My Glorious Brothers by Howard Fast

scoop out the flesh, or your Greek weapon, fourteen feet long for three men to hold, or your miserable Egyptian spear with its bronze head, or your Bedouin lance. The Roman captain said to me then, Who are you? I answered, A Jew out of Judea, a smith, a worker in metal whose name is Ruben ben Tubel. I hadn’t his language or he mine, but we found them to translate. I never met a Jew, he said. Said I, I never met a Roman. He said to me then, Are all Jews as strong and ugly as you? And are all Romans, I answered him, as foul of mouth to strangers? That is a dirty weapon in your hand and a dirty tongue in your head. For I was young then, Judas ben Mattathias, and never afraid of anything that lived. Well, he took a pilum from one of his men and there was a donkey on the street with a bit of a sweet-faced lad pulling it. Look, Jew, he said, and drove the pilum through the donkey with one motion, so that the wood pressed the donkey’s side and the iron pole stood two feet beyond. There’s our weapon, Jew, he said, while the lad screamed with fear and grief, and there’s good pay and better glory in the Legion. I told you I feared nothing then. I threw a silver coin to the lad, and I spat in the Roman’s face and walked away. Yes, he might have killed me, but they were strangers there—”
    True or not, the children loved his tale, their eyes fixed upon him, their faces rapt. Judas held up the spearhead, long, slender as a reed, still glowing red from the heat.
    â€œTemper it!” the smith said, and Judas plunged it into a bucket of cold water. Through the steam, I heard the smith ring it with his hammer.
    â€œToo frail,” he said. “Too frail. Armor will stand it.”
    â€œBut flesh will not,” Judas answered evenly, “and it will find its way. Make them, Ruben, make them.”
    ***
    And in the month of Tishri, when the sweet breath of the new year was all over the land, Apelles returned. So things have a beginning and an end—even Modin.
    Judas laid his plans well. He was tireless; day and night, he worked, planned, schemed, and day by day, the store of long, slender spears mounted. A village condemned was Modin. We dug our bows out of the ground. We made new arrows. We turned our plows into spears. We put a razor edge upon our knives. And already, even now, it was to Judas that people brought their woes. “And six children, Judas ben Mattathias—” “We will make provision for the children.” “And what will a man do with his goats?” “Our stock goes with us.” It was Lebel, the teacher, who pleaded his case. “I am a man of peace, of peace.” He came to the Adon, his bloodshot blue eyes wet with tears. “Where is the place of a man of peace in Israel today?” And the Adon called for Judas, who listened and nodded.
    â€œWill our children grow up like savages in the wilderness?”
    â€œNo,” Lebel said.
    â€œOr Jews who cannot read or write?”
    Lebel shook his head.
    â€œThen make peace in your heart, Lebel!”
    Then Judas told the Adon that the few slaves in Modin must be freed. “Why?” “Because only free men can fight like free men.” Judas said. The Adon said, “Then ask the people—” And thus was our first assembly in the open valley. From the near-by villages of Goumad and Dema, people came to listen, and the synagogue would not hold them all, so Judas stood on the fragment of ancient stone wall to speak, and he said to people:
    â€œI want no man who is faint of heart to follow me! I want no man who cares more for his wife and child than he cares for freedom! I want no man who counts the measure when he pours it out! I know a road that leads in only one direction, and who travels it must travel light. I want no slaves or bondsmen—turn them away or put weapons in their hands!”
    â€œWho are you to talk like that?” some of them cried.
    â€œA Jew