A Jew Among Romans

by Frederic Raphael

  e Years earlier, the emperor Claudius had had a similar experience with two sets of Jews who came from Alexandria to petition him. They fell into such violent dissent in his presence that the emperor ordered that no subject people should ever again be allowed to send more than a single group to speak on its behalf.

  f It was among the commodities in which Baruch Spinoza’s Orthodox father traded in seventeenth-century Amsterdam, as part of a business the philosopher inherited but abandoned.

  g Agrippa II had recently presented Sepphoris to Nero as a gift. The city was then promoted to be the capital of Galilee. Justus and his father were keen for local hegemony, but had no wider horizons or ambitions. After the event, Justus had good reason, as a historian (and a survivor), to depict himself and his father as always loyal to Agrippa. (See Mason, Life of Josephus, p. 39.)

  h Even the French Revolution was, at first, an exclusively Parisian affair. Its spread too led to countercurrents within the population. The repression in La Vendée was the bloodiest evidence.

  i When reticence was an aspect of the British idea of how gentlemen should conduct themselves, scorn for “talking with your hands” (often alleged to be a Jewish speciality) was an element of the belief that “wogs begin at Calais.”

  j Since they are never itemized, still less refuted, it is reasonable to conjecture that at least some of Justus’s objections were unanswerable.

  k Hannah Arendt’s peeved reaction to all Jewish criticism of Eichmann in Jerusalem, not least that of her old friend Gershom Scholem, contrasts with the guarded reproaches with which she responded to Martin Heidegger’s infatuation with Hitler. Jewish polemicists regularly display outspoken venom toward those with a provenance not unlike their own, but from which they are, for whatever reasons, earnest to distinguish themselves. Even the Oxford historian (and Zionist) Lewis Namier was capable of alienated condescension. Asked why he spent so much time examining the minutiae of English parliamentary sociology rather than dealing with the great theme of Jewish history, he responded that the Jews did not have a history, only a “martyrology.” It is also sometimes alleged that, among themselves, even the most sophisticated and assimilated Jews like to revert to the Yiddish patois in which, supposedly, they are more comfortably at home. According to Adam Sisman’s 2010 biography of Hugh Trevor-Roper, Bernard Berenson claimed that this was true even when he and Isaiah Berlin got together, which Berlin denied, with polite indignation.

  VII

  AS VESPASIAN WAS REPORTED to be disembarking at Caesarea,a Joseph ben Mattathias moved his headquarters to the hilltop town of Jotapata (today’s Yodefat), about ten miles north of Nazareth. He had already ordered its fortifications to be thickened as part of his hurried plans to balk Vespasian’s advance on Jerusalem. During his governorship, Joseph had raised, and done his best to train and organize, an efficient Jewish army. He claimed that it amounted to a hundred thousand men.

  Statistical exaggeration is a habit with ancient historians. Like old Hollywood producers, they fatten their epics with mammoth casts. Whatever the exact numbers, Joseph’s levies lacked the discipline, cohesion and equipment to confront regular Roman soldiers. With few illusions about the result if he were to be caught in open country, his best tactic had to be to hole up and hold out for as long as possible. In the event, he would have enough time, in his tight redoubt, to reflect on the amalgam of grievances, vanities and miscalculations that had brought the Judaean Jews, and himself, to the present pass.

  In an annex to his adventures in Galilee, Josephus cuts back to Jerusalem, where he says that the High Priest Ananus “and those of the leading men who were not pro-Roman” (implying that a good number were) set about reinforcing the defenses and importing the matériel necessary for war. While the moderate citizens abandoned themselves, as moderates will, to lamentation, Ananus prepared for war, slowly. Can he be blamed if he still hoped that, by being all things to as many men as possible, he could deflect the Zealots from a disastrous war?

  Ananus remained in formal control for almost two years, but his authority was eroded by the Zealot factions, which were also jostling each other for mastery of the elements in favor of total war. Josephus’s two versions of events supply an incongruous double portrait of Ananus. A noble figure in The Jewish War, the same man appears in the Vita to connive at the attempt by a three-man delegation that was dispatched from Jerusalem in the spring of 67 with authority, so they said, to displace Joseph. Their appointment suggests that the Zealot parties, perhaps by agreeing on temporary alliance, had outvoted (or merely bullied) the High Priest and his friends.

