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A Cold Mountain

Prologue

by Daniel Pears, published on August 20, 2000

70 A.D., Jerusalem

The last part of the trek to Jerusalem was hard. There was no way to avoid the hills, from the south. As the small group climbed its members grew more silent, each with memories and fatigue enough to halt speech and bring tears near. They came through what was left of the Gates of the Essenes; to every side, as they walked up through the Lower City past the pool of Siloam, were smashed buildings or rubble strewn open spaced where houses had stood. The great stadium near the Temple South Wall looked shabby and damaged. To their right, low in the South Wall, were the gates of Huldah. They stopped at the corner of the Temple Mount, where the South and Western Walls made their right angle. Below the gates of Huldah the ground fell away to the plain of Ophel where the courageous General Menahem was massacred by the Romans.

Two men left the other members of the group and made their way up the broken steps to the gate in the Western Wall. Several helmeted Roman soldiers stood guard and looked at them searchingly, but saw no danger. They passed through them into the familiar wide-open space and stood still.

-"The Temple is gone!" Exclaimed one of the men.

Who can describe the sight? Who can put down in words the stopping of the heart, the disbelief of the eyes, the feelings that the world had changed. The Temple was a wasteland of rubble, wherein old men sat and wept into their beards. Where did God live now? Who could tell, in that vast field of ruin, even where the Holy of Holies had been? Both men stood, their jaw like iron. They looked around. The colonnades, which had edged the Temple Area, which had looked as if they would last for centuries, had great gaps, and in their remains people were living, in holes like animals. The two companions picked their way along. Ahead of them, at the end of the Western Wall, was the wreckage of the Antonia fortress. Impregnable, uncrushable Antonia. Mighty blockhouse. A ruin. The palaces were gone, even the Palace of the Great Herod, which had stood to the left of the three towers that he had built to his brother Phasael, to his friend Hippicus and to poor tragic Mariamne, the wife he had truly loved and killed. The towers remained. Untouched. Left by the Romans to show future generations how noble a city had been humbled by them They went through the Northern Wall, where there was no sign of the old handsome gate and arch. They walked down the hill to the sheep pools, where in happier days the sheep were washed and made ready for sacrifice above at the Great Altar, to which they were taken through one of the many tunnels in the Mount. A middle-aged man was standing by an ancient wheel. When he saw the two men, his face brightened and he stepped forwards.

-"Eleazar, Jacob!" He exclaimed. "You are here at last," the middle-aged man's voice trembled with emotion. "I thought you would never make it."

The three men locked in embrace and remained silent for a while, each one of them lost in his thoughts.

-"I am so glad to see you alive, brother," Eleazar, one of the two companions said. "They told us that you were massacred by the Romans with the rest of the priests." He pointed at his companion. "As you probably know, Jacob, our cousin, lost his wife and two daughters. The Romans murdered his sister and her husband as well. Fortunately, Jacob managed to save their five children. They are now safe within our group."

-"There are no words to describe the horrors perpetuated by the Romans, Jacob," the priest put his hand on his cousin's shoulder. "We must be brave and place our destiny in God."

Eleazar looked at his brother, Saul, ten years his senior. They were almost alike in their gravity and apartness. He had also a gentleness, which though real, covered great strength of will, and a family obstinacy. They had shared a love of learning and the Scriptures. Saul's decision to enter the Temple service was made when he was fifteen and he soon left home to live in the College of Priests. This life suited him perfectly, but he was no recluse. He had his father's calm foresight and saw clearly the terrors and nightmares to come. And when it was time to fight, he fought. "Saul," Eleazar said. "I want you to join us."

-"What are you planning to do?"

-"Our hearts died with the Temple. Thousands upon thousands of prisoners have already been taken by the Romans. Anyone who even looks as he might make resistance is killed. The old and infirm are murdered. The tallest and handsomest prisoners are put aside for the triumphal processions in Rome. Of the others, those over seventeen are put in irons and sent to hard labour in Egypt."

