Chapter 4

 

(37)

Vitellius' 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' 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’ 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’ eyes widened and he said: “But how can that be? That’s impossible.”

“Yet it is,” Vitellius said candidly. “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."

Saraf 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 Saraf'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' 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.

 

(46)

Vitellius looked back in surprise. Malchus had stopped abruptly and was standing about five paces behind him. They were engaged in a discussion about their mission at the tomb.

“Why are you standing there? Is something wrong?” Vitellius asked, taking a few steps back.

“You’re asking me to keep things quiet, Vitellius?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re saying we shouldn’t mention the women to the priests.”

“Surely the women thing isn’t important? The only point was that the Jews from the Nazarene’s circle knew about the tomb early in the morning, wasn’t it?”

Malchus looked at Vitellius with great surprise.

“Did you think I could keep that from the old priest?”

“Yes, why not?”

Malchus was silent for a moment, continuing to stare at Vitellius. Then he said:

“You don’t know the old priest. That man finds out everything.”

He paused again, as if searching for a way to explain.

“Look… I don’t think there’s ever been a priest who had such a grip on the political world of his time as this Annas. He has everything under control. Everyone flies at his silent commands.”

Vitellius tried to think along but immediately countered.

“If you don’t tell him about the women, he certainly won’t find out.”

“Vitellius!” Malchus’ voice suddenly sounded very determined, almost indignant. The men looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then Malchus said:

“Listen, don’t think I don’t understand you. I understand that it was a huge embarrassment for you soldiers of the guard to have fled from something mysterious, which a number of women soon after found themselves chatting with, but…’

‘Oh, so you understand. And yet you just want to go tell your master, while our fate hangs by a thread? I don’t think you understand our situation at all!’

‘No, Vitellius. You don’t understand me. Annas… How can I explain this?’

‘Indeed. That you’re going to pass on even that insignificant detail about those women is inexplicable.’

Again there was silence. Both Vitellius and Malchus looked around. Everywhere, the silver-gray branches of the olive trees gleamed in the sun. It seemed like a beautiful, shimmering, silver sea they stood in the midst of. But the men were oblivious to the splendor of creation. They were completely absorbed in the stalemate between them. Recriminations of misunderstanding had been exchanged. That hadn’t happened before. Their walk flowed more smoothly than their relationship. They had already made good progress up the slope of the olive trees and were approaching the summit. Beyond it, they would have a view of the vineyards stretching southward as far as the eye could see. Malchus was the first to speak again:

“Let me at least try to show you what your situation is.”

Vitellius looked up and gathered courage to listen to Malchus’s story.

“You fled from a mysterious phenomenon that was not only frightening but also weakening. It sapped your strength. But that wasn’t true of the women. The body wasn’t stolen but was unwrapped and removed from the tomb in a supernatural way. The stone was rolled away by mysterious forces.”

Malchus waited a moment to gauge Vitellius’s reaction. He was listening attentively, so Malchus continued.

"I myself witnessed the assault on your physical strength when you fell ill near the conifer hedge. No one can deny the location of the rolled-away stone. Only one eyewitness account applies to the location of the cloths: yours. But your reaction to my questioning argues for the authenticity of your account. Those are three facts that exonerate the charge of dereliction of duty."

Vitellius remained silent and waited patiently for Malchus to continue. He began walking towards the top of the slope and said:

"If I leave out the fact about the women and Annas finds out later—and he will, I'm sure—then he will doubt the rest of my account: about your collapse near the hedge, about your honesty about the cloths. That's two exculpatory facts less."

As they approached the summit, Vitellius sighed:

"Good, Malchus. You've convinced me." We must be completely open about everything, including the women's story.'

Malchus paused and then pushed his argument a little further:

'Never before has a single priest held all the political reins for so long as this Annas. And he can't possibly stomach the fact that all of this happened right under his watchful eye. If he then discovers that I withheld information, I'll lose my position and possibly worse. And your lives will be much less secure, too.'

