by Angela Hunt
I said nothing but let my streaming tears speak for me. I listened as he continued to speak in halting words, and in his voice I heard regret for his sins. As he gave me final instructions regarding the transfer of power, I understood that he was finally coming to terms with all he had done and the consequences he would leave behind.
Despite the years of painful distance between us, I could not set aside my commitment to this man. I had been in the house when Alexander Jannaeus was born. I had loved his mother and respected his father. I had loved our children and appreciated the freedom he gave me to do things other women could not do.
So I would remain by his side until the end. HaShem had brought us together, and only HaShem could pull us apart.
Three hours later, as Jannaeus’s breathing slowed and stopped, I wept genuine tears of loss—for my sons, who had lost a father; for a nation, who had lost a king; and for Jannaeus, who had never fulfilled the greatness that could have been his.
Then I nodded at the assistant priest, who had come from the Temple, and listened as he read prayers for the dying:
Yeetgadal v’ yeetkadash sh’mey rabbah
May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified
B’almah dee v’rah kheer’utey
in the world that He created as He willed.
v’ yamleekh malkhutei, b’chahyeykhohn, uv’ yohmeykhohn,
May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days,
uv’chahyei d’chohl beyt yisrael,
and in the lifetimes of the entire Family of Israel,
ba’agalah u’veez’man kareev, v’eemru: amein.
swiftly and soon. Amen.
Y’hey sh’met rabbah m’varach l’alam u’l’almey almahyah.
May His great Name be blessed forever and ever.
The day after Jannaeus died, I rose early and rode to Ragaba, where Ezra Diagos was commanding the Judean forces involved in a siege. I was a little embarrassed to face my old friend. I had not seen him in years, and age had thickened my waistline and slowed my step. My face, which had been smooth the last time we met, had lately been etched by concern about my husband and my sons.
I alighted from my chariot outside the commander’s tent. A moment later my old friend appeared and lifted a brow when he saw me standing with the military convoy. But he quickly caught himself and bowed.
“Rise, Diagos,” I said. “I want to look at you.”
What I saw made me smile. He had aged as well, though his dark and thoughtful eyes had not changed.
“My queen,” he said, opening the flap of his tent, “welcome to Ragaba. I assume the king has sent you?”
“The king is with me,” I said, keeping my voice level. “And you and I have much to discuss.”
He looked around, but then I led the way into his quarters and took the proffered bench. Diagos sat across from me and spread a map on the table between us.
“My queen,” he said in the manner of one who carefully chooses his words, “I hesitate to speak bluntly to you, especially when the king is so ill—”
“The king is dead, Diagos, and I am his choice to rule Judea. So please, friend, be as blunt as you like. I need to know exactly where we stand.”
Diagos frowned as our eyes met. “I am sorry to hear it.”
“I am sorry to bring you sad news. But we must finish our involvement here, so we can focus on important matters at home.”
The soldier gave me a grim smile. “You are probably aware that Jannaeus knew the Seleucid Empire was crumbling, so in the last several years he attacked several of its cities at random. Some battles we won, some we lost, but now we are facing the consequences—the Seleucids are seeking revenge for the king’s unprovoked attacks. We have had to surrender Moab and Galaaditis, a town beyond the Jordan, to Aretas, the Nabatean king.”
“And why are we at Ragaba?” I asked.
“We have had the city under siege for months. It would be a valuable addition to our territory.”
I stared at the map on the table. Ragaba was situated in a region that had belonged to the Seleucids. But since we had conquered the land north of this city, the surrender of Ragaba would give us a broad expansion in an area HaShem had promised Abraham.
“Thank you for the explanation.” I drew a deep breath. “This is what we are going to do . . .”
For the next week I had embalmers work on Jannaeus’s body while Diagos and I increased the patrols around the city of Ragaba. I ordered one battalion of mercenaries to build a battering ram.
At the end of the week, Diagos entered my tent. “Excuse me, my queen, but the battering ram is ready.”
