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TITLE: Daniel of Babylon - Chapter 3 By Rick DeMille 02/10/07 |
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This is told from the point of view of Daniel's friend, just after Daniel has died.
Chapter 3
It is impossible to select a day, “the” day, which was the most difficult or painful of Daniel’s life in Babylon. Indeed, selection of the most onerous score of days would prove a task more difficult than my aged mind would attempt. There were simply too many of them.
However, I know quite well the first of such days for I was there, and witnessed as it transpired. It was his first full day in Babylon, and it was going poorly even before it became horrific. The day began with snubs and whispered aspersions for the Jews as we accustomed ourselves to the school and met our teachers. Disaster waited until nightfall and our dinner with the King, Nebuchadnezzar himself.
All of the students were to be honored at a special meal, held with the arrival of each new class. The King felt so strongly about the importance of the school that he insisted on addressing the novices in person, summoning us each year to the palace for a feast and an exhortation to excellence. This was the first of such visits, for it was the ascension year of our King.
I remember mounting the palace steps, then entering the most glorious building I had ever seen. Magnificently colored reliefs of marvelous hunts and fierce battles adorned the walls. Stunning works of art hung everywhere, and statues of such mastery as to steal one’s breath stood as witness to honor that was ours.
I also recall with shocking distaste how the Hebrews were so engrossed in meaningless debate that they appreciated none of it. They were disputing among themselves. It seems they could not agree on the date of our royal audience, specifically the year. Over this matter of heroic import they ignored such beauty as most men will never see. The Jews had two calendars, it seems, and Daniel was suffering a vicious rebuke for using the secular one. He was insisting that their new life in Babylon had begun in the fourth year of Jehoiakim, their king, the year following Judah’s entry into the Empire. To that, Meshach and Shadrach barked their bitter dissent. They used the religious calendar and declared we had begun the fifth.
I felt a chill of anger at this. Nebuchadnezzar was their King, and the approaching New Year would begin his first official year of rule. The intrigues of petty lords did not belong in this place nor at this time. I hated them, and the misfortune to soon befall them would bring a wicked smile of revenge to my lips.
All who enter the presence of the king must be clean. Outside the Throne Room was the bath, an area lined with the finest tile. Before entering, we were stripped and washed by palace slaves, then rinsed with waters from the mighty Tigris River. Once clean, we were to be anointed with fragrant oils and dressed in fine sandals and robes.
The Jews reacted to this as if they had never bathed. No! They recoiled in horror as if the mere thought of cleanliness meant death itself. In fairness, Abednego fared better than his companions. While clearly unpleasant for him, he endured this incident without the bitter trauma of his friends.
As the slaves removed their robes, the reason for their distress hung before us in painful revelation and revulsion. They had been mutilated; their manhood had been butchered in a fashion beyond our imaginations. The word ‘circumcision’ began with the Syrians and circulated the room, followed quickly by a brief but graphic explanation of its meaning and significance. The fact that it represented a part of their religion, or that it had a reassuring name, in no way diminished our aversion. Spasms of imagined pain still gripped us all as we contemplated that troubling act of devotion demanded by the formless Jewish God.
The inevitable taunts began at once. The Hebrews were painfully exposed as outsiders, and forbearance never entered our minds nor stayed our tongues. I can no longer recall the precise words we spoke, but the curses and insults ran from the poetic to the profane. Many of the insults were creative to the point of genius, but all conveyed a subtle thanks to the gods that we had not been dealt with thusly.
The guards and teachers quickly restored order and we regained the awed and respectful attitude this occasion demanded. Well, not all of us. I am forced to laugh again as I remember Abednego. We were dressed in fine robes, worthy of an audience with the King, and anointed with fragrant oils. Abednego had stood impassively while the rest of us had ridiculed his religion, his people, and the deformity on his body that symbolized them.
I later learned Abednego had endured this before. During his military training, the Greek mercenaries at Lachish had taunted him and the other Jews mercilessly. For him, the real insult came next when they applied the perfume. He reacted as if the oil were acid, burning into his flesh. He passed through the massive wooden doors muttering dejectedly about smelling like a lady of doubtful virtue.
Nevertheless, we did pass threw the majestic portals into the throne room itself. It was a magnificent place, a sanctum, where the fate of kings and nations were decided. The room was brilliantly unadorned. Beautiful but subtle tapestries hung from the wall, but the amazing colors and remarkable works of art found outside were absent. This was a room where the labor of running an empire was conducted, nothing inside was allowed to detract from the splendor of the man who presided there, the great King Nebuchadnezzar himself.
The audience area in the center of the room had been filled with tables, decorated with flowers and set with vessels of the finest silver. Older students sat waiting at the front, near the dais where the king and other dignitaries would sit. We filed in, taking our seats and filling the remaining tables from front to back. The Jews came last, sitting at the furthest table from the front. I had the misfortune of occupying an adjoining table which faced these vulgar outsiders.
I observed as Daniel attempted to sit beside Shadrach, who immediately rose and moved to a seat across the way. Meshach also rose reluctantly to follow. Abednego appeared more than happy to take the seat vacated by his countryman, and was saved a great deal of anguish and further embarrassment because of it.
Poor, churlish Abednego was more prepared for dining with his horse than with his king. He immediately reached for the bits of broken bread in a silver basket in front of them, and Daniel nearly upended the table in a rush to stop him.
