Oil and Water
CHAPTER ONE
From beneath the hood of his cloak, the narrow eyes of a tall, angular man squinted at the sun-drenched world. His quiet, dignified manner bespoke rank and education, but his dress and method of travel smacked of poverty. The man sat straight up on his camel, barely moving despite the beast's ungainly lurches - as if untouched by the desert around him. He was obviously a Greek.
He spoke to no one. And no one spoke to him.
For days, the caravan pushed forward through the desert. The Greek seemed content to let time and the journey pass at its own pace. If he was in any hurry, he didn't let it show.
Perhaps by choice, he had joined a particularly small group of Jewish travellers. For thirty years, these Jews and one hundred thousand of their brothers had been kept as slaves in Greek-dominated Egypt. Jerusalem's second Temple - only eighty years old - stood, its walls witness to the daily services of its Kohanim, but the land was all but empty of its people.
Now, Ptolemy Philadelphius had ascended to the throne in Alexandria and these Jews were suddenly free to return home. Along with them came a minor Egyptian official - probably sent to check on tax payments - and a Syrian merchant on the final leg of a business trip.
From time to time, the Egyptian official had tried to start a conversation with the man; who knew what useful secrets were hidden behind those narrow eyes? But all attempts ended in failure. The stranger seemed content to stand back and observe life from a distance.
Still, no one doubted that there was something attracting the Greek's attention. Might he be a spy for Ptolemy? To be safe, each kept one eye open for trouble and chose his words with care - discussing nothing that might be considered political. After all, no matter how indulgent a king he might be, crossing him would be suicidal.
* * *
Philip sat up on his sleeping mat. Around him were the palm trees of a desert oasis. Beneath the trees, scattered about like abandoned sticks of wood, lay the sleeping forms of the men of his caravan.
"In just a few more days," said a voice behind him, "we will reach Israel." Philip turned to see his cousin - his hair and beard dishevelled from the night's sleep - standing above him. "Are you frightened of what you will find?" asked the newcomer. "Is there anything there left for us?"
Philip wiped his eyes and shook his head, pushing away the night's cobwebs. "Of course I'm frightened, Chanina. Of course I'm frightened."
Chanina simply nodded, staring off into the distance.
"Do you regret deciding to return?" asked Philip.
"Do you? Egypt was kind to you. For a slave, you weren't treated badly."
Philip's complexion darkened. "I was torn away from Israel as a baby. Perhaps I'm only going in anger - to avenge our treatment." Philip turned to face his cousin, but his eyes were blank. "And what are you looking for in Israel?" he asked softly.
"Has your skin been very dry, lately?" asked Chanina, avoiding the question. He always avoided dwelling on the unpleasant side of their lives. There would be plenty of time later for such thoughts. Meanwhile, why not enjoy their homecoming?
"How do you think it is? Has there been any rain today?" asked Philip sarcastically.
"I thought the oil I bought for you in Alexandria might have helped."
Philip shook his head. "I'm sorry. The long journey has shortened my temper. And no, your oil didn't really help."
"Come," said Chanina after a long silence, "we'll wake the other Jews for our prayers. The caravan will soon be starting out again."
Quietly, the two cousins picked their way between the sleeping men, being careful not to disturb the gentiles among them. Every now and then, they would bend down to gently touch a shoulder or a foot. In minutes, all of the Jews were awake and preparing themselves for the prayer.
* * *
The Greek watched Philip and Chanina as they rode ahead of him. Their heads were bent one to the other in earnest discussion. For an hour or more, the man observed the two Jews closely. From time to time he would whip his camel in order to carry him closer, then, before he was noticed, he dropped back.
If the face of the man could have been seen, it would have revealed nothing. There was no expression. No hint of either good will or malice.
Finally, with the ease and calm of someone to whom decisions come easily, he gave his camel one good blow and drew even with the two cousins. He looked over at Philip.
"If I asked," he began abruptly in Greek, "would you answer a question for me?"
The Jews said nothing. They looked towards the stranger with interest and suspicion. At last, apparently deciding that they had very little to lose, Philip responded.
"We will hear your question."
"Very good," said the man, as if acknowledging what was simply his rightful due. "We will be arriving in your land shortly. Will you help me find the High Priest named Shimon?"
The two cousins glanced quickly at each other. Then, slowly, Chanina spoke.
"We have heard that the High Priest left this world some time ago. Perhaps a year or two."
The stranger looked momentarily disconcerted. When he had arranged his thoughts to deal with the new turn of events, he asked another question.
"Has anyone replaced him?"
"Probably. We don't know," answered Chanina evasively.
"Then who holds authority over the Jews of Israel?"
"Ptolemy."
For a moment, the man's face betrayed anger, then he realised that the two Jews were being cautious, not rude.
