Great Lion of God (38 page)

“If the Messias, blessed be His Name, tarry much longer there will be no Israel for Him to rescue, no stone left upon the holy hill of Sion, no voice to speak His Name, no eye to rejoice and behold Him, no Temple, but only abandoned stones and lifeless arches and empty marketplaces, and rubble, and fallen houses and buildings, for my people can endure no more. He will find but a desert, burning in the sun, and marked only by dead groves and fruitless terraces. When a nation totally despairs she must die, for her heart and soul have suspired. Let the Roman and his loathsome taxgatherers rejoice then in a universal desert!

“But, alas. The Sadducees wax fat and contented still and serenely engage in their various pursuits and speak Greek and visit Rome and Athens and Alexandria and dress elegantly in silks from the Orient and begem themselves and live in corrupt fashion with concubines and are entertained in the arenas the Romans have built beyond the gates, and gamble, and join the Romans in Pompeii and Herculaneum and Caprae during the fashionable seasons, and live luxuriously in the Roman style, and are as depraved. If one complains to them—as I do in my grandfather’s house—of taxes and the despair of the people, one is regarded sternly and contemptuously as a barbarian who does not understand, as they say, ‘the responsibilities of modern governments to gather taxes for the general welfare of all.’ It is useless to remind them that empires and nations have died in dust and ashes in the past because of taxation and the profligacy of governments who buy the people with their own money. They merely reply, with superb smiles, that this is another age and that what is past is past. Too, they remind me, a certain portion of the revenues collected by the taxgatherers goes to the support of the Temple, and, they ask, is that not a worthy cause? I think of the High Priest and his cohorts in their gold and purple and gilded litters surrounded by slaves, and I know the Temple is profaned by their presence and that God is outraged by their very existence. These too, the venal priests, oppress our people. Many of them smile when one speaks of the Messias, and they murmur a faint word concerning ‘myths’ and ‘ancient tales,’ and the need of modern man to deal with his certain reality and not with fantasies. Are these priests, the shepherds of the people, the conservers of vulnerable flocks, the tender guardians of ewes and lambs, the lifter of hearts, the sustainers of souls? No! They have betrayed both God and man. They have made desolate the holy places, have removed sanctity from the Ark of the Covenant, have smeared the flaming words of the Torah, have subverted the natural laws of God, have dismissed, with an arched eyebrow, the Statutes and Judgments and Ordinances, have defamed, with soft amusement, I the meaning of the Commandments, saying that they were valid for I an earlier age but not for today.

“Because of the priests who have betrayed God and man the Temple is no longer a sanctuary, a dwelling place for the Most High. It is now but a marketplace where strange philosophies are discussed in the shadow of colonnades and in the dusky passages and in the quiet gardens, and men gather there under umbrellas held by slaves to exchange sophisticated conversation and news of banking, merchandising and brokerage. The priests are no more virtuous than these, no more pious. They are content that the Romans pay their stipends and make luxurious their houses. It is nothing to them that the people despise and mistrust them, that they avert their heads from them, that they regard them as their enemies and not their guardians. They give their flocks stones to eat and dry dust to drink, and instead of hope they bed them in the sheds of despair.

“I often remember what God has said of these: ‘My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge; because you have rejected knowledge I will also reject you. You have forgotten the Law of your God, and I will also forget your children.’ The priests lead us now, as God said, ‘into a way that seems right to a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.’ Ah, let the evil priests, who have betrayed their God and their flocks, beware of the judgment of the Lord, Who neither slumbers nor sleeps!

“The priests offer their sacrifices, bought with the sweat-stained coppers of their oppressed people, and I recall again the words of the Lord concerning the false shepherds who have led their flocks to destructions: ‘I hate, I despise your feasts, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.’

“‘Even though you offer Me your burnt offerings and cereal offerings, I will not accept them, and the peace offerings of your fatted beasts I will not look upon! Take away from Me the noise of your songs! To the melody of your harps I will not listen!—But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.’

“But they heed neither the Words of God nor the admonitions of such as Rabban Gamaliel, at whose feet I sit daily. Each morning he prays with increasing fervor that the Messias show His Face and deliver His people, Israel. Sometimes he weeps, and his tears come hard, for he is by nature, as you know, a lively and learned man of much patience and remembers, as once you told me, that God speaks in centuries and not in days.

