The Kingdom and the Crown

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Yes.”

  Simeon blew out his breath, still reeling a little.

  “So, let’s talk about the other issue,” Yehuda said.

  When Simeon answered, there was a sadness in his voice. “Livia doesn’t talk much about her feelings, but she believes deeply that Jesus is all he claims to be.”

  “I know that. But you and I disagree about this as well. Would it be fair to say that in spite of our differences, I have respected your right to feel as you do? I haven’t made our relationship contingent on your putting aside how you believe, have I?”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “I can fully respect Livia’s beliefs. I will not ridicule them or try to convince her she is wrong. The question is, can she extend that same respect to what I believe? Will she object if we raise our children as good Jews?”

  Simeon instantly shook his head, then remembered that Yehuda couldn’t see him in the darkness. “That would surprise me very much. I know Livia isn’t Jewish by birth, but she at least partially accepted our religion back in Jerusalem. She never formally converted, but I don’t think she finds it objectionable.”

  “I know,” Yehuda murmured, “but that was before she became a disciple of Jesus.”

  “Yehuda,” Simeon said earnestly, “Jesus has not asked us to put aside the Law. In fact, he says that he has come to fulfill the Law. Miriam and I fully plan to raise our children as his followers and good Jews. We will continue to go to synagogue. We will circumcise our sons, honor the dietary laws, keep the other requirements set down by Moses. I assume Livia feels the same.”

  “If she does, then I can accept her being a follower of Jesus.”

  “And raising your children to be followers of Jesus?”

  He thought for a moment, then grunted. “Yes, that too. I have to admit that following after this man does seem to make one a better person.”

  Simeon stood up. “Then I shall speak in your behalf, Yehuda of Beth Neelah.

  “When?”

  “Knowing women, I doubt very much they are asleep yet either. We really can’t delay our return to Capernaum any longer. I’ll go talk to her right now. That will give her tonight to think about it; then hopefully by morning, you will at least have an idea of her response.”

  “I would like that,” he admitted. “I’ve been like a cat passing through a village full of dogs these last few days.”

  Simeon laughed. It was an image that didn’t fit his friend very often.

  “Well?” Yehuda said after a moment.

  “Well what?”

  “Why are you still standing there? Go!”

  III

  23 November, a.d. 31

  It was going to be a beautiful day in the Galilee. The sun was not up yet, but the sky was cloudless, and the golden glow of morning was spreading across the land. Yehuda stood behind the toolshed, washing his face and hands in a small stone cistern. He stopped and spun around at a sound behind him. Nothing was there. “Like a cat in a village of dogs,” he muttered to himself.

  Simeon had returned to the stable about an hour after going to find Livia. All he could and would say was that Livia was astonished by what he had said, and she certainly wouldn’t sleep much that night.

  Not that Yehuda had either. He had tossed and turned and fretted for hours. But he must have finally dozed off for a brief time, because Simeon had slipped out of the stable without waking him.

  “Yehuda?”

  He jumped and swung around. Simeon was standing there, face impassive.

  Wiping his hands on his tunic, he rushed forward. “Yes? Have you seen her? Have you talked with her this morning?”

  “Let’s walk.”

  Yehuda felt his stomach twist sharply. He hadn’t very often seen Simeon this grave. “Tell me,” he said, falling into step beside him. “Was she offended by my boldness?”

  When there was no answer, he swung away, bitter and angry with himself. “I should have waited. Another month or so and she could have gotten to know me better and—”

  “Not only do you snore like a wild boar,” Simeon cut in, “but you can’t wait even one minute, can you?”

  “I—”

  “Can you hold your questions for another fifty paces so we can talk undisturbed?”

  “Come on, Simeon. I’m dying. I haven’t slept all night.”

  Simeon just sighed, like a father who despairs of ever having his son come to his senses. They had walked well into the rows of vines, out of sight of the shed and the house. Simeon stopped, looked around, then sat down on a low wall made of stones, indicating that Yehuda should do the same.

