All Who Came Before. Simon Perry
were obviously not simply exchanging market place news.
“Yudah has always had a revolutionary streak about him, you know that. Who knows who he knows and what he might be suggesting? But we’re in this now, it’s our doing and we must honor our brothers by seeing this through.”
“Seeing this through?” Yeshua repeated. “We’ve played our part in this. The violence started before us and it will end long after us. Our job is done. An eye for an eye.”
“We may not have any choice,” Theudas shrugged as Yudah returned from his conversation.
“Sorry about that, boys,” smiled Yudah as he clapped his hands together. “Just getting an update on your handiwork. I look forward to hearing more about this. But first things first, what do you need?”
“Drink!” they replied in unison.
With that a young woman appeared, carrying a jug of water, several cups and a bowl of ripe fruit.
“You answer me before I call,” Yudah nodded with satisfaction. The woman smiled but did not withdraw as would be expected of a servant. He placed his hand insider hers and the two of them broke into a smile. “You don’t remember Miriam then?” asked Yudah, as his daughter took a seat beside him.
“But you are only ten years old!” Yeshua smiled, “or at least you were last time we saw you, which must have been years.” He thought it best not to inquire after the whereabouts of her husband.
“Fifteen!” she smiled. The only memorable feature to have survived intact the passage to adulthood was her long, dark brown hair. Her face carried hints of a past beyond reach of Yeshua’s consciousness. As she looked at him, he recalled her warmest trait. She had an air of mischief about her, poised always on the verge of a warm smile that promised to show itself at the next word to fall from your lips.
“Are you staying long?” she asked.
“No,” said Yeshua, oblivious to the disapproval of Theudas. “We’re heading back to Egypt at first light.”
“Never mind,” she smiled as her attention was drawn by Theudas’ discomfort with his brother’s hasty answer. “Hopefully it won’t be another fifteen years before I see you again.” With that she withdrew from their company, taking with her the smiles and attentions of all three men, before Yudah regained his more serious demeanor.
“Well, we have plenty of time, and you clearly need to spill your guts to someone so why don’t you tell me the whole story?” He had looked through Yeshua’s eyes and penetrated his Spirit.
Yeshua took a deep sip, wiped his lips and began. “You know my family, Yudah. My older brothers were always faithful to Moses and the Prophets. But it was only this year that we got as far as visiting Jerusalem. They wanted to offer sacrifices on the mountain where Abraham himself had consented to sacrifice his firstborn. They worshipped the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. ‘Adonai is our shield and stronghold,’ were the last words Yotham ever said to me. But there was no divine protection from the soldiers hidden in the crowds.”
“The crowds were the protesters, right?”
“Yeh, some protest to do with an aqueduct. The demonstration was outside the prefect’s garrison, near to the temple, and we had to weave our way through the crowds to make it from the temple to the city gate. The prefect was treating the crowds to a pep talk. But . . . as we were trying to push our way through, he called a magic word that must have been a hidden command for his soldiers.” Yeshua puffed out a long sigh as he shook his head.
“They were armed only with canes, hidden under their tunics.” At this point Yeshua stopped, realizing he had recounted this event to no one but his father. Unable to continue, Theudas took over.
“I don’t know how many they killed, I wasn’t even there . . . Yeshua got separated in the crowd . . . He didn’t find Yotham and Saul until it was all over.” Theudas made several false starts before continuing. The only detail of this story that really mattered to Theudas was the outcome. It was all that interested him, and all he could recall. “He butchered our brothers. Our innocent brothers. Simple as that.”
“How did your Father take the news?”
“As you’d expect. By the time we left he still hadn’t eaten.”
“What did he think of you coming here to do this?” Silence. “It goes against everything he always stood for.”
“And still stands for,” sighed Yeshua, shaking and then dropping his head in lament.
“So you came to Caesarea . . .” Yudah beckoned.
Theudas obliged. “A week ago. We watched the morning patrol for six nights, and then this morning . . .” He smacked his right fist into his cupped left hand.
“You can say that again,” muttered Yudah, who then widened his eyes for a second and let out a controlled breath through his puffed out cheeks. “Didn’t you think about what the prefect would do?” he frowned in thought, and smiled a humorless smile, teeth concealed, that expressed gentle disapproval.
“Why do you think we hit them in Caesarea? It could have been anyone from anywhere!”
Yudah chuckled. “Give your brain a chance, Yeshua. Think about what kind of man this prefect is. All he needs is an excuse to spill blood and the feast begins. He’s not that choosy about whose blood, or how much of it.”
Yeshua drew breath to answer his friend, but Yudah, wanting his point to stand, jumped in quickly by adding a veiled complement. “And targeting his own soldiers? I doubt that’s been done to him before.” The approval in Yudah’s expression was immediately eclipsed by a more somber tone. “You have plenty of admiration here in Narbata, but there are also plenty who would like to see you crucified for what you did.” He paused before continuing. “Can I make a suggestion?” Yudah took the silence as an affirmative. “Come to the synagogue this afternoon. Afterwards I’d like you to meet some friends of mine. One of them you’ll already recognize!”
“The synagogue? Come on, you know we don’t want anything to do with all that.”
“A rabbi’s sons afraid to go to a synagogue?”
“What, so we can listen to some hypocritical, self righteous egg-head bleating religious purity while the world crumbles around him?”
“If Yeshua goes into a synagogue the walls are likely to crack . . .” Theudas laughed.
“I think you’ll find our synagogue a little different from what you boys are used to in Egypt, even in Caesarea. Narbata is a rebel town. And Kaleb, the Pharisee from the market place this morning, has just been invited to speak.” One after the other, the brothers shrugged their shoulders in reluctant compliance. “Come straight back here afterwards, Miriam will let you in. I’ll need to linger a while, and will bring a couple of friends back with me.”
Yudah’s synagogue was smaller than the one the brothers had attended. A square hall, each wall about four feet thick and twelve paces long, with a cobbled floor underfoot. Even with so many bodies crammed in, its cool was a welcome relief from the Judean heat. The long central benches were packed with men talking in low and serious tones. The women’s end of the hall generated a more hurried brand of chatter, but all was swamped by applause as the young Pharisee entered. Whatever his status had been, this day had heightened it beyond measure.
The ruler of the synagogue stood and the congregation slowly quieted. On having everyone’s attention, he uttered a brief, opening prayer, concluding with words, which the whole congregation knew by heart, words which today reached a new depth as the crowds voiced them as one, “For Adonai is our judge, Adonai is our ruler, Adonai is our king. He will save us.”
Prayers concluded and the ruler turned to welcome the Pharisee to the platform. Kaleb, robed in dull white, was probably in his early thirties, but what he lacked in years he made up for in his presence. His eyes were bursting with a quiet energy that promised his listeners that, for better or