Apprentice

by Maggie Anton

  “I’m worried about Claudia, that she’s falling under the sway of these Nazarenes,” Julia confessed. “She must understand that Galerius won’t tolerate any of his officers adopting the faith, yet she persists.”

  I tried to hide my disappointment and disapproval. “I don’t know that I can persuade her otherwise.” I couldn’t tell if Julia actually needed my help or if she merely wanted someone to share her anxieties with.

  “Maybe if you came with us to church once or twice and saw what they did there,” Julia pleaded. “Then you could explain to her the wrongness of what they do.”

  For a moment I was speechless. Me—a rabbi’s daughter, a Kohen’s daughter—attend church? I shook my head. “How could anything I say make a difference?”

  “Please, at least you could try to make her see the truth.”

  I suddenly understood that it was Julia who needed convincing, not Claudia. “If I go with you, I reserve the right to leave at any moment rather than commit idolatry.” I had to admit I was curious about how these heretics worshipped.

  “The public part is almost the same as a synagogue service, except they read from their Gospels in addition to scripture,” Julia tried to reassure me. “I haven’t seen anything that looks like idolatry, but only Nazarenes are privy to the secret rites.”

  “When do you want me to go?” Hopefully this unpleasant task would soon be behind me.

  “Can you come this week?” she asked. “They only meet on First Day, in private, in one of the member’s homes.”

  I nodded. “But don’t be too upset if I leave early.”

  I told Yochani that I would not be joining her in Tiberias for Shabbat, that I could not possibly endure another lecture from Rav Zeira on how much he’d learned about tithes from Rabbi Pedat. Actually that wasn’t quite true. I had no objection to studying tithes, but Rav Zeira could make even a fascinating topic boring, and tithes made a tedious one at best.

  On First Day, while waiting for Julia and Claudia to arrive, I wondered what Claudia would think of my suddenly going to church with them. Surely she’d be suspicious. But she readily accepted curiosity as my motive, since it was what brought most people to church the first time.

  As we walked through a residential neighborhood in the lower city, I grew increasingly nervous about encountering someone I knew. Eventually we arrived at an unremarkable courtyard gate, and it was too late to withdraw without giving offense. Someone inside must have recognized Claudia, because we were admitted without question. The anteroom’s windows were shuttered, and the room was so dimly lit that it took some time for my eyes to adjust enough to see that we were in a private home. I saw no special ornaments or decoration to mark its purpose. There were about twenty others, nearly all women and slaves, waiting quietly for services to begin. Judging by their clothes, a few women were affluent but most were not.

  A short time later, we were shown into the triclinium, which smelled strongly of incense. There was no place to sit, but a large table occupied the middle of the room, and at the eastern wall there stood what appeared to be an altar. One of the leaders welcomed us and began the service by encouraging us to join him in singing psalms of praise. Next came a litany of prayers, a confession, and some eulogies, all in Greek.

  I was wondering what would happen next when a door opened and two men came out reverently carrying what Julia had told me was their Gospel codex. This was brought to the table at the center of the room, where one of the men proceeded to read from it. I was greatly relieved to recognize a text from the Septuagint, specifically from the prophet Isaiah. But I was not so relieved when the preacher gave a homily that attempted to demonstrate how the prophet’s words predicted the coming of their messiah, whom they called Jesus Christ.

  After reading the Gospel lesson, he carried the codex to the altar. I noted that while most of those present were women, the leaders were all men. Now, Julia had warned me, came the part for believers only, the Eucharist. So she and I stood back while many in the room, including Claudia, gathered at the altar.

  One of the men held up wine and what looked like ordinary matzah, declaring, “For we do not receive these things as though they were ordinary food and drink; the food over which the thanksgiving has been spoken becomes the flesh and blood of the incarnate Jesus in order to nourish and transform our flesh and blood. They are a remedy bestowing immortality, an antidote preventing death and giving life in Jesus Christ.”

