Chapter 1

(1)

Vitellius awoke with a start. Fragments of a vague dream gave way to a moonlit landscape. Against the night sky, he saw the outline of his companion, who had nudged him. As he sat down beside him, the situation dawned on him. "Ridiculous mission," he muttered softly. His companion chuckled and made himself comfortable in the long grass. "The fourth watch, your turn," he whispered, and turned onto his side. A few moments later, snoring was already audible.

Still lying on his back, Vitellius scanned the starry sky. The bright moon told him that the night was already well advanced and that it was his turn. With considerable reluctance, he slowly stood up. His limbs were stiff and clammy. He paced back and forth a few times to loosen them and shake off the sleep completely. Vitellius wrapped the sagum (cloak) around himself and secured it with a fibula (pin). He girded himself and readied his weapons. Then he surveyed his surroundings. Halfway under the shadow of a tree, he saw the enormous stone. In the bright light of the full moon, its curve was clearly visible. Something moved just before the stone. After a moment of squinting, he spotted one of the other soldiers on guard.

Vitellius walked toward the stone and nearly tripped over one of the soldiers scattered on the ground. The soldier mumbled something, turned over, and thankfully continued sleeping. There were sixteen of them in all. Twelve of them had been on guard for the first three watches of the night. The four of them were to stand guard for the last part of the night. "On guard for what?" Vitellius scorned in his mind. The other three were already waiting for him at the stone for a brief meeting.

“Crazy, this guard,” muttered Vitellius, as he walked up.

The others laughed.

“More dangerous than you think,” replied one of them. “That Rabbi’s disciples are capable of anything.”

Vitellius laughed: “They don’t even have weapons.”

“Yes, one of those fishermen from Galilee was waving a sword around.”

“I heard they ran away like rabbits.”

“At his entrance into Jerusalem a week ago, there were crowds cheering the Rabbi loudly. Suppose they all mobilized them.”

“Not a chance. Where were those crowds when He hung on the cross?”

“Yes, who wants a crucified man as king?” one of the others chimed in, supporting Vitellius.

“The greatest danger is that they’ll make a martyr of him.”

“Oh, those Jewish troublemakers will all be completely forgotten after a few months.”

“You forget that He was welcomed as a king.”

“Yes, that’s right, son of David,” someone shouted, the fourth soldier joined in the conversation.

“Ha, yes, a king, crowned with thorns and enthroned on a cross,” Vitellius countered. “Rome has ruined its reputation.”

“No king but the emperor,” the other soldier chimed in.

“I think his followers have learned their lesson.”

“Then why were we put here?”

“That’s what I’m saying, it’s a mad mission.”

The others were silent. The conversation was back where it started. But Vitellius continued:

“They’ll be caught before they even get this monster an inch from their place,” he said, simultaneously striking the enormous round stone in front of the tomb with the flat of his hand.

“Apparently, the Jewish leaders are deeply ingrained in their fear of Him,” one of the others began again.

“Yes, even after His death, they want to keep Him guarded.”

“And for whom?”

“If His followers know what happened to Him, they’ll forget it,” was Vitellius’ reply.

“Were you there then?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Vitellius resumed:

“Blasted to pieces on all sides.”

He was silent again.

“From head to toe.”

“Then there’s little to be had here.”

“Yes, there’s little left of Him. Hail, King of the Jews!”—Vitellius’ voice shattered the night’s silence.

A few birds flew away in fright.

The soldiers made graceful bows toward the tomb, one after the other, laughing at their own mocking behavior.

Then they dispersed into the garden.

 

(2)

The magnificent patrician residence of the high priestly leadership in northwest Jerusalem was bathed in the bright moonlight. That night, in one of the rooms, Annas suddenly sat bolt upright in his bed, startled. Annas was at the center of power. He had once been high priest of Israel, and now his son-in-law held that position. With several sons as potential high priests, he had even more irons in the fire. Behind the scenes, he pulled the strings. He could make or break the authorities around him.

But in the dead of night, the spiritual leader was at his wits' end. The last fragments of the horrific nightmare from which he had been startled awake, were still visible in the retinas of his wide-open eyes.How long he sat staring into space afterward, he didn't know. He didn't dare go back to sleep. But he also didn't dare get out of bed, for fear of discovering he was still dreaming. Or worse: that the bad dream matched reality.

He remembered only the last horrific details of his nightmare. It was above all the chilling atmosphere of the dream that held him in a steely grip. He fervently hoped that the first signs of day would soon announce themselves and that the first light of dawn would dispel the dark memories of his dream. But no matter how long he waited, it remained dark. He looked around but could detect no sign of the time. All he saw was a faint sliver of moonlight. He tried to think of something else, but his mind was constantly drawn back to the terrifying dream.

He lay back down and stared into the darkness. In the darkness, he saw the vague outlines of the room. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. But a moment later, sweat broke out all over him. The suffocating dream haunted him. Sounds and voices echoed in his ears. Annas sat up again, sweating all over.

It was impossible. He could forget about sleep for the rest of the night. But even though he was awake, the nightmare enveloped him on all sides. He felt the urge to scream. But he couldn't possibly call for help. Who would come to his cries? Was he perhaps bringing new terrors upon himself? Imagine if he only dreamed he was awake, but his dream still held him captive! And if he were awake and his servants came rushing to him, what would he say? That he was afraid of his own dream, of him, the great power behind the scenes of the Sanhedrin?

Annas summoned all his courage and threw back the covers. He let his legs slide down from the bed. His hot feet cooled on the cold tile floor. After sitting like that for a long time, he ventured out of bed. He stood and, step by step, shuffled to the small window through which the moonlight still filtered. He paused at the window. The moon stood, a faithful witness, comforting in the sky. Annas breathed in the cool night air. The stillness of the night made the memory of his dream fade. He turned over and tried to get back into bed. But then fragments of his nightmare came rushing back at him with full force. His hands were sweating. It seemed as if his bed were cursed. Would he ever be able to sleep again?

 

(3)

Someone else who couldn't sleep was Saraf. The boy tossed and turned in his bed. The more Saraf tried to fall asleep, the more awake he became. He felt increasingly warm and threw off the linen sheet. He dozed off for a moment, but a sound in the street suddenly jolted him wide awake again. It was the expectations for the next day that kept him awake. He tried to imagine everything he had to do the next day, but it remained vague. He was very much looking forward to the task he would be performing for the first time in his life, but he didn't know exactly what he would encounter. This made him uneasy.

Saraf was a boy from the lineage of priests who served in the temple. His family belonged to the priestly division of Jakim. The Feast of Unleavened Bread had begun two days earlier, meaning that all twenty-four priestly classes would perform their duties together. Daily, lots were cast among all the young priests his age for various minor tasks to be performed in the temple. He had been assigned one of these tasks. The following night, it was his turn to stand guard above one of the temple gates. His station would be the gate, also known as the chamber of the flame. For the first time in his life, as a twelve-year-old boy, Saraf would perform a task in the temple. For the first time in his life, he would also have to stay awake all night. Staying awake was crucial. The task of guard had to be taken very seriously. His older brother had told him a story that terrified him. All sorts of questions raced through his mind.

Saraf sighed and gave up the struggle. He got out of bed and tiptoed to the window of his room. A sound behind him startled him. Startled, he turned his head. He could rest assured. It was his little brother, turning in his bed—thankfully, sound asleep.

Saraf stared out the window. Above the houses across the square, the gigantic temple building loomed in silver moonlight. It stood out against the dark night sky. Although he had known the enormous building all his life, it still made a deep impression on the boy. Tonight, that was truer than ever. At the sight of the stone colossus, questions welled up inside him. Was he going to stand guard on this side or the other tomorrow? How high above the ground was his guard post, anyway? How cold would it be, standing outside all night? Would he have much trouble staying awake?

Suddenly, his father stood behind him. He was startled.

"What are you doing out of bed so late?" he said sternly.

Saraf said nothing but quickly jumped past his father and back into bed.

Instead of answering, he asked his father a question:

"Were you allowed to stand guard in the temple when you were younger?"

His father hesitated for a moment and sat on the edge of his bed.

“When I was your age, large parts of the temple were still under construction.”

With a sense of relief, Saraf noticed his father joining in his diversionary tactic.

“There were fewer places where guards were kept,” his father continued.

“So you never stood guard?” Saraf asked, half disappointed, half proud that he was allowed to do so.

“Yes, I did,” his father replied.

“Oh, where were you stationed then?”

“Avtinas’ room. It had just been finished.”

“Where is that room?”

“On the south side of the forecourt, directly above the Water Gate. It’s the room where the Avtinas family prepares the incense for the incense offering every day.”

“The south side—is that the side of the temple we see from here?”

“Correct. But you will be keeping guard on the other side of the temple tomorrow.”

“Yes, the flame room.” What happens in that room?

“In the Gate of the Flame, the eternal fire is kept burning. It is a fire that must never go out, just like the fire on the altar. It is a kind of backup fire for the altar. The priests, who serve in the gate, keep it constantly burning.”

“Why must the fire not go out?”

“The fire is a symbol of God and of his love for his people. Many waters cannot extinguish love, and rivers cannot wash it away. Therefore, the fire, as a sign of Him and his love, must not be extinguished.”

Saraf looked into his father’s eyes for a moment. He sensed in his voice that the words meant a lot to him. Then another question occurred to him.

“Should I help with the fire?”

“No, you are on a kind of balcony above the gate. That is the room of the fire.”

“There is no fire there?”

“No, but you do have a good view of the north side of the outer court from there.”

"How high am I then?"

His father looked out the window and thought for a moment.

"A little over twenty yards."

"Is that higher than my window?"

His father burst out laughing.

"That's higher than our house!"

Saraf looked at his father in disbelief.

"That high?"

He felt a pang for a moment, and then something else occurred to him.

"What happens if I fall asleep?"

"And I'm discovered?" his father finished his question.

"Yes, what happens then?" He didn't dare use the word "punishment."

"That certainly won't happen to you," his father replied, not wanting to frighten his son.

"Yes, but...suppose it does happen, what then?"

His father looked out the window again and said nothing. That worried Saraf. He had heard ominous stories from his brother and hoped his father would contradict them.

"Come on, Dad, tell me, what will happen then?" he urged.

His father's eyes were fixed on him again, a serious look on his face. "You'll be beaten with rods and your clothes will be burned before your eyes."

Saraf swallowed and concluded that his brother hadn't made empty threats.

"That's why it's important that you go to sleep right now. Otherwise, you'll fall asleep on watch tomorrow night."

Saraf nodded and said nothing more. He obediently lay down and pulled the sheet back over himself.

"Layla tov" (good night), he said as he turned over.

 

(4)

The chill of the early morning was gathering. A thick layer of morning dew lay over the fields of Jerusalem. Vitellius rubbed his hands together to warm them. His eyes turned to the sky to gauge the time. He had the impression that it was getting lighter and that day was about to break. Disciples, or what was left of them, were nowhere to be seen. He fixed his gaze on the massive round stone in front of the tomb and shook his head with a grin. He was baffled by the Jewish authorities' need for their watch.

Then something happened that would stay with Vitellius for the rest of his life. He was terrified. Several flashes of light shot from behind the massive tombstone across the rock face behind it. The light pulsed in very brief bursts across the irregular rock. Vitellius had never seen such a phenomenon before. The large tombstone blocked the light, but the little that could be seen through the irregularity was still there. The light that escaped through the cracks behind the stone was almost blinding in the dark night. Vitellius covered his eyes with his hands and stood motionless for a few moments. With his hands still over his face, he opened his eyes, afraid they would be affected by the bright light. But there was no light at all. Carefully, Vitellius lowered his hands. The morning darkness had completely returned. He rubbed his eyes. Had he been dreaming? No, that couldn't be, because he was still so blinded that he couldn't see anything in the dawn twilight.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the returned darkness. A short distance away, he also saw his three companions standing. He couldn't tell which way they were looking. They must have noticed the flashes of light, too. One of them started and walked toward the stone. Suddenly, he stopped. Vitellius was startled again. High in the sky, he saw something moving. When he looked closely, it looked like a star, drawing ever closer. As the star approached, the surroundings visibly brightened. His heart pounded in his throat as the light grew larger and brighter. He could no longer think clearly and didn't know how to react. With wide eyes, he stared at the light. It kept coming closer, and he saw a figure within it more and more clearly. Frozen with fear, he made out the figure of a man in the brilliant light.

The garden was now bathed in a sea of light. It seemed like a permanent flash of lightning. Instinctively, Vitellius wanted to reach for his sword, but he could not move and stood rooted to the spot. The spear, which he had been clutching tightly, slipped from his hand. Vitellius gasped for breath. He had forgotten everything around him: his comrades, his mission, his place in the Roman army. He felt only the fear of survival and wanted only one thing: to flee, as quickly as possible. But his legs refused to cooperate. As if paralyzed, he stood motionless, watching.

The luminous figure from the sky came very close and touched the ground. Immediately, Vitellius felt a tremor. The ground began to shake. Vitellius could no longer stand and sank to his knees. The earthquake grew more intense. A deafening rumble rose from the earth's crust. The trees swayed wildly, and rocks came crashing down the mountainside. Vitellius tried to stay upright on his hands and knees, wondering if the tremor would ever end. From his kneeling position, he saw the man of light walking toward the large tombstone. It seemed as if he was causing the tremor with pounding footsteps.

Suddenly, the earthquake stopped. The man of light had reached the stone. The entire rock face was bathed in the dazzling light. With the greatest of ease, the man rolled the stone aside, the enormous stone that could barely be moved by ten men. He did so with such force that the stone detached itself from the rock face and rolled for a moment. Vitellius was startled as the stone rolled toward him. Not far from him, the stone toppled over onto its side. Again, he felt the ground tremble. The lightning-like figure turned, walked toward the stone, and sat down on it. Vitellius, seeing the man approaching, dropped flat on the ground, frozen with fear, hoping not to be seen by that terrifying figure. All his strength had drained from him. He lay hidden in the half-tall grass like a dead man. The fact that he was there to guard the grave never occurred to him again.

After lying there for a while, with nothing further happening, the fear slowly subsided. Vitellius dared to raise his head slightly and look around to see if, lying in the field, he could see any of his companions. He saw no one. Like him, they were probably all lying flat on the ground, as if they were the dead, meant to be in the grave.

 

(5)

A cool morning breeze blew in through the window of the high priest's palace, carrying the rustling sound of spring greenery that covered the gardens around the buildings like a beautiful carpet. Malchus was suddenly awake. But it wasn't the rustling breeze that had awakened him. It was something else. The sound came again! It was a mournful wailing that had awakened him. He had never heard anything like it before. Malchus thought he could distinguish a man's voice. He wondered where the sound was coming from.

Malchus was the high priest's most important servant. He had supreme oversight of the palace and was in the service of Caiaphas, the high priest. He also took orders from Annas, Caiaphas's father-in-law, and several other chief priests. Most of his responsibilities were standard, which he had been dutifully performing for years. The entire palace household was meticulously organized. He was rarely called upon for a special assignment, and that was a good thing, because keeping the entire high priestly palace running was a full-time job.

Malchus sat up to listen carefully. But apart from the soothing whisper of the morning wind in the bushes, there was nothing more to be heard. As he listened intently to the strange sound that had awakened him and then disappeared again, his thoughts involuntarily drifted back to what had happened recently. He could still hear, and he was fortunate for that. Three nights earlier, things had looked bleak for him in that regard. Images of that night flashed through his memory. A ribbon of torches through the Mount of Olives—Flickering light reflecting off the swords, spears, and staves of temple servants and legionaries—Whimsical flames illuminating the face and stately attire of the popular Jewish Rabbi—The Rabbi's unexpected action, stepping forward instead of fleeing—The shock that ran through them as He revealed His identity—The utter chaos as they all fell backward. The Rabbi, who, when they had all recovered, spread his arms, requesting safe conduct for his disciples.

Malchus sighed and looked out the window, where the cool air still breathed. He would have preferred to erase the rest of that fateful night from his memory. But he couldn't. In fact, it was precisely those memories that stuck most vividly in his mind—Suddenly, that enormous blow to the right side of his head. He had no idea where it came from—Then that numbness—Then that thundering, throbbing pain—The panic with which he clutched his ear—The search for his ear, the emptiness he felt, and the blood gushing down his hands.

A feeling of nausea washed over him again at the vivid memory. He didn't want to think about it anymore. Involuntarily, he touched his right ear again. As if to check if it was still attached. He still couldn't quite believe what had happened. It was impossible. Nothing like this had ever happened before. But the intense pain, the blood gushing down his hands, and that terrible feeling of numbness had been very real.

The whole incident left him feeling extremely dissatisfied. It bothered him that the matter had gotten out of his hands. His inattention had seriously jeopardized the mission. It was a good thing the Roman legionaries were with him. Otherwise, they might have let the Rabbi go in gratitude for the miracle of his ear. In any case, as the high priest's chief slave, he had completely lost all control at that moment.

Malchus decided to lie down again. He didn't want to think about it anymore and would try to fall back asleep as quickly as possible. Just as he began to doze off, the same groaning sound reappeared. Malchus was instantly wide awake and decided to get out of bed and investigate. He opened the door to his room and walked into the hall. There he paused to listen for the source of the sound. For a moment, he heard nothing. Then it began again. It came from the priests' quarters. To reach them, he had to go down a floor and cross the forecourt to the other side of the palace. The plaintive wailing continued, and Malchus rushed down a flight of stairs and across the forecourt.

He stopped at one of the doors. For a moment, he heard nothing. When it began again, it turned out to be coming from two doors away. It was the door to Annas's large frescoed room. As he stood at the door, he hesitated. Could he simply enter the private chamber of the most important religious man in the country? The groaning continued. One of the other doors opened. It was Jonathan, one of Annas’ sons, who had also woken up by the mournful sounds. Jonathan stood for a moment, listening at his father’s door. Then he opened the door. Malchus followed him. Together they stared at the man, drenched in sweat, his face contorted with fear, gripped by a nightmare. He shook his head wildly and jerked his arms convulsively. “Father!” Jonathan shouted. He tried to rouse him. He finally succeeded with a few short taps on the face. Annas looked at his son with wild eyes. Then he let out a scream of terror and threw the sheet over himself. The nightmare had completely taken possession of him.

 

(6)

Saraf found himself on a huge square platform. Smoke rose on all sides around him. Through the wisps of smoke, he could make out the faint outline of the massive temple building. The air was stifling, and he struggled to breathe. The fires were slowly dying down. Suddenly, Saraf knew where he was. A wave of joy streamed through his heart. He was standing atop the great altar in the temple courtyard, where sacrifices were continually offered.

Sarah walked to the edge of the altar, where he had seen a pile of wood. When he ventured to peek over the edge, he saw a dizzying depth. He quickly pulled his head back. He grabbed a log from the pile and walked through the choking smoke to the smallest of the fires, which was almost out. He placed the log on the smoldering sparks. It began to hiss. The wood was damp.

"What are you doing out of bed so late?" a stern voice sounded behind him.

Sarah turned around. There stood his father in his white priestly robes.

"This fire must not go out," Saraf replied. "It was lit by God Himself long ago and must always burn."

"You don't have to interfere with that!" his father replied.

"The wood is wet." "I need dry wood," Saraf ignored his father.

"We'll do it, you need to sleep," his father admonished.

"Isn't the dry wood in the wood storage?" Saraf continued to ignore his father.

"I'm warning you once more, go to sleep!" his father threatened.

His father walked over to him and tried to grab his arm. Saraf ducked under his father's arm and ran down the slope of the altar. At the foot of the altar, he glanced around. His father had suddenly disappeared again. Only smoke rose from the altar. A sense of urgency washed over him. The fires were all going out. He had to hurry. The wood storage was somewhere in the women's courtyard. He flew up the steps of the Levite choir and ran through the gate of Nicanor. With great leaps, he sped down the semicircular staircase and reached the women's courtyard.

He had to be in one of the four large corner rooms, but which one? There was no one in sight. He heard loud laughter. It came from above. When he looked up, he saw the balustrade surrounding the forecourt packed with women, all laughing at him. Something was wrong. He felt it. The sacrificial fires were going out, and it was his fault. A cold sweat broke out. He looked around wildly. The women kept laughing. Where was he? Which room was it?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a door open and then close again. A man stumbled out. He walked with a limp, only one eye, and a face shrivelled by fire. Saraf almost dared not look at him when he asked about the wood. Immediately, the man burst into a fit of laughter. His hysterical laughter mingled with that of the women. It was deafening. Saraf fled and flew back through the gate of Nicanor, to the safety of the altar. On his way, he remembered the chamber of the flame. There was the eternal fire. There was solid wood.

Suddenly, he was there. He stood directly above it, on the balcony. Here he would keep watch. And somewhere below him was the eternal flame. He leaned far over the balustrade to see if he could spot the fire anywhere. Suddenly, he lost his balance. He fell. Deeper and deeper he sank. It was as if his fall would never end. With a start, he woke. He lay on the floor next to his bed.

 

(7)

Vitellius still lay flat on the ground near the tomb of the crucified Jewish Rabbi. The mocking humor of earlier that night had turned to fear and terror. He estimated he had lain in the same position for half an hour. His motionless position close to the ground made him easy prey for the morning cold, which found its way to his cramped body through mist, dew, and wind.

Every now and then, Vitellius ventured to peek above the grass to see if the terrifying man of light was still sitting on the tombstone, which had rolled away from the grave. Disappointed, he had already discovered several times that the situation was unchanged. The circumstances were more dire for him than for the others on the guard. He lay closest of all to the stone where the luminous figure had installed itself, and moreover, it was facing him. The soldiers who had been sleeping must have all been startled awake by the earthquake. They had been lying a little further away, and he had already heard at least ten of them running away. Probably everyone had already run out of the garden tomb, and he was the only one left here in the cold.

Suddenly, he heard women's voices. They gradually grew louder. The women seemed to be getting closer. They were probably on their way to the Rabbi's grave. As he carefully lifted his head to see where the voices were coming from, he saw the group of women standing some distance from the tombstone. They lowered their voices and began to confer in whispers. Apparently, they were impressed by the man of light. Unlike the Roman soldiers, however, they did not run away. With his head above the grass, Vitellius saw that the luminous figure turned toward the women. He heard him begin to speak with them. He couldn't understand what he was saying, and at that moment, he didn't care. What mattered was that the mysterious figure was distracted and that he had a chance to escape unnoticed. After first trying to regain some movement in his limbs, Vitellius slowly stood up. He remained crouched, however, as it was already starting to get lighter. Crouched down, he cautiously circled the group of women in a circular motion toward the exit of the garden tomb. Then he broke into a run.

A few minutes later, Vitellius, panting, walked along the eastern city wall. He had stopped running due to severe pain in his side. Never in his life had he felt so miserable. The fear gradually began to give way to a sense of shame. How was it possible that an entire Roman guard would flee from a figure with whom a group of Jewish women were having a friendly conversation moments later? Vitellius stood there, panting. The shooting pains still pierced his side. Never before had he made such a long sprint with the heavy equipment. For a moment, with a pained expression, he peered eastward across the Kidron Brook. The sky was already beginning to turn red. Soon the sun would cast its rays over the edge of the Mount of Olives. He couldn't move fast enough, because despite his vigorous running, he was still numb and chilled. And it wasn't just the cold that was causing it. Fear also still gripped him deeply. In his memory, he saw again the heavenly figure, radiating like lightning, causing an earthquake and brutally opening a tomb. The fear it instilled in him had completely displaced his sense of duty as a Roman legionary. The mission of guarding the tomb had faded completely into the background. There was no way he would ever return to that terrible, fateful place. When the stitches in his side subsided, his first instinct was to find his comrades, who had witnessed the same horrors as he had. To dispel the cold, he made a few sweeping movements with his arms around his body. The trauma was harder to dispel. The memory of the lightning-struck figure filled him with horror again and again. He shifted his thoughts back to his comrades. They had been able to escape the garden tomb earlier because they had been further away from the lightning bolt. He had hoped to encounter them at the garden's exit, but they were nowhere to be seen. They had, of course, been at least as terrified as he was. The question was where he was most likely to encounter them. Surely they weren't foolish enough to report to the Praetorium. Running away from an unfinished mission was practically equivalent to signing a death warrant. Vitellius strongly suspected they had headed for the Jewish priests. After all, they had given them the order. The sheer insanity of that order indicated that the Jews suspected something might happen that night. More leniency could be expected from them than from the Roman tribune. With that thought, Vitellius continued his early morning walk along the city wall.

 

(8)

“Romans.”

“Romans, is that all? Is that what upsets you so much?”

Jonathan sat next to his father’s bed. Behind him stood Malchus, his arms folded. For some time, Jonathan had been trying to figure out what his father had dreamed that night, but the old man seemed to find it difficult to talk about it.

“What kind of Romans? Where were they? What were they doing?” Jonathan asked for the umpteenth time.

Looking away, Annas sighed deeply. Nothing came out. The reluctance to talk about his dream was difficult to overcome.

“If you don’t talk about it, we can’t help you,” Jonathan tried.

Annas continued to stare away. For a few moments, the frescoed room was silent. Slowly, Annas's head turned back towards them. He looked past Jonathan, his face stern, at Malchus. Jonathan also turned his head towards the slave standing behind him. Malchus looked a little surprised at first. Then he shrugged and left the room, closing the door behind him. Apparently, they didn't need him for this. At first, he wanted to run away and prepare for his day's work. But when he realized from the dim morning light that it was still quite early and the sun hadn't even risen yet, he reconsidered. He turned and pressed his ear to the door. Without thinking further, he focused completely on his hearing. But as he strained to hear what was being said in the room beyond the door, the fragment from a few nights ago flashed through his mind. The organ he was now holding against the door lay shattered in the darkness on the floor.

"Roman...dates...temple...angel..."

Malchus had to strain to catch a few words from the room. He couldn't make sense of them. It seemed like an incoherent dream.

"...corridors...ark..."

"Malchus, are you eavesdropping on the high priest?" came a sudden voice behind him.

Malchus was startled. He jumped up immediately and turned his back to the door, looking in the direction of the voice. Maria looked at him with a mocking smile. It was one of the maids, who was already busy with breakfast. From her twinkling eyes, Malchus's gaze drifted to the well-filled tray balanced on her hand. There Malchus saw a Sabich, a dish of eggplant, hard-boiled eggs, hummus, tehina, salad, and parsley, flanked by matzos and olives and a carafe of water.

“This is not for you, but for the high priest,” said Maria when his gaze lingered on the tray for too long.

Malchus didn’t answer and looked at her with a slightly disturbed expression.

“Shall I just let you know right now that you were standing here with your ear to the door, listening in?” Maria continued.

Knowing that she knew as well as he that this was an empty threat, Malchus didn’t react and leaned back in with his ear to the door.

“Put that food down and help me hear what’s being said,” he ordered.

Maria knew her place and listened obediently. A moment later, they were standing together with their ears to the door.

“… my… ark… temp…’

They couldn’t make out much of a story in the few syllables they caught. After listening for a moment, they suddenly heard nothing. Then the door swung open. Malchus and Maria jumped up and were immediately engaged in conversation about breakfast.

“If you have another nightmare like that, you must tell me right away,” Jonathan heard them say to his father over his shoulder. Apparently, he hadn’t noticed they’d been eavesdropping.

“Malchus, can I talk to you for a moment?” Jonathan asked.

“Yes, of course, right now?”

“No, we’re going to have breakfast first. Come to my room right after breakfast.”

“Okay. What’s it about?”

“You’ll hear it soon.”

With that, Jonathan walked back to his room.

 

(9)

“Nathan, are you coming to the table?”

The priest family was reclining for breakfast. On the table lay a loaf of bread, some cheese, a bowl of assorted vegetables, and a knife. Each table had a cup of water. Two seats were still unoccupied.

"Where's Saraf?" Reuben asked.

"What's that to you?" his father asked.

"Am I not my brother's keeper?"

"You're joking. You know he's on guard duty at the temple tonight, right? He's sleeping in this morning. So we won't see him at breakfast this morning."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot."

"And you're your brother's keeper?"

"I told him what happens when he falls asleep."

"Yes, and he was quite impressed."

"Ha, that's the point." We don't want him to get beaten.'

'You could have said it a little more gently.'

'Cry aloud, don't hold back, lift up your voice like a trumpet,' says Isaiah.'

'But doesn't Solomon say something about a wise rebuker for a listening ear?' his father replied.

'I don't know, it's possible. Saraf's ear isn't that listening, after all.'

'He usually listens better than you do,' his mother replied.

'Well, at least he won't fall asleep tonight,' said Reuben.

'Did you fall asleep last year?' his father asked sharply.

Reuben didn't answer immediately.

'Yes, so. That took too long,' his father concluded.

'Just for a moment...', Reuben defended himself, '...and I didn't get caught.'

'Then you were lucky. "I really should give you a good beating now," his father laughed.

Ruben laughed, but not heartily. "Are we even starting yet? I'm starving," he joked.

"We're still waiting for Nathan," his mother replied. "Where's that kid?"

Saraf's family consisted of a daughter and three sons. Saraf was the middle son. His quick-witted older brother could really get on his nerves, but if necessary, he would go in front of the fire for his younger brothers. All that was left was for the youngest member of the family.

"Nathan, where are you?" his mother said impatiently.

"Yes, Nathan, we want to start!" Ruben chimed in, supporting his mother.

