03 - The Gospel Reaches Rome I

No one could remember exactly when the Jews had first settled in Rome. It was known that after the Hasmonean kings signed a pact of eternal peace with the Roman Senate, Jewish merchants suddenly appeared in large numbers to sell their Palestinian figs, spices, and oils. Later there was a flood of Jews from Alexandria, the harbor through which the grains of Asia and Africa passed to Rome. Pompey also brought great numbers of Jewish slaves back to Italy after the siege of Jerusalem, who were sold in the Italian market.

The Jewish congregations of Rome ransomed many of the latter once it became known that they didn’t make good slaves. Their faith interfered with their complete service. In particular, their obstinate observance of the Sabbath and of the food laws prevented them from becoming perfect servants. On the other hand, they were noted for their intelligence, their skill in commerce, and their international relations. As Jewish communities spread throughout the entire empire, they became excellent commercial agents, stewards, and managers. In these capacities they were highly appreciated by the practical Romans. In fact, many Romans manumitted their Jewish slaves and raised them to positions of trust.

The Jews were greatly helped by the fact that the city of politicians, senators, soldiers, slaves and idlers, produced nothing, and the slaves of corrupt overseers had worked the fields of Italy to the point where the fertility of the soil decreased to nothing, and Italy became totally dependent on the provinces.

The fact is that the Jewish slaves Pompey had brought to Rome in chains became so powerful that the great Cicero was afraid to attack them openly, and when he did have occasion to mention them unfavorably, he would lower his voice. The Jews took an active part in the elections and campaigned for their own candidates among the Roman masses. Nor were they specialists in any one field. They were bankers, merchants, actors, and makers of everyday items. Jewish oils became very popular among Roman matrons.

The Jews of Rome had their own quarter on the right bank of the Tiber. It was a densely populated quarter, with tenement houses towering roof to roof above the narrow alleys. Sweet savors of cinnamon, delphinium, and attar of roses hung heavy on the air from smoking tripods. The women poured the oil into little vases, mixed the salves and unguents, and carried them in baskets to the homes of the wealthy Roman matrons. But the Jewesses spread more than cosmetics, shawls, and sandals among their Roman clientele. They spread their belief in the one living God and in the sanctity of the Temple in Jerusalem. More than one Roman matron found herself drawn to the faith, with its strange institution of the Sabbath, its spiritual security, and its unshakeable belief in the after life. More than one Roman matron neglected the services of Jupiter to pay tribute to the strange God in the distant and sacred Temple.


There came a day when no Jewish women appeared with their perfumes in the aristocratic district. No Jewish merchants were to be found anywhere. The wealthy, who had their shops on the Campus Martius, suspended business. They closed the banks, offices, and perfume depots. Looms, braziers, ovens, and pottery wheels were all abandoned. Even Jewish politicians, who were always seen around the Forum, were gone. Every Jew had fled to the Jewish quarter, for it was on that day that they learned that Caligula had ordered the desecration of the Holy of Holies with his image.

A great cry of lamentation and despair went up from the Roman Jews. This was not just another calamity to which Jews of the Diaspora had become accustomed. It was the end of the world. Some of the older immigrants from Jerusalem had ashes in their hair in sign of mourning. A ceaseless wailing could be heard coming from streets and open windows.

By early evening the great synagogue, named in honor of Caesar Augustus, was filled to overflowing. Rich and poor, young and old, all bodies, became one body – the body of the Jewish people in exile.

Philo the philosopher was there, looking like a broken old man. He was pallid, frail, and stooped as if under the weight of a physical burden. His eyes were swollen and his white hair was tinged with yellow. But as he stood in the pulpit to address the Jews, he looked as calm as he had that night in the magistrate’s house when he watched the Alexandrian mob storm the Jewish quarter.

Tonight he had some of the same feelings he’d had then. The Jewish people were one body with many heads. Individuals could be slain, but Israel could not. Though they slay my body, he thought, it will live on in the other bodies, for my blood will be in their veins, the blood of the patriarchs. My faith will be there, my hope and aspiration.

