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Gamaliel waited until the last of the students had left the room before speaking. The light from the sun was growing dim in the upper room, but no lantern was needed yet. I was straightening up the cushions the boys had sat on.
“Jacob, I must tell you something.”
“Yes, Rabbi?”
“Please, stop working for a moment and sit down.” He gestured toward one of the cushions on the floor, and he sat on another opposite to it.
I sat and folded my hands in my lap. He did not speak immediately, but I had learned long ago not to try to rush matters by peppering him with chatter or unnecessary questions. He would speak when he was ready.
Gamaliel attempted to look stern, but I thought I detected sympathy in his eyes.
“Jacob, I must speak of a serious matter that has come to my attention. The priests tell me that a large number of peasants are coming to the Temple and offering sacrifices.”
“Why, that’s wonderful,” I said. “The Lord be praised!”
“The thing is,” he spoke over me, “these peasants are mostly beggars who have never been able to buy animals worthy of sacrifice. Some of them have been outcast because of some form of impurity.”
He cleared his throat discreetly. “The priests suspect that someone is paying for doves for these sinners to offer at the altar.”
I said nothing. I knew that Gamaliel was perfectly aware of what I was doing with my silence. Early in my training, he had taught me that silence is the best weapon in my arsenal. People abhor a vacuum in conversation — especially with a priest! — and will feel they have to say something to fill the silence, and that is often when they will confess their true feelings or disclose secrets. He might consider me cheeky for using such an obvious ploy against a master like himself, but I would maintain innocence unless he could prove otherwise. This was a method we each used with regularity.
“They believe it must be someone who spends a great deal of time at or near the Temple. Someone who has enough time to take notice of the poor, but nevertheless has enough money to support them. Perhaps someone who receives his own substantial financial support from his family,” the old man said gravely.
Continuing the game, I said, “And you are telling me this because these priests want to find out who this man is? Possibly because they want to thank him for helping the poor come to the Lord their God?”
He leveled his gaze at me in a moment’s silence. He could play the game too. “They want to warn him that he risks bringing impurity not only on himself but also on the Temple.”
I nodded as if in understanding. “Well, I certainly want to help in any way I can. If I happen to come across some man buying sacrificial doves for the poor, what is it that these priests would have me say? Shall I tell the man that the priests think the Lord our God is not strong enough to purify impoverished sinners who come before him with sacrifices? Or shall I tell him to disregard everything God told his prophets, that instead God only smiles on the wealthy? Forgive my ignorance, Rabbi — I just want to make sure I say the right thing. If I happen to see such a man, that is.”
“If you come across such a man,” Gamaliel said, “tell him that the priests may banish him.”
“Oh, I certainly will,” I said enthusiastically. “And if he asks for what charge, for what unforgivable sin he is being banished, what would the priests want me to say?”
“For being a pain in the posterior,” he said simply.
“Ah — now there is a concept I am familiar with. My own brother has brought pain to many posteriors, ever since he was very young.”
Gamaliel grunted. “It must run in the family. But listen, you might also warn this man — if you happen to meet him, that is — that anyone uniting the poor would come to the attention of the Romans. And if the Romans think he might be a threat, they won’t take time to talk to discuss whether he’s sinned. They’ll just nail him to a cross.”
That did give me pause. “All this for buying doves, you say. I always heard the Romans mostly left us alone in matters regarding God, as long as we gave a sacrifice for the Emperor. But now you tell me these priests think the Romans would crucify a man just for helping his fellow Judeans worship our God. Most peculiar.”
The old man pushed himself away from the table. “Now that I think of it, my posterior seems to have been developing some pain all through this conversation. I need to get up and take a walk.”
As he made his way out the door, I congratulated myself. He was the first to get up. I won.