Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  Near the door a long table was filled with small hand lamps. At the moment, Deborah was moving along the table with a pitcher of olive oil, making sure every lamp was filled to its limited capacity and that the wicks were sufficiently long enough to burn while the oil lasted. Finished, she turned and looked at the two girls and smiled softly. Shana was two years older than Deborah’s Leah, but that made no difference to them. They had been friends for years, and Deborah knew they had been hoping and planning for this night long before Simeon had ever decided that Shana was the woman he wanted to marry.

  Suddenly Deborah cocked her head. Leah’s head came up. For a moment their eyes met; then Leah jumped up and went to the door. She opened it quickly. Deborah hurried to her side. Now the sound was unmistakable. It was the high, wavering shriek of women expressing their joy. Some distance away, they could see flickering light illuminating the branches of the trees on the far side of the village.

  Deborah spun back around. Women were already stirring and sitting up. Shana was on her feet now, smoothing down her dress and straightening her veil and headband. “He is coming!” Leah cried. “Hurry. He is coming!”

  Deborah took three steps to the small fireplace, found the reed waiting there, and lit its tip. Now all of the women were up, fluffing their hair and brushing off their robes. Deborah moved to the table and began to light the lamps. The moment one was lit, Leah picked it up and handed it to one of the women. It was passed from hand to hand until the room was filled with light and each woman had a lamp of her own.

  Deborah blew out the reed and set it down, then moved over to Shana. “Are you ready?”

  Shana nodded, her eyes reflecting the dancing lights and her own radiant joy. “I am.”

  Deborah slipped an arm through Shana’s right arm, and Leah, who was “maid of honor,” slipped her arm through Shana’s other arm. The others fell in behind in a rough line. Now the sound was not only noticeably closer but swelling rapidly in volume as people all over the village joined in the oncoming procession.

  As the women moved out into the night, it was no longer dark. Not only were their own lamps providing light, but hundreds upon hundreds of lamps and candles were being lit all across the village. People were on the housetops and lining the streets, all of them crying out the news. “Here he comes! Here comes the bridegroom!”

  V

  Traditionally the betrothal ceremony took place in the home of the bridegroom, but due to the unique circumstances of Shana’s family, the family of David ben Joseph had decided to hold the ceremony in Beth Neelah instead of Capernaum. But Yehuda’s little cottage was far too confined to hold the crowd that had gathered that night. Because of that, the chuppah, the canopy, had been set up in the town square. Even then it was barely large enough to accommodate everyone. Tables laden with food for the all-night banquet which would follow lined one side of the square. Fortunately, it was a beautiful, warm spring evening, with the stars forming their own brilliant canopy overhead.

  Both arrivals were carefully timed. Deborah led the bridal party directly to the square. Shana and Leah took their places by the left side of the chuppah. The other women stepped back, holding their lamps in front of them and singing softly. Some distance away, the men moved slowly, taking a circuitous route through the streets of the village and even into the olive orchards, making sure the bridal party would be in place when they arrived at the chuppah. Their procession was like a huge serpent, spangled with lights, weaving its way sinuously in and out of the streets of Beth Neelah.

  When the men arrived at the square, their procession came to a stop. All of the shouting and the warbling also stopped, and a great quiet fell over the village. David and Yehuda handed their torches to Ephraim and Daniel, then escorted Simeon over to stand on the right side of the canopy, where Rabbi Nahum stood waiting. Beth Neelah had its own synagogue and part-time rabbi, but Rabbi Nahum of Sepphoris was Shana’s uncle and would perform the ceremony.

  Neither Simeon nor Shana had yet looked at each other, as was the custom.

  The rabbi stepped forward, smiling broadly. “Simeon, son of David of Capernaum, we are here on this solemn occasion to betroth to you Shana, sister of Yehuda and Daniel of Beth Neelah. Is this not correct?”

  “It is.”

  “Do you have the ketubah?”

  “I do.” His father moved forward again, holding out a small parchment scroll. Simeon took it and handed it to the rabbi. Rabbi Nahum untied the ribbon, unrolled the scroll, and read it carefully. Then he turned and held it up for all to see.