Meanwhile, they had reached the hilltop. They stopped and looked around. Behind them lay the sloping silver blanket of olive groves. Before them stretched a beautiful green carpet of vineyards. Vitellius saw that they were higher than the hills on which Jerusalem was situated. He could see over the city walls. To the east, he saw the red-hued tableau of Jerusalem's rooftops, bordered by massive gray walls. It was a magnificent view, but Vitellius could not enjoy it. He felt more in the grip of the priests than ever before.

Beyond the sea of rooftops, Vitellius saw the enormous plateau of the Fortress of Antonia, where his Legion was encamped. He had not left it for more than a day since his arrival in Judea, and now he had been gone for almost two days, with no one knowing where he was. He wondered if he would ever return. And if he did, what would happen to him? Since that morning, his future had become very uncertain.

Vitellius strained his eyes to see something of the activity in the fortress. He could see over the fortress walls, but he was too far away to make out the soldiers. He could, however, clearly see the fortress buildings and the towers at its four corners. The southeastern tower towered above everything else and was the only part of the city higher than where he was currently standing. He tried to spot the barracks where he himself was stationed, but even that he couldn't make out at that great distance. Further east, he saw the enormous temple complex, clad in gold, copper, and gleaming white stone. There lay the priests' domain. There lay his destiny. He was startled from his reverie by the hurried voice of Malchus, who stood behind him.

"I'm afraid you'll have to duck again, Vitellius. Look what's coming through the vines."

Startled, Vitellius turned his head to the right and with a start saw helmets, spears, and shields coming his way, flickering in the sunlight.

 

(47)

“This is impossible. There’s no way through.”

Maria looked desperately at Saraf. They had been standing on the main road through the Cheesemakers Valley for some time, waiting behind huge crowds of pilgrims, but they were making no progress. In all that time, they had only made it four blocks. They still had to go all the way past the hippodrome, the temple, and the enormous fortress. This way, they wouldn’t arrive until dark.

“Shall we take the route through the upper town?” Saraf suggested.

“But can we get something to eat first?” Mathilde asked. “I’m starving.”

On both sides of the main road through the town, stalls of merchants were set up among the stately fig trees, which offered a sea of shade to the passing travelers and pedestrians.

“Look over there! That stall is selling sufganins! I’m hungry for that,” said Maria.

Saraf immediately went to the stall and bought three large sufganins. He put the fried dough dishes in a bag, a different one from the one he carried his Torah scroll in, so it wouldn't get soaked in oil.

"Why wasn't I asked what I wanted?" Mathilde asked indignantly.

Saraf ignored his sister's question and said:

"Once we're out of the crowd, we'll eat these," and he beamed at Maria. Maria smiled back and said:

"Let's hurry then, I'm running."

Between two blocks, they found a wide alley that allowed them to escape the bustle of the main road and climb towards the upper town. The alley climbed quite steeply, like a staircase. At the top, they reached the next street, parallel to the main street but narrower. This street also led north. But it was, if possible, even more packed with pilgrims than the main road below. For a moment they shuffled slowly between two peasant families until they found another alley on their left, leading further up to the upper town.

Through a tangle of houses in the lower town, they slowly but surely made their way upward. Near the impressive theater, they reached the spacious upper town. But even there, the pilgrims were thronging at a snail's pace toward the temple. For a moment, the girls stood dejectedly gazing at the crowd, but Saraf, in the presence of Mary, was undeterred and made a suggestion:

"There are large steps by the theater. Shall we sit there for a moment and eat our sufganins?"

The suggestion was well received, and soon the children were sitting in the shade of the semicircle formed by the theater, enjoying the delicious sweet dish. They had devoured the last of the crispy crust faster than they would have liked. With Mary by his side, Saraf had the best afternoon of his life and was full of cheerfulness. Yet he also tried to think ahead and had already devised some alternative routes to the tomb.

"Shall we see if we can walk through Herod's palace and the garden gate?" he suggested.

