Wiser folk in Gamala fled down pathless ravines that had been left unguarded or along secret passages. For a moment, Josephus reveals his pity for them. “They realized there was no longer any chance of making terms, no way out,” he tells us. “Their food was almost gone—they were very frightened, and in despair.”16 Many began to die of starvation. Even so, most of the population held on. In October, after what sounds like superhuman digging, three troopers of the Fifteenth Legion undermined a tower and opened another breach. One of Gamala’s two leaders, Joseph, was killed trying to defend it, while the other, Chares, died of shock in his sickbed when he heard the news. Wary after their previous setback, the Romans did not send in a storming party just yet.
Then, in the fourth week of October, Titus rejoined his father. Shortly after his arrival, with 200 horsemen and a few legionaries, Titus raced into the city through a breach before the guards were able to intercept him. He was quickly followed by his father who attacked with every man at his disposal. “Everywhere you heard the endless groans of the dying while the entire city was deluged with the blood that was pouring down the slopes.”17
All the defenders who were able fled with their families up to the “citadel.” No more than a bare mountaintop, it was soon crowded with terrified men and women, frantically hurling stones or rolling rocks down on to the Romans. Suddenly a storm began, the wind blowing the besiegers’ spears into the faces of the defenders, who were barely able to keep their foothold on the mountain. The legionaries pushed on relentlessly, stabbing with their short swords and throwing babies into the ravines. Many people jumped into the void to escape them, clutching their wives and children in their arms. No prisoners were taken, the sole survivors being two nieces of one of Agrippa’s senior officers. Five thousand Jews died at Gamala. Even so, they had killed four thousand Romans.
While Gamala was being besieged, Vespasian had sent Placidus with 600 cavalry to eliminate the Jewish garrison at Mount Tabor, between Scythopolis and the Great Plain. Two thousand feet high—characteristically, Josephus says 20,000—its summit was a plateau three-quarters of a mile long. At first sight, this, too, seemed impregnable, but no doubt Josephus had explained to Vespasian the place’s weak point—lack of water—which was why he thought a small force could deal with it. The garrison came down, pretending to ask for terms, but hoping to catch the Romans off guard. As soon as they attacked, Placidus and his men galloped off into the plain. When the enemy pursued, he wheeled around to massacre them. Those who got away fled to Jerusalem, while the inhabitants of Mount Tabor surrendered in return for their lives and water.
By the end of October 67, both Gamala and Mount Tabor had been captured, and the Romans were ready to go into winter quarters. Now only one stronghold in Galilee remained in Jewish hands—Gischala in the extreme north of the province.
Josephus was lucky to be alive, and being a prisoner gave him plenty of time for reflection. It must have been during this time that he decided the God of Israel had abandoned his people because of their impiety and was using the Romans as an instrument of divine punishment. Nothing could save the Jews.
11
John of Gischala Comes to Jerusalem
“The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, but war was in his heart: his words were softer than oil, yet were they drawn swords.”
PSALMS, 55, 21
ALL THAT WE KNOW about Yohannan ben Levi—John of Gischala—comes from Josephus who, as we have seen, hated him for trying to take his place as governor of Galilee—not to mention several determined attempts at murder. Obviously, it is very hard to tell what is true in an enemy’s testimony. Yet John was an uncompromising patriot who believed passionately in Jewish freedom, and he was convinced that the Jews could win the war. Admittedly, he was unbalanced by a little too much confidence in his own abilities, and he had few scruples about killing anybody who stood in his way.
Josephus says that although most of the inhabitants of Gischala (Gush Halav) were peace-loving farmers interested only in their crops, a large band of brigands had moved into the little city and that some of the city’s notables were “sick of the same distemper.” They had been encouraged to revolt, he explains, by John, an insanely ambitious intriguer, very clever at getting what he wanted, who knew how to be all things to all men. “It was common knowledge that his reason for being so keen on the war was that he hoped to make himself a dictator.” The “malcontents” in the city had chosen him for their leader, and although the majority of the population would have liked to send a message saying they were ready to surrender, Gischala prepared to fight the Romans.1
Vespasian had taken two of his legions back to Caesarea, sending the third (the Tenth Legion) to Scythopolis. There was adequate food for his men in both cities, and being very much aware that they were in need of a rest, he wanted to build up their strength during the winter in preparation for the huge effort that would be required for the capture of Jerusalem. Not only was the nation’s capital built on a naturally strong site but its walls were unusually solid and defended by fanatics. Any shortage of manpower had been made good by refugees who were flooding into the royal city. The prospect worried even Vespasian. Josephus comments that he trained his legionaries as though they were wrestlers.
In a remote area up in northeastern Galilee, Gischala had no strategic value. Its importance was purely symbolic, as the last stronghold in the province still in Jewish hands. Titus set off to capture the place with a mere thousand horsemen and, after reconnoitering, decided that it could easily be taken by storm. However, this would mean massacring its population, and for the moment at least, he seems to have been sick of bloodshed. Hoping to persuade its defenders to surrender, he rode up to the walls, which were crowded with men yelling defiantly.
