Barabbas

By Michael Byman

Roman Judea seethed with discontent. Devout Jews prayed for the long-awaited Messiah. Zealots plotted violence, convinced that their savior would take the throne through a bloody revolution. In a dark dungeon, Barabbas awaited a slow and painful death on a Roman cross.
Told against the historic backdrop of first century Judea, "Barabbas" gives a plausible journey of tragedy, revenge, desperation, and surprising redemption. The mob demanded that Pontius Pilate release the criminal Barabbas and condemn the innocent Jesus of Nazareth. Very little is known about the man whose place on the cross was taken by Jesus. This is his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Byman
• Release date: Dec 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005093303

Michael Byman

Michael Byman lives in Virginia with his wife and children.He has leveraged his lifelong interest in history into "Barabbas", a novel about the life of Barabbas. The mob demanded that Pontius Pilate release the criminal Barabbas and condemn the innocent Jesus of Nazareth. Who was Barabbas and why was he in a Roman prison on the first Good Friday? "Barabbas" is true to the historic record, where a record exists, and presents a plausible fictional backstory when no details are known.Byman’s literary inspiration for "Barabbas" includes Lew Wallace and Lloyd C. Douglas.

Book preview

Chapter 1 - The Long Walk

But the Philistines took him, and put out his eyes, and brought him down to Gaza, and bound him with fetters of brass; and he did grind in the prison house. Judges 16:21

Barabbas blinked. Sweat ran down his dirty face. The muddy, salty mix trickled into his eyes and stung. He blinked again and squinted into the deepening twilight. He hunched up his right shoulder, dropped his head, and tried unsuccessfully to redirect the rivulet of dirty saltwater. This made the pain from his shoulders worse, and he winced. His arms were twisted upwards, and his wrists were tied tightly to a cross beam on his shoulders.

Joseph shuffled behind. He was being helped along by a stranger. Some unfortunate man had been dragooned off the street to help him reach the fortress. His left leg dragged at a crooked angle.

Joseph moaned and then muttered, How much further?

Barabbas clenched his teeth. He wasn’t supposed to be a prisoner. Why had God let this happen? Roman soldiers should be dead, not other Jews. He hadn’t killed any Romans, but in his attack he had killed a Jewish woman and her child. His companions were either lying dead in their own blood or running away like cowards. Barabbas and Joseph were walking to prison and to a slow and painful death on a Roman cross.

Chapter 2 - Barley Harvest

Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider its ways and be wise! Proverbs 6:6

The grasshopper's antenna twitched. Its last jump had covered more than three hand spans. The insect quivered on the dry dust. Heat waves shimmered up from the fields. Barabbas willed the grasshopper to leap four spans this time.

Son of Abbas! Hurry up, shouted an angry voice from a distance.

Barabbas started and leaped to his feet. He lifted the pot and walked towards the voice as fast as he could without sloshing the water out of the rough clay vessel.

He crested a dry brown hill and saw his uncle and mother below. His uncle swung a scythe in long strokes, and the barley fell to the ground. His mother, following a few paces behind, gathered the short stalks of grain in her arms, bundled them, and with a deft motion looped a flexible stalk around each bundle.

His uncle Simon rested on the scythe. It took you long enough! he scolded.

Barabbas hurried to his side and put down the clay pot. His uncle took the wooden dipper from Barabbas, scooped out warm water, and drank thirstily. When his thirst was quenched, Barabbas’ mother finished the water.

Barabbas felt a scowl coming on, but he repressed it. He didn’t want a lecture. It was hot, his Uncle Simon's fields were far from the village, and he had to carry water farther than the other boys. Everything was hard for the poor.

This year’s harvest wouldn't make them much richer. Barabbas’ grasshopper was only one of a host that had ravaged their fields this season. They would have no surplus barley to sell in the market. They'd be lucky if they still had bread until the next harvest. Some years it was the grasshoppers. Some years it was the drought. Some years it was the blight. They never seemed to have a totally successful harvest. At least there’d be enough bread for a few weeks after the barley was gathered in; harvest was the best time of the year for eating.

Get more water, ordered his uncle. At your pace, we'll faint from thirst before you’re back.

Barabbas hoisted the pot back on his shoulder and started walking. He knew better than to complain. He remembered that his mother kept telling him how lucky he and she were.

