by Quinn, Jack
Before her pain became obviously debilitating, Yentl organized a carouse for our immediate family and closest friends, including her daughter Hezibia, husband and grandchildren, James, Elizabeth and progeny, my sisters Mary, Sarah, Rifka and families (Mother had passed from this Earth several years ago), Yentl’s old friends from Sepphoris, our employees and several long-term clients. Although one gaze told an observer that she was clearly battling a serious disease, Yentl responded to all inquiries regarding her health with a dismissive explanation of a passing intestinal malady that her physician was treating with drugs that were the main cause of her weight loss, dark circles around her eyes and flaccid skin. Her attitude during that gathering was that of an attentive hostess in great humor and interest in the lives and well-being of her guests.
Leaving my ailing wife alone for extended periods was still an unsettling concern for me in those years before the Roman War. After the execution of Judah’s sons, Jacob and Simon, I was elevated to Major General within the rebel organization, responsible for all militia bands and divisions in the Galilee, which required more traveling and more extended periods away from home than ever. This diversion may have been fortuitous from a purely selfish point, because once it began, I was not present to witness the agonizing progress of Yentl’s swift deterioration. At first she hid her discomfort from me when I returned for several days, but could do so no longer, when she lost one third of her weight and most of her strength. She had recalled the physician on her own to request drugs to minimize her pain, but toward the end, no medication contained the power to alleviate the horrible agony she described as a thousand knives stabbing within her chest.
We had spoken of this eventuality, and as much as I resisted her decision, I had sworn to obey her wishes. My final visit to her bedside lasted two days and nights, lying beside her skeletal form, holding her gently against me, weeping with her as the awful shudders racked her from soles to crown, whispering of our long years together, from the sober memory of our adulterous beginning, my drunken period which nearly lost her, our wedding, the joyous, ironic and humorous occasions we shared during the past thirty-five years. I dozed intermittently on that last night, waking to sooth her muffled screams until she begged me to let her go.
I had secured the hemlock some months before in the low section of Jerusalem, mixed it with wine, then upheld the head of my lovely wife who drank greedily from the cup. She handed it back to me with her old smile, that mischievous look in her eyes I had not seen for months. It saddened me greatly that I must lose this woman, who of all on earth had made me more content than any other. If Yehoshua and James were right about the hereafter and I was wrong, and every soul would meet again with their designated partner after death, I realized at that moment I wished to exist through eternity with my lovely Yentl, not Tanya. We lay together in silence as the poison did its deadly work, cheeks wet, our kisses soft, holding one another in that last embrace as she relaxed, smiled and breathed her last.
I cannot recall how long I mourned for that good woman, but I do know that she has entered my mind every night and day since her demise. During those years immediately following her death, I experienced a profound sadness that left me languid and morose. I did manage to continue my abstinence from wine in deference to Yentl’s wishes, however, as I roamed the countryside engaged in training peasants for the rebellion.
My spirits were reduced further when Procurator Albinus brought James to trial for preaching contrary to the sacred Torah, the same charges on which they had acquitted Paul. Annas had reclaimed the office of high priest after the disposition of Caiaphas and was instrumental in the decision of the Seventy Sanhedrin to convict and sentence my eldest brother to death by stoning at his age of sixty-two years.
I must confess resentment toward this flawed religious sect that has taken the lives of both my beloved brothers. Christiania will surely falter when it moves from the fanaticism of simple-minded peasants and reason-blind supporters to astute men who will recognize it as an emotional, mystical grasp at relief from earthly hardship by people so frustrated that they can believe a man could return from the dead on visions claimed by one delegated as his prime disciple, and a foul-breath rabbi so ridden with guilt at his persecution of that Jesist sect that when struck by lightning, imagined he had communed with its deceased leader.
I was absent from Jerusalem during James’ trial and execution, which in a way was fortunate, because the incident might have provoked me to some futile act alone, or with a band of Sicarii. Upon my return, his widow Elizabeth accompanied me on my visit to the vault and ossuary containing James’ body. Since all their children were married and lived in their own homes some in the far-flung reaches of the country, I insisted that Elizabeth quit Jerusalem to abide in my home in Tel Gezer, where she could invite friends to visit during my travels, occupy her time with the business if she desired, and be welcome to summon her grandchildren for pleasant stays in our rural setting.
