Love, Joy, Feminism
Voice in the Wind, pp. 476-481
What would you do if you gave your brother permission to marry your slave, and your slave told him no? For Julia, the answer is kill her.
Julia, you see, overheard the whole conversation between Marcus and Hadassah.
A slave had turned down her brother! She felt his humiliation. She felt his rage. She shook with it.
Looking into the room, she saw Hadassah on her knees, bent over, weeping. Julia watched her coldly. She had never hated anyone so much in her life. Not her father, not Claudius, not Caius. No one.
She had been blind to what Hadassah was. Calabah had seen: “She’s salt in your wounds.” Primus had seen: “She’s a thorn in your side.” Only she had been fooled.
It’s rather curious that everyone cares so very much about a slave. I would have thought that what would have mattered to them would have been whether she carried out her duties. Did Romans usually spend so much time obsessing over individual slaves? I’m honestly curious, now. I suppose my working assumption had been that they treated slaves more like interchangeable pieces of furniture, that their station meant they didn’t engage with them on a personal level. But I could be wrong.
Julia has become something horrifying. I’m not sure if we’re to imagine that she’s become this way because of Calabah and Primus—they’re the ones who have been egging her on here, against Hadassah—or whether we’re to believe she was always headed here, as a result of her self-centeredness. She wanted independence and freedom, but she has that. Now, it’s like she’s directing pent up rage and dissatisfaction with her situation at those who are in her power, those she can actually control.
Julia tells Primus that she told Marcus she wasn’t ready to part with Hadassah yet. Then she tells Primus she’s decided she does want to attend a party someone named Vitellius has held—even though she “loathes” Vitellius—and tells Primus that he’ll “enjoy the play as it unfolds.” Julia, you see, has a reason for attending the party. And though she usually leaves Hadassah when going to one of Vitellius’ parties, this time she takes her. Julia has a plan—a plan to get Hadassah killed.
Once at the party:
Julia dipped her hands into the bowl of warm water that Hadassah held for her, and wondered how long it would be before Vitellius noticed the sash around her maid’s small waist.
Vitellius, you see, is an anti-semite. And that sash? It really does identify her as a Jew. It’s how Atretes knew she was Jewish at a glance, apparently. Some quick googling suggests that, in the Middle Ages, in some Muslim-controlled areas Christians and Jews were required to wear distinctive clothing, and in some Christian-controlled areas Jews and Muslims were required to wear distinctive clothing. I can find nothing about a special Jew-signaling sash worn during the Roman Empire.
Vitellius comes over, and he is angry.
Vitellius ignored her flattery and stared with loathing at the striped sash around Hadassah’s waist. “Of what race is your slave?”
Julia’s eyes widened. “Judean, my lord,” she said and those nearby fell silent. Frowning,s he glanced around her in apparent innocence. “Is something wrong?”
“Jews murdered my only son. They besieged Antonia Tower and broke in to slaughter him and his men.”
Lots more anti-semitic talk, and then this:
Julia rose and placed her hand on his arm. “Hadassah isn’t like those who took your son’s life. She is loyal to me and to Rome.”
“Do you think so? Perhaps you are too kind and naive to understand the treachery of her race. Have you tested her?”
“Tested her?”
“Does your maid worship at the temple of Artemis?”
“No,” Julia said slowly, as though the admission caused her to think.
“Has she burned incense to the emperor?”
“Not publicly,” Julia said, and Hadassah’s heart sank at her words. As though sneaking her silent plea, Julia looked at her, and it was then Hadassah knew. Julia had brought her to this deliberately.
Hold up.
It is my understanding that Jews were not required to sacrifice to the emperor. They were the one group exempt from that requirement, in fact. They were also allowed to be monotheistic—they were not required to worship other gods. Indeed, Rome did not force any individual or group to worship gods they did not choose to worship—the sole exception was sacrificing to the emperor, which was required of everyone except for Jews, who were exempt because it violated they dictates of their religion and their religion was an ancient and therefore respected one.
In short, this would not have happened. An individual Roman like Vitellius might have been angry at all Jews as a result of individual circumstance (losing his sons), but there wouldn’t have been a way to “test” whether a Jew was “loyal” or some such. It isn’t as though Rivers is having Vitellius come up with this on his own. The “test” is referred to as though it is a well-known thing.
Here’s the thing—Christians were required to sacrifice to the emperor. Because their religion was new, they were not granted the exemption Jews were. During persecutions of Christians (which were typically somewhat later than this period, and happened sporadically), sacrifices to the emperor were used as a test. Rivers seems to be reading that onto Jews as well, because no one here—not Primus, not Julia, not Vitellius—has any suspicion that Hadassah is anything but a Jew.
