Jerusalem, Antonia Fortress 6 October, a.d. 32
Tribune Marcus Quadratus Didius walked slowly, head down, hands clasped behind his back. Beside him, but not speaking, walked his senior centurion, Sextus Rubrius.
“Time’s running out,” Marcus said abruptly, stopping to face his grizzled old officer. “The feast starts tomorrow, and I’m no closer to resolving all the details to our plan than I was when I met with Mordechai.”
Sextus hesitated, then decided that his commander wanted his counsel, even though he had not asked Sextus a specific question. “You are wise to be cautious, sire. You have seen the crowds. The Feast of Tabernacles is a joyous festival for these people. Often the crowds surpass even those that come for Passover.”
“Yes, and that is a concern. I want to start a riot, but it has to be a controlled riot, one that we can use for our own purposes. If it gets out of hand, we could end up in a very nasty situation.”
“Agreed,” Sextus said. “In that, Mordechai is right. We must wait until the feast is over. There will still be many people in the city, but they won’t be thronging the Temple Mount as they do for the daily ceremonies.”
“But how do I entice the Zealot leaders in to the mount? It is not worth the risk involved if we aren’t able to seize our primary targets. That’s where I’m stumped. I have three different plans, but each is so elaborate and has so many ifs to it, I cannot feel good about them.”
“The Zealots will be extremely wary,” Sextus said. He had grave reservations about this whole scheme of Pilate’s, but he would never say that. It didn’t matter what he thought. The governor had given a command; it was up to them to carry it out.
“Exactly,” Marcus growled.
They were walking through the large assembly area inside the walls of the Antonia Fortress, approaching the gate on the south wall that led from the fortress directly onto the Temple Mount. It stood open, and they could see the vast throngs pouring out of the Court of the Women following the daily ritual of offering water. Marcus frowned. “What kind of people offer water to their gods?”
Sextus turned in surprise. “What was that, sire?”
“Never mind.” Marcus gestured toward the gate, and they walked out into the crowds.
They moved slowly, Marcus barely aware of how the crowd parted before them, shooting nasty glances in their direction. He was lost in thought again, and Sextus chose not to interrupt him. They moved westward, walking parallel to the north side of the temple. There the crowds began to thin.
Marcus stopped, his head coming up. About twenty paces ahead of them, a young man stood apart from the people passing by. His head was tipped up, staring at the massive building in front of him. For a long moment, Marcus gazed at the man, his brow furrowing. “That young man looks vaguely familiar to me,” he said, half to himself.
Sextus had already noted where Marcus was looking. “I don’t recognize him, sire.”
Marcus stared at him, searching his memory. Then he snapped his fingers. “I remember now. He looks very much like—” He peered more closely, then shook his head. “No, it’s not.”
“Very much like whom?” Sextus inquired.
“A young slave I found in Rome. He was brother to Miriam’s servant girl, Livia. I purchased his freedom for him.”
Still not absolutely positive that it wasn’t the same person, Marcus moved forward, with Sextus close behind. Suddenly the young man saw them staring at him. His dark eyes flashed momentary hostility; then he turned away, moving off swiftly. But Marcus had seen enough. It wasn’t the same young man.
Then he had a thought. “Did Livia’s brother come to Capernaum with her?”
Sextus shook his head. “I understand he stayed in Athens when they passed through on their way back from Rome. I’ve not heard anything since.”
Marcus started forward again, his mind going back to the original problem. Then, abruptly, he stopped. “Wasn’t she once a slave too?” he asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, he said, “Yes, of course. She and her brother were slaves in Alexandria. They belonged to a man who lost everything. She was sold to Mordechai and the brother went elsewhere.” Marcus’s mind was racing. “And then Mordechai gave Livia her freedom when she became Miriam’s servant.”
Marcus suddenly whirled on his centurion. “And you know this Livia, right?”
“Not well, but I—”
“But you know her by sight?”
“Yes, sire.”
“It is likely she has come up for the feast, no?”