Finally, eight-year-old Nathan walked into the room. He sat down and instinctively held his hands over the basin while his father poured water over them from a large jug. Finally, they were ready for the blessing. All five of them raised their hands and heads as Father said,

“Blessed are you, Lord our God, Ruler of heaven and earth, who brings forth the bread of the earth.”

Then he looked happily at his children and said, “Mother, bring the surprise.”

“Mmm… eggs,” said Ruben when she returned.

"Today is a holiday," said Father. "Matilda, can you tell us what holiday we're celebrating today?"

"Bikkurim!" Ruben shouted.

"Very good, Matilda," said her father, turning his head towards Ruben. He blushed because he had spoken out of turn. Looking at Ruben for a moment longer, Father broke off a piece of bread first.

Then Father's gaze shifted back to Matilda and he asked:

"Matilda, do you also know what this holiday means?"

"Matilda shook her head."

Patiently, Father waited a moment for an answer while he topped his piece of bread with cheese and vegetables. The others in the family followed suit, one by one, and soon the family would be enjoying the simple Priest's Breakfast.

When Matilda remained silent, Father said, "Well, Reuben, you tell me then."

"You mean what Bikkurim means? That's that, uh..." Chewing on a piece of bread, he looked up thoughtfully for a moment. When he had finished his mouth, he resumed:

"Yes, that the farmers bring the first fruits of their land to the temple."

"Exactly. And do you remember what they say at the temple?"

"Yes, I remember," Reuben nodded.

"Well, what do they say?"

"Let me think..." To give himself time, he took another bite and looked up again. When the bite was gone, he said, "My father was a lost Aramean. He went to Egypt and grew into a great nation, and then Pharaoh came to harm us, and then the Lord delivered them, and... uh... oh yeah, then the Lord brought us to the land of milk and honey." Something like that?

"You're forgetting something."

"I wouldn't know what," Ruben replied, surprised.

"And look, Lord, the fruits of the land you have given me," came unexpectedly from his younger sister's mouth.

"Well done, Matilda, you've completed that perfectly," Father responded, happily surprised.

"Matilda looked at her older brother with a smile."

He looked back scornfully and said, "That's how I can do it, even when almost everything has already been said."

"And do you know who that 'father' is in that Scripture passage, Matilda?"

Ruben wanted to speak out of turn again, but Father said sternly, "Quiet—I asked Matilda."

"Jacob," Matilda said proudly, his radiant eyes still fixed on Ruben.

"Well done, Matilda," her father complimented. "And you gave a fine introduction," he said to Ruben.

"That was more than just an introduction," Ruben thought. Then he pointed across the table and said, "Hey, there's Saraf!"

They all looked in the same direction. "Hi Saraf, are you awake yet? Don't you have to sleep in tonight?" his mother asked.

"I was woken by a ray of sunlight in my room."

"But you have to stay up all night."

"I already tried to go back to sleep, but..." he hesitated.

"Yes, keep talking," his mother said.

"... There's too much noise."

"Okay, Mr. Saraf, we'll keep our mouths shut," Ruben mocked.

"Come sit with us," his father invited, ignoring Ruben's comment.

"There's a lot of street noise too," Saraf defended himself, sitting down.

"Don't fall asleep tonight, okay? Otherwise..." his brother teased him, shaking his fist.

"Your first watch tonight, Saraf, how exciting!" his mother said, giving Reuben a withering look.

"Yes, I couldn't sleep either because of the excitement," Saraf explained.

"It's okay, the Lord will give you the necessary vigilance tonight," his father said, pouring water from the pitcher over Saraf's hands.

"Can we come to the temple today?" Saraf asked, taking a piece of bread and filling it.

"Oh yes, Father, can we come?" Reuben chimed in, supporting his little brother.

Father laughed at the sudden unanimity as he replied, "It's far too crowded in the temple, and only the priests on duty are allowed there now."

“But may we then accompany you to the temple, and shall we then walk back through the Damascus Gate?”

Here Mother intervened and said: “If you behave well this morning, help your father where necessary, and don’t argue.”

Solemnly and joyfully, the two brothers nodded to each other across the table.

 

(10)

As Jerusalem awoke, a group of Roman soldiers, in hushed voices, were having a vital discussion.

“Where are the rest?”

Vitellius looked at his fellow soldiers with wide eyes. He had just found four of his comrades and was now standing opposite them. They were sitting side by side on the old wall of a small vineyard, opposite the steps leading to the high priest’s residence.

“You tell them, Claudius. You tried to persuade them.”

Claudius stared blankly at the ground.

“Claudius, where are the others?” Vitellius asked again.

Instead of answering that question, Claudius looked up and said, "Wouldn't it be better if we returned to the Rabbi's tomb?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Gaius replied.

"I didn't even go back for a year's wages!" Vitellius retorted. "I lay near that terrible lightning-horror. It's painful when I think back on it.'

'I'm mainly thinking of the consequences,' Claudius reasoned. 'We can still recover our flight now. And perhaps that figure has already disappeared.'

'It's not just about that figure,' Vitellius replied, 'there's something about that Jewish Rabbi! Something mysterious! I spoke to a comrade who was present at his crucifixion, and he told me things you wouldn't believe.'

'What then?' the others wanted to know.

'I myself saw how they flogged Him. No matter how hard and how cruelly and how often He was beaten from his shoulders to his calves, both front and back, hardly a moan came from his mouth. Even during the crucifixion, that comrade said. Very strange. While every crucified person groans in fear and unbearable pain, not a single discordant sound came from his mouth. And then the darkness. After a few hours on the cross, the entire country was plunged into complete darkness in the middle of the day. You all experienced that.’

Vitellius paused, watching the others react. No one said anything.

‘Didn’t you, Claudius?’ Vitellius asked.

Claudius nodded that he remembered.

‘Then his death,’ Vitellius continued. ‘After six hours of utter exhaustion on the cross, a loud cry of triumph arose from his cross, echoing off the city walls and heard far and wide. Immediately afterward came that earthquake. Do you remember, Claudius?’

Claudius stared at a passing farmer but said nothing.

‘That tremor this morning, yes? …’ Vitellius continued, ‘… That was a repetition of the tremendous tremor felt far and wide after his final cry on his cross. I tell you: that Rabbi is a mystery, and that heavenly being has everything to do with Him. There's absolutely no good going on at that tomb. I'm never going back there. I'd rather appear before the tribunal.'

When Vitellius's persuasive words stopped, there was a moment of silence. Life in the city after Passover was slowly starting to return, and the street where they were standing became a little busier.

'And I haven't even mentioned the lightning-like appearance from heaven,' Vitellius added, when the street was quiet again for a moment.

The others remained silent, thus confirming Vitellius's view. Returning to the Rabbi's tomb was not an option for any of them.

'Then there's nothing for it but to report to the chief priests,' Gaius concluded.

'Wait, I still haven't got an answer to my question about where the others are,' Vitellius insisted.

“Are we all going, or would it be better if one of us sacrifices himself?” Claudius asked.

Vitellius resented being ignored and asked again, “For the last time: where are the others?”

Claudius turned his gaze to Vitellius and asked, “What do you think?”

“How should I know?”

“Perhaps you can come up with a better alternative than they can.”

Vitellius nodded and thought for a moment, somewhat flattered by the confidence in his good ideas. Then he said, “Surely they haven’t gone to Syria?”

“No, they’ve returned to the tomb to roll the stone over it again,” Gaius joked.

Vitellius laughed, knowing he had it right. There were few alternatives.

“Vitellius, are you going to tell the priests?”

Vitellius looked up the stairs. At the top, he saw the massive door of the gate to the high priest’s palace.

“Why don’t we go together?” he asked.

“We were just discussing this before you arrived,” Gaius began. “If we all knock together, the priests will immediately sense trouble. That won’t be the case if one of us stands before them alone. That person can then gauge our chances with the priests.”

“That would require a certain amount of discretion,” Vitellius observed.

“A certain amount of what?” Claudius asked.

“Look, you understand,” Gaius said. “That’s why you’re the most suitable candidate for this mission.”

“Fine, I’ll go,” Vitellius responded, flattered again. “But I hope this mission won’t be as much of a fiasco as our first mission last night.”

With that, he climbed the stairs to the high priest.

 

(11)

Annas looked listlessly towards the window. He had just gotten dressed and sat back down on his bed. His breakfast was next to him. He'd barely eaten a drop. It wasn't just his dreams that were bothering him. His conversation with Jonathan about his dreams was bothering him even more. It had put him in a position of dependency. He wasn't used to that. Usually, everyone was dependent on him.

He tried to recall the chaotic conversation. Startled awake from that horrible nightmare, he'd had to recover for a moment. Then he'd talked about it. But he wondered if he'd given up everything from his dream world. The images came flooding back to him, and he realized he'd kept the most shocking things to himself. That's why he could rest assured. Annas knew human frailties. He had indeed made his son solemnly promise not to speak of it to anyone. But that offered no assurance whatsoever. One of Solomon's proverbs came to mind: "The words of a slanderer are like delicacies; they slip into the recesses of the heart." Annas shuddered at the thought that the entire palace would soon know that he was afraid of his own dreams. It was a good thing the slave had been sent away beforehand. He had to banish those dreams once and for all before they took on a life of their own.

There was a knock at the door.

"Yes, who's there?"

"Can I pick up your breakfast yet?" asked Malchus, the slave, as he poked his head in.

Annas nodded.

"But you've barely eaten anything. Aren't you hungry?"

Annas remained silent. He didn't feel like defending himself.

“Did you notice anything from the earthquake this morning?”

Annas looked at him, startled. “No. I didn’t notice anything.”

“Neither did I,” Malchus replied. “But some servants felt a tremor very early this morning.”

Annas didn’t know how to respond. He was still shaken by images from his dream world.

“It was an aftershock of the great earthquake a few days ago,” Malchus continued. “It came from the same direction, from the north of the city.”

“Are there any reports from the city that confirm this?”

“Several reports. The supplier of fresh vegetables reported feeling significant tremors. He lives near the Damascus Gate.”

“And the Temple, have any reports come from there?” Annas asked in an unsteady voice.

“Some young priests who were on guard last night reported tremors that went right through them.”

“Have any new injuries been reported?”

“Not that I know of. Jonathan is already in the process of having someone inspect the high priest’s palace.”

“Why is all this happening without my knowledge? Why wasn’t I informed of this immediately?” Annas demanded.

Malchus hesitated for a moment at the sudden turn in the conversation. “Jonathan said he wanted to spare you because… well, you know why.”

“No, I don’t know!” Annas responded sharply. “I want to be the first to know about everything concerning the temple. And Jonathan knows that. It’s not appropriate for a slave to know what’s going on and for me to know nothing.”

“Fine, I’ll let Jonathan know,” Malchus muttered. To change the subject, he asked, "Have you recovered a bit from your nightmare last night?"

"Nightmare? You mean that dream? Yes, it's fine now. I can barely remember the dream," Annas lied.

"That's good. I'll let Jonathan know that you're involved in everything again."

"Did you discuss anything else with Jonathan, by the way?" Annas asked.

"No, he did mention wanting to talk to me about something. I was supposed to see him after breakfast. But then the news about the earthquake came through."

"That's really not possible. It's taking too much time. Call Jonathan and have him come to me immediately. I want to speak to him myself."

"I will." With that, Malchus left the room.

Annas shook his head. He needed a moment to process everything. He insisted that this important matter could have been discussed long ago. He looked out the window again, wondering what was worse, the aftershock or the fact that he hadn't been informed. It struck him as odd that he hadn't felt anything. True, the reports had come from the North, and his palace was in the South of the city. But he suspected it also had to do with the strange dream world that had gripped him that night. He didn't consider that many others hadn't felt anything either. He concluded that those bad dreams were also to blame for the fact that he hadn't been told anything. This had to stop! He decided not to make a fuss anymore and not to talk about it anymore.

He was startled from his reverie by another knock on the door. It was Malchus again. The servant seemed breathless as he said:

"You must come to the gate immediately. There's a Roman with an incredible story."

Annas froze and couldn't respond. His heart skipped a beat at the word "Roman."

Malchus noticed the old man's hesitation and tried to relieve some of the pressure.

"Just take it easy. He's not going away. I'll tell him to wait for you."

Annas nodded but said nothing. The door closed. Annas suddenly felt overwhelmed by his dream world again. This was exactly like his nocturnal adventure. A Roman arriving with a nonsensical story. Annas stood up and looked out the window. Nature was wrapping itself in its full spring glory. The white splendor of the acacia blossoms blended with the haze of the red Adonis. But the enchanting beauty of nature couldn't charm Annas at that moment. A feeling crept over him that had previously been rather unfamiliar to him: fear. He had always been guided by pride, honor, and boundless ambition. But now, for the first time in his life, he seemed to break down. It was all becoming too much for him. Events tumbled over one another: the grueling trial of the Rabbi from Galilee, the devastating consequences of the earthquake, the dreams, and then now, that Roman, who suddenly, out of nowhere, stood at the gate. Annas turned away from the window and walked toward the door with more hesitation than he would have liked. For a few moments, his hand rested on the knob. Then he walked resolutely toward the forecourt.

 

(12)

A long avenue of stately fig trees lay like a green ribbon along Jerusalem's most impressive buildings. The lush canopy spread out on both sides over the city's wide avenue. It ran from the upper city via impressive staircases and bridges to the Cheesemakers' Valley and led to the northern city wall. This early in the morning, it was still quite cool, and the shadows of the enormous buildings largely merged with those of the rows of trees. Two boys in white priestly robes approached, their father a few steps away.

"Twenty-eight!"

"Twenty-nine!"

Saraf and Reuben had begun counting. They were counting the cracks in the walls of the hippodrome, which was located south of the temple. The priest children had behaved well, and shortly after breakfast and morning prayers, they had set off with their father toward the north of the city. They walked brotherly past the stately, elongated, Roman-style temple of horse racing.

"Thirty-four! Thirty-four cracks," the boys concluded. "And now we're going to look for cracks in the temple building," Reuben announced enthusiastically.

Compared to the colossal temple buildings, the hippodrome seemed a miniature. Once again, Saraf was overwhelmed by the grandeur of Herod's architecture and stood for a moment in admiration.

"Leave the temple to the Levites, Reuben," his father called out. "I'd rather you didn't start counting the cracks in the sacred building."

"Then we'll skip that and continue with the Roman fortress later."

It wasn't hard to distract the boys. They were wide-eyed. The streets and squares of the city were already beginning to fill with the revelry, streaming in waves from all over the surrounding countryside and from far beyond through the wide gates. They were mostly farmers, who had tied the first fruits of their harvest into bundles and carried them with great ostentation through the city streets. A procession of clusters of early grapes, bundles of pomegranates, sheaves of wheat and barley, bunches of olive branches, bowls of honey, and baskets of figs passed before the boys' eyes until their mouths watered. Enjoying "Bikkurim," the feast of first fruits, they walked under the long, leafy canopy of fig trees. By now, they had arrived at the first arch of steps leading to the temple. The boys looked up in awe. The arch was so high that the Hippodrome almost fit beneath it. But they didn't allow themselves much time to look around, because the main road through the city was filled with a loudly singing crowd, accompanied by flute players. The boys knew the song the farmers were singing. They knew it by heart. It was one of the pilgrimage psalms, and they began to sing along with all their heart:

"I am glad when they say to me:

We will go to the house of the Lord!

Our feet are standing

within your gates, Jerusalem!

Jerusalem is built as a city

that is firmly knit together." There the tribes go up,

the tribes of the LORD,

to the ark of the testimony of Israel,

to praise the name of the LORD.

For there are the thrones of judgment,

the thrones of the house of David.”

“Shall we take a look inside the temple?” Reuben tried, growing tired of singing. Like Saraf, he was filled with awe at the impressive splendor of the buildings.

“No, you can’t go there now,” laughed Father. “We went to see the procession of farmers with their firstfruits, didn’t we?”

They passed by the wide steps leading to the temple courtyard and instead went under the enormous gate, past the gigantic walls of the foundation. The enormous stones sometimes measured 45 cubits long and 5 cubits high. Here and there they saw a crack from the earthquake, but they kept their lips closed obediently and respectfully.

Sarah was startled. A deafening sound suddenly erupted from somewhere above the temple, drowning out the chanting pilgrims. The boys stood rooted to the spot, their eyes fixed on their father. He was just as startled as his sons, and together they stared upward for a few moments as the blaring sound echoed through the city, reverberating off countless walls. The passing pilgrims also looked up in alarm.

"Ha, ha!"

They burst out laughing together, for they knew the sound very well. They had just never heard it so suddenly and so close.

“Yes, yes, the shofar. If you’re not prepared for it and you’re close, the sound can suddenly overtake you and scare the living daylights out of you,” Father remarked, and he continued walking. “That was the official end of morning prayers,” he explained. But the boys had already stopped listening, absorbed as they were in the sights of the city.

“Now we can count again,” Reuben remarked as they passed the temple and the enormous Roman fortress. Accompanied by the incessant blast of the shofar, they began to notice the cracks in the foundation.

“I see one already!” he shouted. “And two.”

“And another one! Three!” Saraf called out, not wanting to be outdone. Father struggled to keep the boys' attention now that they had resumed counting. They were approaching the city's northern inner wall, with its enormous gate and a large number of legionaries standing watch. Behind it, Roman soldiers were entering and exiting the fortress from a road that ran along the wall.

"Where does that road lead?" Saraf asked, gesturing upward as they passed under the arch.

"It leads to the west side of Jerusalem, where Herod's palace is," his father replied. "The road is the short connection between the King of the Jews and the Governor of the Romans," he joked. The boys didn't understand the political comment and had already started counting again.

"Thirty-seven!" came the far too cheerful, completely out of keeping with the tragedy of the cracks.

"Thirty-eight!" Reuben shouted excitedly.

Counting, they approached the northern city wall with its enormous viaduct. Once they passed beneath it, the buildings changed. North of the gate stretched a new neighborhood of Jerusalem, with small, newer houses. It was much brighter because they were no longer walking under an avenue of fig trees. The main road they were walking on curved away from the fortress wall and led them through the middle of the new neighborhood. As they left the high walls behind them, they suddenly found themselves walking in sunlight. The buildings were low, and there was much less shade than on the first leg of their walk. What was no less striking were the lines of celebrants bearing their first fruits. Most carried their offerings for the priests in wicker baskets or bundles tied together, but there were also pilgrims carrying their first fruits in beautiful silver and gold bowls.

“There, in the distance, comes a cow with golden horns!” Saraf exclaimed excitedly. Reuben and his father looked in the direction he pointed.

“That’s the beginning of the procession from another place with their first fruits,” Father explained. “At every significant town, farmers from surrounding villages gather on the evening before their collective departure. The next morning, a cow leads the pilgrimage. Its horns are overlaid with gold for the occasion. And see if you can spot any more peculiarities.”

Slowly, they saw the large ox, followed by a new line of pilgrims, walking toward them.

“Yes, I see it,” said Saraf. “He has a wreath of olive branches on his head—beautiful!”

“A priest is walking with them too!” shouted Reuben.

“Shouldn’t you be walking with us too, Father?” asked Saraf.

“I have to go later this week. Today I’m out with you. This afternoon I have a service at the temple,” Father replied.

“What a crowd!” said Reuben.

The three of them were finding it increasingly difficult to push through the crowd. They walked against the current. The main road between the houses was much narrower than the one along the temple, and it was getting busier and busier.

"Come on, boys, let's go this way," Father beckoned.

The streets between the houses were narrower, but there were no pilgrims, and so they soon approached the Northern Wall. Even in the narrow streets, they heard the singing and flute-playing echoing between the city walls.

"It seems almost as busy today as it was during the arrival of the Rabbi from Galilee earlier this week," Saraf remarked, now that he had briefly escaped the commotion.

Father heard what he said but ignored it.

"No," Reuben replied. "There were a lot more people out and about then."

When they reached the city's Northern Outer Wall, they walked along the wall to the Northern Gate. There, the procession of pilgrims surged uninterruptedly into the city, and they had to wait a moment until they could find a gap where they could brave the current for a moment. All the while, hundreds of pilgrims were singing aloud:

“Our feet are standing

within your gates, Jerusalem!”

Laughing, Saraf squeezed between two singing pilgrims outside, where Reuben and his father were waiting for him, and together they walked alongside the long procession through Jerusalem’s hilly landscape. All around, they saw orchards, fringed with magnificent cypress trees. To the right lay a bare rock with caverns that looked like hollow eyes. In front of it spread a plateau with a small forest of upright poles stuck in the ground. Some of these were topped with a crossbeam. Saraf was the first to spot the rock with the poles. He had now seen the procession of first-fruits, and this secluded scene strangely caught his attention. He immediately walked towards it, before the others noticed.

"Saraf!" his father called after him when he saw it.

But Saraf didn't listen and walked curiously towards the hollow-eyed rock with the poles. Reuben was going the same way, so his father followed. Saraf, meanwhile, was walking past the poles and saw that they were covered in red and brown stripes, smudges, and stains, and he immediately realized that he was standing among the "stipes," the poles to which crucified people were nailed. Those enormous stains on the wood were dried blood. He found himself at an execution site. Deeply impressed, he walked between the stakes. He saw that the blood on some of them was still fresh. Meanwhile, Reuben and his father had also arrived at the stakes.

"Father, is this Golgotha?" Saraf asked.

"Yes, son. This is where criminals are executed by the Romans."

"So all the people who were hanged here have something very bad on their conscience?"

Saraf searched for a justification for the unspeakable suffering the hanged men had endured.

"Yes, son, all of them. Without exception."

Saraf stared at one of the signs, which hung above one of the stakes with fresh blood and the patibulum, the horizontal crossbar, still on the stake. What he read there magically transformed his cheerful mood into a melancholy one. Slowly, his lips muttered what he read. And because he couldn't believe what he was reading, he read it like a well-trained young priest, in all three languages in which it was written:

"Iesous ho Nazoraios ho Basileus toon Ioudaion – Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudaeorum – Yeshua Hanozri Melech Hajehudim"

The last, Jewish words came out in a choked voice. Saraf surrendered to a sea of grief and despondency. Reuben, shocked, saw the deep sorrow that overwhelmed his little brother, and tears welled up in his eyes as well. The priest father, unable to think of words of comfort, did the only thing appropriate. He stood before Saraf and placed both his large hands on the boy's shaking shoulders. His father's nonverbal support underscored the priest's son's sadness and made it even more profound. Weeping loudly, Saraf let his tears flow freely as he wrapped his arms around his father. Ruben joined them and threw his arms over his father's hands, around Saraf's shoulders. He only understood a fraction of his little brother's sudden grief, but that didn't matter. For a while, they stood there in silence, processing Saraf's sorrow. Even the extroverted Ruben understood that words wouldn't do any good in this situation. The first to speak was Saraf himself.

"Why?" he said, his voice choked with grief. With a tear-stained face, he looked up at his father, as if he were responsible for what he had just seen. Father shrugged, still unsure how to answer his son. There was no rational explanation. He himself was at a loss for what had happened. He looked up, as if he were relaying Saraf's question to God Himself. And perhaps he was. Then he looked back at his son and said:

"Why? We don't know, Saraf." We just assume the Sanhedrin knows what's best for the people.

"Is crucifying Messiah ben David best for the people? You don't believe that yourself!" was Saraf's indignant response.

His father sighed. "No, I don't believe that myself. But was the Rabbi of Galilee really Messiah ben David?"

Sarah's deep sorrow turned to anger. The fire for the Rabbi of Galilee had been burning in his soul for over six months and it could no longer be extinguished. He stamped his feet wildly on the ground and spat his words out at his father:

"Yeshua Hanozri, not the Messiah?! That's impossible! He is Messiah ben David!"

Shocked, their father and Reuben looked at the normally calm Saraf. They didn't know how to respond.

"He is Messiah ben David! Not even a week ago, all of Jerusalem applauded Him." Who else could He be?

Father and Reuben continued to look at Saraf in silence.

"And why didn't I know this?"

Father and Reuben looked at each other but still said nothing.

"Did you know this?"

Father sighed and now looked down.

"Well, did you know this?" It seemed like a cross-examination Saraf was subjecting his family to.

"Yes, Saraf, we had heard about it. But the circumstances—we know nothing about that."

"The circumstances? What do you mean? Why wasn't I told?'

'Well, look how sad it makes you.'

With the mention of his own sadness, Saraf's heart shifted from anger to sadness, and he burst into tears again. Reuben, like a big brother, tried to comfort him again and put his arm around Saraf's shoulders.

'Hush, Saraf,' he said softly. 'Perhaps there will be another Messiah.'

'There is no other Messiah!' Saraf shouted, his voice breaking with rage.

 

(13)

With leaden feet, Vitellius climbed the stairs to the palace of the most important Jewish authorities. It weighed heavily on him that they had failed in their mission—the mission they had considered ridiculous. The stone had been removed from the tomb, and they had fled. Anything could have happened to the body of the Jewish Rabbi. He realized that the ludicrous mission of guarding the grave of a dead Rabbi had been a serious matter for the Jewish authorities. The long stone staircase seemed endless. The magnificent cypress trees on either side still cast long shadows this early in the morning. The gate seemed never to be in sight. They had failed miserably in this simple, top-priority task. Vitellius considered how he would deliver the message. Their lives could depend on the words he would speak in the coming minutes. These could be their last hours. The closer he approached the gate, the more oppressive the message he had to deliver became. It could only seem absurd and unrealistic. By delivering such a message, he would embarrass the entire Roman army. Only disaster could result.

Vitellius remained standing on the last steps of the staircase. He could still turn back. He wondered if this was the best option. He considered the consequences and possible next steps of each of their alternatives: fleeing to Syria or fleeing into the arms of the authorities they had failed. Then he climbed the last steps and knocked on the massive gatehouse door. It took a moment before a maid opened the door.

"Avé, Private Vitellius of the guard at the tomb is reporting."

Vitellius sounded more confident than he felt.

The maid let him in and asked him to wait in the gatehouse. Shortly afterward, he saw a young priest in a white robe approaching him.

"You are one of the soldiers of the guard at the tomb?"

"Avé, Private Vitellius is reporting. I have come to report on our mission."

"But why are you doing this here, at the priest's residence?"

"You are the one who called us. With you, we inspected the tomb, checked for the presence of the body, and sealed it with the Roman seal."

"That could be. But shouldn't you nevertheless report to your superior at Fort Antonia?

"No, things have happened at the tomb that you should know about first."

"What kind of things?"

Vitellius hesitated. Now that it was time to act, he wondered how much information he could divulge and in what order. This irritated the young priest, who had been startled by the report of events and was beginning to worry.

"Well, speak up, sir. You came here to report, didn't you?"

Vitellius immediately sensed the priest's fear, and that gave him courage. The more fearful they were, the better his chances of getting something done.

"Did you notice any earthquake here?" Vitellius asked.

"Why do you ask?" he countered. “You are the one who has come to give me information, not the other way around.”

“There was a strong earthquake at the grave that lasted for some time.”

“Is that all you have come to tell us? Then you can go to your superior now.”

“No, that is not all. The earthquake was caused by something supernatural.”

At the word “supernatural,” a slight shiver ran through the young priest’s frame. The seasoned soldier saw the fear growing in his opponents and felt renewed strength to continue his story.

“It was probably what you would call an angel,” he said fearlessly. And then he gave the most frightening description possible of what had happened early that morning at the Rabbi’s grave. To his satisfaction, he saw the priest turn pale and stand so unsteadily on his feet that he had to hold on to the doorpost. For a moment, the men remained silent. Then the priest turned without a word and walked with uncertain steps back to the palace. He left Vitellius alone in the gatehouse. It was some time before Vitellius noticed any movement near the palace again. Several times he felt tempted to run away, to return to his comrades for consultation. But there was nothing to discuss. Everything was still very uncertain. The fear he had seen in the priest's eyes gave him hope for a happy ending. Suddenly, an older priest approached him. The sun, just peeking over the courtyard wall, shone on the man's face, and Vitellius noticed that it was wrinkled and looked very tired.

"So, you've had an encounter with an angel?" the old priest asked. "Tell me, what happened?"

"Ave, Private Vitellius, I'll give you an account of the events at the tomb."

The old priest nodded silently and looked at Vitellius suspiciously.

"Early in the morning, before sunrise, a man in a luminous form descended from the sky at great speed. The light was blinding, and it suddenly seemed as bright as a sunlit day. His feet touched the ground, causing a powerful earthquake, so that we could no longer stand. He rolled the heavy stone away from the tomb as if it were a wagon wheel and sat on it.

The old priest was already aware of this story and was undeterred. Without blinking, he stared straight into Vitellius's eyes and said:

"And you? What did you do?"

Vitellius was careful not to show any fear and looked the old priest straight in the face as he replied: "We could do nothing. No weapon will be effective against a heavenly being like that angel we saw."

"And your companions, are they all still at the tomb?"

Vitellius knew this was the crucial question. He understood that this old priest would not be fooled by lies. Any suspicion of untruth would lead to inquiries with the Roman authorities in the fortress, and that had to be avoided at all costs. Vitellius knew he had to confide in this man and expose himself and all his companions. He threw his fate into the old priest's hands when he replied:

"The fear of the lightning-like figure had such a hold on us that we all ran away."

The old man's eyes widened, revealing his weariness and hollowness in full view. There was a moment of silence. The priest's next words struck harder than many a sword blow from Vitellius's soldierly past:

"We'll report this immediately to your centurion in Fortress Antonia," and with that, he turned and walked back to the palace.

"Wait a moment..." Vitellius felt powerless and followed the old man. "Perhaps we can still do something to make it up to you."