"Let me explain my problem," he said in a generous tone. "My name is Mesophames. You are probably wondering what business a Greek could have with your High Priest. I am sure you will be surprised to know that even I don't really know for certain.
"You see, I was entrusted only to bear a message for him and I am now simply trying to complete my task. When you told me of Shimon's passing, I assumed that the best thing I could do is to deliver the message to his successor."
Mesophames looked towards the Jews. There wasn't a trace of warmth in his face.
"That explains why I have to know to whom the Jews naturally give allegiance, for if there is no longer a High Priest, then there must stand in his stead a man who commands similar respect."
"We really don't know what has happened to the political structure of our land since we were last there," said Chanina by way of an answer. "We have been exiled from Israel for the past thirty years."
Mesophames' eyes widened with surprise and sympathy. "Thirty years! And now you are returning for the first time!"
They rode on in silence. Chanina and Philip exchanged confused glances. Neither knew what to make of their new acquaintance. Did he really want to find out who led the Jews of Israel or was he only testing their loyalty to the Greek-Egyptian empire - waiting for them to slip?
The silence was broken by Mesophames. "I suppose that there's little we can accomplish this far away from your homeland. Perhaps when we reach Israel, you will guide me in the right direction. My only wish is to complete my task and return home," he repeated.
He waited for a response from the cousins. When Philip at last nodded his head slightly, the Greek grunted and slowed his camel so as to fall behind and out of earshot.
For the remaining days of the journey, no one in the caravan was to hear another word from the strange Greek.
* * *
"Ashkelon."
Chanina pointed from atop a slight rise in the road. "That is Ashkelon. Your father had land just to the north. I visited it once and was amazed to find more than twenty workers tilling the fields. Your father was a wealthy man."
Philip surveyed the approaching countryside. It was a home he had barely seen - those few years he was in Israel had been spent in his father's house in Jerusalem - and of which he had no memory at all. There were still a few hours of travel ahead of them before they would reach the city, but Philip could nearly taste the sensation of being on his land, and of, for the first time in his life, having a home.
His chest seemed to tighten around his heart: what would he find? Have the fields been maintained? What if the land has been stolen...? Philip had lived through the last thirty years only for this moment. Now the former slave turned his face away, as if reluctant to confront the new life which awaited him and the independence and challenge it represented.
Chanina looked at his cousin with compassion. "Don't worry, God has brought us through the impossible times of the past decades, He can see us through this also."
"But what if there's nothing left? What will we do? Where will we go?"
Chanina smiled. "Why ask questions when the answers are waiting to be discovered? There will be plenty of time to worry later. For now, let's enjoy the experience of entering our holy land once again. Just after that bend in the road," Chanina was pointing beyond Ashkelon, "is the beginning of Israel. We are almost there."
When the caravan reached the fields bordering the city, it was nearly nightfall. The travellers found themselves a protected area and set up camp. As the sky grew dark, a small contingent of Jews came from the city to greet their homecoming brothers. They had obviously been expecting them and were well prepared. The Gentiles looked on with envy as food and light provisions were brought to provide comfort for the Jews. Only Mesophames sat off to the side by himself, deeply involved in his own thoughts.
Chanina and Philip had decided to spend one last night with the caravan. In the morning they would investigate the state of their property. Already the two had said their goodby's to the others.
"Well," asked Philip, as they sat on the ground eating their first fruits from the holy land. "Do you feel any different?"
Chanina shrugged. "I don't know," he answered sadly. "Perhaps our senses have been deadened by our problems. I can't honestly say that I feel anything more than a desire to settle down in one place."
"May we speak?" a voice from the darkness interrupted their conversation. It was Mesophames.
"Yes."
In the excitement of returning home, the two had forgotten all about the Greek and his request. Now they realized it was too late to plan a response that would both satisfy Mesophames and protect Jews from potential harm. They would have to do the best they could.
"Would I be wrong to guess that you are nearing your homes?"
"You would be right," said Philip.
"Then you will be leaving the caravan before we reach Jerusalem?"
"Yes, I suppose so," answered Chanina, his mind hard at work as he spoke. "You are worried that we will not be in Jerusalem to direct you. Listen: How much help could we have given you anyway? We have as little knowledge of this land as you - remember, we're exiles. Why don't you visit the Greek garrison in Jerusalem? I'm sure the officer in charge would know which Jew has the most authority."
"I could do that..." admitted Mesophames. "But the truth is that the Jewish official who does the most business with the occupying army is not necessarily the one accepted by the people. And it's the popular leader that I must reach - not a puppet of the empire."
Chanina was shocked by the candid cynicism of Mesophames' words. A common Egyptian would never have risked implying that there was a difference between the real and the official leadership.
Philip, on the other hand, who had been exposed to higher social circles in Egypt, found nothing unusual in the Greek's words. Nevertheless, neither was sure that they could trust Mesophames enough to reply with equal candour. They said nothing.
