György Spiró - Captivity

The king of the Jews had been entrusted with capturing Flaccus; pity he had proved incapable of that, the news went around. But perhaps the Eternal One had willed it so, the more charitable suggested, that our hands should not be stained with blood. After his presence had been detected, there was no choice but to accompany Agrippa in triumph to the holy island; there some people spoke, it was impossible to hear them. He had gaped, open-mouthed; it was impossible to hear him either, and the Jews were deliriously happy, there were around 150,000 of them thronging the island. The Greeks were also roused and stood around gazing at the procession of the Jews. The prefect in turn was unable to move against Agrippa, not having enough men to counter a mass so large; in any case that would have amounted to an open declaration of war.

The Jews exulted, all 150,000 of them, except for those who were in the know, because they raged. Then everyone calmed down. Nothing happened. Flaccus already knew that he was condemned to die, so from his perspective nothing had changed.

It is prohibited to celebrate a triumph at a time of official state mourning, but the Jews did celebrate, and there was no way of pretending it hadn’t happened. The Jews had cheered not only Agrippa, but the emperor; the Greeks could send their delegations to the emperor, and Agrippa could send his letter, and the alabarch could dispatch couriers to Rome by roundabout ways.

Agrippa had mentioned that at Caligula’s court there was an Alexandrian Greek by the name of Helikon, a dangerous, crafty, and influential man, one of Tiberius’s manumitted slaves, who represented Greek interests — and argued against the Jews — with passable vigor and guile. But the Jews of Alexandria were also represented in Rome, since the whole of Far Side, several tens of thousands, was involved with that. We too had our spokesmen!

Let no harm come to Agrippa, though; may he reach his realm intact and act as king, then, if God wills it, his kingdom will flourish and the whole of his grandfather’s, Herod the Great’s, realm will be his. Then the Jews of Alexandria, along with the other four million Jews — all who live in the Diaspora — will have a strong homeland.

Still, it was a fine gesture on the emperor’s part that he had sent a Jew, of all people, to remove the deposed prefect. The emperor could not hate Jews if he was unable to entrust anyone but a Jew with such an important task — no one else but a Jew! The emperor holds us in affection, trusts us; indeed, it is really only us whom he trusts. That is how those who were in the know reassured each another, because ordinary Jews knew nothing of all this, they were just elated to have seen, for the first time in their lives, a genuine, real-life, anointed king of the Jews. But ordinary Jews also supposed that the emperor must hold them in affection if he had, at long last, appointed them a king. Jews had not had a king since the time of Herod the Great, only tetrarchs. There were many who had hated, loathed Herod the Great, that treacherous, bloodthirsty wild beast, always licking Rome’s boots and bribing Greeks, building Greek-style towns, aping Greek customs. He had the prime of Jerusalem slaughtered, had the priests murdered and his own people appointed in their place, had the members of the Sanhedrin murdered, had his own wife killed, had his own sons killed, and on top of all that had a Greek stadium constructed in Jerusalem. He had strewn Roman baths all over the city and organized quinquennial Greek games — squandering the dues paid by the Jewish community on such fruitless undertakings. But when all is said and done, he had been the king of the Jews, and even if he had not been entirely Jewish, he was at least half so.

Now there was again a king of the Jews, even if his kingdom was, as yet, tiny. Agrippa may only be one-quarter Jewish, yet he has still become a king of the Jews and is circumcised, and the Eternal One is thereby letting us know that the One and Only Everlasting God has not abandoned his alliance with us, His chosen people, wherever we may live in this pagan-dominated world. Agrippa’s flying visit was a heavenly sign that the Messiah, bringing the Last Judgment of the Lord, is nigh. These ideas make their way among the Jews in Delta, and spread through the other districts of Alexandria with Jewish populations, and in their synagogues they offer thanks to the Eternal One, and it is about this that Philo is writing right now, interrupting his other work. As an exception he is not striving to win recognition for the Jews from the Greeks but to boost their diminished self-esteem.

Two days later, so as not to cower the whole day long in the palace, where the alabarch and his intimates alternately raged and celebrated, Uri headed for the Paneion, in the middle of the Gymnasium’s park, to walk the corkscrew paths around it. He took a scroll with him; it would be good to immerse himself in the scandals of some bygone age. But over by the colonnade, more than a stadium long, which marked the limits of the Gymnasium’s grounds along Arsinoë Avenue he could see a crowd was forming, so he stopped a little way off to watch, narrowing his eyes to see better. Something must have happened inside the park grounds because the mass was hastening in. Uri followed, slipping between two of the columns. The throng was thicker around the Square Stoa, so Uri strolled that way. Street urchins, dockers and well-dressed citizens alike were all hurrying that way. Could it be someone was delivering a speech? Who, then? Had Isidoros come back?

Someone was standing in the ramshackle, rusty, four-horse chariot that had been placed in the park around a century ago — Cleopatra, the great-grandmother of the last Cleopatra, had been given it as a present. Whoever it was looked as if he had something on his head and was holding something in his hand. Uri came to a stop. He did not have to go closer, in fact, because the chariot lurched forward, pulled by twenty or so people in his very direction; the wheels, having been left ungreased for a hundred years, squeaked loudly. The figure standing in the chariot was naked; on his head was a paper crown, in his right hand was a paper mace: it was Carabbas in his full nudity.

“Here comes the king of the Jews! Render homage to the king of the Jews!” the Greek crowd shouted joyfully.

Carabbas grinned and waved.

“Speech! O king of the Jews. Let’s have a ripe fart from you, Carabbas!”

Carabbas grinned and waved; he clutched at the sides and then slipped down onto the floor of the chariot, he pulled himself up again and grinned. A rush mat was draped around his shoulders so that the prick of the mighty king of the Jews should not dangle in full view. The chariot was pulled right by Uri, the crowd pouring after.

“He ought to be circumcised! Otherwise it’s not realistic!”

“The king of the Jews is a monkey!”

“To the harbor with him!”

“To the palace!”

People all around to Uri were chortling, yelling, pushing one another, racing after the chariot as it gained momentum on the paved road.

“Recite the Ten Commandments!” came a cry from the crowd. “The Ten Commandments, Carabbas!”

“Get something blue on him! Something blue!”

“Give him a menorah! Make it snappy!”

“Take him through Delta! Let the Jews pay homage!”

“To the palace! The palace!”

“Through Delta! Through Delta! Take him to the Jewish Basilica!”

Uri could hear the sound of his own laughter and stopped. Do I really despise Agrippa that badly?

Yes, that badly.

He pictured Carabbas standing nude on the Basilica’s platform and could not avoid laughing.

The throng grew, and he lost sight of the chariot. Next to him the Jews were being reviled with choice profanities, and those he could no longer laugh at. Last night the Jews slaughtered two cats and threw them into the Serapeion, the stinking weasels! They’re looking to bring Rome down on us, but they’re in for a surprise! A big surprise!