Chapter 12 of 15
One of the servants has reminded me that the courier will soon arrive, so I must finish my story quickly.
Yesterday, for the first time in several months, Joseph Caiaphas came to the temple. After his servants seated him on a bench off to the side of the great hall, he motioned for me to sit beside him, which I gladly did. I will always feel enormous gratitude to this great servant of God who, after all, not only made it possible for me to be trained as a scribe, but who also gave me my freedom, a debt that I can never fully repay. In fact, when Caiaphas was deposed, I offered to follow him and once more become his slave, but he insisted that I stay in the temple and serve the priests – which, as you know, I continue to do to this very day.
Even with eighty years behind him, the old priest's mind was sharp, his voice was soft but clear – and when he grasped my hand in greeting, I was pleased to note that his grip remained firm. I assumed that he wished to indulge in rambling reminiscences about the years we had spent together, as he is wont to do, but I was mistaken. Caiaphas wished to speak with me about only one thing, an event that had taken place forty long years ago. Caiaphas wished to speak with me about the death of Jesus.
I should mention, my brother, that I saw no more of Jesus after I sealed his fate that day in the forum. As I knew they would, the crowd responded to my cry by demanding the release of Barabbas. The Romans dragged Jesus from the platform even as they freed the astonished thief, who scampered away as if he wished to distance himself from the forum before Pontius Pilate had a chance to change his mind. I heard that the Romans scourged Jesus cruelly as they led him to his crucifixion, as is their custom. I heard that they mocked and abused him even as he hung on the cross, as the Romans also are wont to do. I understand that Jesus died with merciful quickness – just a few hours after he was nailed to the crucifix – and that he was taken away for burial by his followers and his family.
In life, I do not know that Jesus had more than the twelve disciples with whom I was familiar. But in a process that I cannot explain, in death he now has hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of followers, not only in Judea, but throughout the world – in Syria, in Galatia, in Asia, in Greece and in Macedonia, even in Rome itself. As the cult of Jesus spreads, it is becoming more popular among the Gentiles than it is among our own people, to such an extent that perhaps the followers of Jesus cannot be said to be a cult at all, but are actually becoming a new religion in their own right. And while I am not conversant with the beliefs of this new religion, I do know that they claim that Jesus was actually the long-awaited Messiah of our people, and so they call themselves "Messianists," in our language – or, in the language of the learned Greeks, "Christians."
Caiaphas told me that the events surrounding the death of Jesus had weighed heavily on his mind for these many years, which surprised me, as we had never spoken of them. "We are reviled by the Christians for causing the death of Jesus," he said. "They are gaining in strength and numbers more quickly than you can possibly imagine. If they ever become strong enough to rise to positions of power, I fear that they will use that power to exact a terrible revenge upon our people."
He was becoming agitated, and so I patted his hand and tried to soothe him. "Joseph," I said – as he had for many years insisted that I call him by his given name – "Joseph, I understand your fears, but they are groundless. It is known by all that only the Romans can conduct executions in Judea. That has been the law for more than a hundred years. Even the Christians know this. And so surely they know that it was the Romans who crucified Jesus. It is not possible that they would blame our people."
The old priest sighed and shook his head sadly. "I only wish that were true," he said. "But although you are right about a great many things, Enoch, this time you are mistaken. They do blame us." He leaned toward me and stared into my eyes, as if to make sure that I understood the significance of what he was saying. "If something is not done to let the truth be known," he said, "the Christians will maintain that the blood of Jesus is on our heads, and on the heads of our children, and on the heads of our children's children, even unto the last generation."
Caiaphas made me promise that I would commit to parchment the events surrounding the death of Jesus, that I would tell the story exactly as I remember it – which, as I hope I can say to you without sounding boastful, is another way of saying that I would tell the story exactly as it happened. Before I returned to my duties in the temple, I assured Caiaphas that I would undertake this task. But my purpose in providing this assurance was merely to soothe the mind of an old man. To my shame, my brother, I must tell you that I had no intention of actually keeping my word.
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©2004 Henry Charles Mishkoff