  Josephus’s inconsistent treatment of Ananus argues for his candor. In The Jewish War he likes to show himself in a gallant light, but self-justification is not, in that book, his prime purpose. In many regards, Ananus was playing much the same two-faced game as Joseph: both were acting tough and, at the same time, hoping for a last-minute settlement. If Ananus preferred to make concessions at the expense of his own side rather than to excite a bloody confrontation with the radicals, it may have made him a poor friend of Joseph ben Mattathias; but Josephus the historian could see that to betray him might further policies both men had favored. The charge of treason was as easy to bring against Joseph as it would be, a year or so later, against Ananus himself. Neither man was in a position to define, or cleave to, an unequivocal purpose. The more flexible their policy, the more its public expression would excite violent reactions from the militants. To play a double game was their common recourse if they wished both to remain in control of affairs and to compromise with the Romans. How could the elders speak out against the Zealots, whose appeal to the masses was based on the Maccabean myth of heroic Jewish independence? To stay in a position to avoid all-out war, the moderates had to show every sign of preparing for it.

  Joseph displayed daring and ingenuity in clinging to his thankless office as governor-general. The likeliest and least complicated explanation of his persistence is that he was doing what he considered to be his duty. Unless his adventures in Tarichaeae and Tiberias are a fabrication, which not even detractors such as his rival historian Justus have claimed, he never flinched when faced with hostile mobs and daunting odds. Relying on surprise and showmanship, he matched a cluster of charismatic leaders, before and after his time.

  When Vespasian’s legions began marching through Judaea on the way to Jerusalem, Joseph chose to sit tight in Jotapata. With no prospect of halting the Romans in the open, he could pose a credible threat to their flank. He may have had a second thought, and perhaps sealed orders from the hierarchy in Jerusalem; in any negotiated settlement with Vespasian, he was the likeliest go-between. The old hierarchy may have had a large enough majority to secure his appointment, but the young Zealots soon proved numerous enough to revoke it.

  As a result, as well as trying to align the local bosses in a common front against the Romans, Joseph had to deploy his ingenuity in frustrating the posse from Jerusalem, which had come to relieve him of his command. Jesus ben Gamala, a former High Priest who remained a leading figure in the High Priest’s coterie, sent word, through Joseph’s father, Mattathias, warning that the Zealots’ deputation had been supplied with forty thousand pieces of silver from central funds with which to persuade the Galileans to dump Joseph.b Can vanity alone account for the vigor with which he fought to keep his post?

  Josephus says that he was fortified in his resolve by a marvelous dream: “A certain one standing over me appeared to say, ‘Look, you who are hurting, calm your mind! Let go of all fear! For the matters about which you are now sorrowful will produce greatness and the highest fortune in every respect. You will set right not only these matters, but many others as well. Do not exhaust yourself, but remember you must also make war against the Romans!’ ” If it can be doubted whether the message came expressly from the Holy One, the dream need not have been wholly fabricated, not least because, in Josephus’s usual style, it combines affectations of election with a show of humility. At the s
ame time, the style of his dream, which implies divine empowerment, may owe something to his exposure to Roman culture: in Cicero’s Republic, Publius Cornelius Scipio is visited in a dream by his distinguished forebear, Scipio Africanus Major. He is promised a great future career as a servant of Rome and protector of its laws, under the governance of the deity who rules the universe.

  Since Jotapata’s defenses looked sound, Vespasian might yet choose to bypass a strategically negligible township and head straight for Jerusalem. Joseph would then be left with space and time in which to maneuver. Once the now overexcited citizens had seen a major Roman force marching on the city, a change of mood was possible. Should the saner members of the Sanhedrin then be able to reassert comprehensive control, Joseph would be well-placed to act as their plenipotentiary. He was hardly a bad Jew if he belonged to those who hoped, quietly, that it was still possible to come to terms with Rome.