Just what are you hoping for? Every other Galilean city has fallen, and far stronger ones than yours fell at the first assault, yet here you are, stubbornly holding out by yourselves. All the cities that have accepted Rome’s terms are safe, keeping their goods and their way of life, and these terms are still on offer, despite your impertinence. Wanting “liberty” may be all very well, but trying to resist when there’s no hope is ridiculous. If you turn down my very generous offer, which I make in all good faith, then you are going to learn what war means. As a defense against Roman siege engines, your walls are a joke. If they think they can depend on them, then the last of the Galilean rebels are about to discover they are vain and conceited slaves who have already been taken prisoner.2
According to Josephus, none of the locals dared to reply. In any case, they were not even allowed onto the walls, which were entirely manned by bandits who guarded the gates to stop anybody from going out to surrender or letting in enemy horsemen. John took it on himself to answer Titus. He was satisfied with the terms and would make everybody else in the city accept them, he shouted. But Titus must let the Jews observe the Sabbath, when they were forbidden by their Law to use weapons or conduct negotiations. Even Romans must be aware that Jews ceased from all labor on this day, and anyone forcing them to break the Law was as guilty as those who broke it. The delay could not hurt Titus because the only thing the Jews could do during the night was to try to escape, which he could easily prevent by camping all around the city. The Jews would gain from staying true to their traditions, and it would look more gracious if he respected their ways.
“This was the work of God who saved John so that he might bring destruction upon Jerusalem,” comments Josephus, “just as it was God’s doing that Titus was convinced by his excuse for a delay and decided to camp further off at Cydasa.”3 Cydasa was a well-fortified Syrian village with a long history of anti-Jewish activity. Just how small a place Gischala must have been is shown by the suggestion that Titus should surround it with a thousand men.
That Sabbath night, when the Romans had left the city unguarded, John fled south to Jerusalem, accompanied not only by his men but by several thousand local folk, a long and dangerous march through Galilee an
d Judea, much of it through territory controlled by the enemy. “Run for your lives,” he told them. “Once we’re in a safe place, we can revenge ourselves on the Romans for what they are going to do to the people we have to leave behind.”
Unfortunately, after several miles the women and children could not keep up, and guessing that Titus would soon launch a relentless chase, John was forced to leave them behind amid the screams of wives who begged their husbands to stay. Terrified of being caught by the Romans, some were trampled down trying to run after John’s men or were lost in the desert. This description is based on the account given in The Jewish War. The detail that several thousand of the locals tried to leave with John contradicts Josephus’s statement that most of the inhabitants wanted to surrender. Nor does he give John credit for a gallant attempt to evacuate everybody loyal to the cause of Jewish freedom.
The next morning, Titus and his cavalry rode up to the gates of Gischala, which were opened at once, as the inhabitants and their families greeted him as a liberator. At the same time they told him of John’s escape. Titus sent several squadrons of cavalry in pursuit, but he had gained too big a start. After a grueling forced march, John reached Jerusalem safely early in November with most of his little army. However, the Romans killed 6,000 of the noncombatants who had set out with him, dragging back to Gischala as prisoners nearly 3,000 women and children. Although angry at having been tricked, Titus was surprisingly merciful, taking the view that threats were a better deterrent than executions. He merely demolished part of the city wall and left a garrison.
Greeted enthusiastically by the crowds at Jerusalem, John and his men insisted that they had not run away but had withdrawn to fight on more favorable ground. “It would have been a waste of time to risk our lives by trying to defend Gischala or any other badly fortified little town,” they explained. “We wanted to keep our weapons and our numbers to defend the capital.” Even so, Jerusalem was horrified by the fall of Gischala and by so many refugees being killed or taken prisoner during the retreat. John tried to cheer them up. The enemy was much weaker than anyone realized, and their siege engines had breached the ramparts of Galilee’s little cities only with the utmost difficulty, he claimed. “Even if the Romans grow wings, they won’t be able to get over the walls of Jerusalem.”4 This went down well with younger men, making them keen to fight, but the older and wiser sensed that they were in terrible danger.
Law and order had broken down in all the cities of Judea before their recapture by the Romans, The Jewish War tells us. Each family was divided by politics, quarrelling bitterly, with fighting in the streets between those who were eager for war and those who wanted peace. Gangs of bandits terrorized the well-to-do, breaking into houses and ravaging the countryside. Finally, their leaders joined together and took their men into Jerusalem in search of better pickings. Already overcrowded, its population swollen by starving refugees, the capital grew nightmarish, especially for its richer citizens. Robbery, murder, and every imaginable crime were chronic, not just at night but in full daylight.
Josephus’s picture is exaggerated, since he belonged to the class most at risk. The majority of the men he calls bandits are likely to have been illiterate young peasants, ’am ha-arez who had lost their farms rather than professional criminals. Admittedly, even if they did not understand the finer points of the Fourth Philosophy, they agreed wholeheartedly that it was sinful to pay taxes to Rome, and some of them were levelers. Nevertheless, not all of the “rebels” were peasants. More members of the upper class joined them than Josephus says; they were attracted by the party’s heady mix of idealism, courage, and refusal to compromise.5 What they all had in common was a thirst for Jewish freedom, while they prided themselves on their zeal for religion—the source of their adopted name.
