Great Lion of God (29 page)

Joseph’s voice did not break the silence; it rode upon it easily. He said at last, “I have seen Pontius Pilate, who owes me much, and I have seen Herod, who owes me more. I knew of the tragedy at the Damascus Gate almost as it happened, for shall one of my people suffer without my knowing or my caring? Alas, it was a sorrowful tragedy, and I grieve for both Roman and Jew, and for all who clash arms anywhere in a conflict which is never resolved. For so long as men exist there will be war and hatred and oppression and rebellion, until—” He paused, and he gazed into space as if seeing some heroic vision yet unfulfilled.

He resumed. “Is it better to die in a just cause which may never succeed, or to live and work in hope of its final success? This has always been the enigma which has faced man, especially in his youth. The Greeks say it more brutally: ‘It is better to die on your feet as a man than to live on your knees as a slave.’ But merely to die, however nobly, is to remove a warrior. We cannot spare warriors.” He gave Hillel his gentle smile again but this time it was a little cryptic.

Hillel was regarding him with painful attention.

“Let me comfort you in a small way,” said Joseph in a compassionate tone. “There have been killings today, and Romans do not look upon killings of their soldiers with equanimity. Nor do we regard the killing of Jews with uninterest. The Romans call themselves the men of law and reason. They can understand the anger of the Jews, for they would feel as we do if Rome were occupied by an alien power and its laws enforced on her. Romans are also pragmatists—when it concerns other men’s patriotism and spirit. Who is stronger? Rome. Who, therefore, has the major right to rule, engage in trade, regulate commerce, build, change? Rome. This is not a new manner of regarding the conquered, but Rome has made of it a virtue. It is not hypocrisy. The Romans are honestly convinced that they are the civilizing and welding force in the world, and they have always dreamed of a world—government, which they believe they have brought about under the Pax Romana. Competing nations, rival empires, appear disorderly to the Romans, trivial, duplicating, self-indulgent, extravagant, expensive, without efficiency, and dangerous. If the Roman spirit could be described in one word it would be Economy, economy in thought, deed, philosophy, action.

“Forgive me if I seem to be astray, and tardy. I wished you to understand that I comprehend the Roman, and comprehension is half the battle when engaging in controversy. For, who can hate the man he understands? He can only approach the adversary, or the friend—and it is strange how often they are the same!—with kindness and reason, and even with sympathy. This is not subtle wiliness. It comes from the heart, if it is genuine. Therefore, though I know Pilate well, and know him for a cruel and superstitious and ambitious man, I also know him as a man, of my human flesh and my human spirit, and I know he is not happier than I, not more content, not alien to my being. He shares with me all the afflictions and all the hopes and avarice of mankind, and he knows that I know this of him. As for Herod, he is a man to be pitied, the man who cannot reconcile his Jewish nature with his Greek instincts.

“To them both today I brought my understanding, and my importunities.”

He peeled a large ripe plum for Hillel and put it on the small golden plate, and did not wait for the servant to serve Hillel more wine. He poured it himself. Saul watched him and thought with disgust, “He is but another player on words, another deft pleader for the Roman, another compromiser, another agile man who can release himself from a trap. Such men have sold their souls for comfort, for riches, for security, and do not know the sorry bargain.”

As if he had heard the young man’s thoughts Joseph rested his bright dark eyes on him for a moment and a shadow of sadness touched them. Hillel had listened acutely, and had not felt dismay nor repulsion. It was as if a strong cool hand had been laid on a feverish cheek, and so he waited and a faint calm came to him.

Joseph said, “I have persuaded Pilate to release those seized in the city as potential malcontents, who have opposed the Roman obdurately but not with violence. They have been returned to their homes with stern warnings, but they are now in the bosoms of their family. ‘Shall the lamb be sacrificed with the lion?’ I asked Pilate.” Joseph smiled. “He also owes me considerable money, for he is a reckless gambler, and Tiberius Caesar, that harsh and rigid man, does not like gamblers. He has also compromised himself, in company with Herod, with Agrippa in Rome. Fortunately, I have friends whom Tiberius trusts, and so Pilate is not to be recalled.” Joseph paused. He looked at the wine in his goblet. “He has a role to play, and I have seen it in my visions. I am a visionary man.”

