Apprentice (64 page)

FOURTH YEAR OF KING NARSEH'S REIGN

•     297
CE
     •

“S
ee those two young women who just came in.” Yochani pointed discreetly to the pair standing hesitantly at the synagogue entrance, one well fleshed and the other more slender. “I think they're wives of Roman officers garrisoned here.”

“Really?” The women didn't look unusual to me. “Perhaps they're just visiting over Shabbat.” Recent spring rainstorms, while welcome, had made the roads too muddy to travel, forcing Yochani to spend Shabbat in Sepphoris rather than with her son's family in Tiberias.

She shook her head. “I've seen them before, while you were at the Babylonian synagogue. I think the plump one is pregnant.”

The women, fashionably dressed in woolen
stolae
with wide ornamented borders at the neck and hem, looked uncertainly around the crowded room. I didn't know if they were locals or not, but recalling how uncomfortable I felt the first time I attended synagogue without Yochani, I gestured for them to sit near us. I scrutinized the heavier woman's gait as they walked over to join us and had to agree with Yochani's assessment.

The two seemed to be following the service, although when it came time for the Torah reading, I was surprised to see the slender one pull out a small codex. Curious, I glanced over, only to find that it was written in Greek. Upon discovering last summer that it would likely be a year or two until I could go home, I had applied myself to learning Greek, the
language cultured people speak in the West. I was helped by Yochani, Salaman, and Rabbi Avahu, who insisted that knowing Greek was an ornament for a woman. Eventually I was able to carry on a reasonable conversation, but though I could recognize the letters, reading Greek was beyond me.

“Welcome to our community. I'm Yochani bat Reish Lakish,” she greeted them in Greek. “And this is Hisdadukh.” Her tone indicated that they should have heard of her father.

From the women's confused expressions, it was apparent that Reish Lakish was unknown to them. My name probably puzzled them too. Maybe they weren't Jewish, but if not, what were they doing in the synagogue?

The slender one replied politely, “It's good to meet you. My name is Claudia, and we come from Macedonia.”

“I'm Julia, and I thank you for addressing us in Greek,” the pregnant one said. “Aramaic is still a struggle for me.”

“Won't you join us for the midday meal?” Yochani asked them, always eager to display her hospitality and learn more about newcomers.

The two exchanged uncertain looks until Claudia spoke. “It would be a pleasure,” she said apologetically. “But our children are at home and we've been gone some time already.”

“You have children? How old are they?” I couldn't restrain my excitement. “I have a little girl who'll be three at Rosh Hashana.”

“All of you are welcome to dine with us,” Yochani added, which brightened them considerably.

“I also have a three-year-old daughter,” Julia replied.

Claudia beamed with pride. “My sons are four and just over a year.”

“How are we going to feed them all?” I asked Yochani as we hurried back. “They'll have personal slaves plus nurses for the children.”

Once Yochani recovered from her initial annoyance at the way I'd been secretly funneling money to her through Simeon, she recognized that she would have to let me share expenses openly until I left. Our present difficulty, however, was that the shops were closed on Shabbat and butchering animals was forbidden as well.

“I was hoping Simeon might be here for Shabbat, so I slaughtered two extra chickens,” she said. “I expect that these God-fearers will be amazed at how I provided so much food with so little notice.”

“God-fearers?” I'd been in Sepphoris for almost two years and never heard of them.

“Romans and Greeks who are attracted to Judaism but haven't converted,” she replied. “They believe in one God, attend synagogue, and have given up most of their old pagan practices, but they don't observe all the commandments or consider themselves Jewish.”

“Why don't they convert?” It didn't seem right for people to pick and choose the parts of Judaism they'd follow. True, some Jews accepted the Mishna and some didn't, but one was either a Jew who abided by the written Torah or a pagan who didn't.

“Many reasons, but I think
niddah
restrictions and circumcision are the biggest barriers. Maybe that's why so many God-fearers seem to be women.”

