“I know little about Israelites or their Yahweh, and I care less about either”—she smiled—“except for you, and I have never considered you a Jew except perhaps by blood. But as for loyalty, by all the gods, little one, I know you are loyal to me, just as your mother was to mine. All this Yahweh and Temple business, though, confuses rather than interests me. To me it seems the sheerest nonsense. How could any being worthy of being called a god appreciate the sight of poor cattles’ throats being slit; how could he enjoy the smell of warm blood and broiling fat? Certainly it nauseates me.”
“I have wondered that myself, Mistress,” Tullia answered. “But I believe He is pleased because we are seeking to please Him, even though our form of worship may not be too pleasing. Do you understand me, Mistress?”
“Yes, but I believe still that your worship is nothing more than superstition, just as our worship of the innumerable Roman and Greek gods is superstition. But”—she reached over and gently pinched the slave girl’s cheek—“I’ll do as you suggest; I’ll venture to watch the ceremonial at the Temple, and you can tell me what they are doing.”
So they had gone up to Antonia and from the balcony had watched the busy movement of the priests and the assembled throngs, many of them pilgrims returned from every province in the Empire, as these earnest Israelites performed the traditional rites of the ancient festival of worship. On her first morning, Claudia had arisen early and had stepped out onto the balcony. The sun was just lifting above the Mount of Olives, but already the Temple was astir, and pilgrims in their many colored robes were swarming into the Court of the Gentiles, the nearer Court of the Women, and the other more sacred precincts permitted to them. In their hands they carried leafed branches.
Claudia stared in rapt fascination at the spectacle below. As she leaned out over the balcony, she scarcely heard Tullia’s footsteps approaching behind her.
“Good morning, Mistress.”
“Good morning,” Claudia replied, turning to greet the girl. She pointed downward. “You were right about this offering much in the way of entertainment. It’s nearly as good as our Roman games.”
Tullia laughed. “Who knows, perhaps you, too, Mistress, may become a convert to our ways.”
“Hardly.” Claudia shook her head with a wry smile. Then she turned and looked thoughtfully down again at the bustling crowds in the Temple courts. “There’s one thing in particular, you know, that I can’t understand about the Jewish religion, little one.” The half-smile had been replaced by a perplexed frown. “Unless I’m mistaken, the Jews contend that their Yahweh is all-powerful, that he’s the only god there is, and that he rules over all peoples; yet they call him the God of Israel and seem to believe that he has no interest in anyone else. Down there, for example”—she pointed toward the Temple—“there are signs warning foreigners not to enter, under pain of death, certain of the sacred places. How do the Jews explain that? It seems to me that they make their Yahweh a sort of tribal god, one having less authority even than our Jupiter. If Yahweh is the god of all the world, how can the Jews claim him as exclusively theirs? And on the other hand, if he is the god and father of all peoples, doesn’t that make all peoples brothers?” She shrugged. “I see little sense to ... all this.” She broke off with a quick sweep of her hand toward the procession of priests and pilgrims moving down the slope toward the waters of Siloam.
“They do say that such is the teaching of Jesus, that our Yahweh is the father of all peoples, even the pagans who have never heard of Him, that....”