God's Gold (4 page)

 

K
ing Solomon was one of the most celebrated characters of history, a powerful ruler of proverbial wisdom and a master builder. For these reasons he has become a victim of his own success, with popular perception immediately linking images of the Temple treasure to this man. Such a view, however, has to surmount two major pitfalls. First, extensive archaeological exploration conducted across Jerusalem and the surrounding hills has failed to produce one iota of evidence for a ruler called Solomon or, more worryingly, for monumental tenth-century BC building operations. If Jerusalem was really inhabited at this time, then the very meager pottery unearthed proves it can only have been a small, rural village and hardly the epicenter of a magnificent United Monarchy. This image is completely at loggerheads with the Bible's elaborate description of major urban development.

Second, and equally conclusive, the Bible paints a vivid canvas of severe political and cultural disruption in sixth-century BC Jerusalem, when Israel was dismantled. As Israel was ransacked by the generals of King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, the superpower of the day, the religious symbols of Judaism were deliberately destroyed—at least according to the main biblical tradition. Thus, 2 Kings (24:13–15) emphatically narrates Nebuchadnezzar

The plunder of the wealth of Jerusalem's Temple, it is safe to say, was comprehensive.

As emphatic as the reports relating to the timing and effects of these events seem to be, later testimony clouds the matter. For some deliber
ate reason the Bible crosses wires to contradict itself over the fate of the Temple treasure. Rather than having it completely destroyed and melted down for reuse in Babylon, Ezra (1:7–11) announces a completely different set of circumstances whereby, in 538 BC, King Cyrus of Persia handed the exiled Jews their freedom and returned the Temple treasures:

Written at least one hundred years later than the book of Kings, Ezra is a case of wishful thinking, clever political propaganda designed to give Israel the noble epic history it deserved. Over time even this version of repatriation was replaced by vividly overimaginative Late Roman and medieval legends that sought to emphasize the survival myth of Solomon's treasure. One source supposes that the vessels were entrusted to the prophet Jeremiah, under whose protection the Ark of the Covenant, the altar of incense, and the “holy tent” were carried by an angel to Mount Sinai. There, Jeremiah concealed the vessels in a large cave. Another medieval tradition places Solomon's Temple treasure under a stone next to the grave of Daniel (of lion's den fame) at Shushan in Persia. Legend states that anyone trying to remove the stone fell dead; people digging near the spot were crushed by a storm, or so the story goes.

The tale of the concealment and preservation of the Temple vessels during the exile into Babylon became increasingly embellished and dramatic down the centuries. One intriguing legend preserved among a
wealth of medieval folklore vividly portrays the fantastic dimensions to which the story had swollen. As a unique document of messianic hope and projection, it deserves quoting at length:

Here, in fully romanticized form, the description of the gold candelabrum departs from the concise biblical version to stud the artefact with all manner of precious stones. The original narrative is now overlain with glorious fantasy to evoke a dreamlike myth of hope for the communities of the Diaspora, tenuously peering back through the mists of time for a bridge to Temple days that might offer comfort amid the religious persecutions of contemporary medieval life.

Such rich folklore is fascinating in its own right, important documentation revealing the psychological condition of medieval Jewry. Yet
it is also undoubtedly fantasy with no historical bearing on the true movements of Solomon's Temple treasure. At no point does the Old Testament pretend that the major vessels of faith—the menorah, Show-bread Table, and trumpets—were returned to Jerusalem in the reign of King Cyrus of Persia. On balance, every shred of evidence dovetails to suggest that if it really ever existed, the treasures of the First Temple went up in a puff of smoke during the sixth-century BC destruction of Jerusalem. So when and in what context did the treasures of Herod's Temple emerge?