“I do not understand what he means when he implores the Messias to ‘show His Face,’ for the Messias has not yet come, for He has not been born to us according to the prophecies.

“Though you have urged me to visit my grandfather, Shebua ben Abraham often, because he is ailing and of a sore mind—I have not detected this!—I cannot bring myself to do so but on far occasions. I avoid him. I also offend him. When last I dined with him he was entertaining a number of Scribes, those men of mind who do nothing worthy to be called labor or accomplishment, but only write books and advise politicians and dispose themselves elegantly and speak longingly of serving “kings’ and a ‘superior government.’ They consider themselves of enormous intellect! I often wonder if they have bowels. I recall seeing some of the murals extant in Mesopotamia of these Scribes, who are always depicted with book and pen in hand by the side of an overseer with a whip and reverently in the rear of the man on horseback, the despot. How they long to rule, themselves, these little feeble men who call themselves philosophers and intellectuals! For their hatred of the people is manifest in every urbane word they utter, and they have contempt for the common virtues and the simple faith. They have nothing but words, and the words may be eloquent but they have no verity, no texture except sound, no profundity. Many of them are pederasts, as my grandfather once remarked in my hearing, but he laughed rather than displayed disgust, as if this were some endearing little eccentricity instead of a repulsive depravity. Some of them write poetry, and have it copied by lesser scribes and sold in the bookshops, and the poetry is like the breaking of wind. Who is the more contemptible, the Sadducees, the priests or the Scribes, is debatable, or who is more of an abomination.

“At least my grandfather, and my uncles, Simon and Joseph, though Sadducees, work in their fashion and are producers and not mere devourers of other men’s work as are the Scribes. I thought to compliment my grandfather on this, jesting at the Scribes I have met in his house, but to my surprise he was offended. He spoke of the Scribes as the creators of the culture of a nation! If what I have observed of them, and in my listening and in my studies, is ‘culture,’ then I repudiate it with revulsion and want nothing of it. The company of a rude peasant, smelling of manure and black bread and cheese and vinegar is far preferable, for his words deal with honest realities and the things of the honest and holy earth, and his hands do needful tasks, and bring food to the marketplace. But what do the Scribes bring to any man’s table? Delicate noise which signifies nothing. They are only postures without import.

“Once the Scribes were worthy of respect: They kept records for their lords and their masters, and counted the wares on ships and in granaries, and made reports. They made for a certain order. But these modern Scribes consider themselves Gentlemen and feel they should be prized simply because of their facility with words and writings, and their grave and empty chatterings! Aulus Platonius speaks of them in Rome, and calls them ‘deadly,’ but also remarks that Tiberius Caesar dislikes and mocks them—which tends my mind in approval to the Roman for that at least! Aulus calls them ‘maggots in the other men’s meat,’ and I confess when I heard this I laughed as I have not laughed in many months.—I asked a Scribe, in my grandfather’s presence, ‘Whose books do you keep of household matters, and who is your master’—I was only referring to the ancient occupation of the Scribes!—and my grandfather was much incensed and implied that I had insulted his guest, a dainty creature with Hyacinthine curls and rouged cheeks and reddened lips, and perfumed like a whore. I was informed that this particular Scribe had written a play to compare with one of Aristophanes’, and which would soon be produced in a Greek theater. I am afraid I made a sound of which you would not approve, but I can see you smile.

“To happier matters: My sister Sephorah’s last child, a maid, is delightful beyond description, and Sephorah and her husband are pleased, for they have three sons and Ezekiel had desired a daughter. Sephorah grows in beauty and Clodia Flavius declares she is a young Juno, which I doubt will please you. Clodia then added, ‘And possibly a young Rachel.’ Sephorah still has a certain lightness of deportment and a certain jocular manner and a tendency to jest overmuch, which are unbecoming a matron of some twenty-four years. But she does keep her hair covered and has a grave demeanor at times and conducts herself circumspectly, thanks to that revered lady, Clodia Flavius, but then her eyes will glow like gold with the sun upon it and she laughs without a reason I can discern, and teases me that once I was not so serious and so solemn. Immediately afterwards, those same mocking eyes will fill with tears and she will embrace me. I find women incomprehensible.

