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Chapter Twenty-Four
On the day before our Coming of Age ceremony, a most
unsettling thing happened. Not long
after the start of Gamaliel’s school, Samuel had, with great fanfare at one of
our dinners, announced his decision to have the ceremony in his great
hall. Until the arrival of
Gamaliel into our lives, we had all planned on visiting Aunt Elizabeth and
Cousin John. My brothers, sisters,
and friends had looked forward to this visit with our cousin and aunt. Because of the opportunity offered to
us, however, we had to delay our trip.
After the ceremony we would give our teacher a rest and travel to Sepphoris
as originally planned. In
spite of Samuel’s protests, this was Mama’s decision; nothing could change her
mind. When Justin, our courier,
happened to make his rounds in Nazareth, Papa gave him a letter informing
Elizabeth of our trip. We had no knowledge
then of a second letter Samuel slipped in the courier’s pouch. This letter, in effect, canceled out
the first. To prevent what
Gamaliel and the Pharisee saw as a disruption in our schooling, Samuel invited
Elizabeth and her son to his house.
Ignoring the intentions of Papa’s scroll, the second note’s ostensible
purpose had been to insure that John shared in the Coming of Age
festivities. John was also invited
to join Gamaliel’s school. It was
quite sneaky of the old man. He
waited until the very day of their arrival to inform us of what he had done,
perhaps to surprise us but more likely to prevent a mutiny among the students
in Gamaliel’s class. We were all
quite upset. Gamaliel, who denied
any knowledge of the correspondence, apologized profusely, but Samuel was
unrepentant for the trick. He knew
he had done the right thing. My
parents had been relieved of the burden and expense of travel. Papa’s business would not be
interrupted for this period of time.
The most important reason for inviting Aunt
Elizabeth and Cousin John, we understood, was to prevent an interruption in
Gamaliel’s teaching. Nevertheless,
my parents realized, it was a magnanimous act. It was a comparatively short trip from Sepphoris and
Nazareth. The wear on our sickly
aunt on such a journey was less than a houseful of noisy guests. Samuel, Mordechai reassured my parents,
would give her his finest chambers with attending servants, so she could rest
well during her stay. Abner,
Samuel’s physician, would be at her beck and call, and the chamberlain would
personally see to all her comforts while she was here.
There was, of course, a downside to the Elizabeth’s
stay, which no one talked about.
Until a few days ago, we thought the old woman was going to draw her
last breath. It would be dreadful,
Papa confessed to Mama, if it was drawn in Samuel’s house. The very next day, after our
benefactor’s disclosure, we stood in front of his house, our disappointment
compensated by thoughts of seeing our cousin again. In the distance, on the road passing Samuel’s estate, a
cloud of dust rose up. The clatter
of wheels and neighing of horses proclaimed their arrival as they came into
sight. Riding ahead in order to
dismount and assist the guests, were four servants. Not far behind, the Roman escorts rode up to the
chamberlain, saluted smartly, then, after being handed their pay, galloped back
to their fort. Soon, to our
delight and our parents dismay, we saw two, not one, large coach rumbling our
way. Lo and behold, not only our
aunt and cousin returned with the men provided by our host, but several long
lost relatives we hadn’t seen in years. After all the incredible things occurring in our
lives, we shouldn’t have been surprised by their arrival, but this was
unexpected. The children
clapped. The adults groaned. What a sight! On the surface Samuel took the addition of these strangers
in stride, but Mama was worried that the mounting guest list, which included
notables from Sepphoris and Jerusalem, would cause the old man undo
stress. Abner, who looked beyond
Samuel’s joyful mood and lively step, feared for his racing pulse and shortness
of breath, insisting that his heart couldn’t take the excitement and
anticipation bubbling in his mind.
Now, with the sudden appearance of Aunt Elizabeth’s entourage, a frown
twitched on the old man’s face as his jaws jerked up and down in utter
disbelief.
As the great door opened and Mordechai, the
chamberlain, began reading from the list presented to him by the coachmen,
“Mistress Elizabeth, John bar Zechariah, Azrael bar Jonah, Nedinijah bar
Zemrid...”, Samuel whispered to Mama, “What is this Mary. I recognize Elizabeth. She looks deathly ill. Who are these other people? I didn’t invite them!”
“I certainly didn’t,” she replied defensively.
“These must be her kinfolk. I’m
sorry Samuel. I remember you
inviting only her and John.”
“I shall talk to the cooks and other servants,”
Obadiah, the steward, muttered hurriedly, after calling a greeting to the
guests. “Don’t worry Samuel,” he said from the corner of his mouth, as he
pivoted and dashed away.
Ishmael, the chief butler, stepped forward then,
with Samuel’s guards in tow, to assist Elizabeth’s servants with the luggage,
while Samuel, my parents, and Abner rushed up to help Elizabeth emerge from the
coach. Uriah, my brothers, and I
stood back to watch the show, until we saw John finally hop out of the cab,
wearing, for the first time we could recall, fine clothes. His ruddy face had been scrubbed and
scraped of dirt and down. A blue turban,
similar to the ones I saw Joseph of Arimathea and his sons wear, was cocked
rakishly over his forehead. In
addition to his silver striped tunic and matching pants, a white robe was tied
around his neck, he sported a red sash with a small gold cased dagger attached,
and wore blue and gold laced slippers on his normally dirty bare feet.
James and Joseph broke into giggles. Soon Simon and I were doubled up in
mirth at John’s attire. Uriah,
unaware of our cousin’s eccentricities, couldn’t understand why we were acting
like fools. When I described to
him the cousin we knew in Sepphoris, Uriah joined in the merriment. Tabitha and the twins, ignorant of the
jest, were amused by our foolishness and tittered amongst themselves. In spite of Mama’s disapproving look,
even Papa began chuckling as John bowed politely to Samuel and my parents,
John’s face reddening with embarrassment, as he looked our way. My family’s friends, whose children
weren’t even members of our class, approached the entrance from the main path,
pointing excitedly at the arriving dignitaries, Ezra, who was familiar with
John’s habits, grinning in amazement as they arrived.