  “This bill of betrothal, which in accordance with the Law, outlines the financial obligations of the bridegroom to his bride and the conditions under which those considerations shall be delivered. Also in keeping with the Law, the bride’s representatives signify that she is a virgin, clean and pure, and that she is willing to become the wife of Simeon of Capernaum and serve with him faithfully for the remainder of her life.”

  He turned to Yehuda. “Have you, serving in the role of Shana’s father, read the ketubah?”

  “I have.”

  “And do you certify that the conditions outlined therein have been or shall be met?”

  Yehuda turned and indicated the table that was set up not far from the canopy. It was filled with the presents Simeon’s family had brought up from Capernaum—three full donkeys’ worth. Most prominent was the exquisitely carved, highly polished oak chest. This would provide Shana a place for the items she would now begin collecting for her marriage. “I do so certify,” he said loudly. “Simeon of Capernaum has been most generous, and we thank him and his family.”

  “You will then sign the ketubah and witness that it is acceptable. We shall have to have another witness as well.”

  Daniel moved up quickly. The two brothers went to the table and both signed their names to the bottom of the parchment. They rolled it back up and tied it again with the ribbon, then handed it back to Rabbi Nahum. With great solemnity, the rabbi turned to Simeon. “The ketubah has been examined and certified as acceptable.” He handed him the scroll, and Simeon put it into a fold of his robe.

  Rabbi Nahum turned back to face Simeon. Again the crowd grew very quiet. “Simeon of Capernaum, it is now time for the ceremony of kiddushin, or holiness. I remind both you and your bride of the sacred nature of what you are about to do. Kadash means that something is holy or sacred. When a man gives property to the temple, it becomes kiddushin, or consecrated to God. It is holy and can no longer be claimed by anyone else as their property. Do you understand that?”

  “I do,” Simeon said.

  “With this betrothal, Shana becomes arusah, your espoused wife. She too is now kiddushin. She is forbidden to all other men and is consecrated to you, and you to her. Do you understand that as well?”

  “I do.”

  He turned and looked at Shana. “I do,” she said clearly.

  The rabbi nodded in satisfaction. Then he turned to Yehuda and nodded. Yehuda and Daniel moved over to stand beside Shana. Simeon’s father moved up beside his son, and Deborah came over to stand beside him as well. Her role of escort for Shana was now completed. She was now Simeon’s mother. Together they led him beneath the canopy and then stepped back.

  Yehuda took Shana’s arm and, moving slowly and with great dignity, he escorted her to the canopy as well. Leah, as the first maid, followed closely behind. Yehuda brought Shana to stand on Simeon’s right side, and then he stepped to his left side, now serving as Simeon’s man of honor. Leah took her place on the opposite side of the canopy as the maid of honor.

  The air was filled with great expectancy. What would happen now was based on traditions thousands of years old. Yehuda had brought Shana to Simeon because when Adam and Eve were married, God served as Eve’s escort “and brought her unto Adam.” Shana was placed at Simeon’s right hand because in the Psalms it said, “Upon thy right hand, did stand the queen.”

  The young couple turned and faced each other. For the first time Shana lo
oked up fully into Simeon’s face. Though she did not smile—this was a time of great solemnity—her eyes were dancing with happiness. Then she slowly lowered her head and Simeon carefully reached out and lifted the veil that covered her hair and dropped it in front of her face.

  As he lowered his hands again, a cry of joy exploded from the crowd. Two thousand years before, when Rebekah was brought to Isaac, as recorded in the book of Genesis, she covered her face with a veil prior to her meeting with him. The “covering” of the bride was the signal for the crowd. As one, they shouted out, invoking the same benediction that Rebekah’s family had pronounced when she had been betrothed to Isaac. “Blessed be our sister. Be thou the mother of thousands of millions, and let thy seed possess the gate of those who hate them.” The sound reverberated off the stone buildings and faded away into the pine-covered hills that towered over the village.