  Vespasian circled south and advanced on Jotapata from the east. An experienced campaigner knew better than to leave even an amateur general in a position to cut the legions’ lines of communication. He had additional reason for hastening slowly: Nero’s undignified profligacy was kindling unrest throughout the empire. Provincial governors, notably Vindex, in Gaul, were rumored to be flexing their muscles. Insecurity fed the emperor’s paranoia; he was increasingly distrustful of generals with illustrious reputations. It was not a clever time to draw attention to oneself by fighting a lightning campaign, even if the methodical Vespasian was capable of it. He would be wise to husband his resources and boost the cohesion and devotion of his men by small, preferably lucrative, successes.

  Jerusalem could wait. Even disciplined troops camped in the open, under the walls of what looked like an impregnable city, were vulnerable to sickness, to shortage of water and forage, and to volleys of spears and arrows from those high on the walls. Sorties were likely to inflict casualties and depress morale. If the legions were stalled, and became dispirited, and if Joseph remained undefeated behind them, he and his men could sally out of Jotapata and begin a Fabian guerrilla war on the Romans’ supply lines. He might even rally enough reinforcements to attack the besieging army from behind. Vespasian would then be the one between a rock and a hard place.c

  Jotapata was a small nut, but not easy to crack. Its hilltop location made access difficult for heavy siege equipment. The inhabitants—unlike those of bigger cities in Galilee—were all Jews, not short of provisions and solid in determination to defend their faith, their homes and their families. The craggy site could not be undermined. It had no source of fresh water, but there were underground cisterns in which the townspeople stored the winter rainfall, more generous in the first century than in modern times.

  It was, however, midsummer. By July, the town’s water reserves were drying up. Immediately after Vespasian’s siege began, rationing had to be imposed. Within a short while, most of the cisterns were empty. The defenders could draw water only from a single source, within range of enemy spears. Joseph guessed that Vespasian must be hoping that thirst alone would force an early, soft surrender and allow him to move on to Jerusalem. He ordered some of the garrison to soak their outer garments and hang them over the battlements until the walls ran with water. If he could gull the Romans into believing that he had the resources to hold out indefinitely, they might abandon the siege. Alternatively, if frustration hustled Vespasian into an ill-prepared assault, the defenders could hope to inflict heavy enough casualties to make him back away before he lost any more time or men.

  Joseph told the garrison that it was quicker and less degrading to die in battle than to perish from thirst; his own hope was to do neither. As a Jerusalem grandee, he had no family links in upper Galilee. His accent and his urbanity were alien. It required distinct nerve and charm for him to assert himself over the rustics and provincials. What he now revealed of his hopes and intentions was no more than what the Jotapatan garrison needed to hear: they should hold firm and wait for Vespasian to lose patience or for the local militias and—it was pious to say—God to come to their help.

  Impatience was not Vespasian’s vice. His extant portrait bust shows a forehead triply creased with frowning calculation, a wide, thin mouth and the heavily lidded eyes of a man used to looking at things in a disillusioned light. Not to be hurried or provoked, he surrounded Jotapata’s jagged site and waited for his siege engines to catch up with the legions.

  Joseph found an ingenious way of resupplying the town by night. He sent couriers out via the western side of the valley, down a defile so steep that the Romans felt no need to keep close watch on it. When in sight of the guard posts, the runners were instructed to cover their backs with sheepskins and crawl. In that way they could be mistaken for slinking dogs. This Odyssean ruse enabled Joseph to stay in cursory contact with Jews outside the city and to bring weapons and fresh food, if very little water, back into it.

  After a time, the Romans spotted the camouflage and sealed the defile. Until their artillery arrived, Jotapata remained impossible to storm. Meanwhile, its defenders were securely boxed. Almost seven weeks passed in deadlock. As the town was approaching the end of its resources, Joseph proposed to the leading citizens that he, and they, should slip out under cover of night. The notables refused to desert their families. Joseph had got them into their present fix; he was going to stay in it with them. Joseph argued that if he could get away, he would be able to return with sufficient reinforcements to threaten the Romans from the rear and lift the siege. Then again, if Vespasian heard that his most important enemy was no longer in the town, he might well move on and leave them alone. The Jotapatans were unconvinced. Joseph had to yield to their noisy demands that he continue to lead them.