What Josephus does not mention is the impact of the loss of Galilee, which showed everybody just how much their ruling class had failed them. It was during this time that the Zealots began to coalesce into a revolutionary movement. Although there were plenty of aristocrats among them, those of humble origin suspected them of being lukewarm in their devotion to the nation’s cause, of wanting to compromise. It looks as if more than a few people were thought to be potential collaborators because of their class. Josephus’s defection may well have fueled these suspicions.
Suddenly, the unruly element seized Antipas, a man of royal blood and great influence who was in charge of the public treasury, together with two other distinguished nobles, Levias “a person of importance” and Sophas, the son of Raguel, putting them in chains. All three were rich grandees with armed retainers who might attempt a rescue, so they were speedily put to death. The deed was done by a Zealot called John, son of Dorcas, “one of the most bloody minded of them all.”6 Taking ten other thugs, he went to the prison where the three were confined and cut their throats. The news caused an uproar throughout Jerusalem. Everybody was worried about his own safety, as if the city had been taken by storm. The reason given for the “executions” was that the men had been in close touch with the Romans and were plotting to surrender Jerusalem to them, an accusation that may well have had some basis, although The Jewish War implies that it was trumped up and that the real motive was class hatred. Using the alleged plot as a pretext and insisting they were the saviors of the people and of liberty, the Zealots took over the Temple, which they turned into a fortress.
What outraged Josephus still more, however, was the way in which levelers among the Zealots forced the election of a new high priest of humble background, although it was an office that for many years had been a hereditary preserve of the great families. His name was Phannias ben Samuel, and he came from the village of Aphthia, “a man who not only lacked descent from high priests, but was too boorish to understand the meaning of the high priesthood.” In The Jewish War, Josephus tells us with horror how this “ignoble, low born man” was brought in from the countryside, taken into the Temple, dressed up in the vestments, and told how to play the part and goes on to say that the Zealots thought that both the man and his election were a joke.7
Although Phannias did not have distinguished ancestors, he was nonetheless descended from Aaron, the first high priest, and therefore he was entitled to call himself ha-Kohen. Instead of being a peasant, as Josephus contends, he worked as a stonemason, which was a perfectly decent calling for a member of the lower priesthood. Moreover, one source claims that he had married a daughter of the Nasi—the Sanhedrin’s president.8 Until the fall of the city, he donned the high priest’s miter and breastplate on Yom Kippur. Even so, Phannias’s election foreshadowed class war. In political terms, however, he turned out to be a complete nonentity who never made any attempt to influence events.
The Zealot leader at this time was a man of upper-class background, Eleazar ben Simon, who had emerged during the battle with Cestius the previous year, and it was he who had suggested occupying the Temple. Despite a parade of idealism, Eleazar was in reality just a gang boss with a “tyrannical temper.” It is unlikely that the Zealots possessed a coherent strategy until John of Gischala took over the leadership, which was some considerable time after his arrival in the capital. It was John who declared war on the old establishment and led the Jewish “revolution,” although at first he concealed his aims.
The leader of the Jewish establishment was Ananus ben Ananus, senior among former high priests. Four of his brothers had held the office, and he epitomized the magnates of Judea. He still presided over the junta, though he was weakened by the disappearance of his ally Eleazar ben Ananias, which historians cannot explain. In Josephus’s opinion, Ananus was a man of very shrewd judgment, who might have saved the city. No doubt, he had arranged the murder of James, the brother of Jesus, but he knew how to control his savage streak. Rallying the citizens against the extremists in the Temple, he quickly found allies among the elite, notably another ex-high priest Joshua ben Gamala, together with Gorion ben Joseph and Simon ben Gamaliel. The four made speeches all over the city, butto
nholing everybody they met in the streets.
They held meetings at which they rebuked the citizens of Jerusalem for not standing up to people “who called themselves ‘zealots’ as if they were zealous for doing good instead of practicing depravity.”9 One of these meetings drew a particularly big crowd of people who complained about the occupation of the Sanctuary and about so much robbery and bloodshed. They were too frightened to do anything since the Zealots were such tough customers. However, during the meeting Ananus made a long, eloquent speech that shows his views were close to those of Josephus, who no doubt inserted his own opinions into the version he gives us. The speech marked the last chance of reaching some sort of settlement with the Romans—of escaping from a war bound to end in annihilation.
“I wish I had died before I had seen the house of God so full of abomination, at seeing sacred places that ought to be inviolable being trodden by the feet of blood-stained murderers,” began Ananus, standing in the midst of a huge crowd. He was in tears as he spoke, frequently glancing meaningfully in the direction of the Temple. Angrily, he rebuked his listeners for permitting the Zealots to arm themselves and dominate Jerusalem, for allowing them to put Antipas and his friends in chains, and then torture and murder them, and for letting them establish a tyranny. How could they bear to see their holiest possessions trampled on by such criminals? “You really are pitiful creatures!” he told his audience. “Why can’t you rise up and throw them out?” He added, “Or are you waiting for the Romans to come back and rescue our holy places?”
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