The Tent Makers CHAPTER ONE - Page 1

RABBI BEN-LEMUEL moved from window to window, closing the polished cedar shutters in the shadows of late afternoon. There were many windows in the large stone house and he moved with a deliberate speed, masking a mood of anxiety. He wore a tan Greek toga with a black tasseled cilicium shawl to guard against the chill. His beard and hair were lightly shaded with strands of gray.

The rabbi's home, in spite of its age, was easily the most impressive structure in Tarsus. It had attracted the admiring comments of neighbors and visitors over the years. As he continued past each open portal his eyes searched outside, following the course of the Cydnus River. The swift flow wound its way toward Lake Rhegma, which lay some six miles distant, where fishing and merchant fleets lay at anchor.

In Tarsus, the rabbi had become a successful trader of cilicium, a heavy black fabric of woven goat's hair harvested from herds in the snow-capped Taurus Mountains to the north, where the Cydnus River had its source. The hardy fibers were sold in the local market and had become the preferred material for making tents and sails throughout the Mediterranean.

A complementary local industry in Tarsus was shipbuilding. The distant lake sheltered a number of large shipbuilding docks. A ready supply of timber harvested from the mountains was brought down river by flotilla to supply their needs.

But cilicium remained the number one local industry, and had become the specialty of Ben-Lemuel. Nowadays, hardly a cilicium transaction took place in the entire province without the industrious Rabbi finding a small profit in it for his household. His skills as a negotiator were unequaled.

In a sheltered inner room of the residence, the Rabbi's wife Rebekah sat quietly at her needlework, attended by their two children; Joanna, their firstborn daughter of fourteen years of age, and Benjamin, her junior by seven years. Benjamin favored the appearance and temperament of his father. At the moment, he remained completely absorbed in the contents of a historical Greek scroll he was reading from his father's private collection.

Joanna heard the creaking of the heavy shutters in the outer part of the building and turned quizzically toward her mother. "Why is he closing the house so early?" she asked.
With a frown, Rebekah laid aside her work and waited patiently for her husband to finish the task. She seemed reluctant to answer.

Soon, the rabbi entered the room. He walked quietly to his son's side and ruffled his black curly hair, as was his custom.

Looking up into his father's eyes, Benjamin smiled broadly. He was the idol of his father's heart, and the love between them was mutual.

"It's time for you and Joanna to go to bed. "

"But why?" Benjamin asked in amazement, then immediately regretted the question. Noting the sober expression on his father's face, his smile vanished. Rising quickly, he said, "Yes, Father." From early childhood he had been taught that his father's word was never to be questioned.

Together both children bade their parents goodnight, and ascended the stairs to their rooms on the third floor. As brother and sister disappeared into the darkened stairwell, Benjamin whispered to his sister Joanna, "I would like to know what is going on."

"This morning," Joanna whispered back, "I found Mother crying. When I asked her about it, she said everything would be well. What kind of answer is that?"

"And Father has been quiet. Something is up."

Later, in his room at the front of the house, Benjamin had no interest in sleeping. He quietly opened the shutters and gazed up and down the street in the twilight, puzzled. He noticed that the lights were burning in the synagogue. He wondered why were his parents not there. They always attended important meetings of the local Jewish elders, his father being among the most respected men in the community.

He dressed in his night clothes and sat down on the bedside, staring. A cool breeze blew over him, bringing with it a sudden chill from Lake Rhegma, or perhaps from the sea, ten miles beyond the lake. The city seemed unusually hushed at this hour. He could hear the rushing flow of the Cydnus River making its descent toward the lake. The pleasant smells of evening cooking fires hung in the air, as usual.

As his troubled mind worked with the mystery of the hour, the limestone window in his bedroom framed the distant ship builder's docks and warehouses on the lake, where his father traded. He could see that work had ceased at the harbor earlier than usual. Already, though night had yet to completely fall, pilot fires flared along the shore, guiding the last of the fishermen and merchants to port. A strangeness in the familiar scene struck a note of fear in his heart on this particular evening. Tarsus seemed to be awaiting bad news. Something foreign and threatening.

Until now, he had been a carefree Jewish lad for whom the whole world brimmed with nothing but adventure. For the first time he could taste the presence of evil in his surroundings. His readings of Moses came to mind and triggered flights of imagination: Someone, somewhere on this night had plucked forbidden fruit. They had consumed it, not with the innocence of a child, but with the full intent of evil.

Quickly tiring of such dark thoughts, Benjamin grew sleepy and slumped down on his bed. Awakening with a start, he saw that night had fallen. He leaped to the window again, in time to see two men leave the synagogue. One was heavyset and walked with the aid of a staff. He recognized immediately that it was Rabbi Eliashib. With him was a tall, thin man. He assumed it to be Rabbi Jehonadab, Eliashib's nephew. They were often together in matters of concern to the community. As he watched, the two men turned toward the house.

Hurrying to his sister's room, he shook her awake. "Joanna, the rabbis are on their way to our house."

Moments later, overcome with curiosity, Benjamin stole down the stairway that led to the hall near the living room. Joanna caught him and pulled at his sleeve, but seeing that it did no good, followed along behind him. They both hid behind the lattice in order to hear what was being said in the main room below."

"Father would be angry if he found us here, Benjamin!" she whispered fiercely.

"Shhh."