  The Romans hauled their siege artillery close enough to be able to catapult large rocks against the walls. The fortifications began to split and crack. Joseph again showed inventive panache: he ordered sacks to be filled with chaff and hung over the most vulnerable sections of the battlements. His outsize pillows baffled the impact of the incoming missiles.d When the Romans moved their artillery to another section of the walls, Joseph anticipated their line of fire and transferred the chaff-filled buffers. Vespasian’s men countered him by attaching reaping hooks to long poles and harvesting the sacks. They then brought up a large battering ram and moved in for the clinching assault.

  Joseph retrieved his reputation with the notables by leading a sortie of three groups of commandos. Brandishing burning torches, they scattered the sentries and set fire to the cumbrous Roman siege train. Driven back by flames made fiercer by an amalgam of bitumen, pitch and brimstone, the legionaries are reported to have been “paralyzed by the Jews’ astonishing courage.”

  Josephus makes the scene vivid with another of his close-ups. One of the defenders, Eleazar from Saba in Galilee, is described raising a huge stone and pitching it from the battlements. It traveled with such accurate velocity that it broke off the head of the battering ram. Eleazar then leapt down and seized the broken piece as a trophy. As he toted it back to the walls, his unarmored body was a choice target for Roman spears. Pierced by five of their pila, he still managed to climb back onto the wall and stand there for a triumphant moment before falling to the ground in agony, still clutching his prize.

  The defenses continued to crumble. Everyone knew what would follow once the Romans broke through. Vespasian had already served the rebellious Judaeans with notice of his ruthlessness: when he took the town of Gabara, which was void of armed defenders, the legionaries slaughtered all the inhabitants except for small children. Local peasants, many noncombatants, were rounded up and sold into slavery. Josephus is frank in saying that, at that early stage of the war, he considered that the one hope of the Jews was “a change of heart. He himself, he was sure, would be pardoned if he went over to the Romans, but he preferred to die rather than betray his motherland.” He may have protested too much, but who can challenge his assessment of the military and political situation? He had cruel evidence of
Roman intentions: at Japha, near Nazareth, the largest village in Galilee, the local commander, Trajan (the father of the later emperor of the same name), is said to have killed twelve thousand defenders.

  When Roman armies did not massacre all the rebellious colonials they met, it was because it was more profitable to take commission on their sale. Along with prostitutes, slave dealers always followed the eagles. Kickbacks fattened the generals and funded bounties for the common soldiers. Their paltry pay encouraged the rank and file to be eager for the bonuses of success. Soldiering offered the lower classes their only form of gambling, apart from knucklebones.

  As the legionaries paraded for the clinching assault on Jotapata, they uttered terrifying war cries. Joseph ordered the garrison to cover their ears. Print mutes ancient history’s raucous soundtrack (Livy tells of how besieged barbarians were terrified by the crash of missiles, and Tacitus says that the Germans amplified their war cries by using their shields as improvised loudspeakers). The Romans advanced under cover of their regular testudo: crouched under their shields, like a rectangular, articulated tortoise. Aware that their composite shell was impervious to spears or rocks, Joseph ordered cauldrons of boiling oil to be tipped from the walls. The seething liquid ran into the cracks between the shields and scalded the assailants. The tortoise disintegrated.

  The Romans now mounted gangways to the breach in the walls. Joseph trumped them by having his men spill a soup of boiled fenugreek, a local vegetable of the pea family, onto the narrow, tilted planks. The attackers lost their footing on the slithery mash. Vespasian reverted to standard procedure: slow and steady. Joseph could only watch as the Romans wheeled up their siege towers. Carpenters added platform to platform until they overtopped the walls. As soon as the weakened defenders had no ammunition to impede the assault, the legionaries jumped from the towers onto the battlements and streamed into the town. Panic followed. The enraged Romans took revenge, and loot, wherever they had the chance. A few Jewish sentries slipped away in the darkness. Many Jotapatans still inside the town killed their families and then themselves rather than be enslaved or crucified. In ancient wars there were worse fates than a quick death.