-"We hear so many of these stories, nowadays," Jacob interrupted him. "We heard of a great star, like a broadsword, pointing down at the city. On another occasion, on the Eve of Passover, it was said, in the pitch dark of the night, around the Altar and the Sanctuary, was a glow as bright as the midday sun."

-"Our people are desperate to witness a sign from God," Saul explained. "They saw the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple. They are afraid and wish to know what to do."

-"We will not wait any longer, Saul," Eleazar's voice was calm. "My companions and I will be hiding in Masada. It is an impregnable fortress. Our group will take the route above Hebron, along the riverbed to Ein-Geddi on the coast of the Dead Sea. Then we will go south, using the lower slopes of the hills edging the sea."

-"How many are you?" Saul asked.

-"We are a party of some thirty or so adults and fifteen children."

-"It is insane, Eleazar. Your group will not be able to defeat the army of the Roman General, Flavius Silva. As you have probably heard, Silva and his army are searching for our men all over the country."

-"It is not a matter of winning or losing, Saul," Eleazar raised his voice. "We will not allow the Romans to imprison us without fighting back. I want Masada to become the symbol of resistance!" He paused. "Will you join us, then?"

-"I am sorry, brother, but I cannot. There is so much to be done here, in Jerusalem. People are starving to death. They need a priest to guide and to show them the word of God." He paused, turned around and grabbed a golden case. "However, brother, you have to promise me one thing."

-"Speak, Saul, and I shall obey!"

-"Take this box and protect it at any price." He pointed at the case. "Promise me you will preserve its contents. Our children will need it when the Third Temple is to be rebuilt!" Saul handed the golden case to his brother.

-"The Lord be my witness, Saul," Eleazar announced, "I shall keep my promise and so will my companions."

73 A.D., the Fortress of Masada, on the shores of the Dead Sea

The sun went down on the last night of Masada. A coolness was in the air and a sadness too. The group met in the service wing courtyard, open to the sky but hidden from the spies in the overlooking camp. Some men lit torches and they could see each other's faces. One or two wives came. Nobody spoke much. They could hear the noises from the camps below. It was an exciting sound, to do with finishing the job soon, and with wiping them all out. And then Eleazar was there. He looked taller and pale. He got up on an old bench and told them all to sit down on the ground. Eleazar waited till the last shuffle of murmur had died away before he began to speak. The wind, which had run around the mountains like a mad spirit, stopped and seemed to wait and listen like them all. Even the noise from below in the camps, brought up by the wind, lessened.

-"Friends," Eleazar said. "Brothers and sisters, what I have to say to you must be said. It must be put into words, and will at once be no great surprise, even logical, but also a great shock. How to begin my loyal friends, my brave friends, how to begin? Long ago we made a resolve to serve only God. No kings, or Roman overlords; only God. We were among the first to revolt and we are the last strongholds of resistance." He paused. "Tomorrow morning, the Romans will take Masada. We have given them great trouble but their object will be to take us alive, for exhibition, to make us slaves, to violate our women before our eyes and to torture and maim our children because that is their way. We cannot in any way prevent their capture of our mountain in the morning, but until then how we die is in our hands entirely. Let us die free, wrapped in our freedom as in a glorious winding sheet, a shroud of glory."

Eleazar paused and waited. The Zealots, his 'centurions', exchanged looks, to one side, then to the other. The looks held disbelief, a growth of fear, of horror. The first one to speak was a fair, big man, of a simple and unsophisticated way.

-"Eleazar," he said slowly. "Do you have any doubt that we would fight to the last man, the last breath? We will kill six for one, we have done it before!" Eleazar stood like a statue, waiting for others to speak. The big man looked around, meeting heads, which shook at his lack of comprehension, eyes which frowned into his own. He spoke again, his voice husky. "You mean we are not to fight? Die without a fight? All of us? The women and children also? How?"

Suddenly there was a hubbub of voices, which died away, replaced by a realisation of horror so tangible that it had a feel on the skin, a taste in the mouth, an odour like the turned earth of a grave.

