Return to Table of Contents/Writer’s Den
Chapter Eighteen
Joachim’s Anger
On the day he had been brought back from the dead,
Uriah awakened the same little boy he had been before being stung by the
scorpion. He would not change from
being a whiner, complainer, and annoying friend. We could not expect this miracle to occur—at least not as
long as Uriah was Joachim’s son.
Believing that Joachim would see what happened today as a healing point
in their checkered friendship, Papa escorted Uriah to the rabbi’s house. Everyone from our house, except Mama
who stayed home with the twins, came along in a festive mood. Hearing about the miracle from my
indiscreet mother, who called out to him as he strolled down the road, Ezra
tagged along, as did Gideon and Ichabod, two idlers, who had been snooping
around our house. Soon, some of
the rabbi’s neighbors Eleazar, Jubal, and Caleb, their wives, and their
children were also drawn to the parade, led by little Uriah, whose expression
changed from bright to dark as he approached his yard.
“What’s wrong?” Papa asked, as the boy halted at the
gate.
“I’m afraid!” Uriah’s face was streaked suddenly
with tears.
“He’s always afraid,” grumbled James.
“There’s no need to be afraid,” Papa said, with a
chuckle, “Joachim and I are going to have a little chat, that’s all. I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear what we
have to say.”
“No, he won’t.” Uriah shook his head categorically.
“Papa found writings like the kind at Mariah’s house on the walls of the
synagogue. He and some of the
elders painted over it, but he was really angry. Elijah, who now runs Reuben’s tannery, saw a boy running
from the scene.”
“Who was it?” asked Papa, clutching his forehead in
disbelief.
“Michael,” Uriah answered with a sob.
“What?” rose a collective response.
This news changed everything for us. For a moment, as the audience crowded
at the gate, I felt my old loathing for Uriah return. As I rushed forward, Papa tried reaching out for me. James, Joseph, Simon, and Nehemiah also
gave him a murderous glare.
“Michael’s here in Nazareth?” I grabbed his tunic.
“When did you see him? Why didn’t
you tell me Uriah? How could you
keep that from us?”
“That happened last week.” Uriah gave me a hurt
look. “I didn’t know Michael left.”
“You didn’t know Michael ran away?” I searched his
perspiring face.
Uriah shook his head, his chin dropping to his
chest.
“That’s not the only issue.” Papa frowned severely
at him. “You should’ve told us you didn’t have permission to visit our
house. Admit it, your father
forbid you to see Jude. Now you’re
telling us that Michael desecrated the synagogue without us knowing about
it. Why didn’t you tell us he did
that, Uriah?”
“Because he’s a coward!” Joseph spat.
Suddenly, the rabbi’s door opened and he flew out of
the house, his robe streaming in the breeze. Our grand entrance had been ruined. There would be no peace between Papa
and Joachim. The fat little man
hurled curses at us for this intrusion and asked God to send down his wrath
upon the house of Joseph for harboring that son of Satan and for ever saving
Mariah, the witch. When he
included a remark about Jesus’ blasphemies in his imprecations, Papa came forward,
his fist doubled up in righteous anger, ready for a fight. Before he could thrash Joachim soundly,
however, Ezra, Gideon, and Eleazar grabbed his arms, Ezra pleading with him to
control his temper. As they
restrained him in Joachim’s yard, Ezra shouted at Joachim “Get back in your
infernal house or I’ll turn him loose!”
Ezra’s tone seemed to enrage him that much
more. Joachim was so angry he
slapped Papa on the cheek as he was held in place. All of his pent-up hatred and jealousy for my father had
already been let loose as he charged across the yard. The slap had been but the result of his rage. That was the cue for the other men to
let Papa go. Ezra had warned him;
his conscience was clear. Backing
up with the other men, he folded his arms, allowing Papa to charge ahead. Terrified at what he had done, Joachim
pivoted on his heel and began to run, but Papa tackled him, brought him down to
the ground, and began pounding him with his fists.