Without turning, the priest said: "Nothing can atone for last night's act of cowardice."

"But if you report this, it will be our death," Vitellius said to the priest's back.

“You should have thought of that when you saw the angel’s apparition.”

“Apparition? You have no idea how overwhelming that heavenly figure was.”

“Where are the others?” the priest asked, suddenly turning around.

Vitellius was startled. The sudden threat of the centurion made his heart turn like wax in the old man’s hands.

“Five of us are here in Jerusalem. The others are… We don’t know where the others are.”

“Where are the others? You know.”

Vitellius sighed. The old man seemed to have grasped everything. “They’ve probably gone to the legion in Syria.”

For a few moments, the man looked intently at Vitellius, as if trying to read all his thoughts, his feelings, and his intentions. Then his eyes narrowed and he said,

“Where are your four companions?”

“They’re somewhere at the bottom of the palace stairs, unless they’ve run away.”

“We’ll check it out. You’re my guest today, anyway. I’ll ask my servant to go find your companions, and then I’ll have them invited for today as well. After that, we priests will first make a plan of action.”

The old priest’s eyes were still fixed on him as he said,

“We must do everything we can to verify the story.”

 

(14)

They strode side by side down the long, winding staircase. Although they sometimes climbed the stairs several times a day, they had to be careful of the uneven, long steps and uneven stones.

“What did you want to talk to me about this morning, anyway?” Malchus asked Jonathan, the young priest.

“What? Oh, yes.” I wanted to ask you about that affair on the night of the preparation.

"You mean, the night we arrested the Rabbi from Galilee?"

"Yes, that's what I mean. With all the commotion this morning, I hadn't thought about it."

"But which affair exactly are you referring to?"

"Didn't you get a sword blow to your ear?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Did you see who did it?"

"No, the blow came out of nowhere. I suddenly felt a thud against my head."

"And were there others who were there who saw something?"

‘I don’t know. I should ask.’

‘High Priest Annas insists we find out who struck you with the sword.’

‘But why does he want to know?’

Jonathan remained standing. Malchus stopped a step below. He looked at Jonathan questioningly.

‘And why do you want to know?’ Jonathan asked.

Malchus shrugged.

‘If I know what it’s for, perhaps I can search more specifically.’

‘Search more specifically? You should just find all the information about that incident I can find.’

‘Okay, then I will,’ Malchus replied.

Jonathan continued walking, and in silence they approached the street where the long stone steps led to. Jonathan had made the connection clear. For although Malchus was much older and could almost be his father, he was the slave, and Jonathan was an important priest who even had a chance of becoming high priest in the future.

Arriving at the bottom, they glanced left and right down the street. At first they saw nothing, but then Malchus said:

“There they are. Over there on that low wall opposite the vineyard.”

Together, Jonathan and Malchus walked over to the four Roman soldiers on the wall.

“Are you soldiers on guard at the tomb?”

The soldiers looked up in alarm. They apparently hadn’t expected to be addressed by a Jewish priest. They hesitated before answering. Then one of them said:

“Yes, that’s right.”

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you on guard at the tomb?”

“Didn’t Vitellius tell you? He’s one of us and just came to tell you what happened.”

“What he told you is none of your business. I want an answer from you.”

The soldiers looked at each other with doubtful eyes. Then they said: “There were strange things happening at the tomb early this morning.” A terrible, luminous man came down from heaven, caused an earthquake, and rolled away the stone.

“And that’s your reason for running away?” Jonathan asked sharply.

“You can’t imagine how terrible it was. Any sane person would have run away under those circumstances,” he said, somewhat indignantly.

“You weren’t put there to think, but to keep watch. And where are the others?” Jonathan demanded sharply.

“Which others, exactly?”

“The other soldiers of the guard, of course. According to my father, there were sixteen soldiers stationed at the tomb.”

“Your father? Are you the son of the high priest?”

“Of Annas, yes.”

The soldiers immediately stood and politely saluted. They realized Jonathan held an important position.

“But will I get an answer to my question?” Jonathan asked, looking at the soldier who had spoken so far.

“We don’t know where the others are,” was the reply.

“Yes, you do,” came the stern tone.

The soldier sighed and replied, “We think they’ve gone to Syria to join Legio XII-Fulminata in Raphana.”

Caught in a lie, they gave more details than was actually necessary.

Jonathan and Malchus exchanged a triumphant glance before Jonathan continued his cross-examination.

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that the body could be stolen by anyone by now?”

“You’re not sending us back to the grave, are you? It was about time for our relief by then.”

“If the entire guard has fled, there will be no more to relieve. You have committed the most serious dereliction of duty.”

The soldiers fell silent in agreement.

“The Jewish authorities will have to consider what we should do with you. In the meantime, you will stay in my father's palace.'

For a moment, it seemed the soldiers would resist. But Jonathan said:

'Fleeing to Syria is pointless. If we report this at Fort Antonia, a manhunt will break out, which will end in a terrible end.'

The soldiers exchanged dejected glances. There was nothing for it but to climb the stairs to the priestly palace with Jonathan and Malchus.

 

(15)

An endless line of peasants entered the city along the causeway that led north between Jerusalem's hills. Cheerful psalms, accompanied by flutes, echoed against the city wall. In stark contrast, a priest father stood some distance from the road with his hands on the shoulders of his son, sobbing loudly.

'Saraf, you must put this aside now. It happened, and there's nothing we can do to change it.

"Just think about something else for a moment, that will help," his eldest son, standing beside him, chimed in.

There was a moment of silence. Father and son watched the effect their words had on the grieving boy. If their words had any effect, there was no sign of it. Saraf stared into the distance with tearful, expressionless eyes, still sobbing.

"Do you remember? Tonight, for the first time in your life, you may stand guard in the temple.”

It took a moment before, to the great relief of father and son, a faint smile broke through the tears. Saraf wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Shall we go back home now? We’ll walk through the town with the farmers.”

“And Mother was going to bake us something delicious, remember?”

Comforted by so many happy prospects, Saraf sprang into action and, without a word, began the walk back to the town. Father and Reuben exchanged relieved glances and quickly followed him. They had been walking for a while, and were already close to the flute-playing procession, when Saraf suddenly turned and walked briskly back to the place where the cross posts were set in the ground. Reuben and his father exchanged shocked glances. Father hesitated for a moment and then also walked back to Golgotha, with Reuben following behind. When they arrived, they saw Saraf, once again overcome with grief, standing with his arms around the cross.

"Saraf, you have to stop now," Father began. "Leave this alone and come home with me."

"Go ahead, you two, I'll be there soon," he said resolutely.

Father sighed and had to let this suggestion sink in for a moment. Then he decided:

"Don't you forget you're on duty tonight?"

"No, of course not!" he said sharply.

"Well, then we'll leave you here alone for a while. We're going back now, otherwise I'll be late for my duty in the temple."

There was no response from Saraf. He still stood with his arms around the cross, apparently processing his great disappointment. Father and Ruben exchanged a brief glance and started back, leaving Saraf alone. After standing still for a while, Saraf began to tire. He lowered his arms, took a step back, and read the words on the verdict board again:

‘Iesous ho Nazoraios ho Basileus toon Ioudaion – Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudaeorum – Yeshua Hanozri Melech Hajehudim’

Disappointment and sorrow once again flooded his soul. He slowly shook his head in disbelief as tears flowed again. When he had calmed down a bit, he noticed the stench. He looked around and saw an earthen wall a little further away. He walked towards it, but as he climbed up, the stench hit him in the face. It was a garbage dump. He was shocked to discover the emaciated carcasses of several crucified people among the rubbish. A few ravens, which had flown up as he climbed the wall, landed a little further on. Saraf shuddered at the thought that the Rabbi's body might also be lying there somewhere. He quickly walked back to the cross posts. There he sat, by "his" cross, his back against the wood, overlooking the joyful procession still singing as it passed by.

A starker contrast was unimaginable. The emaciated and half-eaten corpses he had just seen, contrasted with the pilgrims bearing delicious fruits from the still-fresh land, accompanied by joyful songs. Saraf shook his head, unable to imagine that the Rabbi, upon whom his hopes and those of so many others had been so firmly placed, would have met such a gruesome end. As he leaned the back of his head against the crosspost, he saw a small group approaching. As they drew closer, Saraf stood up. There were, of course, more people who had heard of the events and wanted to see the place for themselves. Afraid they could see the grief on his face, Saraf turned and walked between the cross posts.

Saraf came to a narrow path, which he followed toward a grove of faded almond trees. Between the trees, the pool was strewn with blossoms. The deep emotions that were new to him awakened a courageous curiosity in him, and he decided to continue along the path. Past the grove of almond trees, the path curved to the right and then climbed quite steeply up the hill, whose enormous hollows resembled a skull. Saraf reasoned that the place probably took its name from that hill. Or was it the skulls he had seen among the garbage?

A short distance uphill, the path curved to the left again and then continued to curve level with the hill. On the left side of the path, laurel bushes formed a protective hedge before a precipice that dropped steeply in places. On the right, a low growth of anemones and cyclamen stretched between the cypresses over the mostly bare rocks. Suddenly, a stench hit Saraf again. At a spot where the vegetation thinned out a bit, he peered down through the branches. In a deep hollow between the hills he saw a second dumping ground for waste and he quickly walked on. Only when he was walking along the early blossoming daffodils of white lilies, the smell of rotting garbage gave way to a pungent, sweet floral scent. Not long after, the mountain path curved downward. It wound quite steeply and winding down into the depths, and Saraf had to watch his step. At the foot of the hill, the path led toward a low wall of large boulders. Directly beyond it, Saraf saw a row of cypress trees. It looked like a garden. Curiously, Saraf followed the path to the garden entrance.

 

(16)

Pilate couldn't take his eyes off a crack in the ceiling of one of the palace's study rooms. His head leaned slightly back on a support. Carefully, the barber ran his razor-sharp blade along the skin of Pilate's face, evening out all the stubble for another day. A Roman his age went through life clean-shaven. A short beard would have suited him well, even down to the first gray hair. But when the gray hairs became too much for the tweezers, he had taken to shaving off his beard completely. Moreover, in the army, all facial hair was quickly disposed of.

The crack in the ceiling brought Pilate to the events of the last days. Earthquakes had shaken Jerusalem to its foundations twice in a short period. The first, moreover, had been preceded by hours of mysterious darkness. Everything seemed connected to the execution of the Jewish Rabbi. "Seemed," because these natural phenomena were, of course, nothing more than a coincidence.

As the Barber's practiced hand moved the knife precisely across the skin of Pilate's face, Pilate's thoughts lingered on the Rabbi. He observed that the religious authorities were so terrified that they wanted the tomb guarded even after his death. In Pilate's view, it was a ridiculous idea, but on the other hand, it was unknown how fanatical the Rabbi's followers were. A possible theft of the body and the subsequent message based on an empty tomb could throw all of Jerusalem into turmoil, he reasoned. Besides the Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, and Zealots, they had no need for yet another Jewish sect. However strange the guard's mission may have seemed at first glance, and however indignant he had been when the Jews requested it, in retrospect, this guard could nip more problems in the bud than he had initially imagined.

Pilate felt the barber's blade pass from his chin to the other side of his face, and with it, his thoughts shifted. He couldn't really spare the men stationed at the tomb. These were heydays in Jerusalem, the beating heart of the Jewish religion. Days like these brought thousands of Jewish pilgrims to their feet, and along with them, bands of robbers. Sixteen of his best soldiers stood by the tomb of a dead Rabbi, while capacity on such days was always limited. Pilate soon realized he was right to be concerned about the safety of Jewish pilgrims. The barber was still cleaning his clothes when a knock sounded. A patrol had arrived to report. Pilate touched the curve of his clean-shaven chin with the flat of his hand as the leader of a patrol stepped in and gave the military salute.

"Soldier Sergius reports to report."

Pilate frowned at the man. An infantryman reporting to him was a warning sign. Infantrymen reported to the centurion in the Antonia fortress. He likely had a message that he also needed to hear, and that usually meant that action had to be taken. Somewhat reluctantly, Pilate decided to listen to the story.

"Speak out, soldier Sergius."

"On the road to Jericho, just past the village of Bethany, our eight-man infantry group encountered a commotion. Early in the morning, a band of robbers attacked a group of travelers who were putting up fierce resistance. Just as we passed by, the fighting was in full swing. One of the travelers lay wounded on the sidelines. We joined the fray. Then it was quickly over. The band fled. The Syrian archer who was with us shot one of the robbers through the heart. We buried him by the roadside. One robber was wounded. We captured him.

"Why are you reporting this to me?"

"Centurion Maximus wanted you to hear my story."

"Excellent infantryman, you may go."

After saluting again, Sergius walked to the door. Just before leaving the room, Pilate briefly asked for his attention:

"Infantryman Sergius."

From the doorway, Sergius turned.

"Excellent work!"

Sergius nodded and closed the door behind him.

Pilate took a few steps and sat down behind his marble writing table. A vague smile crossed his face as he picked up a tablet and a stylus to jot down the day's key points. But instead of writing, he glanced across his desk, Sergius's message circling in his mind. Rome could be proud of its soldiers. What kind of impoverished chaos would Judea have fallen into without the iron discipline and fighting power of the Roman troops? "Shot through the heart by a Syrian archer," the infantryman had said. Syrian archers in the Roman ranks were unmatched. They could aim with lightning speed and with pinpoint accuracy. No one escaped their well-aimed arrows. And who could match the ferocious fighting spirit of infantrymen? They trained daily as if in a perpetual state of war. No army, past or present, could compare to the skill and craftsmanship of the Roman military, whether legionaries or auxilia, the troops recruited from conquered peoples. Pilate's gaze shifted from the chair where he had just shaved to the window. Several soldiers passed by his window, chatting. His justified pride in the quality of the Roman troops gave way to the concern of distributing them among the enormous crowds currently populating Judea. He needed his army everywhere at once these days, both in the city and on the roads beyond. The fact that Maximus had sent the infantryman to him to report it indicated that the centurion was also worried. This incident served to underscore how heavily the troops were currently stretched. And so Pilate's thoughts returned to the guard at the tomb. Sixteen soldiers were guarding a dead man while they were desperately needed on the roads leading out of the city. Incidentally, it was already two o'clock in the morning, and the soldiers were about to be relieved. The chief priests had said three days. One more day. Then those would be over, and he would have all his troops at his disposal again.

 

(17)

The sounds of Jerusalem filtered in through the small window at shoulder height. As the morning wore on, the city's noise had swelled. For a while, the piercing notes of a horn filled the air, then gave way to an increasingly boisterous chant of endlessly repeated psalms. The first festival Vitellius had witnessed in Jerusalem gave him the impression of a vast crowd of people crowded together, moving through the streets and squares. He tried to see something, but his window overlooked a courtyard and was, moreover, covered with a wickerwork grille on the outside, preventing him from seeing anything of the city.

He turned and paced back and forth in the small room. He felt trapped like a predator in a cage. He was a fine host, that high priest, he concluded sarcastically. Since a slave had led him into this room and the door had been closed, he had heard nothing. He didn't know if his comrades had been sought, found, and retrieved. He didn't know how long he would have to sit there, or what the priests were up to in the meantime. He knew nothing, and felt abandoned.

Shortly after being brought into the room, he had checked whether the door to his room was locked. It hadn't. If he really wanted to, he could have walked out and searched for the palace exit. But it was most likely locked. And what good would that do? In this situation, he couldn't reach Fort Antonia, or any other Roman fort for that matter, as most of the other guards were trying to do. He couldn't bear to think of the consequences of their dereliction of duty. It might even be considered desertion. There was nothing for it but to wait out the outcome here in the palace.

Vitellius sat down, for the umpteenth time, on the only chair in the room. He thought of his comrades, whom he had left on the wall in the street at the bottom of the stairs. Had they waited to see if he'd come for them? Despite the tension, he couldn't suppress a smile when he realized that instead of their companion, a priest had suddenly stood before them, probably peppering them with questions about their failed mission. It was gallows humor. That failed mission could be fatal. No, it would be fatal. How could this ever end well for them?

While he sat brooding, the door suddenly swung open. It was Annas, the old high priest, who strode in with a determined step and carefully closed the door behind him. Vitellius immediately jumped to attention, but Annas gestured with his hand for him to sit down again.

"Well, we need to catch up," Annas began, as Vitellius obediently sat down again.

Vitellius looked up anxiously. His heart was pounding.

"We've also invited your comrades to the palace, and you'll stay here for the time being."

Annas watched the effect of his words for a moment. Vitellius rested his elbows on his thighs, still looking up intently.

"Your fellow soldiers have also admitted their cowardly dereliction of duty, and they've also told us that you were the one who stayed at the tomb the longest."

Vitellius remained silent, but at this remark he sat up in his chair, his back against the wall.

"Since you stayed at the tomb the longest, you also have the clearest memory of the events, and you will return to the tomb with the slave Malchus to tell him exactly what you saw and how it happened. You will also investigate what happened to the body."

Vitellius was shocked. He hadn't expected this. He had sworn inwardly never to return to that horrific tomb.

"And if I refuse to return to that haunted place?"

"That place isn't haunted. There must be a logical explanation for your stories, and you will help find it. If not, then…" Annas couldn't finish his sentence because a sudden anger overtook Vitellius, and he exclaimed:

"You must think we've gone mad! There were sixteen of us, and we've all gone through the same terrible experience. These aren't stories; this was real. More real than anything I've ever experienced. You can't imagine it at all because you haven't seen it. You can't demand that I return there."

"... if not, then we'll report the governor's dereliction of duty," Annas finished imperturbably.

Vitellius remained silent. He was startled by his own outburst of anger in the presence of this important priest and by his imperturbable demeanor.

Annas indeed kept a straight face, though he was pleased to note that his words were provoking the intended reaction. He saw that he had the soldier pinned down by the fear of death. This was his skill: using the fear, present in all people in one way or another, as a tool to achieve his goals. Fear, for Annas, was the most effective means of control he knew. He always managed to utilize it optimally, even now, with the intrepid Roman legionary.

The sound of psalms and flute music still resonated through the small window. Vitellius weighed his chances. How far would he get if he continued to refuse to go to the garden tomb? Could he leave the palace easily? Could he find his comrades to fight their way out together? The priests were no match, but he had seen a few burly slaves at work. The gate was exceptionally sturdy, and the walls were high. And if they managed to break out, could they hide in the crowds from Legio X Fretensis and leave the city unnoticed? And where would they go? The thought of the legion he was so proud of made him shudder this time.

The old priest, meanwhile, observed every detail of his expression, still waiting for an answer. Vitellius looked at the priest and sighed. His thoughts drifted to the garden tomb. Could that lightning still be perched on that stone? It was daytime now. Perhaps he would look much less frightening then—if he were still there. The figure had spoken to women. They hadn't fled. Vitellius relaxed slightly. The feeling of shame, which he had also felt this morning, right after their escape, during his walk along the wall, returned. Then he made a wise decision and nodded meekly in the direction of the watching old priest.

"Look, a wise decision," the priest responded cheerfully. “I will immediately call Malchus to prepare to go with you to inspect the Rabbi’s tomb.”

(18)

His adventurous exploration of the area around Golgotha briefly eased Saraf’s grief over the heartbreaking injustice he had witnessed that morning. The pilgrim’s song, which resonated constantly in the distance, was drowned out by the song of birds. The rhythmic song of the chiffchaff predominated. As he approached the garden, Saraf noticed that the cypress trees had been trimmed short, like a hedge, except at the corners of the garden. There, the stately trees towered proudly to their full height.

As he passed the low stone wall and the cypress hedge, a pleasant floral scent once again greeted him. This time it came from the irises planted along the edges of the garden. The part of the garden that Saraf could overlook was primarily used for growing vegetables and herbs. The path ran between a variety of vegetable beds. To the left and right of the path, Saraf saw narrow paths between varied vegetable and herb beds. He walked through the vegetable and herb beds. He recognized some plants. He saw the lentils, with their irregular leaf structures, growing in neat rows. Then he spotted chickpeas, their small leaves arranged in rows along the stem. A little further on, he passed beds of young leek plants. He walked past garlic, and on the other side of the path, he saw young onion plants. He noticed that the radish plants were already quite tall. They were almost ready to harvest. He pulled a radish from the ground, cleaned it with his hands, and popped it in his mouth. He savored the deliciously sharp and fresh flavor.

After passing many vegetables and herbs, the path Saraf followed from the entrance through the garden seemed to end at a low wall topped with a hedge. However, at the last moment, the path curved to the right. Saraf walked along the hedge toward the rock face, which there dropped very steeply, practically vertically. Further on, the path meandered left again, to another part of the garden. He noticed that the vegetable beds were becoming sparse here, giving way to wild grass. As he followed the path as it curved to the left, he looked up at the clear blue sky from the steep cliff face.

Suddenly, Saraf stopped dead in his tracks. His heart pounded in his throat, and he felt the urge to turn around and follow the path back to the exit and home. But something inside him held him back. There, straight ahead of him, just before the cliff face, in the waist-high grass, stood two men. One of them, the taller one, about a head taller than the other, was dressed entirely in white. The other was dressed in a faded blue cloak. The two men stood in the same position as he and his father had this morning. The large man in white rested his hands on the other's shoulders, who occasionally looked up and then down again.

The sight of the two men was so impressive that Saraf stood motionless, watching them. He noticed that the sun cast a golden glow on the man in white's hair. Only later would Saraf realize that this was impossible, as the sun was still completely hidden behind the rock face at that time of morning. Saraf stood too far away to hear what was being said. It seemed the man in white was speaking encouragingly and comfortingly to the smaller man. Occasionally, he would lift a hand from his shoulder, palm up, to reinforce his point.

For a while, Saraf stood mesmerized by the scene of the two men, as if they were the only thing on earth that mattered anymore. He was startled when he saw the tall man in white looking in his direction. The other man also turned his head in his direction. He had been discovered. But perhaps he wanted to be. He had to know who these men were and what they were discussing. For a moment, the men stared in his direction. The tall man in white's hands still rested on the other's shoulders. Then he raised his right hand and beckoned him closer. With his gaze fixed on the men, Saraf approached. He left the path and walked through the shoulder-high grass. He couldn't take his eyes off the man in white. As he stood close, the man seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember from what. The man placed his hand on Saraf's shoulder.

"Here's the young priest, who just embraced the cross."

Saraf was surprised. How could that man have seen that? Apparently, he had been observed without noticing. But he didn't dare ask. It seemed like it was meant to be, that the man knew. Somehow, the company of the two men felt familiar, even though he didn't know them.

"A young priest, Simon. And I wonder whose sorrow was greater, his or yours?"

Saraf looked at the other man, who was called Simon. Now that he looked down at him, he saw tears in the man's eyes. In fact, his face was wet with tears. The man was struggling with something and had just been comforted. But because of the comment made about him, a faint smile appeared on the man's face through his tears. He had a tanned face and a substantial black beard, which was starting to gray in places. Yet, he said nothing. It was clear that the conversation between the two men had had a profound effect on him and that he still needed to process it. The man in white had a hand on each of their shoulders, and Saraf suddenly felt a strong connection to these men, as if he had always belonged to them.

"A young priest who recognizes the signs of the times is rare in Jerusalem. He can mean a lot to his people."

Saph felt flattered and lowered his gaze.

"But first, he must fulfill his duty at the Chamber of the Flame tonight."

A shock went through Saraf. How did this man know of his nightly task in the temple? With questioning eyes, he looked up again into the man's face. He smiled and moved his hand to Saraf's head. A deep, inexplicable peace, the likes of which he had never felt before, came over him. Never before had he experienced such warm peace in his heart, and with that peace, tears welled up in his eyes. The two men's faces blurred.

"Keep looking for Me, Saraf. Then I will always be with you," he heard the man in white say.

When he had wiped the tears from his eyes, the man had disappeared from view, and Saraf and the other man stood alone in the garden.

 

(19)

The chiffchaff had mastered the rhythm and sang the highest song. The birdsong was the only sound in the garden. Simon and Saraf looked around in astonishment. They looked all around the garden, searching for Him who had just placed his warm hands on each of their shoulders but who had suddenly vanished. It took a while for them to process his absence and the accompanying emptiness.

“Who is He?” Saraf asked.

“Don’t you know? Jesus of Nazareth,” was Simon’s answer.

Saraf looked at the man in complete surprise. It was yet another shock he had felt that morning.

“But I stood by his cross this morning. He was crucified a few days ago. How is this possible?”

Simon said nothing but pointed to the rock wall behind him.

Saraf looked in the direction of the pointing gesture. There he saw the entrance to a rock tomb. He hadn’t noticed it all this time. A fig tree grew diagonally across the opening in the rock, which had blocked his view of the tomb as he approached. Saraf walked curiously toward the tomb and was about to enter when he realized he was about to defile himself as a priest. He stood in front of the opening, startled. What if he had gone inside? Then he wouldn't have been able to serve in the temple that evening. Saraf glanced around. He looked for the stone that always stood in front of or next to such a tomb. Resolutely, he turned and walked back to the man, whose name was Simon.

"Is that the tomb where they buried the Rabbi of Nazareth?" he asked as he approached.

Simon was still lost in his own thoughts, and it took a moment for the answer to come.

"Yes, that's where He's buried."

"But how is it possible that we just saw Him? And where did the stone that's supposed to be in front of the tomb go?"

Simon didn't answer but pointed to a spot about twenty cubits from the tomb. Saraf walked over and then, to his surprise, saw the enormous stone, almost taller than himself, lying flat in the grass.

"But who rolled that enormous stone all the way here? What happened here?" he exclaimed.

Saraf felt tempted to touch the stone and stand on it, but he feared that even the tombstone would defile him as a young priest. His eyes scanned the massive stone. Looking toward the grave, he saw the stone's trail through the grass, which had been completely crushed down to the rocky ground that appeared everywhere. Who had accomplished this? he wondered. As Saraf bent over the stone in amazement, Simon came to stand beside him.

"The Rabbi of Nazareth has risen from the dead," Simon said to Saraf in a tone far too flat for the overwhelming glory of the announcement.

"So He rolled that stone all the way here?" Saraf asked, finding the stone's movement almost as miraculous as the resurrection of a dead man.

"I don't know. I have no idea how that stone got there. Perhaps someday we'll find out." The most important thing is that He rose.

“Yes, you’re right,” Saraf replied, turning to Simon. “This morning I was still very sad when I saw that He had been crucified. And now it suddenly turns out that He is alive. I just wonder how that is possible.”

Tears welled up in Saraf’s eyes again. But they weren’t the same tears as that morning. They were the tears of intense joy he felt when he said the words “suddenly it turns out that He is alive” and thought back to the Man in White, whom he had just seen and whom he now knew was his.

“Early in the morning the stone was already there. So it must have happened last night or very early in the morning,” Simon continued, unable to properly interpret the boy’s tears.

“But who are you, anyway?” Saraf asked through his tears.

It took a moment for the answer to come, as if Simon was searching for the right words.

“I am one of His disciples.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Were you there when He raised a dead man in Bethany who had been buried for four days?”

Simon nodded, recalling the momentous event.

“Yes, and I wasn’t the only one. Almost the entire village was there when it happened.”

“But how is it possible then that He was crucified?”

Simon considered the answer for a moment, which he himself didn’t know yet. Then he said:

‘Perhaps you’d better ask the priests, who handed Him over to the governor.’

‘Did the priests really do that? I don’t think so. Why would they do such a terrible thing?’ Saraf responded, defending his own class.

‘I was also there when the officers of the Sanhedrin and the temple police, along with a Roman cohort, came to arrest Him.’

‘Where did that happen then?’ Saraf asked, still unable to believe it.

‘On the other side of the city, along the road over the Mount of Olives to Bethany.’

‘And you just let that happen?’

‘No, of course not. We tried everything to prevent it. But the odds were far too great.’

‘What did you do then?’ Saraf asked, now wanting to know exactly how it had happened.

“We even used a sword to defend Him. But He Himself didn’t want us to continue and commanded us to put up no more resistance.”

“And then, of course, you obeyed obediently,” Saraf said with an ironic undertone.

“You don’t know what it’s like when He gives His orders. No one can contradict them. Even we, His headstrong disciples, couldn’t do it at that moment, no matter how much we would have gladly fought ourselves to the death for Him.”

“But why didn’t He defend Himself then?”

“It was the Scriptures of the prophets that had to be fulfilled. He said that when He allowed Himself to be captured.”

“So, according to Him, the prophets spoke about Him and about His capture?”

Simon nodded.

“And His crucifixion?”

Simon looked in the direction of Golgotha and said simply, “He is the Lamb of God.”

“What?”

“That’s what John the Baptist said about Him, that He is the Lamb of God.”

“You mean, the John the Baptist who was beheaded by Herod?”

“Yes, He was the forerunner of the Messiah, the Rabbi of Nazareth. We have always believed that Jesus of Nazareth is Messiah ben David.”

“Yes, I believe that too,” Saraf hastened to say. “I told my family just this morning, that there is no other Messiah.”

Suddenly, a smile broke across Simon’s stern face. Here, a young priest’s son, was actually testifying that their Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah, to his own family, no less. Suddenly he felt the hand of the Master, leading him from his own path to the eternal path.

“That’s wonderful, Saraf, that you did that.” That means a lot to me.’

The disciple struggled to swallow a rising lump in his throat and keep from bursting into tears again. But he controlled himself and looked the young priest straight in the eye.

‘And I almost forgot, but I had to ask you something.’

‘Did you have to ask me something? Of whom?’

