Chapter 3

(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.