Chapter One
Sunset was quickly approaching. The appearance of three stars and the inability to distinguish white thread from black would usher in the Feast of Purim. It was the fourteenth of Adar in the 3767th year of Creation and one month before Passover.
Rabbi Mazzar, standing before the Scripture cupboard in the Nazareth synagogue, drew forth the scroll of Esther, the reading mandated for tonight''s celebration. Tonight and tomorrow all Jews would celebrate the miraculous deliverance of the Jews of Persia from the clutches of the evil Haman. While reviewing the megillah of Esther, the congregation would revile Haman and extol the courage of the heroine and her uncle Mordechai.
It had been almost five hundred years since the events recorded in Esther had taken place. In the centuries following, empires had risen and fallen; Israel had been restored to greatness and had withered again.
The aged rabbi reflected on the passage of time. Esther''s story had been read when the land of Israel was a province of Persia; when it had been annexed by Alexander the Great; when it had belonged to the Ptolemys of Egypt; when it had been under the thumb of the Seleucids of Syria; when it had enjoyed the brief sunlight of the Maccabees.
Tonight a Roman governor ruled the land. Though the empire had held sway over Judea for close to a hundred years, now, for the first time, Rome ruled Jewish affairs directly, instead of through a puppet king.
The rabbi stroked his wispy beard as he cast his mind back over the turmoil of more recent years. This year marked the eleventh anniversary of the death of King Herod. Interesting connection that: The remembrance of Esther''s heroism and the death of Herod were two occasions when it was forbidden to fast or to mourn.
Herod''s death, coming at the end of a string of murders, persecutions, and tortures, was acknowledged each year throughout Jewry. In the Galil they rejoiced quietly, for Antipas, son of the Butcher King, ruled here.
The rabbi shook his head sadly and peered out at the gathering darkness. Recent futile attempts to reestablish Jewish independence had failed miserably. After some initial success, including surprising the Roman garrison at Sepphoris, the Zealots had been defeated. Even now they were being hunted down. Like pinching out candle flames, the remaining pockets of Jewish resistance were being crushed.
All day today Roman legionaries, recruited from hereditary Jewish enemies like Idumeans and Samaritans, wielded hammers. They were not widening the Imperial highways or building another aqueduct or even repairing fortifications damaged in the revolt. They were crucifying the latest batch of captured rebels.
Though the executions were conducted along the main roads and not beside Nazareth''s winding lane, the rhythmic thump of mallets, punctuated by anguished shrieks, echoed up and down the hillsides of the town.
The families would come to the synagogue tonight because it was their custom to do so. Mazzar would supervise the reading of Esther, because it was the right thing to do. What no one could instill in the occasion was any feeling of celebration. Where was the provision of the Almighty on this night? Where was there a Mordechai for this age? Where an Esther?
* * *
Herod Antipas reclined at a table amid a host of laughing, smiling guests. It was the Feast of Purim, which Antipas also celebrated as his birthday. Because of the commandment to rejoice on the anniversary of the heroic deliverance of the Jews, some took the holiday as license for extreme drunkenness and revelry. It was, as one rabbi said, the most easily filled religious requirement for those who were never pious at any other time of year.
Antipas never required an excuse, religious or otherwise, for debauchery. Though he was only about thirty years of age, his face already showed the sagging jowls and furrowed ravages of excessive pleasure-seeking.
Moreover, this year''s holiday and birthday offered him no reason for mirth, but even more excuse for drink. The celebration was taking place in the moldy, dark, drafty halls of Jerusalem''s crumbling Hasmonean Palace. The Roman governor, Quirinius, had graciously allotted the old pile to Antipas as a Jerusalem residence, while the upstart, arrogant civil servant paraded around in the grand chambers and marble-lined corridors built by Antipas'' father, Herod the Great.
There was no justice in the world-none at all.
After successfully conspiring with his brother Archelaus to eliminate their half brother Antipater as heir, Antipas had been shuttled off to be tetrarch of Galilee, as if that hick province would satisfy him.
Archelaus was an idiot, pompous and easily flattered. It had been Antipas'' plan all along to let Archelaus prove how incompetent he was-that much of the plan had worked-and then be named in his place as the king of the Jews, like old Herod.
Antipas had even denounced Archelaus to Caesar, siding with the religious types he despised with the notion that they would support his claim to the throne.
Instead, now a Roman occupied the royal palace.... A Roman sat in the chair of state.... A Roman laid down the law in Judea as if there were no proper King of the Jews. And the religious establishment, from the newly appointed high priest on down, toadied to the Romans.
It was more than enough reason to be drunk.
The foolish rebellion in Antipas'' tetrarchy had cemented the fact that he would not be named king, but Antipas blamed the uprising on Rome. If the Empire had only waited awhile before launching their stupid census. Rome''s heavy-handed presence had sparked new calls for a mythical messiah and summoned forth the revolution that would usher in a glorious, resurgent Jewish kingdom.