Speechless for once in their lives, James and Joseph
fell onto their rears, howling with glee.
Through guffaws, Simon kept saying, “He looks like a Syrian whore! He looks like a Syrian whore!”
“Abraham’s beard,” Uriah exclaimed, “it’s the
funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”
Unlike Uriah and myself, contempt, as well as mirth,
registered on James and Joseph’s faces.
Poor John, I chided myself.
When I stopped to think about it, it seemed unfair that John was singled
out. Had not Joseph of Arimathea,
his sons, and his magnificent guards been dressed in colorful, showy garb? I wanted to apologize for laughing at
him, but felt sudden intimidation as he approached. John, who had suffered laughter for pleasing his doting
mother, must have seen the contempt in my brothers’ eyes. He paused momentarily, gave them both a
hard look, as if he might just take them to task, and then, looking straight
ahead, continued on his way.
Several guests paused at the entrance of the villa as he strutted
passed. “Who is that strange
looking boy?” a townsman asked.
James, Joseph, and Simon continued to snicker under the breaths. Uriah grinned like a fool. John remained the center of
attraction. After the look he gave
James and Joseph, I decided not to offer apologies and gave a mumbled greeting
instead. At this point,
apologizing to John would have been an unpopular action to my brothers and
friends. James and Joseph, who had
never liked John very much, shook their heads with disgust. Simon, still giggling like a hyena,
stopped to sneer at him as he proceeded, while Uriah stood there gawking, much
like the patrons of the museum in Alexandria probably gazed at a strange
beast. I was certain that this was
all Elizabeth’s idea. If John had
his way he would probably have arrived barefoot in rough woolen garb with a
rope tied around his waist. I felt
sorry for him, but, for the time being, I kept it to myself.
Jesus appeared suddenly in the atrium as the crowd
gathered, dressed in the same plain white tunic as the rest of us, greeting his
cousin in the Jewish manner, arm on shoulder, giving him a simple bow, followed
by “Peace be upon John bar Zechariah.
Welcome to our gracious host Samuel’s house.”
It made me feel ashamed. The twins ran up to grab Jesus and John’s big hands. Without warning Tabitha grabbed mine,
bringing a smile to my face. Along
with my feeling of shame, other emotions bombarded me now: pity for John,
expectation of the coming event, irritation at my other brothers, and a sudden
longing for Tabitha whose womanhood was blossoming under her dress.
“There-there,” Mama cooed, as she and Naomi held
Elizabeth’s frail elbows and led her into the house.
“They’re still children,” Elizabeth’s voice
quivered. “Tonight that shall change.
What a wondrous day!”
This, my mind cried out, wasn’t true. Look at the way my brothers and friends
carried on. Did she think they
would awaken in the morning full-fledged men? Our mother giggled stupidly after her words. The more I thought about her words, the
more I realized how absurd Samuel’s expectations were. All Gamaliel wanted from us was that we
behave as proper students. Except
for our work habits, I don’t think Mama or Papa really cared.
Abner and a servant were helping the wobbly Samuel
to his chambers that moment, concerned only with his health. I heard Ezra and Papa commenting that
moment upon Elizabeth’s behavior as they looked around the grand house. Ezra wondered if she might be
drunk. Papa replied quickly,
“She’d have to be to make this trip.”
Noting the difficulties the elderly physician was having with his
patient, Papa offered a steadying hand.
Abner was huffing and puffing.
The servant seemed to be carrying most of the weight.
“She’s probably drugged” Ezra decided, as Abner
allowed Papa to step in. “I’m surprised her physician didn’t come along too.”
“Thank you, Joseph,” Abner gasped, as Papa led
Samuel into the hall, “Samuel needs a strong hand, not these worn fingers.” “I
think your right, Ezra,” he responded belatedly, collapsing momentarily into a
cushioned chair. “...poor
Elizabeth is medicated to calm her heart.
It’s what I try to do for Samuel, but he doesn’t always listen. I don’t like her coloring, Joseph. The woman is ghastly pale.”
“She should be in bed.” Samuel muttered querulously.
“She never should’ve made this trip.
Those relatives of hers should be horse whipped for bringing her along.”
Since Samuel, himself, had invited Elizabeth to his
house, this outburst was absurd.
Despite hopeful signs in the past, it appeared as if his mind was
slipping. Several guests,
including ones from Sepphoris, glanced back at the old man. The sound of sandals on the marble
floors echoed with the footfall of servants preparing our feast. With the aid of a servant, Abner rose
up on his shaky legs. He looked
almost as old as Samuel that moment, as he took the servant’s arm.
“What’s that old adage?” He cackled, wiping his
brow. “You can lead a lamb to water, but you can’t make him drink.”
As Papa gripped his arm, Samuel grumbled to
himself. “How am I going to feed
all these people?” His mind began
to wander. “We only have one pig and lamb…Where is that fool Obadiah? His place is at the door!”
“Don’t worry,” Abner said, regaining his breath,
“there’s plenty of food. It’s
lodging you have to worry about.
Mordechai will think of something.”
“I have only so many rooms,” whined the Pharisee. “Everyone
will have to double up. What will
happen if some of them have to sleep in my garden and in the corridors?”
“Master, we have plenty of room,” a servant
reassured as they guided him to his room.
“You must lie down for awhile.
Please stop fretting. Your
guests can wait.”
Papa attempted to calm the agitated Pharisee,
himself, but in a light-hearted mood.
As Uriah, Simon, Tabitha, and I listened in, we could hear him add in a
sing-song voice, “Ho-ho, sounds like someone needs a nap.” Ezra tossed his head back and
laughed. I noticed, after Papa
returned from escorting Samuel to his chambers, that both he and Ezra emerged
in the mulling bodies, holding mugs of wine. To my surprise Mama and Naomi were holding mugs too. It might have been the same pomegranate
juice that was served to the children of guests and my brothers, sisters, and
friends. Simon and I took
advantage of the festivities, sneaking sips of Falernian wine when unwary
guests set down their cups. No one
could blame Samuel for resenting this unexpected onslaught, but the most
important concern for my parents and the physician had been to make sure
Elizabeth and Samuel got their proper rest. Also worrying my parents was the possibility that Michael
might suddenly show up at the feast.