Barabbas didn't feel very lucky. He was always conscious of the stigma of a dead father. He couldn’t remember him very well; his father Abbas had died from a fever six years ago when Barabbas was only five.

The year of his father’s death had been a hard year for the whole family. His uncle's wife Leah died a month after his father. Leah died in childbirth with a stillborn first and only son. Barabbas’ uncle had spent years working to save enough money to get married. After Leah died, he didn’t have the motivation to find another woman. So Barabbas’ mother moved in and started keeping house for her brother.

Someday Barabbas might inherit the family property. At least he might if there was any property left to inherit. The tax collectors were always angling for more. His uncle said that they were worse than the grasshoppers and the locusts. And they were Jewish locusts too. More than once he'd heard his uncle and the other men at the city gates grumbling about these traitors who cooperated with the Romans. Most of the villagers thought that if other Jews hadn't helped them, the Romans couldn't hold this land.

Barabbas smiled grimly at the thought of a fight he’d seen a few weeks ago when the other boys in the village had beaten Jacob, the son of Eli the tax collector. Barabbas’ family may be poor, but who would want to be hated and despised by everyone in the village? Jacob, and even Eli, had better watch themselves when they were alone on a road.

Musing on these matters, Barabbas’ feet carried him back to the village. His soles were calloused and tough; he hadn't worn sandals since winter. As he looked ahead at the village square, he saw the wooden arm that balanced above the bucket in the well moving up and down. Barabbas peered to see who was drawing water.

A teenage youth, slightly better dressed than Barabbas, stood at the well. Bartholomew's small flock of sheep were drinking from a trough. If Barabbas took too long, his Uncle Simon would be angry and curse his laziness, but Barabbas could see that with a flock of thirsty sheep ahead of him, he would have to sit and wait his turn.

As Barabbas approached, Bartholomew seemed to move more methodically. The rhythmic rise and fall of the balance beam slowed. Barabbas guessed why. The shepherd Bartholomew surmised that Barabbas would be in a hurry to get back to the distant field. His slowness was designed to frustrate Barabbas. Barabbas wasn't going to cooperate and draw Bartholomew’s water. He'd rather take a tongue lashing from his uncle than do Bartholomew's work for him.

Eventually Bartholomew realized that Barabbas was not going to volunteer to draw water for his sheep. He grinned and sped up his work.

How's the harvest coming, Barabbas? he asked.

Well, we're not going to starve next winter, but there isn't a whole lot.

Do you think there'll be enough profit for a good bar mitzvah party? asked Bartholomew.

Barabbas wasn't sure, but he put on a good front. My uncle and my mother will make sure that the oldest son in the family is appropriately honored, he boasted.

Bartholomew glanced at him. Well, you know that you aren’t the oldest son, he said.

Barabbas looked back in surprise. What do you mean?

Didn't your mother ever tell you? said Bartholomew. You had an older brother named Saul. My mother was talking about him just the other day; he was born the same year as me.

Barabbas was puzzled - a brother? And about five years older than himself?

What happened to this boy named Saul, he asked.

Killed, said Bartholomew. Along with most of the other boys in the village my age. Soldiers came and seized all the boys under two years old and killed them right in front of their parents.

Barabbas started in surprise. Why? he asked.

The soldiers said, ‘Orders from Herod’. Mother said that some of the soldiers seemed pretty ashamed of themselves, said Bartholomew.

Pretty ashamed of themselves, exclaimed Barabbas, Killing a bunch of babies! I should think so! Those Romans are bloody barbarians!

It wasn’t just the Romans. Herod was the king of the Jews, said Bartholomew.

He might've been Jewish in name, sneered Barabbas. Uncle Simon says he was nothing but a dirty Idumean and a Roman puppet to boot. That goes for the whole of Herod's family.

Bartholomew looked nervously at a girl who was walking on the other side of the village square. Keep quiet, he hissed.

Bartholomew didn't want to be associated with seditious talk. He finished watering his flock, stepped away from the well and sat down.

What kind of Bethlehemite are you? asked Barabbas. The people of this village are descended from the house of Jesse. King David is our cousin! If our ancestor could face Goliath, can't we face the Romans?

David lived a long time ago, and the land of the Philistines was a lot less important or powerful than Rome, said Bartholomew.