When Julia and Claudia arrived with their entourage, including a wet nurse for Claudia's baby, which explained her svelte figure, few would have guessed that Yochani had expected only a third that number at her table. Her two guests were so impressed by our blessings over the bread and wine that she had no choice but to translate the Hebrew and explain why we, coming from rabbinic families, said them. That was the beginning of a learning experience for all of us.

As Yochani had surmised, Julia and Claudia were God-fearers. They had never felt right worshipping the pantheon of Roman gods and were intrigued by what they'd heard about Judaism. But it was only when their centurion husbands were posted to Palestina that they got the chance to live among Jews and attend synagogue regularly.

“I value the moral life that Elohim wants us to follow,” Julia said. Then she smiled and added, “And I don't mind giving up pork as much as I thought I would.”

“Elohim created us in His image and wants us to follow His laws so we won't sin,” Claudia said soberly. “I don't care about pork, but my husband abhors circumcision and feels entitled to lie with me whenever he wants, whether I'm bleeding or not.”

I helped myself to chicken stew, stretched further by leeks and legumes from Yochani's garden, and noted that she had been absolutely right about God-fearers' difficulty with Judaism.

“Excuse my ignorance,” Julia addressed Yochani and me. “Since you are both daughters of rabbis, maybe you can explain exactly what a rabbi is and what he does.”

“Is he some kind of priest?” Claudia asked.

Yochani indicated that I should answer, so I gave a simple explanation. “Rabbis are Torah scholars, experts in interpreting scripture, so Jews can come to them with questions about what the Torah tells us to do. Some teach the Law to children and older students, others judge Jewish legal cases.”

There was no reason to tell these God-fearers that rabbis were not respected by all Jews, so I continued with a short description of the priesthood. “Priests used to preside over the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, but now they have no official duties.”

Claudia noticed that I used the word “now” about priests. “So Jewish priests still exist?” she asked.

“Priests are descended from Jacob's son Levi, so priestly families continue to exist, both here and in Babylonia.” I assumed they were somewhat familiar with scripture. “My father and brothers are Kohen, descendants of Moses's brother Aaron, the first high priest.” My throat tightened and I hesitated for a moment before adding, “As was my husband.”

“Kohen are honored with the first Torah reading in synagogue,” Yochani added. “And by blessing the congregation with the priestly benediction.”

“Do rabbis do anything special in synagogue?” Julia asked.

Yochani and I looked at each other and shook our heads. “Sometimes a rabbi gives a homily,” she replied, although this was a rare occurrence.

The conversation continued pleasantly, so much so that Yochani encouraged our guests to let their children nap at her home so they could prolong their visit. Julia and Claudia complained good-naturedly about being married to Roman army officers, but admitted the pay and chances for advancement were worth the risks.

“Where are your husbands now?” I asked. When they looked at me suspiciously, I quickly added, “I'm merely curious. I may be from Babylonia, but I don't care who wins this war. I just want it to end soon so I can go home again.” That wasn't entirely true. After seeing the ruins of Jerusalem, I'd much rather be ruled by Persia than by Rome.

“I suppose the position of so many legions cannot be secret,” Julia replied. “They're in Syria, guarding the Euphrates as a precaution against a Persian attack against Antioch or Emesa.”

“General Galerius is leading troops east from the Danube frontier to
attack Narseh,” Claudia said with some relief. “So hopefully our men will not see much fighting.”

I slapped my hand on the table. “That's an amulet Ezra didn't teach me!” I exclaimed. “One for soldiers in battle.” Nearly every soldier I saw wore one.

Julia's eyes opened wide. “You write amulets?”

“Of course she does,” Yochani said proudly. “Hisdadukh is a Chaldean.”

“Would you mind…” Julia cleared her throat. “I mean, what would you charge to write amulets for me and my daughter?” She looked around cautiously and then whispered, “I need one now that I'm expecting a baby.”

“I can't write them on Shabbat, but if you come back…” I stopped to consider when the next auspicious time was. “If you return tomorrow morning, I can inscribe them for you both then.”

