Man in White Read online

  “Is stoning more humane?” retorted Levi ben Lamech.

  Saul looked directly into his brother-in-law’s eyes. “For our people it has long been traditional for the execution of malefactors,” replied Saul.

  Levi laughed again. “One would think you are a Maccabee, championing the independence and purity, as you say, of our religion. Times have changed, Saul. Roman gods and Latin superscriptions are on the coins we spend to buy bread. There is a centurion and a Roman post in every town and village of any import.”

  Saul was boiling, and that made him also fidgety and restless. Each small bite of food seemed to expand in his mouth before he could swallow it.

  A rumbling sound came from Levi’s great stomach, and he wiped his hand across his mouth.

  “I do not need a lesson on the recent history of this land,” said Saul coldly. “It has been almost a hundred years since the Roman general Pompey invaded our land, but we still freely worship and sacrifice in the holy Temple. The Most High has not turned his back on his chosen.”

  “Still, I cannot understand,” said Levi ben Lamech, “why after seven years the great ruling body of this nation is so concerned with those who remember just another rebel.”

  “They don’t just remember him,” said Saul. “They worship him. Some even call them the ‘Synagogue of the Nazarenes,’ and this the Sanhedrin cannot condone. Not here. Not in Jerusalem.”His voice was rising slightly. “Not in the shadow of the holy Temple, the dwelling place of the Most High.”

  Levi smiled at Saul. “My dear brother-in-law,” he said as he leaned forward, “you have the whole pagan world against you, as we, as a people, have always had. Will your zealous efforts on behalf of the people ever really mean anything?”

  Saul’s face flushed, and Sarah interrupted just in time. “Levi, please do not discuss this at supper.”

  Saul wanted one last word. “Yes, Stephen was tried, found guilty, and executed.”

  “Spitting against the wind,” said Levi, pouring himself a fourth cup of wine.

  Saul had stopped eating and was sitting with his hands folded.

  “You’re not finished, are you?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes. Thank you for dinner. I must go as soon as we have recited the benediction.”

  Jacob didn’t seem to feel the tension; he continued breaking off pieces of his meat and eating them. Sarah sat with her arms folded, trying not to look at her husband, who sat with a bleary stare, holding his cup in both hands.

  Saul’s place of abode was a cavelike basement room beneath a synagogue. The room was very sparsely furnished. On the left against the solid stone wall was a washstand with a basin and pitcher of water with a cloth over it to keep the water clean. On the right, under the one narrow, dim window, but facing toward the Temple even though it couldn’t be seen out the window, was a stool and a small rough table with a tiny oil lamp and quill and inkwell. On the far side of the room was the ledge carved out in the rock where Saul slept. A single goat-hair blanket that he had made himself and a straw mat for a mattress were his only bedding. It was impossible to sleep comfortably on the rock ledge, but Saul had long ago forced himself to become accustomed to it. He only reclined when he was exhausted and ready for sleep. The ledge was always cool and dark. On the floor beneath this ledge was a small rug Saul had made from the wool of a lamb that had come from Hebron—Hebron, where lay the bones of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

  Against a fourth wall was a large vertical loom on which he wove the goat’s hair or wool he had spun to make cloth for the rabbi upstairs. Saul had made a sturdy black awning to cover the front entrance to the synagogue. As pay for his room, Saul had made every item that Rabbi Baanah ben David had even casually suggested a need for—a covering for the table of shewbread, a rich lamb’s wool cloth with a golden border, a multicolored tapestry to cover an unsightly area where an old door had been walled up, a floor mat for just inside the door, and even a pair of soft warm shoes for Baanah ben David when the weather was cold. Saul also helped Baanah care for the synagogue and its equipment.

  Saul loved the old rabbi, and he loved Saul. He couldn’t remember when Baanah ben David had not been at this synagogue. He realized that it had been more than seventeen years ago that a letter had come to Baanah from his old friend Janus, a tentmaker in Tarsus, telling him that he was sending him the thirteen-year-old Saul, a son of Benjamin. Janus was Saul’s sandok, his godfather. The young man, said the tentmaker, had an eager, open mind and was free to travel. Saul’s father had died and his mother would live with a brother, allowing Saul to devote his youth to the study of the Scriptures.

