by Brian Godawa
We have brought this on ourselves, thought Simon. We have slit our own throats.
Lawlessness had taken over. Robbers and bandits led gangs of marauders through the streets, stealing the last scraps of food from dying families. Simon could not control his own men from joining in the looting. After all, if the soldiers did not eat, they could not defend the city. They had to have priority over the citizens.
To salve his conscience, he ordered his men to withhold from such crimes. To avoid mutiny, he turned a blind eye and deaf ear to what they did in his absence.
But one thing haunted Simon’s soul more than the anarchy, the last thing he had heard the Two Witnesses proclaim before they were killed. It was a cryptic prediction that he had dismissed in the face of his immediate concerns of war. But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if he ought to have listened to them. They had been right about so many things. Could false prophets have that kind of accuracy?
After he’d left their dead bodies in the streets, Simon had heard that the prophets were said to have been resurrected and ascended into heaven. If only he had been there to see for himself. If it was true, it would be a miraculous confirmation of their message, would it not?
Still, Simon knew the propensity of people to exaggerate and see things to confirm their biases. Ascension into heaven was a common occurrence in legends and myths.
Then someone had told him that Alexander was there. That the Christian doctor had seen it happen. A man whose integrity he trusted above his own allies. Simon wanted to find out what the doctor knew, what that last cryptic prophecy meant. Everything around him was breaking down. He was losing control. He was desperate for any help he could get.
Simon and Aaron entered the hippodrome. As they walked out onto the arena, Simon was arrested by the sight and smells around them. He covered his nose at the stench. Thousands of sick and wounded filled the southern half of the stadium floor. There were three times as many patients as beds. People were lying on mats, many of them in the uncovered dirt. Most were simply not being helped. It was completely unmanageable.
The northern half of the stadium contained piles of dead bodies, a hundred or so of them.
“This is not a hospital,” Aaron muttered. “It’s a cemetery.”
Simon saw Alexander coming toward them with some assistants. “General, to what do I owe this visit?” the doctor asked.
“I have something I want to ask you,” said Simon. “But I was unaware of your situation here. They are dying faster than you can bury the bodies.”
Alexander looked around. “Oh, we stopped burying long ago. There is no space for graves. We have to dump them outside the walls. Those that you see are the ones who died today.”
Burial for Jews was a sacred right. Leaving bodies to rot in the open air was often a symbolic form of judgment upon one’s enemies. So for the Jews to do this to their own meant they had lost all hope.
Alexander said, “People have stopped coming here. They are dying in their homes now. We were just about to carry those bodies to the wall.”
Simon turned to his soldiers. “Everyone, start piling up the dead in these carts. Let’s help the doctor clear them out.”
The soldiers reluctantly moved to obey. They filled a dozen donkey-drawn carts with bodies. They would pull the carts out to the city wall.
“If you will follow me, I will show you where the bodies are to be dumped.” Alexander gave his assistants a few instructions, then led Simon out of the hippodrome. Lashing at the donkeys, the soldiers maneuvered the carts to follow.
The route took them past destroyed buildings and piles of stinking rubbish. As they walked, Simon said, “I actually came today because I wanted to ask you about the Two Witnesses.”
“So their preaching has not left you?” Alexander responded.
Simon didn’t answer him. Instead, he said, “I understand you were there after they died. Did you steal the bodies?”
Alexander laughed. “They said the same thing when Jesus rose from the dead. There were hundreds of witnesses, General. We all saw them rise and ascend into heaven. Some heard the voice of God call them up. Others heard thunder.”
Simon would get nowhere with this. He said, “I heard them say something before they were killed. I wanted to ask you what it meant since you were connected to them.”
“What did they say?”
“Something about a third woe that was about to happen. With a final trumpet.”
“And you want to know what the final woe and trumpet is—to prepare for it or to leave while you can?”
Simon changed the subject. “Is the final woe the starvation of the city?”
“No. The three woes correspond to the last three of seven trumpets of judgment upon the Land and people. You’ve experienced the previous judgments throughout this war. The Witnesses explained them when they were alive. The last trumpet is the conclusion.”
Simon asked, “And what is the conclusion?”
Alexander quoted from the Apocalypse. “Then the seventh angel blew his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, saying, ‘The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign forever and ever.’ The nations raged, but your wrath came, and the time for the dead to be judged, and for rewarding your servants, the prophets and saints, and for destroying the destroyers of the Land.”
Simon expected an explanation, but Alexander walked on without giving it. Simon got impatient. “But what does it mean?”
“As Messiah, Jesus has inherited all the nations. Those who rejected him will know the wrath of God. And when this is all over, the kingdom of God will be established on the ruins of this destroyed Land. There is no escape, Simon.”
It still sounded like so much delusional nonsense to Simon. But before he could figure out his next question, they had arrived at the city walls where a ramp to the top had been created for the wagons. The soldiers walked the donkeys up the steep incline. Simon and Alexander followed, arriving at the ledge that overlooked the Valley of Hinnom.