Mary and Matilda were less familiar with the street plan of Jerusalem than Saraph, and they were happy to let him lead them. They stood up and walked into the elegant upper city. At the end of a wide avenue, they saw the Western Wall of Jerusalem. Side by side, they walked along the avenue between the stately patrician homes of Jerusalem's wealthy, important officials, and distinguished priests. As they approached the wall, they saw that the pilgrim procession had also taken over the passageway here. The peasants marched in dense throngs past Herod's palace. The garden gate proved to be a bottleneck that would remain blocked for several hours. The girls looked at Saraph with a certain despair in their eyes. Saraph had already prepared his next alternative and said:

"We could still try the outer wall of the city. Then we have to exit through the Essene Gate."

Saraf led the girls through the district with its magnificent palaces and beautiful houses. They were amazed by the elegant colonnades, the ornately landscaped gardens, and the beautiful mosaic floors. Because Saraf avoided the main route, there were few pilgrims in sight, and they were able to move along at a brisk pace.

They soon reached the Essene Gate, which was much busier again. Because pilgrims were still streaming in through this gate, they had to go against the flow. The girls were apprehensive about this. Saraf suggested they hold hands. With great difficulty, Saraf squeezed through the crowd filling the gate. He held Mary's hand tightly, hoping she would hold Matilda in return. They managed to reach the other side of the gate in a row, and together they watched the pilgrims passing by. Then they walked between the city wall and the Essene orchards.

Arriving at the corner tower, Saraf's hopes of making progress along the wall were dashed. The roads were congested, and farmers were walking against each other, mostly standing still. By midday, it was rush hour. Some farmers were already on their way home, while others still had to visit the temple. Saraf was running out of alternative routes, and he was so eager to meet the high expectations of Matilda and especially Mary. The girls stood somewhat disappointed, watching the enormous commotion that blocked their path to the tomb. Saraph leaned his back against the city wall. He raised his gaze to heaven and offered a silent prayer. They had stood there for a moment when Saraph thought of a new alternative. And enthusiastically, he exclaimed:

"Listen, I know another route by which we can reach the tomb fairly quickly."

 

(48)

Caiaphas held the door of his high priestly chamber open for Annas and Jonathan. When all three were inside, he carefully closed the door. Annas walked to the edge of the large pool in the center of the room, intended for the high priestly purification on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. He dipped both hands in the water to cool off a bit. Caiaphas reacted, bewildered:

“Whoa, whoa, that’s my purifying water.”

Annas ignored Caiaphas’ remark but looked up and stood for a moment with his hands in the clear, cool water. Then he turned to Caiaphas and Jonathan. With hands dripping with water, he walked over to Caiaphas. He placed his soaking wet hands on his shoulders and said:

“Your purifying water, Caiaphas? It’s God’s purifying water, intended for the priest who happens to be high priest that year.”

As he said this, he dried the sides of his hands on the sleeves of the blue-purple woolen outer garment of the ephod with which Caiaphas was dressed. He continued:

“That could be any priest of the lineage of Aaron, thirty years old or older,” and with that, he turned his head significantly toward Jonathan. His father’s behavior made Jonathan feel awkward, and he said:

“Father, I spoke with the temple police today, and I have new information about…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence because his father raised both hands while lowering his head, a pose that naturally commanded great respect from everyone.

“One thing at a time!” Annas said gruffly, remaining in his imploring pose for a moment. Then he looked at them both and said, “You may know what matter I intend to discuss with the Sanhedrin very soon.”

Immediately, Jonathan began speaking again, saying,

“Is that about the reports of the soldiers who came from the tomb this morning…”

Again, Jonathan didn’t finish his sentence because his father made the same ominous gesture, silencing him, and said,

“You don’t have to tell me that. You’d better leave that to me.” A depressing silence then descended on the room. Annas looked at Caiaphas with a piercing gaze and said,

“The Roman soldiers of the guard that posted at the tomb of the crucified Rabbi to prevent his followers from stealing his body have committed the worst possible dereliction of duty.’

