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Antiochus Built His Case in Gold and Ran From One Word

Antiochus builds his case against the Jews in a gold council chamber, sends Bagris to break Zion, and flees the coast wearing one word.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The King Names the Splinter
  2. The March on Zion
  3. The Woman Who Would Not Abandon the Covenant
  4. The Cave That Was Betrayed
  5. How the Coward Got His Name

The council chamber smelled of oil and cold stone, and Antiochus let the silence stretch before he spoke. His officers waited along the walls, gold at their collars, eyes fixed on the king who had risen on the coastland of the Great Sea like no ruler since Alexander. He had built a city on a river and stamped his own name on it, Antioch, and his viceroy Bagris had built another beside it and named it for himself. Two cities carrying two names, and still the king's face was dark.

"Surely you know," he began, "that there is a Jewish people in our midst in Jerusalem."

He said it the way a man names a splinter under the skin. They were here, in his territory, in the city he meant to own.

The King Names the Splinter

The charges came one after another, flat and certain. "They do not sacrifice to our gods, our laws they do not keep, and they neglect the laws of the king, to follow their own." Every word tightened the room. To Antiochus the Jews were not merely strange. They were a refusal walking around in his streets, rejecting his altars, his statutes, his face.

Then he reached the thing that frightened him, and his voice dropped into it. "And further, they look forward to a day of destruction of kings and rulers. They say, 'When will our king rule over us, and we shall govern land and sea, and all the world will be our dominion.'" He let that hang. A people who waited for a king who was not him. A people who spoke of ruling sea and land while they sacrificed in a temple he did not control.

"It is not to the glory of the kingdom," he said, "to suffer them on the face of the earth."

No one argued. It was the twenty-third year of his reign, the two hundred and thirteenth year after the rebuilding of the Temple, and the king had decided. The splinter would come out.

The March on Zion

He went up against Jerusalem with the weight of an empire behind him. The Temple that had stood since the return from exile became a prize, and the king took it the way he took everything, by force and by decree. Sacrifice to the God of Israel stopped. Idols stood where they had no right to stand. And when the king turned back toward his own cities, he left the work to the one man built for it.

He installed Bagris in Zion. The viceroy with a city named after himself now held the holy city in his fist, and his orders were plain. Strip the faith out of the people. Make them sacrifice, make them bow, make them break the Sabbath and the new moon and the covenant of the flesh. Whatever would not bend, burn it.

The Woman Who Would Not Abandon the Covenant

A woman stood before Bagris with her son in her arms while he pressed her to give it all up. Abandon the God of her fathers, abandon the rites, and live.

She did not lower her eyes. "You plan to destroy the covenant that has been made with us," she cried out to him, "the covenant of our forefathers. Sabbath and the new moon and circumcision we will not abandon, neither we nor our children's children."

Then she turned from the official entirely. She cast her son to the ground and leaped down after him, and the two of them died together rather than be handed over to the altar. Others did the same across the city, choosing death over the breaking of the covenant, sanctifying the Name with their own bodies. Bagris counted the dead and did not understand what he was counting.

The Cave That Was Betrayed

The ones who could not fight back chose to hide. "Come, let us withdraw into a cave," they said one to another, "lest here we be compelled to desecrate the Sabbath." They went down into the dark with their children to keep one day holy where no soldier could see them. It was the smallest possible defiance, a people refusing to light a fire and refusing to break a law, hidden underground.

Their plan was betrayed to Bagris. There was no hiding place his decrees could not reach, no cave dark enough. The hunter knew where they were.

How the Coward Got His Name

But the faithful did not stay underground forever. When the fighting came into the open, a man named El'azar threw himself at the war elephants, the towering beasts the king's army drove into battle, and brought one down on top of himself. After the battle the Israelites searched for him and found him sunk in the dung beneath the dead elephant, gone, swallowed by the very thing he had killed. They pulled their victory out of the muck.

And victory it was. They burned and struck and hung their enemies, and they took Bagris, the man who had led a people astray, and burned him. The viceroy with a city named after himself ended as ash in the city he had tried to empty of Jews.