"Look," said the Greek, frustrated. "I can't force you to come along with me, but I can at least ask that you give me an idea of what to search for. What sort of person should I go to for help? Is there more than one political faction among the Jews? I wouldn't be surprised if my message contained matters of great importance for your people. It is in your interest to see that I am able to deliver it."
"What is the content of the message?" asked Philip without expecting an answer.
There was silence in the darkness. Then Mesophames coughed and spoke. "I don't really know. It was written in Greek, but the words are quite cryptic. The author obviously didn't want the wrong people to discover it by accident and understand its contents."
"Who was the author?"
Again there was silence. When the Greek did respond, it was with the voice of a man not used to being questioned. "I received the document from my brother. Do you have any answers to my questions?"
In the faint, flickering light of a low fire, the two Jews could just make out Mesophames' face. His eyes were issuing an impassioned plea for help, as though there was no one else in the world who could do for him what they could. But there was something about the man's posture - erect and iron-willed - that left an altogether different impression.
Finally, Chanina spoke. "We have heard of the emergence of a new movement among the Jews," he said. "We were witness to some of its manifestations in Egypt, especially since the ascension of Ptolemy Philadelphius. It seems that there are among our brothers those who find themselves more comfortable in the non-Jewish world, practising non-Jewish customs. As far as we know, however, any power the Jews still hold in our land is in the hands of the traditionalists.
"If there is a new high priest, he may not be the most influential person among our people. Who could fully replace Rabbi Shimon? Until recently, there was a Knessia Gedola in which the greatest rabbis sat and directed the national life of Israel. While they sat, they were the true leaders of the Jews. There were high priests among them, but only in the status of scholars, not political figures.
"Unless much has changed since the last time we received news from the holy land, there are probably rabbis who attract thousands of students and whose opinions hold sway in nearly all circles. You could approach one of these with your message. You could also go straight to the high priest. Perhaps you will sense which is best."
Mesophames waited until he was sure that Chanina had finished, then said, "Perhaps this information will prove helpful. I thank you for your assistance, and I wish you success on your return to your homes. Farewell."
Without waiting for a reply, the Greek turned on his heel and strode across the sleeping campsite. His tall figure was soon lost in the darkness.
Chanina and Philip spoke quietly to each other for a while, then lay down on their sleeping mats. Daybreak was only a few hours away.
* * *
The coming of dawn made the night's conversations seem far away, almost dream-like. The two cousins went about their prayers and preparations for the day with subdued excitement. After a quick meal, they set to work organizing their belongings. There was very little to arrange, two sleeping mats, one change of clothing each and some food. Carefully hidden at the bottom of the bag they shared was a small, inconspicuous pouch filled with coins - their life's savings.
As Philip turned to give the area one final glance before they left, he noticed a light-colored object half-buried in a bed of wild flowers. When he bent to take a closer look, he saw that it was a small piece of parchment, torn off at one end.
"Chanina, come here and see this." Philip now held his discovery in his hands and was closely examining it. "I found this just next to where our beds were."
Chanina quickly walked over to his cousin and peered over his shoulder.
"It's written in Greek," said Philip.
"It seems to be a letter, or at least part of one," said Chanina. "We have the salutation and a section of the first line. ‘To Xenocres, the honourable, valorous and wise officer of the guard of the Ptolemaic garrison at Jerusalem,'" He read aloud. "‘Please accord the bearer of this letter...' That's it. Could it have dropped from Mesophames' cloak?" He looked around at the empty wilderness. The caravan had continued on its way to Jerusalem and they were alone.
"Perhaps," said Philip, his brow creased in concentration. "What a strange salutation this is, especially for such a high ranking officer."
"It seems quite respectable to me," said Chanina.
"To the officer, it was. What's missing is virtually any mention of the king. In my experience, such correspondence should start off with two or three lines of lavish praise for the king. To just write his name without all his divine titles and accomplishments is tantamount to an insult."
"Maybe that is why Mesophames wanted to get rid of it," said Chanina, thinking out loud. "He only removed the incriminating opening section."
"Now wouldn't that look strange?" responded Philip. "Half a letter of introduction is no better than nothing at all."
Chanina said nothing. His forehead was creased with worry. Was this the start of new trouble? Had they seen Mesophames for the last time?
Philip spoke again. "All right, so it's a mystery. At least now we know how to reach the Greek if we need to."
"That's just what bothers me."
CHAPTER TWO
"The Kohen Godol (High Priest) is a busy man."
"Xenocres is an important one, and if the senior officer of the Greek garrison in Jerusalem wishes to speak to your priest, the conversation will take place."
Yosef, secretary to the Kohen Godol, had been called to the headquarters of the army garrison in Jerusalem. Contact between the Greek officials and students of the Kohen Godol wasn't uncommon, but the meetings were usually kept low-level. People of rank on either side were mercifully left out.