After this sentence, Annas continued to stare at Caiaphas to see how he reacted. He saw the high priest’s eyebrows rise further than he remembered ever seeing them before. And then Caiaphas sputtered:

‘You’re not going to tell me they abandoned the tomb, are you?’

‘That’s exactly what happened.’

‘All sixteen?’

‘All sixteen.’

‘So, how did you find out?’

‘One of them came and told me himself.’

‘And the others?’

‘Four others were able to corroborate the testimony. The other eleven are on the run.’

‘Do they know about this in the Antonia Fortress?’

‘No. They know nothing.’ The soldiers came straight to us.’

There was a moment of silence. Then Annas corrected himself and said:

‘Although. Meanwhile, they must be sensing trouble in the fortress. The changing of the guard was supposed to take place sometime this morning.’

The big question that still lingered finally came from Caiaphas:

‘But why? Why are sixteen Roman soldiers abandoning the grave of a Jewish rabbi? They know the consequences, don’t they?’

At this point in the discussion, there was a pause. Annas weighed his words. It was taking too long for Jonathan, and he wanted to answer:

‘They had seen an apparition in the garden tomb where…’

‘Quiet!’ Annas shouted, this time without his solemn arm movements. He glared at Jonathan. Jonathan shrugged and looked at the ground. Annas turned his head back to Caiaphas and said in a deep, growling voice:

‘They had nothing but fantastic excuses for their Roman superstitions. They will pay dearly for their carelessness.'

But Caiaphas was already considering the ultimate consequence and said:

'But if the soldiers left the tomb, then perhaps the disciples managed to steal the body after all.'

'We're currently investigating that.'

'Oh yes, how?'

'Malchus has been ordered to inspect the tomb with one of the soldiers and report back to us.'

'Have you spoken to him yet?'

'No, but I think he's back at the palace by now. When I return this afternoon, I'll take his report.'

'Shall I go with you?'

Annas paused, and then, fixing Caiaphas with a steely gaze, he said as emphatically as he could:

'No.'

Caiaphas avoided Annas's gaze and looked at Jonathan, asking:

'Well, what do you want us to do then?'

'Excellent question! You both will brief the important members of the Sanhedrin, those who are on our side, with a very brief report and invite them to a meeting late this afternoon.

"What are we telling them?" This time it was Jonathan who asked the question. He had already tried to reveal too much out of turn a few times. Annas turned to his son and said:

"Another excellent question! All you're telling them is that the Roman guard at the tomb of the crucified Rabbi was guilty of gross negligence by leaving the tomb before the replacement. The meeting will concern the communication with Fort Antonia about this and the punishment for the soldiers."

"So the reason the soldiers gave for fleeing the tomb..." Jonathan began. But his father immediately interrupted him:

"Of course, you won't say anything about that."

"And the investigation by Malchus at the tomb?" Caiaphas asked.

Annas thought for a moment and then said:

“Since we have no idea what information Malchus will come up with, it’s best to keep quiet about that too.”

“And where will the meeting of the Sanhedrin take place?” Caiaphas asked.

Annas didn’t answer but turned and walked back to the large pool. He dipped his hands in the water again, stirred the water back and forth with his arms several times, and then held both soaking wet hands to his face.

“Not here, is it?” Caiaphas asked.

Annas’s wet face, dripping with water, immediately appeared from behind his hands, and he responded:

“Now that you mention it. That’s not such a bad idea. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“But this room is far too small, isn’t it? And the pool is in the way.”

“That’s true. But if the discussion gets heated, we'll have something to cool down with.'

In response, Caiaphas crossed his arms and shouted angrily:

'There will be no of that! This room and this pool are not intended for meeting facilities.'

Suddenly, Annas glared at Caiaphas and shouted so loudly that it echoed off the wall of the pool:

'No, this is your high priestly water! And the fire of the Western Lamp is your eternal fire!'

Annas' voice had just faded when he was startled by a loud and incessant chant of “Hallelujah” that arose from the outer court, and at a most unusual hour, suddenly hundreds of Levite voices began to sing the Bikkurim Psalm.