What Simon saw was more horrible than the sight in the hippodrome. The entire valley was filled with dead bodies, hundreds of thousands of them, all along the wall where people had been dumping them. The largest pile of corpses was here in the Valley of Hinnom, the place they called Gehenna.195
Heaps of rotting human flesh below were surrounded by clouds of flies, packs of rodents, and birds of prey. The stench was unbearable even way up high on the wall. Simon had fought in many a battle and had seen his share of atrocities, of the barbaric things men could do to one another. But he had never seen anything like this before. The sheer numbers of the dead were staggering. Starved skeletal remains of people who had been robbed of every ounce of their humanity.
The words of Jeremiah the prophet about this very valley echoed in his mind.
“Behold, the days are coming, declares Yahweh, when this valley will no more be called the Valley of the Son of Hinnom, but the Valley of Slaughter; because there is no room elsewhere. And in this place I will make void the plans of Jerusalem, and will cause their people to fall by the sword before their enemies. I will give their dead bodies for food to the birds of the air and to the beasts of the earth. And I will make this city a horror.”
Jeremiah 7:31–33, 19:7-8
Jeremiah had been describing the Babylonian invasion and destruction of Jerusalem and the temple in the days of Nebuchadnezzar. This valley had become cursed with the bodies of the dead in judgment. That was the meaning of Gehenna. And now the Valley of Hinnom had become once again the Valley of Slaughter. It was happening all over again.196
Suddenly, everything Simon had been seeking in this war became as nothing. His entire life of selfish pursuits was a mockery as it passed before his eyes. Money, power, glory. Revenge. None of it mattered. Everything was vanity and chasing after the wind.
Simon turned to see Aaron staring out onto the horizon where the sun burned like Yahweh’s justice. Sim
on asked him, “Remember what I said when we met?”
Aaron replied dryly, “You didn’t believe in causes, and you didn’t live on faith.”
Simon said simply, “Well, I was wrong.”
Aaron gave him a surprised look. Simon continued, “I see now the life of cowardice I have lived.”
“What are you talking about?” Aaron demanded. “You are the hero of this nation.”
“Revenge is a coward, Aaron. And I am its foolish lover. I think I finally understand what your community was seeking. The holiness.”
Holiness was that which was set apart unto God. Humans were created in the image of Yahweh. They were set apart from all of creation to represent God on earth. To be his imagers. The motivation of the monks in separating themselves was to focus exclusively on Yahweh by punishing their flesh.
“I want to become an Essene,” said Simon. “Baptize me.”
“The Essenes are dead,” said Aaron, his eyes not turning from their gaze into the desert of Azazel.
“But you are alive,” said Simon.
“No, General. All that I was is dead. There is no Qumran, no Sons of Light, no end of the world, and no coming Messiah. There is only the strong and the weak—at war.”
How tragic it was that the very thing that had brought faith back to life in Simon had killed faith in Aaron.
• • • • •
Simon was baptized by one of Aaron’s fellow Essenes in one of the many ritual mikveh pools in the Essene quarter of the city.
When he came up out of the water, he expected to feel holy, born again. But something inside him told him he was not. Had he swung from one extreme of the flesh to another?
He decided that instead of escaping the city, he would fight to the end and give his life for the hope of achieving that holiness, to be a part again of something bigger than himself.
CHAPTER 51
Gischala marched through the passageway beneath the inner temple with his eight captains of thousands. They carried torches that lit the moss-covered stone arches with an eerie glow.
One of the captains, a bearded older warrior, complained, “General, our rations are gone. The troops are demoralized. All they can think of is food.”
Gischala considered his words. “How many doubt my leadership?”
The captain became skittish, unwilling to say.
“I asked you a question, soldier. I want the truth.”
“A third distrust you, my lord. And growing.”
Another captain offered, “Loyalty fades quickly with empty bellies. It would take a miracle to revive their spirits and renew their devotion.”
Gischala stopped them. They had arrived at a large room with a double sealed door guarded by two sentries.
Gischala said, “Well then, captain, a miracle is what we shall have.”
He ordered the guards aside and unlocked the doors. He swung them open to reveal a large storage room filled with stored foodstuffs.
The captains froze with shock. There was enough to feed an army. Smoked shanks of beef, jars of wine, piles of dried fruits and vegetables.
The skittish captain muttered, “The temple stores.”
“Opened for the army of the temple,” said Gischala. “I’ve also stopped the daily sacrifices.”
The captains looked at one another. “But general,” cautioned the bearded captain, “Messiah alone can stop the sacrifices.”
“Exactly,” said Gischala. “And when men are starving to death, they are, shall we say, most suggestible to compliance. Leave that to me.”
From the time that the regular burnt offering is taken away and the abomination that makes desolate is set up, there shall be 1,290 days.