Now Xenocres' senior lieutenant was demanding that the Kohen Godol grant an audience with some unknown Greek. What this man wanted to speak about couldn't, however, be discussed. Yosef felt that to accept such a demand would cheapen the honour of the Kohen Godol's office.
"I will have to ask the Kohen Godol himself. I will send you word of his decision, although it could be a few days before there will be a chance to raise the subject." Yosef hoped that through a show of reluctance, the autonomy of the Priesthood would not be lessened - even if, in the end, the meeting were to take place.
"Look," said the soldier, "you know that we do not usually ask much of the priests. But, as the rulers of the land, we have the right to expect cooperation. Besides, according to what little I know of the matter, it is in your interest to receive this man. Please try to have an appropriate answer for me as soon as possible."
Yosef nodded his head, acknowledging that he understood the soldier's point. Without committing himself any further, he got up to leave the lieutenant's room.
Two days later, Mesophames was led through the narrow alleyways of Jerusalem towards the Temple. He saw Jews of every description, from every corner of land. Mixed among them was a noticeable number of returnees from the Egyptian exile. Many still wore the distinctive clothes of their former home. Greek Soldiers wandered freely among the citizens, as if unafraid of the very people who should have been their enemies.
Mesophames followed his guide down narrow, winding flights of stairs, with room for just two men to walk abreast. At the bottom of one such flight, the guide stopped and pointed to a gap between two houses. The break revealed a wide, empty plot of land. Behind that, was a narrow valley and beyond the valley was a hill, topped by what must have been the Temple.
Mesophames could see great white enclosing wall, a thousand feet long on each of its four sides. In places, the stone wall stood over a hundred feet high, and was never less than forty. Huge thirty-foot doors sealed openings ten feet thick.
Encircled by the wall was an open plaza and, somewhat off-centre to the left, another wall enclosing a smaller plaza with a rectangular building at its far end.
Even from a distance, Mesophames could make out countless bustling figures. Many carried gold and silver bowls which shone in the bright sun. The constant traffic of people into and out of the Temple was bewildering.
After long minutes of staring at the imposing sight, the Greek felt a light tug at his sleeve. It was time to go on.
Without turning towards the Temple Mount, the two walked through the south-western section of the city until they reached the Kohen Godol's palace. A young priest stood at the door. When he saw the guide approaching with the foreign visitor, he disappeared inside the house.
By the time Mesophames actually reached the bottom of the great flight of stairs leading to the palace, two more priests were descending to greet him.
"Welcome," one said in perfect Greek.
Mesophames nodded in response. This was surely not the High Priest himself. There was no reason to be overly polite just yet.
"Please allow us to escort you into the residence of the Kohen Godol. He will see you without a great delay. We are afraid the audience may not be very long, but you will find that there is no need to either repeat or explain your ideas in any great detail. The Kohen Godol will understand what you have to say from simple hints alone."
Again, Mesophames nodded. The Greek was shaven and wore the clothes of a wealthy, well-placed citizen. There remained no hint of the long and arduous camel trip he had just endured. In fact, he looked so different, that if Philip and Chanina were to chance upon him now, they might well pass by without recognizing him.
The tall man was led into the palace and along a wide corridor. The rich carpets and the cool, subdued tone of the house's marble walls offered instant relief from the heat of the day. Voices were muffled by the well-padded furniture. There was an aura of quiet excitement to the place - the feeling that this was the centre of something great, yet somehow controlled to the finest detail.
After passing through a greater part of the palace, Mesophames followed his guide through double doors, each the height of two men. At the far end of the long room within which he now found himself, the Greek saw a tall, fully bearded man seated behind an ornate cedar table. Mesophames' escort silently walked over and in a hushed tone announced the new arrival.
Without moving or even raising his head, the seated man spoke. His voice seemed especially rich under the weight of the great room's echoes.
"Greek! What is your message?"
Did the Kohen Godol know about him and his mission? wondered Mesophames. And was this cold greeting simply the Jew's way of emphasizing the fact that Mesophames held no real rank, or did the priest always treat foreigners this way, regardless of their importance?
"I have a message from my dead brother, Aricrates, a former student of our master Aristotle at the Academy of Lyceum." Mesophames' speech was slow and even. He wasn't about to be unnerved by the reception he had been shown. "Before his death, my brother beseeched me to deliver a letter to Shimon, the High Priest of the Jews. After finally being able to travel to Israel to fulfil his request, I discovered that Shimon was also dead."
The Kohen Godol winced as he heard the death of his holy brother mentioned side by side with that of a Greek philosopher.
"Even though I do not completely understand the nature of the message," continued Mesophames, "I decided that I could best achieve my brother's goals by delivering it to you instead. I am to await your answer and then relay it to certain individuals in Athens."