Barabbas spat. So is this story you’re telling true? Why did Herod order my brother and all the babies to die? And why weren't you killed along with my brother?

Bartholomew said, Your second question is simple to answer. My parents took me to Hebron to be blessed by my Uncle Joab before he died. I guess God was merciful to me. Anyways it was one of the only times in my life that I was out of town, and it was good for me that I was. My father got word of what was happening, and we stayed in Hebron for a month till things settled down. He added, I guess I didn't look much like a prince, so no one ever followed up.

You, a prince! said Barabbas. Now you’re talking in riddles.

No; the prince is the answer to your first question, said Bartholomew. The soldiers were killing babies to get rid of a pretender to the throne. They were after another king of the Jews.

Barabbas looked perplexed. A king? From around here?

Well, as you said, David came from around here. However, Bartholomew went on, there were some strange happenings that year.

He paused for a moment, and then asked, Do you remember the old shepherd Zebadiah?

Yes, answered Barabbas, He was pretty tight lipped.

Well, if you ever asked him about one particular night in the field, he had enough to say.

What do you mean? said Barabbas.

He saw angels.

Barabbas wrinkled his face. What do mean? he repeated.

Angels appeared in the sky with a blinding white light. They told Zebadiah and the other shepherds that a baby was born who was the Messiah, said Bartholomew.

Barabbas knew that he needed to get back to his mother and uncle. Bartholomew, I'd like to hear more, but I have to get the water back to the fields. He filled his water pot.

Bartholomew grinned. From what I've seen of your Uncle Simon, I'd say that is a pretty good idea. Come out and visit me in the pasture next week, after the harvest is over. I'll tell you what Zebadiah told me.

Barabbas nodded and picked up the pot.

I want to hear more, he repeated.

He turned and set out back to his uncle’s barley field.

Chapter 3 - A Shepherd’s Story

..he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. Genesis 28:12b

Barabbas looked to the right and left, as he trotted up the rocky hillside. Bartholomew's flock should be near. The sheep of the Judean hills were tough creatures. Flocks survived on dry grass stems that spouted from the parched ground like thin hair on a balding man.

He had spent the past few days puzzling over Bartholomew’s strange tale. The night after his conversation at the well, he’d watched his mother while she kneaded dough. He had thought about asking her whether he’d really had an older brother, but the question seemed too awkward. Suppose Bartholomew had been confused or was trying to pass off a bad joke? Any story tied to angels seemed too fantastic.

So Barabbas bided his time until the afternoon of the Sabbath when he was free from the press of chores and could go out to the pastures for a few hours. Technically he shouldn't travel more than a Sabbath day’s journey, but if he stayed off the roads and away from the mile markers, how would he or anyone else know how long the walk had been? His friend Bartholomew didn't worry much about the Sabbath rules. The sheep needed to eat no matter what day of the week it was.

As Barabbas came over a rise, he saw thirty or forty sheep scattered across the scruffy pasture, grazing on the dry grass. A lightning blasted tree trunk stood a dozen paces below the ridge. It seemed to have grown in a hollow that caught what little rain fell on this hill. Bartholomew sat with his back against the tree trunk, taking advantage of a solitary line of shade.

Ho! shouted Barabbas through cupped hands.

Bartholomew waved and stood up. Barabbas trotted to the tree and greeted the older youth. Before he sat again, Bartholomew squinted and pointed at each sheep in turn and systematically counted the flock. After reassuring himself that none had wandered out of the area, he smiled and sat, taking care to keep himself in the tree trunk's shade. Barabbas followed his lead and sat a few feet in front of Bartholomew in the same line of shade.

Well, he said, you promised to tell me the rest of the story about my brother and the shepherds' vision.

Don't be in such a hurry, said Bartholomew. Let's have lunch first. You did bring lunch, didn't you?

Barabbas smiled. I was expecting that, he answered.

He reached into his bag and pulled out two medium sized barley loaves and a leather water bottle.

Bartholomew reached for one of the loaves, took a big bite, and chewed with relish. Barabbas looked at him bemusedly. Why don't you bring your own lunch out to the pasture? he asked.

With a full mouth Bartholomew answered, My father says that I might fall asleep if my stomach is full. He's convinced that's why we lost the young ewe last year.

Is he right? Where did the sheep go? asked Barabbas.

I don't know! I was asleep, said Bartholomew with a grin.