To define the unique character of the Temple treasure plundered by Rome in AD 70, and crassly paraded along its streets a year later, we must leave behind the murky world of Iron Age Palestine. Sifting through the texts, one specific event emerges as a defining moment that dictated its composition. In the second century BC the borders of Palestine were creaking against the pressures of a regional power struggle. Palestine was a geographical jewel, a land and sea bridge linking Egypt and the Far East with the northern Mediterranean. Control Palestine and you controlled the entire eastern Mediterranean basin and the world beyond—lucrative caravan routes heading into Arabia and over the horizon to the Indies. Not without reason, in 1799 Napoleon Bonaparte's chief of staff still dubbed Palestine “the key to the East.”

Just before the mid–second century BC, Egypt and Syria were at loggerheads over Israel, and the ruling elite of Judea exploited the hostile political circumstances to try to bring about internal regime change. At the same time as the Syrian overlord Antiochus IV was quarreling with Ptolemy VI of Egypt over control of greater Syria, in Jerusalem the High Priest Onias III cast the sons of Tobias, political enemies, from the city gates. Aware of the territorial squabble between Egypt and Syria, the sons of Tobias fled to Antiochus and petitioned the king to appoint them his client rulers, a policy that suited his intention of Hellenizing all of Syria.

Antiochus was spoiling for a fight and eagerly exploited this op
portunity to attack Jerusalem with a mighty force, which triggered a blood bath against Ptolemy's supporters in 169 BC. Writing some two hundred years after the event, Josephus confirmed that the king “also spoiled the temple, and put a stop to the constant practice of offering a daily sacrifice of expiation for three years and six months” (
JW
1.34).

The sons of Tobias proved to be naive political pawns and had no clue that they were being exploited as dispensable puppets in a more brutal realpolitik. In any event, the schemers' dreams backfired. Rather than support his Jewish “allies,” in December 167 BC Antiochus forced the Jews to dissolve their laws, defiled the Temple by ordering sacrifices to pigs, and forbade circumcision. The seditious sons of Tobias thus paid dearly for presuming the wider war for world domination cared a fig about religious sensitivities.

In
Antiquities of the Jews,
Josephus explained Antiochus's megalomania as inspired by pure greed, and described the looting in detail. The king backstabbed the sons of Tobias,

Not for the first time in history the Jews proved convenient scapegoats, on this occasion taking the backlash for Antiochus's impotence in failing to outmaneuver Ptolemy VI of Egypt. The Syrian king proceeded to burn the Lower City of Jerusalem, torch the sacred books of Jewish law, and strangle circumcised children. The bodies of murdered sons were hung around the necks of crucified fathers and 10,000 men were enslaved (
AJ
12.251–56). Here was Jerusalem's Kristallnacht,
2,100 years before the Nazis ethnically cleansed the streets of Germany's Jewish minority.

The bloody actions of Antiochus guaranteed that no Temple treasures survived in Jerusalem after the year 167 BC. The Bible reinforces the historical reality of this event with complementary written evidence that the gold candelabrum, Table of the Divine Presence, and all other treasures were seized and taken to Syria (1 Maccabees 1:21–24; 2 Maccabees 5:16).

Following three years of religious persecution, Jerusalem was recaptured by the Maccabean dynasty, a family of priestly descent from Modi'in in the outskirts of the Holy City. After Matthias defeated Antiochus and expelled the Syrian, his son, Judah Maccabee, returned Israel to Temple worship:

The Bible confirms the creation of “new Holy vessels” and dates the rededication to 25 Kislev 164 BC. Soon after, Judah rebuilt the Temple sanctuary and consecrated the courts (1 Maccabees 4:48–49). In memory of this famous victory, the Maccabees “decorated the front of the temple with golden crowns and small shields” (1 Maccabees 4:57). Yet in an ironic twist of fate, Josephus hints that Judah's success was supported by an alliance with a new political power whose voice was starting to rumble across the Mediterranean Sea: the Romans. At the very moment when Israel was refounded and the Temple rededicated, the seeds of its eventual demise were sown.