Word reached the king. His general dead, his army broken, his decrees turned back on him. Antiochus did not gather another host. He went down to a boat and fled to a distant land, and everywhere he came ashore the people rose against him and threw the same word at his back. "The Coward." The conqueror who had stood in a gold-collared chamber and called a whole people unworthy of the face of the earth ran from coast to coast wearing a name he could not outrun.

HanukkahMegillat AntiochusMartyrdomPersecutionZionApocrypha
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From the tradition

Sources

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Megillat Antiochus 1:9Megillat Antiochus

It puts us right there in the room as Antiochus, the king, lays out his case against the Jews to his inner circle.

The scene: opulent, tense, the air thick with anticipation. He’s addressing his officers, his voice dripping with disdain. "Surely you know," he begins, "that there is a Jewish people in our midst in Jerusalem."

It's a statement loaded with resentment. They're right here, in our city.

It’s not just their presence that irks him. It’s their defiance. He continues, laying out the charges: "They do not sacrifice to our gods, our laws they do not keep, and they neglect the laws of the king, to follow their own." In the eyes of Antiochus, the Jews aren't just different; they're actively rejecting his authority, his gods, his entire way of life. They're a thorn in his side, an affront to his power.

And then comes the real kicker, the heart of his fear: “And further, they look forward to a day of destruction of kings and rulers for when, they say ‘When will our king rule over us; and we shall govern land and sea, and all the world will be our dominion.’ It is not to the glory of the kingdom, to suffer them on the face of the earth.”

Wow. He accuses them of plotting world domination! That the Jews dream of a time when their king will reign, and they will rule the world.

It's a powerful accusation, fueled by paranoia and a fundamental misunderstanding. Are they really plotting to overthrow him? Or are they simply clinging to their faith, their traditions, their hope for a better future?

Whatever the truth, Antiochus sees them as a direct threat. "It is not to the glory of the kingdom," he declares, "to suffer them on the face of the earth."

Heavy words. This passage from Megillat Antiochus isn’t just a historical account. It's a stark reminder of how easily fear and prejudice can be weaponized, and how those in power can twist beliefs and aspirations into threats to justify oppression. It makes you wonder: how many times has this scene played out, in different forms, throughout history? And how can we, today, learn from the past to build a more tolerant and understanding future?

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Megillat Antiochus 1:6Megillat Antiochus

There are so many fascinating tales tucked away in Jewish tradition, just waiting to be discovered.It’s a lesser-known account of the events surrounding Hanukkah, offering a unique perspective on the struggles against the Seleucid Empire.

So, who was this Antiochus anyway?

Well, the Megillat Antiochus paints him as a conqueror of epic proportions. The text emphasizes his unparalleled power, stating that no king like him had arisen on the coastland of the Great Sea – that's the Mediterranean – since the days of Alexander the Great. Quite the reputation. He wasn't just about destruction, though. Antiochus also built a great city on the banks of a river, naming it Antioch after himself. It was his capital, the center of his power. And, get this, his viceroy, Bagris, also built a city just as grand and named it after himself! The scroll notes that both cities retained those names even at the time of its writing.

The stage is set. We have a powerful, ambitious king, a sprawling empire, and simmering tensions.

Then, in the twenty-third year of his reign – which, according to the scroll, was the two hundred and thirteenth year after the rebuilding of the Beit Hamikdash, the Temple in Jerusalem – Antiochus set his sights on Jerusalem.

What was he planning? What did Jerusalem represent to him? And what would happen when this unstoppable force met the unwavering spirit of the Jewish people? That’s where our story really begins.

It’s a reminder that history is rarely simple. There are always multiple perspectives, hidden narratives, and untold stories waiting to be unearthed. And sometimes, the most illuminating insights come from the voices that history often overlooks.

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Megillat Antiochus 1:67Megillat Antiochus

Megillat Antiochus turns to Bagris in Zion.

Megillat Antiochus, also known as the Scroll of Antiochus, is a fascinating little text. While it's not part of the biblical canon, it offers a unique perspective on those dramatic times.