“Yes, especially if Yehuda comes. They’re married, you know.”
“I know.”
“I see no reason why she wouldn’t be here.”
“Sextus, I want you to return to the fortress immediately. Remove your uniform and dress in the robes of a simple country man.”
One of Sextus’s eyebrows shot up. Marcus was grinning with enthusiasm. He finally had the beginnings of a plan.
“Get out among the people. Spend all day out here. Every day of the feast if you have to. Watch for Livia and Yehuda. If you see either of them, then follow them. I want to know where they are staying during the feast.”
Sextus nodded, but his eyes were clouded. “Sire, it might be dangerous if you were to try to capture Yehuda in the city. The people—”
“No, no.” He cut Sextus off with a wave of his hand. “It’s Livia I’m interested in. Once we know where they are staying, we can have her followed whenever we wish.”
“Oh?” Sextus said slowly, more puzzled than ever.
Now Marcus’s smile was wickedly malicious. “Yes, Rome can’t have runaway slaves walking around without fear of arrest. It could lead to all sorts of problems.”
“But you said that Mordechai purchased her freedom.”
Marcus feigned great surprise. “Now who told you a thing like that?”
II
Jerusalem, the Temple Mount 7 October, a.d. 32
The Feast of Tabernacles was distinguished from other festivals in three primary ways: the dwelling in sukkot (small, temporary booths called tabernacles), the palm branches and the fruit, and the ritual offerings in the temple.
The dwelling in booths, made of various tree branches, served to remind the people of the time when Israel wandered in the wilderness dwelling in tents. The waving of the palm branches and the fruit signified their acceptance of Jehovah as their king. The rituals in the temple represented the pouring out of the Holy Spirit upon the people and the light of God that resulted.
For the seven days and nights of the Feast of Tabernacles, families were expected to take their meals and sleep each night in booths which they erected on the flat roof tops of their houses or in their courtyards. The children thought this a grand adventure, and their excitement added to the joyousness of the celebration. The adults, while perhaps not reveling in the experience, saw it as a solemn reminder of when life was much more austere. But it was more than that. The wilderness wandering had been a time for renewing ancient covenants with Jehovah. So each year Israel was to remember those days in the wilderness and once again renew their promises of obedience to Jehovah.
The second feature of the feast, the waving of the palm branches and the fruit, was closely tied to the first. Since Sukkot occurred in the fall, when the ingathering of the harvest was complete, it was also a thanksgiving festival. In the Torah, celebrants were instructed to “take the fruit of goodly trees, branches of palm trees, and the boughs of trees and the willows of the brook” and carry them in their hands. The “fruit of goodly trees” was interpreted to mean the citron, a pale yellowish fruit much like a lemon but larger and with a thicker rind. It was carried in the left hand. The “branches”—palm fronds, willow branches, and stems of myrtle—were tied together to form long, festive plumes. These were carried in the right hand. This plume, or lulav, as it was called in Hebrew, was waved back and forth during specific rituals of the feast. All but the smallest children were expected to have their own lulavs and join in the ceremony.
The waving partially represented the joy of the people for another bounteous harvest. But in addition, the citron and the lulavs represented the welcoming of Jehovah as Israel’s king. Just as an earthly king was greeted by his subjects with the waving of banners, so the Heavenly King was greeted with an undulating sea of green branches and cries of welcome.
The third unique aspect of the Feast of Tabernacles involved two very solemn rituals. The first was called the “pouring out.” The second was the lighting of the four great menorahs, or lampstands, in the Court of the Women.
On the opening day of the feast, following the evening sacrifice, a procession of priests descended from the Temple Mount to the Pool of Siloam, a distance of perhaps a quarter of a mile south of the temple. There sufficient water for the rituals of all seven days of the feast was collected in a golden vessel. As the procession returned to the temple complex, it was met by vast crowds, who then followed it into the inner courts of the temple. At the great altar of sacrifice in the Court of Israel, the officiating priest then poured out the water into an orifice on the altar, which orifice was made especially for that purpose. This “pouring out” was interpreted to represent the Spirit of God being poured out upon Israel so that God’s work of salvation would be realized. In keeping with a charge from the prophet Isaiah, at that point a great shout would be offered up.