‘Of Messiah, the Rabbi of Nazareth.’

Saraf smiled. ‘What? When did He say that?’

‘He said it just before you came around the corner of that cypress hedge over there.’

‘But did He know I was coming?’

‘Messiah knows everything, Saraf. I've noticed that many times in the years I've been His disciple.'

'But what did He have to ask me?'

'Whether you won't be shocked by what will happen tomorrow in the temple.'

 

(20)

At the foot of the stairs to the impressive Sadducee palace stood Vitellius and Malchus. The street, so quiet that morning, was now teeming with people. The singing resounded loudly from dozens of throats: "Hallelujah, praise God in His sanctuary. Praise Him in His mighty firmament." Every now and then, the flutes accompanying the singing sounded so loud and shrill that Vitellius felt compelled to cover his ears. They wanted to discuss the best route to Golgotha, but it was almost impossible to be heard above the singing and the flutes. To Vitellius' relief, Malchus suggested avoiding the Cheesemakers' Valley, which passed by the temple. Then they wouldn't have passed Fort Antonia, and he wouldn't have run into legionaries and superiors who could ask awkward questions. But going through the city the other way wasn't an option for Vitellius either, because the governor was with a cohort of soldiers in the praetorium, which was housed in Herod's palace. With considerable commotion, they finally agreed to take a route outside the city, along the western city wall. That way, they would avoid the main crowds and would likely reach Golgotha and the tomb, which lay somewhere nearby, the quickest.

With some difficulty, Vitellius and Malchus walked against the flow of pilgrims, towards the Essene Gate, which was located in the southwest of the city. Once they had, with great difficulty, reached the outside of the city walls, things weren't much better there. Pilgrims streamed towards the city from all directions. Vitellius couldn't remember ever seeing so many people on the move. The roads were this far too narrow for days like these. And the gates formed a huge bottleneck because of the tax collectors, who collected tolls on behalf of Rome for the use of the infrastructure.

With their backs to the packed gate, they stood at a fork in the road. From the gate, a path on their right led west, along the wall. The main road ran south, towards Bethlehem. They chose the path that wound along the wall. There were noticeably fewer pilgrims walking. On their left stretched long orchards of the Essenes. The Essenes were a very strict priestly sect with its own worship, separate from the temple. Besides small orchards, this sect also had several bathhouses outside the city walls, which adhered to their strict laws. Occasionally, they would visit a bathhouse among the olive trees. Directly beyond the orchards yawned the depths of the Valley of Hinnom.

After passing a corner tower, they faced another choice. Should they keep to the path along the wall heading north, or should they detour, passing under the fifty-cubit-high aqueduct, along the wide main road to Gaza? Vitellius weighed his chances of encountering Roman soldiers. They bothered him more at the moment than the celestial being, who, in his mind, was still sitting on the tombstone. The path along the wall ran directly behind the praetorium, the governor's seat. He preferred the wide and much busier road. He scanned the road to Gaza to see if he could spot any Roman army uniforms among the throngs of pilgrims. He couldn't find any, and if they did encounter any soldiers, he might be able to hide among the pilgrims.

"I suggest we take the road under the aqueduct. It's much wider and much easier to walk than the path along the wall," Vitellius suggested.

"The path along the wall is shorter," Malchus countered.

Vitellius looked at Malchus with an annoyed look. He didn't want to admit that he wanted to avoid his own legionnaires.

"But perhaps you're right. It's much easier to walk. And besides, we can hide more easily from any Romans," Malchus remarked with a laugh.

Vitellius said nothing. It seemed the slave had caught on, and that angered him. The whole incident at that tomb had left him at the mercy of the Jewish priests and their servants. For a while, they walked silently side by side among the pilgrims. The pilgrim psalms and the imposing Serpent Pond they passed were a stark contrast to Vitellius's mood. As if he were an errand boy, he was sent out with a servant to verify his own report of the night's events. Vitellius didn't know what to hope for. On the one hand, he shuddered at the thought that that lightning-like tyrant was still there. On the other hand, his story would be nothing if he were gone.

When they had passed under the aqueduct for the second time, leaving the Serpent Pond behind them, Vitellius saw a group of Roman legionaries approaching in the distance. His heart suddenly pounded in his throat. He was deeply suspicious that he was the only soldier in full uniform walking alongside a Jewish slave. This raised questions, to say the least. His eyes darted left and right, searching for a way out. A little further on, he saw a side path on the left side of the road between the conifers that marked the way. Without saying anything to Malchus, he suddenly turned left onto the side path.

"Vitellius, we can't go there. It's a dead end!" he heard Malchus shout behind him.

Vitellius gambled that Malchus would follow him. After all, he was dependent on him for the inspection of the tomb. And indeed, a moment later he heard the sound of trotting feet behind him.

"This path leads to Herod's tomb." "We can't just go there," Malchus gasped.

"Shh. I saw a contubernium in the distance."

"A what?"

"A contubernium, that's a group of eight soldiers."

"Aha. I see," Malchus laughed. "Should we just wait here until they pass?"

"I hope they don't come here."

"I don't think so. This path is a dead end. Unless they've come here to guard the tomb."

"Is the tomb being guarded then?"

"Yes. And especially during the festivities. There's a greater risk of grave robbing or desecration then."

Vitellius didn't answer, but suddenly his nerves were high again. The path had been gently sloping upwards all this time, and now they were almost at the top of a low hill. A little higher up, they could see a stone wall on the other side of the hill. To Vitellius' great dismay, a number of Roman guards were stationed in front of it. Vitellius immediately turned around and walked back along the path, his heart pounding. But they were already arriving. They were two groups of eight, a full guard guarding a tomb.

 

(21)

Lost in thought, Annas walked across the limestone floor through the great hall of his palace. His Roman guests were in the corner room on the first floor, and he desperately needed to speak with them. He completely ignored the beautiful decorative panels he had recently had installed around the walls of the hall, as several pressing questions raced through his mind. How could he best manipulate and utilize the soldiers? Was it necessary to meet with the full Sanhedrin about the matter? And if not, which members of the Sanhedrin should he confide in? What information could he share with the members of the Sanhedrin? What information could he share with his slaves and household? How would they approach the governor? Had the public already gotten wind of it? The only question Annas didn't ask himself was whether what the soldiers had told him was true. The soldiers' story didn't fit into his worldview. Angels and a resurrection had no place in Annas's worldview. The Sadducees had long ago decided that only the Torah of Moses was true and that the innovations of the prophets who had come afterward were baseless fabrications. It was all about serving the Almighty in the here and now. They had their hands full with that. An afterlife in heaven or on earth had never been the intention of the great Lawgiver.

As he ascended the stairs to the first floor, a remark from the Rabbi of Nazareth, which had reached him through some Sadducee scribes, suddenly flashed through his mind. God had revealed himself to Moses as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. And then the Rabbi ended the discussion with a single remark: "God is not a God of the dead, but of the living." Annas shook his head to quickly dismiss this thought and concentrated on the conversation with the soldiers.

After a brief knock on the door, a roar of warning came from two or three voices inside, signaling him to enter. Annas swung the door wide open. Three of the soldiers were sitting on chairs. The fourth stood by the window, which looked out toward the Mount of Olives. Suddenly, the image of his nightmare from the previous night returned to him with full force. Annas felt himself growing weak, and as he turned his back on the soldiers and closed the door, he had to hold on tightly to the knob to keep from sinking to his knees. For a moment, he leaned heavily against the door, his back to the soldiers. Then he recovered and turned around. He felt sweat forming on his forehead but didn't wipe it away, so as not to draw attention to it. The soldier by the window had turned, and eight eyes stared at him questioningly.

"Well, gentlemen. Have you been able to make yourselves comfortable here?"

"Where is Vitellius?" Claudius asked, without answering the platitude. “We expected to encounter him here in the palace.”

Annas raised his hand in admonition and said, “Don’t worry about him. Vitellius is inspecting the tomb with a full stomach, along with one of my slaves.”

The soldiers exchanged surprised glances. Then Claudius responded, “He told us he would never return to that cursed tomb.”

“He could also go back to the governor,” Annas replied, challenging them one by one. He saw the fear in their eyes. These were completely different soldiers from the ones in his dreams. These were in his power, not the other way around.

“We could eat something too. We’re starving,” Gaius said, changing the subject.

“That will be taken care of,” Annas reassured them. “Maria will be here shortly with a hearty breakfast.”

“But what is there to inspect at the tomb?” Claudius demanded. “Don’t you believe our reports?”

“Do you believe them yourself?” Annas shot back.

The soldiers were silent. They understood that their stories were met with considerable resistance from the Jewish authorities.

“The question is, did something happen to the tomb or to you?”

“You don’t think we made up the whole story, do you? All sixteen of us saw that luminous figure from heaven cause the earthquake and roll away the stone.”

“Perhaps you only think you saw that.”

“Do you think all sixteen of us imagined exactly the same thing? And that earthquake? It was felt throughout Jerusalem.”

“An earthquake is not an angel,” said Annas. “But if you want to maintain your own story, you’re free to tell your centurion that you were fleeing from an angel.”

The soldiers were silent. With the penalty of death in the fortress for their dereliction of duty, the priest had them trapped.

"Maria, who will be bringing the food soon, is very curious and will ask all sorts of questions. If I hear that you told her about an angel, you can report that to the centurion too.'

 

(22)

'Didn't He really say what would happen at the temple?'

Saraf was still talking with Simon, trying to figure out what terrifying event was about to take place at the temple.

'No, really not. Nothing. Just that you shouldn't be afraid of what would happen.'

'But how can He know what will happen?'

'He is the Messiah. He is the Son of the living God. He knows everything.'

'Have you often noticed that, that He knew things beforehand?'

'Oh yes, more than I can tell you.'

'About what then?'

'About His own death and resurrection. He foretold that several times, even more than a year ago.'

'What exactly did He say then?'

Simon's eyes went up thoughtfully, and as he stared at the sky, his Master's shocking words came back to him. Then he looked Saraf straight in the eye and, with a moving voice, quoted his Master's words:

"Look, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn Him to death. They will hand Him over to the Gentiles to mock, to scourge, and to crucify Him; and on the third day He will be raised."

"Did He say that a year ago?"

"No, He said this about ten days ago, on our last pilgrimage to Jerusalem, just before the Passover."

"But who handed Him over to the chief priests and scribes?"

Simon sighed. The events were still too recent to talk about easily. However, the conversation he had just had with the Master gave him strength to convey it to Saraf.

“It was one of us, one of his own disciples.”

Saraf heard the emotion in Simon’s voice and looked at the disciple silently.

“Did He know who would betray Him?”

Simon said nothing and nodded. Saraf saw that Simon was touched and returned to his own situation.

“So He didn’t say exactly what would happen in the temple. But was He usually always detailed in His predictions?”

“Usually.”

“Like…?”

Saraf tried to seize the opportunity and find out as much as possible about the Messiah, Jesus. The young priest looked Simon straight in the eye with wide, questioning eyes. The boy’s curiosity about the Master helped Simon process the events, and a smile briefly crossed his face. Two moments immediately came to mind.

“Did you hear anything about the entry a week ago?”

“You mean, when He rode into the city on a donkey’s colt amidst loud cheers?” Yes, I was there.

“Well, when we were still on our way from Bethany to the village closer by—what was it called again?”

“Bethphage?”

“Right, Bethphage. Then He told two of us to go ahead to that village and that there they would find a donkey tied with a colt, that they were to untie it and bring it to Him. And that if anyone asked them what they were doing, they were to say that the Lord needed them and that they would immediately receive the animals. That’s exactly what happened.”

Simon waited a moment to gauge Saraf’s reaction. But Saraf kept staring at him, wide-eyed, eager to hear more.

“Three days ago, He sent me and another disciple into the city to prepare the Passover. We were to meet a man with a water jar, and we were to follow him until he entered a house. There we had to ask the master of the house about the dining room, where we would be having the Passover. Everything was correct, from beginning to end.

Simon looked back at Saraf. Saraf remained silent and continued to look at him with questioning eyes.

"Yes, that's all I know right now," Simon defended himself.

"There's probably much more," Saraf challenged him.

Simon sighed, shaking his head, and dug through his memory. Then a smile broke through.

"Oh yes," he paused, then began a new story.

"About a year ago, the temple tax officials came to ask me if the Master paid the temple tax. I said he did, or at least—or so I thought. When I got home, it turned out that Jesus knew they had asked me this. He asked me from whom the kings of the earth collected taxes, their sons or strangers. When I said 'from strangers,' He said that the sons were exempt." By that, He meant that as Son of the temple, He didn't owe any temple tax.

"Wait a minute," Safaf interrupted him. "How is the Messiah Jesus Son of the temple? He's not a priest, is He? He's the Son of David, isn't He? Of the lineage of Judah, not of Levi? How then is He Son of the temple?"

Simon looked at the boy in surprise. The little priest had questions he couldn't answer at the moment. He searched for an answer in what else he remembered about Jesus and the temple.

"Did you hear what Jesus did in the temple a week ago?"

‘You mean He sent all the money changers and merchants away from the temple court?’

‘Yes, that. But do you know that He also did this three years earlier and what He said then?’

‘No, I haven’t heard of that.’

‘He said, “Don’t make my Father’s house a house of merchandise.”’

Simon waited for Saraf’s response.

‘Don’t you get it? He calls the temple His Father’s house. Would He then have to pay the temple tax?’

‘Oh, I get it. But what was it that He knew and foretold beforehand?’

‘My story wasn’t over yet. The officials demanded tax from the Master. But the sons were tax-free, yes? Yet He commanded me to pay the tax. We were not to cause offense. He sent me to the lake to catch a fish, and in the mouth of the first fish I caught, I would find a coin equal to the temple tax for Him and myself. And that's exactly what happened.

Saraf's eyes widened, if that were possible. "So He arranged for a coin worth twice the temple tax to fall into the water, for a fish to take that coin in its mouth, and for you to catch that fish. How is that possible?"

Simon gestured with his hands, indicating he didn't know either. Saraf thought deeply and then asked another question.

"But these are all detailed predictions, saying exactly what would happen. But in my case, I have absolutely no idea what to expect. Has He ever made such a prediction before?"

Simon paused for a moment. There was silence. Saraf continued to look at him curiously. But Simon shook his head.

"I don't know if I want to tell this," he began hesitantly. He sighed deeply.

Saraf continued to look at Simon curiously.

“Well, okay. This happened two days ago.” Simon took a deep breath. “No, it’s too bad. I can’t talk about this yet.”

With a pained expression, Simon stared into Saraf’s questioning eyes. He shook his head again. However, Saraf’s patience in waiting for his story gave him courage.

“He’s said several times what would happen.”

“What would happen then?” Saraf asked invitingly.

“Or rather, it was more something I would do.”

“What would you do then?”

It was quiet again for a while. Simon glanced evasively to the left and right, as if hoping the conversation would be interrupted by others approaching the tomb. But there was no one in sight, and Saraf continued to listen curiously.

“I would deny Him.”

This time, Simon didn’t dare look at the little priest. He was ashamed. This time, Saraf didn't know how to respond. There was a moment of silence. Then Saraf returned to his own situation.

"But He hadn't given any details about how it happened, just like in my case with the temple."

Simon looked into Saraf's face and said, "Oh yes, that's what we talked about. Indeed. How and under what circumstances it would happen, he didn't say. Only that the rooster wouldn't crow until it happened."

"And how did it happen then?"

"Do you want to know?"

Saraf nodded his head.

"After His capture in the Garden of Gethsemane, I followed Him to see the outcome. In the high priest's courtyard, one after another asked if I belonged to Him, and I flatly denied it several times."

Saph saw that Simon was struggling and said nothing. They were both silent for a while. Simon was the first to speak again.

“But it’s time for me to inform the others, and you must prepare for your nocturnal adventure.”

Saraf nodded and followed Simon to the garden exit. It turned out to be a different exit than the one he had entered. After a short time, they reached the main road to the city, where they joined the pilgrims passing by.

 

(23)

The sixteen soldiers, who had come for the changing of the guard at Herod’s tomb, marched two by two along the path between the conifer hedges. Their helmets and spears glinted in the sunlight that played over the soldiers between the tops of the conifers. The moment Vitellius felt surrounded by legionaries, he acted reflexively. He dove forward, straight through the conifer hedge at the side of the path. Within two seconds, he was out of sight, and Malchus stood alone. One glance at the marching group of soldiers was enough for Malchus to see that he had already been spotted. There was no point in diving after Vitellius, and besides, he was wary of returning to the palace covered in scratches, smudges, and possibly torn clothes. Running away in any direction would have been suspicious. He thought it best to remain standing and confront the soldiers. He had already seen that the conifer hedge consisted of multiple trunks, which would make it impossible for Vitellius to be spotted from the path.

On the other side of the conifer hedge, Vitellius, crouched, anxiously awaited the further course of events. He heard the two contubernia approaching with a stampede and then halting.

"Ave. Legionary Aelius, on his way to the changing of the guard. Who are you and what are you doing here?" The legionary's voice pierced Vitellius to the core.

There was a moment of silence. Vitellius held his breath to hear what Malchus would say. His life depended on it. He feared Malchus would betray him and point him out through the hedge. He briefly considered running. But he immediately reconsidered, because they would undoubtedly hear, and then the misery would be unimaginable.

“I am Malchus, slave of the high priest, and I have come to the tomb in connection with the traditional tribute the priests pay to the royal family on Bikkurim.”

Vitellius relaxed. The answer meant Malchus was trying to talk his way out of it with an excuse. He wasn’t betraying him. But at the legionnaire’s next question, all his muscles tensed again.

“But didn’t we see you with a legionnaire just now?”

“Oh, yes,” Vitellius heard Malchus say with a chuckle, “he really had to go and has retreated for a moment.”

Vitellius heard the soldiers snicker. Then they said, “Why don’t you come with us for the traditional tribute?”

He heard no response from Malchus, but then heard the ground rumble beneath the marching soldiers. Then the silence returned, broken only by a blackbird, which from somewhere among the conifers produced a varied repertoire of songs. When the relieved guard returned from the tomb a little later, the bird flew away, chattering loudly. Vitellius heard the sixteen men thumping and stamping as they passed the path on the other side of the hedge, on their way to the fortress. Vitellius thought how much he would have liked to trade places with these soldiers to be part of the guard at this tomb. This King of the Jews was much easier to guard than the King of the Jews they had been stationed near the previous night. Here, at night, no luminous celestial being descended, causing earthquakes and throwing stones around like cart wheels.

For a while, Vitellius sat among the conifers, wondering what he should do. He could just walk away without being noticed. Once again, he considered his options. But he considered a flight to Syria just as unsuccessful as a return to the fortress. He saw the best chance of success in an amnesty from the Jewish priests for what could undoubtedly be called the most serious form of dereliction of duty. Vitellius was increasingly realizing that the Jewish authorities had some interest in the guard who had fled from the tomb. One remark from the old priest had stuck in his memory. They had to verify the story. And of course, they could certainly use them for that. As he sat thus lost in thought behind the conifer hedge, he suddenly heard Malchus' voice again from the other side of the hedge.

"Shall we continue our journey to the tomb of the Jewish Rabbi?"

Before answering, Vitellius first looked, face to the ground, between the trunks of the conifers toward the path. He wanted to be sure that Malchus was alone and that he wouldn't somehow fall into a trap. He had to search for a while before he spotted Malchus' sandals on the path. From his low position, he scanned the path as far as he could in both directions, but he couldn't spot the sandals of Roman legionaries anywhere. Yet, he didn't expose himself completely, as was evident in his answer to Malchus.

"Fine. But should we walk back to the main road on either side of the hedge? I don't fancy wading through those conifers again."

"That sounds like a good idea. We'll see each other in a moment."

Vitellius struggled through tall grass and had to make detours here and there because of a large bush blocking the way. When he reached the main road, Malchus was waiting for him, laughing.

"Well, we got away with it, didn't we?" he concluded.

Vitellius didn't answer but immediately countered: "How did you manage to fool the guard?"

"Ha, ha. Yes, that's quite a story." Did you hear what I said to them?'

'That you were going to pay tribute to Herod on behalf of the priests?'

'Yes, and that you had to.'

Now that the tension had subsided, Vitellius burst out laughing. 'Yes, that was a nice idea. And that they fell for it. Wonderful!'

'Well, after that, of course, I had to keep up my act. So when I arrived at Herod's tomb, I noticed that they were keeping a close eye on me. So I made a kind of ‘offering’ and placed it on one of the stones above the entrance to the tomb.

‘What did you have with you then, that you could offer as a ‘offering’?’

‘Our lunch this afternoon,’ said Malchus, and he couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

Vitellius burst out laughing again, thinking that their lunch was now displayed on Herod’s tomb as a tribute from the Jewish priests. Humor transcended cultural boundaries at that moment. The Roman legionary and the Jewish slave infected each other with their laughter. In their imaginations, they saw the serious Roman guard, with grapes, olives, matzos, and cheese laid out behind them on a tombstone, baking in the scorching sun, as a solemn offering from the priestly class to the dead king. Surprised, the peasant pilgrims stopped their singing when they saw the two walking down the road, hiccuping and with tears in their eyes from laughter.

 

(24)

Annas stood in a position the palace residents had never before seen. The old priest, half bent over, stood with his ear to the door of the room where the Roman guests were staying. Mary had just entered with a delicious Jewish breakfast. There was a good chance a conversation was about to take place between her and the legionaries. From this exchange of thoughts, he might be able to glean information that could be decisive for their future and that of the people.

Annas strained his aged ears to hear what was being said. He would have preferred to leave it to Malchus, but he was on his way with the other Roman soldier. And almost all the priests were occupied with the formalities of Bikkurim. Fortunately, Mary was a servant who was not shy about speaking her mind. She could thoroughly question many a man. She was certainly a match for four Roman legionaries, who feared judgment for their behavior. The major problem Annas faced was that Maria's higher-pitched female voice was difficult for his old ears to hear through the massive door. Perhaps Malchus's hearing had been able to hear everything. With Malchus's hearing, the question of the nighttime arrest immediately flashed through his mind. He desperately needed to sound Jonathan out on it. While he was thus lost in thought, he suddenly heard a clear male voice.

"The changeover always takes place in the morning. So that's not so strange!"

Annas could hear Maria's voice but had no idea what she was saying. Apparently, the men didn't like it, because one of them called out indignantly:

"We're not here to discuss our watch with a maid. Could we perhaps have breakfast in peace?"

Annas heard a woman's voice again, this time a little louder. But he still couldn't understand a word she said. Then he heard two men's voices, in measured tones. As if they were reprimanding the one who had spoken so harshly. Then that growling voice spoke again.

"But what business does it have of her whether we've already finished our shift? What business is it of hers?"

The woman's voice sounded again, soft but penetrating. Immediately afterward, the voice of the disgruntled Roman resounded.

"Are you our centurion, keeping track of exactly when our watch begins?"

While Annas tried to understand Maria, he sat gloating behind the door. She had apparently memorized the time the guard was posted at the tomb. "Yes, leave such practical matters to the women!" he chuckled inwardly. He heard the Roman's reaction loud and clear again.

“Where do you get the idea that a Roman guard is always changed after 24 hours?”

Annas understood that the soldiers were trying to talk their way out of it by changing the guard. But he knew that excuse would only work if it was all imagined and nothing else had happened. If Malchus came home with a much bigger story, it would be of no use to anyone. Again, the aggrieved soldier's voice rang out:

“So what? We'll be here at the palace a few hours before our change—what's that to you?”

“Wonderful!” Annas thought aloud. For he heard the guard admit that they had left the tomb well before the change. Now Mary wouldn't let go. He heard her soft but venomous voice cornering the soldiers. Then came another roar.

“Yes, Madam Governor! Of course, Madam Governor! We'll remember it, Madam Governor!”

Annas nearly burst out laughing at the soldier's rant. Maria was stoking the fires quite a bit, as she was already speaking again. Then the same soldier's voice resounded, now brimming with anger.

"You don't know anything about that. Maybe some really strange things happened at that grave. Or maybe you didn't feel the earthquake this morning?"

Annas clenched his fists. The conversation was completely going in the intended direction. The soldiers were revealing themselves more and more. The tone of Maria's voice indicated she was cornering them again. The grumpy soldier was about to lash out again but was interrupted by one of the others. Annas couldn't quite hear him and could only make out a few words.

"...don't know anything at all...twelve...sleep..."

Then he heard Maria snap back with another question of conscience. That was too much for the angry soldier, and he began to scream wildly.

"What's that to you? We were all four asleep! How could we know what happened? We're dividing the night into four watches, little lady. Now get out of here! We want peace!"

Those last words sounded so menacing that Annas thought for a moment Maria would throw open the door and discover him there. So he walked away from the door for a moment, heading towards the stairs to the forecourt. However, the door remained closed, and Annas carefully took his place again. He strained again to hear what was being said. One of the soldiers, a different one from the one who was bellowing, spoke.

"... cursed... witchcraft... not trained for this..."

Immediately after that, the bellowing voice started again.

"And if you don't believe us, then go and see the tomb yourself. And now get out of here!"

As a precaution, Annas backed away from the door, but it remained closed. He walked back and immediately put his ear to the door again. That wasn't necessary, because the bellowing resumed.

"Why are you talking to us here? We have nothing more to say! We were asleep! When we woke up, it was all over. Just ask Vitellius!"

One of the others spoke, and Annas had to strain again to hear anything. While he was bent over, Esther came walking over. She found Maria and gently tapped Annas on the back. Disturbed, he turned around and then, with his finger to his lips, gestured for her to be quiet. He beckoned her closer and invited her to listen. It was a good thing. Her hearing was much better, and she heard Mary walking toward the door. With a quick signal to Annas, she turned. He responded immediately. The door opened, and Mary appeared in the hallway. When her gaze shifted toward the stairs, she saw Annas and Esther just walking down.

 

(25)

“Iesous ho Nazoraios ho Basileus toon Ioudaion – Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudaeorum – Yeshua Hanozri Melech Hajehudim”

Malchus read the text on the board aloud and solemnly in three languages. They stood there for a moment, looking at it.

“Were you there when they crucified Him?” Malchus asked.

Slowly, a bond grew between the slave and the soldier. It stemmed from their mission to the tomb. Subconsciously, they sensed they were dealing with something very important, something far beyond their imagination. Vitellius shook his head. Then he answered.

“Well, during the flogging, and that was bad enough.”

“Why?”

Vitellius sighed briefly, staring intently at the titulus. Since the events of that night, it had become more difficult for him to speak of the Rabbi of Nazareth.

“The lictors flogged Him mercilessly. Mercilessly. He didn’t even groan. We were egging them on, because their blows seemed to have no effect.”

“How many blows do you estimate?”

“A hundred. I think even more. Front and back. Top and bottom. It’s a miracle He survived that.”

“He was incredibly strong. They say He used to be a carpenter.”

“Oh yeah?” Wasn't He a Rabbi, a Teacher of the Law?

"Yes, but Scribes all learned a trade besides that."

"So that's why He was so muscular."

Vitellius walked to one of the other cross posts and took his sword from its sheath.

"What are you doing?" Malchus asked.

"I'm taking off the title. Before someone else does. That's plunder."

Vitellius stared at the wooden sign for a moment.

"—Robbery——that's quite a different story than King of the Jews."

"Do you do that with your sword?"

"The sword is the soldier's tool."

Standing on tiptoe, Vitellius wedged the point of his sword behind the wooden sign and pried it loose, nails and all. Then he walked back to the cross of the Rabbi of Nazareth and pried the title loose from that as well. He glanced around to see if there were any more. He spotted one on the other side and walked over to it.

"—Robbery—. Even so. The King of the Jews is quite unique with his title."

After removing the third board, Vitellius laid them on the ground, picked them up one by one, and with the flat of his sword, hammered the nails out of the wood one by one. When he had finished, he placed the nails in his loculus and tucked the wooden boards under his arm. Then he led Malchus down the path to the garden tomb.

After entering the garden and passing the vegetable and herb beds, they came to a wall topped with a cypress hedge. Vitellius walked more and more slowly, knowing that the grave would come into view at the bend in the path to the left. He wondered if the luminous figure would still be sitting on the tombstone. He had resolved not to move any closer to the grave if that were the case. As the bend to the left approached, Vitellius halted and turned around.

"Now it's your turn to lead the way," he said to Malchus.

Malchus looked surprised but shrugged and walked past Vitellius. The slave hadn't been told exactly what had happened at the grave. Vitellius, too, had refused to divulge anything until then. But given the mission he had been sent on, Malchus suspected that strange things had taken place, and that Vitellius dreaded being confronted with them again immediately. He cautiously approached the last cypress in the hedge before the path curved to the left and the other part of the garden came into view. Cautiously, he poked his head around the hedge. Immediately afterward, he stepped back. He turned to Vitellius. Vitellius was both curious and anxious, and immediately wanted to know what he had seen.

"Go and see for yourself," was Malchus's reply.

"Surely you can tell me what you saw there?"

Malchus remained silent and looked at Vitellius challengingly. This was the moment he might be able to get something out of the soldier.

"What do you think I saw?"

"Did you see him?"

"Who do you mean by 'him'?"

Vitellius felt cornered and felt like railing against the slave. Then he pulled himself together and walked past Malchus to the bend in the path. With his toes curled, he peered around the cypress, his eyes widening. The figure of the angel was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he saw two groups of Roman soldiers. One group was standing at the opening of the tomb. The other stood at the spot where the large stone must have been, where he himself had lain that morning in the grass, trembling and fearful. He quickly withdrew his head and turned to Malchus.