“Joseph,” Ezra cried frantically, “you must stop
this at once!”
“Hit him!
Pound him! Smash his face in!”
chanted James.
Uriah was screaming. The wives of Joachim’s neighbors were crying. Though Nehemiah was frightened, Joseph
and Simon shouted refrains similar to James. I was surprised to hear Caleb, Jethro and Obadiah’s father,
cheering Papa on. Though pleased
with this at first, I had mixed feelings as I looked on. On the one hand, after what Uriah said,
I agreed wholeheartedly with them.
On the other hand, I didn’t want Papa to beat Joachim to death. He would be murderer—all for a stupid
peace effort that should never have been made. Ezra, himself, having a change of heart, ran forward just as
I made my move. Uriah’s neighbors,
Eleazar and Jubal, also joined our efforts in pulling Papa away. During the commotion, at least a dozen
more Nazarenes had become onlookers.
I moved clear of the men, hopped up on a stone in the rabbi’s yard, and
shouted at my brothers to take Papa away.
But it was too late to prevent disaster. The rabbi had been bloodied. His turban lie on the ground, to expose his shiny bald
head. James, Joseph and Simon,
acting as children again, wept at the disaster. Clear-eyed but in shock, I looked out upon the growing crowd
and saw Roman sentries riding past.
Peering over the heads of the townsfolk, was Longinus, the centurion
sent by Cornelius to keep the peace in our town. He was sitting on his mount, his eyes riveted on this
scene. I waved to him. When he climbed off his mount, the
crowd parted. A dozen Romans
advanced with swords drawn, as many of the onlookers fled. Men groaned and women screamed. Longinus deep, gruff voice caused
everyone to cringe.
“In the name of Imperial Rome, cease and desist!”
Longinus shouted this several times. Most of the onlookers vanished as sheep
before a roaring lion (or so I write), until only Ezra, Joachim and members of
my family remained behind. The
Romans stuck their swords back into their sheaths. When Longinus was face to face with Papa, he asked calmly,
“What’s going on?”
“This man assaulted me,” cried Joachim, “I demand
that you arrest him at once!”
Longinus, who recognized my father, ignored the
rabbi completely. I had heard that
Romans hated Jewish religious officials.
Longinus had said as much himself.
I was also aware of the intolerance they had for unlawful assemblies,
which is what he might think this was now. Among the soldiers were Priam and
Falco, who had been with Longinus the last time he appeared. Both soldiers swaggered forward, as
they did before, ready to knock heads together. That time, however, after Joachim insulted Jesus, Longinus
arrived in time to prevent Papa from inflicting serious injury on the little
man. This time Jesus had not been
here to defuse the situation with his charm, and Papa had gone berserk. The deed was done.
The other soldiers must have heard about my oldest
brother, for like Priam and Falco they grumbled with disappointment that he
wasn’t here. I know now that many
of the Romans from the Galilean garrison thought Jesus was a magician, who had
great powers. The miracle at
Mariah’s house had circulated among the soldiers chasing Reuben and his friends
into the hills. Back at the
garrison, the rumors of Jesus sorcery, also included the miracle of Jesus
raising the dead bird, which had spiraled into a legend that Jesus had, in
fact, resurrected a man from the dead.
As I listened to their murmurs, however, I sensed only a subdued
disappointment for the missing son.
Longinus’ stony expression I couldn’t yet read.
“Ah,
Joseph, the Carpenter!” A smile twitched on his lips. “What did this blackheart
do this time to bring on your ire?
I seem to remember an altercation between you two before!”
“I’m sorry Longinus,” Papa answered calmly, “the
rabbi insulted us. Words are no
longer enough for that man.”
“So, you struck a holy man,” Longinus said, watching
the rabbi limp forward, anger darkening his face.
“I demand that you arrest that man!” Joachim
shrieked, wringing his fist. “He assaulted me in my yard!”