  The bile rose in my throat at this travesty of how rabbis blessed the bread and wine at the start of every festival meal. Jews were forbidden to eat blood or flesh of living animals, but what was this ritual if not pretending to eat those of a man? It was not only idolatry; it was blasphemy. I wanted to vomit, and it was only with the greatest strength of will that I remained for the final benediction. Telling Julia and Claudia that I was feeling ill, which was true, I left before the fellowship meal.

  By the time I reached Yochani’s I felt calmer. No wonder the Romans complained that this new faith appealed to women and slaves. And no wonder it was so popular. Who wouldn’t join a religion that gave life, prevented death, and bestowed immortality so easily? Who wouldn’t accept a faith that merely read from Torah instead of making its adherents actually follow the laws it commanded?

  As for me, even if sixty demons were chasing me, I wouldn’t go to church again next week—or ever. I needed a distraction from my distress, but I’d forgotten that Yochani was still in Tiberias and that Yehudit would be napping. I tried reviewing the Mishna, but instead of pacifying me, this just reminded me of the exasperating Rav Zeira. So I headed to Salaman’s workshop, only to learn that he was at the new villa.

  My spirits improved immediately. Finally I would get my chance to see part of the floor laid. I ignored the gathering clouds and hurried up the hill. The exterior of the building was substantially complete, and workmen were planting the gardens that surrounded it. I made my way to the triclinium, where Salaman was on his knees and making tiny changes to a section of mosaic from which he’d just melted the wax.

  The center panel was already in position, and my jaw dropped as I took in the subject matter. Several half-naked men stood around two others holding up wine cups, one standing upright and one kneeling, a flute player between them. The robes of the kneeling man had slipped to display his genitals.

  “Salaman, what is this?” None of his stock patterns had been so vulgar.

  “Dada, what brings you here today? I wasn’t expecting you.” He looked up at me in bewilderment. His hands were speckled with cement and there were flecks of it in his dark hair. “But to answer your question, these panels celebrate the Greek god Dionysus, patron of wine, grape growing, pleasure, and prosperity, along with praise of self-control and denunciation of self-indulgence.”

  “I don’t see how these panels do any such thing.” I tried not to sound as annoyed as I felt.

  “Let me explain.” Salaman took me from one panel to another. “The center panel depicts a drinking contest between Dionysus and Heracles, which Dionysus has won by standing over the fallen Heracles, who is so inebriated that he doesn’t care that he’s exposed himself.”

  Salaman pointed to the right of the center panel. “Over here will be another criticism of overindulgence, one showing Heracles assaulting a virgin priestess, while the one I’m working on now celebrates Dionysus’s wedding, which illustrates how wine and woman should be consumed appropriately.”

  Now that the wax had melted I could see the man and woman sitting side by side, gazing at each other, a nude Cupid laying a wreath on the bride’s head. Male and female attendants surrounded them, one holding a basket of grapes.

  I knelt down and checked carefully, but the bride was not wearing my face, thank Heaven. A terrifying thought assailed me. “What about my portrait? What indecent scene will I be part of?”

  “You won’t be part of a scene. Your face, crowned with a garland, will gaze at the guests on the far couches, completely uninvolved with
the celebration going on around her.”

  I stood up and confronted Salaman. “How could a Jewish city councilor even consider decorating his home with such dissolute scenes of pagan gods?”

  “He was quite specific in his commission.” Salaman’s tone was contrite. “It’s his way of showing how sophisticated and cosmopolitan he is. His guests know he doesn’t worship them.”

  “You mean it’s his way of showing off how rich and dissolute he is,” I shot back. Between the morning’s church service and now this, I felt twice assaulted.

  “It is that also.” Salaman refused to be baited. “But I am merely a craftsman who makes mosaics for a living. I don’t have the luxury of choosing which subjects I’ll depict and which not. It’s a good thing you haven’t seen the work I’ve done in brothels.”

  Before I could think of a suitable retort, my stomach growled.

