“I have them coming,” Cullinane replied, and he asked Tabari to speed up the architect, but before the Arab could do so, the expert from Pennsylvania entered the office with rolls of drawing paper, which he spread upon the desk. They were, as Father Vilspronck had hoped, detailed drawings of the foundation lines uncovered at Level VII, where a Byzantine basilica had ridden over a Jewish synagogue. Giving only a cursory glance at the former, Vilspronck carefully traced out the relationships of the synagogue stones. When he had done this he asked to see the lintel stone that had been found in the basilica wall, and for some minutes he studied the remarkable find in silence. Then he asked, “Where’d it stand in the wall?” Photographs were produced and the giant priest reconstructed what the men had seen that day. Finally he turned to the architect and asked, “Have you attempted any projections?”
The Pennsylvanian coughed and said, “After all, the length of wall we uncovered was only …”
“I know,” the priest interrupted. “But I take it you did make some guesses.”
And the architect flung out a large sheet of paper on which the two walls were shown as found, rock by rock, prolonged into full-scale guesses as to what their finished edifices must have been. If an observer had wanted to witness the true mystery of archaeology, the manner in which living men fight to penetrate the minds of men long dead, he should have seen that drawing of the Pennsylvania architect. As a basis for his deductions, the architect had merely twelve feet of basilica wall running from northwest to southeast; below that he had a right angle marking the earlier synagogue, and using only these slight clues he had drawn the completed buildings, and in doing so had come very close to what the future digs at Makor would uncover.
Father Vilspronck studied the synagogue and asked, “Why do you make it this size?”
The architect replied, “Judging from all the synagogues we’ve uncovered so far, our lintel stone is not large enough for a main entrance. So I must conclude that it rested over one of three small doors. That yields a façade like the one I’ve drawn. The thickness of the walls is exactly what we’ve found elsewhere. Working from these hints, I’ve spent a lot of time in the old synagogues at Baram, Kefar Nahum and Beit Alfa. This is about what we’re going to find.”
“I agree,” the priest said, twisting the paper so that he could study the synagogue from fresh angles. He was paying no attention to the later basilica, and Cullinane received the distinct impression that as a priest the big Dutchman was disappointed in what he was uncovering at Makor but as an archaeologist he was gratified. “Remarkable,” he said finally. “It bears out what we’ve found everywhere else.” He shrugged his shoulders, then asked abruptly, “You done any carbon dating?”
“No need to,” Cullinane said. “Our date of 351/2 C.E. for the destruction is as good as if they’d left a signed copy of the orders. Our guess as to 330 for the original building of the synagogue … plus fifteen or minus fifty as you wish.”
“That’s what I thought,” Father Vilspronck said. Brushing away the architectural drawings he asked, “I suppose you’ve made a table of probable populations?”
“We have,” Cullinane answered guardedly.
“Care to let me take a look?”
“We’d rather not … at this point.”
“How about the synagogue level?”
Cullinane smiled. “I said we’d rather not, but you knew we would. Usual restrictions?” The priest agreed and Cullinane drew from a locked drawer a document which in the army would have been classified Top Secret. He handed copies to each of the archaeologists and watched with amusement as Father Vilspronck darted his eyes directly down to Level VII, where he checked the population figures. As soon as he had completed this, the big man studied the other figures casually.
PROVISIONAL ESTIMATES OF POPULATION AT SITE 17072584
“I notice that in 1560 C.E. you have the tell standing six feet higher than it does now?”
“Probably did,” Cullinane said. “Bedouins seem to have mined the place for cut stones in later years, and the height must have dropped considerably.”
The blond priest asked a few more irrelevant questions, then came back to Level VII. “Would you say that these figures for the Byzantine period are pretty accurate?”
“Just educated guesses,” Cullinane confessed. “But if the synagogue was that big, it had to serve about eight hundred fifty Jews. Of course we’re extrapolating from Kefar Nahum and Baram.”
The perplexed Dutchman placed the sheet of figures, which summarized so much learning, on the table and slapped it with his big hands. “At least you’re consistent!” he growled. “Every dig for the last thirty years has confirmed this story of Jewish persistence, and sooner or later we’ll have to adjust to it.”
Eliav lit his pipe and asked, “But you adjusted to it years ago. It’s your discovery.”
The priest laughed. “Half of me accepts. The other half doesn’t.”
“Is it so difficult?” Eliav asked.