-"We were born to die," said Eleazar, his voice calm and thoughtful. "We and those we brought into his world. This is the way of things. In this most hapless and the most fortunate are alike. The rich and the poor, the scholar and the fool, the cowardly and the brave. It is the law of nature, the law of God. But to see our wives and children led away to shame, outrage and slavery- this is not the law of nature. We can suffer this or prevent it. As we have lived here, on Masada, with our loved ones, thanking God for every day, for every meal, for every good thing, so here can we die. A unique chance. A privilege given to us by God. It needs courage. Great courage. We have it! Pity the young bodies, strong enough to endure prolonged torture; pity the not-so-young whose bodies will break. Pity the wife as she is violently dragged away; pity the father, bound and fettered, whose child's cries grow fainter as the distance between them grows. We can avoid all that, my friends, honourably, in freedom, together, thanking God."

Then Eleazar was silent for a few moments. The compassion and strength in his face were in theirs. Like him, they had suffered great loss. They were fearsome fighters, men of sword, but now they stood like priests before a congregation, silent and sad-eyed. Here and there a murmur would begin and stop. A voice would rise, in shock, out of control and then be stifled. It was too big. It needed the silence to be taken in, to be absorbed.

-"Our souls are confined in our mortal bodies and thus suffer, and know of misery and trouble. In death they are unfettered, cannot be enslaved, cannot be tortured or maimed, cannot be violated, cannot be scourged or crucified. To live is to be near to death, in fear of death. We, having been lent our souls by God, hand them back and become free."

Now the crowd's silence had a different quality, impossible to define exactly. The imagery of the words was perhaps too difficult for some; unacceptable to others. Eleazar's face was bloodless, and his eyes looked enormous. His voice took on a ring, a clarity that had tears in it.

-"If only we had all died before seeing our beloved Jerusalem overrun by the enemy, our beautiful Temple burning and defiled. It was not to be- and our last stand is not to be, and our revenge is not to be. Our fate is sealed- and positive. But the way of it is in our hands. Let us choose death with honour, together, in the company of our families and friends. Death with honour- in freedom!" He paused. "Burn only your belongings. Leave the food stores, the water, the oil and wine. Leave the vegetable gardens and the fruit trees. Let the Romans see that we died among plenty, as free men."

Still they stood, and one man asked. "How, Eleazar? How is it arranged? Tell us how it is to be?"

-"Each father will give freedom to his children," said Eleazar. "Each husband to his wife. Men with neither wives nor children will then reward the husbands and fathers with their own freedom. Then, they will be freed by the Ten and I, who will draw lots and follow in turn. The last one will fee himself. May the Almighty give steadiness to your hands. Go and prepare."

There was a slight pause before anyone moved, but soon the courtyard was empty. Soon the fires began. They piled dry twigs and oil-soaked rags in position, for this palace, of their last meeting, was to be burnt. They worked in silence, each one with his own thoughts, courteous but silent.

Eleazar walked towards his room and when he entered inside the speaking stopped. The great table gleamed and shimmered. His wife was standing by the window; her face worried and tensed. Eleazar had no sense of release, of sorrow or of pain. He felt only a sort of numbness.

-"Have you told them already?" She asked.

-"Yes," he simply replied. "It is the only way, Sarah."

-"It is not the only way, my husband. It is the right way." Eleazar had taken her hand. "Do you trust me, Sarah?"

-"Does it matter?"

-"It does." He was going to say more, then his eyes narrowed to a look almost of pain. "I need to know that you trusted me all along."

-"I have complete faith in you, Eleazar," she raised her eyed. "I have always had."

They locked in embrace, silently. "I will take care of everything, Sarah. Prepare the children, but do not say a word, please."

She nodded and left the room. Eleazar stood by the threshold, lost in thought. Two families gathered in the courtyard next to his quarters. They sang softly, a Zealot song:

"The Lord taught us what is right/And taught us to fight/Who better to fight for/Than the Lord of Light- of Right."