"Shall we go and take a look?" he asked, laughing.

"Absolutely not. You know perfectly well that I can't stand a confrontation with legionaries right now."

"Then let's hope they won't linger there for too long."

"It's the guard who came to relieve us, of course. They must have been surprised to find the open grave."

"Not to mention the missing soldiers," Malchus joked.

Vitellius ignored this but turned back around. He watched his comrades from the relief for a long time. They paced back and forth between the grave and the stone. They measured the distance between the two, and about four men tried to lift the stone from the ground, failing miserably. Several times he saw soldiers enter the tomb and then emerge again shortly afterward. However, he could make no sense of the condition the soldiers found inside. Vitellius wondered if the body was still there. He considered that the disciples had had every opportunity to remove it. He turned back to Malchus.

"Much will depend on whether the Rabbi's body is still there."

Malchus looked at Vitellius uncomprehendingly.

"Well, look," Vitellius explained, "if the body is still there, they will form a large guard at the tomb. Two to four soldiers will then report on the situation they found." But if the body is gone, then a guard is pointless.

"So if they all leave, we can conclude that the body is gone."

"I don't know if they'll all leave. Perhaps one or two soldiers will stay behind. But given the bustle of the city, I think they'll all report to Fort Antonia and then be deployed elsewhere. Then the way will be clear for us to investigate."

"That would be good for our mission to inspect the tomb. But it would be a disaster for the priests. They were so keen to ensure that the body wouldn't be stolen."

Vitellius didn't answer but poked his head around the cypress again to see if the soldiers were still lingering near the tomb. He immediately turned and sprinted to the cypress hedge at the edge of the garden. For the second time that morning, he dove headfirst through the bushes, leaving Malchus alone. Malchus soon realized why. Immediately after Vitellius's disappearance, the soldiers of the relieving guard came running around the bend in the path, toward the garden's exit.

 

(26)

Saraf ran through the city like a madman. He tried to avoid hitting the pilgrims, but occasionally he bumped into a sleeve or a hip. Once in a while, he ran so close to a bundle of olives that the fruits danced across the street in front of, beside, and behind him. Occasionally, he came to an abrupt halt because there were too many pilgrims walking side by side. He would give himself a moment to catch his breath, but soon after, he'd struggle past or through them, and then he'd start running again. When he reached Fort Antonia, he found himself in the shade of the rows of fig trees that adorned the wide avenue along the fortress and the temple. This was fortunate, because the sun was already beginning to get quite hot, and he could pick up a much faster pace on the wide main street.

As he trotted, his thoughts drifted back to Simon, the disciple he had just left alone. Suddenly, he'd sprinted away when Simon asked if he was still participating in the Scripture readings. That was the first moment that morning that his duties for the day had crossed his mind. And he immediately realized that he was already quite late. His uncle was in charge, and he was very strict about punctuality. A brief panic had briefly gripped Saraf, and he hadn't asked Simon anything more. He wondered if he would ever see this disciple of the Rabbi again.

As he hurried on, thoughts flashed through his mind. The image of his indignant uncle among the other disciples was prominent in his mind. The pointed remarks he had made to other latecomers resonated in his memory. The image from his dream of the dwindling altar fire also came back to him, and then the shock of his tumble from the gate. But above all of this rose the radiant figure of the Rabbi at the tomb. The look in his eyes. The warmth in his voice. His hand on his shoulder. It was as if he could still feel it.

The devastating inscription on the tablet on the cross and the immediate subsequent appearance of the crucified One left an indelible, transcendent impression on the young priest's soul. The anxiety about his late arrival at the Scripture reading was completely dispelled by the ecstasy of the unparalleled salvation he had witnessed as one of the first of the people. Although he hurried through Jerusalem's bustling streets, he still felt the peace that had flowed into his heart that morning in the garden. Instead of making excuses, he felt able to let the spontaneity of what would soon occur to him come. The meeting with the Rabbi gave him so much courage that his uncle could no longer frighten him.

His thoughts leaped again. In his memory, the Rabbi's words echoed about something else that could terrify him. It was something that would happen tomorrow morning at the Temple. That warning kept recurring in his mind, and the boy kept wondering what the Rabbi could possibly have meant by it.

Meanwhile, he had almost passed the Temple. It became much more difficult to walk again, as he had to go against the flow of pilgrims. He tried to plan ahead how he would cover the last stretch to his uncle's house. First, he had to pick up his own copy of the Torah from home. Arriving late and without it was a double sin. And he could always freshen up at the Pool of Siloam. With these thoughts in mind, he stopped trotting.

He was out of breath and felt a twinge in his side. Yet, he kept walking briskly along the crowded main street, which ran between Jerusalem's two southern hills through the Valley of the Cheesemakers. The street was more like a huge staircase, sloping very gradually down to the lower southern part of the city. Earlier that morning, many market vendors had set up shop, and now they were loudly advertising their wares from both sides of the street.

Soon, Saraf reached the Pool of Siloam. It was quite crowded due to the large numbers of pilgrims who used the water for Mikvah, the ritual purification before their visit to the Temple. However, due to the enormous size of the pool, reaching the water was no problem for Saraf. The four sides of the pool were constructed like enormous, wide steps. Each side had three successive steps that descended to and then into the water. The distance one had to descend to reach the water depended on the water level. Passover had just passed. The early rains after the previous summer's drought and the late spring rains contributed to the abundant pool water. Saraf reached the water's surface on the fourth step.

Saraf took off his sandals and paddled back and forth. Then he crouched down, took the water in both hands, drank it greedily, and washed his face. After freshening up, he put his sandals back on and walked among the pilgrims, up the steps, back toward the temple. At a narrow alley, he turned right, where the road climbed steeply. He entered a maze of streets among the small mud houses of the lower priestly classes, to which he belonged. He unerringly found the shortest route to his house.

He paused in the doorway to the courtyard. It was stuffy. The sunlight fell in a corner, against the walls and on the floor. Saraf thought he could certainly use another refreshing dip in the Pool of Siloam. The courtyard was deserted. Somewhere nearby, only a dove cooed. His mother was probably out shopping. Matilda and Nathan had, of course, already attended the Scripture reading.

He wondered where he had last read his Torah. He ran up the stone steps and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The sea of sunshine in the courtyard had given way to the meager light shining through the small windows of the bedrooms. On the shelf above his bed, he found his Torah scroll. He sat down on his bed for a moment. He recalled his dream from the previous night about the eternal fire and his fall from the balcony above the gate, and he wondered if the Rabbi's warning might have anything to do with it.

He unwrapped the scroll from the linen robe that was always supposed to be around it and unrolled it slightly. He was already halfway through the last book of Moses, Deuteronomy. With some difficulty in the dim light, he read the first few lines of his morning's Scripture reading: "I will raise up for them a Prophet from among their brothers, like you. I will put My words in His mouth, and He will speak to them everything I command Him. And whoever does not listen to My words that He speaks in My name, I will require an accounting from him."

As he closed the scroll and tucked it back into the robe, Saraf wondered who Moses could have meant by that prophet. That would be a good question for his uncle, in a moment. With that thought, he stood up and left the house. His uncle's house was only a few streets away. Saraf knocked and waited for the gruff voice from the other side of the door.

 

(27)

Annas was startled. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed again by the dream world that had plagued him the previous night. It happened just as a group of Roman soldiers walked from the fortress. Their helmets, spears, and shields gleamed in the bright sunlight. He froze as he saw the shifting glare of all the metal coming towards him, and for a moment, he was unable to move. The first thing he regained control of was his face. He forced himself to look away from the rapidly approaching military machine to look for shelter. He didn't have to look far, for he was standing near the enormous theater, a semicircular building that had been built about fifty years earlier at the behest of Herod the Great. He immediately regained his presence of mind and set off without another glance at the legionaries.

In the shadow of the colossal building, he was able to catch his breath. He watched the group of soldiers pass by and disappear in the direction of the upper city, from which he himself had just returned.

Annas had set out for the temple. He waited for the news that Malchus would bring home, but that took too long. He had decided to discuss some matters with the most important members of the Sanhedrin. The news that had already reached him from the grave was disturbing enough for him to take immediate, decisive action. He wanted to inform two members immediately: Caiaphas, his son-in-law, who was also the official high priest, and Jonathan, his son. If they were convinced of the seriousness of the situation, they could immediately begin to influence the other members of the Sanhedrin and convene a meeting.

It took a moment for Annas to catch his breath and shake off the fear of his dream world. He took another good look around. He didn't see a single soldier. Only the pilgrims, who were passing by, singing loudly. He didn't take the time, as he had done in other years, to gaze for a moment at the procession of pilgrims, or to savor all the riches of the land that were steadily filling the temple and, with them, the priests' pockets. Instead, he quickly stood up and let the pilgrims lead him toward the temple. Occasionally, he was greeted by passing priests. As he approached the temple, the greetings became more numerous. Older priests tried to chat with him, but he politely but firmly declined all conversation. He reached the outer courtyard through the 'Kiponos Gate' on the west side of the temple complex.

In the temple courtyard, it became clear how much Annas was, in every respect, the most influential figure of his time. He had to make an effort to decline all invitations for a chat or a meeting. As a result, it took some time before he entered one of the four Northern gates of the inner court and came in a large room, situated in an extension of the enormous wall. It was the hearth room. A fire burned there for the priests who slept there at night for their early morning service.

In the hearth room, Annas took a door on his right. There was a spiral staircase, which he descended to a lower level where several purification baths, the Mikvoth, were located. In front of each bath stood a long line of priests, all of whom had to perform their duties that day for Bikkurim. The temple could only be entered after ritual purification. Annas, too, had to adhere to this, although he would have preferred to skip it that morning. He walked to one of the baths and took a seat next to the priest at the front. He was startled when he saw who was standing next to him and immediately gave up his place in the line to the old, renowned priest. Shortly afterward, the one who was still in the bath emerged. Annas ignored the startled greeting and wanted to enter the enclosed space immediately. However, the man asked him to wait a moment and ran away. Annas didn't understand but decided to wait anyway. Immediately, a young priest arrived with a large vat of hot water. He disappeared into the Mikvah area and immediately came back out, announcing that the water was back to the right temperature. Annas stepped inside, removed his clothes, and then descended into the pure, warm water.

The water did what it was supposed to do. It had a calming effect on his soul. His anxiety melted away. Soothing thoughts came to mind. He realized there had to be a rational explanation for the soldiers' stories. He expected Malchus to return home with reassuring news. The fleeing, fearful soldiers would not escape their punishment. His haste to deliberate suddenly seemed excessive. As he slowly swirled his limbs through the water, he let the meaning of Mikvah sink in: humanity in the womb. Humanity as a weaned child with God Himself, brought to rest and stillness. The new birth, from the water of the Torah, which has a cleansing effect on the soul. 'Toivul' is 'bittul'. Purification is self-denial. Purification from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. With that thought, Annas submerged for a moment. His thoughts and beliefs needed to be purified, he reflected as he remained submerged for a few seconds. Annas surfaced again. He thought of the Mikvah as a gateway to purity from the beginning of creation. For days, Adam had been sitting in one of the rivers that flowed from the Garden of Eden, from which he had been banished. The expression of his deep remorse was his attempt to return to his original state.

After bathing, Annas immediately went in search of Caiaphas. Soon, the lofty thoughts he entertained in the ritual water were pushed back to the background by the sacred duty that rested on his shoulders as the political cornerstone of the temple service.

 

(28)

“I wonder how many times you’ll duck into the bushes today.”

Malchus looked at Vitellius with a broad smile as he brushed his uniform clean, clearing it of branches, sand, and mud. Vitellius reacted sullenly, and avoiding Malchus’ laughing gaze, he said:

“This is no joke. Have you discovered yet if anyone has been left behind at the tomb?”

“Nobody,” was Malchus’ immediate reply. “The entire regiment has completely left.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, I’m saying it because I want to see you duck again.”

This time, Vitellius looked Malchus straight in the eye as he said, “You have to stop joking about this. This whole situation could mean my death.”

Malchus forced a smile from the corners of his mouth, but it was harder to do so with his eyes. They continued to twinkle. He put on as serious a face as possible and replied,

“No, that was indeed inappropriate. But the soldiers really have all disappeared. I know it. I counted them as they walked by. Sixteen men.”

“Were you able to count them that quickly? Did they say nothing?”

“Nothing. I had the impression they wanted to get away as quickly as possible.”

“Why?”

“They looked frightened. They were completely silent and they walked very quickly.” They seemed tense to me.'

Vitellius immediately thought of the luminous figure that had terrified him and asked:

'Were they running in disorder?'

'No, they were quite disciplined. But they were restless and hurried. It was clear to me that they were completely surprised by the situation at the tomb.

'Perhaps you are right that they are indeed all gone. But before we approach the tomb, I want to observe it from a distance for a while.'

'This is all going to take a long time. My Master, the high priest, expects me back soon to report. And we haven't even been to the grave yet.'

'I don't care. First, I want to make sure there's absolutely no one left at the grave.'

With these words, he walked past Malchus toward the left bend in the path, where the grave came into view. Carefully, he peered through the foliage of the last bush that hid them from view. He saw that the grave was deserted. There was no one to be seen, not a soldier, not an angel either. Malchus came to stand behind him and waited until Vitellius was ready to cross the open field to the grave.

After ten minutes, Vitellius was convinced that there was indeed no one left near the grave. He strode through the shoulder-high grass, where he had spent the most frightening moments of his life the previous night. He walked to the spot where he had lain for a long time. The spot was still recognizable by the flattened grass. He estimated the distance to the stone. It was no more than fifteen yards. The angel, or whatever it was, could easily have observed him. With some hesitation, he walked toward the stone. If it were a supernatural being, it could be invisibly present.

Arriving at the stone, there was nothing to be seen. It was as if the stone had lain there for centuries. Vitellius climbed onto the stone and looked at the spot where he had lain. It confirmed what he already knew: he had been visible to the heavenly being all this time. Apparently, he was meant to escape with his life. But for what? For the first time in his life, Vitellius wondered if gods could have a plan from an invisible reality, apart from receiving endless sacrifices and rituals to appease them. While a revolution was taking place in Vitellius's mind, of which he himself was barely aware, Malchus came to stand behind him.

"Well, what did I tell you? No one to be seen here."

"Yes, you're right. They all ran off," Vitellius agreed.

“That doesn't bode well for my master, the high priest.”

“Why?”

“If they've all left, there'll be nothing left to guard here. Then the body will be gone.”

The words struck Vitellius like a hammer blow to his conscience. The body's disappearance was due to his flight from the tomb. His dereliction of duty had led to the one thing the Jewish elite had tried to prevent at all costs. Vitellius was momentarily speechless. It was as if he were trying to find a way to get the body back into the tomb and thus atone for his debt. Malchus brought him out of his reverie once again.

“But you were supposed to tell me everything you saw last night, so we can search for a possible explanation.” With these words, Malchus reminded Vitellius of the core of their mission. To emphasize his point, he demonstratively crossed his arms, ready to take a statement. Vitellius nodded in understanding and began to speak. The missing body was the final confirmation that he had no choice but to fully cooperate with the demands of the high priest and his household. And so he began his story.

"Do you see that spot over there in the grass? That's where I stood guard last night."

To understand the story even better, Malchus stood at the spot Vitellius pointed out.

"As I stood there, I saw a strange light coming from behind the stone, which obviously stood in front of the tomb's opening. It was all flashes of light, very quickly one after the other. It was so bright that for a while I couldn't see anything at all, and my eyes had to readjust to the darkness."

"Wait a minute," Malchus interrupted. "I don't understand. How can you see light coming from the tomb when the stone is blocking it?"

"I think the light came through small openings between the stone and the rock wall." The flashes of light seemed to glide across the rock face.

"Oh, I understand. Go on."

"Just as my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, a light came from the sky. It looked like a star, coming closer and closer, growing ever larger. The starlight grew brighter and brighter. It seemed like daytime, even though the sun was still far from up. Suddenly, in the bright light, I saw the figure of a man. A short time later, he touched the ground. At that moment, an earthquake occurred. I lost my presence of mind. It seemed as if all the strength was being sucked out of my muscles, and I spontaneously sank to my knees and fell to the ground. Just above the grass, I saw…"

"Stop. Where did the angel land?" asked Malchus, interpreting the description directly from the Jewish scriptures.

Vitellius walked a few steps toward the tomb until he was close to it.

"He touched the ground somewhere around here."

Malchus came to Vitellius and looked at the grass.

"Nothing to see. The grass hasn't even been trampled."

You'd expect heavy footprints from an angel causing an earthquake.

"You believe me, don't you?" Vitellius demanded.

"Of course I believe you. It's clear you saw something extraordinary. And your fifteen comrades too. Otherwise, you would never have left the tomb. Only the proof that a figure was actually present is missing."

"He was lifelike, I assure you. He was the most lifelike thing I've ever seen."

"I believe you. Continue."

Vitellius thought for a moment and resumed his story. "He walked from here to the tomb, and as he walked, the ground kept shaking. At the tomb, he picked up the enormous stone and rolled it away as if it were a Parma stone."

"What's a Parma stone?"

"A round shield. The stone rolled toward me. I was lying there, remember? Not far from me, the stone fell on its side. There, where it lies now." The angel walked over and sat on it. It took me some time to muster the courage to leave the garden. All the other guards had already disappeared by then.

“So you saw the angel up close for a while?”

“Yes, I lay there, and the angel sat on the stone. But he was facing the tomb and his back to me. I couldn’t focus my eyes on his face for a moment because of the brightness of the light.”

“Are there any more things you can tell me?”

Vitellius thought briefly about the women who had come running and whom he had heard talking to the angel, but he didn’t feel the need to tell Malchus. It made the shame of their escape all the worse. After standing thoughtfully for a moment, he shook his head and said:

“No, that was about it. I was the last of all the soldiers to leave the garden. I found four of my comrades near the high priest’s palace. You know the rest.”

Malchus nodded and thought for a moment. A sudden thought struck him.

"Suppose you hadn't been at the tomb last night but had been ordered to relieve the guard this morning and you'd encountered this situation, how would you have reacted?"

Vitellius had to imagine himself in this role for a moment before answering. Then he said:

"I think something like the soldiers we just saw. I'd be astonished to see a stone… wait a minute."

Vitellius walked to the tomb and reached for something small at the sides of the opening. He examined it for a moment. Then he walked past Malchus to the stone. As he passed, he said:

"There are still remnants of the Roman seal in several places next to the opening."

As he inspected the side of the stone, he said: "Here I see the other pieces of clay with which the tomb was sealed."

Gloomily, he walked back to Malchus. The responsibility for breaking the Roman seal aggravated the gravity of their dereliction of duty for him and his escaped comrades. How could they ever escape execution?

“You would have been astonished… what else?” Malchus asked.

Vitellius needed a moment to recover from the shock of the broken seal, which he hadn’t thought about all this time. Then he said:

“I would be struck dumb if I saw the guard vanish without a trace, the seal broken, and the enormous stone rolled away twenty cubits.”

“What would you think had happened then? Mind you, you know nothing of an angel.”

“I would think of supernatural powers, of sorcery, witchcraft, something like that.”

“Would you stand guard at such a tomb?”

“If it were my assignment. If the body that was supposed to be guarded was still there…”

“Suppose the body were still there. Would you stand guard?’

‘I think so. I’d rather not, of course.’

‘Could it be that the relief guard was so frightened that none of them wanted to remain at the tomb, even though the body was still there?’

Malchus’s question rekindled some hope in Vitellius’s heart, and he replied:

‘Many soldiers are very superstitious and would rush off as quickly as possible, using the excuse of reporting the situation.’

‘Then the body might still be there, even if the guard has disappeared. I think it’s time to inspect the tomb.’

 

(29)

‘What latecomer is interrupting my lesson?’

His uncle’s voice boomed from the other side of the door.

‘It’s me, Saraf,’ Saraf replied, his mouth close to the door.

He was startled when the door suddenly swung open with great speed. There stood his uncle. Larger than life and with furrowed brows, Saraf cringed.

"Our Saraf! Always on time. An example to the rest. And now? More than half an hour late!"

The reproaches rose in the front of the group of students as his uncle walked back to his central position in the room. An awkward silence fell. Saraf was stared at by almost twenty pairs of wide eyes. Someone cleared his throat. No one dared to say anything or move. Saraf stood frozen in the doorway.

"Where are you from so late? I heard from your sister that you and your father had walked north of the city to look at Bikkurim."

Saraf saw Matilda sitting next to Nathan. With her hand over her mouth, she whispered something in her little brother's ear. Their eyes were laughing. Saraf thought he saw a hint of mockery in their laughter. He felt alone. His eyes shifted to the other children. There she was, Maria. The girl his age who made his heart beat faster. The girl he sometimes couldn't take his eyes off but hardly dared to talk to. Saraf wondered what she would think of him right now. Her eyes were staring at him too. For a moment, he dared to meet hers. He couldn't tell what she thought of him. He thought he saw surprise, not disgust, thankfully.

"Well, do I hear anything?" his uncle's voice echoed through the room.

Saraf had always learned to tell the truth and not beat around the bush. He knew that would only get you in trouble sooner or later. And he didn't know what else his sister had told him. The last thing he wanted to risk was being exposed as a liar in front of all his classmates. Suddenly, in a calm voice, he said:

"I was at Golgotha."

He heard himself say it. Shorter, more powerfully, and with more determination than he had imagined possible. His uncle immediately continued his attack.

"So, what were you doing at Golgotha? Is that a place for a young priest?"

The tension in the group rose. Everyone held their breath because everyone knew what Golgotha was. Saraf searched for an answer. His sister couldn't have revealed anything about his motives. Here, it was safe to deviate from the truth and give a socially acceptable answer. But suddenly, the image of the Rabbi of Nazareth flashed brightly before his eyes. All the tension instantly dissipated, and his uncle and the class suddenly seemed less frightening.

"I was at the cross of the Rabbi of Nazareth," he said again, resolutely.

Saraf was surprised by his uncle's reaction. He clearly hadn't expected this answer. His tough demeanor suddenly vanished, and his shoulders slumped. It even seemed as if he was struggling to keep his balance, as he took a wobbly step back. The group was also shocked, because everyone knew who the Rabbi of Nazareth was and what had happened to him at the party. His uncle quickly recovered, angrily confronted by his own reaction, and to mask his weakness, he bellowed louder than ever before:

"And what is so special to you about the Rabbi of Nazareth?"

Saraf knew how controversial his own view of the Rabbi as the Messiah was, and he didn't dare express it to his thundering uncle. Fortunately, he had just read a passage from the Torah on his bed, which came in handy, and he posed his intended question to his uncle.

"Isn't He the Prophet who was to come?"

His uncle didn't immediately know how to respond and was clearly unpleasantly surprised. The room remained silent for a few moments. The children barely dared to breathe, and Saraf's forehead was beaded with sweat. Suddenly, a smile broke out across his uncle's face, and he said:

"Saraf, you may read something from the Torah. Stand here for a moment, in front of the group."

Saraf, pleased that the cross-examination was finally over, stepped forward, kissed his Torah scroll, and placed it on the table, which stood in the center of the group, on the mappah, the long cloth on which the Torah scroll could be unrolled. With his tallit, his prayer shawl, he removed the Torah scroll from its shroud. While he was still busy with this, his uncle ordered:

"And now search the Book of Devarim for the 'Ki Teitzei,' the various civil laws."

Saraf deftly rolled his Torah to the designated passage.

"Have you found it yet? Yes? And then you go to the fifth law, under that of the disobedient son."

His uncle thundered these last words, suddenly turning on his heel to face him. Saraf was undeterred but began to read the passage aloud in a firm voice, running his yad over the letters. He read the following:

"Furthermore, if someone has committed a sin worthy of death, and he is killed, and you hang him on a stake, his dead body must not remain on the stake overnight, but you must absolutely bury him that same day. For a hanged person is cursed by God." You shall not defile your land, which the LORD your God is giving you as an inheritance.’

Saraf had read the passage without a moment’s hesitation and looked at his uncle, waiting to hear what he wanted to say.

‘So, Matilda,’ his uncle bellowed, ‘what is someone hanged on a stake?’

A girl's voice could barely be heard saying

"It's cursed."

"What are you saying? I can't understand a word. Can't you speak louder?"

"It's cursed," came barely louder.

"Louder! I still can't hear anything."

"It's cursed!" came loud and clear from Matilda's throat. And immediately she burst into sobs.

Apparently, Uncle was satisfied because he continued.

"So, Maria, what is someone hanged on a stake?"

Saraf's heart clenched at the voice he heard next:

"It's cursed."

Her voice sounded choked, as if she were overcome with emotion. His gaze met Maria's again for a moment, and he saw in her eyes a look of regret, sadness, and pity all at once, and his heart filled with feelings of great affection for her.

“So, Saraf, what is the Rabbi of Nazareth, who is hanged on a pole?”

It took Saraf a moment to utter a word. Too long, in his uncle’s opinion, because the room rumbled again under his roar:

“So, Saraf, disobedient son, what is the Rabbi of Nazareth, who is hanged on a pole?”

There, at the Scripture reading after the Sabbath, Saraf first realized the enormity of the Jewish establishment’s hatred for the Rabbi of Nazareth. But his encounter that morning had made him immune to the enormous manipulation to which he was subjected. Instead of the word his uncle expected, he replied without even a tremor in his voice:

“He is the prophet who was to come into the world.”

His uncle was stunned and momentarily speechless. The group of young people watched with bated breath as the titanic battle between the large, dogmatic uncle and his self-assured son unfolded. And because his uncle didn't respond immediately, Saraf added:

"And whoever doesn't listen to My words spoken in My name, I will hold him accountable."

When silence fell again, Saraf added:

"Devarim, Shophetim, the eighth set of commandments."

He saw his uncle freeze. He saw a look in his eyes he had never seen before. A look of deep contempt and great aloofness, as if Saraf had been transformed into the most vile and dangerous insect on earth. His mouth uttered silent words, but the look of intense anger pierced Saraf's soul more deeply than all the thunder that had preceded them:

"You disobedient son," it thundered through Saraf's entire being. He felt like an outcast, about to be excommunicated.

While his uncle gathered ammunition for a new attack, Saraf looked around at the group of young students. Matilda's face turned fiery red, as if she were ashamed of his audacity and her own tears. His brother, Nathan, looked at him with wide eyes. There was a hint of admiration in them, but horror prevailed. His eyes went back to Maria's. Her gaze was the opposite of his uncle's. The sense of solidarity was further strengthened by the tears he saw burning in her eyes, and that gave Saraf courage for the inevitable sequel. He desperately needed the courage she gave him, because his uncle had recovered in the meantime. Saraf braced himself for another explosion of verbal violence.

 

(30)

The pungent smell of burnt flesh hit Annas in the face as he walked past the altar. The morning burnt offering was slowly but surely consumed by the fire, and alongside it rose the smoke of voluntary offerings brought by pilgrims. Annas was searching for Caiaphas, his son-in-law, who held the official office of high priest. He suspected that around this time, due to the festive bustle, Caiaphas had retreated to the high priest's chamber, where the ritual bath was located, used four days a year in connection with the Day of Atonement. At the southern wall of the forecourt, he reached the Water Gate, where water from Siloam was brought in during the Feast of Tabernacles. Next to the gate was a spiral staircase. With some difficulty, the old priest climbed up. Upon reaching the top, he breathed heavily. He placed both forearms on the balustrade and looked down at the activity of the priests in the forecourt. From his elevated position, he tried to spot the high priest's distinctive attire. But even from above, Caiaphas was nowhere to be seen.

Between the altar and the temple steps, it was incredibly crowded. Against the backdrop of the colossal, golden, upright, one-hundred-cubit square of the temple portal, Annas saw dozens of pilgrims lined up before the priests. Each time a pilgrim approached one of the priests, the priest held the basket of first fruits from below, while the pilgrim continued to hold the basket by the edge. Together, they moved the basket up and down and to all four cardinal directions, while the pilgrim recited the well-known verse from the Torah about the patriarch, the lost Aramean, who had become a powerful nation in Egypt. Annas saw that the priests were neatly sorting the firstfruits into baskets and that the temple steps were already quite full with well-filled baskets. In front of the temple steps lay a dozen pilgrims, prostrate, arms and legs spread out on the ground, in worship of the God of Israel. Annas didn't allow himself long to observe the sacrificial scene. The burden of the disturbing news from the Garden Tomb weighed on his shoulders.

He had now caught his breath and stood up. He turned and knocked on the door of the high priest's private chamber. He waited for a moment for a response. When there was none, he opened the door and went inside. There was no one there. In the center of the room stood the bath. There were also several bowls and jars in which the spices for the incense were prepared and mixed. But Caiaphas was nowhere to be seen.

Annas went back outside, closed the door, descended the stairs, and crossed the forecourt again, this time on the other side of the altar, where it was much less crowded because pilgrims without sacrificial animals were not allowed there. At the twenty-four rings, intended for chaining sacrificial animals to the ground for slaughter, a priest approached, accompanied by a pilgrim who was leading a sheep by a rope. Annas immediately approached the priest and asked if he knew where Caiaphas was. The answer was no, and the priest continued his work. Annas watched for a moment as the priest untied the ring from the ground, skillfully laid the sheep on its side, and slid it under the ring. While he held the struggling sheep steady with one hand, he closed the ring with the other. Then he handed the sacrificial knife to the sheep's owner and gave a brief instruction on the required slaughtering method. Annas had seen the scene unfold often enough, turned around, and walked past the eight sacrificial tables and pillars where the slaughtered sacrificial animals were being skinned and dismembered. Several priests were busily engaged with a cow that had just been slaughtered as a burnt offering.