  “All right,” Yehuda said immediately, “just tell me. Don’t try to sweeten it up with honey. I’ve pretty much accepted it already.”

  “Oh,” Simeon said in amusement, “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, first off, she told me you totally ruined the night for her. She hasn’t been to bed at all. She spent hours walking and thinking. She also said she spent a long time on her knees.”

  The thick dark eyebrows lifted hopefully. “So she didn’t just burst out laughing?”

  “Are you ready for this?” Simeon asked slowly, enjoying prolonging his friend’s agony.

  “I don’t know if I am or not,” came the murmured reply.

  A slow, deep smile stole over Simeon’s face. “I told you last night that it was like you had punched me in the stomach. But that was nothing compared to what happened with Livia when I talked to her.”

  “Yes, and? What did she say?”

  “She has agreed to your proposal for marriage.”

  Yehuda shot to his feet. “Really?” Then his brows lowered darkly. “You wouldn’t joke about something like this, would you?”

  “No, Yehuda, I wouldn’t joke about something like this.”

  The big man turned and faced the east, where the sun was just peeping over the hills. His head tipped back, and he closed his eyes.

  “That’s not all.” Simeon went on, enjoying this more than anything he could remember in a long time. “Not only does she agree to the idea that you should be betrothed and married the same day, but she doesn’t want to wait very long. She wants to return here with you after you go down to Capernaum for Hanukkah and our betrothal. She would like the marriage to take place immediately after that.”

  Yehuda turned slowly, gaping at his friend. “She said that?”

  “Yes, she did. She said that was what took her most of the night to decide. She knew immediately that she wanted to marry you. But she’s afraid that you will think her unseemly for wanting to move so quickly.”

  That really took Yehuda aback. “Unseemly?”

  “You have to remember that though Livia has lived among us for six years or so, she is not one of our people. She hasn’t grown up with our customs or our traditions. But she is fully familiar with our custom of waiting a year, and she is hesitant for your sake to violate it—even though you brought it up. At the same time, she is getting older, as you are. Most girls are married by sixteen in Greece, the same as here. And she is twenty-one. She was beginning to think she might never marry. So if you would not find it offensive—and she wanted me to stress that point—that is her proposal.”

  Yehuda looked as if a wall had just fallen on him. Simeon laughed right out loud at the expression on his friend’s face. “I told you it’s been a night of surprises.”

  “She really said all that?”

  “She did,” Simeon said with a grin. “So, do you feel her boldness is unseemly?”

  “Unseemly? Are you mad? That is the most wonderful thing I have ever heard. It’s more than I could have hoped for in my wildest imaginings.”

  Simeon nodded slowly, then stood up next to his long-time friend. “Do you know what’s strange, Yehuda?”

  “What?”

  “Last night I was afraid Livia was going to ask me if I thought this was the right thing for her to do. I didn’t want to have to t
ell her that I had serious reservations about it.”

  “You didn’t tell me that last night.”

  “I did in my own way,” Simeon corrected him. “But . . .” He shook his head slowly, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “When she told me how she felt, instantly I knew it was right. For you. For her. I knew it as surely as I know I love Miriam.”

  He stuck out his hand and gripped Yehuda’s tightly. “So, congratulations, my friend. Now let’s go. There is a very anxious woman waiting by the shed to learn what you have to say to all of this. And we have some pretty incredible news to break to the rest of the family.”

  Chapter 7

  This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.

  —Genesis 2:23–24

  I

  Capernaum 24 November–6 December, a.d. 31

  With their return from Beth Neelah, the women of the family of David ben Joseph of Capernaum launched into feverish preparations for the betrothal of Miriam and Simeon. Some things had already been done before they went up to Sepphoris and Beth Neelah, but Livia’s plans to marry Yehuda immediately following Hanukkah changed everything. Now preparations for that were added to the other.