So, there's El’azar, right in the thick of battle. He’s going after the elephants – massive, terrifying war machines in the service of the Seleucid king, Antiochus. And during this intense fight, while trying to take down these behemoths, El'azar, well, he sank. He sank right into the elephant dung. Imagine the ignominy!

After the battle, the Israelites looked for him, and that's where they found him. Stuck. Now, the text doesn't elaborate on how he got there, or how they got him out. It simply states the stark reality.

But despite this rather unfortunate incident for El'azar, the rest of the Israelites were having a pretty good day. They'd won! Megillat Antiochus tells us they rejoiced, dealing out punishment to their enemies. Some were burned, some were slain by the sword, and others were hung on trees. Pretty brutal stuff.

And then there's Bagris. Megillat Antiochus calls him out as a leader who led his people astray. And his fate? He was burned by the House of Israel. Again, not pulling any punches here.

The story takes another turn when King Antiochus himself gets wind of Bagris’ demise, and the defeat of his forces. According to the Megillah, he hopped on a boat and fled to some far-off land. But his troubles didn't end there. Everywhere he went, people rose up against him, calling him "the Coward." Ouch. Talk about adding insult to injury. You can almost feel the writer’s glee at the downfall of this oppressor.

What can we take away from this little snapshot from Megillat Antiochus? It’s a story of bravery, of victory, and yes, even of unfortunate circumstances. It reminds us that even in the midst of great historical events, there are individual stories – stories of people like El’azar, stuck in the muck, but still part of a larger narrative of triumph. And it's a reminder that even the mightiest kings can be brought low, their reputations forever tarnished.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What seemingly small, almost absurd moments are happening right now, that are part of a much larger story unfolding around us?

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Megillat Antiochus 1:36Megillat Antiochus

This one, from Megillat Antiochus – the Scroll of Antiochus – is definitely one of those. It's a tale of unwavering faith and heartbreaking sacrifice, a evidence of the strength of the Jewish people during a time of intense persecution.

The story unfolds during the reign of Antiochus IV Epiphanes, a Syrian-Greek king who, as we know from the books of Maccabees, sought to Hellenize Judea by force. He outlawed Jewish practices, desecrated the Temple, and forced Jews to worship idols. It was a dark time.

The scene: a Jewish woman, facing the ultimate test. Bagris, a wicked official enforcing Antiochus’ decrees, is pressuring her to abandon her faith. for a second. Abandon everything you hold sacred, everything that defines you, or face the consequences.

What does she do? According to the Megillat Antiochus, she cries out, directly to Bagris, proclaiming, "You plan to destroy the covenant that has been made with us, the covenant of our forefathers. Sabbath and the new-moon [festivals] and circumcision we will not abandon, neither we nor our children’s children.”

Her words are defiant, resolute. She draws a line in the sand. But it doesn’t stop there. In a moment of unimaginable courage and despair, she casts her son to the ground, and leaps down after him, and both die together.

Can you even begin to fathom that choice? It's a horrifying act of kiddush (the sanctification blessing over wine) Hashem, sanctifying God’s name through martyrdom. Many other Israelites did the same, choosing death over violating the covenant of their ancestors.

Their resistance wasn't always open rebellion, though. Sometimes, it was about quiet defiance, about preserving their traditions in the face of overwhelming oppression. As the Megillat Antiochus continues, we hear how "the Israelites said one to the other, 'Come let us withdraw into a cave, lest here we be compelled to desecrate the Sabbath.'" They sought refuge, a place to observe the Sabbath in peace, away from the prying eyes of their oppressors.

But even this small act of resistance was fraught with danger. "Their plan was betrayed to Bagris." No matter how hard they tried to hide, the threat of discovery and persecution always loomed.

What does this story tell us? It's more than just a historical account. It's a reminder of the enduring power of faith, the willingness to sacrifice everything for what you believe in. It speaks to the resilience of the Jewish people, their determination to preserve their identity even in the face of annihilation. It's a challenging story, a painful story, but ultimately, it's a story of hope, a story of the unwavering spirit that has allowed us to endure for generations. What does that kind of strength mean to you?

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