Authors: Jack Quinn
We sat across from one another at the dining table placed out in the air before the tavern below the travelers’ rooms, Saul with a whole roasted fish, cheese, bread olives and wine before him, I with a bowl of mussel soup, bread and cup of water.
After an introductory conversation, Saul adjusted his stained toga, its purple band indicating his Roman citizenry and began in earnest by accusing me of not answering his letters.
“How else?” he said. “Jesus is the Messiah risen from the dead, who will come again to establish the Kingdom of God in which we will live free from oppression forever.”
“Why would I lie? Why would Pilate have crucified him other than believing him a threat to the Empire? What cared he about some minor Jewish sect?”
“I do not understand how intelligent people are able to conjure up such a ridiculous story about the resurrection of a failed preacher and convince other imbeciles to accept it.”
Paul rose from the table, his visage flushed with anger. “You blaspheme! His flesh and blood, more concerned with the this day than hereafter.”
“Yes, Saul, Paul. I am trying to do something positive to lift the oppression of Rome, while the likes of you babble absurdities in the wind of the desert.”
“Be gone, Satan!” He turned and stalked into the inn leaving me to pay for his meal.
From news that reached my ears in years to follow, Paul became the foremost proponents of my brother’s heritage as the Son of God, his resurrection and the Messiah as prophesized in the Torah by Moses. He spread his continually enhanced message to Jews and Gentiles alike around the
Mare Mediterranea
as far as Spain--arguably conjured as much within his own mind as from the hearsay teachings of Yehoshua. He established
Christianoi
synagogues and wrote half a hundred letters to the converted in the far reaches of Corinth, Thessalonica, Galatia and Rome itself.
Paul also consulted with Peter, James and other leaders of their sect until their quarrel over the
halakic
92
requirements of Gentiles. Paul was eventually accused by the Sanhedrin of drawing Jews away from strict adherence to the Torah and Judaism, the culmination of which was bringing an uncircumcised Gentile into Temple, thereby causing a riot on sacred grounds, an affront punishable by stoning. In order to avoid a religious uprising in the capital, Procurator Florus arrested Paul for his own protection and shipped him to Rome, where he was held under guard for two years in a house where he was allowed to accept visitors, continued to correspond with
Christianoi
synagogues throughout the region, emphasizing salvation in Jesus, rejecting the failed “dispensation” curse of Torah Law and the acceptance of Gentiles for whom he excused the ritual of circumcision. The precise reasons for Paul’s eventual death some years later are unclear, but regardless of motivation, as a Roman citizen he was allowed the more dignified execution of beheading compared to the inverted crucifixion of Peter about the same time.
Although the execution of principal
Christianoi
was felt by its members, it did not have a significant impact on the general populace, who were more concerned with corporal issues than a new religion. During the thirty-year period of unrest after the death of Yehoshua, a goodly half-dozen self-proclaimed messiahs appeared in the Palestine, some of them assembling ten times my brother’s followers, yet meeting a similar fate, most under the swords of the legions sent by the ruling procurator of the time.
The appointment by my brother of that simple fisherman, Peter, to carry on his message has always puzzled me. Why not Judas, the most educated and intelligent of his closest six? Or Philip? Although Yehoshua was not known for his sense of humor, was his assignment of Peter’s unimaginative sobriquet ‘Rock’ facetious? Aware that his meager following and revisionist tenets would probably pass away after his demise or scatter to escape persecution, did Yehoshua purposely assign the most unqualified man as leader to bear it to its predestined anonymity? I understand that Peter did try to fulfill his assignment, keeping the
Christianoi
flame burning in Jerusalem, venturing into the Idumea and Egypt, his labors finally ending with his execution in Rome. Peter and most of the other six made a grand effort to promote my brother’s message to Jews in Jerusalem and the surrounding area, also venturing back to the Galilee where people had heard the preaching of Jesus from his own lips. In my travels there for the Zealots, I encountered many believers in awe of my relationship to their self-appointed savior, questioning me regarding his personal characteristics, when he demonstrated the first signs of his powers and his counsel with God, his proclaimed ‘father.’ Some of those desperate, poverty-stricken followers competed with one another professing their personal witness to his miraculous healings and wonders, dismissing any rational explanation offered. For the most part, I attempted to use my status as the brother of Jesus to convince them of the need to unify as a militia, just as Yehoshua encouraged their banding together in brotherly love.
My personal sadness began again one night upon my return from an extended journey through the Galilee. I embraced Yentl with the warmth and relief of a man rescued from the wilderness, gratified at the strength of her arms around me and murmured words of welcome. I bathed the grime and sweat from my body, changing from my robe into a loose tunic, while she supervised our freedwoman in preparing our evening meal, which we ate lounging in the Roman manner, exchanging events and happenings we had experienced during our separation.
In our bed sometime later, we lingered in pleasuring one another, as was our wont, before the heat in our bodies propelled us to that final glorious act, leaving us breathless and smiling in the dim light of the candles. When my thoughts of passion had cleared my mind, a nagging concern from our delightful coupling came to me, and before my recollection of its source, I reached out to fondle Yentl’s breast.
There was nothing for it at that moment, so we slept. The next day we discussed it further, and claiming the growth did not pain her, she decided to ignore it until some other symptom arose. Some weeks later, my curiosity finally persuaded her to consult a physician to at least learn if there was cause for worry or not.