So of course, at this point, Julia tells Vitellius he can test her however he likes. He has her stand in the middle of the room.
The emblems were brought in and placed before Hadassah. She knew she had only to proclaim Vespasian a god, light the reed, and put it to the incense as an offering to him, and her life would be spared.
But of course, she refuses.
Rivers attempts to show us what is going on inside Hadassah, but all she shows is Hadassah asking God to help her be strong, and quoting scriptures. We don’t actually see her consider that this could be the end of her life, or think about what she is giving up, or make any sort of calculus at all. We don’t see her think about the fact that death would mean rejoining her father, and her sister Leah. Brains do just freeze up sometimes, but we’re seeing all of this filtered through Rivers’ writing, so there’s that.
“Strike her,” Vitellius said, and one of the guards struck her hard across the face.
“Vespasian, he is god,” Julia said. “Say it!”
Hadassah stood silence.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Vitellius said coldly.
“She’ll say it. I’ll make her say it.” Julia went to her and slapped her. “Speak the words. Speak them or die!”
I’m suddenly curious. Would a Roman have gotten in trouble for doing this to a Jew, given that the Jews had an exemption from making sacrifices to the emperor? Of course, I don’t think this is actually the case of a mistakenly given test. I think Rivers honestly didn’t know that Jews were exempt from making sacrifices to the emperor. After all, everyone here is treating it as a matter of course that if Hadassah, a Jew, refuses to sacrifice to the emperor, she will be killed.
“I believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God.”
“A Christian!” someone whispered.
I’ve remarked on this before, but we’re coming up on 80 AD, and most Romans still wouldn’t have been familiar with Christianity. Rivers seems to think that everyone in Rome (and, now, in Ephesus) was familiar with Christianity, but this wasn’t the case. After all, the empire was home to scores of religions and cults, and this one was still fairly new and marginal.
Julia struck her again. “The emperor is god.”
Hadassah looked at Julia through a blur of tears, her face laced with pain, her heart breaking. “Oh, Julia, Julia,” she said softly, wondering if this was how Jesus had felt when Judas kissed him.
The desire to avenge her brother’s broken pride had set Julia on this path, but it was her own jealousy that made her erupt into violence. Uttering a feral scream of rage, Julia attached Hadassah. The guards stepped back as she beat the girl with her fists.
Hadassah took the blows with soft cries of pain, but made no effort to defend herself. Julia stopped when Hadassah was on the floor, unconscious. “You can have her, Vitellius,” she said and kicked her in the side.
I forgot how violent this scene got.
I’m curious, though, what message we’re to take away from this. Julia isn’t beating Hadassah because Hadassah is a Christian. She doesn’t hate Hadassah because Hadassah is a Christian. She hates her because she is jealous, because everyone—her mother, her father, her brother—seemed to prefer Hadassah to her.
Somehow, that’s not how I remember those passages—“the world will hate you, because they will be jealous of you.” You know what this is? It’s Christian wish fulfillment.
Growing up in an evangelical home, I believed that we had something special that the rest of the world couldn’t help but notice. I craved Hadassah’s mojo, her ability to make everyone turn and look again because there was just something about her that was special. I wanted people to want what I had. I wanted my faith to mean I was special—noticeable.
Julia doesn’t beat Hadassah because she is a Christian. She beats Hadassah because Hadassah’s Christianity makes her special, and Julia can’t stand feeling lesser than, less wanted or less desired than Hadassah, less loved. This is a very odd sort of persecution, and a very specific message for this book to send the teenage girls that made up its primary audience.
Yes, Hadassah is going to die for her faith—but don’t you want to be as desired and wanted as she is? Everyone in this book but Julia (and Calabah and Primus) loves Hadassah. Wouldn’t you like to stand out and be as memorable as Hadassah? Isn’t this a bit of a self-centered motivation, though? Be a good Christian, and you’ll be special and everyone will want to be your friend!
This is just so fascinating, I may have to spend all day thinking about it.
Hadassah, of course, does not have all day.
“Haul her up and take her to Elymas,” Vitellius ordered, and the guards obeyed. “He pays five sesterces per victim for his lions.”
Twenty-five or so years after this, Pliny the Younger described his own interrogations and executions of Christians, but lions weren’t mentioned (and the process seems to have been more complicated than just ‘take her to Elymas’—there was an actual trial by civil authorities involved). While being thrown to the beasts was a punishment used in certain circumstances (and likely for Christians, in the sporadic persecutions that occurred later), it was never just lions.
This simply is not how this worked. But then, Rivers is dealing more in Christian mythology than she is in history.
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