My uncle would give me a beating if I lost something as valuable as a sheep, said Barabbas.

What do you think my father did? inquired Bartholomew. But now that I've eaten your lunch, I'll repay you with my tale.

Barabbas settled down. His mother and uncle were both taciturn, and he enjoyed talking with the garrulous Bartholomew. It was ironic that a fellow like Bartholomew found his employment in this solitary occupation.

Old Zebadiah the shepherd used to watch our flock until I was big enough to take over the job, began Bartholomew. And when I turned eight, they started sending me out with old Zeb to learn the work. We spent a lot of a time together on these hills for about three years. Zebadiah didn't talk much, but in three years you hear a few stories. He kept going back to the biggest story of his life. It happened during the last years of old King Herod.

The one they call The Great, sneered Barabbas.

Well, he did construct a lot of buildings and monuments including the new temple, said Bartholomew. But anyway, Zebadiah was with some other shepherds in one of the fields outside Bethlehem. They must have been pretty far out of town because they didn’t come back before dark, so they stayed awake in shifts to protect the sheep from wolves or lions.

Barabbas stirred a little uncomfortably. Do wolves and lions ever attack during the day? he asked.

Bartholomew smiled, Not often, he said. You don't see many lions at all anymore, but after dark the wolves start to come out. That's why I always try to get back to a sheepfold before dusk. If we're at one outside of town, I'll sleep in front of the opening. I'm the door that any wolf or robber would have to get by to get my flock.

But Zebadiah and his pals didn't have a sheepfold, so they stayed up keeping watch over the sheep, continued Bartholomew. Then in the middle of the night they saw a bright light. Zebadiah said it was the most glorious thing he'd ever beheld. He and all the other shepherds stood to see, but then they all fell on their faces when they saw who was there.

Who was it? asked Barabbas.

An angel, continued Bartholomew. A messenger of God himself. The angel told them not to be afraid. He said that he had good news; that a Savior, a Messiah, was born in the City of David.

Barabbas was excited but skeptical at the same time. I haven't seen anyone around town who looks like a Savior or a Messiah, he began. Anyways, why would an angel waste his time with old Zebadiah?

Bartholomew cut him off. Let me finish the story, he said. The angel went on to say that the shepherds would find the baby wrapped up and lying in a manger.

Barabbas snorted, A manger! Wouldn't a Messiah be born on a fine bed in a palace?

Bartholomew said, I would have thought so too. Maybe that's why the angel used the name the City of David, instead of Bethlehem, to remind Zebadiah and the others of another King of Israel who wasn't born in a palace.

So was there a baby? asked Barabbas.

Yes, but before they saw the baby, the shepherds saw even more angels - a whole angel army! They were giving glory to God and saying that this baby was going to bring peace and goodwill, said Bartholomew. Then the angels left them. Zebadiah said that all the shepherds stared at each other for a few minutes, and then they left their sheep and hurried back to town.

Bartholomew paused for a few moments. Barabbas remained silent, and Bartholomew continued.

This baby belonged to a man and a woman who were lodged in a stable, he said. A big crowd was in town because of a Roman census, so the inn was full, and they had to stay in a stable to keep out of the weather until something better opened up. This couple was from up north. Galilee I think. But the man had some family connection to Bethlehem, so he had come to town for the census. While he was here the woman had the baby.

So what happened then? asked Barabbas. And how did this affect my brother?

Don't try to get to the end of the story when I'm still in the middle, said Bartholomew. Zebadiah and the other shepherds found the baby just like the angels said. He couldn't explain why this baby was special, but he said that there was a strange and reverent spirit in the stable. Then they discovered something that as a shepherd myself, I think was most remarkable.

What’s that? asked Barabbas.

Bartholomew grinned. When they got back to the flock, they found that nothing had happened to the sheep! The sheep were all still there after they hiked up to the field where they had left them. It was after dawn by the time they got back to the sheep, and Zebadiah was sure they'd have been stolen by wolves or thieves, or at least scattered after the shock of seeing the light in the night and hearing the angel voices, but they were all there, grazing contentedly.

Bartholomew sat back with a self-satisfied air and waited for Barabbas’ reaction.

Well that is a remarkable story, agreed Barabbas, but how did a bunch of shepherds make King Herod decide to kill my brother and the other babies? Did Herod hear the shepherds’ tale somehow?

