Great Lion of God (48 page)

Later he said to the Rabban, “I am leaving tomorrow for Tarsus, for there are matters of estate to settle, the legacy of my father. I intend to sell all, and to give all to the temple in Tarsus and to the Temple in Jerusalem.”

Rabban Gamaliel considered him with secret thoughts. He said, “That is an exemplary thought, but God, blessed be His Name, has also exhorted us to provide for ourselves in this world, so that we will never be a burden to our neighbors and our communities. Our religion is a very sensible one, and practical.”

This was not the reply Saul had expected, and then he remembered that the Rabban, though famous for his charities, did not neglect the well-being and the luxuries of his household. Nor did Joseph of Arimathaea. “As I have explained,” said the Rabban, “we live in two worlds. We should despise neither. So, I advise you to keep some part of your fortune, lest you come on evil days and can no longer labor. You will then be an imposition on your people, and that is manifestly unjust.”

“But God has commanded us to charity and the building of His Temples.”

“He has also commanded us to use the common sense He has given us,” said Rabban Gamaliel.

He looked at the back of the young man as the latter retreated from him, and he shook his head. There was one, it appeared, who believed that in despising and retreating from the world he served God, and that it was necessary to reject man in order to accept the Almighty! How unfortunate that he had been born a Jew! He should have been an Ascetic, of the Greeks. Then the Rabban fell into deeper thought concerning Saul of Tarshish, and his spirit pondered and was troubled.

The early summer day shimmered with light and every street of Jerusalem appeared to sparkle and quiver with it, even the Street of the Goat’s-Hair Weavers and the Street of the Cheesemakers, and the crowded bazaars and the narrow alleys. The cypresses and the myrtles, the karobs and the palms, the sycamores and the pines, were encased in light, so that they seemed to be exuding it, themselves. The dust was golden and dancing, as it rose in the air under a footstep, or the hoof of a camel or an ass or a horse, and the far mounts were the bright color of copper. Every wall poured with red and purple flowers and vines, and the people were exuberant, for the day was so brilliant and yet not too hot, and enlivened by sound and bustle. The fields beyond Jerusalem were at their most vivid and fertile green with rising grain, and the young grapevines displayed, secretively, the fattening green fruit on their stems, which would later be large and opalescent. The olive groves on their terraces were a shining silver in the light, and sometimes they resembled glowing forest of mercury. The citrons bore yellowing globes.

Even the somber Saul was not indifferent, however he tried, to the wide generosity of the day and of living. He sat in a large car with four black horses, the loan of Joseph of Arimathaea, who was accompanying him to the Joppa Gate. There, Joseph would leave him in the car, for the journey to Caesarea, where his ship awaited to bear him to Tarsus.

Joseph, these days, appeared filled with the spirit of excitement and expectation, which mystified Saul. Joseph did not explain. But there was a vast perceptible joy in him, and a brightness of countenance, as though he had heard wondrous news. He did not confide in Saul. He saw Saul rarely now, for the younger man gave the impression of constant retreat, even from his few friends.

As they approached the walls of the Temple—which shone like a huge golden mirage in the sun, domes and spires and towers aflame—they saw a large crowd in the street. Roman soldiers stood idly on the periphery, indolent in the summer warmth, their thumbs tucked in their leather girdles, their bare legs spread far apart. The crowd was unusually quiet, not vehement and laughing as usual as when something out of the ordinary attracted them. Joseph held up his hand to the driver of the car and the man drew in the horses. Joseph said to Saul with quiet command, “Come, and hear.”

Wondering, Saul alighted with him, drawing about his shoulders his plain woolen cloak and walking in his rough sandals. Joseph gently touched a shoulder, and the owner turned—to stare at the rich gentleman in his fine clothing and the slave who followed him, red of hair and hard of lip and angular of jaw. Then the man moved respectfully aside, and another and another and another, until Joseph and Saul, unchallenged, reached the inner edge of the crowd.