“The pouch of gold sesterces you sent me was received with gratitude and affection. But I assure you that my earnings as a tentmaker are sufficient for my slight needs. I sleep in the rear of my shop. I am content with simple foods and the plainest of wine and a handful of fruit. I do not dress extravagantly. Rabban Gamaliel once told me, ‘Had your childhood and youth been spent in penury you would not be so easily satisfied now,’ a remark which seems too subtle to me. Was he implying that one reared in comfort and even in luxury finds later poverty less onerous and unbearable? And that poverty is endured best by those accustomed to excellent food—as if this were an adventure and not a hardship? It is possible, then, that the Rabban was not only correct but wise. I dine sometimes at his house, and I must confess that I enjoy his table, though it is simpler than that of Joseph of Arimathaea’s, even if Joseph is not half so rich.

“Do not upbraid me. I gave the sesterces for the relief of the poor. Joseph of Arimathaea distributes grain and meat and wine and cloth to the destitute—and they are legion in Jerusalem in spite of the wealth of the city and of thousands of its inhabitants—just before the Sabbath. What these unfortunate ones now receive in the Temple purlieus is a disgrace to the name of charity, for charity, too, has fallen on cynical days. Few are concerned with the poor and wretched any longer, and yet charity is one of the virtues demanded by God of the Jews.

“I implore you, my dearest of fathers, to write to me frequently. There are things in my heart of which I cannot speak, for always that which was closest to me was the most inarticulate for my tongue. Words cannot encompass the soul. I am happy. I never knew happiness before as I know it now. I have not fulfilled myself; I have not reached the promise. It is still behind the distant hills, but I strive toward it on all days. Sometimes I am weary with work and study, and there is a numbness in my hands and in my brain, and I long for my home in Tarsus and the sight of familiar faces and gardens. These are but passing weaknesses. I would not change my fate for aught in the world! I have young students who listen to me reverently.

“I feel I am approaching some Revelation that is flowering in the darkness and the silence of my nights, but what it is I do not know. I only know that it is there, and my soul bounds with a joy that is close to agony. What is my afflicted eye to all this, or the fact that I have lost the strength of my boyhood, and must drive myself as a man drives oxen? God has given me the sinews and sturdiness of the spirit, and that is more than sufficient. Therefore, do not grieve for me. Concern yourself not for me, nor have anxieties in my behalf. I am doing only as I must, and so I implore you to rejoice with me and know that if I had not had such a father I would not possess my present courage, and my patience.

“I send greetings to Aristo, my old teacher. I pray he is not robbing you when he sells you the produce of his vineyards and his groves. Keep me in the treasure of your prayers, and know that I keep you in mine. When you next visit my mother’s grave, take a rose for me.

Your son,

Saul”

The handsome car with its fine four black stallions rode out of Jerusalem at dawn, and Saul ben Hillel and Joseph of Arimathaea sat on red velvet cushions tasseled and fringed with gold. The driver was a great Nubian with a splendid face and arrayed like a barbaric king, for Joseph indulged his servants with love and respect for their foibles and desires. Another servant held a wide umbrella of silk over the heads of the passengers, though it was not yet dawn and the dew lay on grasses and gardens in the city and the sky was as black as the Nubian’s face and struck with throbbing stars. The Roman soldiers at the Damascus Gate knew Joseph well and honored him, and were grateful for the small pouches of sesterces which he always brought for them.

“They are good and simple and childlike boys, these young soldiers,” he said to Saul. “They are proud of Rome. Once Rome was to be deeply honored, when she was a Republic, and worthy of any civilized man’s respect, for never had so great a nation been founded on so great and noble principles—though admittedly built on a fratricide. Her Bill of Man’s Rights, propounded by her Founding Fathers, notably Cincinnatus, has never been equaled, no, not even by the Code of Hammurabi, and not even by our Moses. But her Constitution was inevitably eroded by ambitious and wicked and lustful men, in whom patriotism had long died, and who saw their nation not as a Colossus of freedom in the world and a light to the nations, but an arena in which they could gain prizes and eventually crown themselves. It is true as Aristotle has said, alas: ‘Republics decline into democracies, and democracies degenerate into despotisms.’ Yet, Republics have the potentialities for immortality, if they retain their masculinity and do not become feminine democracies. Forgive me. A love the vision of the Roman Republic, ruled by just and honorable men. I weep that she has become a female Empire, lascivious, cruel, bloodthirsty, terrible, powerful with evil, an oppressor and an enslaver. But that is the history of nations who first forget God, then honor and virtue.”