But that was far away, all of that.
It was peaceful here as we went through the purification.
Never in Alexandria could I remember such a thing being done, this sprinkling, and only dimly did I remember the death of a little child there, the infant son of my uncle Alphaeus. But here in the Land, it was the custom to do these things according to the Law. And everyone was happy to do it.
But I knew that my uncles had not waited on this ritual to go to work in Sepphoris. They could not have done that. Some of them had been working there all during the time of illness. And the women had been going out to the vegetable garden when they had to do it. I didn't ask any questions about it. I knew that we did what we could. And I trusted in what my uncles and Joseph said to do. People did what they could do.
Now, after that time, and not very long after at all, before I was even going out of the house yet, my uncles got into a big dispute.
There was so much work in Sepphoris that they could choose among the hardest jobs, and the jobs they most liked, and the jobs which most used all the skills of the family. But Joseph, upon whom everyone relied, would not charge any different for any one job over another. The uncles didn't think that was right, and neither did some of the other carpenters in Sepphoris. The uncles wanted double for the jobs of skill, and the other carpenters were for this, and Joseph would not charge this.
Finally, all of them went up the hill to Rabbi Berekhaiah, even though they wanted to see Rabbi Jacimus, the strictest Pharisee.
"We need a Pharisee to settle this," my uncle Cleopas had said. And everyone had agreed. Even Joseph. But no one was going to ask the younger Rabbi before asking the older Rabbi.
Rabbi Berekhaiah at once said to go to Rabbi Jacimus, the Pharisee, and do what he said to do.
We little boys couldn't crowd in and as it grew warmer and warmer outside, we went on home.
They were gone a long time, and when they came down they were all in good spirits. It seemed that Rabbi Jacimus had won the day with this argument: that if they charged double for the skilled jobs, they could let the boys go to school for a full half day. And Joseph had agreed to this!
We clapped our hands! This was wonderful news. James and I looked at each other. Even our cousins, Silas and Levi, were happy. Little Symeon was happy and he hardly knew what this was about.
We were to receive more education. And the house was to receive higher wages.
My mother was very pleased.
We had good wine with supper that night, and by the light of the lamps, Joseph read us one of the Greek stories we loved, from the scrolls we'd brought back from Alexandria, The Tale of Tobit.
Now everyone gathered round for this story, even the women, because we all enjoyed so much to hear of the angel coming to Tobias, the son of Tobit, and this angel, "in disguise," telling Tobias of cures he might work with the innards of the fish that tried to swallow his foot, and of how he must marry the young girl Sarah, daughter of Raguel, and of Tobias answering that wasn't it true that Sarah had had seven husbands already and each of them killed on the wedding night by a demon?
We roared with laughter as Joseph read this part in Tobias' innocent voice. And then Joseph became the angel Raphael again, "Now you listen to me and don't you worry about this demon!" On Joseph read in the voice of the angel, that Tobias would be wed to Sarah that very night and all he had to do was put the liver and heart of the dead fish on the fire in the wedding chamber and the smell would drive off the demon forever! "And who else do you think such a smell would drive off!" Cleopas asked. Even my mother was laughing.
Joseph went on as the helpful angel Raphael, his words in a rush. "Now before you get into your bed, stand and pray, asking that safety and mercy be granted you. Don't be afraid, the girl's set apart for you from before the beginning of the world, you'll save her, she'll go with you, I assume you'll have children and they will be brothers and sisters, and say no more to it." Again we were laughing so hard we could hardly keep from crying.
"That's the way it goes," said my aunt Esther, and all of them broke into laughing again looking at one another.
"Say no more to it!" cried my aunt Salome, and again they were all laughing as if they the mothers knew far more how funny it was even than we did.
"And an angel should know!" cried my aunt Esther.
They all went quiet. All the laughter stopped.
I saw they were looking at my mother and then looking away at each other.
My mother was looking off at nothing, and then she smiled. She laughed. She shook her head, and laughed, and they all broke into laughing again.
There were many funny parts in the story and we knew them all. From the stench of the fish, the demon fled, the angel bound him, Tobias loved Sarah, his father-in-law wouldn't let him go home he loved him so much, and the wedding feast went on for over fourteen days, and when he finally did go home, yes, he cured his father's blindness with the medicine of the fish who'd tried to swallow his foot, and another wedding feast went on for more days and everyone was happy. Then came the more serious part of the story, the long and beautiful prayers of Tobit, which we all knew in Greek and recited in Greek.
When we came to the end of the prayer, Joseph, who was leading us, spoke the words more slowly, as they had a meaning for us now that they hadn't had for us in Egypt.
