Retribution, page 25
part #3 of City of God Series
Hana patted her on the back. “We will go home.” She shot a sharp look at the children. “Now!”
Dov and Rachel sobered up instantly. They knew that tone in Hana’s voice.
The tightness eased in Rivka’s belly. “I think you’re right, Hana. I need to rest a bit and I’ll be fine.”
Hana put an arm around her shoulders. “Slowly, slowly, Rivkaleh. Children, come!”
Two hours later, in bed in her own home, Rivka knew it wasn’t just Braxton Hicks contractions. She was in labor. More than four months early, she was in labor.
Memories from home flooded through her. She had been nine years old that year. Mama had gotten remarried a year earlier to David, and she was twenty weeks pregnant when she went into preterm labor. It was the scariest thing that had ever happened to Rivka. They all went in to the hospital and the doctors put Mama in bed with her feet a little higher than her head and gave her a drug that made her very hot.
And it didn’t work.
They tried another drug that made Mama feverish.
That didn’t work either.
The doctors only had one other drug to try. If that didn’t work, Baby Brother would be born and he would die. They tried it, and it made Mama hallucinate. After an hour of this drug, Mama’s contractions stopped.
Over the next four months, Mama went to the hospital in labor five times. Rivka learned a lot that summer. Braxton Hicks contractions and real ones. Terbutelene. Twenty-four-hour bed rest. Uterine monitors. Ritodrine. Magnesium sulfate. She learned that nobody really knew what caused preterm labor, that there were about twenty suspected causes.
And she learned that it occasionally ran in families.
Rivka’s heart was racing. “Dov! Can you run find your abba? I think we need him.”
Hana began pacing. “We should find Ari the Kazan.”
Rivka shook her head. “Get Baruch first. If I’m really in labor, we need to stop it as fast as possible. If we can’t stop it, we’ll have plenty of time to send for Ari before the baby comes.”
Hana’s face went white. “Dov, run home!” She snapped her fingers at him. “Bring Abba very fast!”
Dov raced out, shouting, “Abba!”
Rivka smiled. “He’s a good boy, Hana.”
Rachel whimpered and knelt beside Rivka’s bed. “I’m scared, Imma.”
Rivka patted her head. “Everything is in the hands of HaShem, sweetie. There’s nothing to be afraid of, as long as we trust HaShem.”
Some minutes later, the door downstairs banged open. Dov’s shout rolled up the stairs. “I found Abba! He’s coming!”
Moments later, Baruch appeared. He knelt beside Rivka, his face tight. “Please tell me what you know. Dov was quite confused about the matter.”
Rivka explained quickly.
Baruch nodded. “Hanaleh, please, you will lay your hands on Sister Rivka’s belly.”
Rivka felt another contraction coming on.
Hana laid hands on her.
Baruch put his hands atop Hana’s and asked for the Spirit to rest on them all. For some time, he was quiet, waiting. The contraction came and went.
Rivka felt a blanket of peace enfold her. She closed her eyes and waited.
Another contraction came. Some minutes later, another.
Finally, Baruch said in a very quiet voice, “I command you to end your birthpangs.”
Rivka opened her eyes, surprised. She saw that Baruch was not addressing her. He was speaking to her uterus.
Baruch took his hands away and waited.
Rivka held her breath. The contractions had been coming every five minutes or so, she reckoned. She counted slowly to a hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred. When she got to five hundred, she smiled at Baruch. “Blessed be HaShem.”
She saw something new in his eyes, and it frightened her. “Baruch, really, it’s over. I’m going to have to rest a lot from now on, but I’ll be fine.”
Baruch stood up. “Can you travel after Pesach?”
Rivka’s heart began hammering. “That’s going to be a problem. I don’t think I can travel. I shouldn’t walk at all. Walking is the worst thing for me.”
“A donkey?” he said.
She shook her head. “That’s almost as bad as walking. Or an oxcart. Any kind of traveling is going to be a major risk.”
“If the birthpangs begin again, we could pray,” Hana said.
Rivka knew that couldn’t possibly work. “It isn’t safe to travel without a caravan. And they won’t let us stop every two hours so you can pray for me.”