“Could you write some for my children too?” Claudia asked.

“Certainly.” I named a price that women who wore such nicely decorated
stolae
could likely afford.

The children were beginning to wake up, so our talk of amulets ceased. From that point on, we watched the children play and talked about domestic matters until it was time for the evening meal. All in all, it was such a congenial Shabbat that we agreed to meet again with the children next week.

Though it was well after dark when they left, Yochani and I tacitly agreed to delay Havdalah, the ceremony the Rabbis instituted to ritually end Shabbat, until they were gone. We didn't want to overwhelm the God-fearers with too many rabbinic innovations at once.

When I saw Salaman later that week, I questioned him about God-fearers. “They seem like nice women, but I don't know if I approve of them or not.” The
am-ha'aretz
who followed Torah and rejected Mishna were bad enough, but they were far better than the people who rejected parts of Torah and followed others.

“There are quite a few of them, especially in Caesarea. In some ways they're like Jews and in some ways not.”

“How so?” I wondered if he'd give me the same explanation Yochani, Julia, and Claudia had.

He paused to think. “They're like Jews in that they only believe in one
God, they pray to Him at synagogue, and they commend His moral world in which good people are rewarded after they die and sinners are punished.”

“And how not?” I asked. “Besides disapproving of circumcision.”

“God-fearers don't find the old pagan sacrifices meaningful, so they don't mourn the Temple's destruction,” he replied. “In fact, I don't think they feel any special attachment to Jerusalem or Eretz Israel at all.”

“They don't abide by the Rabbis, either,” I complained. “They've never even heard of them.”

Salaman flashed his perfect smile. “Neither do most Jews, Dada.”

I stuck out my tongue like I used to do at my brothers. “You're just saying that to tease me.” Confined to the West as I was, I allowed myself to enjoy Salaman's charms instead of worrying about his intentions.

“I apologize. And to make it up to you, you can come with me to see where the mosaics will go in the villa.”

“You're laying them already?” I headed for the door. So far I'd only seen the boards with their reverse templates.

“Not quite yet, but I can show you where they'll go.”

We walked up the acropolis until I could hear workers hammering. Then he led me just east of the citadel and above the theater, where a large building was nearing completion.

“Ha-Elohim!” I gasped once my eyes adjusted to the lack of light indoors. We had entered what would be the triclinium, an enormous dining room. “This is even larger than the floor at Rabbi Avahu's.”

Salaman nodded. “It's over fifteen by twenty cubits and will contain fifteen different panels surrounded by twenty medallions.” He pointed to the center of one side and then to the other. “Your portrait will go here and here.”

“Whose residence is this?”

“One of the city councilors.”

“Oh.” I nodded. The men who made up the city council were the richest and most powerful Jews in Sepphoris.

“Did you know that when Bar Kokhba led his rebellion, the city council here refused to support him?” Salaman asked. “For a reward, the Romans poured huge amounts of money into projects like the water system, public latrines, and paved streets, in addition to building the theater and hippodrome. They stationed an army legion nearby, which brought Sepphoris's merchants additional commerce, and built roads for them to travel on.”

I didn't know what to say. According to what I'd heard, Bar Kokhba was a hero supported by all the Jews in Eretz Israel. Not that the rabbis mentioned him much in Bavel. So I changed the subject. “Salaman, how soon will you start laying the floor?”

“Probably in the next few months. I want to have all the templates ready first, so I can lay them out and make sure they fit together properly.”

“May I come and watch?”

“Of course, Dada,” he replied. “But I warn you that your portraits will be among the last pieces to go down.”

“Claudia said that General Galerius is on his way to Armenia now,” I said soberly. “If his attack against King Narseh is successful, I may be able to go home for Rosh Hashana.”

As much as I enjoyed Yochani's and Salaman's company, I was haunted by thoughts of Chama growing up without me. Plus I needed to receive my
get
from Abba bar Joseph and free myself from the limbo of his invalid betrothal.