“No,” Papa shook his head, “I wanted to make peace
with him. He didn’t give me a
chance. He insulted my
family. When he called my son a
blasphemer, I lost control.” “But you attacked me first.” He turned and pointed
accusingly. “As they restrained me, you slapped me in the face!”
“Is that true?” The centurion looked over at Ezra
and the men and women crowding into view.
All of them nodded vigorously. Ezra stepped forward as an unofficial
spokesman now and spoke his mind.
“Rabbi Joachim is under the delusion that Joseph has
done something wrong. I can
attest, as his friend, that he has done only good all his life. He helped save a widow from being
unjustly stoned. He tried to help
Michael, her disturbed son, who thanked him by running away. Joachim begrudges Joseph for his
charity. In his self-righteous
mind he sees only black and white and no shades of gray. But what he said about Jesus is an
outright lie. Jesus in no
blasphemer. He has done many
remarkable things—this no one can deny.
But he is righteous and walks with God. If he’s blasphemer, then I and all of Nazareth are
blasphemers too.”
When Ezra had mentioned Joachim’s insult of Jesus,
the Roman soldiers had stirred angrily.
After worrying about what the Romans might do, I was greatly
strengthened by this response.
Already Jesus, whom Samuel believed might was touched by God, had won
over the Romans. I could not help
thinking that moment about my big white horse. All was well.
Longinus’ expression had actually softened into to full-fledged grin.
“So,” he laughed softly, “he got what he deserved.”
Ezra
looked at Papa and smiled. “If the rabbi had slandered my family the way he
did, I would have done the same thing!”
The Romans all murmured in agreement. Caleb and Eleazar came forward in
support. Most of the bystanders, including Nehemiah, my brothers, and I nodded
with satisfaction. Longinus, for
his part, stood there mentally chewing on the thought. Heaving a sigh, he motioned to his men,
who began returning to their mounts.
Standing on the stone, I could see it all so clearly.
Longinus reached out in the Roman manner to grip
Ezra’s forearm. It was, I
understood, a gesture of respect.
“You are a loyal friend,” he said with a nod. “If I
had but one friend like you, I would be content.” “But, as a military man, I’ve learned to trust no one,” he added, looking around at the group,
“not even a righteous man.” “Righteous men have given Rome much grief. They have caused strife and
insurrection. Your Judas, the
Galilean, thought he was a righteous man and he was crucified.” “I prefer
honest men, true to their friends—this is something a Roman understands.” “As
for you,” he said, gripping Papa’s shoulder and looking deeply into his eyes,
“the world would be a better place, if it had more men like you!”
“Have no fear,” Papa’s seemed embarrassed, “I’m not
righteous.”
“No,” Longinus looked quizzically at him, “…but what
of this Jesus? I’ve heard much
about him from my men. Will he be
a righteous man?”
“. . . Yes,” Papa replied, after a long pause,
“Jesus is righteous, but he will never be an enemy of Rome.”
Joachim was so upset by his treatment his mouth
opened and closed as a freshly caught fish, but the centurion wasn’t
impressed. Spitting on the ground,
an obvious sign of contempt, he dismissed him with a wave of the hand. When words finally gurgled out his
mouth, Longinus pointed to Joachim’s house and hissed, “Go!”
“Goodbye Jude.” Uriah sniffled unhappily.
“This is not your fault,” I was inspired to respond.
“We know that now.”
“The fruit is judged by its tree,” replied Longinus.
In spite of his cryptic remarks, the centurion left
on a congenial note. There was no
question that Joachim had become our mortal enemy, but Longinus, as Cornelius,
was now our friend. Papa and his
friend Ezra had found favor in his eyes.
Everyone was so relieved and puffed up with pride, the remarks about
righteousness and the fruit and the tree faded against our merriment, until
that evening around the dinner table when they surfaced again.
Mama scolded Papa for losing his temper. When he explained everything that
happened, her anger softened.
Then, when Papa told her what the centurion had said, it was as if a
dark cloud fell momentarily over her bright face.
“What’s wrong Mama,” I asked, sensing something in
her mood.