Because our benefactor had invited so many guests, Michael would have to
lie low.
Even though he might not be there in person at all
times, Samuel had promised to share the festivities and Coming of Age ceremony
with us. Several times, I thought I
saw him lurking about from the corner of my eye. While we loitered in the great hall and in the garden,
waiting for the remainder of the guests to arrive, our host and Mama’s aunt
did, in fact, take a short nap.
Abner suggested that Elizabeth might forego the event altogether if her
coloring didn’t return. Mama
agreed that, if this were the case, they would let her sleep through the
meal. Samuel, however, would have
been furious if they let him slumber through the ceremony and feast. To prevent this disaster, Abner, who
had his own chambers next to Samuel, gave a servant orders to wake both of them
up just before the guests were seated in the great hall.
******
My parents, who were simple folks, would have
preferred The Coming of Age ceremony to be simple and unconventional, with a
small gathering, rather than this event contrived by Samuel, but Samuel
insisted that it be done properly in the presence of townsmen, relatives, and
friends, with an important rabbi such as Gamaliel present. A much more sensible way, I heard
Joseph suggest to James, would be to have Papa give the Shema at the Shabbat
meal during this period of time, as we normally do—no fancy rabbi or fussy old
Pharisee to officiate, and give the blessing, with just our family and maybe a
few friends. After Papa’s
blessing, like the Patriarchs of old, he would turn the scrolls over to his
sons to finish the sacred words. I
remember James and Joseph attempting this on such a day. Though they stumbled over the passages,
James and Joseph were able to read a short Proverb too. It wasn’t an impressive
performance. They had, Gamaliel
would discover, a rude understanding of Hebrew and had probably memorized most
of the Shema after hearing it so many times. Even so, Papa had consoled them before we arrived at
Samuel’s house, most of the other children in Nazareth could barely read at
all. Only a few households, we
were informed, actually contained scrolls of the Torah. Not that poor Jews could afford it
anyhow, but there had never been a special ceremony for this in Galilee or
Judea. Moreover, now that I think
about it, reason was more important that money on this matter. Making an issue about turning twelve,
especially to practical minded folks like my parents, when most of us still had
children’s bodies and minds, was neither practical nor logical. I’m convinced even now, though this
ceremony caught on with wealthier Jews, such festivities should be simple,
reflecting merely a starting point in boys (and girls) lives in which our
childhood innocence would begin to fade and we would, with greater knowledge of
the Torah, be held accountable for our actions and, as Gamaliel put it, become
the author of our sins.
It was, when all things were considered, our
traditions and the bits and pieces of history passed onto us by our parents
that helped shape our minds as Jews, but it was the stern hand of Papa and Mama
in our childhood that helped guide our paths. This was true for most Galilean children. Jesus’ counseling and constant example
has also influenced his brothers and sisters. There was, however, even in Jesus freethinking, a need for a
permanent religious teacher in our town.
Ignorance, he once told his disciples, left us unprotected against
sin. Without a functioning town
rabbi, the people of Nazareth had to rely solely upon the head of the house for
their religious needs. For his
adopted children, who had been cutoff from the synagogue, and castoffs such as
Tabitha, Uriah, and Michael, Papa and Jesus’ counsel filled a religious void. Nevertheless, as Samuel pointed out to
my parents, many townsfolk were slipping into heresy and unbelief. Gamaliel had been acting as the
students’ religious instructor but would not accept the role as rabbi for our
town. There was no financial
incentive for him. Frankly,
because of Joachim’s bad example, this suited Simon and I just find. We didn’t want a rabbi telling us how
to think. For Uriah, who had been
smothered with Joachim’s preaching, there was hatred for religious dogma
greater even than our own. In
their own carefree way Papa and Mama had given us their own views of life and
interpretations of faith. Upon
glimpsing his Godhood, Jesus had begun to add his own heresies into the
patchwork, so that, in addition to a simple foundation for our belief, we had
what I now understand to be a framework for Jesus doctrine of salvation, which
would be the culmination of the new faith. My family had relied upon Papa and then, like it or not,
upon Jesus for our religious training ever since our break with the synagogue,
but James and Joseph had never thought that this was quite enough. In spite of my parents and oldest
brothers’ efforts, they felt spiritually adrift. The fact that Joachim’s current illness had caused the
remainder of his congregation to be deprived of knowledge from the Torah had,
in a wider sense, left a void in many of the townsfolk lives. This void was felt acutely for James
and Joseph tonight, sense they were being forced to show their limited
understanding of Hebrew in front of relatives and guests from town.
Because
of its sacred nature, Gamaliel confessed during the feast, the ceremony should
have been held on the Shabbat.
Although the walk by the local guests and even the trip from Sepphoris
made by Aunt Elizabeth’s company complied with the law, his suggestion caused
frowns around the table. The
Shabbat, after all, was a sacred event.
Many of the guests laughed and shook their heads, as if they thought he
meant this in jest. So as not to
offend those who might think that his suggestive inappropriate, he didn’t press
the point, but I sensed he had been serious. When asked bluntly by Azrael, a kinsman of Elizabeth, why
this ceremony was even necessary, he frowned at the swarthy, uncouth man. Papa, who was feeling his wine, glared
at him too. To my surprise,
however, Gamaliel grinned, his eyes twinkling with mirth, and admitted that
this was a good way of showing off the school. This occasion, he explained pleasantly, would serve two
functions: a coming of age ceremony for the boys and a night of recognition for
all the students in his class. The
rabbi was proud of what we all learned, even if it seemed to break with
tradition. Even the twins, who
were not old enough for a ceremony, would read from the Torah. In less than a year, Tabitha would be
twelve years old, herself. I know
differently now, but it seemed that, in Gamaliel’s liberal thinking, she might
“cross over” too.