" 'Jerusalem, our holy city, the Lord has scourged you for works of your hands, but He will have mercy on the children of the Righteous. Praise the Lord for He is Good, and bless the King of the ages, so that He will again pitch His tent in your midst. We were sad thinking of the fighting going on. And as the prayer went on, I made the memories of the fighting go away; I saw the Temple as it had been before I knew that men were going to fight with each other. I saw the huge walls, and the hundreds of people gathered there to pray, crowding through the baths, through the tunnels into the Court of the Gentiles. I heard people crying out the Psalms.
We prayed now as Joseph led us:
" 'A great light will shine to all the ends of the Earth, and many nations will come to you from afar, the peoples of all the Earth, to dwell near to the name of the Lord, bearing in their hands gifts for the King of Heaven. I saw the light in my mind, and I grew sleepy in a beautiful soft sleep in which I could hear the words of the prayer as I lay on my mat, with my arm crooked under my head. " And they will call you The Chosen One through all ages forever. And so it seemed the pestilence had left our house. Death had left it. Uncleanness had left it. And tears had left it. And though my dream of the strange creature with the wings and the beautiful eyes troubled me, and though it troubled me worse that I felt I could tell no one about it, I soon put the dream out of my mind as I put aside the picture of the Temple full of blood. And life began again. I was happy I knew it, because I had known what unhappiness was, and what fear was, and illness and sorrow, and these things were gone now.
20
AS SOON AS MY MOTHER SAID that I could, I bathed in the mikvah which was very cold now, with the water so high it went over my head, and I put on freshly washed clothes, and I went up the hill to the house of the great Rabbi, Berekhaiah. The servants told me he was at the synagogue so I went there, careful to wash my hands in the stream for the sake of anyone who didn't know I had bathed before coming.
I went in and sat down on the edge of the assembly, surprised to see so many there on this day of the week, but I soon saw they were all listening not to the Rabbis but to a man who had come to tell of events in Jerusalem. He was a Pharisee and dressed in the finest clothes, with plenty of white hairs beneath his shawl.
My brother James was there, and so was Joseph, and Cleopas. My older cousins were there.
Rabbi Berekhaiah smiled when he saw me and gestured for me to sit still as the man went on talking.
The man was speaking in Greek, and from time to time he stopped and spoke in our tongue.
He was in the middle of his story:
"This Sabinus, this procurator of the
Romans, he had his men surround the Temple, and the Jews took to the roofs of the colonnades. They threw stones at the Romans. The arrows went like that through the air. And the Roman arrows couldn't reach the Jews because of their position. But this godless man, Sabinus, this man whose sole intent was, in everything he did, to find the treasure of the King in the King's absence, this greedy man, he set fire in secret to the colonnades, the very colonnades of the Temple with their gold work in wax, and the Jews were caught by the flames. The fire exploded as if from a mountain. The pitch in the roof of the Temple caught fire; the columns themselves were burning. And the gold was destroyed in the flames. And the men on the roofs were destroyed. How can we count the number of the dead?"
I felt my fear come back. Though it was warm, I felt cold as he went on.
". . . and the Romans, they went right through the flames to steal the treasures of the Lord before the eyes of those who watched helpless. They ran through the Great Courtyard right into the storehouses to steal in their greed, and they stole from the house of the Lord."
I saw it as I'd seen it in my dream. I bowed my head and closed my eyes. As he went on speaking, I could see what he was telling us.
Battle after battle, and the Roman legions coming, and the crosses going up along the road.
"Two thousand crucified," he said. "They went after those who had fled. They brought in those they suspected and executed them. Who knew if all these people were guilty? They can't tell the good from the bad among us! They don't know. And the Arabians, how many villages did they burn before General Varus finally sent them home, before he learned they couldn't be trusted as peacekeepers." Then came a string of names—places burned, families who had lost their homes. . . .
I couldn't open my eyes. I saw the flames against the night sky. I saw people running. Finally a hand came down on my shoulder and I heard Rabbi Berekhaiah whisper, "Pay heed."
"Yes, Rabbi," I whispered.
I looked at the man who walked back and forth before the assembly talking of the rebels—Simon, who burnt the palace of Jericho, had been chased by Gratus, the general of Herod who went over to the Romans. His rule was finished. But there were so many others. . . .
"They're in those caves to the north!" He gestured. "They'll never be wiped out."
People whispered, nodded.
"They're families, tribes of bandits. And now comes the word that Caesar has divided us amongst the children of Herod, and these princes, if that is what they are, are on the high seas bound for our ports."
I saw the nighttime sea under the moon. I felt my dream.
The messenger stopped as if he had a lot more to say, but couldn't say it.
"We await the ruler who is now put over us," he said.
A man spoke up from the back of the assembly.
"The priests of the Temple will rule!" he said.