Daniel 12:11
1,290 days earlier, the abominable Roman armies had arrived and set up in the holy land to start their desolation of Judea that ultimately led to the temple.197
• • • • •
Gischala’s forces of eight thousand men assembled outside the Beautiful Gate and surrounded the inner temple. They were losing their morale and strength to fight the Romans. Their hunger, however, made them more volatile with one another, and fights broke out that had to be squashed before they became something bigger.
Gischala stood ready behind the gates as twenty men pushed them open.
A hush went over the crowd as Gischala stepped out onto the top steps of the temple gate dressed in kingly robes with a royal purple cape and a golden crown on his head.
He spoke with a strong voice. “My soldiers! My loyal ones! Taste and see that the Lord is good! Have faith in me and you will receive manna from heaven!”
As he said this, a series of dozens of soldiers began exiting the gate carrying tables loaded with food, all the food that was in the stores below. Others carried jugs of drink.
The soldiers went wild.
Gischala calmed them down and said, “The Lord has provided plenty of food for everyone! Do not stampede. You will all get your turn! Trust me! Trust in the Lord!”
The soldiers cheered again as more tables were brought out overflowing with food. Lines of others brought spits of cooked meat, cows and bulls from the sacrificial offerings. The smell of the meat stirred the masses even more. Gischala had to remind them, “There is plenty for all! Do not rush!”
The men lined up to get their fill. Spirits had risen. Hope had returned. There would be a great celebration this day. But it would not last long, and Gischala knew it. He was taking a big gamble.198
The bearded captain whispered to Gischala, “That is the last of the temple reserves. What will they do when they discover there is no more?”
Gischala whispered back, “The citizens will provide us more. Prepare a scout party of five hundred who have had their fill. It is time for us to extract more tribute from those whom we protect.”
• • • • •
The night was bright and clear. All was quiet about the Huldah Gates of the temple. Until the doors opened and a flurry of armed horsemen launched out into the night. Five hundred of them, divided into groups of five or ten, splitting up into the city to procure more food. The soldiers were well fed now, strong and ready to plunder.
Gischala led one of the groups of five men. He galloped into the Upper City district where more of the wealthier Jews lived, better targets for robbing.
As he entered one of the neighborhoods he was familiar with, he noticed a group of bandits rushing from a house with sacks on their backs. There were three of them.
Gischala whistled. His four men spurred their horses to catch the thieves. Getting off his horse, Gischala walked into the open door of the home. Lamps were still lit, but the pall of silent death lay over it all.
He walked into the main room to discover a mother, a father, and two young children tied up with their throats slit.
As he walked back out, his men dragged the thieves up to him. He discovered that they had stolen a single loaf of bread and some personal items.
Four murdered innocents for a single loaf of bread.
He said to his men, “Cut their throats.”
They obeyed and drew their blades across the throats of the squirming criminals, who fell to the ground with spreading pools of blood around them.
Gischala and his men moved on.
The streets were mostly quiet. They approached another home and kicked in the door, only to find a family of six, dead. They were not the victims of bandits but simply starvation. Their emaciated remains looked like they were already skeletons though they had only begun to decompose.
Gischala covered his nose at the smell and left the home. There was obviously no food here.
Down the next block, Gischala was surprised to see a home with smoke coming from its chimney. Smoke with the scent of cooking meat.
Well that’s daring, he thought as they approached the home.
Dismounting, the five men approached cautiously. Gischala braced himself for some kind of trap.
But there was none.
&nb
sp; At Gischala’s order, his men kicked in the door and entered. Within a few moments, Gischala heard a man cry out. It was one of the Zealots. Was it a trap after all?
The other four men stumbled out of the house. One of them vomited. The others were so shocked they could not speak. They just shook their heads in disbelief as if they had seen a phantom.
Gischala got off his horse and entered the home, drawing his sword. What could have frightened four armed warriors ready for battle? He was afraid of nothing.
When he entered the small kitchen, he saw a woman sitting at her table chewing on a piece of meat.
On the platter before her was the charred body of an infant.
She looked up at Gischala and spoke as if she were completely sane. “Welcome, soldier. Would you like to share a bite to eat with me?”
Gischala asked in horror, “Where did you get that?”
“This?” She looked down at her victim. “Oh, this is my son. I just finished roasting him, and I have no one to share a meal with. You wouldn’t leave a woman alone to eat, would you?”199
Gischala’s face froze with terror. He muttered, “Dear God,” and backed out of the room slowly, not knowing what other insanity she might be capable of.
It dawned on Gischala that the starvation had brought upon the city a kind of madness that turned normal, peaceful citizens into demon-possessed monsters. It was as if the whole city had become demon-possessed. A haunt for satyrs, jackals, hyenas, and every unclean spirit.200
Well, then, we will have to deal with these inhuman monsters with inhuman treatment.
They proceeded to ride through the streets pillaging without mercy. The food they were procuring was minimal—scraps and crumbs—but it was better than nothing. Gischala told himself they were putting these possessed creatures out of their misery. Like rabid dogs. It made him feel better about his own brutality.