Annas climbed the steps of the Levite choir and walked to Phinehas' room, where all the priestly vestments were kept. The door to this room was to the left of the Nicanor Gate, the east gate with the bronze doors that connected the inner court with the Court of the Women. He knocked on Phinehas' room and went straight inside. There he found the priest in charge of the priestly vestments. When asked if Caiaphas had retrieved his high priestly vestments that morning, he received an affirmative answer. Annas concluded that Caiaphas must be somewhere in the court. He reasoned that Caiaphas might be conferring with some other priests in the priestly council chamber. With that thought, he crossed the forecourt again, heading towards the southeast corner of the forecourt, where this chamber was located.

Suddenly, Annas stood rooted to the spot. To his horror, he saw that the door to the chamber of hewn stones was barricaded with a large cross of wooden beams. He couldn't believe his eyes that the chamber of the Sanhedrin, Israel's highest court, was blocked. When he recovered from the shock, he walked over to see what it meant. Closer up, he saw a huge crack running across the lintel, all the way down the wall, towards the roof of the building. Apparently, the two earthquakes at the beginning of the festival had been devastating to the foundations and had taken their toll here. After Annas had stood looking at the crack for a short while, a familiar voice suddenly sounded behind him.

"Yes, that doesn't look good." We can't go there for the time being.'

Annas turned and looked into the serious face of Matthias, his second son.

'Matthias! Good to see you. Since when has the entrance been closed? And how extensive is the damage inside?'

'We think it was caused by the second quake early this morning. The priests on duty on Sabbath couldn't remember seeing the crack before. But we can't be certain. It could also have been caused by the great quake of Passover.'

Annas stared at the enormous crack. Meanwhile, Matthias continued:

'The damage inside is even greater. Part of the roof has collapsed, and everything is strewn with debris. Moreover, the wall with the priestly council chamber has been knocked off level. That room is also temporarily unusable and closed off.'

Annas was visibly shocked and didn't know how to react for a moment. This was a major setback, yet another one.

"Could it have something to do with…" Annas didn't finish his sentence.

"With what?" Matthias asked.

"No, nothing, never mind."

Annas preferred to keep his doubts to himself and then deny them. If even he, the spiritual leader of the Sanhedrin, was already beginning to doubt, what would happen to the rest of the people? As he continued to stare at the crack, his thoughts drifted to the great earthquake of the Passover, which had caused enormous cracks in the temple building itself. The pillars of the great curtain before the Holy of Holies had shaken so violently that the curtain had been torn in half from top to bottom. Annas sighed at the thought of the simple linen cloth that had been hung in its place, so that the Holy of Holies was once again shielded from all unauthorized priestly eyes. Only the high priest was allowed to look into the Holy of Holies once a year. Annas suddenly remembered his search for Caiaphas. But if the council chamber was blocked, then he couldn't be there either.

"Do you know where Caiaphas is, by the way? I've been looking for him all morning," Annas asked Matthias.

"I saw him preparing the morning burnt offering this morning." A little later I saw him walking towards the temple. After that, I didn't see him again.

"So, could he have been in the temple all this time?"

"Perhaps he's in the high priest's purification room."

"I just looked there. He's not there either."

"Then I'd go and look in the temple. Maybe he's still busy there."

"But what then? The morning rituals don't even last half an hour. He should have finished long ago."

(31)

"You have to go into the tomb. Otherwise, you can't see anything."

Vitellius stood bent over, his forearm against the top of the tomb opening and his head in the opening. The pungent smell of myrrh and his memories of the early morning prevented him from entering the tomb. Behind him, Malchus was giving instructions. The garden tomb was now bathed in the bright light of the late morning sun, and it was difficult to make out anything in the darkness of the tomb.

“Please be patient. My eyes need to adjust to the darkness.”

Vitellius thought back to the moment, early in the morning, when that was also necessary to be able to make out anything again. It wasn’t far from where he was now standing. Then he was blinded by flashes of light coming from the hole he was now standing in front of, while the enormous stone still lay in front of it.

“So? Do you see anything yet?” Malchus’s impatient voice sounded behind him.

“I see some linen in the back right corner. That can only mean the body is still there.”

With those words, Vitellius straightened up, turned around, and walked back to Malchus.

He stood waiting for him with his arms crossed, shaking his head.

“No, Vitellius. You won’t get away with it that easily. Perhaps the disciples tried to deceive us by leaving only his linen cloths in the tomb.”

The legionnaire looked at the slave with a mocking look.

"You don't believe that yourself, do you? If his disciples were to steal the body, they certainly wouldn't take the time to remove all those grave clothes. I think that's against Jewish burial customs. And you wouldn't believe what they would encounter if they were to strip the body of its grave clothes. Besides the immense patience required, they would be confronted with their Master's inhumane injuries. Not to mention the risk of being caught and suffering the consequences of their Master's punishment. No, they certainly wouldn't dream of that."

"Perhaps you're right. But the high priest wants complete certainty about the body's presence in the tomb. A cursory glance from the opening won't suffice."

"We can say we inspected the tomb, can't we?"

Vitellius looked into Malchus's serious eyes. Disgust was evident in them. Lying was clearly not in the nature of this faithful slave.

“The soldiers we just saw at the tomb were braver than you,” Malchus remarked dryly.

“They didn’t go through the terrible experiences I had to go through this morning either. You have no idea what that was like.”

“Yes, I did. You just told me all about it.”

“You didn’t experience the chilling atmosphere. You know nothing about it. Why don’t you go in yourself?”

“I just explained. Entering the tomb would make me unclean for seven days. During that time, I would be unfit for palace service.”

Vitellius sighed. He glanced briefly in the direction of the rolled-away stone, as if to make sure the terrifying figure from that morning was truly gone. Without another word, he walked back to the tomb’s opening, stooped, and stepped inside.

“You must search the entire tomb, all the burial chambers,” Malchus called after him.

"Just keep an eye on the surroundings. If you see anything or anyone approaching, shout immediately," Vitellius' voice boomed from the grave.

After entering the tomb, Vitellius remained crouched. The space was too low for him to stand upright. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, faster than his nose had adjusted to the sweaty, smoky smell of the aloe and myrrh mixture that rose from the grave cloths and that, after a few days, had completely saturated the atmosphere in the tomb. As Vitellius looked around, he tried to breathe as calmly as possible. Had it really only been a day since he had stood like this? Along with other soldiers of the guard, he had, on the orders of the Jewish council, checked the tomb for the presence of the body. It was now a day later, and everything still seemed the same. To the left of the central chamber was a straight wall that extended to the rear. To the right were three burial chambers. In fact, they were three flat spaces, slightly below the level of the central chamber. In the rear chamber, he could still see the white linen.

Then a shock ran through Vitellius, resembling his frightening experiences of that morning. Suddenly, he saw that something had indeed changed. The linen grave cloths lay flat on the ground, as if the body had disappeared without being unwrapped. For a moment, he felt the urge to leave the tomb as quickly as possible. But he knew Malchus would demand that he examine the cloths. Vitellius overcame his fear and forced himself to walk, hunched over, toward the linen cloths.

Slowly but surely, he approached the cloths. Very carefully, he touched the edge of the outer cloth with his hand. In the dim light of the tomb, he saw that underneath lay a large linen cloth, which served as a kind of bed. He knelt down and carefully stroked the empty linen covering. Directly beneath the linen, he felt the stone floor of the burial chamber. His heart pounded in his throat. Gently, he ran his hand over the grave cloths, all the way to where the head had lain. The cloths felt somewhat thicker there. Apparently, several face cloths had been used. He also saw at the head end that the body had been wrapped in two separate cloths, the inner one of linen and the outer one of a gossamer-fine fabric, which at first he couldn't even see or feel. It looked like spiderwebs, but when he tried to tear it, it proved as strong as his "Lorica hamata," his armor woven with iron rings.

His eyes scanned the still life in the grave several times. The cloths were still completely intact. Only, there was no body inside them. Vitellius was stunned. He recalled the events of the previous night. The flashes of light came back to him, and he wondered if they could have anything to do with the Rabbi's missing body. Vitellius experienced something he couldn't believe, and he wanted to be sure he had observed it correctly. So he pressed firmly on the cloths a few more times. But all he felt was the flat, hard, rocky floor of the grave.

Utterly bewildered, he stared at the flat cloths with wide open eyes. Could he believe his senses? Was this real? Was that figure from last night real? Or was he trapped in a grim, nightmarish dream? Frustrated by the utterly unfathomable and ominous situation he encountered, Vitellius slapped himself hard across the face. A little too hard, because his ear began to ring. He didn't wake up. He was still on his knees, bent over empty burial cloths that should have contained the body of a crucified man.

The seasoned legionnaire was angry because he couldn't make sense of it. A body that had been scourged to pieces and bled from over a hundred wounds. A head adorned with dozens of sharp thorns. The gaping wounds of the crucifixion. Those cloths had been intimately attached to the body in countless places. And those cloths still formed the same wrapping, as if the body were still inside. But it wasn't! This was inexplicable. But he and his companions would be held accountable because they happened to be keeping watch. Countless questions raced through Vitellius's mind. What had happened here? Where had the Rabbi gone? What could they have done to prevent this? Why had he gotten involved? He seemed to be going mad. Furious, he began to frantically beat the grave cloths with his strong soldierly fists, from head to toe and back again, until his hands went numb. Nothing but hard rock. And something else. His hands became moist with the balm that oozed out here and there between the grave cloths from his thorough inspection.

Vitellius straightened up. He rubbed the balm into his hands and forearms and backed away slightly. He scanned the entire grave with his eyes, as if he expected the body to be in one of the other burial chambers. But wherever he looked, there was no body to be seen. The tomb was empty. All he could see was a piece of cloth, neatly folded, separate from the burial cloths, in one of the other burial chambers. He grasped the cloth with both hands and saw that it was woven of the same kind of silky, coarsely woven, translucent material as the covering of the large linen cloth. He unfolded the cloth and held it out at arm's length, against the light of the tomb's opening, so that the light from outside shone through. What he saw then nearly made his blood run cold. At the same time, Malchus' panic-filled voice sounded from outside.

"Vitellius, come out quickly!"

 

(32)

"Devarim, Shophetim, the eighth set of commandments? Did you say that? Well, look it up. Right now!"

His uncle shouted those last words across the room. And yet they were completely unnecessary. The children always immediately looked up all the passages he assigned, and Saraf especially so. The atmosphere in the group grew increasingly tense. Some children were overwhelmed and shuffled their feet nervously. With his practiced hands, Saraf passed the scroll through his tallit and soon had the passage before him. With his uncle opposite him, on the other side of the room, he read the words he had just quoted:

"I will raise up for them a Prophet from among their brothers, like you. I will put My words in His mouth, and He will speak to them everything I command Him. And whoever does not listen to My words that He speaks in My name, I will require an accounting from him."

"Good," his uncle sneered. "Good read. Now read on."

Saraf paused. His eyes already darted forward to see what it said. His uncle stood impatiently, his arms behind his back, swaying on his feet. Then Saraf read:

“But the prophet who acts presumptuously by speaking a word in My name that I have not commanded him to speak, or who speaks in the name of other gods, that prophet shall die.”

Sarah hadn’t finished reading when his uncle shouted over the top with the following question:

“And what else? Is there nothing more about a prophet?”

Sarah’s eyes scanned the text while his uncle still swayed on both feet. Again, his uncle’s voice boomed:

“The context, Saraf. How many times do I have to tell you to read everything in context!” it sounded accusingly.

Sarah grew increasingly agitated and discovered new passages about the prophet.

“And? Have we covered everything about the prophet now?”

“No.”

“Well, read on then!” his uncle’s voice boomed.

Saraf hurried to read the rest of the verse.

“If you say in your heart, ‘How can we know the word the Lord has not spoken?’ When a prophet speaks in the name of the Lord, and it does not happen or come to pass, that is a word the Lord has not spoken. The prophet spoke it in arrogance; do not be afraid of him.”

“Exactly,” his uncle said, his voice like one who has his opponent completely entrenched. “And do you know what that Rabbi of Nazareth, whom you so highly praise, predicted two years ago around Passover?”

“No.”

“He would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days,” his uncle thundered at Saraf, as if Saraf had spoken those words himself.

“And what has come of it?” his uncle raged.

Sarah remained silent. Once again, all the children held their breath.

“Matilda, what happened to that?”

The girl was startled, because her uncle was standing right behind her. She had to recover from the shock for a moment and then said:

“Yes… Nothing.”

“Exactly, nothing!” her uncle immediately rolled over.

“Maria, what happened to the Rabbi’s prediction?”

Maria was silent. She stared straight ahead with a look of indignation and sorrow. Her uncle slowly walked toward her, and in a menacing voice, he asked:

“So, Maria… what happened to that prediction?” He stopped right in front of her and swayed on his feet.

Slowly, her gaze rose in his direction, and without blinking, she asked:

“Is it really necessary to continue this discussion here? Can’t we just go back to the part from earlier this morning?”

For a moment, her uncle was thrown off balance by so much female common sense. But he immediately recovered and hissed through his teeth:

"No, Maria. That's not possible. Our Saraf prevents that with his homage to the crucified Rabbi. We must use Scripture first and foremost to set this erring soul straight. Didn't you perhaps listen to what was just read? How we should deal with false prophets? There, I've answered your question. And now you're answering my question. Again! What has actually become of the Rabbi's prophecy about the temple?'

The word 'temple' sounded so loud it almost echoed through the room. Maria didn't flinch from Uncle's wit and with a downcast gaze and a sigh, she replied:

'Nothing.'

'Very well, Maria,' it suddenly sounded cloyingly sweet.

Uncle turned on his heel back to Saraf and asked with a triumphant tone:

'So, Saraf, how did the—prophet—' Uncle uttered this word with hesitation and contempt, 'of Nazareth speak? You can add: He spoke in…?'

Saraf looked with a mixture of gratitude and compassion at Maria, who stared at the ground with a dejected and distant expression. She had stood up for him, but had been proven wrong by Uncle in full view of the entire group. The moment had come for Saraf to back off and no longer take his uncle seriously. He accepted the risk of another confrontation. He knew exactly what his uncle expected of him with his fill-in-the-blank exercise, but he refused to go along with it. He decided to play dumb and replied:

"He spoke in? In what? I don't understand what you're getting at."

"You understand me perfectly!" his uncle responded in furious indignation. "A prophet whose word doesn't come true hasn't spoken a word from the Lord and has spoken in…? And remember, you tell me exactly how that prophet spoke. Now? He spoke in…?"

Saraf's gaze slid from Maria over the heads of the other children to Matilda and Ruben. They were both watching him with wide eyes, filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Saraf decided to wait a moment before unleashing his next weapon in this battle. He forced himself to relax and looked at his uncle silently with a confident gaze. The teacher and the boy stood facing each other in silence. Who could maintain his silence the longest? The boy had the image of the great Master he had just met in his mind, and that gave him great strength. The uncle had wasted a great deal of breath on his speech and used the moment of silence to replenish his oxygen. Air flowed audibly in and out of his nostrils. The oppressive silence increased the tension in the group. The children hardly dared to look at each other. A little girl began to cry.

(33)

For the fourth time that morning, Annas walked along the slope of the altar of burnt offering. Several priests were slowly ascending with some difficulty, carrying the parts of a burnt offering that would be consumed in smoke on the altar. He stopped and looked up the slope at the enormous altar to see if Caiaphas was anywhere there. The smoke obscured the rear of the square platform. He saw only white robes and caught no glimpse of the colorful ephod that was part of Caiaphas's high priestly attire. He continued on, ignoring the sacrificial sites, and walked all the way to the north side of the forecourt, where the washing room was located. This room was directly opposite the room of the hewn stones. Annas had determined that the latter room would be inaccessible for a long time due to the earthquakes, and that another room had to be found for the Sanhedrin's meetings. This had to be done quickly, as he wanted to reach a joint decision before sunset regarding the Roman soldiers and their disturbing reports.

Upon entering the washing room, Annas encountered an atmosphere of great activity. He immediately realized that it would not be easy to clear this space for a Sanhedrin meeting on short notice. Due to the enormous influx of pilgrims and their voluntary offerings, almost all the washing basins were in use by priests, who were busy immersing the sacrificial pieces that needed to be washed and removing any dirt and blood. The basins that were not in use were undergoing a thorough cleaning. With a few glances around the room, Annas had seen enough. They certainly couldn't go there for the remaining days of the festival, as the influx of offerings would continue until the end of the Season of Unleavened Bread and only then would they subside. He figured this room might be of some use in the long run, as it was roughly the same size as the Room of the Hewn Stones, where they had been meeting for years. But for today, he concluded, another solution had to be found.

Annas walked straight through the washing room to the other side, passing all the activity of cleaning legs and entrails. When he asked some of the priests if they had seen Caiaphas, only heads were shaken. He came to a door at the back of the room. When he opened it, over eighty young women stared at him. Annas felt embarrassed and closed the door as quickly as possible. He had momentarily overlooked the fact that the thick curtain of the veil was currently being repaired by diligent women in the curtain room so that it could be hung back in place as quickly as possible. He considered that the accessibility of this room for women meant that it was not part of the inner court. His conclusion was that this room was therefore not suitable as a meeting room for the Sanhedrin.

Back outside, Annas immediately turned right towards the gatehouse where he had bathed that morning. The first door he passed was locked, and so was the next. Annas knew these were the doors to the salt room and the hide room. Because they were locked, it would take some effort to assess their suitability as a council chamber. He would first have to return to the gatehouse, where he had bathed, to retrieve the keys. They hung in the central room of that building in a large bundle on a chain under a large marble tile. Annas didn't allow himself time to inspect the locked rooms at this point and decided to search for Caiaphas first in the temple. He crossed the forecourt diagonally, passing the area where the Bikkurim ritual was still in full swing. It had become even more crowded. Long lines formed before the priests, and many pilgrims lay with their limbs spread out in adoration. Annas's eyes traveled from the priests and pilgrims up the twelve steps of the staircase toward the colossal temple portal, whose gold shone in the light of the late morning sun. Annas approached from the northeast, and the sun made the gold shine brilliantly.

Suddenly, he was blinded. The sun's light shone through the temple portal directly into the old priest's eyes, and for a moment everything went dark. To his great dismay, the terrifying shadow of his nighttime dream world fell upon him once again, completely unexpectedly. A raging fear seized his mind, and he struggled to remain standing. With his hands over his eyes, he tried to look into the glare, but for a moment, his vision remained black. Very slowly, he could make out something. In the distance, he heard several pilgrims muttering the spell about their lost Aramaic ancestor and Egypt. In the fantasy of his dream world, it sounded like menacing and frightening mutterings, as if a terrible curse were being pronounced upon him from countless throats. With all the willpower he could muster, he forced himself to conjure up the image of the high priest's garments, the one he sought, and with it, to suppress the terrors of his dream world. His heart pounded furiously in his chest.

Looking into the golden light of the reflected sun, his eyes registering only vague outlines, he inched closer to the twelve steps of the enormous staircase. He struggled to avoid stepping on the prostrate bodies of the worshipping pilgrims. The short distance to the stairs seemed endless. Finally, he was there. However, the obstacles weren't over, because the stairs were filled with richly filled baskets containing the Bikkurim offerings. With all the strength he had left, he climbed the uneven steps. His eyesight was still poor, and he counted the steps: three short and one long—three short—that's where it went wrong. Because of his limited vision, he kicked a basket, which toppled over. All the olives gathered inside flowed down the stairs, dancing. Annas heard a raised voice behind him but kept walking. He didn't want to be found in this condition at the temple. He counted the remaining steps: one long—three short. With the last of his strength, he managed to reach the platform at the top of the stairs. It took a tremendous effort to keep the heavy curtain aside as he entered the temple's enormous vestibule.

With his back against the wall, he stood for a moment, panting in the flickering torchlight. He felt insignificant beneath the vast expanse that stretched above him. His vision still hadn't fully returned, and besides, he'd just emerged from a sea of sunlight. In the dark temple portal, he could barely make out anything. But he knew where he was. If he could look up, he would see the heavy beams that connected the walls, climbing at regular intervals one above the other to the immensely high roof of the portal. From the roof, he would see ropes hanging down the walls for the priests who had to carry out the maintenance work. But Caiaphas couldn't and didn't dare look up or even take a step. The fear of dizziness forced him to constantly look down and to cling desperately to the doorpost.

When he regained some strength and began to move again, his fears overwhelmed him once more. The image of the high priest's robes faded. Instead, in his imagination, he saw the enormous stairs of the temple complex rising ever higher and higher to dizzyingly elevated chambers. At the enormous height of the temple portal, he was completely swallowed up by his dream world. His fears pulled him to the ground, and with his arms and legs spread out, breathing heavily and sweating from every pore, he lay face down on the cool temple floor, in the same position as the pilgrims he had just seen lying before the temple steps.

 

(34)

As he hurried outside, Vitellius paid more attention to what was happening in the garden than to the height of the tomb opening. As a result, he struck his head sharply. A throbbing pain penetrated his consciousness. He just saw Malchus duck behind a hedge of conifers that stood perpendicular to the rock face to his right. Rubbing his scalp in anguish for a few seconds, Vitellius looked around to see where the danger was coming from. From the direction of the path to Golgotha, he saw a group of about five men slowly approaching. In the brief moment he allowed himself, he saw that they were wearing faded, worn cloaks. He concluded that they belonged to the common people. But whoever they were, given his record that day, he had no desire for confrontation.

Vitellius briefly considered ducking again. But it was almost inevitable that he had already been spotted by the approaching group. He quickly arranged his equipment and retrieved the three wooden signs with the tituli from the grass, where he had left them for a while. Then he set off along a path that led from the tomb towards a field of vines. After a short time, he walked among the vines. Because it was almost noon, he didn't notice that he had also walked there early that morning.

When he was far enough away from the tomb, he crouched down. With watchful eyes just above the vine leaves, he watched the group of men walk toward the tomb. He considered for the third time that morning what he should do. He had very valuable information. But he knew that the relief guard also possessed it. The priests would undoubtedly request the relief's findings from the Roman authorities. So he couldn't use the information as bargaining chip. For the same reason, he understood that it would be pointless to pretend the body was still there and nothing had happened. He realized that the missing body saddled him and his comrades with a huge blame from which they could not possibly be absolved. The only thing they could do was demonstrate unwavering loyalty to the priests' cause.

With that thought in mind, he crept back through the garden toward the tomb. However, he didn't want to be spotted by the unknown group of men, so he made a detour. Creeping through the vines, he crossed another path that ran along the edge of the garden. On the outside of it stood olive trees as tall as a man, with a stone wall behind them. With great difficulty, he squeezed between the wall and the bushes and slowly approached, from the opposite side of the tomb, the hedge of conifers behind which he had seen Malchus disappear. When he finally reached the hedge, Malchus was nowhere to be seen. Searching with his eyes, he walked back and forth along the hedge several times. No trace of Malchus could be found under the hedge either.

Vitellius was unwilling to walk back to the high priest's palace on his own and remained there for a while, looking around the hedge. Malchus remained missing, and he decided to search further afield. He crept between the hedge and the rock face, heading towards the tomb. On the other side of the hedge, he saw Malchus standing near the opening of the tomb. Malchus was bent over. It was clear he was listening intently. Vitellius immediately understood the situation. The group of men had entered the tomb, and Malchus was eavesdropping on them. Suddenly, he saw Malchus jump up and run back to the conifer hedge. He had barely squeezed through the wall and the hedge when Vitellius saw the group of men emerge from the tomb one by one. Vitellius walked over to Malchus, who was standing with his forearms resting on his thighs, panting.

"Do you think they saw me?" Malchus whispered, panting, his gaze fixed on the ground.

"I don't think so. You disappeared between the hedge and the wall just in time," Vitellius whispered back.

For a moment, they remained silent. Malchus was recovering from his sprint, and Vitellius looked through the hedge at the group of unknown men.They walked along the path he himself had just walked toward the vines. Vitellius watched them until they entered the vines.

“Well?” he asked Malchus. “Did you learn anything?”

Malchus nodded. “Do you know who they were?”

“No, I have no idea.”

“They were five of his disciples.”

Vitellius let out a disdainful laugh and said:

“Then he certainly wouldn’t have made the most prominent members of the Jewish people his followers.”

“Make no mistake. These are smart people. Everything indicates that they understand perfectly well how the world works. Only they’ve decided for themselves that they have no interest in the world. If they had decided differently, they could have risen to great heights.”

“What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

“Take the conversation just now. One of them, a certain Simon, claims to have seen Jesus of Nazareth in the flesh. But…’

Malchus stopped abruptly. At the words ‘in the flesh,’ a tremor went through Vitellius’s body, and then Malchus saw that Vitellius was struggling to keep his balance.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

Vitellius was breathing heavily and grabbed the branches of the conifer hedge with his hand. They were too weak to keep him balanced, and he staggered with his full weight in the hedge. With a loud cracking sound, his body sank to the ground. Gasping for breath, he lay on his back under the hedge. He saw the outlines of the tree branches glittering against the bright light of the sky. It was as if he were seeing the same flashes of light he had seen early that morning at the tomb. He himself was completely baffled by what was happening. It was as if he had lost control of his limbs and could no longer move them. Everything seemed just as it had been at dawn, when the heavenly being appeared. The moment he realized this, a panic seized him. He realized he was near the spot where this being had begun speaking with the women, and he suddenly felt the overwhelming power of his presence again.

With his eyes wide open, Vitellius saw Malchus bend over him and address him. But he could not hear him. Nor did he feel the pats Malchus gave him on the cheeks. He saw Malchus' hand move to his chest, but felt nothing. He only felt his heart pounding like a madman. Vitellius was almost certain his final moments had come.

 

(35)

“In arrogance!” Saraf’s uncle roared, slamming his palm on the table where the Torah scroll lay unrolled near the offending Scripture. With this, he answered his own question about the Prophet’s actions. Saraf hadn't said the word, and that was a victory for him. But his uncle continued his war of words.

"A prophet whose prediction doesn't come true acts with arrogance!" his uncle repeated again, so that his opinion of the Rabbi of Nazareth would be clear to all the children and that it would sink in that this opinion was supported by the Torah. But the children knew that Saraf hadn't said the word, and that his uncle hadn't reached the boy's heart. With that, they also knew that the war would continue. The tension rose further when his uncle launched the next attack.

"I'll tell you about the Nazarene's arrogance! The temple took forty-six years to build, and in three days He would raise it up: arrogance! To sweep the entire temple court clean and cruelly disrupt Passover commerce: arrogance." Filling the temple court with insults directed at members of the Sanhedrin: "arrogance."

With every exclamation of the word "arrogance," his uncle slammed the table with his palm, near Saraf's Torah scroll. For a moment, Saraf feared his scroll would roll off the table, but it lay quite stable on the "mappah." He held himself together and didn't focus on his uncle's swatting hand. Instead, he looked at the children's faces. He saw how they were suffering from the escalating dispute between him and his uncle. Here and there, he saw tears. Even in Matilda's, and even in Ruben, who always held his ground. He saw Maria struggling to hold back tears, but he didn't have time to wait for her eyes to meet his again. His uncle began to reprimand him.

"Look at me! I'm talking to you. Then you have the decency to look at me. What else do you want to know?" About the Rabbi's arrogance, whom you follow like a foolish sheep!'

Saraf obeyed and met the fierce gaze of his thundering uncle.

'Arrogance! Everything he did and said was arrogance. Before the Sanhedrin, he testified that they would see Him at the right hand of power and coming with the clouds of heaven. And what came of it? Well? Matilda, what came of the right hand of power and the clouds of heaven? Matilda?'

The only effect of mentioning her name was that her silent tears turned into loud sobs. Uncle frowned disdainfully and said:

“Perhaps your little brother knows more. Reuben, what became of the right hand of power and the clouds of heaven?”

Reuben was baffled; he could only shrug silently. Uncle’s pronouncements were far beyond the children’s level. His rage was a true torture for them. The only thing they gathered from it was an enormous hatred for the Rabbi of Nazareth and for everyone who identified with Him.

“Your Rabbi acted in arrogance. His pronouncements came to nothing. I stood there when the priests shouted at Him: ‘You who destroy the temple and build it in three days, come down from the cross!’”

Uncle waited a moment for Saraf’s response. When he didn’t, he continued.

“Even hanging there, He could have still fulfilled His pretenses—by coming down from the cross. But nothing of the sort. We know how it ended. And why did it end like this, Maria?”

Saraf saw her gaze shift towards his uncle with a mixture of indignation and sadness. All she did was shrug her shoulders, just like Matilda. Saraf felt a deep sense of pity for her well up inside him. His uncle let out a contemptuous laugh as he said,

“The children clearly don’t know their Torah yet. Well, Saraf, you tell me. Why did it end like this with the Rabbi of Nazareth?”

This time, Saraf really didn’t understand what his uncle was getting at, and he too shrugged.

“You just read it!”

Saraf looked at his Torah scroll.

“Do you see it? Yes?”

It took a moment for Saraf to see which part his uncle meant.

“Do you see it yet?”

His uncle came to stand right behind him and looked over his shoulder. Because Saraf was wielding the yad, his uncle could see exactly what he was aiming at.

“I see you’ve already found it. Read it again!”

