The Wolf and the Lamb (2 page)

YOM CHAMISHI

Chapter II

“The Romans call them the Sicarii,” the High Priest said. “Surely you have heard of them?”

Everyone knew about the Sicarii, this new and dangerous political sect, the Dagger Men. They had begun to make themselves felt in the country by killing men whom they labeled as enemies of the State. Thus far, only one or two minor tax gatherers and a handful of men whom they’d determined to be
משתפי פעולה,
collaborators, had fallen to their knives. These killings worried the people, of course. They were inexcusable. What worried them more was the dangerous precedent they set. In a country occupied by an omnipotent Rome, what person could not be branded
משתף פעולה
? If you sold their legions salt fish, as the Galilean fishermen did by the barrel, and grew rich in the process, wouldn’t that make you a collaborator? Or wine merchants, or bakers? What about Gamaliel’s student, Saul, who came from a family of tent-makers? Legionnaires in need of a shelter light enough to be carried with their packs made up an important portion of the family’s business in and around Tarsus. How would that rigid Pharisee describe those transactions? Where does one, or more importantly, where would the Sicarii, draw the line when branding someone a collaborator?

“The worst part, Rabban,” the High Priest continued, “is I have been told they consider me to be one of Rome’s allies. Me! It is an outrage. Do I have control over what Rome does? I don’t. Do I retain my position at the Emperor’s sufferance? I do. How else shall we keep the faith? Do these fools think that the Nation could survive even a month without a functioning Temple? Would the Lord allow it? No, I tell you, He would not. If we abandon Him, He will judge us harshly and these misguided men, these cowards who creep about in the night terrorizing innocent people, they will end by begging the Romans to return and save them.”

The High Priest wore worry like his priestly vestments. Gamaliel had listened to his worried discourses on many topics—from the price of incense to the status of itinerant rabbis—one, in particular—for years. This sudden concern about the Sicarii opened a new chapter. He wondered what had inspired it.

“You need not fear the Sicarii, High Priest. They only concern themselves with two things. They hope to terrorize Roman officials and thereby assume that they, in turn, will ease up on their oppressive practices and leave us in peace. That is no more than wishful thinking. Zealots thrive on wishful thinking. Yet, they are mostly brigands themselves and apply this patina of political activism to cover their acts of robbery and worse. Consider Barabbas. Shall we call him a patriot or a criminal?”

“Barabbas? What about him? How can you possibly know about him or any of this? You spend your days disputing the Law with your students and scholars. Scrolls and musty sheets of papyrus are your companions. What can you tell me of the world around us?”

“You do not do me justice, High Priest. You believe the pursuit of truth excludes one from the cares of the day? You may be correct, but I do not think so. I get out into the streets daily and I have contacts here and there. What I do not know, but should know, they will tell me. For example, did you know that this very Barabbas is currently raging away in a cell deep in the Antonia Fortress? Ah, I see you did not. So, which of us needs to be out and about more? Now, unless you have something else to discuss with the Rabban of the Sanhedrin, I will be on my way. I have things to do that are far more pressing.”

That statement was not exactly true. Except to finish parsing an Isaiah scroll sent up from Qumran, Gamaliel had nothing pressing, but he could only endure the High Priest’s company for short periods. Gamaliel nodded and started to move away.

“Wait, yes. I do have another matter. Passover is upon us next week.”

“It is fair to say everyone knows that, Caiaphas.”

“Yes, of course. I am concerned about riots, Rabban, demonstrations, misadventures, and so on. What if these Sicarii decide to use Passover as an excuse to cause trouble? I tell you that of all our holy days…this one brings more people to the city than any of the others combined and is, moreover, the logical one to inspire a revolt.”

“And?”

“And, and what? Oh, yes, where was I? Yes, and it is ripe for the work of these dangerous people. They will say, ‘Moses led us to freedom. This is a new Passover and we must continue the journey,’ or some such nonsense.”

Gamaliel started to respond but the High Priest rattled on. “That rabbi from the Galilee, for example, he is at it again, stirring up the people, instigating just those sorts of thoughts. Do you see? If this Yeshua comes to Jerusalem with his followers…no, not if, but when…he is always here for Passover. When he comes he very well could do something to provoke people. Riots could follow which would then require the intervention of the Prefect’s soldiers and that would inevitably turn deadly. I received an edict from the Prefect who says he will accept no disturbance of any sort this year. Anyone who engages in such things and—listen to this—anyone who even appears to countenance such behavior, will be severely punished.”

“Your country rabbi hardly constitutes a threat to the mighty Roman Empire, Caiaphas, nor does he pose one to you. You worry too much about all the wrong things.”

“He has many followers. Some say hundreds, thousands.”

“Thousands? Did anyone actually count them? And who are they, High Priest? I will tell you. They are farmers and fishermen, the forgotten, the landless, women, and shepherds. Shepherds, High Priest, imagine. I doubt you could find anything more dangerous on them than a gutting knife or pruning shears. They may be determined in their newly discovered faith, but hardly pose a threat to anyone.”