  In actuality, the primary purpose for the traditional year of betrothal was to allow both the bride and the groom time to prepare themselves to start their own household. It also allowed the parents of both families to have sufficient time to prepare for the wedding feast. Weddings and betrothals, even in the smallest villages, were eventful affairs, carrying religious, cultural, and communal significance. According to the Torah, or the writings of Moses, the first marriage had been performed by God himself. Adam and Eve set the pattern for all of their posterity to follow. It was a joyous time, one calling for extended and intense celebration.

  No one in the family questioned Livia’s decision to marry so quickly. Her announcement that morning in Beth Neelah had been met with genuine joy and complete support. But Livia had no family except Drusus, who was not there. So Miriam and the family of David ben Joseph took her under their wings as if she were their own.

  Leah, Miriam, and Lilly set to work to help Livia pull together at least the minimal personal dowry that every woman was expected to bring to her marriage: kettles for the cooking fire; pots, jars, bowls, and dishes for eating; larger vessels for wine and oil; bed linens and, if possible, a new straw mattress; sufficient clothing to start a new life; table coverings and towels.

  Deborah, Rachel, and Hava (once she and Aaron arrived from Sepphoris) worked on the elaborate kit of cosmetics required for the wedding ceremonies, the wedding garments, and the appropriate jewelry for both women. For the actual purchase of the wedding garments, every woman in the household, including five-year-old Esther, accompanied Miriam and Livia, spending all day before a final decision was made.

  David, Simeon, Ephraim, and Ezra worked on the practical side of the betrothal feast. Traditionally, betrothal ceremonies were held in the home of the bride’s parents. In Miriam’s case, that was not possible, so the most logical substitution was David’s home. However, David ben Joseph was an influential and highly respected man in Capernaum. He had associates in the trade from many surrounding areas who would come to honor the family. Simeon’s band of brothers from the Galilee would come down as well. And if Jesus came, which he planned to do, dozens of others would come with him, whether they knew the family or not. There was no way that the ceremony and celebration could be held at David’s home.

  So the decision had been a simple one. They would secure the Beth Chatanim, or “house of the bridegrooms.” Though originally that title referred to the actual house that belonged to the groom and which would become the home of the newly wedded couple, most larger communities now had a public place in which betrothals and weddings could be held. Not only did these places include a spacious hall that could accommodate large crowds, but most Beth Chatanim also had a chuppah room. Chuppah was the covering, or canopy, under which the actual ceremony took place. If it was a marriage and not a betrothal, the chuppah room could also serve as the bridal chambers.

  David and his three sons, along with Ezra, set to work preparing the hall. Fortunately, winter was a time when much of the harvest had already been shipped out of the warehouses, making available dozens of low tables normally used to keep the sacks of grain off the floor. Since people ate in a semi-reclining position, they then had to borrow, buy, or rent hundreds of pillows and mats on which the guests could eat. They rounded up sawhorses and long planks and created a dozen or more serving tables. Stools for the musicians; dishes sufficient to feed hundreds; great vats of wine; and sacks of spices, grains, dried peas, beans, and other legumes were brought in until it began to look as though there would be no room for the people themselves.

  The fresh food, and especially the meat, would have to wait until the day of the celebration, but Ephraim and Simeon went to more than a dozen merchants and made arrangements to have food delivered to the Beth Chatanim early on the morning of the betrothal. Bakers all around the city were paid to bring their loaves of bread hot from the ovens once the feasting began. While Ephraim and Simeon were out purchasing the food, David secured several servants to help with the feast, in addition to the part-time servants who came in to help Deborah from time to time.

  As sundown of the day before Hanukkah approached, things gradually quieted. The flurry of activity lessened somewhat, and all was in readiness.