Mesophames reached into the folds of his cloak and removed a thick parchment. He moved forward in the direction of the Kohen Godol as if to place the letter before him. Before he could come close enough, his arm was politely but firmly restrained by one of the priests standing behind him.
"Read it," instructed the Kohen Godol.
"It's cryptic...." Mesophames was not sure whether he had just been insulted. If he could avoid publicly reading aloud the contents of his letter, and at the same time discover more about this Jew, it would serve his purposes well. Therefore, the Greek tried to draw the Kohen Godol into conversation.
However, Mesophames' remark was met with silence. Instead of gaining control of the meeting, he was left with the distinct feeling that if he did not do as he was told, he would soon lose the Kohen Godol's attention completely. With no choice, he unfolded the document and began to read. The short message was written in Greek.
"‘To the priest who stands in the dreams of kings. Who once before had turned the mighty one from his path. May he not fall prey to the glitter of choice oils. May he instead stand apart with the sanction of separate brother-nations.' That is all."
"Remain in this city for a time," said the Kohen Godol with hardly a moment's pause. "I will send word of my decision."
"Do you understand what I have said?" blurted Mesophames. He didn't want the others present to understand the message, but he had to know if this man had understood.
"I understand," said the Kohen Godol. His words came from his mouth in quick bursts, as if he wanted to be rid of them as soon as he could. "Your organization opposes Alexander the Great's goal of spreading Greek culture to all the nations of the empire. The emperor's dream of one, seamless world empire and one world culture is not your dream. Therefore you want the Jews of Israel to join in an international revolution against Ptolemy and his Greek-Egyptian government which has been so faithful to Alexander's dream."
Mesophames nodded. "And we think it is in your..."
But the Kohen Godol's attention had already returned to the lofty matters from which it had been disturbed. Mesophames was not being ignored, his presence was acknowledged by the others in the room. It was just that the Kohen Godol himself had, so to speak, left.
* * *
"We have most welcome visitors!"
The light wooden door of the small Jerusalem home slowly opened. From behind it, the tiny heads of two children appeared.
"Penina! I said we have guests!" the man repeated with a smile both on his lips and in his voice.
A short but stately woman pushed open the door the rest of the way, revealing all four walls of her tiny house. She peered at the two men her husband had been referring to. For a long minute she looked, confusion and doubt growing on her face.
"Chanina?!?" she said at last. "Is it you? And Pinchas! You have come home!"
Philip glanced at Chanina and smiled. Then he returned his attention to the woman named Penina.
"Yes. We have come home. But is there a home here waiting for us?"
"Our house will always be yours," answered Penina, out of breath with excitement. "Our food and everything that is ours is only for sharing. But," she added softly in response to the question, "there have been great changes in Israel in your absence. Not many of them have been happy. Your real home no longer exists."
"Where is Yehuda and his family?" asked Philip, expecting the worst. "We have already been to the farm near Ashkelon, it's desolate."
"Yehuda and the others are gone," said Penina.
The woman, Philip's only sister, proceeded to outline the tragic events of the past decades. She described the way the Jews had lost control over their land and how the Greeks had drained the country of its resources. They had imposed their authority on the people and carried off the best of the nation as slaves.
Penina's voice rose with emotion as she told of the bloody persecution of the outlying settlements. Whether for financial gain, or just to show the people that Greek power was limitless, they sacked whole villages and emptied them of their citizens at the mere hint of rebellion.
Their brother Yehudah, related Penina, had been killed along with his whole family. The land was no longer theirs.
"You must tear your robe on its right side," Chanina told Philip. "You need no more than a short moment of mourning, as these losses are old ones."
Philip removed his leather sandals and grasped the hem of his robe above his chest with both hands. His face was a cloud of emotions as he tore a ragged line into the fabric. All the disappointment and frustration of the past thirty years now seemed focused on the simple act of tearing the light cotton.
Was he thinking about his parents or about the soldiers who, piece by piece, had taken away everything he had? wondered Chanina to himself. Could Philip be blamed for being resentful?
Penina's husband, Yakov, led his brother-in-law into his house. There, Philip sat down on the floor and placed some ash from the oven on his head. After a few minutes of quiet introspection, he rose, pushed his feet once again into his sandals and returned to the courtyard in front of the house. The late afternoon sun softened the sharp angles and lines of his face. He seemed younger, more vulnerable than he had before.
"Let us go and eat something," said Yakov.
"Is there really no chance of recovering our fields?" asked Philip. They were sitting on low stools, crowded around the small table in the centre of the house. In one corner, two children were sleeping together on a mat. An older boy dozed on the lap of his newly rediscovered uncle. It was dark outside, and the only sound was the crackling of the small wood fire in the oven. At the table, there was a noticeable space between Yakov's seat and those of his two guests.
