The old man
smiled gently, as if being careful not to damage the paper-fragile skin on his
cheeks. ‘Being of great age isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be, right?’
Despite the painful joints in his
knuckles (as well as in his knees, toes, hips and shoulders) he ticked off the
list on his fingers, settling himself against the pillows, propped up in his
bed.
‘For a start, your body begins to let you
down as your flesh goes all wrinkly and your eyes and ears fade dramatically.
Your hair drops out, except for the hair in your nostrils, ears and eyebrows,
where it grows with extraordinary vigour. I don’t feel all that old, but even
now I have to walk with a stick, and need help to get out of this bed. It’s
hard for me to participate in the activities at the temple, too.’
‘It’s a shame,’ said his companion, a
woman perhaps forty years his junior, who smiled sympathetically. Behind her
eyes she was slightly concerned; she knew this might be the last time she would
be privileged to have the old man’s attention, and she wanted to be sure she
remembered as much as possible.
Her goal was to keep a good record so
that his experience, wisdom, and character might be preserved for the benefit
of future generations.
‘But that’s enough moaning for now,’ he
continued. ‘I should be happy to have reached this time of life. I can only
look back, since I’m not long for this world. And I can reflect on faithful
service, honouring God and being at the centre of community life as it revolves
around the Temple. As you know my dear – oh, are you comfortable? There’s a
cushion if you need it?’
‘I’m perfectly fine, thank you, Gramps.’
‘Good. Good. Nothing worse than listening
to an old man when your buttocks are numb!’ He chuckled at this extreme
coarseness of language that he had decided to allow himself in his latter
years, now that he would be able to get away with it. But the chuckle quickly
gave way to a rasping cough of retribution. Once it had subsided, he gasped for
breath, and then continued. ‘I was born
one hundred-and-five years ago next month, and have been a priest here in
Jerusalem for the greater part of that lifetime – eighty one years, to be
exact.’
He smiled as he looked into her face.
‘Yes, your calculations are right; I was in my early twenties when I came to the
priesthood, having completed my studies and been selected. As you’ll be aware,
my dear, one has to be a part of the right family in the first place. Then
there are lots of studies that must be completed and other people to satisfy.
But I managed all that and at the age of twenty-four I donned the priestly
robes. H’mm. I took the name by which everyone knows me – Rabbi Rabinovich. And
then I began the long journey… one which isn’t over yet but which is very much
nearer its end than its beginning.’
He paused for a moment, took a sip of
wine from a goblet, wiped his lips absent-mindedly on the long sleeve of his
tunic, closed his eyes for a moment, and continued. The woman took the goblet
from his trembling hand, and put it safely back on the bedside table. She knew
most of this background material, and patiently smiled and sat in silence as
the old man continued. It was clear he had assumed she was ignorant of her
heritage and culture, of his story, and was not entirely confident of her
identity, either. But she listened, hoping there might be fresh insights,
previously untold anecdotes or new details revealed.
‘I used to help the older priests with
the ceremonies, observing and learning style and technique, holding the books
of the Torah while they read from them, sorting the right robes for each of the
gentlemen who took part and selecting the doves and other animals for
sacrifice. There were plenty of others who would do some of the duties, but
everything needed a priestly approval, and some of the tasks were too menial
for the older priests, so it was down to us, the younger priests in the Temple.
We were less experienced but were well able to make most of the judgements
required. We weren’t yet caught up with the deep theology or with the
ceremonial oversight, but we could make the smaller decisions and get on with
temple life in the normal way, with the honour and respect due to the
priesthood.’
‘H’mm, that’s what I’d heard already,
Gramps, but we were going to talk about Zechariah being struck dumb – do you
remember?’
‘Oh, am I rambling a little? So sorry, my
dear. Please just tap me on the arm if I go on and make no sense or just repeat
myself or start to get dull or, indeed, repeat myself. That’s just another
thing about being a tired old man ready for a long lie down in a
carefully-prepared sepulchre dedicated to the glory of God. Oh, yes. That will
be nice…’ He paused slightly, allowing his imagination to enjoy the scene he
was envisaging. ‘Anyway, when I was a young man, just starting my on-the-job
training for the priesthood, two extraordinary things happened in my first few
weeks at the Temple.
‘One of the older Priests, by name
Zechariah, a man well struck in years, was selected to go and burn the incense,
which he did, but everyone was distracted from their prayers when he took an
exceptionally long time at the altar. And when he came out – well, my dear, his
life had been changed.
‘He explained he’d been spoken to by an
angel, who had told him that he and his wife would have a son, despite their
great age. Like Abraham. The angel had promised the boy would be great – you
know, important spiritually. He would be full of the Holy Spirit, and make
ready a people prepared for the Lord. And he told us all of this through the
gift of handwriting, since the angel had taken from him the power of speech.