The song, usually roared, was infinitely moving in its soft-sung murmured cadence. A second group halted, and their spokesman came to Eleazar. "We of the Storehouse dwellings want to be with our friends. In the open. With our children we are forty-nine. We are all here. Others are coming." Eleazar nodded and the spokesman slightly bowed. By then, people passed him, in family groups, in pairs. From every side, his friends were walking across the plateau to the Palace. The singing had stopped. There was no talk except that of walking people. The sound was unhurried, regular, and rhythmic. The whole plateau; within the walls, was ringed with small fires, pitifully small, for they of Masada had few possessions to burn.

A tall, young man approached Eleazar and shook his hand. "Greetings, cousin," the newcomer said in a deep, calm voice. "I am afraid it is the last time that we see each other." They locked in embrace.

-"Spare yourself this, my cousin," Eleazar said. "Collect the five orphans from Beth Lechem and go to the hiding place near the Western Palace courtyard."

-"I cannot!" The man exclaimed. "I have to die like all the others."

-"Do not be silly, Jacob. You know of death. It is an old but unpleasant friend." Eleazar paled. From all over the plateau, over the roofs of the buildings around the courtyard came the crackle of flames. Not loud; a sibilant, secretive sound. "Promise me to write it all down, Jacob. I know that I can trust you to stick to the truth. Do not portrait us as heroes, but only as we really are; people fighting for their freedom." He grabbed his cousin's arm. "Have you already packed all the important documents and relics that given to us by my brother in Jerusalem?"

-"Yes, cousin," Jacob seemed puzzled. "But I was about to follow your orders and burn it all."

-"No!" Eleazar raised his voice. "These items shall not be destroyed. They are too precious to be perished by the flames. Take them with you and the orphans to the hiding place. I asked the Ten to put some food in the cave. It will last for about a week. By then the Romans will leave the place. You will be able to climb down the mountain and hide in the nearest village."

-"Are you sure, cousin?" Jacob said slowly. "Is it the only way?"

-"Promise me you will do as I said, Jacob. Can I trust you?" Jacob remained silent. A cold shudder went through his body, shaking him visibly. "By the name of our Lord, I swear to do as you said."

-"Thank you, cousin," Eleazar smiled, somewhat relieved. "Now go, before it is too late to reach the hiding place." Both men locked in embrace once again and Jacob left. Soon the mountaintop was empty except for the Ten making their quiet rounds. Husbands and wives held each other and their children as though never to let them go, exchanging kisses endlessly, with few words but many tears. Muscled fighters stood watching, wet-cheeked, many with short swords already in hand. Other went from group to group to shake a hand, to leave a kiss, to say a word of last farewell. This movement of people then stopped, as did all sound. Heaven itself now seemed to listen and wait for Eleazar to speak. His face was like an angle of compassion. A voice was clanging in his head. 'Why is there so much blood!' Why did not God spare us the red flood? Oh, a miracle was needed here, Lord, to stop the blood. This was the moment of loving-kindness, Lord. Of the ending of lives in dignity and beauty. "Begin!" said Eleazar.

On the morning of the attack, the Romans found only dead bodies; the 900 inhabitants of Masada killed themselves, not to be taken alive. Upon discovering the room where the body of Eleazar was lying on the floor with a dagger in his hand, the Roman General, Flavius Silva said: "I wish my wife could have seen this for your act is stupidity in truth. Is it not? I made an enormous mistake; I have overestimated you. Precisely, yes precisely," the General raised his voice in reaction to his dead companion's deafness. "What in the name of the common sense a thing like this proves? You thought I was a liar? What did you tell them? That they will be tortured? I overestimated you. A leader must not know only who his enemy is but also who his friend is. His friend!" The General paused. "I would never have let this happened. You did this yourself. You blamed Rome for this. With us you had chance to built something good here. Without us, this is how you always end: killing each other, killing yourselves. No foresight, no sense of reality, no." Suddenly, he stopped, as if realising that his companion was dead. "No one is listening anymore!" The General's gaze rested on Eleazar one last time and then he turn around and left.

As he was crossing the door, a group of soldiers proudly raised up the emblems of their regiment. One of them declared : "In the name of the Senate and the People of Rome, to them, the victory!

-"A victory?" Silva repeated ironically. "We have won a rock in the middle of a wasteland on the shores of a poisoned sea."

 

Last update: October 24, 2007


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