  Saul often thought of his birthplace and his childhood home, Tarsus, a beautiful city of more than three hundred thousand citizens. There were three classes of people in Tarsus—the very wealthy, who lived in fine homes in the city and villas in the mountains or along the seashore; the very poor, who lived in squalor along the eastern bank of the Cyndus; and the Jewish community, who lived in crowded but comfortable two- or three-story brick or stone buildings on narrow streets on the western bank.

  For half a millennium, Tarsus had been a great prize and a strategic point for the warring nations to the north and south, east and west. During the time of Alexander the Great, the Greek elite considered Tarsus a barbarian city. Its buildings were mostly of mud-brick and wood. The poorer lived in countless lean-to houses made of straw. Some lived in tents made of black goat’s hair called cilicium. When Alexander reached Tarsus on the Cyndus, the city was burned, then rebuilt mostly of stone, the most imposing of edifices being styled after classic Greek ones.

  A mint was built and the coinage bore Greek superscriptions. Greek was the common language of the people of Tarsus, yet after its conquest by Rome in the second century BC, Latin became fairly common. The Jews, however, also spoke Hebrew, read the Scriptures in Hebrew, and taught it to their children.

  Saul, living in Tarsus, had mingled with Syrians, Cilicians, Pisidians, Cypriots, Cappadocians, and travelers from far and strange lands. He had seen the caravans come in from the East laden with oriental merchandise, silk of every color, lace, furs, ivory, teakwood, and rosewood. Some caravans continued on to Egypt to trade for brass, Ethiopian jewels, and the grain that grew abundantly in the verdant delta of the Nile.

  To the great harbor of Tarsus came ships from every country, and from over the steep Taurus mountain range to the west came the caravans of traders and travelers upon the Roman highway. Roman roads, which traversed every province or country that became part of the empire, connected every corner of the captured world to Milepost Number One, which stood in the center of the city of Rome.

  He remembered working with his father as a child. It was mainly in this harbor that Saul learned his trade as a tentmaker. He remembered the great rolls of hemp, cotton, or cilicium and his father’s approval as he, small and agile, climbed as swiftly as a cat up the ropes to repair a torn sail, using his father’s needles, pliers, and hooks.

  After a time Saul’s father decided he had advanced enough that he could send him off on his own. Day after day he rose early and, carefully wrapping his father’s tools, left the city by foot and followed the Roman road to the foothills of the Taurus mountain range.

  It was on these slopes that nomadic shepherds tended their flocks. Their lives revolved around their flocks, and when the flocks needed fresh pasture, the herdsmen and their families took down their black tents, folded them, and lashed them to travoises pulled by donkeys. They and their goats moved on. Saul followed the herdsmen and sometimes joined in helping pitch the tents. If he had to mend a torn tent, he always amazed the nomads by the speed with which his fingers flew with the tools and cilicium thread, mending and reinforcing the tent fabric.

  He often dined with the nomad shepherds. The food was wholesome, but not truly to Saul’s liking. Each midday meal was always the same—a stew made from goat’s meat, leeks, garlic, and whatever vegetables or wild edibles were available. The flat unleavened bread was
passed around, and each person broke off a piece large enough to hold across four fingers to dip into the communal pot. The child Saul silently gave thanks to God as he began and as he finished a meal. He ate very lightly, just enough to please the shepherd host. To decline the food would have been an insult to the host.

  He neither received nor expected any pay for his services. He went from tent to tent, politely inquiring if he could be of service in repairing or restoring old or damaged tents. This apprenticeship gave him practical experience as a tentmaker. When he was barely twelve years old, his father died and his mother turned his father’s tentmaker’s shop over to him.

  He mastered his craft, and then it was time to take up the matter of further education in the Law. It was suggested he go to the Holy City of Jerusalem to study under the revered Gamaliel. “Jerusalem!” said Saul aloud when he heard the news. The City of God! How often he had longed to see the City of God as it had often been described by those who had been there. How many countless numbers of his people had lived and died yet never seen Jerusalem? Every day he knelt and bowed toward the direction of Jerusalem and the Temple when he prayed. Now he would see them!