"We tried," said Yakov, by way of an answer. "But we had no way of influencing the Governor. The whole thing happened thirty years ago. Now, even if we could find someone who would listen to us, we probably wouldn't be able to bring any proof to support our claims."
"I had wanted to pick up the pieces of my life where they had been dropped," said Philip. "To live the rest of my days on the land my ancestors farmed. What am I supposed to do now? What I was doing in Egypt?"
Yakov looked at Philip with interest. "What were you doing in Egypt?" he asked.
"Our Philip was trained as a building engineer," explained Chanina. "He was actually quite successful, a respected figure in the royal court."
"A slave?" asked a surprised Yakov. "A respected figure in court?"
Philip himself answered. "It did not take our masters long to realize the potential value of a class of educated Jews. Many of us - especially the young - were brought to Alexandria to be absorbed into the court-life as scribes, treasurers or physicians.
"I was apprenticed to an old Greek military engineer. Under his direction, and later on my own, I worked on the design and construction of a great stadium in the capital. When they wanted me to build a temple to their gods, I was forced to submit ridiculous designs so they would think me incompetent."
"The Jews the Greeks took as slaves here were not given even that much liberty," said Yakov dryly. "Here the soldiers used Jewish workers to build Greek cities, each complete with its own stadium, bathhouse and temple. No one taught our Jews any trades, just an appreciation for hard labour."
"Should I have declined the opportunity to work in the capital?" asked Philip, on the defensive.
"No no," said Yakov. "It's just that life in your end of the world might have been a little easier than it was for us. Why else would so many Jews remain in Egypt even after their emancipation?"
"Why did they stay?" said Philip, his voice raised slightly in anger. "Perhaps it's true that the physical side of life in Egypt is not all unpleasant. But the prospect of returning to Israel and rejoining a troubled society is not the most inviting option. What awaits us here to give us hope? How can you blame us for not returning in greater numbers?"
"Of course you are right," said Yakov. "And we respect you a great deal for having given up your career and comfort to return. But just bear in mind that life here in Israel has been far from easy.
"we were the fortunate ones," continued Yakov. "We were never torn away from our land and subjected to the isolation of being rootless. But do not forget that the best of our people still live in Babylonia, and many others were exiled. All our attempts to make up for that loss have been hampered by the Greek presence. Despite the efforts of the Kohen Godol, Shimon, there has been a sickening drop in the quality of our religious lives. And now for the first time there is a break in our own ranks."
Chanina nodded his head silently. Philip, obviously confused, demanded an explanation.
"What break?" he said.
Chanina interrupted. "Perhaps we can discuss all this tomorrow. Now it is late, and we will need all of our senses about us in the morning as we get to know the city once again."
Yakov looked at Chanina with curiosity, but said nothing. He nodded, politely smiled his agreement and began to clear a space on the floor at one side of the room. Here the two cousins would sleep.
* * *
By the time the great ball of the sun was fully visible in the Jerusalem sky, the city was wide awake and bustling. In Yakov's small home, the three men had already completed their prayers and eaten. Now Philip and Chanina stepped out of the house - still dressed in the style of Egyptian Jews - and into the bright sunlight of the Holy City.
For the first hour of their tour, they simply walked the streets, as if building up courage before taking their next step. Without thought, they gradually moved towards the mountain where the Divine Presence dwelt. Wherever they walked, between massive stone buildings or down the many narrow staircases, passers-by gave the two a wide berth.
They were descending a long, winding flight of stairs when a tall man came climbing towards them. The man wore long white robes that only made him look still taller and more powerful. Despite that fact that he was still quite a few steps below Philip, who was walking ahead of his cousin, the man was an imposing sight.
Suddenly looking up, the man caught sight of Philip. His nose wrinkled and he looked to either side, apparently searching for a break in the walls into which he could retreat until the cousins had passed. Seeing nothing but solid stone, he looked over his shoulder and with a grunt, retraced his steps until he came to an alcove. He shrank his large frame until nearly nothing but the odd fold of white cloth stuck out.
Philip had momentarily stopped in his tracks as he watched the strange motions of the tall man. Now, seeing that nothing would happen until they walked on, Chanina prodded Philip from behind and they continued down the stairs. As they passed the shallow alcove that sheltered the Jew, Philip glanced inside for a brief second. The Jew looked away with what seemed like distaste in his eyes.
"Bavliim," he muttered.
In a second, it was all over. Philip and Chanina were past the alcove and the man was on his way in the other direction. But Philip knew something he had just seen something significant.
"Have we got some disease?" he asked Chanina.
"Sort of..."
"What do you mean?" grinned Philip. It was a desperate sort of grin, as if it begged someone to tell him that everything was really normal. "My skin condition isn't that bad is it?"
"It's not your skin they're worried about."
"Then is it what lies below the skin or what lies above?"
"Well...both."