******
Azrael nodded begrudgingly at his reasons for the
event but frowned with disapproval when he included the girls. Receiving approving looks from the
other guests, Gamaliel explained how the ceremony would proceed. It was really quite simple. The Shema
would be recited by the host, as was proper, followed by the feast. Afterwards, at a signal from the rabbi,
all of the students would file up one-by-one for their turn to read from the
scroll. The women tittered
nervously and most of the men grunted with approval. The aroma of fine foods wafting into the hall overrode their
curiosity and suspicion. As I
looked around the room, I caught sight John, sitting next to his mother. Elizabeth, who insisted on being seated
like everyone else, was propped up by pillows. Her skin was ashen gray, and her eyes were sunk deeply into
her skull. John’s attention seemed
to be divided between her welfare and the festivities in the room. Though Elizabeth’s relatives were a
burden on our host, I was glad that she and John had come. In her own way she was, like Samuel, a
benefactor for our family. Though her
son was nearly Jesus’ age, he had never experienced such a ceremony, so these
festivities were intended also for him.
Because he wasn’t a student in Gamaliel’s class, his knowledge wasn’t
being tested. I was certain that
the other students envied him and James and Joseph resented this fact. John would not have to make a fool of
himself, as they would this evening.
As the son of wealthy mother and temple priest, it was assumed that he
had been tutored in Hebrew, history, and the law, but John never made such a
claim. His education would come
when he joined a band of hermits in the desert. That fateful day at the river Jordan was a long ways away. This night, with his flashy clothes and
sickly mother, he was really only a guest, like most of the others. He must have felt bored and out of
place. I was the only one looking
forward to this event.
During this glorious time I would shine like a pearl
among pebbles, but I had promised Gamaliel to be humble tonight. I would read only what the teacher suggested
and nothing more.
Of
course, this didn’t prevent me from showing off my skills as a speaker. I had memorized many of the passages,
which meant I could, as Gamaliel himself often did, quote scripture from
memory. Unlike the stumbling
efforts of the others, I could look up at times and make eye contact with the
audience. Gamaliel had taught us
to use hand gestures when speaking to emphasize certain passages. When I was finished tonight I would
show James, Joseph, and many of the townsmen that I was no longer a silly
child. In my heart, though, I
still felt like a child. I had the
conflicting urge now to resume my escapades with my friends and brother Simon. My parents reassured us, as we returned
to Samuel’s house after doing our chores, that the ceremony would not
immediately transform us into adults.
It would be a gradual process.
At this stage we were responsible for our actions before God and must
set out on our path in life.
Judging by the words of old Samuel after delivering a croaking, stammering
Shema, however, this ceremony meant that Uriah, my brothers, myself, and
Michael (in absentia) were now young men and must put away childish
things. As I look back, his words
remind me of a passage from Paul’s first gospel to the Corinthians, which I was
privileged to read, “When I was a child I acted like a child, but when I became
a man, I put away childish things.”
During my visit with Paul in Ephesus, when I first read his scroll, I
recalled those similar words spoken by our teacher and our benefactor and was
deeply moved. I hadn’t read this
in the Torah and found it significant that Paul chose those exact words. When spoken by Samuel at the table, they
were frightening. They carried
conviction, not merely a desire for order in class, which I believe was
Gamaliel’s intention. Unlike the
rabbi, the old man believed his speech.
I might like showing off my knowledge to my family and their friends,
but I wasn’t ready to leap into manhood.
I was certain that the remainder of the initiates, including James and
Joseph, were not ready for such a leap either, so I clung to my parents words
as I listened to the Pharisee admonish us for our foolish ways then praise us
for the transition we were making on this hallowed eve.
It took all of Samuel’s energy to deliver his short
speech. Abner coaxed him into
lying down on the divan provided by servants. Mordechai, the chamberlain, had them place his master close
to the table, much like my parents did when he visited our house. It seemed to me that poor
Elizabeth should be lying down too.
Our feast was sumptuous, even by Samuel’s standards. The old man, who could not eat solid
food, himself, gave us a seven-course meal—something one might expect for a
Roman aristocrat but certainly not a mere ceremony in a Pharisee’s house. The first course naturally was lamb, an
appropriate dish for such an occasion, the night before the Shabbat, but this
was followed by a second course of fish from Galilee stuffed with mushrooms and
rare herbs, a dish that most Jews would never normally eat. The third course was a strange blend of
different fowl—quite delicious.
For all we knew, though, Samuel’s cook had added crow and other exotic
birds to the stew. The fourth and
fifth courses, beef and deer meat, whose preparation Mordechai had overseen
himself, were so overwhelming that the last two courses—lentil stew (Mama’s
specialty) and a variety chopped fruit, intended for the squeamish, were quite
forgotten during the feast. My
favorite was the mushrooms. If
Mama had not slapped my hand, I would have stuffed myself on those
morsels. There was all manner of
bread, from unleavened to fancy loafs prepared by the baker. Throughout our feast, the servants
continued to fill our mugs with juice, water, or wine. Papa, Ezra, a few of Elizabeth’s
relatives, and some of the townsmen were becoming drunk. Even so, we were all expected to make
room for the cakes and sweat meats served after our meal.
When it came time to take our turns reading from the
Torah, Tabitha and the twins and slipped away and were playing hide-and-go-seek
in the garden, Simon was asleep, and Uriah had ran to the cloaca to throw up
his food. James and Joseph were so
nervous they had, like Simon snuck sips of wine from chattering guests until
they were dosing off too.
Everyone, including the women and other children, were fidgeting badly,
with queasy stomachs or swelling bladders. No one cared a wit for our Coming of Age ceremonies at this
point, least of all us.
Just when I began searching for an avenue of escape,
Gamaliel stood up and looked around the room at his students, his dark,
hawk-like eyes settling finally upon me.
I felt trapped. A moment of
truth had come for me. Giving me a
slight nod, signaling, with the upward motion of his hands, for me to rise up
and set an example to the others, he walked over solemnly and led me to the
rostrum he had set up at one end of the hall.
The guests looked up groggily as I passed, yet
Jesus, like my parents, beamed with pride. For most people in the hall this was a frightful bore. Simon was asleep. The twins and several of the other
youngsters in the room, including Tabitha and Uriah, were fidgeting in their
seats, while James and Joseph, in spite being tipsy, managed to give me a
proper snarl. Everyone else in the
large hall appeared to be in various stages of drunkenness after so much wine
or frowned with physical discomfort from eating so much food. The expressions of all these onlookers
made my performance even more difficult.