From their hiding place they could hear Rabbi Jehonadab speaking. "The ships were reported to have left Rhodes and are sailing in our direction. They are expected to sail up the Cydnus tomorrow afternoon."

In a loud whisper, Benjamin said, "Who is coming?"

"Shh. Not so loud," admonished Joanna. "I think it's Romans."

The rabbi continued. "And when they arrive, Ben-Lemuel, they will seek a place for the soldiers. Your home will be their first choice. The next thing they will do is strip each home of anything of value. This is a civil war, and taxation, at least for these warring generals, has returned to the law of plunder. Do not forget what Cassius did to Rhodes."

"I fear not what Cassius did," Ben-Lemuel murmured. "I recall, rather, what the Persians did here."

"Ah, but we trust that the Romans do not have the Persian appetite for children, at least. They need money. That is their focus. We must try to protect our property, our treasures, not the least of which is the synagogue. They will not have the synagogue."

"Jehonadab," Ben-Lemuel chided. "They will take what can be taken by force. The chance of saving anything of worth is very small, including the synagogue and its treasures. It is the children that must be saved. Tell everyone to make plans now for the children."

"Are the Romans going to get us?" whispered Benjamin to his sister. Fear caused his voice to tremble.

"Not if father and mother can help it," she replied.

"We are subservient to Rome." Rabbi Jehonadab was speaking now. "Few will believe that the Romans would treat us as the Persians did."

"Our children will not be in Tarsus when the soldiers arrive," blurted Rebekah, her voice suddenly shrill and trembling. "I am sorry if I am speaking out of turn, but my children---"

Ben-Lemuel came to her side and placed his arm around her shoulder. "Eliashib, Jehonadab, you must keep our secret. We know a shepherd who lives in the remote mountain caves. Ruel and his wife are caring and trustworthy. They live above our pastures, near the Cilician Gates."

"But they are Parthians," rumbled Jehonadab, knitting his brows disapprovingly. "You will trust your children to barbarians?"

"No, we will trust them to Ruel and Leah, our dear friends," Ben-Lemuel was quick to reply. "They have known the children from birth, and have a young son who idolizes our Benjamin." He paused for emphasis. "This is our secret, Jehonadab. Our friends have already agreed to keep Joanna and Benjamin as long as the army remains."

"Did you hear that?" whispered Benjamin. "We may be going to stay with Ruel."
Rabbi Ben-Lemuel turned suddenly toward the outer room, an anxious look on his face. He felt certain that he had heard a furtive noise.

"What is wrong?" Rebekah asked.

After a strained silence he asked. "Did you hear voices there?"

The younger Rabbi Eliashib chuckled. "The Romans have not yet arrived, and Ben-Lemuel is hearing them." He intended no disrespect, only humor to break the serious mood.

"We are all on edge," added Jehonadab.

"Strange, I was sure I did hear voices," replied Ben-Lemuel, as he returned to the fireplace.
Realizing how narrowly they had escaped being found by their father in the hall, Joanna and Benjamin quickly retreated to their rooms.

Meanwhile, in the main living room, Rabbi Jehonadab gazed intently at a set of ornamental silver candlesticks and a large silver plate on the main table. These had been treasures passed down from generation to generation in Ben-Lemuel's family. Many times Jehonadab had inspected the date and name inscribed on the candlesticks, showing that they had been fashioned by a direct descendant of Huram-Abi, the craftsman who had engraved in gold the finest works in the Temple of Solomon. "What about your irreplaceable treasures, my friend? Let us not forget about them in our haste."

Rebekah looked anxiously at her husband and awaited his reply. These were her most cherished material treasures and she would almost as readily part with her life.

Ben-Lemuel said firmly, "Unless God blinds the eyes of our invaders, they are lost already. When the Romans ask if anything of value is hidden, it is lawless to lie. It is forbidden."

Rebekah could not suppress a small gasp. Tears welled in her eyes. Somehow she expected her husband to fight for these meaningful works of art. He seemed to be giving up too easily, at least in her view. She found little to commend truth telling under the circumstances. How could righteousness mean anything to the brutal Romans?

"The Tribune Marcellus is said to be on his way from Issus," Jehonadab continued. "He was in Antioch last week, and this means he could be here tomorrow. We really do not have much time to make preparation."

The visiting rabbis turned to go out into the night. As they reached the door they made a prayer with Ben-Lemuel and Rebekah that God Jehovah would protect their dear friends, their treasures and their children.

Then Jehonadab and Eliashib stepped outside with Ben-Lemuel and shut the door behind them. Jehonadab sighed deeply and looked toward the distant harbor. The stars anointed the furled sails of the local fishing fleet with a faint frosting of white. The ships rocked at rest, spars swaying like a regiment of pikes and spears against the sky.

"Above all, you must look to Rebekah," Jehonadab advised.

"Am I to do as Abraham? Cower and pretend the lovely woman is not my wife?"

"You know what I mean," he replied. "Suetonius has warned us, Ben-Lemuel, Caesar is the husband of every woman in the Empire. Tribune Marcellus will do no less."

"Rebekah will be hidden," Ben-Lemuel spat out. "Do you think that as a rabbi I would not know these things?"

His friends understood the sharpness of his reply and took no offense. They knew that he labored under the unbearable prospect of Rebekah being taken for a soldier's brutal and temporary pleasure.