  II

  7 December, a.d. 31

  At sundown, which marked the beginning of the next day, specially invited guests began to gather in two places. The male friends and relatives of the bridegroom went to the chuppah in the Beth Chatanim. The female friends and relatives of the bride went to the home of David and Deborah. Since Miriam had no parents in Capernaum, Deborah’s house had become the designated home for the betrothed.

  In keeping with customs that stretched back hundreds of years, the evening began with Deborah holding forth at her home for the women of the family and their closest friends. As soon as everyone had arrived, Deborah led Miriam to a stool in the center of the room. There she was seated, with the expectation that she would not speak or actively participate in the activities that followed. The task for the women of the family—in this case, Deborah, Hava, Livia, Rachel, Leah, and Lilly—was to prepare Miriam to meet her husband-to-be. Esther, her dark hair woven with ribbons, flitted around the circle with uncharacteristic excitement, taking in every detail.

  It was an elaborate ritual, carefully orchestrated so as to last several hours. Its purpose was simple. The bride was to be arrayed in her wedding attire. Her hair was carefully combed and brushed, then crowned with garlands of olive and grape leaves. Cosmetics were carefully applied by women expert in the craft. Finally, jewelry that signified the richness of their lives was added piece by piece. All the while, as Miriam sat silently, the women kept up a running chatter of praise, extolling the virtues and beauties of the betrothed as if she were not there listening to every word.

  While this was going on, a similar celebration was taking place for the bridegroom. Normally this was held in the groom’s house, the home where he would take his bride to live once the marriage was completed. Since Simeon had not yet secured such a house, David had arranged for them to use the canopy chamber. Here, too, the invitation to attend was limited to an inner circle of immediate family members or close friends. In this case, this included Jesus, Peter, Andrew, James, John, and the rest of the Twelve, as well as Luke the Physician. An invitation had been sent to Sextus Rubrius, but he had been stationed at Sepphoris and sent back word that he would not be allowed to leave. But he sent his warmest congratulations and an exquisitely wrought silver bowl as a gift.

  Tables were spread with food and wine, while the men helped Simeon to put on his finest robes. Unlike the bride, a groom was n
ot expected to sit passively through this experience. Simeon was the center of focus, but he walked around, mingling with the guests, laughing and talking in a convivial manner. Ephraim read a poem he had written praising Simeon’s exploits, including his years as a Zealot captain, his imprisonment in Caesarea, the conquest of Moshe Ya’abin, and the successful trip to Rome. He had a wry sense of humor and put in a few jabs at his younger brother that kept the guests, especially Yehuda, laughing and applauding. Yehuda made a similar tribute—but to Simeon’s surprise, he could not make it through without having to stop three or four times to compose himself. Simeon was deeply touched.

  Wine flowed freely, though moderately. It was considered very poor taste for anyone to become intoxicated at such a time of joy. As the night wore on, the exuberance and enthusiasm began to wear down. By the time midnight approached, the women had finished their work of adornment and had run out of things to say. They sat around, some talking quietly, some dozing off, waiting for the signal that the time for the ceremony had come. At the chuppah, things were slowing as well. Finally, Simeon gave his father a questioning look. “Are we ready?”

  “We are if you are,” David said.

  Immediately, everyone except family members and Yehuda arose and went to a corner table. Jesus and Peter took the lead, with Andrew, James, and John—David’s former partners in the fishing business—right behind. The five of them lit small hand lamps that had been previously prepared and stepped out into the night. The rest of the male guests followed. David waited until the last one had gone, then shut the door behind them. As the procession began to spread the word to the waiting throngs, the men of the family turned to other responsibilities of the night.

  The appearance of the men with their lamps and torches was the signal the city had been waiting for. A few people had gathered outside the Beth Chatanim waiting for just this moment. They held out their own hand lamps as the chamber guests came out, and one by one the lamps were lit. A line quickly formed behind the five in the lead, each person holding a lamp above his or her head and waving it slowly back and forth. “It is time!” they cried. “The betrothed is ready! Prepare to meet the bridegroom!”