  The Holy of Holies was the greatest fascination. There, behind the veil, dwelt the presence of the Divine One. Saul knew that he would never enter the Holy of Holies, but the prospect of seeing the Temple walls and the parapets of the Temple reflected in the sun made his heart leap for joy. “Jerusalem,” he said. “I shall see Jerusalem.”

  Memories of his childhood would not leave him now as he sat in his dim room beneath the Jerusalem synagogue. He suddenly remembered a shepherd king named Zeno of Ephesus. Zeno had told him an amazing story of migrating geese and the fierce eagles that lived in the rocks and crags of the cliffs atop Mt. Taurus. The story was a lesson on when to speak and when to be silent.

  “Every year,” Zeno had said, “with the coming of winter for as long as people have handed down stories to their children, they tell of the smooth river stones that fall from the sky upon the hills of the Taurus which go down to Tarsus and the Cyndus.

  “Look to Mt. Taurus. Its craggy peaks reach nearly a mile into the sky. In the lofty crags of the peaks of Taurus, many fierce eagles nest.

  “Beyond the mountains, in the fertile valleys of Cilicia, Phrygia, Bithynia, the Pontus, and the Black Sea, great numbers of geese feed through the summer and autumn. With the onset of winter the geese know that it is time to migrate southward to the warm, rich delta land of the Nile in Egypt.

  “In the darkness of night the eagles in the rocky peaks of Taurus listen for the flocks to fly over. They plan to attack the honking geese, kill them, and take them back to their nests. But surely it must be the hand of God which compels the geese to do what they do.

  “Before they leave the ground for the long flight which takes them over Taurus, each goose goes to the riverbed and in its beak takes a smooth stone, not too large, but large enough to fill its mouth. Then they fly southward, climbing slowly but untiringly in the darkness. By the time they fly over Mt. Taurus where the vicious eagles await to kill them, they are thousands of feet above its summit. With stones in their mouths, they fly silently and are not likely to make any noise that will attract the killer eagles. Then, having safely passed the eagles, they open their mouths and drop the stones. Then they fly safely on to Egypt.

  “Remember the geese and the eagles,” Zeno had said. “There is a time to speak and a time to be silent.”

  Saul came out of his childhood reverie a little troubled. Now more than ever, he thought, I need to remember the lesson of the eagles and the geese: when to speak and when to be silent or refrain from action.

  He put on his prayer shawl, lovingly fingering its bright fringes. He turned toward the Temple, closed his eyes, and began praying. “Consecrate me, O Lord, for your service,” he cried. “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul! Let integrity and uprightness preserve me, for I wait upon you. Redeem me, O Lord, and prove me. I have walked in truth. I have hated the congregation of evildoers. In your synagogues I will glorify you, O God. Your enemies roar in the midst of your holy Temple. The foolish people have blasphemed your name. Who is so great a God as our God?”

  He prayed loudly, as though he would reach out with his voice from the basement and attract the ear of God on high.

  “You have established a testimony in Jacob and appointed a Law in Israel, that your children might know the Law and set their hope in you and keep your commandments. But the heathen have come into your inheritance; they have defiled your Holy Place. Let me pour out your wrath upon them. Let them come before you as prisoners, crying, and let them be punished sevenfold for their offenses. Your enemies shall perish, Lord, and under your hand I will destroy the wicked of the land. I will rid your Holy City of these evil ones.”

  The vow of the Nazirites was an ancient one, and Saul reached for the scroll of the Book and read again God’s direct order to Moses about its observation. For seven days Saul would fast, pray, and sleep. He would drink no wine. He would neither see nor speak to anyone. He would not leave this room. He would separate and consecrate himself for his task ahead. At the end of seven days he would go to the Temple and complete his vow with sacrifices.“Hear,O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one,” he prayed again.