3812 Iyar (CE 66 May)
Bands of Sicarii and Zealots had been attacking isolated Roman garrisons and sympathizers for years, until Procurator Florus levied a tax of seventeen talents on the Temple, for which in return, Elezar, Captain of that sacred edifice, curtailed daily sacrifices for the emperor, constituting an affront that could only be interpreted as open revolt against Rome.
Initially precipitated and led by the Temple Priests, the ownership and thrust of the War changed hands when rebel bands entered Jerusalem claiming supremacy, and went on a rampage killing Sadducees and priests, terrorized and murdered Pharisees and other wealthy Jews throughout the city. In that same year, rebel peasants in Samaria and Galilee joined in a savage revolt, driving the Roman garrison from the region, repulsed a Roman invasion from Syria, wrested control of Palestine from procurator Florus, and evicted his leaders in charge. Fortunately, Governor Cestius Gallus of Syria did not launch his forces against us until late summer, which provided three months for us to fortify Jerusalem, where the ultimate battle would take place. When Gallus did come from Syria into the Galilee with one legion93 and auxiliaries, they slaughtered practically every Jew in Caesarea, inciting our retribution with similar attacks on pagan populations in several northern cities, even across the Syrian border. Gallus eventually prevailed, however, but upon reaching Jerusalem, even as his legions were poised to broach the walls, ordered an illogical fallback that gave us an opportunity to decimate that surprising and disorganized retreat. Our leaders sent General Josephus and me in command of a mixed force numbering fifteen rebel legions to pursue
that rout into the Galilee, forcing Gallus back into Syria in a pincer maneuver at Kefar Bar’am,
where I took a Roman arrow through my shoulder, requiring my return to Jerusalem.
Although our peasant fighters lacked sophisticated fighting skills, they were willing to die for their freedom and determined to win. Yet our, their religion, in my opinion, would be our downfall. Because despite our history, Jews have complete faith in some cataclysmic intervention by Yahweh which forefends disciplined military organization and strategies, allowing them to think that as long as they persist, their One True God will ensure their victory. Another loss from religion were the Jewish Christianoi in Jerusalem, who did not join our rebellion, but fled en mass to the burgeoning center of their sect in Antioch.
Having devoted the prior twenty-five years of my life to organizing training and planning local uprisings with Zealot bands, my resolve to expel the pagan hordes was as great as any Jew in Palestine. Despite the enthusiasm of all Jews to expel the Romans, the persistent petty arguments and animosity among our leaders, friction and outright fighting between Sicarii, Zealot and other rebel bands now gathered together in the city, remained a serious detriment to forming a cohesive plan in which all rebels would act in concert against our common enemy. I could not comprehend the nature of those Jews, who had waited for three generations for an opportunity to throw off the hated rule of the Roman Empire, then achieving it, become st
ymied by internal arguments and opposition to one another, rather than combine their efforts to thwart our Roman conquerors.
To my mind, but for two incredible incidents, we could have been victorious and saved our Temple in that bloody war that claimed the lives of more than one million brethren. The first came at the very beginning of our revolt when Menahem, grandson of Judah the Galilean, appeared in Jerusalem with his substantial number of Sicarii I had helped him organize during years past. The man was a courageous swordsman and tactician who had been harassing Rome in the north for a decade, but was also an egotistical leader, convinced that his heritage should place him in charge of all rebel elements. When he marched into Jerusalem proclaiming himself king of the entire undertaking, he was assassinated by Zealots, which exacerbated the divisiveness among rebel factions that lasted throughout the War.
The second instance was a totally misguided effort by one rebel chief to coerce the thousands of frightened, wavering Jerusalem residents and Passover pilgrims to desist from their wish to surrender and join in active battle against the Romans. In his attempt to bend those petrified civilians to our cause, that imbecile had his men burn almost the entire food stockpile within the walls, which could have fed us for almost a decade under siege.