 

T
he ferocity of Antiochus IV Epiphanes ensured that any Temple spoils plundered by Titus from the Temple in AD 70 must postdate 164 BC. Between these two chronological stepping stones, the Temple of Jerusalem experienced a golden age. As the central religious institu
tion of Judaism, it received a level of patronage unparalleled in preceding centuries. We will never know exactly what Titus and his generals found sparkling within the treasure chests of the Temple Mount. No inventory survives and I doubt that anyone outside the inner circle of High Priests really knew exactly what wealth the Temple had amassed.

Over the centuries, kings, generals, and the ordinary farmer alike offered donations varying from the magnificent to the humble. And as history ebbed and flowed, passing despots and greedy rulers seized parts of the national wealth of the Jews. From time to time ancient writers illuminated this complex tapestry, giving a flavor of the river of gold lying within the sanctuary in the first century AD.

The central vessels of worship were certainly safe and sound in 63 BC, when Pompey the Great and his entourage invaded Jerusalem on the pretense of resolving the civil war between two brothers of the ruling Jewish Hasmonean dynasty, Hyrcanus and Aristobulus. There, they “went into the temple itself, whither it was not lawful for any to enter but the high priest, and saw what was reposited therein, the candlestick with its lamps, and the table, and the pouring vessels, and the censers, all made entirely of gold, as also a great quantity of spices heaped together, with 2,000 talents of sacred money” (
JW
1.152).

Back in Rome, Pompey undoubtedly boasted about how he had demonstrated Rome's greatness over the god of the Jews by violating the Holy of Holies. So when Crassus was later appointed governor of Judea, he took the opportunity in 51 BC to remove the Temple gold and 2,000 talents untouched by Pompey to cover the costs of a military expedition against the Parthians.

Only in its final century of its existence did the Temple of Jerusalem become one of the greatest wonders of antiquity. Eager to cement a reputation as one of the supreme leaders of the Mediterranean world, during his rule from 37 to 34 BC, King Herod was obsessed with ambitious building projects. With his network of royal palaces at Caesarea, Herodium, Jericho, and Machaerus, the king established a reputation as a man of immense wealth and style. By building the world's first deepwater artificial port, and naming it Sebastos, the
Greek for Augustus, the king proved the depth of his allegiance to his Roman masters. Herod was the perfect client king for safeguarding the economic and political interests of the empire. And to appease the local population, around 20 BC he initiated the most ambitious building plan in the entire Near East—the redesign and rebuilding of the great Temple of Jerusalem.

The Temple would be Herod's crowning glory, a perpetual memorial of his omnipotence. Even though it is this Temple, generally referred to as the Second Temple (although more accurately a third sanctuary after those of Solomon and Zerubbabel), that went on to inspire generations of world religions, politicians, artists, and poets, not one contemporary artistic representation of the site survives. From the air, at least, the scale of the Temple Mount on which the sanctuary stood can still be marveled at. Measuring 1,590 by 1,030 feet, the area of five football fields, it was twice the size of the emperor Trajan's Forum in Rome. Today, however, the ground plan of Herod's Temple has been utterly annihilated.

Fortunately, various ancient writers recorded the basic form of the sanctuary in detail, to which archaeology has added a few physical features. Herod essentially started from scratch, removing the foundations of the former Temple and superimposing a new edifice measuring 165 feet long and 200 feet high. Single blocks of masonry weighed up to five tons, and an exceptional stone built into the western wall of the Temple Mount measures a staggering 40 feet in length and weighs about 300 tons.