Using the traditional yad, my teacher selected, I recognized with a
gasp, one of Isaiah’s prophecies: the Messenger of the Messiah. As a disciple, I would recognize these
passages as pointing to our cousin John, but that night in Samuel’s house it
sounded, as so many prophecies, like gibberish. Why couldn’t Gamaliel have given me a simple psalm, proverb
or passage about the law? The
psalmists and author of proverbs had written in a simple, poetic style. The five books of Moses, which James
and Joseph treasured so much, though boring at times to read, were constructed
in easy to read sentences.
Probably thinking he had done me favor in picking a favorite subject for
Jews—prophesies of the Messiah—he now pointed to this difficult passage for me
to read.
“ ‘Comfort my peoples,’ sayeth the Lord,” I began
after clearing my throat. “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and cry to her that her
warfare has ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from
the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.
A voice cries in the wilderness, make straight in the desert a highway
for our God. Every valley shall be
lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low. The uneven shall become level, and the rough places a
plain. And the glory of the Lord
shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together for the mouth of the Lord
has spoken.”
Gamaliel’s hand upon my shoulder seemed to tell me I
had read enough. Sighing with
relief, I realized it had not been so bad. I had not been forced to read the entire chapter. As I turned away, however, the teacher
moved his yad down the scroll to a new passage, tapping it several times. A strange sense of foreboding filled me
as my eyes fell upon the first lines, and yet I no longer feared for my delivery. Many of the guests, whose heads were
not drooping or were nodding off to sleep, gave me thoughtful looks. James and Joseph had looks of envy upon
their faces. Simon looked on
sleepily those moments as Uriah, Tabitha, and my parents clapped their hands
with joy. Inexplicably I looked at
Jesus, who was frowning those moments as I quoted the prophet’s words, “Get you
up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good tidings. Lift up your voice with strength, O
Jerusalem, herald of good tidings.
Lift it up, and fear not; say to the cities of Judah, ‘Behold your
God!’” Then, as if to drive the
point home, Gamaliel moved passed this chapter to a prophecy no one clearly
understood. At first I thought it
must be an accident. Though he
wouldn’t admit it for many years, I think the Lord might have guided his
choice. Jesus face fell as my
clarion voice filled the hall.
Instead of the ringing lines “Behold, I have given him for a witness to
the people, a leader and commander to the people,” from a preceding chapter,
the words “He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and as one
from whom men hide their faces he was despised and we esteemed him not. Surely he has borne our grief and
carried our sorrows. Yet we did
esteem him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. He was wounded for our transgressions, and he was bruised
for our iniquities. Upon him was
the chastisement that made us whole, and with his stripes we are healed—”
“Enough!” cried Samuel from his couch. “Jude’s
skipped several chapters. Where’s
the part about the conquering Messiah, who brings peace and happiness to his
people?”
“Yes,” blared Ezra, clanking his mug on the table,
“give us happy lines. These words
don’t belong in this ceremony. We
need cheerful words that give the students hope.”
I noticed, as I scanned their faces, that—with the
exception of some of the men, who were drunk—the adult members of my audience
had troubled looks on their faces.
Jesus’ frown had deepened.
Mama was clutching her hand to her mouth. James and Joseph’s snarls were replaced by raised eyebrows
and parted lips. Uriah and Tabitha
had blank expressions, Simon was rudely awakened by Gamaliel’s yad, and the
twins had snuck away into the garden to play childish games. Everyone else it seemed, including
Cousin John, Aunt Elizabeth, and my parents, had been shaken one way or another
by these mysterious words.
“You may take your seat,” Gamaliel dismissed me
gently. Under his breath he added,
“Well done Jude. Your execution
was flawless. Soon, we shall begin
your training in Greek.”
Samuel was grinning slyly at me as he reclined on
his couch. Not sure what my words
meant, both Uriah and Tabitha nevertheless clapped with delight as I sat back
down. Everyone else, however, sat
in moody silence.
“James bar Joseph,” Gamaliel called out, “you’re
next. Please come to the rostrum.”
To his delight, James was given a passage from the
first chapter of Exodus, one of the most important chapters for the children of
Israel. As he had during his
recitation of Jesus’ letter, James’ booming voice read the beginning lines of
Exodus in grand style and with perfect inflection: “ Now these are the names of
the children of Israel, which came out of Egypt; every man and his household
came with Jacob: Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar, Zebulon, Benjamin, Dan,
Naphtali, Gad, and Asher. And all
of them that came out of the loins of Jacob were seventy souls, for Joseph was
in Egypt already...”
James delivery had been excellent. I was proud of him and told him
so. The begrudging nod he gave me,
as Joseph replaced him at the rostrum, was equivalent to a Roman salute. If only the others could do as well as
James and I, I thought jubilantly, we could all share equally in Gamaliel’s
good graces as colleagues. Alas,
as the third son began his recitation, I realized that this was not to be. Joseph, who was actually smarter than
James, had been dreading this event all day and it showed. Though he read a chapter from the same
book as James, he did it haltingly, wetting his lips and coughing nervously,
until Gamaliel rescued him from his torment by clapping his hands and telling
him how excellent had been his understanding of our tongue.
“For his first time in front of an audience,”
extolled our teacher, “this isn’t bad.
Joseph is a fine student and will make a great scribe.”
Lies, all of it, I told myself, as Uriah took his
turn. Unlike Joseph, Uriah didn’t
stammer or stutter; he just went blank as he gazed out at the listeners. With Gamaliel’s prodding, he managed to
utter a few lines from a psalm, “Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all ye
lands...” From this point, Uriah went blank again, read a few more muted lines
until being directed politely to his seat.
Compared to the bumbling efforts of Tabitha, who was
far to shy for such a display, Uriah did quite well. We would never know how Michael might have done. Simon, however, surprised all of us
with his rude effort. “Heart thine
strengthen shall he and courage good of be Lord the on wait—”
“Why, that sounds backward,” Samuel cackled aloud.