When my suggestions for combining our fragmented efforts into a single militia under one leader was rejected, I henceforth tried to remain apart from those internal quarrels, keeping my own force of 15,000 rebels camped in the Lower City under the southern wall.
The War went our way until 3813 Tishri (CE 67 October), when Nero, anxious to quell the embarrassing Jewish uprising, sent General Titus Flavius Vespasianus into the fray commanding three battle-hardened legions and auxiliaries. His intent was to put down our rebellion quickly, whose success or prolongation could destroy the fragile political situation in the Roman Senate caused by the frivolous depletion of the treasury by that half-mad, self-indulgent Emperor. Vespasian subdued the region in a series of bloody contests, capturing six thousand rebel Jews he sent into slavery to build the canal in Corinth. Josephus was also taken prisoner, turning traitor, advising Vespasian on our battle plans and strategies. Remnants of the rebel army fled to Jerusalem, regrouping into four divisions, one assigned to the citadel and east wall, one on the northern wall, one in Temple, myself on the south and west walls.
By the time we were sequestered within the City, Vespasian had learned of my position as one of the rebel generals and sent an unarmed mounted soldier under a white banner to request a conference with me. My old childhood friend and I approached each other on foot without armor or arms, he in a simple military toga with purple stripe, my own clean tunic cinched with my wide balteus. Neither could refrain from a wide grin as we locked forearms in greeting.
He then turned to a stalwart general of forty-some years by his side, introducing the man as his son, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, mentioning our childhood friendship and that of his Aunt Tanya.
Titus looked at my still unruly red hair with his own smile. “I can see that. My closest friend as a child was my cousin, Simon, for whom I yet have a high regard.”
The son of Vespasian seemed a noble man of whom I wished to ask a thousand questions.
“You have come some distance since our youth in Sepphoris,” Vespasian said in Latin.
“And you also,” I replied in Aramaic. “Suppressor of uprisings in Gaul and Germania, conqueror of Britannia. Take care or they will make you Emperor, Vespasian.”
“Only when I defeat your imprudent rebellion.”
“Then both your goals are beyond your grasp.”
“Why not end it, Shimon? I can offer attractive terms.”
“Like pulling your onerous procurators and legions out of our country?”
“Not that, certainly.”
“Then we have nothing more to talk about.”
“Do you speak for all Jews?”
“Yes.”
His grin recognized my lie. “The dissention within will defeat you before my legions storm the walls.”
“Your intelligence is exaggerated.”
“It will sadden me to cause your death, Shimon. We are family of a sort.”
“How is Tanya?”
“As beautiful as ever. And widowed.”
“The boy?”
Vespasian gave out a loud laugh. “My nephew has almost fifty years, you old bastard! You are a grandfather three times over.” He shook his head in amazement. “How you were able to seduce my sister....”
“Grandfather! By the long beard of Abraham. Where have our lives gone, old friend?”
He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Come back to camp with me, Shimon.”
“You know I cannot.”
“I could take you to Rome. To Tanya. Your son.”
My throat had seized. I could not speak.
Titus said, “Josephus has joined us.”
“Josephus is a traitor.”
Vespasian lowered his hand from my shoulder. “Fare you well, Shimon.”
“Thank you, Vespasian. Even for tricking me into eating the delicious foods prohibited by my religion.”
As bad as Rome was with their dilettante practices, the Circus horrors, depraved Emperors such as Caligula and Nero, we surpassed them in our willful strangulation of what could have been our emergence from the dominance of a harsh conqueror, abandoning a fortuitous occasion to establish a Jewish state ruled and defended by a homogeneous populace. I began to wonder even then what manner of men were we. The chosen people of Yahweh whom the vast majority of us believed would extricate us from our predicament right up to the burning of the Temple doors. We behaved better under the heel of Rome than we did squabbling for our independence. Did we deserve freedom and national unity, or has our One True God again chosen us to suffer defeat and hardship through our own devices? Rather than believe that, I am still persuaded that whatever Supreme Being rules the universe, He has long ago abandoned all men to our own mean machinations.