Hillel’s face had become tremulous with hope. Joseph lifted his hand.

“I did not use my money nor my influence in Rome to sway Pilate, for that would be more degrading to me than to him. I used Roman reason on him, and the Romans do not like disarray or emotionalism. Nor do I. The emotional man is a man who has lost control of himself. Therefore, how can he rule others or give a judicious opinion? That I said to Pilate, and he knew I spoke in truth. Emotion should have no part of justice, I assured him. Was it just to punish the innocent for the fault of others? Only the Greeks believe that, I told him, and he nodded his head.” Again Joseph smiled. “The Romans, in their hearts, believe themselves inferior to the Greeks. They always welcome one who assures them of their superiority.”

He is a wily hypocrite! thought Saul, with increasing rage.

But Hillel said, “Thanks be to God, Joseph of Arimathaea, that you have saved the innocent! But what of those hundred or more of the Zealots and Essenes who await a monstrous death, in the prisons of the Romans?”

Joseph said with sadness, “They I cannot save. Nor do I believe that they desire to be saved. They are rash and dedicated young men, and it is the young who believe in heroic causes and court death as older men court mistresses. They believe they set a standard for others to follow, that they carry a banner which will strike fire in the hearts of other men. It is beautiful. But not very sensible.”

“So, they will die,” said Hillel.

“Not without glory in their souls, not without exultation,” said Joseph. He poured fresh wine. “To that they have always aspired. I do not deny their love, their patriotism, their devotion to God. But on the altar of these they are more than willing to be sacrificed.”

Saul could not restrain himself. “I, too, am willing!” he cried.

Hillel, even in his agony of spirit, wished to rebuke his son. But Joseph again lifted his hand and said, “And so you are, my child, and so it will be.”

Dread filled Hillel’s heart, for he was a father. He had heard that Joseph had mysterious gifts of prophecy and penetration.

“I would rather my son lived for his people,” he said.

“And so he shall,” said Joseph, with his kind smile. This seemed enigmatic to Hillel. Saul’s eyes were like polished metal, reflecting his deep passions and anger. Joseph went on, “I know when I have a possibility of succeeding, even a faint one, which I will press. I know when I cannot succeed, when it is useless to try. So the children of the desert must die. Pilate said to me, ‘Do you Jews not have a law saying “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth?” And, a life for a life.’ I knew he was adamant on the subject of the deaths of his soldiers and officers. Who can blame him? I was grateful enough that he spared the innocent, though we know they are as inflamed as those men, if more discreet. They are also more pious. They await the Messias, and His deliverance of all men from their sins and their sufferings, blessed be His Name.”

Hillel’s face again became tremulous but before he could speak Saul said, “And you pleaded with Herod, Joseph of Arimathaea?”

“I did. I have persuaded him to give a painless poison to those of the young heroes who showed even the slightest fear of death and suffering. A man should go to his self-evoked death with pride and rejoicing, and even with gratitude.

Those of feebler and gentler spirit should be preserved from the agonies of inexorable execution.”

Hillel dropped his head and clasped his hands on his knee. Joseph looked at him with compassion. “Hillel ben Borush, death is not the supreme terror, nor the most monstrous of calamities, nor is life greatly to be desired by wise men. We know this, as Jews. And it was Aristotle who said, ‘There are circumstances and occasions when the reasonable man will prefer to die and not to live.’ You suffer for our young countrymen, for you are a Jew, and I suffer with you. But man’s life at its best is brief and full of trouble and pain and despair, and there is not a man alive today who will not be dead in less than one hundred years, A century from now, and few among us will be remembered, no matter if they were evil or just, saints or demons, traitors or patriots.” He paused. “Only One will be remembered, blessed be His Name.”

But Saul said in youthful agitation which overcame his taught respect for those older than himself: “You believe that no cause is worth fighting for, no banner worth following, and that men should be complaisant before evil?”

“I did not say that,” said Joseph. “I wished to imply that a giant is not overcome by a flea, and however determined and devoted the flea he cannot slay the giant.”

“Goliath was killed by a stone, flung by David,” said Saul. He was almost panting in his defiance and his scorn.

