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CHAPTER VII The Roman
Festivities exploded ninety miles to the south in Jerusalem.
People scurried about excitedly, happy faces of children playing, merchants hawking, the dust of the streets, irritating, causing fits of sneezing. Families together taking in the wonder and celebration of it all.
While many of the children and even some adults wore costumes and masks, older men ambled about stately and serene, unaffected spectators. They had seen it many times before. They were amazed but not unpleased at how the younger generation could be so animated, for they yet remembered when they had felt the same. Years have a way of mellowing perspective.
Suddenly a loud roar arrested everyone's attention. It came from the direction of the Temple. Another explosion, a chorus of vocal sound and loud shouting. Some began to move in the direction of the clamor when a man with a booming, visceral voice shouted, "It's the Megillah! Hurry! Be quick about it!" At that, almost everyone in the tumultuous streets surged toward the Temple. The older men, arms folded, smiled in pleasure. Pandemonium! Boos and hisses issued forth, along with the brackish sound of noisemakers. Thousands arrived at the Temple at the same time. The large structure was already packed with people, so all they could do was stand outside and howl when they heard everyone else inside cheer and shriek huzzahs. Amongst all of this, on the podium sat a man reading as loud as he could so he could be heard above the din, "And the king loved Esther more than all the women, and she found favor and kindness with him more than all the virgins, so that he set the royal crown on her head and made her queen instead of Vashti." Wild whooping, applause and jumping up and down. It was the fourteenth of March, known to the Jews as the month of Adar, and this was the Feast of Purim, otherwise known as The Day of Mordecai. It had turned the entire city of Jerusalem into a gigantic carnival. In every synagogue the Scroll of Esther, or "Megillah," was being read. Whenever the name of wicked Haman was mentioned, loud hoots and boos, children waving groggers, the loudest noisemaker one could imagine.
The word Purim, is derived from pure, or a small stone used in casting lots, the method Haman used to establish the day in which he would massacre all the Jews. Purim occurs one day after Nicanor's day on the 13th of Adar. This was ordained by a decree of almost 200 years ago, to annually celebrate the defeat of that Seleucid general, by Judas Maccabaeus. The Jewish victors were so flushed with triumph that they cut off general Nicanor's head and his "proud right hand" and displayed them for all to see on the walls of Jerusalem. The Jewish people were ordained and instructed to "keep this great day of gladness" year by year--the day before Mordecai's day. So, the Feast of Purim had taken on a double significance that further intensified the merrymaking. The readings continued enthusiastically, with great drama, punctuated with bluster, bellows, boos and those screeching little twirling groggers. The garish costumes and masks helped the people express their rejoicing in fanatic remembrance of Esther's deliverance of the Jews, though she had to conceal her Jewish origins when she became queen.
Jesus made his way through the festivities deliciously alone, having left the twelve and his other followers in Galilee. "Go spend some time with your families," he had told us. "You need them and they need you." He was reflecting, in these words, a very human need within himself to belong, to be loved by people who needed nothing from him except to be with him, as a brother . . . a son. "Meet me in a fortnight at my mother's home in Nazareth." His purpose in coming to Jerusalem was private and personal. He desired to see Hermas ben David, his father's old friend. There are few events so heartwarming and comforting than to be among friends whose engagement as family goes all the way back to one's birth. He continued through the city and beyond its walls to Bethlehem, the place of his birth and the home of Hermas, now in his seventies. He remembered coming to this home when his family came to Jerusalem for the many Passovers and other occasions. He thought of the times they had come for Purim, this very celebration. He felt an ache of nostalgia as he recalled happy times. Soon the house was in view. A fine house, a villa with colonnades and a reflecting pool. Hermas ben David lived well. He was met, however, not by his expected host, but by a Roman soldier of high rank. A tribune, perhaps? A general? Jesus did not know. Military rank had always been so esoteric to him. For such a person to be here was not particularly remarkable, since Hermas ben David was a man of wealth and power. How had he known of Jesus' approach? It is unknown. He was a man of military bearing, military training, military awareness. Perhaps as an animal senses the smell of prey, this man sensed an approaching stranger. In any case, he was aware, and not only was he aware, incredibly, he recognized the intruder for who he was. The soldier in gleaming uniform, his short combat sword at his side, spoke first, "Welcome, Jesus of Nazareth," he said. "It is good to see you again." He smiled and held out his arm for Jesus to clasp in traditional Roman greeting. Jesus, a bit nonplussed but in control of himself, said, "Have we met? Do I know . . ?" Tiny increments of recognition began to knit themselves together. In a moment, completely aware, "Urbanus! I--I can't believe it! How long has it been?" "I believe the last time was when I chased you up a tree. Let's see," Urbanus laughed, putting his hand to his chin as if in somber recollection, "you must have been about twelve. After that you ran off to play with one of your little friends, ah . . ." "Eben! His name was Eben. But why did I climb a tree?" he asked, embarrassed that he could not remember. "I think you were pretending you were a cat, a tiger perhaps." "And you?" "A great Nubian hunter, of course!" They both laughed out loud. "There was an incident. You disappeared for three days, and our families were in an uproar about it." "Yes," said Jesus with a soberness that approached embarrassment, "I guess I frightened everyone rather badly." Seeing his discomfiture, Urbanus good-naturedly made the most of it. "What was that excuse you gave?" laughing. Jesus smiled, "That I was about my Father's business." "I guess your parents must have loved that." "They were less than impressed. I'm afraid it was just the beginning of my adolescent itchings." While Jesus understood that this assessment was probably closer to the truth than he wished, he nonetheless remembered the insistent pressure within him on that occasion. His "itchings" had persisted through adolescence, the same holy thing that only intensified as he matured.
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