“Their newly discovered faith of which you speak is not new and it is not from the Lord, as you surely know. And that is not the problem. What we fear is that in their zeal to proselytize, they will stir up trouble. Not everyone is as tolerant of unorthodoxy as you.”

“You seriously believe that I tolerate a lack of orthodoxy? Surely you misspeak, Caiaphas. I am many things, but unorthodox, much less radical, is not one of them.”

“And I tell you, Gamaliel, while you insist on being blind to the inherent danger these people pose, I foresee problems that could very well end in the undoing of us all. Do you not understand that Rome will leap at any excuse to destroy the fragile balance we have established here? Even a trivial uprising could topple it. One dissident rabbi and a handful of misguided Sicarii, and everything could collapse around us. And then where will you and I be?’

“It is a sobering thought if true, but I do not believe it. The Lord has promised us the land and the future. He will not desert us now or ever. Passover is about the flight from bondage to freedom, to the land promised to us. We are here. The promise has been kept, and even when we stray and are carried off to Babylon, he leads us back. So, to answer your question, where will I be? Rome or no Rome, I will be in my study with, as you put it, my musty companions. May I suggest that if you wish to ponder a problem of real import, you might turn your mind to discovering why our Prefect arrived early for Passover this year and why a party of Roman officials, who may or may not be part of the Prefect’s entourage, have descended on the city as well, and both a full week early. What is in the wind?”

“And why is that a problem?”

“Romans are many things and most of them quite unpleasant, but the characteristics on which we have come to rely are their maddening consistency and predictability. The arrival of this group at this time lacks both. It is a problem to be solved and therefore it is imperative that you discover what they are up to. Now I must leave.”

“And the rabbi and his ragtag band? What am I to do about them?”

“Forget them. One eccentric rabbi more or less should not be your concern. Rather, find out what Pilate and his bullies are about.”

Chapter III

Gamaliel moved off toward his home. He had been listening to the High Priest’s rants about Rabbi Yeshua ben Josef since the Galilean had first come to his notice as a person with something of a following. At least he boasted more than a floating minyan such as characterized most of his contemporaries. After the idiotic beheading of John the Baptizer by King Herod and Yeshua’s alleged blood relationship to the Desert Prophet, Yeshua’s presence seemed to have gained more
gravitas,
a fact which doubtless explained the High Priest’s concerns.

The real problem for the Nation was Rome’s heavy foot pressed on the neck of the Nation, so that each day began and ended in uncertainty and, for many, fear. In times like these, it was not unusual for messiahs of all shapes and sizes to crawl out from under every rock or lurk behind every tree. Unless and until the Nation wrested free from its oppressive overlord, that phenomenon would continue and grow. Its history demonstrated that when oppressed, the Nation would soon be rife with prospective saviors. Occasionally they would actually rise up and liberate the people for a time, the Maccabees, Gideon, Saul, and David…but they were the exceptions—exceptions that forged the Nation, to be sure—but exceptions, nevertheless. And now along comes this rabbi from Nazareth. He had amassed an impressive following and the hopes of some—who knows how many—rested on his claim to be
Mashiach
. So, messiahs, redeemers, would-be saviors, Moseses and this Yeshua. It had always been so. It would always be so, but Gamaliel, for one, did not see another Moses on the horizon, the High Priest’s obsession on Yeshua ben Josef notwithstanding.

In any case, and for reasons Gamaliel would never understand, Caiaphas had determined that of all these self-proclaimed rabbis, prophets, and holy men, Yeshua posed a threat to the Nation. In one minor respect, Gamaliel thought, the High Priest just might have it right. If any one of the many itinerant preachers and prophets would have a lasting impact, he guessed this Yeshua could be the one. He had a message that differed from the others, even from that of his presumptive cousin. But did that justify the High Priest’s obsession with him? Gamaliel thought not. There were so many other, more pressing issues confronting them at present that needed their attention.

Why, given this rather obvious situation, had the High Priest singled out this particular man? He’d once asked that of Caiaphas. “Why are you so concerned with this particular rabbi and not any of the half a hundred like him?”

“I hardly think ‘half a hundred’ describes their number and I am concerned about them, Rabban, but this Yeshua seems to touch people in ways that differ significantly from the others. Oddly, he seems to know the Law and the Prophets and yet presents them in ways that are well beyond the self-serving ramblings of his contemporaries. He is, shall I say, seductive. It is almost as if…”

The High Priest had not finished the sentence. Gamaliel had waited and then turned away. He did not care to hear the ending. He could guess what it would be. He’d heard it all before—many times. His own examination of the man had convinced him that with some training and a measure of discipline, this Galilean might make a passable scholar. Otherwise, he thought his teaching radical and borderline heretical. Interesting, in an offbeat near-Persian sense, but with all that, he could not see Yeshua as a threat to anyone, much less to the Nation. He deemed the idea absurd.