Joseph meditated for a moment. He said, “God has His reasons, and we know them not. We can only look knowingly on events when they have become past history. It is my belief that God now has a different role for Israel, a spiritual conquest of men, a conquest of love and joy and salvation, and not a conquest by death and blood. Except—” He stopped again, and Hillel looked up from his brooding misery.

“What is it that you wished to say, dear friend?” he asked.

Joseph hesitated. “I have had visions,” he replied. “I may not speak of them, for the time has not yet come.”

“You believe that the coming of the Messias is at hand?” cried Hillel.

Joseph took a pomegranate in his hand and studied its scarlet surface. “What if He has already come?” he asked in a distant tone, as if proffering a theory.

“He has not come!” said young Saul, more scornful than ever. “If He had come, the whole world would now be proclaiming His blessed Name and rejoicing, and the Roman would lie in the depths of the sea as did the Egyptians!”

“You believe, Saul ben Hillel, that God hates the Roman, who is His child also, and that He will send Messias only to the Jews? ‘A Light unto the Gentiles,’ it has been prophesied.” A sternness appeared on Joseph’s face, a rebuke.

Hillel’s sad eyes had become ardent as they fixed themselves on I Joseph. He whispered, “You believe He has come?”

But Joseph was silent. Hillel’s heart began to beat with strong urgency. “I have heard of the Star over Bethlehem, and I have heard that you went to the city of David—”

But Joseph still did not speak. Saul laughed in himself. These old men loved mysteries; they loved to appear elusive and wise. He looked at his father, Hillel, with the light on his drawn features, and was ashamed for him that he could lend himself to this folly, this blasphemy against God, Who would send His Messias with legions of angels, with golden trumpets which would shatter the highest battlements and with a glory that would daze the earth, and not obscurely, not in the night, not with equivocation.

“I have prayed that I would see His salvation,” said Hillel, humbly.

Joseph gazed at him with a strange long look. “So shall all the just,” he said. He sighed. “Ask me not of the Star, or what I saw in Bethlehem, for the hour has not yet come.” He directed his gaze upon Saul, and though it was intent it was also far, as if seeing what others could not see. Saul was suddenly and dreadfully struck with the thought that such a gaze had been directed on him by the poor peasant in the marketplace. He was filled with a chill fear.

Joseph conducted his guests through the atrium and the portico, and he kept his arm over Hillel’s shoulders in a tender embrace. At the door he kissed Hillel on the cheek, in comfort and said, “Do not grieve. All is in God’s Hands, blessed be His Name.”

“I do not know why, but I am comforted,” said Hillel, and he smiled through fresh tears. He hardly heard Saul’s infuriated denunciations of Joseph as they sat in the litter.

Later, as he prayed in his cubiculum, he heard the return of Shebua ben Abraham, and a loud commotion and men’s disordered voices. He rose and drew his bed-robe about him, and opened the door and peered out beyond the hall into the atrium. It was lighted brilliantly. Shebua was there, struggling in the arms of his servants, who were apparently attempting to restrain him, and he was uttering the most incredible blasphemies and oaths and rages. Hillel’s first impulse was to go to him. Shebua’s toga was covered with the stains wine and meats and fruits, his hair was disheveled, his face pale sweating and distorted. He is drunk, thought Hillel, and remembered that one is not to disgrace another by observing his drunkenness, and he prepared to shut his door.

But there had been something in Shebua’s manner and voice and struggles which was not solely of drunkenness, though he had drunk mightily that night in contradiction with his usual restraint. Hillel paused, watching through his half-shut door, as Shebua fought with his servants and cursed them.

Then, to Hillel’s bewildered pity, Shebua burst into tears, and collapsed in his servants’ arms and they bore him away, and one remained behind to blow out the lamps. Hillel closed his door, and pondered on what he had seen, and he was filled with sadness. What had caused Shebua’s unusual orgy of emotion and chaotic derangement could not be known to him, Hillel, but he remembered that Joseph of Arimathaea had spoken of the oneness of men in spite of their apparent differences. May God have mercy on us, prayed Hillel ben Borush, and went to his bed. May God have mercy on all men, for we are afflicted.

May God avenge us, prayed Saul ben Hillel, and he wept in his rage and sorrow and hatred. And then he found, to his horror, that he could not resume his prayers. There was a deep numbness within him like an awful absence.