So the wife of Rabbi Jairus heard as Jesus went out
of the door.
They remained His adherents until near the days of
the persecution.
About the same time things began to go ill with Levi,
the tax-gatherer, who lived on the road to Tiberias.
One morning his fellow-residents prepared a discordant
serenade for him. They pointed out to Levi with
animation, from the roof of his house, in what honour
he was held, by means of the rattling of trays and
clashing of pans, since he had accepted service with
the heathen as toll-keeper and demanded money even
on the Sabbath.
The lean tax-gatherer sat in a corner of his room
and saw the dust fly from the ceiling, which seemed
to shake beneath the clatter. He saw, too, how
the morning sun shining in at the window threw a band
of light across the room, in which danced particles
of dust like little stars. He listened, and saw,
and was silent. When they had had enough of
dancing on the roof they jumped to the ground, made
grimaces at the window, and departed.
A little, bustling woman came out of the next room,
stole up to the man, and said: “Levi, it
serves you right!”
“Yes, I know, Judith,” he answered, and
stood up. He was so tall that he had to bend
his head in order not to strike it against the ceiling.
His beard hung down in thin strands; it was not yet
grey, despite his pale, tired face.
“They will stone you, Levi, if you continue
to serve the Romans,” exclaimed the woman.
“They hated me even when I did not serve the
Romans,” said the man. “Since that
Feast of Tabernacles at Tiberias when I said that Mammon
and desire of luxury had estranged the God of Abraham
from the chosen people, and subjected them to Jupiter,
they have hated me.”
“But you yourself follow Mammon,” she
returned.
“Because since they hate me I must create a
power for myself which will support me, if all are
against me. It is the power with which the contemned
man conquers his bitterest enemies. You don’t
understand me? Look there!” He bent down
in a dark corner of the chamber, lifted an old cloth,
and displayed to view a stone vessel like a mortar.
“Real Romans,” he said, grinning; “soon
a small army of them. And directly it is big
enough, the neighbours won’t climb on to the
roof and sing praises to Levi with pots and pans,
but with harps and cymbals.”
“Levi, shall I tell you what you are?”
exclaimed the woman, the muscles of her red face working.
“I am a publican, as I well know,” he
returned calmly, carefully covering his money chest
with the cloth. “A despised publican who
takes money from his own people to give to the stranger,
who demands toll-money of the Jews although they themselves
made the roads. Such a one am I, my Judith!
And why did I become a Roman publican? Because
I wished to gain money so as to support myself among
those who hate me.”