The news was not good. After his examination, the Jerusalem surgeon told us that a lump in a woman’s breast was not uncommon at Yentl’s age, and many such growths he had seen presented no problem. The man was reluctant to describe the illness of those who did have a problem, but relented when both Yentl and I insisted. Some women so afflicted, he told us, experienced either a rapid or lengthy malaise that wasted their entire body, terminating in death.
Yentl braced herself to ask the doctor if the illness was accompanied by pain, seeking my hand and nodding her understanding as he admitted that possibility along with the reassurance that he could administer drugs to diminish it. There was no reason to dwell on that unfortunate possibility, which if it did occur, would probably not do so for some time. Considering Yentl’s accumulation of forty-odd years, she would probably pass away of some other ailment or old age before this illness became terminal—if it did.
I was reluctant to travel for some time after that diagnosis, but when Yentl had suffered no ill effects from the lump for several months, I became anxious to get back to those unruly rebel bands whom I knew would be at cross-purposes if left without supervision for a good length of time. Yentl had organized the production of our garment enterprise to run by itself with Jewish employees and freedmen, since I would have no slaves. Her employee quintet produced the blankets from which the garments were designed, cut and sewn with more will and less supervision than slaves, yet I could never determine if their enthusiasm was the result of wages or the subtle pride they seemed to take in their acquired skills and accomplishments. Was this a business secret that would gain popularity? Or was an employer able to work an indentured servant harder, longer and more profitably?
When Yentl’s healthy body began to show the deteriorating signs of the dread disease, she relinquished completely the day-to-day management of garment-making to her hirelings. We certainly had sufficient wealth to support us in luxury if we so desired, and I tried to convince her to sell her business, which she refused to do. As the illness progressed, however, I ceased my roving sales efforts to spend as much time as possible with her, yet the enterprise began to decline. Finally agreeing to divest ourselves of the burden of commerce, she transferred ownership to our freedmen without payment or recompense, and the business picked up appreciably. Although her inordinate generosity vexed me considerably at the time, I held my tongue. Since then, that magnanimous gesture stands in my mind as the true monument to Yentl’s persona.
Before her pain became obviously debilitating, Yentl organized a
carouse
for our immediate family and closest friends, including her daughter Hezibia, husband and grandchildren, James, Elizabeth and progeny, my sisters Mary, Sarah, Rifka and families (Mother had passed from this Earth several years ago), Yentl’s old friends from Sepphoris, our employees and several long-term clients. Although one gaze told an observer that she was clearly battling a serious disease, Yentl responded to all inquiries regarding her health with a dismissive explanation of a passing intestinal malady that her physician was treating with drugs that were the main cause of her weight loss, dark circles around her eyes and flaccid skin. Her attitude during that gathering was that of an attentive hostess in great humor and interest in the lives and well-being of her guests.
Leaving my ailing wife alone for extended periods was still an unsettling concern for me in those years before the Roman War. After the execution of Judah’s sons, Jacob and Simon, I was elevated to Major General within the rebel organization, responsible for all militia bands and divisions in the Galilee, which required more traveling and more extended periods away from home than ever. This diversion may have been fortuitous from a purely selfish point, because once it began, I was not present to witness the agonizing progress of Yentl’s swift deterioration. At first she hid her discomfort from me when I returned for several days, but could do so no longer, when she lost one third of her weight and most of her strength. She had recalled the physician on her own to request drugs to minimize her pain, but toward the end, no medication contained the power to alleviate the horrible agony she described as a thousand knives stabbing within her chest.
We had spoken of this eventuality, and as much as I resisted her decision, I had sworn to obey her wishes. My final visit to her bedside lasted two days and nights, lying beside her skeletal form, holding her gently against me, weeping with her as the awful shudders racked her from soles to crown, whispering of our long years together, from the sober memory of our adulterous beginning, my drunken period which nearly lost her, our wedding, the joyous, ironic and humorous occasions we shared during the past thirty-five years. I dozed intermittently on that last night, waking to sooth her muffled screams until she begged me to let her go.
I had secured the hemlock some months before in the low section of Jerusalem, mixed it with wine, then upheld the head of my lovely wife who drank greedily from the cup. She handed it back to me with her old smile, that mischievous look in her eyes I had not seen for months. It saddened me greatly that I must lose this woman, who of all on earth had made me more content than any other. If Yehoshua and James were right about the hereafter and I was wrong, and every soul would meet again with their designated partner after death, I realized at that moment I wished to exist through eternity with my lovely Yentl, not Tanya. We lay together in silence as the poison did its deadly work, cheeks wet, our kisses soft, holding one another in that last embrace as she relaxed, smiled and breathed her last.
I cannot recall how long I mourned for that good woman, but I do know that she has entered my mind every night and day since her demise. During those years immediately following her death, I experienced a profound sadness that left me languid and morose. I did manage to continue my abstinence from wine in deference to Yentl’s wishes, however, as I roamed the countryside engaged in training peasants for the rebellion.
My spirits were reduced further when Procurator Albinus brought James to trial for preaching contrary to the sacred Torah, the same charges on which they had acquitted Paul. Annas had reclaimed the office of high priest after the disposition of Caiaphas and was instrumental in the decision of the Seventy Sanhedrin to convict and sentence my eldest brother to death by stoning at his age of sixty-two years.