Scripture References (approx.): Nehemiah 8:1–8; Deuteronomy 6; Deuteronomy 31:10–13; Joshua 1:8; Psalm 19:7–11; Psalm 119:97–104.
3538 AM (222 BCE) – SEPTUAGINT
As a third-generation Alexandrian Egyptian, Archameanes was highly regarded in the various communities he circulated in. The municipalities of the city leaned heavily on his family’s political connections, present in Alexandria since its founding. Trade guilds and shipping companies relied on his wisdom (and his ability to navigate those politics). Even the Greek generals who had displaced the Pharaoh’s authority respected him.
Still, with all the blessing and good that had come to Archameanes, he was desperately frustrated—frantic, even. Despite everything, he was in a panic. And it all started because of another community he circulated in—the Jews. Why did he dare mingle with a people often looked down upon for merely existing? Simply because he was one of them. While everyone knew him as Archameanes, at eight days old he had been given the name Mordechai, after his great-grandfather. He never used that name, except in the synagogue or when celebrating an appointed time of Hashem with Jewish friends.
Being Jewish was not what frustrated Archameanes. For the most part, that was an uneventful aspect of his existence. What bothered him more than anything was ignorance—especially ignorance of Torah. Aside from himself and a handful of leaders, almost nobody spoke Hebrew anymore. They spoke Greek. They read and wrote Greek, did business in Greek, even dressed like Greeks. Though raised in the shul learning Hebrew, most had—at best—a broken Hebrew as a second language.
Recalling the stories of what led to the loss of the First Temple and the ten northern tribes, Archameanes realized that if their community went another generation without actively learning Torah, they might forget Hashem altogether. He had pondered this problem for nearly three years.
But what could be done?
He had tried focused campaigns of Hebrew literacy and culture. But those who had adopted a Hellenistic mindset found Hebrew grammar difficult, not to mention the Hebrew Bible’s imagery-rich style.
He remembered, as a boy, how everyone spoke Hebrew at home but Greek in public. Some with a strong Hebrew accent in Greek were singled out. Jews whose clothing looked “too Jewish” were often verbally or physically accosted. The shift to Greek language, clothing, and culture had been as much about survival as anything else.
But—again—at what cost?
Archameanes’ thoughts swirled in a loop of history and regret. When not occupied with his Greek responsibilities, he was at the synagogue talking with leaders, praying with them, trying to find a solution. And, to be honest, that was where he felt he needed to be right now.
☼ ☼ ☼
“Mordechai,” Levi shouted as Archameanes (a.k.a. Mordechai) entered the synagogue.
Archameanes rolled his eyes. “Could you be any louder?”
“What?” Eliezer chuckled. “Afraid of being found out?”
“No,” Archameanes said as he shut the door behind him, “but what people don’t know can’t hurt us.”
“Right you are, Mordechai, my boy,” Levi shouted again, “right you are! So, tell us—what brings you here so early? Shabbat is not for several more hours at least.”
“The same thing that brought me early last week,” Mordechai—erm—Archameanes lamented.
“Right, right, right,” Levi purred, “the whole lost-in-translation thing. Well, sorry, dear friend, I don’t have an answer this week any more than last week. Too bad they learned Greek and not Aramaic. At least we would have the Targums.”
“Well,” Eliezer butted in, “it’s not like the Targums are a complete translation. They’re a mishmash of Torah and teachings—hardly smooth reading. You know what you need, Mordechai: a Greek translation of the Torah.”
“Yeah,” Levi chimed in, “that’s not a bad idea. Why not? In the last three years of moping and complaining, you could probably be through Genesis by now! Hah!”
Levi and Eliezer kept swapping cutesy humor at Archameanes’ expense. He didn’t mind; they were good friends. But he grew silent as he became lost in thought. Could it be done? Certainly not by him alone. He was connected and intelligent, but hardly a scholar of that caliber. Still, there were scholars who could do the work. Maybe he could finance the effort—or at least raise financing.
Like voices echoing through a tunnel, he heard, “Mordechai. Mordechai? Mordechai!”
Archameanes snapped to, looking at his two friends. “Yes?”
“I think you had a bit of the ha-gafen before it was time…” Levi laughed.
“Oh, not really,” Archameanes demurred. “I was just thinking…”
Eliezer grinned. “One of the Greek girls?”
Archameanes sighed. “No. What you said—about translating the Hebrew text into Greek. You’re right. Now is the time. It’s just a matter of… I don’t know… logistics.”
Levi and Eliezer fell quiet, listening.
“Well, well, well,” Levi said, “that would be something, wouldn’t it? What are you thinking, Mordechai?”
“We need many hands. We should ask everyone who can hold a quill and still speak Hebrew. Even then, it will take years. And then we’ll need copies.”
“Truth is,” Eliezer said, “if you want to do this right, you have to use the same scribes who copy the Tanakh. Each blatt will have to be considered. Each translation must be precise. What’s the point of this generation learning Torah if it’s riddled with typos and mistranslations?”
“Oh, quite right! Quite right!” Levi boomed. “For the time and money this will cost, let’s do it right—even if it takes a whole century.”
“Very well,” Archameanes said thoughtfully. “I’ll make the arrangements. But I suppose that can wait another day. Shabbat is almost here.”
Used with permission by the author. Find the author’s complete works online: Complete Works of Mack Samuels