No, said Bartholomew, that's a different story. Old Zebadiah says that about two or three weeks after the baby was born, some foreign travelers came to town. They came from the Parthian Empire.

Isn’t that where the Persian Empire used to be? I saw some Persians once, said Barabbas.

Well in the old days before our time you'd have seen a lot more. They took over Judea after they defeated the Babylonians. They let our people return after the exile to Babylon. Some of their kings had associated with the prophet Daniel and were familiar with the writings of Isaiah and Jeremiah. They ruled this land on and off for much of the past four centuries. Maybe these travelers had heard about those prophesies too. Anyways they were looking for a king, continued Bartholomew.

Did Zebadiah talk to the Persians? asked Barabbas.

No, said Bartholomew. But Zeb heard about them from folks in town. The family with the new baby had moved into a house, and they weren’t living in a stable anymore. The Persians must have been astrologers, because they had seen a star which led them to Judea. Then they stopped in Jerusalem and asked where the King of the Jews would be born. That's what caused the stir.

What do you mean? asked Barabbas.

Well how do you think King Herod felt about the idea that some new king was going to take over? inquired Bartholomew. When Herod heard about these visitors, he asked his scribes where a new King of the Jews would come from. They said Bethlehem, obviously, said Bartholomew, showing his local pride, and Herod sent the Persians on to Bethlehem with a pious suggestion that they bring back word about this new king, so he could worship him too.

What do you think he was up to? asked Barabbas.

In hindsight it's pretty obvious, said Bartholomew. You have to remember that Herod was basically a Roman client king. He started his reign by fighting with the Romans against a Parthian-backed king of Judea. The Romans rewarded him with the kingdom, but he was always skittish about another threat from the east. Then these Persian sages from the Parthian Empire showed up. He suspected that they might have some plan to trick him. So he tried to trick them back, to figure out what was going on.

Was there some Parthian connection? asked Barabbas.

I don’t think they were in cahoots with the Parthian imperial court, but who knows? said Bartholomew. Anyways, when these sages visited the new baby and his family, they gave him gifts of gold, incense, and myrrh.

Gold is a kingly gift, said Barabbas.

Yes, said Bartholomew, and then these visitors told our local people that they had had a dream, and that they had been told in their dream to ignore King Herod and to head back home and detour around Jerusalem. They never passed through Jerusalem, and Herod eventually figured out that his plan hadn’t worked. He decided that the Persian sages had mocked him.

Is that when the massacre happened? interrupted Barabbas.

Yes. The soldiers arrived. My father said that he heard that they were an especially cruel lot. I guess you'd have to be cruel if you had their mission. It was fortunate for me that my family had taken me to Hebron to be blessed by my uncle Joab. He was sick and not expected to live long. Your older brother Saul wasn't as lucky as me. That’s because the soldiers had orders to kill all the boys under two years of age to be sure that they got the right baby. Mother says that there were about 20 boys in this region killed, concluded Bartholomew.

Was this baby that the shepherds called a Messiah slaughtered too? asked Barabbas.

I don't think so, said Bartholomew. His parents left town with the baby in a hurry just before the soldiers came. No one knows where they went.

Barabbas gazed out at the sheep for a long while and thought quietly. Bartholomew had talked himself out and just watched Barabbas’ expression.

At last Barabbas said, You know that none of this makes sense. If a Messiah did come, why did angels announce him to a band of shepherds and to some gentiles from Persia and not to the rulers in Jerusalem? And why did God let the coming of his Messiah be accompanied by the slaughter of a bunch of innocent children? And why did the baby Messiah just disappear?

Bartholomew said, Those are all good questions. I don't know. But if you listened to Zebadiah tell about that night when he saw the angels, or if you talked to some of the older folk who met the Persian sages or who saw the baby themselves, you’d understand that something very remarkable had happened.

They mused together for a few more minutes. Well, said Barabbas, if that was a Messiah, he seems to have been a pretty strange one. I need to get back home.

He stood and shouldered his bag. Goodbye, he said, and he started to scramble back along the track that led to Bethlehem.

