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By ROBERT SEELAV
tlyc
/
Th is Thrilling Account Sounds Like an
Actual Eye Witness . . . hut Then the
Author Is Hardly Two Milleniums Old
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I am on the Via Sacra, at its highest point,
in Imperial Rome. Beyond lies the cemetery
with the Roman ancestral remains, and to
my right the narrow streets and low hills
of the metropolis of the known world. 1
am at the Arch of Titus, to be dedicated
tomorrow by his brother, Domitian. With
the other Israelite slaves, 1 have finally
completed this structure, to memorialize
the destruction of my Temple and the dis
persion of my people. Now Rome looks
with pride upon the token of the task im
posed upon Titus .to conquer the stiff
necked Jews.
1 sit hunched up in the shadow of the
arch, my chin resting on my elbows, my
eyes half closed in retrospection and dulled
sorrow. For it is now the eleventh year of
my captivity, away from my native land.
Thus I rest, now that the onerous task is
done, and meditate upon the unhappy past
and the murky future. Slowly I turn my
head left, posed to take in the entire height
of the inner section of the arch, furtively
gazing upon the perfection of design and
construction. Then I turn more slowly,
lazily, to look out upon the thoroughfare
and calculate upon all that has transpired
in the space of time. 1 spit upon the ground,
with every malevolent thought, for I vio
lated every vow in this repulsive task and
every law of Moses, toiling on the Sabbath
and the Holy Days and eating of forbidden
food.
Sinfully I contemplate the beauty and
excellence of my work. May God forgive
me! I bend my body clear out of the arch
and look upwards for a clear view of the
colossal monument, two tremendous posts,
joined at the top by a mass of masonry. I
dwell among heathens, I muse, but I gaze
nevertheless again and again upon their
arts and designs, the pilasters and superb
high relief panels. I trust the Most High
will not bear against me my part in the
carving of the figures, men and animals, for
it is written: “Thou shalt not make unto
thee a graven image.”
Whether it be my contribution, or the en
chanting design or the frightening height,
I do not know. But my observation persists.
Yes, they are heathens, unworthy, but these
figures, in white marble, do tell a pic
turesque story. I do not waiver in my re
lief, but for a moment the thought edges
in why we, too, were not permitted to in
dulge in this art. I do not dwell on that
very long, as it might lapse into blasphemy.
One must not open the door to disbelief
or the door may not shut easily.
Over the arch is a detailed reproduction
of Titus the Conquerer. I know his fea
tures well. Here he is seated upon an eagle,
grasping a thunderbolt, the symbol of
consecration. The inscriptions upon all
parts of the structure are fluid with praise
of him who took the honors due his father
and destroyed and scattered a people be
yond restoration. The graceful columns of
Parian marble, tapering as they rise, are
surmounted by a capital with profuse orna
mentation. The valutes and squares are in
detail and the spandrells are filled with
the two figures of Fame. The brackets
underneath the cornice are formed of dol
phins resting on shells and the heystones,
of helmeted female figures posed against
semi-circular rests. Myriads of people, in
posterity, will invade the inner arch, circle
the structure and observe the carved figures
and decorations and decide that it is verily
a memorable object for an historical vic
tory. But to me each square is a vignette
come to life. Each horse is a spirited animal
and its rider an armored fighter, fury and
death in every motion, the sun’s rays upon
every sword and shield. I hear the sound
and alarm of furious battle, the horrifying
snort and ululation of the wounded animal,
the thud of falling bodies mixed with the
clang of crashing steel.
I was there!
Under the vault and on each side of the
inner chamber is a bas-relief of the golden
table, the gold cup of the High Priest and
the seven-branched candlestick and other
loot from our Temple. In the midst of the
tumult and frantic battle for possession of
candlestick. I entwined my arms about its
branches and wrapped my garments about
it. The Romans entered to seize it. My
comrades fought with fiendish fury to pro
tect me and this holy relic. There was no
definite aim in this struggle, which was
then uneven and hopeless but stemmed
from a blind determination to keep un
clean hands from the sacred object.
I was engulfed within a screaming, howl
ing mass, wasting lives but consecrated to
a purpose. Alas, they all fell and I was
seized with the candlestick intact. The
Roman officer ordered me saved: it is the
way of the heathens. But I was saved for
a purpose — to enter Rome as a slave.
The route to Jerusalem and the Temple
befan, for me, a year before, in Galilee,
with the army of the Zealots, brave, gal
lant, fearless, striking terror into the Ro
man Legions. Now no one remembers how
we threw the foreign army of invaders into
confusion, fought on an even grade. Tempo
rary victories are soon forgotten. Only the
last is history. Vespasian feared Israel and
his son Titus respected his valor. The great
Roman army was forced to declare a truce.
By common impulse all Israel then
moved toward Jerusalem for the battle of
decision. Who knows? Messiah may come!
He will come! It is only a matter of time,
for the Prophets have so written. Then the
Romans and their false gods will evaporate.
No heathen can obstruct the will of God
and Messiah is His messenger. Israel will
then rule from the Holy City over all the
world.
I have concealed about me and have car
ried through these years, the coin, struck
off by Simon, Prince of Israel, with the
inscription: “In the First or Second Year
of the Deliverance or Freedom of Israel.”
Israel could not predict the year but the
event was a certainty, our courage and con
fidence surmounted our judgment. For He
could not abandon His People — His Chosen
People!
Overconfidence in miracles brought men
tal stagnation. Then came discord, division
in the ranks. Then the rich and arrogant
royal deserted us. But the Jews of Gali-
The Southern Israelite
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