Baruch’s lips compressed to a white line.
Rivka realized what he was worried about. “Baruch. Hana. Things are going to get bad in a month, but I can’t leave the city. I think you should leave. Right after Pesach, you two should go. I’ll be fine. I’ll just stay here and keep on bed rest and ...” She knew it was a lie. Bed rest or no bed rest, the contractions would start again.
“We will not go,” Baruch said. “You must stay. Therefore, we will stay and trust in HaShem.”
* * *
Ari
“Brother Ari, do you see him?”
Ari squinted up at the roof of the northern portico of the Temple Mount. “Not yet.” He and Gamaliel were packed in a crowd of anxious men in the northern end of the outer court of the Temple Mount, waiting to see if the rumor was true.
“There he is!” someone shouted.
Ari saw a squad of Roman soldiers coming down the steps from the Antonia Fortress onto the roof of the portico. Behind them walked Governor Florus, the man who had abused, cheated, tormented, robbed, and generally ... governed Judea for nearly two years.
And behind Governor Florus came a stranger. He wore a gleaming white toga with a broad senatorial purple stripe. Cestius Gallus, governor of the large Roman province of Syria. He was the last hope for justice. Word had reached Jerusalem just yesterday that Cestius—a man of undisputed fairness—had come to visit Jerusalem with Governor Florus for Pesach. As a tourist.
As a boy, Ari had seen many ten thousand tourists, usually Christians, who came to the State of Israel to see the ancient sites. It had not occurred to him that in antiquity, there were also tourists who came to see the ancient sites.
Wealthy foreigners in this century traveled to Egypt to see the marvelous pyramids, to ask questions of the mysterious Sphinx, and to take pleasure cruises on the ancient Nile. Then they came to Judea and without fail wanted to see the greatest Temple in the world, where dwelt the mysterious shekinah of the invisible Jewish god.
Many such tourists came as far as this outer court of the Temple Mount where they discovered that they could not enter the Temple and offer sacrifices, because the Jewish god had decreed that none but the holy race of Jews might enter there. The inner Temple therefore carried a mystique unequaled in all the world. Men wondered what strange and savage rites were conducted in that terrible inner sanctum of the Jewish god. Such a god must be fierce and barbaric and powerful. Many tourists paid for a sacrifice to be offered to the Jewish god, a sacrifice which they would never witness, nor eat the meat, nor receive the skin. It was a place of fear to such foreigners.
Today, it was whispered in the streets that Governor Cestius would make his own pilgrimage to the Temple of the Jewish god. So all Jerusalem had come to see Cestius Gallus, the governor of Syria. Syria was a major power in the region, whereas Judea was a mere backwater province, lying in Syria’s shadow. Governor Cestius was therefore in a position of power relative to Governor Florus.
The crowd surged forward. Ari moved with it in small, rapid steps, terrified that he would fall and be trampled. There was a spirit of rage on this crowd.
“Save us!” someone shouted in Greek.
Like many people in Jerusalem, Ari had picked up a bit of street Greek, but he was not fluent. Rivka was fluent, but he would not be so foolish as to bring her with him in a crowd like this when she was pregnant. Today she was shopping for Pesach, and the market was all the crowd he wished for her to deal with.
More people joined in. “Save us! Save us!” Then all the crowd was chanting, “Save us! Save us!” Ari repeated the words, wondering if they would do any good. He had discussed the matter with Rivka last night, and she had told him it would be safe to attend this demonstration, but that nothing would come of it.
Governor Florus turned very red in the face. Ari saw him speaking into the ear of Governor Cestius, who looked very perplexed. Finally Governor Cestius raised his right hand high overhead in a universally recognizable request for silence.
The chanting died away very quickly. In this culture, Ari had noticed that crowds behaved much more as a unit, were much quicker to discern the prevailing mood and to act on it. An American crowd would have quieted down to a dull rumble over the course of a minute or so. But these Jews cut to absolute quiet in a few seconds.
Governor Florus turned to one of the soldiers and said something in his ear. The soldier stepped to the edge of the portico and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Men of Jerusalem!” he shouted in Aramaic.
