched crosses, attacked by vultures and wild beasts if left alone and dying more often than not from a cruel thirst. You turn your face, Yeshua. How will it be when you see the poor wretches? For you shall, you shall. And if you find my words distressful, do not go to Jerusalem. It will prove too much for you.”

Truly, Yeshua was alarmed at the Rabbi's words but more so because the old man looked so tragic. His voice had shaken and quivered. Yeshua steeled himself to look up at the Rabbi's face, promising himself not to turn away no matter what the Rabbi had to say.

“You have brave eyes, Yeshua. I am proud of you. I was saying,” the old man continued, “they do achieve something, these foolhardy sons of ours.” Without warning the Rabbi lost control. Tears coursed down his bearded cheeks, his voice shook with emotion. “They keep alive the spirit of the Messiah; they keep alive the hope of our people; they demonstrate to the Romans that no matter how hard they grind us down into the mud, we can still rise up to throw some at them.” He strove to gain control. “I am sorry for this outburst, Yeshua, but you see - my son, my only son was crucified by the heathens.”

“Oh, Master, I did not know,” cried Yeshua, the tears rushing to his eyes in sympathy.

The Rabbi, with an effort, regained some measure of composure. He took a kerchief from the sleeve of his tunic and wiped his wet face. “It was God's will, Yeshua. Who am I to question Him? However, a torn soul is not easily repaired. I still grieve. I have not told you this to have you weep for me. You have the makings of a fine teacher, my son. I would be sorry to have you fall under the influence of the Zealots. Do not believe you cannot be swayed. Their appeal is directed at youngsters like you, in the name of God and they strike hard at your idealism. The younger you are, the more easily you can be trained in the tough wilderness and in the hill country. They took my son shortly after he was Bar Mitzvah. He was crucified two years later.”

The quiet in the room was deepened by the quiet outside. The sound of chirruping crickets seemed to enhance rather than break the silence. The Rabbi smiled and stroked his beard and somehow it was not so heavily quiet as before. The urgency was still in his voice but, with it, his usual gentleness. “Heed what I say, Yeshua. Pay no mind to words of treason. Do not join groups of people who stand together in the Temple Court of the Gentiles. The Romans will be keeping a sharp watch from the Antonia Tower and the Temple Police will not be asleep. On no account, neither in the caravan nor in Jerusalem, are you to break bread or seek the company of gentiles or amme ha'aretz. They can only lead you astray. Keep close to your parents and, as always, hearken to their words. Finally, take joy that you will be in the city of our ancestor, King David. I did not kindle in your young breast the fire of love for this wonderful city only to stamp it out. Jerusalem is indeed 'the paragon of beauty, the pride of the whole earth.' I wish I could be going with you to see it again.” The Rabbi leaned back and closed his eyes. Yeshua did not trust himself to break the silence so he waited. “Have you finished your wine, Yeshua?” The Rabbi sounded tired.

“Yes, thank you, Master,” replied the boy.

“Go, then. Eat light and sleep early. You have a hard journey ahead of you tomorrow.”

The Rabbi lay back in his chair with closed eyes, gently stroking his beard until his hand was still. Yeshua rose quietly, set his empty cup on the table alongside his Master's and tip-toed to the door. From his corner the Rabbi chuckled. "I am not asleep yet. Go and God go with you, my son."

2 Night had fallen when Yeshua closed the Rabbi's door and stepped into the street. The moon, almost full in a cloud¬less sky, was so dazzlingly bright that the way was clear before him. The stars were so many jewels flung across black velvet. Yeshua was too preoccupied to notice. When he pulled his woollen homespun robe tighter about his shoulders against the brisk cold of the night air, it was an unconscious gesture for his mind was in turmoil.

A sharp breeze stirred the dust of the deserted street. Those not at their evening meal were down by the market square where the caravan, come from the coastal town of Ptolemais, was settled for the night. There would be camel rides and horse rides; perhaps a story-telling Rabbi from across the sea, journeying to Jerusalem for the festival, who would relate to the never-tiring ears of children how Moses led the Israelite slaves out of Egypt, through the Reed Sea that swallowed up the pursuing Egyptian hosts, and thence into the promised land of Canaan. Musicians and dancers would entertain while the men drank wines and spirits. Women, who had avoided the daytime crowds, would bargain for left over trinkets and baubles brought all the way from Greece and Rome.

Yeshua walked toward the market square but his feet, not his mind, were taking him there. The Rabbi had startled him and he was not sure he had understood the master correctly. Did the old man say the Temple was not the House of God? Could it be God neither wanted nor needed sacrifices? His adolescent mind wrestled with the ques¬tions. Had not God demanded Abraham sacrifice his dearly beloved son, Isaac? He recalled to mind the chapter in the First Book and repeated it to himself as he walked along.

And the time came after these things that God put Abraham to the test. ‘Abraham!’ He called and Abraham replied, ‘Behold, here I am.’