  “That’s why you’re upset—you’re hungry.” Salaman ordered food brought to me.

  I sat down and helped myself to the bread, cheese, and olives. My initial hunger satisfied, I said, “I admit that your mosaic of pagan gods offends me, but I was already upset before I got here from going to church with Julia and Claudia.”

  “I don’t understand how people can believe the stories about Jesus Christ any more than they can believe the ones about Dionysus and Heracles,” he said after pouring me some wine.

  “So you’ve attended church too?”

  He nodded and said merely, “The experience did not lead to my conversion. I’ll stay with what’s in the Torah.”

  Reassured that Salaman had tried and rejected the Nazarene faith, I felt better. I leaned over and compared the borders of the panels he’d just done. The outer one was a plain red stripe, as opposed to the multicolored twisted rope enclosing the center panel. “I hope I didn’t spoil anything by interrupting your work,” I said.

  “You didn’t. The tesserae need to set in the cement awhile before I grout them.” He shot me a grin. “I’m not sure I should show you the panel that goes next to this one.”

  I smiled back at him. “You’re just saying that to entice me to see it, but I need to be getting back to Yochani’s.”

  “You can’t leave now. It’s raining.” He pointed to the window, where indeed I could see a light rain falling.

  “I suppose I will see the next panel installed after all.”

  The process was fascinating. First Salaman troweled out the wet concrete and then with a smooth motion spread it evenly on the floor immediately to the left of the previous panel. Next he carried the heavy board with the reverse of the next scene on it, as if it weighed nothing, and gently set it in place upside down. I thought this might be all the work he’d do here today, but it was only a few moments before he placed some hot pans on top of the board, and then waited patiently for the wood to warm sufficiently to loosen the wax holding it to the tesserae underneath.

  When he judged the moment right, he carefully rocked the board to and fro until it came away, at the same time making sure the wax still held the tesserae in position. Next he began pouring small amounts of hot water over them, immediately mopping up the melted wax with an absorbent cloth. He worked meticulously from one corner of the panel to the other, his deft fingers delicately adjusting the tiles. The sun was just setting when he was satisfied that every tile was precisely in place.

  He stood up, stretched, and raised an eyebrow as if to ask what I thought of this scene.

  “Evidently Dionysus has won his drinking bout, because he is still upright, while the drunken Heracles has collapsed at his feet.” I was determined to be less judgmental, especially since Heracles’s private parts were not so exposed. “Your workmanship is superb. I can see every muscle on the men’s chests.”

  “After such praise, I can’t possibly allow you to walk home alone,” he said. “If only to prevent you from losing your footing in the mud as you go down the hill.”

  It was so slippery that I had no choice but to hold tightly to Salaman’s arm, which was warm and strong beneath my hand. It was the first time I’d touched a man, other than Father or one of my brothers, since Rami died. It was a feeling I missed.

  When I saw Julia the next morning at synagogue, I explained that I found it unlikely that belief in any man could prevent death and guarantee immortality. Julia didn’t press me further, and after I declined to join her and Claudia for Epiphany services at the church, she didn’t ask me to go there again. We remained friendly, attending synagogue as before, and our children continued to play together. But I was saddened at the distance between us that would never be bridged.

  Early that spring, shortly before the rainy season ended, we learned that General Galerius had unleashed the full force of his massive army against King Narseh in northern Mesopotamia. With Judah Nesiah in negotiations with Diocletian about rebuilding the Temple, I had mixed feelings about whether I favored Rome or Persia to win the war. Still, I agreed to pray for the health and safe return of Julia’s and Claudia’s husbands, if only to spare them the pain of widowhood that I’d suffered.

  Just as Salaman’s work on the city councilor’s new floors was drawing to a conclusion, he refused to let me visit. Like a child, he insisted that I should wait until the mosaics were actually finished and see them in all their glory. With Pesach only a week away, I was beginning to doubt that this would happen before work stopped for the festival. But Salaman surprised me one afternoon by coming to Yochani’s and announcing that I could view them immediately.