“Joseph,” she said, gripping Papa’s knuckles, “tell
me exactly what were Longinus’ words.”
“Let’s see,” Papa replied, stroking his beard.
“Righteous men have given Rome much grief. They have caused strife and insurrection. Your Judah, the Galilean, thought he
was a righteous man.” “Wasn’t that a strange thing to say?” He gave her a
comical look.
“Joseph,” her voice constricted and tears formed in
her blue eyes. “I had such a dream.”
My brothers and I groaned. Nehemiah who was not privy to Mama’s first dream gave her a
dumbfounded look.
“You never told me about this.” Papa took her small
hands in his. “Was this like the last dream?”
“Yes,” Mama’s voice leveled off. There was a far off quality in her
gaze. “It’s like one of those
Syrian puzzles where, instead of being set in by our fingers, the pieces come
together in dreams, nightmares, and daytime thoughts. As in the Book of Daniel, you told me about, the words, as
symbols, actually mean something else.
I didn’t quite understand that, but I do now. The dream about Reuben, who I believe is a symbol of our
people, and his words about striking Jesus down, cut into me like a sword. Do you remember what Rebecca, the seer,
once said to us when we took Jesus to the temple?”
“Yes,” Papa swallowed, “ ‘and a sword shall pierce
your heart.’ ” “What are you trying to say Mary?” He leaned forward anxiously.
“What does this have to do with your dreams?”
“Don’t you see Joseph?” She frowned, looking around
at us. “From that Roman came prophecy. . . A righteous man? . . . Judah, the
Galilean? Are we not descended from
Judah, the line of the Messiah?
Doesn’t this mean something to you?”
“Mary, this is nonsense,” Papa shook his head.
“Romans are pagans. We all know
the Judah he was talking about: the Galilean. In a very gentle way, he was giving us a warning: behave
yourselves, that’s all.”
“A warning,” she sighed, “exactly that. What’s the difference?” “Did he say anything else?” She asked
with bated breath.
“Well, there was something else,” Papa admitted, “.
. . the fruit is like the tree.”
“Oh, Joseph,” she gave him a sad smile, “you are the
tree. Jesus is the fruit.”
By now James, Joseph, Simon, and Nehemiah were, as
myself, gripped by this mystery, though we hadn’t a clue to what it all
meant. Even the twins, Abigail and
Martha, seemed to hang on Mama’s every word. For a few moments, in spite of the suspense and weariness we
all felt, Mama found the energy to fill our mugs with fruit juice and present
Papa with a cup of wine. In the
middle of the table she laid a plate of Uriah’s famous rolls. Papa looked into his cup and laughed
with delight.
“Mary,” he marveled, forgetting completely his train
of thought. “I thought we were out of wine!”
“I have my ways,” she replied sweetly. Then, the cloud came back to my
mother’s face. “I remember something else in my second dream that I can’t
believe,” she struggled this time.
“There-there,” Papa took a long swallow, while
patting her trembling had.
“Joseph, don’t
humor me,” her voice wavered. “Drink more wine. That’s it—a big gulp. You need it. I know there’s more to what the Roman told you. My dream last night was so real and the
voices so clear. . . Tell me if there’s more.”
“I don’t remember anything more,” he said scratching
his head.
“I do,” I volunteered innocently.
“Mary,” Papa looked sheepishly around at the
children. “Should they be hearing all this?”
The twins ran off after a signal from Mama. My brothers were wolfing down the rolls
as if they had not eaten in days, but Nehemiah, as my parents, now hung on the
final words on this subject.
Puffed up with importance, I stood up, took one more
bite from my roll, washed it down with a mouthful of juice and said in a most
cavalier manner, “Longinus said Judas, the Galilean thought he was a righteous
man and he was crucified!”
“Oh yes, I remember.” Papa took another gulp of wine. “Two thousand rebels were hung on crosses on the Jerusalem road. Those were dreadful times!”
Next Chapter/Return to Table of Contents/Writer’s Den