Father Vilspronck returned the estimates to Cullinane, who collected the other copies and locked them in his desk. For any level the figures might be wrong by fifty per cent, but as the years passed and refinements were made, savants throughout the world would have to adjust their theories to these Makor facts, as the Dutch priest now prepared to do: “When I went to university the professors had an absolutely clear understanding of the Holy Land. A group of excellent Hebrews lived here for some two thousand years. Their religion grew stagnant and Jesus Christ appeared, luring about half the Jews to Him. The others clung on desperately and in 70 C.E. rebelled against Rome, and Vespasian destroyed both them and their temple. In obedience to God’s command that they be a perpetual witness, they wandered homeless through the world while Christianity took over, and it was their punishment to wander until they finally converted to Christ. It was a neat, clean theory and that’s what the world believed. My first shock came when I found that in 135 C.E. the Jews, none of whom were supposed to be here, launched an even bigger revolt against Hadrian, and the recent discovery of letters actually written by Bar Kochba, who led the revolt, have had a startling effect on all of us. Once more we were told, ‘All Jews were driven out,’ but now we begin to excavate these synagogues of the fourth century and we find there were more Jews here than before. The synagogues were big, handsome buildings. Serving a very large population. Kefar Nahum, Baram, now Makor. All tell the same story. And three hundred years after that, when the Muslims come, we still find large Jewish populations. And four hundred years after that, when the Crusaders came, there were still Jews around.” He stopped and his face revealed his perplexity. “Something was going on here that the history books did not tell us.”
Father Vilspronck had begun his labors in the Holy Land intending to assemble the testimony that would reinforce Christianity, and it had become the major irony of his life that his work served primarily to tell the world more about Judaism; yet he persisted in his researches, for he knew instinctively that when the honest relationships were revealed, both Christianity and Judaism would be more meaningful and the ultimate conversion of the Jews closer at hand. He also knew something which he buried in his conscience, leaving it to others to develop: the arrival of Jesus Christ in the Galilee did not mysteriously signal the disappearance of competing religions; they survived with stubborn vigor, and if the testimony of the synagogues could be trusted, actually increased their power. It was not until the Greeks, doubling back with the great messages of St. Paul, reached the Holy Land that Christianity got much of a hearing in its place of birth. But that was for others to narrate.
The husky priest asked if he could visit the dig, but Cullinane soon discovered that Vilspronck had no real interest in the excavations; he had already visualized most of what had been done. His real desire was to talk with a fellow Catholic, and the two men sat on top of the mound looking toward the minarets of Akko while they discussed one of the prime intellectual mysteries of the world. “I don’t suppo
se you’ve found any clues that would relate to Flavius Josephus?” the Dutchman began.
“None. We know from the scars that there was a general destruction of Makor about 66 C.E. It’s probably safe to guess that it was burned by Vespasian.”
“Yet there’s that tantalizing passage in the commentary on Josephus: ‘Jewish tradition claims that Flavius Josephus escaped by night from Makor.’ ” He threw pebbles toward the ravine into which the great Jewish general had fled, abandoning the town to its destruction. “I’d give a lot if we could find some tangible proof that that rascal had been involved in a site which he had later refused to write about.” The Dutchman clenched his hands and studied the vacant trenches into which he could partially see. “Isn’t it logical to suppose that if Makor were the first Jewish town that Vespasian reached, General Josephus would have been here to fight him? How did he escape by night, and why didn’t Josephus himself speak about it? I know why.” The priest rose and stalked about the tell, trying to visualize the town as it must have been two thousand years earlier. “Josephus refuses to mention Makor because here he behaved in some craven way. He writes at length about Jotapata, only a few miles south, because there he was heroic. I tell you, Cullinane, the man always picked and chose. Always!”
By this means Father Vilspronck hoped to explain away the mystery of Josephus. For a score of years this learned Jew had wandered back and forth across the land that Jesus had trod, and during the very years when the actuality of Jesus must have been greatest. In his books Josephus discusses all aspects of Jewish life, the good things and the bad, and he probes into relationships that were not known until the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls; and what the archaeologists are uncovering supports the fundamental accuracy of this vivid reporter.
Yet never once does he mention Jesus Christ, the greatest Jew of his age, nor does he refer to Nazareth, although he writes extensively of cities not more than nine miles away. It is a nagging, gnawing fact that the most acute observer Palestine produced saw fit to ignore the major occurrence of his lifetime, the impact of Jesus Christ upon the world. An honest researcher like Father Vilspronck was therefore driven to ask, “Was that impact less than we have been led to believe?”
This question the priest was willing to ask, but he had an answer. “I think that Flavius Josephus consciously suppressed all mention of Jesus Christ and Nazareth, just as he suppressed facts about himself. We know he was a liar,” Vilspronck said. “Time and again we catch him in falsifications. If he says there were eighty thousand Romans, we find there were forty thousand. If he claims to have been a hero, we discover later that his behavior was despicable. In Josephus we have the case of a loyal Jew who convinced himself that Jesus never existed. He had probably seen the followers of our Lord face to face, yet he tried to erase Him from history.”
Silently the two men watched the sun sink behind the minarets of Akko, and a sense of the immensity of the problems they were discussing descended upon them. Finally Vilspronck said, “I used to hold Sigmund Freud in contempt. An enemy of my church. Now I find young priests reacting the same way to me. They feel I shouldn’t inquire into these matters. But when you start digging into a human soul, or a tell, or a historical concept, you quickly find yourself at levels of rawness you did not anticipate. But they confront you and you follow them to their conclusions.”