  As we walked up the hill, he seemed both excited and nervous. I was flattered that my opinion mattered so much to him. Surely he was well aware of his handiwork’s quality.

  But his masterpiece was even more impressive than I’d anticipated. The acanthus medallions that enclosed the Dionysus panels contained a variety of hunting scenes, mostly of deer, with an occasional tiger or panther. The animals were extraordinarily realistic, and like the fish at the Caesarea bathhouse, had a depth that made them seem as though they were jumping out of the floor. In between one medallion and the next were colorful little birds.

  “This is marvelous. The birds are so finely detailed, yet they’re so small.” I pointed to the U-shaped band at the south end. “This rooster is amazing. I expect him to start crowing any instant. And just looking at the fish is making me hungry.”

  “But what do you think of my ladies?”

  I felt strange staring down at the twin portraits, my portraits, surrounded by acanthus leaves. They weren’t identical—one had longer hair and the other wore earrings—but they were the same woman. I walked from one to the other, embarrassed at how lovely they were, and therefore how lovely I must look. So I teased Salaman gently.

  “You’ve cheated a little,” I said with a grin. “My skin can’t possibly be as pale as you’ve portrayed it.”

  He smiled back at me, his voice pretending to be serious. “A goddess is always depicted with the fairest of skin.”

  He stood there waiting for my assessment, and I knew I had to be truthful, even if it meant sacrificing humility.

  “They are beautiful, Salaman.” I gave full expression to my awe. “You have truly outdone yourself.”

  I could feel his eyes on me as I continued to gaze at the floor. “You’re the one who’s beautiful,” he said reverently. “I merely made a poor copy of what Elohim created.”

  The sound of my heart beating in my chest seemed louder than the birds chirping in the garden outside. We stood there for some time until he broke the silence.

  “Dodi, I’ve earned enough money from this project that I can finally get married.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  FIFTH YEAR OF KING NARSEH’S REIGN

  • 298 CE •

  Evidently he knew some Hebrew after all.

  The next moment he took my hand. I knew I should speak, but I didn’t want to spoil our serenity. For some time I imagined saying yes, followed by him taking me in his arms. Finally I gave up what I knew was only a fan
tasy and pulled my hand away.

  “Salaman, I can’t marry you.”

  He sighed heavily. “I know. You’re from a priestly family, your father heads a beit din, and all your brothers are rabbis,” he said. “We’re not from the same class. We don’t share the same values.”

  While all that was true, it wasn’t what I meant. “I said I cannot marry you, not that I would not marry you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  So I explained, again, about my invalid betrothal.

  Salaman rolled his eyes. “So write your so-called fiancé a divorce and send it to him. Be rid of the man.”

  “I can’t do that. The Rabbis say that only a man can initiate a divorce.”

  To my shock, Salaman, who I’d never seen even raise his voice in anger, exploded. “Outrageous! This is exactly the reason I don’t follow your Rabbis, these self-appointed arbiters of Jewish Law.” He furiously stalked across his newly laid floor. “Who gave them the authority to invent this so-called Oral Law? To change the Torah so it means whatever they say it does? Not me and not most Jews.”

  “What would you have me do?” I demanded. “Repudiate my family and everything they believe to marry you?”

  He ignored my question and kept shouting. “Here in Eretz Israel, Jewish women divorce their husbands if they wish. My sister divorced her first husband when he lost too much money gambling, and then married my current brother-in-law without anyone protesting. If you’re going to live here, you should follow our rules, not those in Bavel.”

  I knew that Jews like Salaman didn’t follow the Rabbis or accept the Mishna, but I thought it was mostly over disparities like not saying blessings and the importance of Torah study. If we differed over such crucial matters as what constituted a betrothal or who could divorce whom, then rabbinic Jews and am-ha’aretz could never intermarry. No matter how much I was attracted to Salaman and enjoyed being with him, he was not an appropriate husband for me.