This seemed odd, but we sent him home to be with his wife. Well, in the
fullness of time nature took its course and she gave birth to a boy, and they
brought him to the Temple when he was eight days old, for the usual reason. The
priest in charge invited me to observe as part of my training, and when the
mother presented the boy, the priest was a bit previous, double-checking the
name the boy was to have.
‘”There’s no-one else in your family
called John,” he said to the mother, quite forcefully, “so why would you want
to call him John? I’ll tell you what, I’ll call him Zechariah, after his
father,” he told her. But she said “No! Ask his father.”
‘So they did ask his father, and the old
chap wrote down His name is John. I
think it must have been what the angel had told him. Anyway, as soon as the boy
was named, the old man’s tongue was loosed, and he began to praise God with a
great song, which some called Benedictus, for some reason. I could sing it for
you, if you like…?’
Floccinaucinihilipilification
is the father of time-saving, she thought to herself, somewhat grandly. Fortunately,
when she spoke, her words were a little more straightforward. ‘Not just now,
Gramps. I don’t want to tire you too much.’
‘Oh, it’s no trouble. Now, how does it
start?’
‘Perhaps in the morning…’
His expression betrayed the regret he
felt for the conversation he had with the Priests in Charge when they told him
his Eighth-Day Ceremony officiating was to be curtailed, following a most
unfortunate incident.
But then he remembered he was right in
the middle of a story. ‘It was my first time, which is why I recall it so
clearly, I think. And I had been double booked, so another young couple turned
up at the same time with their boy. I had to ask one of my colleagues to serve
them. He did so but also sent them to see old Simeon, who was wondering about
in the courts. The booking system was a bit of a shambles and I considered
later how to improve it to ensure no-one was sent away disappointed.
‘Now, let me tell you about Simeon – yes,
that’s right, the elderly devout Hebrew famous in the Temple. I count it a
privilege that I was introduced to him. He was a strange old coot, between you
and me and the Beautiful Gatepost, always muttering to himself about the
Messiah, and he cannot have been less than the age I am now when his big moment
finally came. I’m glad he had the opportunity because only a few weeks later,
his legs packed up and he could no longer get about – actually, my dear, I
think I might be right in saying that he passed away a little while after.’
‘So,’ interrupted the woman, ‘can you put
a date on this?’
The old man continued as if he hadn’t
heard her, since he hadn’t heard her. ‘Apparently, he’d been absent from the
Temple for a few months, but had a funny feeling he should be there on that one
particular day (or so he told me), and it so happened that this was my first
day on circumcision duty.
‘But I remember clearly the way the old
man’s face lit up! He was presented with the boy child of the couple who were
double-booked, and oh, it was a wonder to behold! He took the child in his arms
(which was slightly risky, truth be told, but he didn’t drop the baby, thank
the Lord) and blessed him and shouted stuff to heaven as if God is deaf. I
didn’t catch the first bit, but people have since told me that – ‘ He indicated
for the goblet of wine, and the woman helped him. ‘H’mm yes, the temple was a
wonderful place to work. Simeon was very old and perhaps a bit crazy, but he
knew his Torah and claimed that God had promised him that he would see the
coming Messiah, but his eyes were fading fast when I knew him. Like mine now.
And my ears.’
The old man fell silent, as if
demonstrating what it was like to lose hearing; or perhaps to re-order his
memories. After a moment or two, he began again.
‘Oh, yes, I was telling you about the day
he held that boy child. Nunc Dimittis
they called it. That’s all Greek to me, but I knew he was thrilled to high
heaven with this boy, and told the parents… oh, yes, a pretty young girl, she
was – just like you used to be – and her husband with his bandaged fingers
(don’t know why I remember that detail, ha ha!) – that the boy was a sign and a
revelation from God and that he was a light for the Gentiles and glory to
Israel. Old Simeon died believing he’d seen something special. And maybe he
had, but it was hard to account for it.’
The woman chose not to take offence at
the remark about the toll that passing years had taken upon the way her
Grandfather viewed her attractiveness. Perhaps she attributed his comment to
his failing eyesight, unable to detect the radiance with which she knew she
still illumined the room…
‘Oh, you know, my dear, I could tell you
so many stories from my life as a Priest in the Temple. You know the boy
Zechariah had? Well, he grew up to a bit of a wild child, or so I’ve heard, and
ran through the wilderness and lived on locusts and honey and preached about
the Messiah and gave various folks a wash from time to time – and publically,
too!’ He stopped to try to picture the scene. A frown passed across his
delicate forehead as he wondered if he had been telling his story in the right
order. Nonetheless, he continued.
‘We would do the sacrifices and the
blessings and sing and pray and have a life of service and worship and
discussion. I used to enjoy the discussions, you know, oh yes. My mind was
razor-sharp in those days, my dear. Oh, razor, yes.