  When it was quiet again, Simeon reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew the parchment scroll. “Shana, sister of Yehuda and Daniel of Beth Neelah, with this ketubah and the money that is promised therein, you are now betrothed to me in accordance with the laws of Moses and of Israel.” He extended the scroll, and she took it gravely. She held it in both hands for a few moments; then Leah came forward and took it from her to hold until the ceremony was complete.

  Deborah was nodding. This was a custom she liked very much. The prenuptial agreement was a great protection to the bride, and this is why the scroll was given directly to her. In the first place, it was a way of showing that the future husband was capable of caring for his wife and family. More important, where the Law of Moses allowed a man to divorce his wife without her consent, the ketubah was a woman’s protection. It guaranteed a financial settlement in the case of either death or divorce. In effect, it also served as a deterrent against hasty divorces.

  In the writings of Jeremiah the prophet, it is said that a woman shall “compass” or go around a man. This was interpreted to mean that a woman should court a man, but here it would also be taken literally. Shana began a slow circle around Simeon, pronouncing the three expressions of betrothal given in the writings of the prophet Hosea. “I betroth me unto thee forever.” She circled him once. “I betroth thee unto me in righteousness and in judgment, in loving kindness and in mercies.” She completed the second circle. “I betroth thee unto me in faithfulness, and thou shalt know the Lord.” As the last words were spoken, she completed the third and final circle.

  Rabbi Nahum stepped to a small table on which sat a silver goblet and a pitcher of wine. He filled the cup, lifted it high, and intoned the traditional benediction over wine. Then he offered a second benediction. “To him who sanctifies his people Israel by the rite of the chuppah, or the canopy, and the rite of kiddushin. Amen.”

  “Amen!” everyone present echoed.

  The rabbi moved to the canopy and handed the cup to Simeon. Watching Shana gravely over the top of the cup, he took one swallow. Then, holding the cup in both hands, he gave it to Shana. “With the sharing of this wine, we signify the sharing of our lives in this betrothal.”

  “Amen,” Shana said solemnly. She took the cup and also drank one swallow.

  “You may now kiss as husband and wife,” Rabbi Nahum said, taking the cup back.

  “Mazal tov! Mazal tov!” Good luck! The guests burst forth as Simeon lifted the veil and for the first time ever, gently kissed his new bride.

  Chapter Notes

  Much of what we know about betrothal and marriage customs at the time of Jesus comes from Talmudic tradition. However, the Talmud, which in Judaism is the most sacred collection of writings after the Bible, was not put into written form until sometime after the destruction of the temple in a.d. 70. Therefore, it is difficult to determine how much of what is written there describes the practices at the time of Christ. Some things can be dated with some certainty, however. For example, there is evidence that the ketubah, or prenuptial contract, dates back to at least four hundred years before Christ.

  The author relied heavily on the Talmudic descriptions in writing this chapter (see Bloch, pp. 23–34, who provided the greatest help). However, because all customs cannot be dated with precision and because even the Talmud does not contain sufficient detail to fill in every niche a novel may require, the author also took liberties in creating some of the details given here. Normally the betrothal period was for twelve months. If the marriage was arranged while the girl was quite young, the waiting period might last for several years until she reached maturity. When it was a widow who remarried, the waiting period was limited to thirty days.

  Chapter 9

  Ten measures of beauty came into the world; of these, nine were taken by Jerusalem.

  —Rabbinical Proverb

  I

  3 April, a.d. 30

  The home of Mordechai ben Uzziel was located in the Upper City, on the eastern shoulder of Mount Zion. It was just three houses down from the house of Caiaphas, the current high priest. The Upper City was the home of Jerusalem’s wealthy and powerful, and every home was palatial. But the home of Mordechai ben Uzziel was exceeded in both space and cost by only two others in the city—the house of Caiaphas, and that of his father-in-law, Annas. Annas had placed Caiaphas in the powerful office of high priest when the Romans made him step down from the office some years earlier. Between them, they had controlled the office for more than thirty years now. They were without question the most powerful men in Judea. It would have been a serious lapse in judgment for Mordechai to have built a home more pretentious than theirs, even though, if the truth be known, he was richer by far than either of them or perhaps both of them together.