In the very center of the broad Roman street stood the stranger Saul remembered, the rude Nazarene with his fair locks and fair beard, broad muscular shoulders and large blue eyes. He wore no cloak. His robe was of coarse gray cloth, his feet as humbly shod as Saul’s. His arms were bare and strong, and so was his sun-burned throat. Saul winced at the sight of this blasphemer, the man Aristo had claimed had cured his friend, Telis, nearly a year ago, through some dark sorcery—if indeed Telis had been cured at all. This was the man whom the wild Jochanan had heralded, it was rumored—the Essene the Greeks now called John the Baptist, newly dead, having rid the world of reason of his incoherent presence. (Saul could not, himself, understand his own burning aversion and inexplicable rage at the memory of that day in the desert when Jochanan had so misinterpreted the prophecies, nor the fact that these emotions increased on every recall.)

There was a small gathering of Pharisees at the edge of the inner crowd, conspicuous by their blue fringes, and a few litters containing—it was evident—some delicate Scribes, the men of “pure mind” whom Rabban Gamaliel so excoriated. They were listening to the Nazarene intently, the Pharisees with vexed faces, the Scribes with faintly amused smiles. They held kerchiefs to their thin noses and inhaled the perfume, as if the Nazarene had an offensive odor. What interested Saul for a second or two was not the Nazarene but the tolerance of the Pharisees, those pious and learned men, and the Scribes, who considered themselves learned. Why should they listen to this unlettered peasant from the provinces, even for a single moment?

Then Saul was caught by the Nazarene’s expression. It was not gentle now, nor compassionate and mysterious, as it had been on that dreadful day of the crucifixion of the Essenes and the Zealots, nor was his countenance as sadly benign as it had appeared when Saul had first seen him, so many years ago. Saul was struck by the fact that though this man must be well within his fourth decade be appeared as young as he had appeared over twelve years ago.

His face, strong and manly, expressed at this time both anger and contempt and disgust, and the hands that swung at his sides were clenched. His blue eyes sparked and glowed. He was gazing at the Pharisees and the exquisite Scribes, and the crowd was listening with silent pleasure. It was evident that the Nazarene had been addressing the Pharisees and the Scribes in undisciplined language.

The Nazarene had begun to speak again and his pale cheeks suddenly flushed and his voice was loud and passionate in the sunny quiet, in that clarity of morning light. It was also—as Saul suddenly remembered from before—like muted thunder, and no one stirred, not even the affronted Pharisees nor the sneering Scribes.

“Woe unto you, Pharisees, for you love the uppermost seats in the synagogues, and greetings in the markets! You tithe mint and rue and all manner of herbs, and pass over judgment and the love of God!”

“Not to be endured!” said Saul to Joseph, who did not turn to him and who seemed fascinated by the Nazarene. But Joseph laid a quelling hand on his arm and Saul fumed, and listened again. The crowd had begun to chuckle with approval, and was glancing slyly at the Pharisees and the Scribes.

It was incredible to Saul that the Pharisees did not turn away with contempt and why the Scribes did not order their litter-bearers to run down this man who threw such remarks into their faces.

The Nazarene captured the Pharisees’ eyes—as it were—within the rims of his own fervent eyes, condemning them—they the pious who held only to the Book and the Law, and the Scribes—who honored only men who thought and did not regard those who labored worthy of civilized consideration. It was strange to Saul that the Pharisees, who despised the Scribes, as the Scribes despised them in turn, should stand shoulder to shoulder together, as if they were friends and allies, while this man hurled epithets against them both. But what was that rude Aramaic saying: “When you need a thief to catch a thief, you cut the rope.” It was apparent that the Pharisees and the Scribes had this in mind in some form.

The Nazarene spoke in Aramaic and Saul reluctantly had to admit that he gave the ‘language of the people” both eloquence and power, and his look was authority and there was a curious gleaming on his brow.

“Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are as graves which do not appear to be graves, and men walk over them not aware of them! Woe unto you also, you lawyers, for you put burdens on men too grievous to be borne, and you, yourselves touch not the burdens with one of your fingers!” His eye now fell on a group of taxgatherers among the lawyers present, and his chest swelled and his throat enlarged, and Saul felt his first approval. For the lawyers were the friends and supporters of the taxgatherers and invariably, in the courts, stood with them against the despairing petitioners, and were often taxgatherers, themselves.

“You build the sepulchers of the prophets, and your fathers killed them—Woe unto you, lawyers, for you have taken away the key of knowledge. You did not enter in, yourselves, and you hindered those who desired to enter!”