“Good,” I told him. “Tomorrow at sunrise we destroy the gate and enter the city.”
“And after that?”
I swallowed hard. “We take Ragaba in the name of Alexander Jannaeus. Then you and I will travel to Jerusalem together. Upon our arrival, we will announce this victory . . . and the king’s death.”
He nodded soberly, then bowed. “As you wish, my queen.”
Three days after the defeat of Ragaba, Diagos and I returned to Jerusalem. With the king’s body in a simple coffin behind me, I stood before an audience of priests, Levites, and other influential leaders from all of the major sects. As I looked over the assembly, I closed my eyes and asked HaShem for strength lest I be trapped like Alena, and wisdom lest I commit folly like Salina.
I marshaled my courage. Only a few weeks before I would have trembled at the thought of standing before this sea of learned holy men. But all my years of womanly reticence fell away as I looked upon the faces of the men with whom I would now have to work, negotiate, and reason.
“Friends and citizens of Judea,” I said, lifting my chin, “I would have you know that your king, Alexander Jannaeus, has died of his illness. The sickness troubled him for three years, but he would not surrender his efforts to claim the territories HaShem promised to Israel. We have just defeated the fortress at Ragaba, further reclaiming our Promised Land.”
A murmur ran through the crowd, an undisguised ripple of pleased surprise. Whether the pleasure came from the news of Jannaeus’s death or his victory at Ragaba, I could not tell.
“I went to my husband before he died,” I continued. “Among the things I asked him was, ‘How can you leave us, knowing how much ill will your nation bears toward you?’”
Another ripple moved through the crowd, a murmur of agreement.
“Jannaeus told me I should conceal his death until we had taken Ragaba, and after that I should return to Jerusalem and put some of my authority into the hands of the Pharisees, for they would commend me for the honor I had done them. ‘The Pharisees,’ the king said, ‘will reconcile the nation to you, for they have great authority among the people. Do this, and when you have come to Jerusalem, give my body to the Pharisees to use as they please. Then you will see if they dishonor my body by refusing it burial or do any further injury to it. Then you will see that I shall have the honor of a more glorious funeral from them than you could have made for me, and you will rule in safety.’”
I swallowed hard and looked toward the place where the leaders of the remaining Pharisees had gathered. “I believe my husband regretted his actions toward the Pharisees, and the violence with which he treated them. I also believe he counted on your forgiveness and your mercy. And so, learned teachers, I hereby place the king’s body in your hands to do with it as you will. And I will make no decisions without consulting you, for I value your opinion and your dedication to the Torah. I have also studied Torah and am committed to living righteously before HaShem. This I promise you, and this I will do.”
I glanced at the flushed faces of the Pharisees, who could not now mutilate or dishonor my husband’s body without suffering a severe loss of reputation. If they did not give him the finest funeral Jerusalem had ever seen, and if they did not support me as their queen, they would be seen as unmerciful, unspiritual, and unrighteous.
“With the king’s p
ermission and blessing,” I continued, “I am appointing our son Hyrcanus as high priest, for his heart is devoted to HaShem. Also with the king’s permission and blessing, I am appointing our son Aristobulus as commander of the armies of Judea. From this time forward, we will use our army for defense only. We shall remain neutral in the disputes of other kingdoms, and we will do whatever possible in order to keep the peace.”
“In closing,” I said, “many of you have read the widely circulated pesher about the prince who will come. Just as during the Jubilee year, all debts are forgiven and we return to our ancestral homes, so let us look forward to the restoration of Israel to holiness. Let us forgive the debts of the past, forget the hurts and sorrows, and look to HaShem for restoration. For the anointed Messiah will soon come, and He will forgive our many sins and will be Israel’s King and High Priest. When He comes, I will happily yield the throne to Him.”