He left the High Priest with his rabbinic fixation and made his way homeward. The streets of Jerusalem were becoming congested with early arrivals for the Passover. The influx of men and women from all over the Empire occurred every High Holy day, but Passover always produced the largest crowds. Judging by the numbers already camped on the hills surrounding the city, this particular Passover seemed not only to be attracting many more celebrants than usual, but they were arriving earlier as well. He could not think of any reason why that should be, nor could he have quantified it. But he had the clear impression that the press of humanity was greater than the previous years and had a different feel to it. The air seemed to possess a tension which he could not explain. It reminded him of the malaise he often felt before a violent storm, before the lightning cracked open the sky and caused his heart to skip a beat.

He’d pointed out to the High Priest that the Prefect had traveled down from Caesarea early. Were they missing something? In his near single-minded attention to his studies and students and Caiaphas’ equally absorbing obsession with vagabond rabbis, had they blocked out the possibility that something momentous, which they should have known or heard about, was about to occur? The High Priest had offered no enlightenment nor had Gamaliel any thoughts on the matter, although it crossed his mind that the Isaiah scroll resting on his desk might be a place to start. He would look into it right after the Passover or perhaps he would task his students to glean that particular field.

So occupied had his mind been with musings about pending catastrophes and messianic claims, he nearly missed spotting the young man loitering by his doorway. Gamaliel had an instinct for people. He paused to inspect this nondescript individual, who was shifting from one foot to the other, slouched in the shadows provided by the door’s stone archway, seemingly impatient on the one hand and anxious on the other. Outward appearances, Gamaliel knew, could be deceiving. This young man, for example, in spite of his shabby clothing, would be someone’s servant. A servant sent to him to solicit a ruling, a visit, or a loan of a manuscript? He couldn’t be sure. The boy stared at him expectantly. His eyes lit up and he opened and shut his mouth. It seemed that if he didn’t soon speak, the words would come vomiting out of his mouth. Gamaliel took a few steps forward and waited for the greeting and the reason the boy waited for him.

“Excellency, do I address the Rabban of the Sanhedrin?”

“You do, and I am not anyone’s ‘Excellency,’ boy.”

“Sorry. Umm, that is greetings, sir, and…”

“Yes, yes, speak up. What is it you wish from me?”

“Not me, sir, my Master bids you to attend on him.”

So, definitely a member of someone’s household and judging by his dress, not a Hebrew household. The shabbiness of the boy’s cloak could also mean not a wealthy one or it could mean the person requiring the meeting wished not to draw attention to his messenger, and by indirection, to himself.

“He does. And who, may I ask, is this master of yours?”

The young man, boy glanced furtively over his shoulder, leaned in toward Gamaliel, and cocked his head to one side. In a voice the Rabban could barely hear he said, “The Prefect, sir.”

“What? Are you saying Pontius Pilate wishes to see me?”

“Shhhh. Yes, sir, he does, now.”

“I am confused. In the past, when the mighty Pilate required my presence, he did not send me an invitation in the person of a boy in a disreputable cloak. He commanded my presence and would send a contingent of his smartest legionnaires to escort me in the unlikely event I refused the invitation. My journey to the Fortress flanked by the best the local contingent of the army had to offer would always be both impressive and humiliating—impressive for the Prefect, humiliating for me. So, where are his soldiers? What has happened to the noble Roman that I no longer rate this treatment? Is he ill? I know a very fine Physician, if that is the case.”

“They are not available.”

“Who are not available? Pilate has arrived in the city with a full complement of soldiers and you tell me none of them are available to march me across the city to the Antonia Fortress like a felon? Truly welcome news, but I find it hard to believe.”

“But it is so, Excellency.”

“You are not listening. I am not your…Oh, never mind. Let me see if I have this right. Pilate sent you here, apparently in the worst clothes you could find, to summon me to his Eminence. Yet, with all his power and position, he cannot send his soldiers for some reason and so he sends me a boy. Am I to understand, that the reason for the latter is the explanation for the former?”

“Sir?”

“And the summons to meet with him has to do with both of the above.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I ask…No, of course you don’t. I am not sure I do either. Very well, let me go into my dwelling and freshen up. I need to tell my servant where I am going. Caution requires that one do so before entering the presence of the Prefect on the oft chance one never returns. Then at least your family and friends can guess what has happened to you. I see that you are confused, I know. People who deal with me often are. So, don’t try to understand, my son. Wait here for a moment. I will return shortly.”

“But he said to bring you straightaway. We must go, your Excellency.”

“For the last time, I am not ‘your Excellency’ and also, I am saying to you that whether the great Pontius Pilate wishes it or not, I am not prepared to attend him just now. If the Prefect’s need of me is both genuine and urgent, I would be standing in his august presence at this very moment. I would have been escorted to him by the legionnaires I just mentioned. Since he has not sent them, I must assume there is no such urgency. Wait here.”

The messenger started to argue, then realized the futility of doing so. He sighed and leaned against the stone portico and contemplated the beating he would probably receive for not having produced the Rabban in quick time, as he’d been ordered.