Just as no expense was spared on the architecture of the Temple, its lavish decoration pushed the boundaries of extravagance and taste. While most of the building complex was built of white limestone and marble, an ever-exuberant display of precious metal increased the closer you got to the central Holy of Holies. The nine gates of the Lower Court, for example—donated by Alexander, the father of Tiberius Julius Alexander (governor of Judea from AD 46 to 48, and later a Roman commander in the First Jewish Revolt, although himself a Jew)—were covered with gold and silver sheet, as were their doorjambs and lintels.
Josephus explicitly states that the outer face of the Temple “wanted nothing that was likely to surprise either men's minds or their eyes,” being covered all over with heavy gold plate. At sunrise, the Temple reflected the fiery splendor of the sun, blinding onlookers. From a distance the golden facade was said to resemble a snowcapped mountain. To cap this spectacle, King Herod bolted an enormous golden eagle above the entrance gate.

According to the Mishnah (the earliest postbiblical codification of Jewish oral law, written c. AD 200), the entire Holy of Holies, the most sacred part of the Temple, was overlain with gold except for the rear side of the doors, and its inner door was crafted of Corinthian bronze. Above the twelve steps leading up to its entrance hung the famous golden vine sculpture with clusters of grapes as tall as men. Over the decades individuals donated additional golden leaves, berries, or even clusters. Eventually it became so heavy that it took three hundred priests to lift it for cleaning. Another artistic masterpiece displayed was a silver and gold copy of a crown worn by the High Priest Joshua son of Jehozadak after the return from Babylonian exile. The original crown, presumably looted by Antiochus in 164 BC, symbolized his divine appointment as architect of a new Temple and role as God's mouthpiece on earth (Zechariah 6:11–13).

The wealth of the Temple that fell into Rome's hands in AD 70, as summarized by Josephus, included an extraordinary array of precious materials and objects. Alongside entire golden walls and doors were High Priests' clothing, including golden bells signifying thunder and pomegranates worn on garment fringes symbolizing lightning. The High Priests' breast girdles were embroidered with five rows of gold, purple, scarlet, and blue thread, onto which were sewn gold buttons enclosing large gems (sardius, topaz, emerald, carbuncle, jasper, sapphire, agate, amethyst, ligure, onyx, beryl, chrysolite), each engraved with a name of one of the twelve tribes of Israel. The High Priest also sported a golden crown engraved with the name of God, which was worn once a year when he entered the most sacred part of the Temple. The Mishnah also refers to chambers beneath the Court of the Israelites at the
entrance to the inner Temple complex, where the Levite servants stored harps, lyres, cymbals, and other musical instruments.

The daily administration of the Temple was a labyrinthine business, whose inner workings largely remain a mystery. This was not simply a house of worship but, in many ways, a world of its own with unique quirks of operation, not dissimilar to Vatican City today. Independent offices existed for rinsing the hides and innards of holy materials and for their salting. A small army of priestly bureaucrats ran this holy “city.” Petahiah (renowned for his knowledge of seventy languages, presumably allowing him to converse with Jewish pilgrims from the four corners of the world) supervised bird offerings, and the House of Garmu looked after the baking of the showbread.

Temple economics was an imprecise science rotating around two streams of revenue. Every Jew in Israel and the Diaspora annually contributed half a shekel taxation. Donations comprised a second major source of income. The daily contributions were processed in underground chambers plummeting to depths of sixty-five feet. The Mishnah refers to “shofar” chests kept in the sanctuary and inscribed in Aramaic “new shekels” (for current year Temple tax) and “old shekels” (for people who belatedly paid for the previous year). Other chests were incised for the relevant donations: “bird offerings,” “frankincense,” “gold for the Mercy seat,” and “for freewill offerings.” This cash was collected three times a year, half a month before the festivals of Passover, Pentecost, and Sukkoth.

Beyond the annual Temple tax, it is impossible to estimate the value of further arbitrary offerings. People harboring secrets and private fears, for instance, offered secret gifts, whose proceeds went to the poor. Equally enigmatic in AD 70 would have been the contents of the Chamber of Utensils, donations assessed every thirty days and either used in Temple upkeep or sold with revenue going to the sanctuary. None of this patronage was constant. Other than noting the general prosperity of the period, which would have made the Temple a national bank of Israel, it would be grossly misleading to attempt any calculation of that wealth.