I stepped back and placed my palms on my husband’s coffin. After whispering a Hebrew prayer for the dead, I looked again at the men who had not moved since I finished speaking. The Sadducees were clearly unhappy with this new turn of events, for they would lose power now that I had granted authority to the Pharisees. But the Pharisees and the Essenes should be pleased that I had expressed agreement with their view regarding the Messiah. How could I not, since the prophets had steadfastly proclaimed that HaShem would send His Anointed One in the latter days?
I gave a slight bow to the men who had listened so patiently, then left the reception hall and joined Kissa in the vestibule.
“It is done,” I said, squeezing her hand. Without my pounding pulse to energize me, I felt suddenly exhausted. “Now we will see how they react to a woman on the throne.”
“If they are wise,” Kissa said, helping me up the stone stairs, “they will consider themselves blessed.”
The week after Alexander Jannaeus’s funeral—truly one of the greatest Jerusalem had ever seen—I sent for Ezra Diagos. He appeared at the palace two hours later, dressed not in military garb but in a fine tunic, well-worked leather sandals, and a rich mantle.
He bowed deeply, an unnecessary gesture that caused me to blush. “Please, get up,” I said, standing. “We are alone, so you need not do that.”
He rose with an ease that belied his age, then took my hand when I offered it. “You are my queen. Why shouldn’t I bow before you?”
“You are my friend.” I met his gaze and felt my heart turn over the way it always did when I was in his company. “Apart from Kissa, you are my dearest friend, the one who seems to understand without benefit of words.”
He smiled, but with a distracted air, as if something weighed on his mind. “I was glad to receive your message. I have been wanting to ask you about my future service.”
“Then let us go into the garden.” I tilted my head toward the open doorway, where we were less likely to be overheard by servants. “At this hour, the air is far cooler outside.”
He walked with me into the garden and gestured to a stone bench. I sank onto it as gracefully as I could and was disappointed when he remained standing. “Won’t you sit?”
To my surprise he lowered himself to the ground before me. “Salome Alexandra,” he said, “I have come because I have wanted to ask you something for years, and only now am I at liberty to do so.”
My heart swelled with a feeling I had thought long dead. “Diagos—”
“I hate to ask this,” he went on, head bowed, “because some will say I am motivated by selfishness. But trust me in this—every man reaches a point, I believe, when he cares less about power and position than having a companion with whom he can be himself.”
I knew where he was going, but I had to stop him. “Diagos—”
“Someone with whom he can share his days and nights, someone who speaks his language and appreciates his wit, small though it may be.”
“Diagos, please stop.”
He lifted his head until our eyes met. “I have adored you for years, you know.”
“I spent those years begging HaShem to remove you from my heart.”
“I kept silent—but there is no reason why I should remain silent now. Know that I do not wish to share your position or power. I wish only to be your husband.”
I flinched and looked away.
“Is the idea so repulsive?”
“Diagos.” I whispered the word like a farewell. “If I had met you earlier, before I was betrothed—”
“You would not have liked me.” He laughed. “I was a rough soldier then, with no regard for women.”
“I cannot marry.” Though tears blurred my vision, I met his gaze. “I thank HaShem for bringing you into my life, for you have been a great blessing to me. But now I must be married to Judea, to Jerusalem, because I am not a young woman. If HaShem is willing, I have only a few years to prepare my sons and my people for the One who is to come.”
Diagos lowered his head and sighed. “I thought that might be your answer.”
“I am sorry. And I will freely admit that marrying you would bring me a great deal of pleasure. But so would your friendship, and I hope I will always have that.”
“Of course.” His mouth quirked with wry humor. “I had to try. I hoped I would catch you in a weak moment.”
I took his rough hand and clasped it between my own. “You will always be dear to me, Diagos. And for this honor—something I would never have dreamt of—I will always be grateful.”
And then, while he remained on his knees, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to the cheek of the only man who had ever completely understood me . . . and loved me nonetheless.