Ari guessed that he was one of the Samaritan auxiliary troops, since no Jew would join the Roman army.
“Men of Jerusalem!” the interpreter shouted again. “Governor Florus wishes to know what he can do to aid you.”
“Tell him to cut his own throat!” shouted somebody near Ari. His booming voice echoed through the vast outer court.
Hoots of laughter greeted this, and the whole court rocked with the sound of stamping feet.
Ari also stamped. It was a foolish gesture, but he must show solidarity.
“Save us!” A great wave of sound rolled across the crowd. “Save us!”
Ari found himself shouting as loud as anyone. “Save us!”
The interpreter held up both arms and crossed them at the forearms.
Evidently, this was his way of asking for silence. The many ten thousand angry Jews quieted again with extraordinary speed.
Governor Cestius stepped up behind the interpreter and spoke to him swiftly in an urgent tone. Ari thought Cestius had an honest look. He was said to be a good governor, a man who could rule a province without destroying it. Governor Florus was not such a man.
The interpreter nodded and cupped his hands to his mouth again. “Men of Jerusalem, you are many and the governor is one man. Send up a few picked men to discuss your request with him.”
Ari could not believe what he was hearing. Governor Cestius actually wished to listen? Rivka had not told him of this. Perhaps, Josephus said nothing on the matter.
Several men near the front stepped forward. Ari did not know any of these men, but one of them recognized him. “Ari the Kazan! Come with us!”
Shouts of “Ari the Kazan!” rang all around.
Ari towered twenty centimeters above most of the men in the crowd. He could not hide.
Gamaliel pushed him from behind. “Go, Brother Ari!”
Ari turned and grabbed Gamaliel’s wrist. “Come with me. You speak Greek. It will help.”
Hands around him pounded Ari on the shoulders. “Tell the governor, Ari the Kazan! Go with HaShem!”
Ari stumbled forward, feeling very foolish. He did not know what to tell the governor.
Gamaliel followed tight behind him. They joined the men on the stairs. A great shout shook the court.
Ari felt a visceral wave of power pushing him as he climbed. The portico roof was very high—Ari guessed it to be almost fifteen meters. When he reached the top of the stairs, he looked out and his heart shimmied.
He saw rage. It reminded him of pictures in the newspapers long ago, the funeral of some Palestinian terrorist. Many ten thousand angry young men, desperate in their fury. But these men were Jews, and their cause was Ari’s.
He turned to face the governor.
Roman soldiers were searching the delegates.
Ari realized they were looking for weapons. Each of the Jews had one, mostly crude daggers. Ari took out his own dagger, a deadly blade of Damascus steel. When a soldier approached him, Ari handed it to him.
Half a dozen soldiers drew around, staring at the dagger, their eyes glowing with astonishment, fear, delight. This was a weapon none of them had ever seen, nor dreamed of. One soldier glared at Ari with hostile eyes. “What else do you have hidden, Jew?” He ran his hands over Ari’s chest and shoulders.
Ari raised his arms and waited patiently. He had been through such things in Ben Gurion Airport many times.
The soldier was not gentle. He probed Ari’s tender regions much harder than necessary.
Ari groaned and nearly doubled over.
The Roman laughed harshly and said something in Latin, and his tone told Ari that he was jealous of Ari’s dagger. He ran his hands down each of Ari’s legs, then finally stood up. He was a full head shorter than Ari, and his eyes were marble beads of hate. “Pig.”
A fist of rage twisted Ari hard in the gut. He should not have come. What would this accomplish? Nothing, except to frustrate him and all Jerusalem.
The soldier stepped aside and Ari saw the two governors waiting for him to join the other members of the impromptu delegation.
He moved forward, feeling dizzy and exhausted. This was foolishness.
Governor Cestius looked at the half-dozen Jews. “Who will speak for you?” he said in Greek.
The other men all looked at Ari. “Ari the Kazan! Speak for us.”
Ari swallowed his fear. “Brother Gamaliel, please, you will interpret my words into Greek.”
Gamaliel nodded.