And another: "The priests know the Law and we live by the Law. Why do we not have priests from the House of Zadok as the Law says we should have? I tell you, you purge the Temple of its impurities and the priests will rule again." Men stood up. Men shouted at each other. No one could be heard.
Rabbi Jacimus was on his feet.
Only when the old Rabbi Berekhaiah stood up did the men quiet down.
"Our embassy put its petitions before Caesar," said Rabbi Berekhaiah. "Caesar has made his decision and we will soon know the full words of it. Until then we wait." His eyes moved over the assembly. He turned this way and that as he looked into the faces of the men and the women gathered there.
"Who knows the lineage of the priest in the Temple at this hour?" he asked. "Who knows if there is even a High Priest?"
There was much nodding and approval of that. The men were taking their seats again.
The messenger went on to answer questions from the men.
But there was soon disputing and shouting all over again.
I got up and slipped out of the synagogue.
In the warm air I didn't shiver anymore. I went through the village and out and up the hill.
Women were tending the vegetable gardens. The farmers worked with their helpers in the fields.
The sky was big, and the clouds were moving as if they were ships at sea.
Wildflowers bloomed in the grass, some tall, and others small. And the trees were full of green olives.
I lay down on the grass, and felt of the wildflowers with my open hand. And I looked up through the branches of the olive tree. I wanted it that way—the sky in bits and pieces. I was happy. I could hear far away the pigeons and the doves of the village. I thought I could even hear the bees in their hives. I could hear something that was like the grass growing, but it wasn't that, I knew. It was all the sounds coming together, and being soft—so unlike the sounds of a city.
I thought of Alexandria. I thought of the great open Temple to Augustus Caesar by the port with all its gardens
and its libraries. I had seen it many times as we passed it on our way to take supplies from the warehouses on the docks.
Yes, all that. And our procession, we, the Jews of Alexandria, the largest part of the population, celebrating the day the Scripture had been put into Greek. We had given the pagans something to look at, had we not? Or so the men said as we chanted the Psalms.
I saw the sea.
I did think of those things . . . but I loved this place. I knew love of it, love of the thick forests going up the slopes with the cypress and the sycamore, and the myrtle trees as Joseph taught me the names of them.
I prayed in my heart. "Father in Heaven, I thank you for this."
It wouldn't last, being alone here.
It was Cleopas who came to get me.
"Don't be unhappy," he said.
"I'm very happy," I said as I climbed to my feet. "I am not unhappy at all. I am not unhappy with anything."
"Oh, I see," he said in his usual tone. "I thought the talk in the synagogue had made you cry."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "This is a happy place, this," I said, looking back to where I'd been. "I come here and I think and my thoughts turn to prayers."
He liked this.
We walked down the slope together.
"Good," he said. "You mustn't worry about all those struggles, those defeats. The Romans will get every last one of those rebels in Judea. That fool, Simon, is just one of them. They'll catch Athronges, the shepherd King, and they'll catch his brothers. They'll hunt down these thieves in Galilee too. They're up there in the caves, at the Fountains of the Jordan.
They'll come out when they want something, and you'll hear them roaring through the village. Oh, not here, no, nothing much ever happens in Nazareth except—. Whoever is King here or in Judea, Archelaus or Antipas, Caesar is the judge to whom we can appeal. I'll tell you one thing about Caesar. He doesn't want trouble out here. And these Herods will rule as long as there's no trouble. We always have Caesar."
I stopped. I looked up at him.
"You want it this way, that we always have Caesar?"
"Why not?" he asked. "Who else is to keep the peace?"
I felt the fear so sharp that it hurt my belly. I didn't answer. "Will we never have another King for David's throne?" I asked.
He looked at me for a long time before he answered.
"I want peace," he said. "I want to build, and plaster and paint, and feed my little ones, and be with my kindred. That's what I want. And that's all the Romans want. You know they're not bad people, the Romans. They worship their gods. Their women are proper. They have their ways as we have ours. Here, you'd think that every pagan was a lawless fiend who burnt his children to Moloch and committed abominations every afternoon in his own house."
I laughed.
"But this is Galilee," he said. "Once one lives in a city like Alexandria, once one has been to Rome, you know these are illusions. Do you know what that word means?"
"Yes," I said. "Fancies. Dreams."
"Ah," he said. "You are the one who understands me."
> I laughed and nodded.
"I'm your prophet," he said.
"Will you be my prophet?" I said.
"What? What is it you want me to do?"
"Tell me the answers. Why did they stop me at the door of the synagogue. Why didn't Joseph want to say that it was in—."
"No," he said. He shook his head. He put his hands up to his head. He looked down. "I can't do it because Joseph doesn't want me to do it."
"Joseph has forbidden me to ask questions of him, even to ask questions."
"You know why?" he asked.
"He doesn't want to know," I said. I shrugged. "What else could it be?"