"That's just what I would expect from you," said Philip. "I could always count on you to speak your mind."
"Don't get excited," Chanina responded, "but I have to tell you something important."
"That should excite me?"
Chanina ignored his cousin's banter. "Since you were only four when you were taken out of Israel, you would not have been aware of certain laws, and you certainly would have had no chance to study the them while you were a slave. Now that we are again in Jerusalem and so close to the Temple, I must teach you the laws of purity – of taharah."
Philip grew serious.
"In our years in Egypt, we must have come into contact with dead bodies and other ritually impure objects. While we were outside the Holy Land, it didn't really affect our day to day lives. However, here in Jerusalem, life revolves around the Temple. Every aspect of the Temple practice must be clothed in extra purity. Contact with the dead in particular must be avoided. "Practically, taharah entails avoiding, where possible, contaminants. Purification is required following impure contact. Since we are almost certainly impure, kohanim must avoid coming in close contact with us so as not to keep them from their temple service. This is the explanation for the behavior of the many people who have passed us by today. Now that I think about it, this must also be the reason Yakov kept his distance from us last night at the meal. He must have been afraid that we would defile him or his food."
"I don't understand," said Philip. "Yakov is not a kohen, why does he need to worry about being defiled?"
"I suppose that he wishes to eat al taharas hakodesh, something even regular Jews sometimes wish to do. Also, Passover is coming, and he will surely wish to remain pure for that."
The two cousins had by now stopped walking and were standing at the side of the road, engrossed in their conversation. Philip's face was creased in concentration.
"There is one thing I don't understand," he said. "How did all of the passers-by realize that we were defiled?"
Chanina smiled sadly. "We aren't dressed quite like average Jerusalemites, right?" he said.
"And what if we're not Jerusalemites, does that mean we're not really Jewish?" There was a note of defiance in Philip's voice.
"I knew you'd get excited," said Chanina. "No, it doesn't necessarily mean that. But people are people and they make assumptions. If we're Egyptian, then the odds are that we're no more observant than so many other Egyptians. These people we run into are just being careful..."
"But it's not our fault," cried Philip. "We were never given the opportunity to learn!"
"Whether or not we are to blame, the reality is that most of us know nothing about these laws. The kohanim here are perfectly right not to trust us without knowing clearly where we stand in our observance.
"One other thing," added Chanina. "Sooner or later you are going to come face to face with the reputation Egyptian Jews enjoy among the people here. There are things that I might as well let you know about now.
"The failure of many of our brothers to return to Israel, coupled with reports of the state of religious observance in the community in Alexandria, have cast doubts on their loyalty. We are going to have to work extra hard just to overcome the prejudices which await us in this city.
"And the Bavliim," continued Chanina. "That is the name - the dirty name - Jerusalemites gave us. We apparently remind them of the Jews who stayed in Babylonia when they were most needed in Jerusalem to help build the city."
Philip's face was closed. He said nothing for a long while. When he finally broke his own silence, it was with a strained but even voice. "Is this weak observance what Yakov referred to last night?"
Chanina nodded. "And it has spread to Jerusalem. There are today many Jews who no longer keep all the mitzvos. They're called ‘Greek-Jews.' But these are not our problems. Our problems are a little more personal and immediate and we're going to have to be just a little selfish to make sure we end up with a place in this country. Even if they don't want us, I'm determined to push my way in. We are Jews and this is our home.
"What's our next step?" asked Philip, unconvinced.
"To begin the process of taharah. That will take us a week and a couple of trips to the Temple. In the meantime, perhaps we can spend some time filling in the gaps in our Torah-knowledge. Yakov told me of an Egyptian Jew who has begun teaching fellow exiles who have returned to Jerusalem. We must pay him a visit. And by the way," added Chanina, "we might look around for some new clothes."
* * *
"What have you heard about Xenocres?" asked the short, dark-haired and intense looking Jew to whom the cousins had been introduced as Dedanes.
"The name came up in a letter we happened across," answered Philip. "We know nothing about him except that he is connected with the Greek garrison at Jerusalem."
"Actually, he's the commander of all Ptolemy's armies in the country," offered Dedanes. "Do you know who wrote the letter?"
Chanina deflected the question with one of his own. "Do you have much contact with Alexandria?"
"Only through reports I receive from people like you." Dedanes clearly resented the change of topic, but realized that it would seem impolite to press the issue further. "Have you any family left in Israel?"
"Very little," answered Philip.
There was an unsettled silence. The meeting had begun badly. Philip and Chanina had come to Dedanes' house hoping to arrange a program of Torah-study. But the conversation had somehow turned to politics. The name of the Greek soldier had come up and Philip innocently commented that he had heard it before.
The cousins were surprised by the unusual interest Dedanes had shown in the man. The truth was that they really knew very little about Xenocres; just his position and the fact that he had something to do with Mesophames. But still unsure about the intentions of their new acquaintance, they thought it best to say as little as possible.
