The true and horrible story of Herod, King of the Jews
Not long ago, I decided that the time had come for me to find out something about King Herod, whose name was familiar to me, but about whom I knew next to nothing. My investigations were sparked by a little cousin, then aged about four, who tried unsuccessfully to get her tongue round my name but gave up and settled instead for ‘Herod’. This made me anxious to discover whether or not the said Herod was a worthy namesake.
En passant, I remember teachers at my primary school asking us for our Christian names, regardless of religious affiliation. This never troubled me, because I had to other first names up my sleeve, both unquestionably Jewish. One was my Yiddish name, Hirsche, seldom used except by doting elderly relatives, the other, its Hebrew equivalent, Zwi, mainly reserved for solemn occasions like my Barmitzvah.
Actually, I was quite fond of my so-called Christian name. It gave me an affinity with Harold the Last of the Saxon Kings, who was allegedly shot in the eye with an arrow at the Battle of Hastings in 1066, a scene which I frequently drew, making sure that my hero’s face was liberally daubed with red ink.
But I digress. Back to the Herod of biblical times. Thanks to my exposure to a couple of Nativity plays, I gathered that he had lived around the time of Christ and that he was a bad sort, a schlechte, as my mother would have said, whose intention was to murder all newborn boys because he had been told that one of them would supplant him as king.
Imagine my dismay, therefore, when I learnt that there was not just one Herod to investigate, but four, known respectively as Herod I, Herod Agrippa I, Herod Agrippa II and Herod Archelaus, in other words, a whole dynasty of Herods. I breathed a sigh of relief, however, when I realised that it was only one of these Herods, known as Herod the Great, who occupied a prominent position in the annals of Jewish history.
We are talking about a time when the expanding Roman Empire was taking a keen interest in Judea and its surrounding territories. Jews of the region were constantly fighting among themselves (nothing new there). This time, it was over who was to be boss, the wealthy princelings (Pharisees) or the common people (Sadducees), so Rome decided that something must be done to knock their heads together before things got completely out of hand.
Enter Pompey, whose solution was to storm Jerusalem and slaughter Jews, mainly Pharisees, who posed more of a threat to Roman power, but also Sadducees, who insisted on worshipping in their own way and wanted to break with Rome. Some were murdered on the spot, others were dragged off to Rome as captives and then murdered.
When Pompey died in 48 BC, the most powerful person in Palestine was a certain Antipater, one of whose sons was our Herod, whom he made prefect of Galilee. Herod was a canny fellow, who knew on which side his bread was buttered, so when a revolt of Jews who wanted to sever ties with Rome broke out, Herod captured the leaders of the revolt and had them executed.
It didn’t bother him that his father was half-Jewish. The important thing for him was to remain in Rome’s good books, which he did, avoiding trial by the Jewish Sanhedrin and wangling his way, with Rome’s help, to an even more powerful position as ruler of Palestine. The Romans liked him, and he acquired powerful friends, including Mark Anthony and Octavius, who named him King of the Jews and backed him up with a couple of Roman legions.
So why was he called ‘Herod the Great’? you may ask. Why not ‘Herod the Smart’ or ‘Herod the Survivor ‘? To answer this question, I had to endure a long list of his architectural achievements. For example, he rebuilt old towns and constructed a magnificent temple, prompting one schlemiel to give us the phrase, “Those who have not seen the Temple of Herod cannot know what beauty is.” Nebbech!
It is perhaps worth mentioning that Herod slapped a huge golden eagle on top of his temple to curry favour with his Roman overlords and that he had himself consecrated in the name of Jupiter for the same reason. Although he gave money, grain and clothes to the people in a time of drought, he was heard to remark that he cared more for his foreign friends than for his Jewish subjects. It became clear to me that we were dealing with a self-hating Jew and dyed-in-the-wool antisemite long before these terms entered current usage.
But more shocks awaited me when I read about his personal life. Having married a woman of Jewish blood to strengthen his claim as King of the Jews and keep a lid on the people’s simmering resentment, he became deeply suspicious of her and murdered her, as well as his two sons and his wife’s younger brother, all of whom he saw as threats to his influence with Rome. We can now add morbid jealousy and paranoia to the charge list, which makes him worthier of the title Herod the Meshuggenah than Herod the Great. Incredibly, he lived to the age of seventy, although it is some consolation that he is said to have suffered a miserable and lonely existence in old age.
On a more upbeat note, I am pleased to report that my cousin no longer has any difficulty pronouncing my name. I would therefore like to formally announce that any similarity, nominal or otherwise, to the person I now think of Herod the Chazer, is purely coincidental.