“Is the boy drunk?”
“Gibberish,” grumbled Ezra. “What’s that man
teaching these children?”
It wasn’t gibberish. I knew for a fact that Simon had been sneaking wine, but
this problem had been noted by Gamaliel before. The teacher whispered something into my brother’s ear. I would learn later that he told Simon
to begin at the end of sentence instead of the beginning, reading the opposite
way. Simon nodded and began the
psalm again, but haltingly, “Wait...on...the...Lord, be of good courage,...and
he shall strengthen thine hearts...”
Papa’s jaw fell. Mama, who had groaned with dismay, during his first effort,
beamed at him with delight. Jesus
gave them a knowing smile, as the audience looked on in amazement. Simon had stolen the moment, and I
stood up to applaud him loudly when he returned to his seat.
“Is it true?” Papa jumped up like a Persian stick
puppet. “Does Simon see words backward?
Can you cure him rabbi?
He’s always been slow.
Thanks be to the Most High that you’ve found this out. Simon must learn, like the others, to
read—”
“Fear not.” Gamaliel reached out with a restraining
hand. “I’ve seen this condition before.
A Greek I knew called it mirror vision. Simon was learning to read, as he saw it with his mirror
vision, backwards. Now to train
his mind, his will start at the end of a line or verse. He is learning to write this way
too. Everything else, including
his skill at adding, subtracting, and dividing sums, his logic and reason in
class, and his ability to memorize historical facts, is quite above
average. If he is slow, Joseph,
it’s a simple matter of youthful sloth.
Simon, like your other sons, could be anything he wants. I have great confidence in him.”
“And,” Malachi, the town potter, called out
resentfully, “you’ll teach some of our sons too!”
“Yes, indeed.” Gamaliel gave him a curt nod. “If
your town fails to find itself a rabbi, those of you honoring Joseph’s family
and Samuel’s house can send their sons to me to learn Hebrew, history, and the
law.”
This was a great revelation to us all. Gamaliel’s response to Malachi sounded
almost rehearsed. Most of the boys
and girls attending the feast with their parents were, considering the
precedent he made for Tabitha and the twins, eligible for his school if a new
rabbi wasn’t found. Joachim had
undoubtedly taught many boys the rudiments of Hebrew and history yet many of
them, Malachi implied, like his own son, were still ignorant of the Torah. It seemed only natural that the
children, whose parents had been hostile to my parents in the past, hadn’t been
invited to our feast, but I wondered if they might be included with Malachi’s
son, Ezra’s daughters, and all the other children of my parents’ friends, if,
in fact, a new rabbi were brought to our town. I assumed that the good rabbi told my parents’ kinsmen and
friends this fiction in the belief that Nazareth might once again have a rabbi,
and yet expanding the enrollment of Gamaliel’s class hadn’t been Samuel’s
intention at all, though Gamaliel had just implied that other children in Nazareth
would be taught too if a rabbi didn’t arrive in our town. Although they weren’t present in the
hall, Caleb and Horib, who were fair-weather friends, had sons too. The very thought that Jethro, Obadiah,
and Boaz might wind up in our school made me fearful of the future.
Samuel had wanted to restrict Gamaliel’s class to
just Joseph’s family. Now Gamaliel
had, in the words of the Psalmist, opened the floodgates. Since it seemed unlikely that a new
rabbi would come soon, the word would get around. All of the rustic villagers would want to send their
unwashed and uncouth sons and daughters to our school. Was not Joachim still alive? James
asked his brother under his breath. “What if those miserly elders wait to see
if he recovers before paying the wage of a new teacher? Would the townsmen not take Gamaliel up
on his offer and demand that he enroll their children in his class?”
In spite of our misgivings, James, Simon, Uriah, and
I were happy to be in Gamaliel’s class.
We didn’t want things to change.
Joseph, though embarrassed by his recital, was also afraid of the
undesirables that might wind up in our school. The remainder of Gamaliel’s students, however, proved to be
a big disappointment in class.
Michael, who remained hidden somewhere in the big house, had proven that
he cared nothing about learning.
Unlike the rest of us who had goals in life, he seemed content to have a
fine meal and soft pallet to sleep in at night. Tabitha, Abigail, and Martha, had dashed Mama’s hopes for
their continuing education after Gamaliel confessed that the three girls could
still barely read and showed little inclination to do so. We thought that this would be the end
of it and they would suffer the same ignorance and illiteracy as Mama and all
the other women and girls in our town, but our teacher promised to give them
another chance. The same offer was
made for Michael, who was even lazier than Tabitha and the twins.
“After all,” I heard him confide to her as the
guests filed out of the hall, “they’re younger than the others. They can’t all do as well as Jude and
James.”
******
That night, after we bid Ezra, his family and our
other friends good night, and Mama made sure Elizabeth was resting comfortably
in her room, we expected Papa to gather up his sleepy wife and children and
lead us home. In spite of Papa’s
sleeping arrangement set for us during busy periods, it was obvious that poor
Samuel had too many guests in his house.
John had even volunteered to come home with us during the feast. After Papa’s magnanimous gesture, the
doorman sighed with relief and the servants nodded with approval as they
scurried back and forth in the hall, but Mordechai, arriving in the nick of
time, called out in a wavering voice. “Samuel’s not feeling well, but he asked
me to give you this message.”
“Oh dear, not again!” Mama cried, her hand flying up
to her mouth.
“Don’t worry.” The stuffy chamberlain held up his
hand. “He’s just overly
tired. Abner gave him a
potion. He’s sound asleep
now. Before he drifted off to sleep
he said: ‘Elizabeth’s relatives were not invited, but Joseph and his family are
my honored guests. If anyone
sleeps in the garden, it shall be those strangers, not my good friends!”
It seemed as if the chamberlain always had a
rehearsed statement ready. He
didn’t seem too happy about Samuel’s decision. He looked worn out, himself, and quite perplexed. Except for Abner’s medical aid, the old
man relied upon the chamberlain for everything, from running the household to
his business affairs.