I could picture the boy soldier in his usual setting, seated around a rough hewn plank with a legion of sweaty and foul smelling warrior barbarians. As the food was flung rudely in front of them, Abednego would be forced to dive, scratching and clawing with the others to salvage enough of the scraps to make a meal.
I nearly lost my appetite.
As that disgusting image faded, I saw Daniel in earnest instruction. He pointed out the tools of civilized dining before them and explained their use. I managed to overhear Daniel’s emphatic conclusion to Abednego’s first class as a student, he exhorted: “Watch the older students at the front, and do what they do!” Sage advice, but even wise counsel seemed to end up badly for the Hebrews.
As the lad from Lachish gave a serious nod of understanding, music sounded and the royal party entered from the right. Everyone stood and bowed in reverence as the royal procession ascended the dais. It was a magnificently simple procession, King Nebuchadnezzar and a score of attendants. In the group I recognized Ashpenaz, the Chancellor, as well as Arioch of the king’s guard; they had accompanied the students from Hatti land and seemed friendly with Daniel.
They reached their places, to the king’s right stood a large man in priestly robes and pious countenance. This priest remained standing as the others took their seats. It was Usar’s father who welcomed us in the name of the king and their gods.
“I am Bel-Ushezib, High Priest of the Temple of Marduk, god and protector of Babylon, and his voice before the king. In the name of our god and of his king, I welcome you and invite you to share this meal.”
Ushezib spread his arms and began his invocation of Marduk’s favor. It was a grand and flowery prayer, similar to the divine petitions I had heard my father intone many thousands of times.
“Great Marduk, first among the gods of our nation, we are your servants. Thou hast given strength to thy hand, Nebuchadnezzar, the great King of Babylon, to carry thy name . . .”
We enjoyed a wonderful supplication. The High Priest of Marduk waxed eloquent, as one would certainly expect, but my life had been blessed daily by such splendid oratory. I began, instead, to examine the faces of the other students. The young men gazed in awe as they listened, eyes fixed on the brilliant and bejeweled figure on the platform above them. I noticed that even the Hebrews sat transfixed as they listened.
I located Usar, son of the High Priest, expecting him to be watching with pride as his father executed the majesty of his high office. Instead he sat sideways on his chair, gazing at the rear of the hall. I wondered if he, too, had simply become accustomed to the ritual of Temple worship, but his face held a look of cold antipathy. As I wondered at this, his face turned red and the chilled expression became one of burning revulsion.
I tracked his gaze to the rear of the hall - he had been watching the Jews. I did not understand at first, but I quickly discerned a change in their bearing. They wore faces of shock, if not panic. Daniel and Shadrach looked at each other, and for the first time they appeared to share a moment of brotherhood.
What had caused this? I thought back to what the High Priest had been saying, and tried to recall what little my inattentive ears had captured. I’m sure he had been giving thanks to Marduk for the feast they were about to share, but this was normal for a royal banquet. Surely the Jews must give thanks to their God for his bounty.
As I watched, their heads turned again toward the dais and looks of kinship were replaced by an air of determination. I also looked toward the front where the High Priest was finishing his message.
“And I charge you who are to learn the language and arts of the Chaldeans, prepare yourselves! Your king and your empire will have need of your skills and your devotion. Great King Nebuchadnezzar, may he live forever, recognizes your importance to us all. For this cause he has decreed that you will share in the richness of his table. All the king consumes is blessed, fare from the very altar of Marduk himself. Our god’s food will become the might of your limbs as well; his drink will become the mother’s milk of your understanding. Your bodies and minds will be enriched by the regal as well as the divine.”
Ushezib sat, and like actors in a well rehearsed play the servants entered instantly from around the hall, bearing trays of luscious fruit and savory meats. The aroma was as intoxicating as the fine wine being poured into our cups. I became painfully aware that we had not eaten since mid-morning, and the feast parading around us was a perfect way to end this omission.
I looked up and saw the face of Abednego. I thought it impossible, but he seemed to be anticipating our lavish fare more than I. After dutifully watching other students as Daniel had instructed, he enthusiastically snared a portion of venison and had extended his weathered hand once more for a plump roasted quail. Daniel reached discretely over and stayed him, whispering briefly in his ear. Disbelief fell like a shadow over Abednego’s face, and I cannot recall a more piteous look in any man’s eyes, as he dropped the quail and looked longingly over the bounty before him.
The dinner progressed, plate after succulent plate, the finest food I had ever tasted. Yet my anger grew, robbing me of the pleasure this evening should have given. I watched as the Jews rebuffed the king’s generosity, taking only enough to give the appearance of partaking. They appeared to drink as their neighbors did, yet their cups never needed to be refilled. The unbelievable and unacceptable truth was beginning to emerge, they wanted no part of the king’s consideration.
I was not the only one to notice. Usar ate barely more than they as he glared ruthlessly toward them at the end of the royal hall. He shared a glance at his father who made no effort to hide his look of outrage. Even Ashpenaz, who directed our school, was stunned, staring in puzzled disbelief at their disrespect.
How dare they reject his bounty? How dare they insult the King of Babylon?
This room contained the wisest and most learned men in all the world, and none of them had an inkling of what had motivated the insulting behavior of that night. We didn’t know what or why they had rebuffed our king and insulted our gods, but I was not alone in my burning desire to make them pay for this outrage.
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