“Praise ye Jehovah,” Isaiah had commanded them to say. In Hebrew, the word for praise was hallel. When coupled with Yah, a shortened form of Jehovah, the phrase became Hallelujah! So as the stream of water poured out upon the altar, a mighty shout went up, accompanied by the lulavs waving back and forth in great sweeping arcs. “Hallelujah! Praise ye Jehovah!”
Immediately after the pouring out came the lighting of the great menorahs. The entire Temple Mount was huge, covering an area of about thirty-five acres. Most of that space was taken up by the Court of the Gentiles and the surrounding porticoes, which provided shade from the sun. Directly in the center of this great courtyard was the temple itself, with its inner courts. The first and largest of the inner temple courts was the Court of the Women. Its name was derived from the fact that women could enter it without restriction, but they could not go into the next court, the Court of Israel, unless they were participating in the sacrificial rites.
It was in the Court of the Women that four massive golden candelabra, or lampstands, stood, one in each corner. Massive was hardly an adequate word for them. These menorahs towered upwards as high as a five-story building. They were eight or nine times the height of a grown man. In fact, their height was so great that the bowls actually stood above the top of the walls of the inner courts, enabling the menorahs’ light to fill the entire Temple Mount.
The thick central shaft of each lampstand branched out at the top to hold four large golden bowls, each of which could hold about four gallons of olive oil. The wicks for each bowl were made from the worn-out breeches and sacred garments of the priests. Each morning during the feast, young men of priestly descent climbed ladders especially made for this purpose. They refilled each bowl with oil and lay in the new wicks. By the time the “pouring out” of the water was finished, full darkness had descended upon the city. The night air was then split with three shrill blasts, as priests with silver trumpets announced what was about to happen. The throngs instantly fell silent, anticipating what was about to happen.
Priests and Levites appeared, filing out from the Court of Israel to descend fifteen steps into the Court of the Women. Four priests carrying torches appeared first. These torches had been ignited, not from just any fire, but from the flames of the great altar of sacrifice. Hundreds of other priests followed, carrying lutes and lyres, trumpets, cymbals, psalteries, drums, and other musical instruments. The night erupted with music. This was not a solemn, silent ritual, but one of tremendous joy. Weaving, dancing, and singing, the procession filled the court as the people stood back and looked on, lulavs waving back and forth in time to the music. The four priests with torches climbed the great ladders.
As the priests climbed higher and higher, the music swelled into a great crescendo. In perfect synchronization, sixteen bowls of oil were set ablaze. In that instant, the entire Temple Mount was thrown into sharp relief, bathed in the golden glow of lamplight. So bright were the flames of the four menorahs that details on the Mount of Olives, across the Kidron Valley to the east, could be clearly seen.
As the light pushed back the darkness, the crowd once again let forth a mighty shout. Jehovah had come. The King of Israel had returned to his own house. The lulavs swayed back and forth wildly. “Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Praise be to the Lord. Praise ye Jehovah!”
III
Jerusalem, in the Court of the Women on the Temple Mount 14 October, a.d. 32
“Uncle Simeon?”
“Yes, Esther?”
“What are they doing now?”
Rachel started to shush her daughter, but Simeon went down on one knee beside her. He sensed this was not just a petty question from a bored child. She clutched her palm frond carefully, making sure to keep it vertical. Boaz had given his to his mother until the time came when he actually needed it. He was clearly bored. But Esther was taking everything very seriously. Now six, and bright as a silver button, she was old enough to begin to sort out the complexities of the rituals. She recognized that what was happening on this day was different from what she had witnessed a few days before. That was perceptive, for this was the last day of the feast, and there were significant differences.
