Джеймс Миченер - The Source

Thus in his first weeks as a Christian, Mark found himself engaged in various controversies which would torment his church for centuries; and even though he was confused by the contradictions he was nevertheless able to see the true nature of this church: a vital, stormy meeting place for contrasting cultures and conflicting beliefs, in which an Egyptian could spontaneously crush the head of a Byzantine who mocked the Mother of God, and in which through the centuries one heresy after another would have to be suppressed and schisms healed, but in which Greeks, Romans, Persians and former Jews would be free to battle for an acceptable theology. Mark saw that the struggle to establish the essentials of faith for Christianity was going to prove as difficult as it had been for Judaism; but when the law was finally agreed upon, the church would possess a miracle of wisdom whose structure no one, certainly neither the Rabbi Jesus nor the Apostle Paul, could have foreseen. The difference between Christian law and Jewish would be this: to enforce their law the Jews, who would never be in supreme political control, would be limited to public opinion including such punishments as ostracism, as great minds like Baruch Spinoza would discover; but the Christians, to enforce theirs, would be free, since they would enjoy supreme power, to use strangulation, burning and the extirpation of entire provinces. But the basic problem would remain the same, and it would be in the unraveling of this Christian law that Mark, the son of an illiterate stonecutter, would eventually gain a kind of immortality.

But in the moments when he was first probing these matters other young Jews his age in Kefar Nahum, Tverya and Makor were deciding that the moment had come to throw off the Byzantine yoke, so one night rebellion of a most serious magnitude erupted in all three communities. It was past midnight when Mark was awakened by Abraham, Jael’s husband, who took him to a secret meeting where Jael was speaking. When she saw Mark enter she hesitated, then said to him above the heads of the crowd, “Menahem, will you join us on the eve of victory?”

Her use of his real name struck with curious effect. He felt, dizzy, as if a last chance were being offered him to preserve his true existence. “I am a Christian.”

Jael came to him, her pigtails swaying in the flickering light, She was more beautiful than he had remembered, an extraordinary girl who had once kissed him, who had wanted him as her husband. Extending her hands in a gesture of complete acceptance she said, “We are not Jews seeking a synagogue. We’re men and women seeking freedom.” And she pointed to several conspirators who were still pagans worshiping Serapis.

But Mark, son of John, had chosen another path which made it impossible for him to join Jael and her husband. When he refused her invitation to participate in the revolution she ordered two Jews against whom he had fought as a boy to grab his arms. “We can’t let you run away to warn the Byzantines,” she said, and he remained their prisoner as teams fanned out across the town setting fire to many buildings. He stood with his guards as enthusiastic messengers came back with reports of initial successes.

“A skirmish by the church. We killed four soldiers.”

“Abraham was captured, but we freed him.”

Toward morning Abraham appeared, with a gash across his forehead, and later Jael joined him. “We’re driving them from the town,” she cried and then, seeing Mark, she told his guards, “Let him go now. He can do us no harm.”

Through the rubble of dawn Mark went to the room of Father Eusebius, finding it untouched and vacant. The priest had fled to refuge in an improvised Byzantine camp under the olive trees, to which Mark now reported. The Spaniard was relieved to see him and with deep emotion embraced him like a son. “When you didn’t appear to help us,” Eusebius said, “I was afraid you’d reverted to the Jews.”

“They’re not all Jews,” Mark said, “and they’re not fighting you. Only the tax collectors. I was in your room. The church, too. Nothing was touched.”

This honest report reminded the Spaniard of lost opportunities, and he placed his fingertips over his eyebrows as if he was praying, then said, “Now it’s too late. Down that road from Ptolemais the German army is already marching.”

“Can you stop them?” Mark asked.

“I could, but the Jews have asked for war,” the priest said, “and war they must have.” He returned his fingers to his eyes, saying, “It was not planned to end this way. Neither Rabbi Asher nor I wanted this,” and he sat beneath the trees as his Byzantine soldiers took steps to protect the camp; but this was unnecessary, for the rebels were occupied in looting the town.

The Germans, on their route-march east, reached Makor at one that afternoon, and before Father Eusebius could instruct them otherwise, swept into the town, battering down the improvised resistance of the Jews and launching a systematic destruction of all Jewish homes, killing any occupants who did not surrender promptly. With fearful efficiency the soldiers, trained on western battlefields and hired as mercenaries by Byzantine emperors, cleaned out one area after another until they succeeded in pushing the last of the Jewish rebels down the steep northern flank of the town, pursuing them into the deep wadis, where they killed recognizable fighters. It was in this melee, deep in the wadi, that Abraham, son of the dyer Hababli, lost his vain and reckless life. His wife Jael, who tried to defend him against four Germans, fled deeper into the brush.

Other German units attacked the area in which Rabbi Asher had his groats mill, and the white-bearded old man tried to protect his property, but it was easily set ablaze by the soldiers, who began cuffing him about. John and Mark, having been sent in the wake of the troops by Father Eusebius, witnessed the abuse that the rabbi was taking and the blood that appeared on his beard as he ricocheted from one laughing soldier to the next.

“Stop it!” the big stonecutter cried, pushing the Germans away, but by the time he rescued the rabbi the old man was in pitiful condition, so with one sweep of his arms John lifted him and sought to carry him home. But Rabbi Asher’s home had disappeared with the others, so Mark led the way to Father Eusebius’ study, where the wounded old man was laid on the floor beneath the crucifix.

“Your day is over,” John told him bluntly as he wiped away the blood. “Go back to Tverya and build your law.”

“The law will exist here, too,” the battered old man whispered, but as he reiterated his basic belief the soldiers who had been deprived of their sport began shouting, “Why should Jews who crucified our Lord be allowed a synagogue?” And a mob turned toward the rugged, low building and began tearing it apart.

Father Eusebius, hoping to preserve something of his town, tried to halt the devastation, but the Germans would not recognize his authority and proceeded to rip down the fine slabs of limestone and to tear out the windows. By the time John and Mark reached the scene the structure was doomed and the two new Christians were sickened by what was happening; they had rejected the synagogue but were appalled that strangers should defile it as a building.

“No!” John shouted as he tried to protect what he had created, but now even the townspeople had joined in the riot, and when he ran into the building he saw that a team of Syrians had ripped down a lintel and were rushing with it toward one of the pink stone pillars to see if they could smash the lovely column, and they succeeded. Like a wounded animal, a thing alive and breathing, the precious column tottered, broke in the middle and crashed in pieces. A corner of the roof, set free, began to fall, and as it collapsed the final destruction was at hand.