Though everyone else, except Mama and Jesus, cheered
the news, Papa replied quickly with a bow, “Absolutely not, there’s not enough
room. The chamberlain and our
friend Samuel have already been too kind.
I saw the strain on his face when Elizabeth showed up with all those
people. It’s no bother for us to
sleep at our own house. Please
convey my deepest thanks to our ailing friend for the feast honoring my
children tonight. We shall pray
for Samuel’s health when we return home.”
“If you wish sir,” he replied with a shrug. “He’ll
be angry when he wakes up, but the truth is some of Elizabeth’s relatives would
be sleeping in the garden if you stayed.”
“Samuel’s lucky to have a servant like you.” Mama
squeezed his arm.
“I’m
his friend, not his servant,” he corrected gently. “I’ve served him most of my
life.”
“Well,”
Papa piped, giving him a pat, “you’re our friend too. Tell Samuel we’ll be back in our normal
routine when Elizabeth and her relatives return home.”
“When
do you suppose that will be?” The chamberlain gave him an anxious look.
“Oh,
I suspect her relative will go on without her.” Mama chirped reassuringly.
“Abner’s worried about her getting on the road too soon.”
This
was both good and bad news. With that said, Mordechai uttered, “Peace be upon
Joseph and his family” before shutting the great door. With a lamp in one hand, Papa motioned
us on. A Roman sentry galloped
passed as we filed two by twos onto the road.
“You
didn’t tell me that,” Papa said under his breath as Mama took his arm.
“I
just found out from Abner,” she said with a yawn. “Dear Lord I’m tired.”
“You
do too much,” he grumbled. “I suspect now you’ll be nursing her too.”
“Abner
will be watching over mostly,” she prattled. “He’s not been feeling well,
himself. I have a feeling the old physician will soon retire.”
“That’s
just great!” Joseph muttered to himself. “Another patient for our mother.”
“That means John’s going to be staying with Samuel,”
groaned James. “I hope he stays put!”
“At least those unfriendly relatives will be
leaving.” Mama sighed contentedly. “All in all I think the evening went quite
well.”
Papa nodded begrudgingly. In spite of our disappointment, no one could argue with this
fact. Samuel, and now Gamaliel,
were a part of our lives. Quite
unexpectedly that moment, John trotted up to us still wearing his princely
garments, a torch clutched in his hand.
“Don’t worry my kinsmen.” He crowed, ruffling James
and Joseph’s hair. “It’s not my mother’s time yet. She doesn’t want to be a bother. She’ll be in a hurry to return home.”
Mama
embraced her nephew. Although I
had been idly listening to their conversations, I was in a daze as I walked
next to Tabitha holding her soft hand and gasped with surprise as he vaulted
down the road.
“John!”
Simon and Uriah cried.
“You’re
suppose to stay put,” Papa scolded. “There’s no reason why you have to sleep on
a hard floor.”
“I’d
rather be with my cousins,” he said giving Simon and me a hug.
“This
is ridiculous,” Joseph growled. “We’re packed like smoked fish. You had a room
at Samuel’s estate. Why would you
want to stay in our crowded house?”
“I
barely know those people,” he explained with a shrug. “Suddenly they’re all
attentive now that mother seems to be on death’s door.”
Jesus,
who had been quiet since the feast ended, draped an arm around his kinsman but
said nothing as they discussed Elizabeth’s greedy kin. Papa informed John that Samuel had
greedy relatives too, but the Pharisee had forbidden them to come uninvited to
his house.
“I’m
sorry son,” he added as kindly as possible. “Your mother’s unexpected visit shouldn’t have included all
those people.”
“We can make room,” I said beaming up
at my cousin. “John can stay with our family now!”
“Cousin
John’s always welcome in our home.” Papa gripped his shoulder. “We would be
happy to share a pallet with you, but not tonight.”
“Yes, our home’s more crowded than Samuel’s house!”
blurted James.
“That’s not the main reason,” Papa sighed, fumbling
for words. “Your mother will be upset if she finds you gone in the
morning. Look at your fine
garments. Tomorrow morning will be
a busy time in my shop. Did you
even tell her you’d be gone?”
“No,”
John admitted sheepishly, “she was asleep.”
Papa
had summed up his reasons why cousin John should return to Samuel’s house, but
James and Joseph’s words rang most truly.
We didn’t have enough room, and it was silly for him to forsake a
soft-feathered pallet for sleeping on our floor. John confessed, before he said goodnight to us that he had
snuck through the back way of the villa—an unlocked door that lead into the
garden. From there, after
borrowing a torch, he climbed over a fence to complete his escape.
“You
rascal!” Jesus found his voice. “Our cousin—always the adventurer.”
“Dear me, will you have any trouble getting back
in?” Mama gave him a worried look.
“I’m
surprised you could manage the fence in that getup,” snarled Joseph. “It’s a
wonder you didn’t set yourself on fire!”
“Don’t
worry my relatives,” he chimed, patting the twins blond heads. “I’ve done this
plenty of times back in Sepphoris.” “By the way,” he called, as he walked back
to the villa, “I met two strange men in the garden—Michael, he calls himself,
and an older fellow name Bartholomew.”
“Moses
ghost!” Papa groaned.
“Where
they trying to escape?” the words flew out of Joseph’s mouth.
“Shut
up Joseph!” grumbled James.
John
paused on the trail leading to Samuel’s estate, holding his torch high,
majestic, almost other-worldly in the light. “They claimed to be servants of
the Pharisee. Why would they be
trying to escape?”
“Why,
I have no idea.” Papa uttered a nervous laugh, “no idea at all.” “Joseph, why
would you say such a thing?” He turned to face him, his expression belying his
tone.
Joseph
answered haltingly, “I-I was thinking of the bandits we had. That’s why the Romans are here. You remember John—all those threats,
Mariah’s house on fire, those men running amuck in our hills. You never know when one or two might be
lurking about. They might be out
there right now.”
“Humph.”
John frowned in the light. “They’re not bandits. I thought they might be father and son.”
“Is
that what they told you?” Mama’s voice quivered.
