Jerusalem's Hope (40 page)

The domed hall of the Sanhedrin council chamber was a bigger vault than any Emet had seen, apart from the arch of the sky. Many of the elders displayed sternly critical faces. They represented more wealth and more learning assembled in one place than Emet knew existed.

The boy had seen death up close in the face of the murdered hawker. He sensed the nearby existence of Kittim. The memory of Asher's knife at his throat lingered.

He was afraid, and even in this room his foreboding had substance.

When the disapproval he sensed from the elders was added to his apprehension, it was almost more than the five-year-old could bear.

It all made him feel very small and frightened. It was good to have Zadok's hands resting on his shoulders. He appreciated the friendly presence of Nakdimon ben Gurion. Otherwise Emet would have bolted and run out of the hall.

“What's this?” demanded Caiaphas. “Nakdimon ben Gurion, is there a reason to bring these street rats into our meeting?”

Nakdimon, flanked by his uncle Gamaliel, nodded toward Zadok. “I'm certain the chief shepherd of Migdal Eder appreciates the warmth of your greeting,” he commented with sarcasm.

Grudgingly, the high priest started over. “Zadok of Migdal Eder is welcome.”

Emet's eyes widened and his heart beat faster. He'd known that Zadok was someone extraordinary. To be chief shepherd of the Temple flock made Zadok important, but the high priest of Israel recognized him and called him by name!

Nakdimon continued smoothly, “These apprentice shepherds are the important witnesses I mentioned. They know bar Abba's band and can tell about the destruction of Siloam's tower.”

Peering down over his long nose like a bird of prey, Caiaphas fixed his gaze on the boys. “Which of them will talk first?”

At the same moment that Emet was gently pushed forward by Zadok's hands, he felt warmth flow into him. “This boy, whose name is Truth,” Zadok replied.

“He's scarcely bigger than a lamb,” Caiaphas remarked scornfully.

“I can tell what I know!” Emet asserted, remembering Zadok's words:
there is a time to speak.
“I saw rebels doing things to the Tower of Siloam. I saw Asher of bar Abba's band.”

“How do you know him?” another of the council inquired.

“Because we were with them for a while,” Emet said. “We lived in their camp.”

At this a few of the Sanhedrin twitched aside the hems of their robes, as if Emet were indeed a rat. Others looked nervous; among these was the
cohen hagadol
himself.

“And where are they now?” Caiaphas inquired. His voice was not altogether steady as he spoke.

“I don't know,” Emet said truthfully, “but I think they're here in Yerushalayim. I feel it.”

“What's their intent?”

“They want to kill you,” Avel added helpfully.

“First the tower and then us!” another of the council stressed. “The killing has already started . . . at Sheep's Gate Inn! Where will they strike next?”

The orderliness of the proceedings dissolved into a babble of worried voices.

Evidently the story of the murdered hawker had already reached into the council chamber. Emet examined the costly drapery and polished furnishing. He observed the faces of grown men contorted with anxiety.

So wealth and learning did not eliminate fear.

Much of Emet's sense of unworthiness evaporated.

“It's worse than you think,” Nakdimon commented. “The dead man was another who was coming to give testimony about bar Abba.”

The hubbub in the chamber increased. Many of the members shouted that the contingent of Temple police delegated to protect the council must be increased. Some suggested that the Roman governor should provide extra legionaries to assist the Temple guards.

“That move would certainly send a message to the
am ha aretz,
” Gamaliel observed wryly. “The common people already believe that this body and the Romans speak with a single voice.”

“At the urging of Nakdimon ben Gurion and Reb Gamaliel I've brought my apprentices from Migdal Eder,” Zadok said loudly, but with dignity. “Do y', or do y' not, have any more questions for them? It is the eve of Passover.”

“Yes,” Caiaphas said, controlling himself with difficulty. “We know bar Abba was seen in the Galil . . . near the charlatan Yeshua of Nazareth. Do these boys know anything about that?”

By common consent Emet spoke first for the group. “Yeshua fixed my ears. And I can speak.”

“And I see,” Ha-or Tov said.

“Bar Abba wanted to make Yeshua king,” Avel added.

“Ha!” exclaimed Caiaphas, pouncing on the words. A murmur of satisfaction buzzed in the chamber.

“But so did everyone!” Avel explained, shouting over the din. “Yeshua wouldn't! He left them all!”

“How can this testimony be trusted?” one of Caiaphas' cronies retorted. “The boys admit they were with the rebels. They might still be secret spies for bar Abba!”

Nakdimon declared forcefully, “I myself was in a Galil. I saw the occasion of which the boy speaks. I verify his story completely. Yeshua absolutely refused any suggestion that he would lend his name to rebellion!”

“So now Nakdimon is also Galilean?” the high priest noted scornfully. “Have you become one of his talmidim?” And then, “Is Yeshua here in Yerushalayim?” He pinned Emet in his glare. A crafty note had entered the high priest's tone.

“We left him in the Galil,” Avel spoke up. “Walking across the sea.”

Scoffing and harsh laughter greeted these words.

“The great Nakdimon vouches for the testimony of children?” jeered another of Caiaphas' associates.

Nakdimon swelled up at the mocking. Emet saw Gamaliel lay a restraining hand on his arm. The boy understood that most of these men had already made up their minds about Yeshua. Nothing anyone said could convince them otherwise.

“Enough,” the high priest concluded. “Master Zadok, you and your charges may go. We still have to discuss the delegation to Governor Pilate.”

A chorus of “Not me” and “Let someone else” echoed in the room. The prevailing sentiment was that no one wanted to be connected with the aqueduct and the anger it generated.