Saraf cleared his throat and in a monotone voice read his passage:

“But the prophet who acts presumptuously by speaking a word in My name that I have not commanded him to speak, or who speaks in the name of other gods, that prophet will die.”

“Right, Saraf! So why did the Rabbi of Nazareth die, Saraf?”

Saraf began to realize that his uncle was trying to get him to say the same word in a new way and immediately decided that he would never say that about the Rabbi of Nazareth. In fact, he realized that he could never say it about Him. Even if they gave him forty lashes minus one. He also considered whether the moment had now come to throw his weapon into the fray. He looked at the children, all staring at the ground, fervently wishing for this exegetical clash of arms to be over. He knew the moment had come. It came faster than he could have imagined, faster than he himself would have liked. But now he had to play out his secret. Saraf's deliberations were taking far too long for his uncle, and he bellowed:

"Now, Saraf. Did I hear anything? What did you just read? Why did this 'prophet' from Nazareth die?" He said the word "prophet" with the utmost contempt. Saraf slowly let his gaze drift from the children to his uncle and looked him straight in the face for a few moments. Without his experience of that morning, he would never have been able to do this. Then he said, with a determined tone in his voice:

“If—note, I say ‘if’—If the Prophet of Nazareth died because, as the law says, He was overconfident…” Saraf paused. He looked from his uncle back to the children. He saw that they had all long since tuned out and were barely hearing what was being said. So he remained silent and left it to his uncle to rouse them. He didn’t disappoint him.

“Well? Do we still hear it? What are you trying to say? Finish your sentence!”

Saraf watched the children. One by one, they looked up. They sensed a change in the battle. Saraf’s uncle began asking serious questions, questions he didn’t yet know the answer to, rather than fill-in-the-blank questions. Maria was the first to look up. She looked at Saraf questioningly, curious about what he would say next. But Saraf waited a moment to make sure all the children were fully engaged again, including Reuben, one of the youngest. His uncle was taking far too long again, and he walked away from Saraf, stood directly across from him, and repeated his question, swaying on his feet again:

"Apparently, you don't remember what you wanted to say. Back to our topic. The temple construction in three days came to nothing. The Nazarene was crucified. So what's the conclusion? How did he speak?"

After the eloquent summary his uncle had just given of the discussion, all the children grasped the essence of the conflict again. He could use his secret in the fight. Again, he sounded determined:

"If—note, I say 'if'—If the Prophet from Nazareth died because, as the law says, He was arrogant…’

 

(36)

Lying prostrate in the enormous temple portal, Annas heard a voice. The voice echoed and seemed to come from the dizzying heights above him.

‘Look! Here in the portal lies a lost pilgrim.’

The tone of the voice and the content of the words immediately brought Annas back down to earth. As if by magic, his nighttime dream world, which had overwhelmed him, vanished. The voice belonged to his son Jonathan. And with that voice, the high priestly garments he had been searching for came back to him. Slowly, Annas rose to his feet, and while he was still a little unsteady on his feet, Jonathan asked him:

“Father, what were you doing here, slumped over the ground?”

Annas pretended not to hear the question and immediately asked, “Caiaphas, I’m looking for him! Have you seen Caiaphas?”

Jonathan had to process for a moment that his question was being completely ignored in a situation that demanded some explanation. But the look of cool determination in his father’s eyes helped him overcome it, and he answered.

“Um, yes, he’s inside, in the Holy Place.”

“So, what’s he doing in the Holy Place all this time?”

This question sounded too similar to the one the father had just ignored. It provoked resistance in the son, who asked:

“But may I first know what you were doing here, slumped over the ground?”

The dark expressions exchanged by the priests at that moment were obscured by the dim light of the portal. Jonathan was the first to break the silence. In a flat tone, he said:

“The western lamp is out.”

As he spoke, he continued to look intently at his father. The raising of his eyebrows betrayed the dismay the grim news stirred in him. And Annas exclaimed:

“Again? How can that be? We used eternal altar fire to relight it after the Passover earthquake.”

Annas’s voice echoed through the vast room. Jonathan glanced around. He noted, to his relief, that no one else was present. He looked at his father again, a hint of rebuke in his eyes. But he dared not comment. Instead, he explained the situation further:

“It was out this morning. We don’t know why. And we’ve been trying all morning to get it back on.” Nothing works.'

Annas became angry again and raised his voice:

'How do you do it?! He always burns for a whole day, on oil for one night. He cannot and may not go out! It is eternal fire, fire of the Eternal!'

Jonathan wasn't looking forward to a basic lesson in the fundamentals of the priesthood. But instead of reacting angrily, he offered some more information:

'Caiaphas has been busy all morning with oil jars and fire from various wicks and hearths.'

'The oil? Is the oil pure?'

'Pure olive oil. It couldn't be purer.'

'And which wicks and hearths do you mean? Are you in your right mind? You know what happened to Nadab and Abihu!'

When the hollow tone of Annas's raised voice had subsided, Jonathan tried again to de-escalate the conversation and said:

'Don't worry. We certainly won't be struck by holy fire from heaven this morning. We only used wicks and hearths from the altar, all lit with the original fire. The fire lit by the Eternal Himself when Aaron was consecrated as high priest in the desert.

There was a moment of silence as the old man breathed sharply through his nose. Jonathan understood that this was not a good sign. And that was immediately apparent when the old man exclaimed indignantly:

"You don't need to give me a history lesson, Jonathan. Every child fresh from its mother's milk knows where the altar fire comes from."

Jonathan didn't know how to respond and wisely kept his mouth shut. His father continued his interrogation, asking:

"But if it was out, then the two easternmost lamps weren't lit either? Then the lampstand is completely out? All seven lamps? Tell me I'm dreaming, Jonathan." Am I in a nightmare?’

Again, his voice echoed through the colossal room, and he pinched himself so hard and so long that Jonathan suspected his entire arm would turn blue for a week. He urged his father to calm down again.

‘Just calm down. The candlestick was out during Passover, and we got it lit again. We’ll manage that now, too.’

‘Then reassure me! Are the two easternmost lamps still burning?’

Jonathan sighed and waited a moment until his father’s voice had faded.

‘Come, Father. You know yourself that only the western lamp, as the lamp closest to the Holy of Holies, carries the miracle of His Presence, and that only that lamp burns a full day on the oil for just one night. All other lamps are always out in the morning.

“His Holy Presence, with its miracle in this unfortunate matter, might extend to lamps further away from Him!”

The words of criticism directed at the Almighty, who was worshipped in the temple, were uttered by the old priest in a mixture of helplessness, disappointment, and despair. Jonathan was startled by these words and searched for words to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“I have fire here from the gate of the flame. That is the ultimate fire, kept constantly burning. With that, it will surely succeed.”

“You don’t have to tell me what the gate of the flame means! I’m more than tired of this discussion. Can I finally see for myself what’s going on?”

While his words still echoed through the room, he turned and walked decisively toward the enormous golden door that stood open to the Holy Place. Jonathan didn't have a chance to answer, and his eyes rolled from his father to the gigantic golden cluster of grapes that hung above the gate to the Holy Place. With the fire from the chamber of the flame, he followed his father into the Holy Place.

(37)

Vitellius's breathing gradually returned to a calmer pace. It seemed as if the steel grip that held his body captive was gradually loosening. He felt his physical strength gradually returning. In the distance, Malchus's voice began to reach him. He did nothing but bend over him, calling his name. Every now and then, Vitellius felt a sharp slap in the face. The moment he could move his arms again, he rolled onto his side with great effort and then crawled slightly upward. Sitting forward on his hands and knees, he managed to fully catch his breath. It took a moment before he mustered the courage to stand again.

"What happened to you?" Malchus asked when they were standing side by side again.

Vitellius shook his head. He didn't have the strength to verbalize the mysterious attack on his body. Moreover, he wanted to leave the garden as quickly as possible, and he pointed with his arm toward the path leading to the vines. Malchus nodded understandingly and walked ahead of Vitellius through the grass. Through the vines, they soon reached an exit from the garden. A narrow path led to the main road, not far from the city wall. A little further on lay a huge pile of cedar logs, deposited there for construction work in the north of the city.

"Shall we sit there for a moment?" Malchus asked.

Vitellius nodded. Together they walked to the enormous logs and sat on them. They had a magnificent view of the stream of pilgrims, which, though thinner compared to that morning, had still not completely dried up. They sat silently, watching the procession of singing, flutes, and passing fruit. Malchus was the first to speak again:

“Are you feeling any better?”

Vitellius made a pained face. The situation in the garden was particularly embarrassing for him. He had never lost control of his body before. And that morning it had happened twice already, without him understanding why. He preferred not to talk about it. But he appreciated Malchus’s sympathy and replied:

“Yes, I’m feeling much better already. I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

“It seems to have something to do with the Rabbi’s tomb,” Malchus remarked, hoping to keep Vitellius talking.

“I’m sure of it,” Vitellius replied, grateful for the support of an important slave of the priests.

“Was this just like what you felt early this morning when the stone was rolled away?”

Vitellius thought for a moment before answering. Then he said:

“There was a difference. This morning, fear was more dominant, which made my physical condition less noticeable. I felt gripped by a sudden, intense panic. But now that I think back, I had the same feeling of gasping for breath and bodily functions shutting down, causing me to lie flat on the ground, just like before.”

“But just now, when we were standing in the garden talking about his disciples, there was no fear.”

“Not at first. But then you said something, and suddenly I was overcome by that same feeling of utter weakness as early this morning. What did you say again?”

Malchus had to think back to the conversation. Suddenly he remembered and looked at Vitellius with a smile.

“I remember. But I don’t know if I should say it. You’ll be lying here gasping for breath again.”

Vitellius smiled back. And said:

“That’s a risk we’ll just have to take.” I am too curious about the words that provoked my violent reaction.'

Malchus looked straight at Vitellius, waited a moment and suddenly said:

“One of the disciples, a certain Simon, claims to have seen Jesus of Nazareth in the flesh.”

Vitellius briefly considered pretending to lose control of his body again. But the moment for that quickly passed. Besides, he himself found it rather silly. He had never been good at fooling others. He was too serious for it. So he remained silent for the entire time while he let the words sink in. Then he said:

“That fits exactly with what I saw in the tomb.”

“Did his body disappear?”

Vitellius nodded. “And not as you would think it had disappeared if it had been stolen,” he said cryptically.

“What do you mean?” Malchus asked uncertainly.

Vitellius looked intently at Malchus and said:

“The grave cloths were all still in their place, completely intact, as if it were an empty cocoon.”

“You mean they’re still in their place, folded double, as if they were still around the body?”

“Exactly.”

Malchus’s eyes widened and he said: “But how can that be? That’s impossible.”

“Yet it is,” Vitellius said matter-of-factly. “Here, smell this,” he said, holding his forearms under Malchus’ nose.

“Aloes and myrrh, the scent of balsam. So that’s what I’ve been smelling ever since you went into that tomb.”

“You don’t know how hard I’ve been pounding on those cloths to make sure there really wasn’t anyone left inside. This was the only thing that seeped out between the cloths.

"The body wasn't in a different place in the tomb?"

"I think I looked around ten times, but those cloths were the only thing to be found in that entire tomb."

"Could it be that the disciples stole the body and put the cloths back in the same way?"

"Impossible. Believe me. That body had been so severely beaten that it must have bled almost completely dry after those few hours on the cross. I've said before that it would have been a terrible job for his disciples to remove the cloth from his body with all that clotted blood. Especially with all that ointment, it would have become a messy, filthy mess. It could never have been restored to order, let alone turned into a nice, untouched cocoon again. Impossible."

"But Vitellius. It must have happened that way." There's no other possibility. The body couldn't have gone up in smoke.'

'But Malchus, didn't you just tell me that his disciples were telling each other they'd seen Him alive again?'

Malchus pursed his lips and sighed.

'It was the words that knocked me down, remember?' said Vitellius.

For a while, Malchus sat thoughtfully, staring into space. Then he said:

'They said that, of course, to deceive us.'

'Oh, so they knew you were eavesdropping?'

'No, of course not. I've been hiding all this time.'

'But how can they deceive you if they don't even know you're eavesdropping?'

Malchus didn't respond to that. For a moment, he remained silent again and stared at the pilgrims passing by. Vitellius noticed that Malchus wasn't pleased with their discoveries that morning. And he understood why. This affected the interests of the established order, to which the slave had belonged for years. He himself wasn't happy about it either, because this could mean death for him. The body was gone because they had fled. But now that he thought back to his discovery, he wondered if this was really the case. In light of his discovery that morning, was it right for him to keep blaming himself for the missing body? The body couldn't possibly have been stolen. From the way the cloths lay there, he could only conclude that it had disappeared in a mysterious, almost supernatural way. This wasn't a theft. This was a miracle. But then they couldn't be held responsible. And not only the grave cloths pointed to a miracle, but also the rolled-away stone. That couldn't possibly have been the work of a group of disciples. Suddenly, Vitellius burst out laughing.

"I don't know what there is to laugh about," said Malchus, shifting his gaze from the pilgrims to Vitellius.

Vitellius laughed loudly, and between fits of laughter, he said:

"Suddenly I see that handful of disciples, that small, miserable band of simple craftsmen from this morning, lugging that gigantic, leaden tombstone, rolling it, blade by blade, twenty yards into the garden through shoulder-high grass, thereby creating the impression of a miracle."

Vitellius' laughter was infectious, and Malchus couldn't help laughing along, though much less enthusiastically.

"I'm glad, anyway, that you've recovered enough from your fall among those conifers to laugh again," said Malchus.

Suddenly, the smile disappeared from Vitellius' face. He looked serious and sat up, startled.

“I’ve forgotten something very important,” he said, worried.

 

(38)

“If—note, I say ‘if’—If the Prophet from Nazareth died because, as the law says, He had been arrogant…”

Again, Saraf stopped himself. He knew he had to say what he had planned, but he glanced around the circle of children to see if everyone was paying attention.

“You’re repeating yourself, Saraf. We’ve heard this before,” his uncle remarked mockingly, as he swayed triumphantly on his feet.

Saraf saw that all eyes were on him, practically watching the words come out of his mouth. The children’s hearts were burning with curiosity about what Saraf had to say.

“If—note, I say ‘if’—if the Prophet of Nazareth died because, as the law says, He was arrogant, by what virtue was the enormous stone rolled away from His tomb this morning and placed twenty cubits away in the garden tomb?”

Saraf saw several children’s jaws drop in astonishment. Their eyes widened with dismay. Mary looked at him in amazement. His uncle immediately stopped swaying on his feet and stood rooted to the spot. But there was more. Before her uncle had a chance to respond to Saraf’s eyewitness account, he continued:

“And by what virtue did He stand before me, larger than life, and by what virtue did He speak to one of His disciples and to me?”

The children, who had already endured more than enough, and who under normal circumstances would have been unmanageably noisy, all sat perfectly still, at a loss for words. All eyes turned from Saraf to his uncle to see how he would respond to Saraf's words. Only Mary continued to gaze at Saraf with admiration. But Saraf's uncle was just as at a loss as the children. He was completely taken aback by Saraf's words and frantically searched for a way to avoid appearing foolish. But Saraf didn't give him the opportunity, as he continued his argument.

"And if the Prophet from Nazareth died because, as the law says, He was arrogant, on what basis did He prophesy to me that I shouldn't be afraid of what would happen in the temple tomorrow?"

The combination of the words "prophecy" and "temple" gave direction to Saraf's uncle's thinking, and he said as he walked toward Saraf:

"Ha, the 'prophet' from Nazareth 'prophesied' something about the temple again? Well, that will be another disaster tomorrow for this so-called 'prophet' from Nazareth.' The words 'prophet' and 'prophesied' were pronounced with great emphasis.

"We'll see tomorrow for whom it's a disaster," Saraf replied to his uncle's insinuation. But his uncle barely heard what Saraf said, and as he took a seat next to Saraf, he continued his own argument. He stood up proudly and spoke solemnly to the group:

"Yes, children, in case you didn't know: tonight, for the first time in his life, our Saraf will be guarding the temple. And now the Rabbi of Nazareth has foretold him that he shouldn't be frightened." Suddenly, he turned back to Saraf and grunted:

"And what kind of vague predictions are these? That 'something' will happen that you shouldn't be frightened of?" His uncle made grotesque dangers in the air with his hands and paused for a moment. Then he continued.

"Hmm, be careful not to be frightened tomorrow, Saraf. 'Something' is going to happen at the temple!" He exaggerated the emphasis on "something." Uncle tried to steer the discussion back in his direction with amusement. And he succeeded quite well, because one of the children burst out laughing. Saraf said nothing and looked at his uncle sideways with a serious expression.

"Don't be frightened by what's going to happen, Saraf!" his uncle called in Saraf's ear and continued:

"It could be anything, which is why the prophecy always comes true. Perhaps you'll be frightened by a Roman soldier standing guard over Solomon's Gallery, his spear clanging on the marble tiles of the forecourt."

Saph saw that more children were laughing now. Matilda and Ruben, however, looked indignant. And Mary's eyes were also particularly dark. She looked even more beautiful that way, Saraf thought for a moment. But soon his uncle caught his attention again.

"Perhaps you'll be frightened by one of the priests, who'll come to check if you haven't fallen asleep."

His uncle walked away from him again and went to stand in a corner of the room.

"Imagine you fell asleep and got caught. That would be a fright. Beaten with a stick, Saraf!"

Saraf looked from Maria's dark eyes to his uncle's dark gaze. He realized that it was only responding to his last remark about the temple. Meanwhile, his uncle voiced his conclusion aloud:

"Will you be shocked by 'something' in the temple tomorrow? No, Saraf, I don't call that a prophetic word. That's far too general."

Uncle's monologue had given Saraf the opportunity to gather his thoughts, and he said:

"We'll see tomorrow how significant the Rabbi's prophecy is. But I think it's about much more than a Roman soldier or a priest of the guard."

"We'll certainly see, and I'd like to hear what happened, and then I'll accept your apology for your presumptuous attitude during the Scripture reading."

"If it's nothing more than a soldier or a priest, I certainly will. But... what will you do if it turns out there was more going on at the temple?"

Uncle had to think about that for a moment. Then he replied:

"I'm not going to answer that now. We'll have to see first what exactly will happen tomorrow." I'll hear from you at the second Scripture reading this week.'

'I think you'll have heard something long before the second Scripture reading, and not from me.'

'You're stubbornly clinging to the words of that crucified Nazarene, aren't you? You'll regret it, Saraf.'

'I will certainly never regret it in my life. He's not just the Prophet. He's also the Messiah. He's proven it.'

So Saraf had kept quiet about the title 'Messiah,' and it immediately became clear why. His uncle sprinted from his spot in the corner of the room and stopped abruptly, right next to Saraf, and he bellowed:

'So, did He prove it? How did He prove it? Tell me!'

The children were startled by their uncle's impetuous reaction, and they all sat up. Saraf was startled too, but he barely showed it and looked silently into his uncle's snorting face. Then he said:

“You’re asking me questions, but you haven’t answered mine yet.”

With his mouth close to Saraf’s ear, his uncle growled:

“So, Saraf. I haven’t answered your questions. And what questions, Saraf, do you think I still need answered? Could you repeat them one more time, Saraf?”

Again, Saraf was silent for a moment. And then he started again with the same question.

“If—note, I say ‘if’—If the Prophet…”

It became hilarious that Saraf was repeating this phrase for the umpteenth time, and several children burst out laughing, including Maria.

“Silence!” his uncle shouted angrily. He felt that the humorous situation was mocking him. At this, the children tempered their laughter to suppressed chuckles. But that grew louder again when Saraf began again:

“If—note, I say ‘if’—If the Prophet…”

The children burst out laughing again, and Saraf couldn’t suppress a giggle either.

“Enough!” came the angry voice of their uncle. “You don’t have to turn my Scripture reading into a mockery, Saraf, with your stubborn loyalty to the Nazarene!”

To avoid making it even more ridiculous, Saraf skipped his repetition and asked briefly:

“If Jesus of Nazareth had been overconfident, what quality would have caused the enormous stone to be rolled away from his tomb this morning and to lie twenty cubits away in the garden tomb?”

There was a moment of silence. All that time, Saraf’s uncle’s intellect had been working furiously to find a fitting response to Saraf’s testimony. But he couldn't think of anything else but to try and cast doubt on the testimony, and he said:

"And who tells me the tombstone was actually rolled away and is so far from the grave?"

"That's what I'm saying. I saw it with my own eyes. If you don't believe me, go and see the grave yourself. Then you can see for yourself that I'm not lying."

The confidence of Saraf's testimony left his uncle no opportunity but to divert attention to secondary matters, and he responded:

"You're not going to tell me you even touched the grave or the tombstone?! You would have defiled yourself and jeopardized our purity."

"Only I saw it with my own eyes. I didn't touch the grave or the stone with a finger."

"Good, then at least we don't have to worry about that."

However, Saraf didn't let himself be distracted from the main issue and said:

"I still don't have an answer to my question. Because of what quality of Jesus the Nazarene had the stone been rolled away from the tomb?

With bated breath, all the children's eyes were fixed on their uncle, who was feverishly searching for a way out.

 

(39)

At the colossal inner doors of the portal, Annas suddenly stopped. Jonathan, following him, almost bumped into him. Looking up, Annas ran his hand over the mirror-smooth gold of the North Door as he passed. The door covered the entire width of the passageway from the portal to the sanctuary. Although that passageway was 20 cubits high and could contain six adults, standing on each other's shoulders, the space was cozy compared to the 100-cubit-high portal he had just left and the 60-cubit-high sanctuary he was about to enter. Since passing the high priesthood to his son fifteen years earlier, he had become a political strategist. He rarely entered the sanctuary. When he did, he was reminded of his very first visit, when he was still a young priest. The sanctuary had just been completed and looked incomparably magnificent. He had always had a fondness for the magnificent and almost intimate entrance between the two enormous rooms. And with the memory of his younger years, the young priest's conscience, which still lingered deep within his old body, began to speak.

"Jonathan…," said Annas, rubbing the gold with his hand and gazing up past the door.

“Yes, Father, what?”

“Jonathan, with everything that’s been happening around us these last few days, we did the right thing…?”

“What do you mean?”

Evan was silent. Then Jonathan understood his father and said,

“Oh, you mean…?” he struggled to put it into words.

“Annas looked at his son with gold in his eyes. His gaze was serious and affirming.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

There on the threshold of the sanctuary, the most important conversation since Passover was being held, and probably the most important for many decades and even centuries to come.

“But should we have fallen down in worship before Him?”

Annas said nothing. He continued to look at his son gravely and questioningly with dark eyes. Jonathan continued to think aloud:

“With that action of His, we had no other choice but to acknowledge Him and surrender all power to Him, or to crucify Him.” He left us no choice.’

Annas remained silent. He left the reasoning entirely to his son, who continued his answer:

‘I mean: How did He put it again? “Woe to you, blind leaders, who say, ‘If anyone swears by the temple, it is nothing; but if anyone swears by the gold of the temple, he is bound.’ Fools and blind! Which is greater, the gold, or the temple that sanctifies the gold?’ Those were his words.’

‘Yes, and…?’

‘Well, who else but the Eternal could have spoken so boldly and so forcefully to the heart of the leadership? Or are these the words of the greatest charlatan of all time?’

‘But… blind leaders, Jonathan? Are we fools and blind? And doesn’t the gold of the temple reveal the people’s devotion to their God? How can He be so ungrateful?

“Father, watch what you say.”

For a moment the men looked at each other in silence again. Annas cast his gaze thoughtfully upwards along the gold of the door.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Annas agreed. “Was I too bold with the Most High, Jonathan, just now, about the extinguished lamp?”

“A little bold, indeed. But you didn’t misuse His name. You didn’t even say His name.”

“No, we never say His name. But can we misuse His name in other ways?”

Jonathan thought of the enormous wealth that the temple service had brought their priestly family over the years, but he didn’t dare voice the thought.

“Do we attach too much importance to the gold of the temple, Jonathan?” his father asked. But Jonathan was thinking more about the gold they themselves were pocketing. The words of the Rabbi of Nazareth still resonated with his conscience, even though He had been crucified. But Jonathan didn't dare stir that conscience any further. He tried to calm it with cool rationality and said:

"Strange things have indeed happened lately. But should we let circumstances influence us?"

"An interesting perspective, go ahead," his father encouraged him, continuing to gaze upward past the gold.

"I mean, isn't it our duty to keep the annual rhythm of the Temple service, the beating heart of our service to the Almighty, going despite everything that happens around us?"

"That's how I know you! Well said," said Annas, still looking upward.

"Haven't our people and their worship recovered from far greater adversities than an earthquake and the extinguishing of a lamp?"

"Yes, go ahead. Which ones?" asked Annas, turning his gaze back to his son.

“The desolating horror.”

“Of Antiochus Epiphanes?”

“Yes. Can you imagine anything worse than the Temple being defiled for over three years with a statue of the Greek god Zeus?”

“Would Tiberius be capable of that?” Annas joked.

“Ha, Father. You know yourself how successfully we used political channels to force Pilate to have the golden Roman shields removed from Herod’s palace—not statues, but shields, not in the Temple, but at the king’s palace!”

“Have our political successes perhaps made me too overconfident, Jonathan?”

“What do you mean, Father?”

“I mean—with what I just said.’

‘Couldn’t He, for once, keep another lamp burning?’

Annas looked at Jonathan in silence. Jonathan thought for a moment and said:

‘He is sovereign. It reminds me of the desert journey.’

Annas looked surprised. He tilted his head slightly and looked at his son in silence.

‘I mean, what the people said: “Is the Lord among us or not?”’

‘But I didn’t go that far, did I?’

‘The fact that He didn’t keep any of the lamps burning, shouldn’t that make you doubt His presence?’

‘But didn’t He always give His signs?’

‘Yes, but sometimes He might want to see our trust, without a sign from Him.’

‘He gave signs and wonders, great and terrible, in Egypt, on Pharaoh and all his household, before our eyes. Deuteronomy, Va'etchanan, sixth reading.

Jonathan remained silent after his father's impeccable quotation from the great Jewish history. His father continued:

"And it will happen, if they don't believe you and won't listen to the message of the first sign, that they will at least believe the message of the last sign. Shemot, Shemot, fifth reading."

Jonathan burst out laughing at the demonstration of his elderly father's impeccable memory and said:

"What signs they were! The hand that turned the staff into a snake and back again, that became a leper and was made whole again. He who tames the devil and sin.

“And death, Jonathan?”

This time it was Jonathan’s turn to quote the Torah flawlessly:

“But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die, Parashat Bereshit, second reading.”

“Those words sounded from Eden’s garden. But the news this morning from the Garden of the Tomb, Jonathan?”

Jonathan looked at his father in shock.

“Do you think…”

“I don’t think so. What do you think?”

“Nonsense. Soldier’s nonsense. The disciples have been up to something…”

“Good suggestions,” his father interrupted. “I’m curious about the news Malchus brings home. He’s probably back at the palace by now. But come on.” First we must resolve the question of the Western Lamp…’ Annas couldn’t finish his sentence. Breathless from running, his other son, Matthias, suddenly called for his attention from the porch.

‘Father! Thank goodness you’re still here! You must come with us immediately. There’s a group of pilgrims with an incredible story. You must hear this before the news spreads.’

 

(40)

Vitellius hurried through the vines to the spot near the conifer hedge where he had just fallen ill. When he arrived, he could still see exactly where he had fallen. Several branches were broken. The grass was flattened. He felt the grass with his hands. It took a moment before he found them, the title, which he had forgotten. He placed them on top of each other and walked along the hedge to the path that ran along the outer edge of the garden. The path ran between the rock wall and the hedge towards the tomb. He stopped beside the hedge. Early that morning, the women who had dared to speak with the lightning-like apparition stood here. Vitellius estimated the distance to the stone at about fifteen cubits. Ten cubits away, he could still see the spot where he had lain that morning. In daylight, it all looked so innocent. Vitellius shuddered again at the fears he had endured.

He gathered himself and, with the titula under his arm, walked along the rock wall to the tomb. He entered the tomb. The linen cloths were still there. They lay exactly as he had left them. Vitellius knelt by the linen cloths and gazed in silence at the unfathomable mystery. Then he took the Rabbi's titulus and carefully placed it on the flat floor of the empty tomb, right next to the Rabbi's tomb. He opened the lid of his "loculus" and took out the cloth he had found there. With his left hand, he held the cloth while stroking it with his right. The cloth was made of a wondrously fine fabric and felt incredibly soft. It was woven so coarsely that it was almost transparent. Even in the dim light, Vitellius could clearly see several layers of fabric layered together.

Vitellius sat facing the light of the tomb and unfolded the cloth. He stared at it in astonishment for several minutes. He swallowed. What he saw on the cloth moved him. A deep peace descended upon him. It was a peace he had never experienced before in his life, an intimate, warm peace. For a moment, all his worries had slipped away, and his depressed heart had fallen completely still. Vitellius realized that it had been wrong to steal the cloth from the tomb. He had indeed acted hastily, but it remained wrong. It had bothered him all this time. Perhaps this was the reason he had become so completely unwell. He had escaped death twice that day. But now, from the calm of his soul, he felt life pulsating again.

