From his memories of the old Passovers of his boyhood, he saw
instantly that there had come a change over Judea and the worshiping
sons of Abraham.
They went in bodies, in numbers from a handful from some remote but
pious hamlet to great armies from the leveled cities of Joppa,
Ptolemais and Anthedon, from Cæsarea and Tyre and Sidon, from the
enthusiastic towns in Galilee, and even from far-off Antioch and
Ephesus. They were not fewer in number, because of a year of warfare
and the menace of an approaching army upon the city in which they were
to take refuge. But there were more--double, even triple the number
that usually went up to Jerusalem at this time. For of the millions of
inhabitants in Judea in the unhappy year of 70 A.D., a third of them
were plundered and homeless refugees from ruined cities. Therefore,
instead of the armies of men, happy, hopeful and enthusiastic, who had
journeyed in former years to Jerusalem, there passed before the
Maccabee a mixed multitude of men and women and children. Thousands
carried with them all that warfare had left to them--pitiful parcels
of treasure or household goods, or extra clothing; other thousands
bore nothing in their hands, and by the wear in their garments and the
hunger in their faces, it seemed that they owned nothing to carry.
The Maccabee noted finally the entire absence of the travelers who
fared in state. Not in all that long procession that wound up the
stony passage from the west, did he see a single Sadducee. There went
mobs of laborers and farmers, tradesmen, servants and small merchants,
but the Jewish friends of Rome that had once made part of the Passover
pilgrimage a royal progress were nowhere to be seen. Under the vast,
vivid blue of the mountain skies they moved, indifferent to the
splendid benevolence of the untroubled day. The pure wind swept in
from the radiance in the east, flinging out multi-colored garments and
scarves, rushing with its bracing chill without obstruction through
even the compactest mass of wayfarers. The cedars on the hills about
the little town whistled continuously and at times some extremely
narrow defile with an uninterrupted draft would take voice and cry
humanly. But there was no responsive exhilaration to the vigor of
morning on a mountain-top. The great ever-growing migration was dark,
dangerous and moody.
Somewhere beyond the highest of the blue hills to the east, the white
walls of the city of David were receiving all this. Somewhere to the
west the four brassy legions of Titus were marching down upon all
this. About the Maccabee were assembling all the circumstances that
govern a tremendous struggle. Eagerness, earnestness, all the strength
and resolution of his strong and resolute nature surged into his soul.
It was his hour. It should find him prepared.