Not when rebels with daggers roamed the streets of Jerusalem!

Caiaphas didn't suggest he would personally head the mission to Pilate. However, he still managed to sound peeved at the reluctance of others. “Come, gentlemen,” he demanded. “Governor Pilate must be reassured. It's merely the rabble of the
am ha aretz
who object to the aqueduct. The issue has been used by traitors to harm the peace of our land. We must convince the governor we're not rebels, while our protest to the governor will show the common people that we share their concerns. Now,” Caiaphas continued, “who'll take on this important task?”

None of the elders was convinced.

Emet heard the protests: none of the Sanhedrin wanted to go anywhere except with a great many guards. No one was eager to go clear across Jerusalem where sicarii in the Passover crowds could attack them.

“My nephew and I will,” volunteered Gamaliel, “even though we tried to warn you against the scheme.”

While the debate continued as to which other members should be part of the deputation, Zadok ushered his young charges out of the chamber.

Suddenly Avel appeared to be struck by an idea. He tugged at Zadok's sleeve. “I've thought of something else.”

“Then speak up,” Zadok encouraged. “A moment more, Lord Caiaphas. This boy has one thing to add.”

“The rebels attacked a caravan.” Avel stepped forward. “We didn't see it. But afterward someone brought a leather pouch into the rebel camp. He said it must have come from one of the travelers. They found a note telling about a conspiracy among the rulers. Defiling the Temple. Stealing the Koban money. Giving it to Pilate.”

“This isn't news,” Caiaphas said.

Emet thought the high priest sounded nervous, despite his indifferent words.

“It's on all the lying lips in Yerushalayim,” someone scoffed.

“But bar Abba also said it gave the names of two key conspirators on the Sanhedrin,” Avel added. “He didn't mention names, but I thought you should know.”

Silence fell over the council. Faces, ashen and fearful, reflected uncertainty as to what should be done.

Zadok and his apprentices closed the doors to the Sanhedrin chamber. Even the solid oak panels didn't entirely shut out a rising flood of babbling apprehension and mutual recrimination, led by the high priest himself.

Gamaliel drew Nakdimon aside into a space between two pillars of the Sanhedrin meeting hall. “Did it cross your mind we might know the identity of the two council members chosen as rebel targets?” he inquired in a hushed voice.

“What do you mean?”

“The message I sent you on the eve of your departure for the Galil.”

“I read it and tucked it safely . . .” Nikdimon clapped his hand to his side where his purse hung.

Gamaliel correctly interpreted the response. “And you lost it when you were attacked on the road.”

“Yes,” Nakdimon concurred. “Yes! That pouch didn't contain money, only your message. What with the blow on my head, I didn't think about it, but . . .”

“But it was addressed to you, signed by me, and suggested that you and I keep secret what we knew about the use of Korban for the aqueduct. I think I said the use of the money could not be
prevented,
but to a rebel eagerly seeking a mark for assassination, it's ambiguous enough to be misconstrued.”

A light of comprehension flooded Nakdimon's face. His eyebrows shot up. “So the rebels think
you and I
are key figures in the sacrilege?”

Gamaliel nodded without speaking, then continued, “Still game to go with me to Pilate?”

“Of course,” Nakdimon said stoutly. Then he added, “But I'm more glad than ever I sent my family out of the city.”

Turning back to the council, Gamaliel suggested to Caiaphas, “Can the learned council select eight more members to join the delegation with Nakdimon and me?”

“Only ten?” Caiaphas responded questioningly.

“If we are at risk, then why expose more lives to danger?” Gamaliel retorted, “and if the words of ten men are not enough to appeal to Governor Pilate, then more may seem a mob instead of a delegation.” He added thoughtfully, “And we know how the governor feels about Jewish mobs.”

BE-RUHI

O
uside the Great Hall of the Sanhedrin, at the foot of the Temple Mount steps where he could in no way defile or interfere with the religious ceremonies, Red Dog was waiting. Avel watched worshippers heading up toward the sanctuary detour around the animal, though Red Dog never snarled, barked, or showed his teeth.

There was something in the alertness of the dog's keen eyes, Avel thought. He appeared to scrutinize each passerby . . . and it was unnerving.

The bubble of clear space where Red Dog sat was a welcome respite for Zadok and the boys to regroup and organize themselves for taking leave of Jerusalem.

The crowds coming toward the Temple were growing ever thicker. Avel, who had begun the day wishing he could stay in Beth-lehem, was more eager than before to get back there again.

On the Day of Preparation for the Passover the time of the evening sacrifice was moved up and performed earlier in the afternoon. This was to accommodate the slaughter of a hundred thousand Passover lambs, which had to be carried out well before sunset.

A representative of each family—or group of ten, which the Law prescribed could share a single lamb—made his way to the holy precincts. Previously selected lambs had to be identified, claimed, and readied for slaughter. A hundred thousand lambs meant a hundred thousand worshippers . . . minimum, not including all the priests and Levites who assisted, or the onlookers from faraway who had no intention of missing the ceremony.

Passover was the one observance of the year where each head of a household performed the sacrifice himself, unless he were traveling, unwell, or ritually unclean and unable to do so.

More even than the Day of Atonement, Passover brought every family directly into contact with the commandments, provisions, and decrees of the Most High. It linked the history of Israel with its present-day inhabitants and their longing to be free. It connected God's divine intercession in the life of the nation with His particular involvement in the lives of individual believers.

It was a reminder that God's promises were forever and His memory also. Sworn judgments might be postponed . . . but never escaped.