The tomb was a vessel of contradictions for Vitellius. It had terrified him. But at that moment, it brought him an unfathomable peace. It nearly cost him his life, but there in that tomb, he felt an enormous life force welling up within him. He didn't understand it. He could have sat there staring for an eternity. For an eternity, he wanted to be illuminated by the daylight that fell through the cloth onto his eyes. But he didn't have eternity. Malchus was waiting for him. The priests wanted to hear his story. Immediately, the deep peace was gone. Vitellius carefully folded the cloth. He tried to fold it exactly as he had found it. Just now, he had stuffed it hastily into his loculus when Malchus had shouted him from the tomb. Now he took his time. He placed the cloth on top of the titulus in the empty burial chamber. He stood up and carefully left the tomb. The bright daylight stung his eyes as he stepped outside. With his flat hands, he wiped away the tears that had welled up while staring at the canvas. A short time later, he reached the garden exit and was just about to turn from the narrow path onto the main road when he stopped and crept behind the hedge at the edge of the garden. To his horror, he saw Malchus talking to a full contubernium of Roman soldiers. Two of them stood with one foot on a tree trunk. The other six stood behind them. Two of them looked around searchingly. He spotted them just in time; otherwise, they would have seen him.

Malchus was still sitting on the tree trunks. He seemed relaxed and occasionally gestured calmly with his arms. After watching for a while, Vitellius saw the two soldiers who were talking to Malchus lift their feet from the tree trunk. They turned to the others. They slowly walked toward the city wall. Vitellius saw them turn off at the gate onto the path that ran outside the city walls, where he had also walked with Malchus that morning. When they were far enough away, he emerged from behind the hedge. He walked over to Malchus and asked:

"What did that contubernium of soldiers want with you?"

"Well, you're in luck, Vitellius. They're looking for the guards who were supposed to be relieved this morning at the tomb of the Rabbi of Nazareth but are nowhere to be seen."

Malchus looked meaningfully at Vitellius. Vitellius continued asking:

"What did you tell them?"

"The truth."

"What do you mean?"

"That I saw a Roman soldier walking alone near Herod's tomb this morning."

Vitellius burst out laughing.

“Oh, so that’s why they were walking along the west side of the wall.”

“This is no laughing matter, Vitellius. They’re not the only ones looking for you. They said that all the legionary soldiers have been ordered to be on the lookout for soldiers who are loitering or acting suspiciously while on guard duty.”

 

(41)

“Deuteronomy Shofetim, sixth reading.”

After Saraf’s uncle had confidently recited the Scripture, he turned to Saraf with a commanding air. Saraf looked at his uncle with surprise. He asked a question and received a Scripture in response. The whole group wondered what Saraf’s uncle meant by this. When the silence lasted too long, his uncle repeated his order.

“Read! Come on! We don’t have all day. Deuteronomy Shofetim, sixth reading.” And quickly, a little bit.’

Obediently, Saraf rolled his Torah to the relevant section and read:

‘One witness shall not stand up against anyone for any wrongdoing or for any sin, for any sin that a person may commit. On the evidence of two witnesses or on the evidence of three witnesses, a matter is established.’

When he had finished reading, Saraf looked back at his uncle. He had positioned himself directly opposite him, behind the other children, and was swaying on his feet again.

‘So…? Saraf…? What is the value of your testimony?’

‘But I saw it with my own eyes. The tombstone has been rolled away. And anyone can verify it whenever they want.’

‘That doesn’t matter. Doesn’t it clearly state here that two witnesses are required for a matter to be established?’

Saraf thought for a moment. Then he replied:

‘This is about something else. This is about something someone does. Usually, that’s a word or an action in a very brief moment. That's impossible to verify, and several people must have heard or seen it. In my case, it's about the position of a large, heavy stone that a dozen men couldn't lift.'

For a moment, his uncle was stunned. His nephew had just flawlessly applied the principles he'd always taught him. Only this time, it was inconvenient. But he couldn't argue. There was no arguing with him. The group realized that young Saraf had his uncle firmly in the palm of his hand. Matilda looked proudly at her big brother. Maria beamed with pleasure. Uncle had stopped swaying.

"Well, we'll have to check that," he decided. "If it's verifiable, let's check it. Then we'll at least conform to the text as much as possible."

"But I'm not getting an answer to my question?"

"What question? The question that needs to be answered first is whether the stone is actually at that distance from the grave."

"Don't you believe me?"

"Some testimonies are so unbelievable, they demand further confirmation."

"Do you have a text for that too?"

Several children realized that Uncle was misusing the Torah to justify himself, and they burst out laughing when Saraf's pointed question revealed this. His uncle, however, wasn't pleased with this subliminal rebuke and turned red.

"You impudent scoundrel." How dare you ask me such pertinent questions?’

Saraf wisely kept his mouth shut and waited for an answer. His uncle roared angrily:

‘I’ll give you an example of a testimony that fell short!’

Saraf saw his uncle watching him react, but he didn’t show it.

‘You know the story because it’s from your own father, and it’s the reason you’re so attached to that Rabbi of Nazareth.’

Saraf continued to look questioningly at his uncle but still said nothing.

His uncle demonstratively stood next to Saraf and now addressed the entire group of children again.

‘Diligent students of the Torah, listen carefully!’ ‘A year or two or three ago, Saraf’s father was serving in the temple. A man came from the Galilean town of Capernaum with perfectly clear skin. He claimed to have been healed of leprosy by the Rabbi of Nazareth. Mind you, perfectly clear skin, like that of a baby. Healed of leprosy. What do you think of that?’

Swaying on his feet and with his arms crossed, Saraf’s uncle waited for an answer. The group of children were at a loss, and there was silence. Someone cleared his throat nervously. Although he hadn’t been asked, Saraf answered.

‘But he came all the way from Galilee to Jerusalem with a sheep and two doves to sacrifice for his cleansing. You don’t do that if it hasn’t actually happened. It’s a journey of several days and a costly sacrifice.’

Didn’t it? Uncle turned to Saraf and said:

‘Saraf, did I ask you something?’

After a brief silence, it was Mary who responded. Her uncle’s actions had touched her sense of justice, and she said:

‘Is this fair? You didn’t answer Saraf’s question. Instead, you're going to ask us questions about a completely different topic, and if Saraf answers because we know nothing about it, he'll be reprimanded?'

For a moment, Mary's aggrieved gaze met Saraf's grateful gaze, and a wave of deep sympathy surged through his heart. Saraf's uncle was still fully focused on the matter at hand, and he hadn't expected this criticism of the trial. It took him a moment to come up with a response. Leaning forward, he brought his face level with Mary's and slowly crept toward her, saying:

"This isn't a 'completely different topic,' Mary. You must stay focused. We're talking about testimony here, which must be corroborated by several."

Uncle stopped right in front of Mary and then stood up to his full height.

"So, Mary, how many witnesses were there to corroborate the leprosy of the man from Capernaum?"

Mary looked at Uncle from below with her dark eyes. Then she looked at Saraf and said:

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Saraf.”

Uncle turned abruptly to Matilda and said:

“There’s someone here who knows all about it. Matilda? How many witnesses?”

Matilda was getting angry again. She felt compelled to give an answer, which put her brother, Saraf, at a disadvantage in the endless struggle. She swallowed and shut down completely. But Uncle kept pressing her.

“Matilda, you haven’t forgotten your father’s fantastic story, have you?”

“One,” a boy’s voice suddenly sounded next to Maria. It was Ruben, trying to free his sister from the impasse.

“Right, Ruben!” Uncle crowed triumphantly. “One!” Only the man himself, no one else.

Then Uncle turned back to Mary and asked her:

"And how many witnesses does the text Saraf just read require, Mary?"

"Two," she said immediately, "but that text is about…"

"Exactly, two!" Uncle interrupted her. "So, Mary, how credible was the 'healing' of leprosy by the Nazarene?"

Mary fell silent, having been interrupted. She didn't know how to respond so quickly. Triumphantly, Uncle turned to Matilda:

"So, Matilda, how credible was that 'healing'?"

Matilda couldn't handle the tension any longer and said:

"Well, I think…"

"Well, what do you think, Matilda?" Uncle suddenly shouted, realizing he had his victim again.

"Well, that…"

"Yes, what?!," Uncle shouted over her shoulder.

Matilda burst into tears again. Saraf had had enough and stood up for his younger sister:

"We often talked about that miracle at home. Father thought that the fact that he came all alone with his sacrifice was proof of sincerity."

Saraf's remark had an effect, because Uncle let go of his victim and said, suddenly turning to him:

"So, did 'Father' think so?... Did 'Father' think so?... Did 'Father' think so?" With intimidation in his voice, Uncle walked up to Saraf. Saraf crossed his arms defensively, leaned on one leg, and replied defiantly:

"Yes, that's what Father thought, and I completely agree with him."

Suddenly, Uncle turned back to the group and bellowed:

"And you? What do you think?"

The children were trembling, all feeling like victims in a dispute that was way beyond their control.

"Well?" Do I hear anything else? Who else agrees with Saraf's father?'

Maria raised her hand, followed by Matilda, Reuben, and another girl. None of the others dared to move a muscle.

 

(42)

'No, Matthias. I have other things on my mind right now.'

In the entrance between the portal and the sanctuary of the temple, Matthias was gesticulating vigorously toward the forecourt outside the temple, trying to persuade his father to come with him, while he said:

'But, Father, you really want to hear what these pilgrims have to say as soon as possible. And they've come from far away. Soon they'll be gone again.'

'I've heard enough shocking stories today, Matthias. All in good time. The Western Lamp is out, and that can and must never happen, as you know. I'm going to sort that out first, together with your brother.'

'But what should I do with the pilgrims?' I told them the high priest would come and speak with them immediately.'

Annas remained demonstratively silent and looked Matthias grimly in the eye.

'How many times do I have to tell you never to promise anything?'

Matthias remained silent. He didn't dare look into his father's reproachful eyes.

'Well, when will you listen to what I tell you?'

Matthias yielded to his father's reprimand and sighed.

'I'll tell them to wait a little longer.'

'You're not promising them anything! If they're not patient, they can go back.'

Matthias nodded obediently, turned, and walked through the portal toward the enormous curtain. As he held it aside, daylight flashed in. As Matthias disappeared from view, darkness returned. For a moment, Annas gazed at the beautifully woven pattern on the curtain, just barely discernible in the flickering light of the torches on the wall. He wondered what other unpleasant surprises awaited him that day. Then he turned to Jonathan, who had been quietly waiting there all this time with the fire from the flame chamber. Together they entered the sanctuary.

The overwhelming emptiness of the room struck Annas every time he entered. Only three objects stood utterly lost in the vast space. Annas first went to the table of showbread, somewhere to the right. He felt approvingly that the loaves were reasonably fresh. He estimated that they had been changed on the previous Sabbath, in accordance with the law. With his nose over the loaves, he inhaled the pungent aroma of incense. Then he walked to the altar of incense, which stood in the center back, where the daily incense continually went up in smoke. There he indulged his nose once again. The fresh scent of the resins mingled with the spicy, sickly scent of incense and onyx. Satisfied, Annas turned and walked to the lampstand, directly opposite the table of showbread. There, Caiaphas, Jonathan, and another priest were already waiting for him. Jonathan and the priest each held a torch. They made way for the old priest, allowing him a good look at the lampstand.

Indeed, the western lamp was out. He had never seen the lampstand like this before. The western lamp always burned for a full day on a quantity of oil, while all the other lamps burned for only about ten hours. In the morning, all the lamps were invariably out, except for the westernmost lamp, the one closest to the Holy of Holies. What could go wrong? Annas reviewed the daily ritual of the lampstand. In the morning, the high priest found the western lamp the only one burning. Then he filled the two easternmost lamps with oil and lit them from the western lamp. All three burned until evening. In the evening, the high priest returned and first filled the western lamp, which only then went out, with oil. Then he lit it from one of the two eastern lamps. After that, he filled the other six lamps and lit them from the western lamp. That night, all seven lamps burned until morning, except the western lamp, which burned all day long. In this way, the candlestick's fire never went out. But now it went wrong. The candlestick was completely extinguished. Not a single lamp was burning. The western lamp was out and wouldn't light. Annas was puzzled and searched for a cause.

"Hold your torch a little closer," he ordered Jonathan, who immediately obeyed.

By the firelight from the flame chamber, Annas examined the western lamp.

"I don't understand it," grumbled Caiaphas, who stood behind Annas, arms folded, watching. "When I entered the Holy Place this morning, it was completely dark. I had to grab a torch from the wall in the hallway first."

Annas didn't react but was engrossed in the western lamp.

"The fuse is a bit long. Hand me the scissors."

Caiaphas had several implements in his hand and handed Annas the scissors, who used them to cut off a piece of the fuse.

“And now, the torch with the fire from the flame chamber,” Annas commanded, extending his hand. Jonathan carefully handed his father the torch. Annas held the fire next to the wick of the lamp. It took a moment for the wick to light and burn. Slowly, Annas removed the torch from the wick. The wick continued to burn. Together, the four priests gazed for a few moments, mesmerized, at the flame, which continued to burn steadily. Annas turned with one raised eyebrow to Caiaphas, who stammered:

“I, I don’t understand it. We’ve been trying all morning to get it lit.”

Annas said nothing in reply. He looked back at the candlestick. He carefully removed the western lamp from its holder and lit the two easternmost lamps with it. Then he replaced it. The three flames, now finally spreading a steady light in the dim sanctuary, had an almost hypnotic effect on the priests. Annas's gaze went upward. High above him was the golden ceiling. Above that was another immensely high space. And far above that was the eternal dwelling place of the Almighty. Looking up, Annas solemnly recited the prayer Moses had taught the Israelites:

"Look down from Your holy dwelling place, from heaven, and bless Your people Israel and the land You have given us."

Then he looked at the others and led them toward the portal.

 

(43)

"A denarius and five pence—I have nothing for that, Vitellius."

"But can't you contribute something?"

"No, I won't. It's the priests' money." I'm a slave, you know?'

'But how do I get through Jerusalem unnoticed?'

Vitellius was shocked by the news that the entire fortress of Antonia was searching for him and his guard companions. He tried to persuade Malchus to buy a garment for him at a market, as a disguise. Lack of money now seemed to be his undoing.

'I have another idea,' said Malchus. 'We'll take the Vine Path.'

'The what?'

'The Vine Path. It's a path, straight through agricultural land west of the city. It runs mainly along the vineyards on the southern slopes, hence the name. From the north, you first pass some olive groves.'

'But aren't we likely to encounter soldiers there?'

'Much less likely. Few Romans know where it runs. I've hardly ever seen any Romans there.'

'But this is a different situation. I think they're combing the entire area to find us.'

'We have to accept that risk. We have to pay close attention. If we spot any soldiers, you can quickly hide in a field of vines. You've got experience with that by now.' At that last remark, Malchus couldn't suppress a chuckle, much to Vitellius's dismay.

'Easy for you to say,' he grumbled. 'They're not looking for you.'

'I have other things on my mind. I'll have to break the bad news about the missing body later.'

'That's more stressful for me than for you.'

Vitellius looked grimly into Malchus's eyes. He remained silent. The soldier was right. The missing body was the responsibility of the guards, and he was one of them. Things weren't looking good for him. For a moment, they sat silently side by side on the pile of enormous cedar logs, which had been placed there for some unknown construction project. They watched the soldiers, who had just been fooled by Malchus, disappear one by one along the city wall. The question was how many more were still searching that day, and especially where they were searching. Vitellius felt his life hanging by a thread. Once again, he weighed his options. But each time, he reached the same conclusion. The thread on which his life hung was much stronger among the order of Jewish priests than among the military order of Rome.

"Well, shall we go then?" Vitellius finally decided. He immediately stood up and went to stand opposite Malchus. He was lost in his own thoughts, and it took a moment for him to react. Then he, too, stepped down from the pile of logs and came to stand beside Vitellius. The line of the peasant procession toward the city continued, and Vitellius walked a few paces behind a farmer with an ox who had just passed by.

"No, Vitellius! We have to go the other way," Malchus called after him.

Vitellius immediately turned and began walking against the current. Malchus fell in beside him. Accompanied by flute music and song, they approached the Vine Path.

"Do you see that enormous fig tree over there?" Malchus said. "That's where the Vine Path begins."

Reaching the designated tree, they turned left. They entered a narrow path that wound between several fig trees. A little further on, almost all the trees on the left and right sides of the path were olive trees. At first, the path descended slightly, but soon began to climb. The path climbed quite steeply. It was quiet, and they encountered no one. It was Malchus who reopened the conversation with a question Vitellius hadn't anticipated:

"Returning to our mission to the tomb: I heard his followers in the tomb talking about women who visited the tomb early in the morning. Do you know anything about that, Vitellius?"

Vitellius didn't know how to answer the question and remained silent. He'd never previously had much trouble with a white lie, but since his experiences that day, it seemed as if his conscience had been sharpened. It took Malchus too long, and he drew his conclusion."

"Your silence betrays you, Vitellius. I assume you saw those women too. Why didn't you keep that from you?"

Vitellius shrugged. He didn't have an answer to that question either. Therefore, Malchus knew the answer to that question as well, and he said:

“Oh, I know it already. You were, of course, ashamed that you, soldiers of the guard, had fled from an apparition with which Jewish women were conversing.”

Vitellius became irritated by the sudden interrogation and asked:

“How are you so sure those women were conversing with that apparition?”

“So you confirm it? Fine. But will you tell me the whole truth from now on?”

“I told you the truth.”

“But not the whole truth. And I asked you if there was anything else important I should know. Then you said you knew nothing else.”

“Nothing important.”

“This is indeed important!” exclaimed Malchus. “That there were women at the tomb at dawn who also saw the apparition and the rolled-away stone is of vital importance. This means that the rumor is becoming more widely known among the Jewish people.” That shows how urgent it is for the priesthood to take action.

Vitellius sighed and said, "Hush, you're right. I should have told you right away. But would it have made any difference?"

"Not for now. But suppose I hadn't eavesdropped on his followers. Then our impression would have been that we knew before they did, instead of the other way around. Half a day can make a huge difference with such an important message."

"Well, good. You know now. We're going to inform the priests as soon as possible. Then they can take action."

"Is there anything else I should know that you haven't told me yet?"

Vitellius thought seriously for a moment and then shook his head.

"Is it really true that the grave cloths lay on the ground like a cocoon, without being torn from his body?"

Now it was Vitellius's turn to get angry and he said,

"Don't you believe me?" I said I battered the grave cloths with my fists until the balm seeped out. I even let you smell my forearms as proof. And you still don't believe me? Then I insist that we return to the tomb immediately and that you go and see for yourself how those cloths are.

"Calm down, Vitellius, I believe you. Your reaction shows that you're telling the truth. I have to check that, you know. The priests will thoroughly question me about whether I'm certain that what you say you saw is actually what happened in the tomb. This is a huge shock for them, a matter of great political importance."

"And how do you know then that I'm telling the truth and you don't have to look in the tomb yourself to check me?"

"That last point is impossible. I've already told you – because of the Jewish purity laws. What you saw there is unbelievable and unbelievable. It defies all common sense." But I believe you, and there's no need to check you. You radiated genuine anger. Why didn't you get angry when I confronted you with the story about the women?'

Vitellius looked at Malchus incredulously. Malchus answered himself:

'You didn't get angry because you were looking for a story to cover up your lie.'

'It wasn't a lie. I just didn't tell it.'

'That's lying too. Especially when I ask you explicitly. And you were busy thinking up a good answer in your head so you could keep it quiet. Then you don't have any energy left to get angry. Do you understand?'

Vitellius nodded. He'd already had more psychology lessons than he could handle as a Roman soldier. But Malchus continued his explanation.

'Actually, you should have gotten much angrier when I asked about the women, because that revealed your weakness and isn't implausible either. That I don't believe you about the grave cloths is much more understandable, because it is also very implausible and doesn't put you in a good light. Yet you didn't get angry when I asked about the women, but you did when I asked about the grave cloths. You spoke the truth about the grave cloths, not about the women.'

Vitellius only half-followed Malchus' story and returned with his own problem.

'That those women were talking to that apparition at the tomb, can't we just ignore that for the priests? We can just say that the Jews from the Rabbi's circle knew about it early in the morning, can't we?'

Malchus suddenly stopped.

 

(44)

“Come, Saraf. Be realistic. Years of leprosy and not a single scar!?”

Sarah’s uncle was still standing beside him, talking to him about the miracle of healing his father had witnessed in the temple.

“Has this ever happened before, Saraf?”

Sarah looked thoughtfully at his uncle and then said,

“Naaman! Ever heard of him?”

His uncle frowned indignantly and said,

“You naughty boy! Explain what you mean.”

Sarah gave a brief account of the event:

“Naaman, the Syrian army general, came to Elisha with his leprosy. After he had dipped himself seven times in the Jordan, his skin was like that of a little boy.

"And how many witnesses were there?"

"We don't know. It says 'His servants,' so at least two."

"Exactly. And how many witnesses were there in the case of the man who appeared to your father in the temple?"

Saraf was silent. He thought for a moment. Then he answered:

"You asked about a healing from leprosy without a scar, regardless of the number of witnesses. That has indeed happened before in history.

“Yes, but that was in the time of Elijah and Elisha.”

“Yes, and this is in the time of John the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth.”

Uncle slammed his fist on the table, nearly knocking Saraf’s Torah scroll off, and shouted, “Surely you’re not going to compare John and Jesus to Elijah and Elisha?”

Saraf was shocked by his uncle’s furious reaction and was momentarily speechless. He looked into Mary’s eyes. He saw pity and indignation in them simultaneously. She gave him courage, and he wanted to answer his uncle, but he beat him to it and said,

“For four hundred years, no prophet has appeared in Israel! And now we suddenly have two at once?”

Saraf tried to speak again, but his uncle continued ranting.

“One was beheaded. The other crucified. Do you want to make a comparison?” That's a far cry from being picked up in a whirlwind with horses and chariots of fire, like Elijah.'

Uncle looked down at Saraf triumphantly. He thought he'd won the argument. That gave Saraf the opportunity to finally give his answer:

'The very last prophet from four hundred years ago foretold the coming of an Elijah.'

Saraf's uncle narrowed his eyes, leaned toward Saraff's ear, and hissed between his teeth:

'And do you know the context of that?'

Saraf thought for a moment and flawlessly quoted the penultimate sentence of the prophet Malachi:

'See, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and awesome day of the Lord.'

Uncle remained in the same stooped position and hissed:

'Very well, Saraf! And has that 'great' and 'awesome' day come?'

Saraf remained silent. Now his uncle had him pinned down. Everyday life went on as usual. It was as if nothing had happened. Then he thought back to Jesus and said:

“But Jesus of Nazareth performed countless miracles. Many, many more than Elisha.”

Roaring, his uncle stood up and shouted:

“He saved others. He cannot save himself!”

There was an awkward silence. No one said a word. Then his uncle thundered:

“I saw Him hanging when the priests shouted at Him! Crucified, Saraf. He was crucified. And the ‘great’ and ‘awesome’ day has not come. He is finished.”

Saraf didn’t know how to respond to this. But then he received support from an unexpected source. Mary, fed up with the incessant duel, said:

"If Saraf saw the stone rolled away from his tomb and even spoke to Him, it's not over for Him."

Both uncle and Saraf looked at Mary in surprise. Mary continued:

"If you're so eager for more witnesses to the rolled-away stone, why don't you organize one? There are plenty of children here who would love to see the Rabbi's tomb."

Saraf’s uncle responded immediately:

‘Children, Maria? Going to take a look at the Rabbi’s grave, Maria? What an inappropriate idea, Maria. Before they know it, they’ll defile themselves. Besides, a grave is far too macabre for children, Maria!’

But Maria didn’t give up easily and said:

‘Yes, yes. We can have a high-level discussion with you here about the prophet, about false prophets, about witnesses to a sin, and about the coming of Elijah, but we can’t see if a stone has been rolled away from a grave?’

Uncle was momentarily speechless. And while Saraf stared at her admiringly, she continued:

‘Besides, the eldest children have all attended a funeral and have often enough been to family graves.’

Uncle thought he had a clue and objected:

‘Those were closed family graves. We're dealing with a possible open grave of a crucified person.'

The support he received from Mary gave Saraf courage again, and he said:

"You're the one who still hasn't answered my question because you think there should be witnesses. So, either you answer my question now, or you let some of us look at the grave as witnesses."

Uncle jumped up beside Saraf as if stung by a wasp. He opened his eyes wide, then narrowed them like toys and said haughtily:

"So, I'm being put in this position by my own cousin? And what, dear cousin, was the question again?

Saraf sighed and repeated for the umpteenth time:

"If—note, I say 'if'—if the Prophet of Nazareth died because, as the law says, He was overconfident, then by what virtue was the enormous stone rolled away from his tomb this morning and lay twenty cubits away in the garden tomb?"

It was quiet. Uncle clearly didn't know what to make of the question. The children were now becoming restless and began to squirm in their chairs. The Scripture reading had already gone on much longer than usual because of the conflict. The older children, and especially Mary, looked at Uncle intently. At first he searched for an objection. But then he sighed. And he said:

"Hmm, all right then. Two of the children are going to the tomb with Saraf this afternoon to see if the stone has indeed been rolled away. Who wants to come?"

Immediately, all the children's fingers went up.

“That’s too many,” said Uncle. “I said two. Saraf, who’s going with you this afternoon?”

Saraf’s heart leaped for joy and he said,

“Maria and Mathilde.”

For a moment, his gaze met Maria’s again, and she looked at him gratefully. Then Uncle said,

“Then I’ll hear the outcome of your research at the second Scripture reading this week, and then we’ll conclude today’s reading.” Immediately, his address to the group, with the raising of his hands, transitioned into a prayer to the Most High, and he solemnly pronounced the “Aleinu”:

“It is our duty to praise the Master of all, to proclaim the greatness of the Architect of creation, who did not make us like the nations of the earth, nor place us like the families of the earth, who has not given us a portion like them, nor does he let us share in their fate. For they worship vanity and emptiness and pray to a god who cannot save. But we bow in adoration and thanksgiving to the Most High King of kings, the Holy One, the Blessed One, He who sits enthroned above the heavens and who lays the foundations of the earth, whose throne is in the heavens above and whose powerful Presence is in the highest heights. He is our God and there is none else. In truth, He is our King and there is none else, as it is written in His Torah: "You shall know and take to heart this day that the Lord is God in the heavens above and on the earth below. There is none else."

 

(45)

Jonathan held aside the formidable curtain that hung across the porch for his father. Blinking in the bright sunlight, Annas stepped out, followed by his son, Caiaphas, and another priest. One after the other, they descended the steps of the porch into the courtyard, deftly dodging the many baskets of produce from Bikkurim. With the other priests following behind him, Annas stepped carefully through the kneeling and adoring pilgrims, along the slope of the altar, toward the spiral staircase against the southern wall, which he had climbed earlier that morning. Arriving at the staircase, he suddenly turned. He waited for the others to gather around him. He glanced around intently for a moment. Then he looked at the others one by one and, in the lowest voice possible, just barely audible to the others in the bustle of the forecourt, he said:

"We, the Sanhedrin, must discuss an important matter."

The others exchanged surprised glances as Annas looked around again.

"The matter is of great importance, both religiously and politically."

He looked intently around the small circle and continued:

“It is so precarious that as few people as possible must know about it.”

Having said this, he turned his sharp gaze to the priest who was not a member of the Sanhedrin. He immediately understood his meaning and said:

“Yes, uh, I’ll be going. I have other obligations in a moment.”

Annas watched him until he disappeared from view behind the slope of the altar. Then he looked at Jonathan and Caiaphas and said:

“There is only one place in the midst of all the bustle of Bikkurim where we can confer in peace at this moment, without the risk of being overheard.”

He let his words sink in for a moment, so that he would encounter as little resistance as possible.

“The high priest’s room,” he said, looking at Caiaphas with a look that brooked no argument.

Caiaphas reacted with unpleasant surprise and said:

“But, that’s specifically for…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence because Annas raised his arm in pain and immediately interrupted him:

“Necessity knows no law. You yourself are sometimes found in that room during these busy times, while it’s ‘specifically’ for the last four ablutions of Yom Kippur.”

Caiaphas looked down, as if he’d been caught committing a serious crime.

“Shall we go right away then?” said Annas, gesturing invitingly with his hand toward the spiral staircase. With a sigh, Caiaphas grabbed the banister and, visibly reluctant, placed his foot on the bottom step to lead his father-in-law and brother-in-law to his special room. At that moment, something unexpected happened. Matthias, Annas's other son, ran over as quickly as he could and called from a distance:

"Father, wait! You must come with me as quickly as possible."

Annas looked around, disturbed, at his son rushing over.

When he stood before him, Annas slumped his shoulders demonstratively. Panting, Matthias explained the urgency:

"There are things going on that you need to hear for yourself as soon as possible."

"Not now, Matthias. You can see I have other things on my mind, can't you?"

"This is at least as important."

"You know nothing about that." Would you mind filling that in for me?'

'They're pilgrim stories, which you need to know as soon as possible.'

'You're not going to tell me those pilgrims are waiting for me, are you?'

'No, or yes, that too, but there...'

He didn't get any further because his father nearly flew off the handle and snapped at him:

'So you promised them I'd come!?'

A silence fell, which was filled by a scolding from his father:

'What did we agree on this morning, now?'

'Yes, but more and more are coming who...'

'Of course more and more are coming! The city is teeming with pilgrims!'

'But you really want to hear this...'

'I don't want to hear anything from pilgrims. And especially not from you. Now, what did we agree on?'

Matthias sighed and said:

'Don't promise anything.'

'Exactly. Just figure it out yourself.’

And with that, he turned toward the spiral staircase. Caiaphas and Jonathan, who had been watching the brief argument from the bottom steps, also turned, and the three of them climbed up.