“No,”
John shook his head, “after giving me their names, they ran into the darkness,
I assume back through the garden door”
“Let’s
hope so,” murmured Papa, “that was a damn fool thing for them to do.” “Goodnight John,” he called back to our
cousin. “Please visit us soon.
We’ll check on Elizabeth tomorrow.”
With
that dismissal, John pivoted quietly, his torchlight fading as he sprinted up
the trail. Were Bartholomew and
Michaels now friends? No one spoke
of this again until we turned in for the night. Weary and surfeited with victuals, we lapsed into silence as
we continued our trek home.
******
As we filed into our small house, I remembered with
regret that I had forgotten to bid our teacher goodnight. I promised myself that I would thank
Gamaliel again when I saw him again.
Maybe I would bring him a basket of Mama’s honeyed rolls. The realization would grow in my mind
that his ability to teach the dull-witted Simon to read and write Hebrew was a
far greater feat than teaching me to use my God-given talents, something
another scholar, half as good as Gamaliel, could do.
That night, before crawling onto our pallets, we sat
around the kitchen table discussing the highlights of our feast. None of us had ever eaten such fine
food, even on the night of Jesus’ departure with Joseph of Arimathea. A seven-course meal was always welcome
after eating Mama’s simple fare.
Our successes and failures as speakers, however, were spoken of in a
general sense. To avoid making
Joseph jealous after his poor performance, Papa, Mama, and Jesus said they were
proud of our efforts. Each of the
boys had shown progress. They
admitted, of course, that James and I had shown exceptional ability and were
disappointed that Tabitha, Abigail, and Martha hadn’t even tried. Michael, of course, had given the
teacher little encouragement. He
would have made a fool of himself if he were allowed to speak. When no one was looking, Papa winked at
me. Jesus, because he couldn’t
lie, would confess later to me in confidence that my readings had been
spectacular whereas James had been merely good. James, after all, he pointed out reluctantly, had read only
one passage. In spite of
Gamaliel’s encouraging words, Simon’s problem reading had filled our parents
with misgivings. They could
scarcely comprehend the Greek notion of mirror vision. Nor could anyone understand the meaning
of my reading of Isaiah. I don’t
remember who coined the title Suffering Messiah; it’s not written as such in
the Torah. Isaiah’s passage about
this character is so different from the conquering Messiah extolled by rabbis
and Isaiah, himself, it makes little sense as prophecy. None of us, not even Jesus, could have
known the impact this mysterious figure would have on our family and the world.
Very briefly, almost in passing, Papa asked us all
what we thought of the visitors in the garden.
“Well, it was very stupid right after the feast,”
James replied quickly. “What if John tells Samuel about this? What if they were thinking about
striking out on their own?”
“I dunno,” Papa said, stroking his beard. “. .
. it wouldn’t be so bad if they
didn’t get caught. Bartholomew
will have to be leaving one of these days.”
“John won’t make an issue about this.” Jesus shook
his head. “I’m amazed they have stayed hidden this long.”
“It really isn’t a problem,” Uriah offered
innocently. “That’s a lovely garden.
They probably just wanted some fresh air.”
Mama clapped her hands with delight. “From the mouth
of children comes wisdom!”
“Indeed!” Papa good-naturedly mussed Uriah hair.
“All of us tremble like frightened sheep, searching for reasons but you see the
obvious!”
“He has a pure heart!” Mama brought him to her
bosom.
“And an empty head,” quipped Joseph, rising
from the bench.
One by one, after embracing our parents, Joseph the
carpenter’s sons and daughters turned to their pallets. Uriah, grinning with pride, settled
down beside me that night. For a
few moments before we both drifted off to sleep, we discussed, in muted tones,
the readings of the Torah, which I had shone brilliantly in, and the great
feast, which Uriah loved the best.
Now that Uriah was privy to our family secrets, we also talked about
Samuel’s secret guests and Uriah’s simple explanation. “Why should they want to escape that
lovely mansion?” he asked, as I mulled it over in my mind. “Where will they go? The Romans would surely catch
them.” It sounded so logical, even
Jesus liked Uriah’s reason for Bartholomew and Michael presence in the
garden. Considering the
alternative of escape, what Uriah just said was likewise sensible, but Uriah
didn’t know Michael like I did. He
was sneaky and unpredictable.
Bartholomew, for that matter, must have been getting restless being
cooped up like a prisoner in Samuel’s house. I wasn’t so naive, and I don’t believe my parents and
brothers were really fooled. I
didn’t need a revelation to know that Bartholomew and Michael were at least
thinking about escape. What
stopped them cold in their tracks were the sentries riding back and forth down
the road and the guards posted throughout our town. The first chance they had, if, in fact, the opportunity
arose, they would vanish like phantoms in the night. With the exception of Uriah, my parents, siblings, and I
received John’s report at seeing the pair with alarm. Why had they run away at seeing John enter the garden? What were they doing there in the first
place?
I would be seeing Michael at school when Samuel’s guests were gone. Perhaps, I would pay a visit to our old friend too. Sound reason seemed to agree with Uriah’s words. Those two rascals were safe and sound where they were. No longer a liability to our family now that they had found a sanctuary, the problem appeared to be, least temporarily, solved. This was the hope when they were escorted in the dead of night, each at a different time, to Samuel’s estate. With the return of our protectors in force, Bartholomew’s departure, in fact, seemed indefinitely delayed. Given the memory of Mariah and her incorrigible son among townsmen, Michael would lay low too. Yet, I told myself before I drifted off to sleep, neither one of these troubled souls had been ruled by reason. Reuben had become a bandit. Michael, I suspected, was slightly mad. On the other hand, even a madman and thief must have a shred of reason. Rome, Regulus once told us, never forgot, and Nazareth’s townsmen, I learned by experience, never forgave. If they were caught escaping his villa, it would incriminate our friend and benefactor Samuel. Michael would prove to be a great embarrassment. The Romans wouldn’t understand Samuel hiding a fugitive in his house. Nazareth was no place for Michael and Bartholomew, but for now, I prayed, they must both stay put. Samuel’s estate was the safest place in Galilee for them to be.
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