Finally, in an effort to change the tone of the conversation, Dedanes smiled and folded his well-padded hands over his chest.
"We come to the real purpose of your visit," he said. "You want to learn Torah. Well now there I am in a position to help you. You see, I was older than either of you two when I was taken to Egypt - twenty-five to be exact - and had a good background in the oral law. Thank God, my duties in the land of our exile were not overly taxing, and I had the time and energy to continue my studies even in the midst of the suffering.
"Still, since so much of my life was spent in that foreign land, I identify with you. I feel your pain and sense of separation from other Jews. Not only can I best understand your background, but I know what areas are the most urgent to address and what is likely to be missing.
"This may seem elementary," continued Dedanes, "but it will be best for us all if we start at the very beginning with the written Torah, the Tanach. It might well be that you..." he looked at Chanina, "have something of a grounding in this area, but just to make sure that we aren't missing anything that might be needed later, we'll begin there. It won't take long, you're older and more mature than the usual student of Tanach."
"What about our immediate need to know practical rules?" asked Philip. "How do we keep the mitzvos in the weeks and months before we reach a higher level of learning?"
Dedanes smiled. "Do not think that Tanach simply involves verse after verse and chapter after chapter of memorization. There would be little to gain from such a study, particularly since you are both older, and can no longer absorb so much pure rote-learning.
"The true study of Tanach turns the holy books into primers for the law, as the basic outline of our Oral Tradition is based on the teaching of the words themselves. There can be no separation between the Oral and Written Law. You will face both the content and the intent of the Torah at the same time. When you will have completed Tanach, you should have a working knowledge of nearly all the law."
"We have one other problem," said Chanina. He had warmed to Dedanes and was all but ready to finalize the matter. "We have with us only enough money for a few months. What will happen if we have to leave in the middle?"
"We'll worry about that when it comes to pass," said Dedanes. "In the meantime, there's nothing to be lost by starting. Every day is, by itself, a jewel which you might never have acquired had you not returned to Israel."
Right then, without so much as a handshake to formalize the arrangement, the three sat down to their studies.
Like school children, the two cousins held two ends of a slate and, embarrassed, drew the letters of the Hebrew alphabet one by one. Their teacher hadn't been joking when he said they would be starting at the beginning. Along with the letters, came a basic lesson in grammar and the system of notation that accompanied the written Torah. They somehow survived the horror of the first hour and when a scroll - Braishis - finally made its appearance, it was more than welcome. Now they could at least pretend to be studying something more scholarly.
"It has to get better," moaned Philip as they left Dedanes' house, "because it can't get any worse. I'm an engineer! And I have to begin again like a six-year-old! How will I ever survive the humiliation?"
"Just give it time," answered Chanina. His voice, too, held a hint of doubt. "I'm sure it's worth the pain."
"...And just imagine," continued Philip, ignoring his cousin's uninspiring words, "We'll be kept at this for hours and hours every day. I feel ill just thinking about it."
Chanina said nothing. Being older, and the only relative who had kept regular contact with Philip in Egypt, Chanina had always played the role of parent in his cousin's life. He always made sure to be there to give strength and reassure. There was no room for showing doubts. No room on the outside, at least. But inside Chanina often found himself just as confused and insecure as Philip, and this time was no exception.
When it came down to it, the two cousins were simply trusting Dedanes - a complete stranger - to lead them on a productive path. If he was a fraud, or even a well-meaning fool, then the next months of their lives and all the money they had in the world would have been wasted on nothing at all. They would still be ignorant, and nothing more than ‘Bavliim.' Chanina was more than a little apprehensive. Would Philip ever forgive him if it all fell apart?
And what a strange figure this Dedanes was: Throughout the day, he could be found in his home or in various public buildings teaching fellow ‘Egyptian' Jews the essentials of their faith. For an hour he would sit among a small group of his students, weaving before them a brilliant tapestry. He brought together in perfect unity the two legal traditions - the written and the oral - that were really one - that were really much more than just legal. The master would then move on to his next students, leaving the first group to spend the balance of the day digesting what they had learned.
No one knew how Dedanes found the time to support himself - living alone he needed very little - yet he never seemed to lack anything. The only periods that his intensely curious students could not account for, were the mysterious weeks when he would vanish.
In those times, the squat scholar who never used anything but his Greek name would disappear into some obscure crack in the city, only to surface much later from a different direction. He left behind no clues except the abnormal interest he had for the politics of the empire and his flawless Greek. Although he used Greek only on rare occasions, his great love for the language was clear to all who knew him.
This was the world of Jerusalem's Egyptian Jews. Here, Chanina and Philip at last found for themselves a precarious home and a sort of family. But no one could fool himself into thinking that even this life could continue forever.
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