They stood at the gate that led from the Court of the Women into the Court of Israel. In this second court, much of which was filled by the great altar of sacrifice, there was no more room for any people. Usually children did not enter those sacred precincts anyway, so the family had gone early enough to get a place on the top step. There they could see into the next court and observe what was happening.
Simeon turned Esther to face him. She was so beautiful, with her large dark eyes, jet-black hair, and perfect features, and so earnest at the moment. “Since this is the last day of the feast, the priests go around the altar seven times, instead of once, before pouring out the water. Can you think why that might be?”
Her brow furrowed. “Joshua marched around Jericho seven times and made the walls fall down,” she ventured tentatively.
Simeon was pleased. “That is exactly why. Today we are reminded that in some future day God will make the walls of unbelief tumble to the ground. Then Israel can go in and possess the land and let the world know of the one true God.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding slowly.
Simeon felt a light punch on his shoulder and turned to see Boaz, his eyes wide as he stared upward. “Are the walls going to fall down?” he asked anxiously. He inched in closer to Simeon. Simeon swept him into one arm. “No, Boaz. They’re just pretending. That’s how it will be someday a long time from now.”
Ephraim suddenly stood beside his son. “We’re fine, Boaz. Nothing is going to happen.”
Just then the mournful sound of a flute began. The circle of priests stopped, and one of them moved toward the ramp that led to the top of the altar.
“Do you know who that is?” Simeon whispered into Esther’s ear.
“The high priest.”
“That’s right. His name is Caiaphas.” Shifting the fruit and palm branch to his left hand, he scooped her up and straightened so she could see better. Ephraim lifted Boaz up, and his mother handed him back his lulav, a much shorter version of the plume than the adults had.
Simeon felt a touch on his arm and turned to see Miriam smiling at him. Her eyes were filled with love and appreciation. He stepped closer so their shoulders were touching. He had to keep reminding himself that this was his wife standing beside him. What had seemed like an eternity had finally passed, and they had been man and wife for two full weeks.
As Caiaphas reached the top of the altar, the crowd went still. The sun was down, and the courtyards were completely
in shadow. In a few more minutes, it would be full dark. The lulavs held in every hand were raised to the vertical but hung motionless for the moment. Another flute joined in, then another.
“Raise your hand!” the crowd shouted as Caiaphas moved into position. He did so, raising the pitcher in his hand high so all could watch as he poured the water into the special opening. The moment he was done, the circle of priests began the Hallel, half sung, half chanted, the words taken from the psalms of King David.
“Hallelujah! Praise ye Jehovah!”
“Hallelujah!” answered the crowd, and the lulavs began to sway.
“Praise, O ye servants of Jehovah. Blessed be the name of the Lord from this time forth and for ever more.”
“Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” Simeon was surprised to hear Esther perfectly match the pitch of the priests as she cried out her praises. She was waving her lulav back and forth with so much energy that Simeon had trouble holding her and waving his lulav, too.
“Who is like unto Jehovah who dwelleth on high?” chanted the priests. “Tremble thou earth, at the presence of the Lord. Hallelujah! all ye nations. Praise him, all ye people!”
“Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
“O work then now thy salvation, Jehovah,” the priests chanted. “Save us now, we beseech thee, O Lord.”
A new cry then burst forth from the people. “Save now” in Hebrew was Hoshianah or Hosanna.
“Hosanna!” cried the people.
“Save us now, we beseech thee, O Lord,” chanted the priests.
“Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!” Above their heads the mass of green swayed like a vast forest being stirred by a mighty wind.
“Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord,” chanted the priests.
That was a direct reference to the coming of the Messiah, and, if possible, the shout was even greater than before. “Hosanna! Hallelujah!”
Only a heart of the coldest stone could not be stirred by this moment. There was nothing like it in all of Israel. They were welcoming their Messiah, the King of Israel. When he came, the lamb would lie down with the lion. The sword would be thrust into the fire of the smith and hammered into a pruning hook. There would be no more war. No more tyrants. No more slavery, suffering, or sin. No wonder every throat shouted out with unrestrained joy.
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