He turned to the people now and cried, “And I say to you, my friends: Be not afraid of them that kill the body! They can do no more but that! But fear him, who, after killing the body has power to cast into hell. Yes, I say to you: Fear him.”

A veil of lighted mist floated before Saul’s eyes and he heard the sudden rising and furious beat of his heart, and he was afraid, fearing one of his infrequent seizures. But he did not tremble, as before a seizure, nor did sweat break out upon his forehead nor did his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. Rather, he experienced as one experiences in a dream, remote yet imminent, strange yet familiar. He heard the Nazarene speaking, in that haze of illumination, yet he did not hear the actual words until the last roared in upon him:

“When they bring you into the synagogues and before magistrates and powers, take you no thought how or what thing you shall answer, nor what you shall say! For the Holy Spirit shall teach you in the same hour what you ought to say.”

The Nazarene had spoken in plain Aramaic, and there was no language plainer. Yet, of a sudden, it came to Saul that he spoke in mysteries, which needed a key, and which could not be understood in a single moment or even after pondering. Saul knew that Jews had such a way of speaking, especially these poor, sore-footed street rabbis, so it was not new to him. But it was obvious that this Nazarene meant that only the Spirit of God could solve mysteries and not a learned man of great repute—no, not even Rabban Gamaliel, one of the Pharisees this peasant spoke of with such huge scorn.

The silent Pharisees and Scribes still had not moved. Then a man in modest garb, and young, and bitter of face, approached the Nazarene, who turned at once and waited in courteous silence. The Nazarene was still breathing as one breathes who has been consumed by anger, but he was visibly controlling himself, and he bent his head to listen.

The Pharisees exchanged a glance with each other, and moved closer to overhear the conversation. The young man gave them a murderous but servile glance, then turned solely to the Nazarene. He had begun to tremble; he made several efforts to speak, choked, then resumed:

“Master, I know whereof you speak, for I have been rejected in a court presided over by a Pharisee magistrate. My older brother and I were the sole heirs of our father, may he rest in peace in the bosom of Abraham. My brother stole my portion. But my brother, who is a rascal and a thief, has a friend who is both a Pharisee and a magistrate, and my plea was brought before him. Master, I was robbed, my case was thrown out of court, and the Pharisee rebuked me, and my brother laughed in my face and spat at me! A great wrong has been done to me—under the law, which is corrupt. I pray of you, Rabbi, that you speak to my brother and persuade him to do me justice and restore that part of the inheritance which belongs to me.”

The Nazarene regarded him and a mysterious look of both impatience and sorrow passed over his countenance. It was as if he had spoken long and eloquently and clearly, yet had not been understood. Yet, it was with gentleness that he spoke: “Man, who made me a judge or a divider over you? I have said it before and I say it again: My Kingdom is not of this world. Take heed and beware of covetousness, for a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of the things which he possesses.”

When the man stared at him, uncomprehending, the Nazarene continued. “I am no divider of men.”

The man is ambiguous and elusive and equivocal, thought Saul. At one moment he upbraids the lawyers and their taxgatherers, and calls them frightful epithets for their oppression of the people and their injustice. And then, on the other hand, he dismisses a poor man who has been dealt unjustly with in the courts and robbed of his inheritance! Are they not, in a measure, greatly the same?

The Nazarene touched the young man affectionately on the shoulder and looked in his eyes and said, very softly, “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

Saul glanced at Joseph, expecting amused speculation, but Joseph was gazing at the Nazarene as men gaze at the Veil in the Temple, which conceals the Holy of Holies, and his lips were quivering. Saul’s mouth fell open in astonishment. Surely Joseph of Arimathaea had discerned the specious fallacy in that Nazarene’s remarks, and his adroit moving away from the subject of justice?

But Joseph was as one who had heard a Prophet and an angel of God, and Saul wondered if he had lost his wits.

Then a Pharisee spoke, with a mockery of respect: “Rabbi, I am of poor intellect and you have baffled me. You have accused the lawyers of injustice and of burdens laid upon the oppressed—yet here, at hand, is a poor man so oppressed by his brother and a magistrate, and you tell him, ‘I am no divider of men!’ If there is a difference, I implore you to enlighten me.”