‘We’d discuss all sorts, some of it a
little bit heretical in places, no doubt. There were several groups of us,
setting aside one day each week for the cut-and-thrust of informed, educated
theological conversation. My group of teachers was fascinating. We sometimes
would allow members of the public to listen in, especially around Passover
time, when there were people who had made their special journeys to the Temple.
Oh, yes, there were some good discussions in those days.
‘One year, one of the other consultation
groups had a bit of an incident with a twelve-year-old boy who seemed to
bamboozle them. He must have asked them something they’d never thought of
before or something. They always refused to explain what the issues were. I
think they were a little embarrassed about it, as he was just a lad.
‘Although, ha ha, I recall they were annoyed
about it too, as his mother turned up and gave the boy a wigging for spending
time in the Temple with these teachers when he should have been on the road
back home. My colleagues implied she was blaming them for engaging the boy in
conversation. She admitted that she’d assumed the boy was travelling with them but
they hadn’t actually checked, and there was some doubt about who was supposed
to give him instructions… But the Priests were teachers of the Law and yet they
were clearly being taught by the boy! We did chuckle about it between
ourselves. Imagine! A teacher of the Law listening to a boy explaining the
meaning of the Law! Oh, the shame they must have felt, ha ha!’ His cough
troubled him again.
At this moment the door to the bedroom
flew open and a small girl aged about three ran in, not waiting to be asked to
speak, but holding out a rag doll to the woman. ‘Great-Grandmama Persis,
goodnight kiss for Lillibet! Please!’
The woman kissed the doll and gently
spoke to the little girl. ‘Nearly time for your bedtime, too, my dear. Why
don’t you ask your dad to read you a bedtime story? Run along, now then, won’t
you? Please leave me and Gramps – ah, Great Three Gramps Rabinovich – to finish
our talk, there’s a good girl? Oh, thank you, sweetheart!’ This last comment
was directed at her granddaughter, who had come to fetch the little girl and
remove her, which she did, without banging the door. Persis turned back to the
old man. ‘She’s such an imaginative one! Please do go on, Gramps.’
‘Is she one of yours?’
‘No,’ Persis laughed, choosing this time
to be flattered by the confusion that he considered her young enough to be the
mother of such a small child. ‘That’s my grand-daughter’s girl. There’s quite a
lot of us in the…’
But the old man was more bothered by
something he had said a few moments before the interruption.
‘Or do I mean inferred? Oh, one of those.
But yes, we had a laugh at their expense some days. There were a few wild
goings-on in the Temple in my time, too. Oh yes, what about the day the goats
escaped from their pen? No-one laughed at the time, as it was a problem. But I
had to smile once it was over. And one of the old Priests used to get in such a
muddle when we were rehearsing for the special ceremonies, forgetting which was
the right knife or book or incense for each part of the procedure and which
colour robes to wear and just making a shambles of it all.
‘Oh, yes, my dear, and we had a lot of
fuss on that day when a lunatic got into the temple courts and started going
berserk in the courtyards with a whip and shouting about prayer and thieves and
threw the money around and set all the doves free. He was a troublemaker, we
decided.
‘Later on, of course, there was a
rabble-rouser who threatened to destroy the temple, which was heresy but he was
sent down, I think. Don’t know what happened to him.’
Suddenly he stopped, smacked his lips,
signalled for the goblet of wine once again, and then waved Persis from the
room. ‘Oh. I do feel tired now. That’s enough for today, my dear.’
She obediently got up, kissed the old man
on the forehead, mopped the spillage of wine from his beard and blew out the
candle. ‘Sleep well, Gramps. We can talk some more when you have the strength.
Your memories are precious – not only to you, but also to me and the rest of
the family.’ She smoothed the bedclothes fussily, and turned towards the door.
But he had more to say. His voice was
soft, and his delivery had slowed considerably. There was a great sadness in
his tone.
‘I’ll tell you this. In all the years
I’ve been a Priest in the Temple, never has there been a day like today, just
three weeks after I was stood down and gave up my role as a Priest. Never.
‘Those Italians should know better than
to insult the temple in the way they have done today. Yes, yes, yes, my dear, I
have to admit that this is a bad time to be a priest. And now, thank the good
Lord in heaven for his eternal mercy, I seem to have escaped like – well, like
a brand from the burning! Oh, yes. It’s a dark day to be a priest.’
Persis smiled in the dark, raising her
voice slightly to be sure the old man would hear, now she was no longer right
next to the bed. ‘But it’s a wonderful day to be full of years and loved by all
your family. Goodnight Gramps! We can talk more tomorrow.’
But it was not to be.
A dying priest fails to recognise
what he has seen
Which Bible stories did this Rabbi almost appear in? Why didn’t he
recognise John the Baptist or Jesus?
Why was Simeon so pleased to see the baby Jesus?
In what ways can serving and church activities distract us from
reflecting on the realities and the more important spiritual truths?
No comments:
Post a Comment