Vespasian surrounded the City for two years, but the suicide of Nero during the spring of 3814 (C.E. 68), the ensuing civil war in Rome and appointment of two emperors in quick succession caused him to slow his attack to await the outcome. To our great advantage, his tactics were hesitant before the constant onslaught of our defenses, as we pummeled his advancing troops with arrows, dumped flaming oil on their wooden battering rams, their massive ramps and other siege weapons below, slaughtering soldiers on ladders and bursting through our own bolstered gates in surprise attacks on unwitting cohorts. When Vespasian was declared Emperor in 3815 (C.E. 69) and returned to Rome, our spirits soared. Until his son Titus advanced on Jerusalem in full battle armor commanding four legions, some 70-90,000 foot soldiers, cavalry, engineers, plus other support and auxiliary forces swelling every road as far as the eye could see.
The issue of my boyhood friend set up camps encircling the city and forthwith offered terms of surrender that were refused, thereafter retaliating with wheeled catapults capable of throwing huge boulders of 5,460 akt94. Titus concentrated his deadly machines on the north wall with lesser attacks on the other three sides, including my position to the south, more heavily fortified with protrusions and turrets. Jerusalem was now under total siege from every quarter, the air so thick with pungent smoke that a dampened cloth tied around my nose and mouth could not prevent the acrid fumes from choking my throat, stinging watering eyes as ears as my mind was inundated by the incessant sound of huge rams battering against the Damascus Gate and northern foundation, accompanied by the swishing flight of massive stones crashing inside the Bezetha courtyard, demolishing structures and men beneath them.
After several weeks of listening day and night to the cacophonic pounding of our men and fortifications, our divergent rebel generals finally agreed to unite their forces. Zealot General John of Gischala took a defensive position at Antonia’s Tower, the Temple itself and western wall; Simon bar Giora positioned his forces behind the northern and eastern walls, and I stretched my tr
oops along the walls defending the Lower City to the south.
The battle raged primarily in the north, resulting in the eventual breach of those walls, that section of the City falling to Titus, who curtailed further advances for a show of power in which he caused a parade of might in shined armor, replete with campaign banners, pylons and blaring trumpets marching in sight of our bedraggled militia in an effort to undermine our courage and weaken our determination.
When that futile demonstration was met with derisive shouts and insults from our men atop the parapets, the Roman general sent his captive traitor Josephus to plead for our surrender from the base of our wall, imploring us to prevent the further destruction of our sacred city and jeopardize our Holy Temple. I was amazed that our traitorous general was not cut down by a well-placed arrow despite the protection of the long shields of his armed escort holding a banner of truce.
Upon our rejection of that offer, about which I was becoming ambivalent, Titus renewed the battle with incessant attacks of men and siege engines that soon resulted in bringing down the walls of Antonia’s Castle. His foremost troops forged their way through the Upper City streets and finally into the Court of Gentiles within the Temple enclosure. Although the aggressors slew thousands of Jews in the process, fighting in the close quarters of the twisting streets and byways of an urban compound restricted their usual field tactics, and favored the less structured maneuvers of our militia. In addition to our strategy of ambushing an isolated contingent of advancing soldiers, we sent brave bands of volunteers outside the walls on moonless nights to infiltrate enemy lines to kill legionnaires in their sleep.
In retribution for this practice, Titus crucified any captured Jew, whether nighttime assassin, civilian stealing food or deserter, eventually binding five-hundred Jews a day to horizontal branches on the trunks of trees in view of our parapets, until there were more crosses standing outside our mottled walls than trees in the forest, at which juncture executions in that manner had to cease. Our surroundings without the Temple walls were desolate to the eye, with the barren landscape in the foreground, the tents and figures of tens of thousands of Roman soldiers and their ubiquitous engines of war beyond. Enemy arrows delivered fiery, oil-soaked fleece to enflame buildings from which a hazy effluvium constantly emanated, adding to the stench of excrement and rotting bodies piled one on the other in heaps in alleys within, or thrown over the walls to lie in rot, an abomination to our sensibilities and religion, with no possible alternatives.