But this decree was different. Individual Jews were not in peril so much as Israel itself. What did it matter if Jews of Alexandria had their rights restored to them? If Israel went on living, the Jews of Alexandria would go on living, with or without rights. But if Caesar were to have his way, then the Jewish community of Alexandria would certainly perish, even if it had its rights restored. This is what he preached to the assembled Jews of Rome.

“Brothers, and men of Israel. What Caesar desires he will never fulfill, for even if we are called on to sacrifice our lives, we will not turn back. Death with honor is better than life with shame. Death is what we can expect because of our opposition. But let it happen. Let us die a glorious death in defense of our laws. Let us rest our hope in God the redeemer. He has protected us in the past. Perhaps he will find us worthy this time also.

“Let us then bear witness for Him, and show the world that Israel alone among all people stood firm in the day of trial and refused to dishonor the name of God by bowing down before a creature of flesh and blood, who lives today and tomorrow is in the grave. Let us trust in the justice of God, for there is no faith without trust. And even if we don’t live to see that justice, let us die trusting that God’s word will triumph, and that the people will remember us as the faithful witnesses of the living God. For then the spirit of God will cover the earth, and the glory of Israel will be manifest to all eyes. People will stream to the hill of God and bow down before him because of our testimony.”

Complete silence followed as Philo walked uncertainly to the Moses seat. When the head of the synagogue asked if any one wished to question the speaker, no voice was heard.

Much was written on their clean-shaven faces though, because even though most of the congregants were clean-shaven like Romans, dressed like Romans, and had Roman names, that didn’t make them Roman. Every one of them was prepared to literally fulfill the admonition of the speaker and die a thousand deaths rather than desecrate their sanctity.

There were certain pious Gentiles who were in the habit of attending Sabbath services, and some of them were in the synagogue that day. These Gentiles trembled at this defiance cast in Caesar’s teeth. Surely these men knew that for this defiance they could be thrown to the wild beasts in the arena, or be nailed to the cross. So the hearts of the Gentiles melted with dread of the God of Israel, who could pour such a power of faith into the veins of His believers.


One Jewish house, located near the Synagogue of the Hebrews, was more agitated than the others. The house looked no different. Windowless and doorless, there were holes that admitted some sunlight and allowed the inhabitants to crawl from room to room. It was really more of a night shelter than a home, for the families spent their days by the city gates, on the bridges, and in the squares selling their perfumes, herbs, and silverware. In the rooms, or rather, holes, there were rolled up mattresses, tripods on which to prepare meals, and a few other light household possessions.

There was no private life in such pent up places. Every woman knew what was cooking in her neighbor’s pot. The most trivial affairs, as well as the most intimate, were public knowledge. There was always incense burning in braziers, and unguents being smeared on bodies because Rome’s underground system of canals did not extend to this area, resulting in a constant fetid smell in the air.

In spite of all this, there was the joy of a common faith that bound all of them together in loving brotherhood.

In this one particular house there lived a certain young couple that’d just recently migrated from Pontus in Asia to Rome. The man’s name was Aquila, and his wife’s name was Priscilla, though her friends called her Prisca. Both were well loved by the people, the wife maybe a little more. Aquila was a weaver of cloths and tents out of fine goat’s hair, a trade that was well established in Asia, but was relatively new in Rome. The peculiar virtue of this material was that, while it was as dense as felt against rain, it was much lighter and more elastic. Because tents and mantles of washed and combed goat’s hair were a novelty in Rome, Aquila was able to establish a small industry in the Jewish quarter with the modest capital he’d brought with him. In addition to his trade, Aquila could interpret Holy Scripture and even quote some of the verses in the original Hebrew. This was enough to give him considerable standing among the Jews. He was elected an elder of the synagogue soon after his arrival, and then promoted to the position of one of its heads.