  He would go beyond the requirements of the vow. Nothing else mattered save the accomplishment of this work. In his mind he prepared himself to give up even the few simple pleasures he enjoyed. It was true that he believed God created all things for man’s pleasure and fulfillment, but there was a time for everything—a time to laugh, a time to cry, a time to feast, and a time to fast. This fast was going to be his most severe, however. In appealing to God for a double portion of stamina, perseverance, and thoroughness, he was going to offer more than a double portion of sacrifice. He would meditate upon God with an attitude of joy and gratitude for the privilege of serving him with all his heart, body, and soul.

  He lay down on his sleeping ledge without lighting his lamp. He would arise before the light and say his morning prayers, but sleep didn’t come for hours. The day had been a stimulating one, and Saul couldn’t keep the day’s events out of his mind. He thought of death, death by stoning. Remembering the face of Stephen, he forced himself to stop thinking about it. But again his mind came back to death, death by crucifixion this time, the common way of Roman execution, a most cruel and unnecessarily prolonged way to die. Many of his people, even some of his friends, had been executed by the Romans.

  He remembered on one occasion nearly a hundred had been crucified at one time, just outside the city walls, but in plain sight for all to see. A group of young men from a house of learning had gathered outside the fortress Antonia to shout protests against the erection of the Roman standard over the Damascus Gate. Soldiers were dispersed to contain the shouting demonstrators. When the students began throwing stones at the soldiers, more soldiers were called out. With their shields and swords they hemmed the young men in against the north wall of the Temple, then beat and cut them into submission. Several lay dead against the wall, and the rest were later crucified.

  This memory disturbed him, and he tried to erase it from his mind. He thought again on the Scriptures. With his eyes wide open he began reciting, but each time he finished a prayer or a verse, his memory returned to that day.

  He had been out of the city when this happened, buying cotton and fleeces from a rural merchant on the Bethany road. Upon approaching Jerusalem, coming around the Mount of Olives, he saw the crosses being raised on Mt. Scopus. He ran all the way to the terrible scene and walked along the row of dying students, ignoring the hostile stares of the Romans. Looking up at the pain-stricken faces, he suddenly saw one he knew. He let out a heartbroken cry when he recognized Michael, the eighteen-year-old son of his neighbor Nathan, the cheese-maker. Michael had always been a quiet, shy boy, definitely not a leader in such rebellion against the Romans, but evidently a follower; or maybe he had just gotten caught up in the exci
tement with his friends. At any rate, he now hung dying on a Roman cross with long spikes driven through his hands and feet. Saul had kneeled beneath his writhing, twisting, groaning body and prayed for him. In his agony, Michael looked down at Saul and recognized him.

  “I’m thirsty,” he whispered through clenched teeth.

  Saul arose, went over to some women, and begged a sponge filled with drugged wine, which family or friends of the victims were allowed to give the dying. Saul put the sponge with the opiated wine on the end of a long pole and raised it to his friend’s face. Michael opened his mouth, took the sponge between his teeth, and squeezed the liquid out of it. Soon his groans diminished from the effect of the drug, and he looked down with thankfulness at Saul.

  “Why,Michael?” Saul asked. “Why did you join such an insane rebellion?”

  “For you,”Michael whispered. “And for Israel.”

  Saul was sorely grieved and perplexed. The Roman soldiers approached and motioned for Saul to leave. He ignored them.

  “But to die?” Saul shouted up at him. “What cause is worth dying for?”

  “Survive, Saul. Survive if you can. But a brother is worth dying for,” said Michael.

  The flat side of a Roman sword knocked Saul to the ground, and he felt the heavy, nailed Roman sandal kick him in the ribs. He lay still until the soldiers moved along. When he felt free to move, he looked up again at his dying friend.

  Suspended from the crossbar, from time to time Michael put his weight on his nailed feet to lift himself up to breathe. By now the weight of his body pulling on his chest and shoulder muscles had so weakened them that he was actually suffocating. Without occasional support from below, the crucified man was gasping to get just a little breath in the crowded air passages.

  At this point, as an act of mercy or, more likely, as a move to get the job over with, a Nubian slave of the military came with a heavy hammer and with two blows to the shins broke the legs of the victims. Saul’s friend screamed, then gasped. Being unable to fill his lungs, he did not take another breath. Michael ben Nathan was dead.