Chapter 4 - Passover

The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are, and when I see the blood, I will pass over you. No destructive plague will touch you when I strike Egypt. Exodus 12:13

Barabbas looked at the men, women, and children thronging around him. The whole village was on the road to Jerusalem for the Passover feast. Scruffy boys ran alongside prosperous farmers on donkeys. His poorer neighbors were on foot. Older youths walked in a semi-circle, slowly driving a small flock of lambs ahead of them. One of the lambs let out a loud bleat, and Barabbas wondered if it realized what the future held.

The road ahead of them bent and followed the hills’ contours. As they came around a final curve, the pilgrims saw the walls of Jerusalem ahead, standing high out of the hill country of Judea. They raised their hands in praise.

Barabbas’ mother burst into song, I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence comes my help. My help comes from the LORD, which made heaven and earth.

Barabbas and his family and traveling companions sang the joyful Psalm of ascent. It was one of the songs from the Psalter that pilgrims sang, as they climbed up the road to Jerusalem before the great festivals.

When they finished, Uncle Simon smiled. That is a good song, he agreed, but I like this one even better. His strong voice boomed, The LORD is righteous; he has cut asunder the cords of the wicked. Let them all be confounded and turned back that hate Zion.

Barabbas joined in with the singing. After they finished, his Uncle Simon continued with some venom.

The Romans will never get the final victory! Our Messiah will come and free us from the wicked who hate Jerusalem. The Romans will be like the Babylonians who were tried and found wanting. And our lousy countrymen who collaborate and eat Emperor Tiberius’ crumbs will see judgment too!

Now Simon, said Barabbas’ mother, can’t we be free from political talk at Passover?

Free from political talk at Passover? said Shamgar, the village carpenter. Passover is all about politics! It was instituted by Moses. He negotiated with the Pharaoh. He won too! With a little help from God’s plagues, of course. Passover teaches us that a strong people can defeat oppressors!

Yes, said Simon, the lad needs to know who our enemies are. He looked at Barabbas, And if he understands that God is going to destroy our enemies, it will help him to stand up to trouble and be ready to fight! Passover is about the defeat of Israel’s foes!

A gentle but strong voice broke in, Simon, I think you’re missing a most important part of Passover, said Rabbi Joshua. Passover reminds us that God will save us. But it isn’t primarily from our human enemies. God saves us from his wrath and from the punishment that we deserve. If Moses and the children of Israel hadn’t put the blood of the sacrificial lamb on the doorpost, God would have killed their first born sons too. All men deserve the wrath of God. He is righteous; we are wicked.

Barabbas glanced at his mother when Rabbi Joshua mentioned the death of the first born son. He saw her face turn white and her lips tighten. She had confirmed to him that his older brother, Saul, had been killed by King Herod’s soldiers before Barabbas had been born. But she was unwilling to tell him any of the details.

Shamgar returned to the theme of Passover. Rabbi, he said, I understand that we stand before God individually, but don’t we stand as a nation too? Isn’t Passover a day of national salvation?

Rabbi Joshua reflected, There are elements of both, he said, but remember, a nation is made up of individuals. We can’t ride on our national identity alone. As the prophet Daniel said, ‘those who sleep in the dust of the earth will awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt.’ We’re going to be judged by God, and that judgment will determine our eternal destiny.

Barabbas’ Bar Mitzvah had been several months earlier, but whenever Rabbi Joshua spoke, Barabbas realized how little he really understood. He resolved to ask more questions about these different meanings of Passover when he could talk with the rabbi privately.

The village caravan progressed on. They sang. They talked. The villagers argued. But most of all they basked in their identity as God’s chosen people. Barabbas thought to himself that other nations may be richer or more powerful or rule more land, but only the people of Israel enjoy the privilege of knowing God and the responsibility of following God’s holy law.

By the time they reached the city gates, the many streams of village people had merged into a river of humanity. Some of the wealthier families continued into the city to find an inn. Those with relations in town planned to stay with cousins. Most of the ordinary country people turned aside outside the gate and searched for an empty field where they could set up camp.

The local farmers knew that there would be a mass of visitors for Passover, and many kept a few fields fallow until late spring to provide camping locations. Some charged simple rent for the privilege of staying in their field for the week. More crafty landowners offered a free campsite. These had learned that out of town pilgrims always needed to buy food, fuel, water, and other necessities. So the landowners either set up little stalls themselves, or let peddlers work the crowd on their land. In either case, Passover was a profitable business. It was even worse in the city.