What was this test? An exercise in obedience? A cruel test, hardly worthy of the Most High. He let the chapter run through his mind till he came to the words of the angel sent to stay Abraham's hand.

‘Raise not your hand against the lad, do not touch him: for now I know you are God-fearing, seeing that you have not withheld your son, your only son, from Me.’

There it was, clearly before him. Not a test of obedience but of love. God, indeed, had not needed the sacrifice but had Abraham measure the extent of his love for the Almighty, blessed be His Name. He had taught Abraham and all his descendants, to value nothing, not even an only son, above the Creator.

A child’s wail of terror broke into his thoughts. A woman's anguished pleas above the murmur of many voices. A horse's whinny. A coarse laugh. Yeshua's mind snapped into the present. He had long since left the Street of Lights and now between the rows of huts on the narrow street, he could see the market square. People stopped in their tracks, peering fearfully into the night to ascertain the cause of the commo¬tion. One man on his ass struggled to hold it still. Yeshua felt the atmosphere of terror around him and it made him queasy.

Again the child's cry. As suddenly as it had come, the nausea left him. Holding on to his talith, he ran forward. The curious followed at a discreet distance. Yeshua pushed through the gath-ering at the entrance to the square. One half of the square was empty but for a boy of eight whom he recognized at once as the blacksmith's son, David. Between the boy and his mother was a young Roman soldier astride his horse, sword in hand, laughing drunkenly at the boy's terror and the mother's anguish. Behind Sara, the mother, were the people of the caravan and the village, from whom issued the murmuring. Camels with their feet tucked under them, sprawled around lazily chewing the cud and turning nonchalantly to view the proceedings.

“Mama! Mama! Mama!” cried the boy and the woman wailed, burying her face in her hands. The boy made an attempt to run around the horse but the soldier anticipated him. He trotted the animal forward and pulled on the reins immediately in front of the boy. The horse reared and his forelegs pawed at the air. The boy backed away screaming. Another Roman also in the saddle, was watching his friend's game with amusement. He called out in Latin, “Careful, Caius, you don't want to kill him.”

Yeshua felt a rising rage within him. With a whispered prayer: “God of my fathers, with Your help I can overcome them,” he ran toward the blacksmith's boy. “David, I am coming,” he cried. “Do not be afraid.”

A gasp went up from the crowd to see another boy, not many years older, rushing to the aid of the hapless lad. Yeshua took hold of the boy's hand. He faced the Roman with fierce defiance. “Leave us to pass,” he said in bad Latin.

Only the Roman's bleary eyes revealed he had been drinking heavily. His clean-shaven, handsomely square fea¬tures wore a mocking smile. He was in the mood for sport.

“Why do you twist your tongue around a noble language, boy?” His speech was slightly slurred but his Aramaic was perfect. "I have been in your godforsaken country long enough to pick up your filthy language."

“Let us pass,” repeated Yeshua in Aramaic without shifting his eyes from the Roman's face. His grip on David's hand was firm and reassuring.

“Come, little puppy,” said the Roman, waving his sword. “Try. With one swipe I will cut off both your sweet little earlocks and the top of your head too.”

There was no sound but for the panting of the restive horse under the Roman. The people waited, hardly daring to breathe. The other soldier wore a worried look. His mind had not quite cleared from the carouse he had shared with his friend earlier that evening. He wondered if he should interfere.

“Come little mongrel. Come for your haircut,” taunted the Roman, swinging his sword menacingly.

Yeshua stood his ground. “Please let us pass,” he repeated.

“Ho!” said the Roman, turning to the crowd. “Brave and polite. He's had a good upbringing.”

From the crowd, only a hushed stillness. Yeshua selected his words carefully. “Politeness I learned from my parents; bravery... from the Romans.”

An immediate breathless response from the crowd. With the moon and the firelight to see by, it was not difficult to observe the flush on the Roman face.

“You insolent brat!” The Roman was on the defensive.

“Insolent, sir?” A touch of artless surprise. “Are the Romans not brave, sir?” Yeshua did not turn his eyes from his adversary. The Roman's cheeks blazed with rage and humiliation. The crowd, now muttering against him, made his discomfiture more acute. A village boy! The son of a peasant! A Hebrew! Out¬smarting a Roman. His drink-befuddled mind told him to punish the boy and save his face. But how?

“Come on, Caius. You've had your fun.” His friend had ridden up to him.

“By all the gods, I'm going to kill that boy, Tullus. Did you hear what he said?”

“We can't afford to make a scene,” replied his friend. “You know our orders: no fraternizing, no insulting their invisible God, and all the rest of it. They're a crazy lot. As it is, we've gone too far tonight. We don't want to be sent home in disgrace, do we? Come on, Caius. Let's go.”

Short of killing the boy, what could he do? He was not too drunk to realize the dishonour of being stripped of his rank and sent home in ignominy. Tugging at the reins and with a last look of implacable hatred directed at Yeshua but meant for the entire Hebrew nation, he turned his horse and trotted out of the market square followed closely by his friend.

Please log in or sign up to review this excerpt.