  As Miriam stood at the window of her bedroom looking out on the magnificent view of the Temple Mount below, now bathed in the first rose pink of sunrise, she thought about her father and his immense fortune. Her eyes moved to the north where she could see the smoke from a thousand morning cooking fires smudging the still air. And she wondered about the inequity of life, as she had so many times before.

  Whenever Miriam walked through the other quarters of the city, she came away feeling guilty and filled with a deep and troubling question. What had she done to deserve her station in life? Why was she wrapped in luxury beyond what the poor could even imagine? What had they done that had brought them forth in such squalor and misery?

  It was a question she couldn’t discuss with her father. The Sadducees held strictly to the writings of Moses, and in the writings of Moses there was no specific mention of either a premortal or postmortal state of existence. Therefore the Sadducees denied that there would be a resurrection and said that the soul perished with the body at death. Miriam didn’t believe that. Couldn’t believe it. She believed that the writings of the other prophets were inspired of God as well, and they definitely spoke of both a premortal state and of resurrection after death. She and her father had gone through some flaming battles over theology, and finally Miriam decided it wasn’t worth it. She clearly was not going to change his mind, and she wasn’t going to let him change hers. So they had backed off into an unspoken neutral zone that neither violated.

  Once again this morning, she had the strong conviction that birth could not simply be an act of sheer random chance. But why was she so fortunate? She didn’t know. What she did know was that at this Passover season, when she always felt increased gratitude to the Lord, she wanted to raise her face to the sky and shout, “Blessed art thou, Adonai, our Lord. I thank Thee for everything.”

  There was a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” she called, without turning around. At this hour it could be only one person.

  The door opened and Livia came in, her bare feet making no sound on the marble tiles.

  “Good morning, Livia.”

  “Good morning, Miriam. So you are awake?”

  “Yes. I’ve been up for some time already. Is Papa ready for breakfast?”

  “He’s gone.”

  Miriam turned in surprise. “Already?” Her father was
a person of the night, often not even coming home until long after sundown. So rising early was not his usual habit. And this was the Week of Unleavened Bread, which preceded Passover. It was traditional for them to eat breakfast every day together during this greatest of all the festivals.

  “Yes,” Livia answered. “He said to tell you he was sorry. He got word late last night that he is to go to the Antonia Fortress to meet with that Roman tribune this morning. Something to do with a message from the governor, he said.”

  Miriam felt a little leap inside her. So it was true. Marcus Quadratus Didius had come as promised. She wasn’t sure whether to feel elation or anxiety. She had begun to wonder if he had forgotten all about his promise.

  As if she had spoken it aloud, Livia answered her question. “Your father said to tell you that the tribune will be dining with us this evening. He wants you to supervise the servants when they go to the market today so that only the finest food is purchased and prepared.”

  Again there was that little flutter inside her; then a thought struck Miriam. She smiled. “I wonder how Marcus Didius will view a meal where only unleavened bread is served.”

  Livia was ready with an answer. “Your father mentioned that. He said that he wants you to get some bread that is leavened to serve to him.”

  Shocked, Miriam stared at Livia. “He wants me to bring leavened bread into the house?”

  Livia gave a quick nod.

  Miriam moved back and sat on the bed. When the Lord told Moses to deliver the children of Israel from Egypt, he gave strict instructions that for one full week no leavened bread be eaten. But more than that, the Lord commanded the Israelites to put all leaven out of their houses. Leaven, or yeast, easily spoiled. Leavened bread quickly turned moldy; whereas matzos, or unleavened bread, could last indefinitely. The rabbis had interpreted the prohibition against leaven during this time as symbolic of spiritual corruption. Thus, in every Jewish home across the empire, to prepare for the Week of Unleavened Bread and Pesach, or Passover, which followed it, families made a ritual of going through the house and discarding any leaven or anything that had leaven in it. This was done with great solemnity, for the Lord had said, “Whosoever eateth leavened bread from the first day until the seventh, that soul shall be cut off from Israel.”