Epilogue
Kissa
My mistress did all she promised and more. Working with Simeon ben Shetah, who was among many Pharisees who had returned from Egypt after the death of Alexander Jannaeus, Queen Salome Alexandra decreed that all children, boys and girls, would be allowed to attend school.
Prior to Salome Alexandra’s reign, a groom had been required to set money aside for the bride’s family—not the bride. But Simeon, with the queen’s blessing, required all bridegrooms to state in a ketubbah, or marriage contract, that in case of his death, his bride would receive all his property.
True to her word, Salome Alexandra hired soldiers and expanded Judea’s army, but fought no wars to acquire new territory, only to defend her people.
She also made changes in the Temple administration. For the first time, Pharisees and Essenes were admitted to the Sanhedrin, the religious court that also taught Torah studies to young men.
Through negotiation and diplomacy, Salome Alexandra balanced Judea’s relationships with Egypt, Seleucia, and Rome. In Judea, she made and maintained a peace between the leaders of the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes.
Ezra Diagos, the queen’s advisor and nearly constant companion, came to the palace every day until he collapsed unexpectedly one afternoon and died in her arms.
I only wish my mistress had taken the throne earlier in her life. She was sixty-five when she told Israel that her husband had bequeathed the leadership to her, but her nine-year reign would later be described as Judea’s golden age. Even her critics could find no fault in her piety and devotion to Adonai.
Years after her death, a Torah teacher would write, “In the time of Rabbi Simeon ben Shetah and Queen Salome Alexandra, the rain would fall on Friday nights, from one week to the next, until the wheat grew to the size of kidneys, the barley to the size of olive pits, and the lentils to the size of golden dinars.” Judea had never known such peace and prosperity.
Such was the reign of Shelamzion, my mistress and friend.
But though she held high hopes for her sons, they could not escape their natures. As she grew ill in the last years of her life, she asked Hyrcanus to rule at her side, a request that embittered Aristobulus. And Hyrcanus, the son she loved most, was not trustworthy. Without Shelamzion’s knowledge, he began to persecute the Sadducees, undermining my mistress’s attempts to maintain the peac
e in Jerusalem.
Even before she drew her last breath, Aristobulus and his wife were conspiring to take the kingdom from Hyrcanus, Salome Alexandra’s appointed heir. The violent rivalry between the two brothers grew into civil war and ultimately caused Rome to invade. Once Rome’s Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus and his army arrived, Judea was no longer an independent nation.
The Romans’ arrival brought strife and struggle back to Judea, and as I watched events unfold from my small house, I wondered if Shelamzion’s zeal for righteousness had been wasted.
But one day when I visited the Temple, a priest stopped me. His name was Simeon, and though my aging eyes had trouble making out his appearance, my ears heard him clearly. “The Ruach HaKodesh is upon me,” he said, his voice low, “and the Spirit has told me that I will not die before I see the Anointed One of Adonai.” A smile filled his voice as he gripped my gnarled hand. “I thought you would want to know.”
I carried that promise home with me, grateful that Shelamzion’s devotion was about to bear fruit. The Messiah was coming, and those who followed her example would be ready.
Author’s Note
In the few resources available about Queen Salome Alexandra, most writers report that she was the wife of Judah Aristobulus and later married Jannaeus in a Levirate marriage after Aristobulus’s death. But in A History of the Hasmonean State: Josephus and Beyond, Kenneth Atkinson points out that it would have been impossible for Salome to marry Judah Aristobulus.
First, no ancient writer mentions an Aristobulus–Salome Alexandra marriage. No ancient manuscripts support this supposition.
Second, a man could not serve as high priest if he had married a widow, a divorced woman, or a prostitute—any woman with prior sexual experience: “He who is the kohen gadol [high priest] . . . should take a wife in her virginity. A widow, or one divorced, or one who has been defiled as a prostitute, he is not to marry. He is to take a virgin from his own people as a wife, so as not to corrupt his offspring among his people” (Leviticus 21:10–15).