But his wife Priscilla had the greater influence. She knew the names and personal affairs of everyone who lived in the huge house and of nearly everyone in the quarter. She knew, for instance, that Alexander the sausage maker’s wife had fallen sick and needed rubbing oil. She lay in a little room on the lowest level among heaps of raw, fly-covered meat and the acrid smell of Alexander’s occupation. With her own hands Prisca applied oil to the paralyzed woman’s body. She also saw no evening smoke going up from Justus the mason’s room, which meant that he, his wife and three children were starving. Justus was well on in years and couldn’t find a job at his trade, so before the end of the second day, Priscilla was in the room with a basket of bread and a promise that her husband would take Justus into his factory.

Priscilla went on to found a Sisterhood of Pious Women in the Synagogue, which she named, “Daughters of Jerusalem”. Its special function was to care for poor women in childbirth. During a woman’s confinement, a member of the sisterhood would remain in the house to take care of the new mother, and also to do the washing and the cooking for the family. A second sisterhood created by Priscilla founded an orphanage near the synagogue, and a third was founded for visiting the sick and providing dowries for poor brides. It was soon understood that whenever a needy case arose, the first person to be notified was Priscilla.

More than anything, Priscilla was known for her hospitality at home. It was common practice for large groups to gather there on Sabbaths and festivals to listen to news of the Holy City brought by travelers from Palestine, who would always be guests of Aquila and Priscilla. The elders held their meetings there, funds to be sent to Jerusalem were raised there, and Jewish scholars would assemble there on certain festive days, for learned talk, interpretation of texts, and discussion of the salvation to come. The hostess herself even participated in these discussions. Priscilla was the daughter of a scholar, and had learned much from listening to scholars in her father’s house. She knew many verses from the prophets by heart, and was no stranger to the legends and the laws. Such participation would have been unheard of in Palestine. But among the Jews of the Diaspora, the position of women was closer to equality with men than it was in the homeland.

Priscilla’s learning, as well as her charitable work, earned her the title of Mother of the Synagogue, the equivalent of her husband’s title as a Ruler of the Synagogue. She was privileged to attend the sessions of the elders and rulers, and to take an equal share in the direction of all Jewish affairs.

You couldn’t tell by looking at this woman that she could summon up the physical energy to assume all the obligations required of a synagogue official, a charity organizer, and the mistress of a household that was a hospice for strangers and travelers. She was a bit short, with a delicate face and hair drawn back and knotted. Although there was great power in her eyes, she had small ears, a long, straight nose, small, full lips, and an energetic chin. But what distinguished Prisca from all other women was the magnificent power of her hips, which seemed to be poured of Corinthian bronze and filled with immeasurable energy. All the energy of this otherwise delicate female frame was concentrated in those hips, which were built to support the weight of a Hercules. One would have thought she was destined to bear a mighty generation of sons. But if so, then that destiny had been frustrated, for Prisca was childless. So all the energy that would have been used for bearing sons was diverted into charitable and public activities.

From the first moment she heard the calamitous tidings from Jerusalem, Priscilla never rested. Like a commander she continuously encouraged the men to organize themselves to resist any attempt to bring Caesar’s image into the synagogues. Oddly enough, the number of Gentile visitors to the synagogues actually increased after the command. The non-Jews actually envied the Jews because they alone had dared to stand up against accepting Caligula as a god. Priscilla played on these sentiments of bitterness and envy.

She said to the women in particular, “Do you think you’ll only have to sacrifice to Caesar? He’s declared his sister, Drusilla, a goddess also, and you know full well what their relationship is.”

“That whore!” exclaimed Lucina, the wife of Procopius, the swordsmith.

“And Caesar has other sisters he’s made deities. Whoever he takes to bed becomes a god.”

Many Romans joined the Jews who guarded the synagogues, and when other Romans came near with images of Caesar, they helped them beat off the attacks.

This desperate Jewish obstinacy had a profound impact on the pious Gentiles. They came to the synagogues in ever-larger numbers.