Ha! Rome''s presence had prompted a torrent of executions and condemned Antipas to celebrate his birthday slobbering into his cups. His wife, a princess of Nabatea, had long since abandoned her husband''s side at dinner with no pretense of humility. She despised him when he was sober; she abhorred him when he was drunk.
So be it! She was only a temporary expedient until a better partnership presented itself.
Antipas shook his head ponderously and wine slopped out of the jeweled goblet. A servant attentively refilled it while studiously avoiding his master''s drunken glare.
Just let anyone claim to be the Messiah-that Anointed One! Antipas would crush him utterly ... and anyone who dared speak well of him or even the dream of him! If old Herod had been a suspicious, bloodthirsty tyrant, Antipas was fully prepared to out-Herod Herod!
* * *
The full moon rose in the constellation of The Virgin. Its bright gleam illuminated a colorless landscape. It created a ring in the sky from which all the other nearby lights, save The Lord of the Sabbath, were banished.
The reading of Esther proceeded as planned. Despite the unavoidably somber tone of the evening, the Scripture portions designed to be spoken in unison by the assembly and the roaring and hissing that accompanied each mention of the villain Haman''s name were louder than Rabbi Mazzar had ever heard.
It took little pondering to realize the noise was not celebration but an earnest desire to drown out the screams of the crucified.
The square chamber of the synagogue was packed. Likewise, the Women''s Gallery was full. No one wanted to be home alone tonight. If there was no joy in numbers, at least there was less terror because of being with all your friends and neighbors.
Other Purim feasts were given to drunkenness and revelry.
Not this night.
If the congregation was drunk with anything, it was apprehension.
The cantor chanted the words: "And the king said, ''Hang him on that.''"
Loud cheering, much applause, and the stamping of feet succeeded this decree.
"So they hanged Haman ..."
Even louder applause, mixed with hisses, groans, and shouts of derision followed this use of the villain''s name.
"... on the gallows that he had prepared for Mordechai."
Looking around the congregation, Rabbi Mazzar saw strained hopefulness on each face: Would the Almighty ever intervene again in Jewish affairs? Haman''s plan to slaughter Jews had failed, yet just out of sight-around the bend, down the canyon-Jews were being slaughtered.
True, some of the crucified were brigands and bandits, but some were patriots, eager for Israel to live again.
The story had passed its climactic moment: Esther had triumphed; Haman was dealt with; the rest was a song of victory.
Mazzar''s eye lighted on the screen of the gallery where the women and children sat. What had attracted his attention was the face of his student Yeshua. It was pressed into a gap in the lattice, eager to hear every word.
The cantor arrived at another Scripture portion to be spoken in chorus, and the audience took up the refrain:
"Then Mordechai went out from the presence of the king in royal robes of blue and white, with a great golden crown and a robe of fine linen and purple, and the city of Susa shouted and rejoiced."
Mazzar saw Yeshua''s face beaming as He chanted ... as if He were viewing the story as a present reality-not an oft-repeated legend or a far-off promise, but a contemporary truth.
Why was that?
The Jews had light and gladness and joy and honor.
What a contrast this life of Yeshua was now compared to the gloomy expectations Rabbi Mazzar had when he''d first learned Yeshua''s mother, Mary, was pregnant while still only bethrothed to Yosef. The dark thoughts and gossip of the villagers of Nazareth had been turned to light by Yeshua''s kindness as He was growing up. The sorrow of His grandparents had been transformed to gladness and joy in the presence of Yeshua''s laughter. The disgrace predicted for Mary had instead become honor through the virtue and wisdom of her son.
It seemed like few even remembered the questions that had swirled around Yeshua''s conception. The villagers simply accepted Him as one of them.
Mazzar turned to look out the window of the synagogue. A frown of surprise added to the wrinkles on his lined face. A shadow crept across the moon ... but there were no clouds in the sky.
By the time the cantor sang, "The Jews struck all their enemies with the sword, killing and destroying them," others in the assembly had also noticed the celestial event.
It was impossible to miss: The eclipse was turning the moon to blood.
"Exactly what occurred just before the death of Herod eleven years ago," Mazzar murmured aloud. When the reading neared its completion, the chorus was loudest of all:
"For Mordechai the Jew was second in rank to King Ahasuerus, and he was great among the Jews and popular with the multitude of his brothers, for he sought the welfare of his people and spoke peace to all his people."
Another glance at his pupil brought yet another surprise to the rabbi. Now Yeshua''s face looked grave, somber.
What was he failing to grasp that his student obviously perceived? Mazzar wondered.
What did the blood on the moon mean this year?
(Continues...)
Excerpted from ninth witnessby Bodie Thoene Brock Thoene Copyright © 2008 by Bodie and Brock Thoene. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
