he of falling into the same hypocrisy. To ward off the least possibility of pridefulness he even went so far as to deny that he prayed at all, though we would see him stealing off to some closet every morning and hear his whispered offerings. So it seemed true that his circumcision had not the least bearing on his piety, though it was the work of a Samson for any Jew to separate the two in his own mind.
When Passover approached there was an assumption amongst Yeshua’s followers, many of whom had abandoned their teachers in the towns on his account, that he would lead their pilgrimage to Jerusalem. It was in my own mind, however, to advise him against any journey into the city, because I feared that the action Yekhubbah had hinted at was imminent, since it was always for the feasts that such things wereplanned, to take advantage of the crowds then. I travelled into Tiberias to see what news I might gather there and in fact was very troubled by what I heard. It seemed there had been a spate of assassinations in Jerusalem, though there was much confusion over these—some said it was the Romans who had hired assassins to root out any remaining rebels, others that the rebels themselves were purging their own ranks of those suspected of any betrayal during the reprisals. I did not know what to make of these rumours, what to discount in them and what to believe, or whether they showed us under siege or on the assault. On my own account, remembering my exchange with Rohagah, I had cause enough for concern—surely if they were attacking those under suspicion, I must number myself among the threatened.
Afterwards I was unsure how to proceed. While I wished to protect Yeshua from risk, I did not want to bring any more to myself or to break the oaths I had made to the movement by revealing what I knew. But in the end it was Yeshua who one night took me aside from the others—it was the first time since my return from Caesarea that he’d sought me out in this way—and led me out to the lakeshore to speak. It was a moonless night and pitch black, but he insisted on rowing out onto the lake in one of Kephas’s fishing boats, which struck me as peculiar and even frightened me a little. I had the instant’s foolish thought that he intended me harm in some way, as if I had misunderstood him until then; though the truth was that for all that he preached peace, there had always seemed this side to him that was volatile and unpredictable and slightly sinister.
He rowed us out in silence a little ways from the shore. In darkness that lake had something of the oppressive to it,since you were still somehow aware of the mountains pushing in on every side, with only the small light of lamps here and there from the shore.
He said to me, “We did not expect you back from Caesarea.”
I did not know how to respond.
“And yet I’m here,” I said.
It seemed some matter weighed on him but he wouldn’t broach it.
“You didn’t go down to Jerusalem.”
“No.”
“Is there a warrant for you there?”
I was surprised at this. So it seemed that was his concern, that I would compromise him should I travel with him to the city.
“Surely if there were a warrant,” I said, somewhat arrogantly, “they would have made the day’s journey to fetch me here.”
We were silent. I was angry now, and had lost the will to warn him of what I knew. There seemed something unreasonable in this and yet I thought surely he knew what I was when he asked me to join him.
Finally I said, “I hadn’t planned to accompany you on your pilgrimage,” which was the truth, given my situation then.
After this he tried to make light of the matter. He asked me about Jerusalem, but only to flatter me, I felt, broaching subjects that I thought were of no concern to him—who the power-brokers were in the council, what the mood of the people was. But then he asked about the troubles in the city, of which he’d heard, and I could not feign ignorance.
“They
When Passover approached there was an assumption amongst Yeshua’s followers, many of whom had abandoned their teachers in the towns on his account, that he would lead their pilgrimage to Jerusalem. It was in my own mind, however, to advise him against any journey into the city, because I feared that the action Yekhubbah had hinted at was imminent, since it was always for the feasts that such things wereplanned, to take advantage of the crowds then. I travelled into Tiberias to see what news I might gather there and in fact was very troubled by what I heard. It seemed there had been a spate of assassinations in Jerusalem, though there was much confusion over these—some said it was the Romans who had hired assassins to root out any remaining rebels, others that the rebels themselves were purging their own ranks of those suspected of any betrayal during the reprisals. I did not know what to make of these rumours, what to discount in them and what to believe, or whether they showed us under siege or on the assault. On my own account, remembering my exchange with Rohagah, I had cause enough for concern—surely if they were attacking those under suspicion, I must number myself among the threatened.
Afterwards I was unsure how to proceed. While I wished to protect Yeshua from risk, I did not want to bring any more to myself or to break the oaths I had made to the movement by revealing what I knew. But in the end it was Yeshua who one night took me aside from the others—it was the first time since my return from Caesarea that he’d sought me out in this way—and led me out to the lakeshore to speak. It was a moonless night and pitch black, but he insisted on rowing out onto the lake in one of Kephas’s fishing boats, which struck me as peculiar and even frightened me a little. I had the instant’s foolish thought that he intended me harm in some way, as if I had misunderstood him until then; though the truth was that for all that he preached peace, there had always seemed this side to him that was volatile and unpredictable and slightly sinister.
He rowed us out in silence a little ways from the shore. In darkness that lake had something of the oppressive to it,since you were still somehow aware of the mountains pushing in on every side, with only the small light of lamps here and there from the shore.
He said to me, “We did not expect you back from Caesarea.”
I did not know how to respond.
“And yet I’m here,” I said.
It seemed some matter weighed on him but he wouldn’t broach it.
“You didn’t go down to Jerusalem.”
“No.”
“Is there a warrant for you there?”
I was surprised at this. So it seemed that was his concern, that I would compromise him should I travel with him to the city.
“Surely if there were a warrant,” I said, somewhat arrogantly, “they would have made the day’s journey to fetch me here.”
We were silent. I was angry now, and had lost the will to warn him of what I knew. There seemed something unreasonable in this and yet I thought surely he knew what I was when he asked me to join him.
Finally I said, “I hadn’t planned to accompany you on your pilgrimage,” which was the truth, given my situation then.
After this he tried to make light of the matter. He asked me about Jerusalem, but only to flatter me, I felt, broaching subjects that I thought were of no concern to him—who the power-brokers were in the council, what the mood of the people was. But then he asked about the troubles in the city, of which he’d heard, and I could not feign ignorance.
“They
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