Ari began speaking. He told of the evils that had befallen Judea under Governor Felix, who was so bad that Caesar had called him back to Rome in disgrace and replaced him with Governor Festus. He told of the good that Festus had attempted, and how he had arrested many bandits and worked with the Jews to govern the province. He did not tell of the wild celebrations that came when Festus died. He told of the extraordinary evils of Governor Albinus, who made the crimes of Felix seem like schoolboy pranks. Finally, he told what he knew of Governor Florus, who arrested innocent men as bandits so that he might take bribes for their release. He told of the drought, and the insistence by Florus that no adjustment be made in the tribute to Caesar. He told of Jewish villages burned by Samaritans, of women raped, of mobs in Caesarea that destroyed Jewish shops. And he told of how Governor Florus winked at violence done on Jews, while crushing instantly any attempts at retribution by those same Jews.
Gamaliel translated each sentence into Greek.
Governor Cestius listened intently, and there was real anger in his eyes, genuine compassion at the plight of the Jews.
“There is not one Jew in all Judea who would not take back Governor Albinus instantly, if we could be rid of Governor Florus,” Ari said. “Please help us, or we will all die.”
Gamaliel repeated this in Greek.
Governor Florus stared at Ari with malevolent eyes. Ari felt very glad that he and Rivka and Rachel would be leaving this city immediately after Pesach. They would go to a village outside Judea, far from the jurisdiction of this animal Florus.
Governor Cestius nodded quietly. “You have finished?”
Ari understood this simple Greek sentence and he nodded. “I have told you a hundredth part of the crimes of Governor Florus, but they are enough. Please, you will save us or something terrible will happen. The people can bear no more.”
Gamaliel translated this.
“You threaten me?” Cestius said.
Ari held up both hands, palm outward. “I am a man of peace and I would threaten no man. But if you beat a donkey, it will kick. The rage of the people will wait only a little longer. Save us, Governor Cestius.”
Gamaliel translated again.
“I will think on the matter,” Cestius said. He put a hand on Florus’s arm. “And I will give Governor Florus an opportunity to explain the matter to me. Privately. You men are dismissed.”
Ari turned away, wondering what he had accomplished. Nothing, of course. Rivka said nothing would come of this.
Ari walked woodenly back to the soldier who held the weapons.
The soldier handed him a crudely made dagger.
Ari shook his head. “Gamaliel, tell him I wish to have my own dagger.”
The other men joined them. Each received back his weapon.
Ari gave the rough dagger to its real owner.
Gamaliel spoke to the soldiers in Greek, and his face hardened with anger. He put a hand on Ari’s elbow. “Brother Ari, they seem to have misplaced our daggers. Come, let us go. It is unwise to make an argument.”
Black anger filled Ari’s heart. He allowed Gamaliel to lead him away. As he descended the stairs, he looked back and saw the soldiers smirking at him. Ari stumped down toward the crowd of men below. A great shout went up all around him, thumping his ears.
“Ari the Kazan! Ari the Kazan! Ari the Kazan!”
Deep gloom fell on him. These fools might think he had accomplished something, but he knew better. There was no alternative now.
He must leave Jerusalem with Rivka and Rachel as soon as possible.
Chapter 31
Berenike
“WHAT ABOUT THOSE JEWS, THEN?” Governor Cestius asked.
Berenike had spent the entire banquet wondering if he would raise this question. She had heard some interesting rumors about the incident in the Temple today, but she dared not humiliate Governor Florus by asking.
Florus guffawed loudly and put a honeyed date in his mouth. “Let me tell you something about Jews. These people are liars who think nothing of making up any outlandish story to tell a gullible foreigner. Do you know the saying that all Cretans are liars?”
“Who does not?” Cestius scooped up some peacock brains on a slice of flat bread.
“Have you heard the tale of the Cretan who told that all Cretans are liars?”
Cestius laughed out loud. “That is nonsense. If all Cretans are liars, then no Cretan would say so, since it would be the truth.”
“Do you know who told me this tale?” Florus popped a roasted baby dormouse in his mouth and crunched it between his teeth. He washed it down with spiced wine.