He rose to his full height, stalked over to Trench B and accidentally stood above the still-buried water shaft through which General Josephus had fled in the night. Turning to Cullinane he said, “The complexity of God is so profound and the mystery of Jesus so great that the addition of one more historical problem like the silence of Josephus must be a minor matter. If your faith is capable of encompassing Jesus it can certainly absorb historical contradictions.”
But he was about to be tested by an experience much more difficult to absorb than mere historical contradiction: he was to encounter an exceedingly difficult theological problem. The confrontation happened by accident. He was parking his jeep after having driven Cullinane from the administration building to the mess hall when he said, “I’d better wash up. I seem to have picked up a lot of dirt on the tell.”
Unluckily, as things turned out, his remark was heard by Schwartz, who said, “Use my room,” and he led Vilspronck into the darkness.
They had been gone only a few moments when they returned angrily and it was obvious that something serious had happened, for Vilspronck was flushed and Schwartz belligerent. An awkward silence followed, broken by the Dutchman, who said quietly, “I think I’ll skip supper tonight.” He stalked from the hall, wedged himself into his jeep and with a flurry of dust turned it around in a tight circle, a future cardinal who had been able to adjust to whatever new historical evidence the tell was producing concerning Jews in ancient Palestine or Jesus in the Holy Land, only to find himself unprepared to face the reality of either condition as exemplified in a modern kibbutz. As the jeep sped away, Cullinane shouted, “What happened?” and the big priest called back, “You’d better look at the signs in your world.”
Perplexed by this reply Cullinane returned to the mess hall and asked for Schwartz. When the secretary appeared, Cullinane asked, “What did you do to Father Vilspronck?”
“He had a ticklish digestion. Found he wasn’t hungry.”
“What did he mean—the signs in my world?”
Schwartz hesitated, not because he was embarrassed by what had happened but because he preferred not to involve Cullinane. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Something he saw in my room.”
“Maybe I’d better see it too.”
“Why not?” Schwartz asked indifferently, and he led the way to a dormitory building in which he had been allocated a one-room apartment. As an unmarried member of the kibbutz he was entitled to no more, so that even if he served as secretary for many years, he would still be allotted this one room. It was in no way unusual—desk, chair, bed, water jug, and of course the three essentials: a large bookcase jammed with publications, a record player with its stack of classical records, and a colored reproduction of a painting by Marc Chagall—except that across one wall hung a carefully lettered banner which read: We did so crucify Him.
This was the banner of younger Jews who had survived Germany and Arab invasion and who no longer cared what the rest of the world thought about them. In early 1964 their motto had become notorious, in an underground sort of way, for at that time Pope Paul VI’s visit to the Holy Land drew attention to the possibility that the Catholic Church might issue a pronouncement absolving present-day Jews of blame for the crucifixion of Jesus, and it was widely hoped that this generous gesture would remove the stigma under which Jews had suffered for nearly two thousand years. Some well-intentioned people actually thought that such a statement would deprive anti-Semitism of its moral base and would make it difficult for future hate-mongers to initiate pogroms. Throughout Israel a surge of hope attended discussion of the matter and one hopeful group had even written to the newspapers: “It will be a glorious day when the Christian Church finally exonerates us of our guilt.”
That letter was certainly not signed by Schwartz of Kibbutz Makor nor by any of his friends. They held the offer of absolution to be insulting to the Jewish people and the Pope’s visit to be an act of condescension. They drafted a different letter, which Israeli newspapers considered inflammatory and refused to publish: “It is preposterous for any Pope to come here distributing a forgiveness which is not his to dispense. For two thousand years we Jews have been abused by Christians and it is not their prerogative to forgive us. For them to do so is humiliating both to them and to us, for we are the ones who should forgive them.” As proof of their intention to remain stiff-necked, as God had commanded, Schwartz’s Jews flaunted their unyielding banner: We did so crucify Him.
“Take it down,” Cullinane said.
“Are you kidding?”
“Take it down!” the Irishman roared, unable to maintain his placid nature.
&n
bsp; Schwartz laughed and this infuriated Cullinane, who grabbed at him as if to catch his mocking head and punch it, but Schwartz easily evaded him and the two stood facing each other. Cullinane controlled his anger and said, “Right now in Rome the bishops are meeting to correct an ancient wrong. All that you Jews hope for depends on men of good will like Father Vilspronck. And you insult him.” It was obvious that Cullinane was including himself among the men of good will who sought to improve and protect Jewish-Christian relations, and to him also the sign was offensive.
Schwartz ridiculed his well-meaning counselor and said, “Nobody takes that good-will crap seriously any more.”
Cullinane flushed and said grimly, “Then accept my ill will. Take down that sign.”
“Nobody in this room can make me.”
With a leap Cullinane reached the wall, thrusting his fingers behind the cloth and ripping it into two parts. Schwartz rushed up behind him, grabbed at his arms and wrestled with him. Finally Cullinane broke loose, but as he did so, Schwartz got his right arm free and with a wild swinging blow clipped Cullinane along the head and jaw.
The Source: A Novel Page 126
