Crucifixion of Yeshua Ha-Nozri

The crucifixion of Yeshua Ha-Nozri on Bald Mountain is the novel's central act of state-sanctioned murder, a meticulously staged execution that exposes the cowardice of Pontius Pilate, the impotent rage of Matthew Levi, and the brutal mechanics of Roman imperial power. It is the event around which the entire Yershalaim narrative pivots, the consequence of Pilate's failure to act on his own conviction, and the moment that condemns the procurator to two thousand years of anguished waiting. The execution is not merely a punishment but a ritual of power, a public spectacle designed to intimidate and control, and its aftermath—the storm, the removal of the bodies, the solitary grief of Levi—resonates through the novel's Moscow sections as a measure of all that is lost when truth is sacrificed to fear.

The Procession and the Cordon

The execution was preceded by a carefully orchestrated military operation. Around noon, the cavalry ala that had crossed Pilate's path earlier that day trotted to the Hebron gate, pushed aside the crowds of pilgrims, and raced down the north-west road to Jaffa. They were followed by the second cohort of the Lightning legion, and finally by the century under Mark Ratslayer, which escorted the cart carrying the three condemned men—Yeshua, Dysmas, and Gestas—with white boards around their necks proclaiming them "robber and rebel" in Aramaic and Greek. Behind them came carts laden with freshly hewn posts, crosspieces, ropes, shovels, buckets, and axes, and six executioners. The man in the hood, with whom Pilate had met briefly in a darkened room of the palace, rode on horseback alongside the centurion and the head of the temple guard. A file of soldiers brought up the rear, followed by about two thousand curious onlookers, undaunted by the infernal heat. The ala admitted everyone to the second level of the hill, but the second century allowed only those connected with the execution to go further up, then spread the crowd around the entire hill, so that people found themselves between the cordons of infantry above and cavalry below.

The Long Wait and the Suffering

More than three hours passed after the procession climbed the mountain, and the sun was already going down over Bald Mountain, but the heat remained unbearable. The soldiers in both cordons suffered from it, grew weary with boredom, and cursed the three robbers in their hearts, sincerely wishing them the speediest death. The little commander of the ala, his brow moist and the back of his white shirt dark with sweat, went over to the leather bucket every now and then, scooped handfuls of water, drank, and wetted his turban. He allowed his soldiers to stick their spears pyramid-like in the ground and throw their white cloaks over them for shade. The centurion Ratslayer, however, kept his men standing with their spears in their hands, allowing them only to take off their helmets and cover their heads with white headbands dipped in water. He himself, in the same kind of headband but dry, walked about not far from the group of executioners, without even removing the silver plaques with lions' muzzles from his shirt, his mutilated face expressing neither weariness nor displeasure. The man in the hood sat on a three-legged stool not far from the posts, poking the sand with a twig out of boredom. The crowd, finding nothing interesting in the execution, was scorched by the sun and driven back to Yershalaim, where preparations for the great feast of Passover were under way. Beyond the file of two Roman centuries, there were only two stray dogs, panting with their tongues hanging out, and green-backed lizards darting among the scorching stones.

Matthew Levi's Vigil and Despair

One person, however, remained on the hill, though he could not be seen by everyone. Matthew Levi had established himself on the north side, where the slope was uneven and a sickly fig tree was trying to live in a crevice. He had sat on a stone from the very beginning, for over three hours, in anguish. Earlier, when the procession came to the top, he had tried to break through the soldiers to the place of execution, but received a heavy blow in the chest with the butt end of a spear and leaped back, crying out not in pain but in despair. He had then run around the hill, trying to find a gap, but the ring was closed. Now, sitting on the stone, his eyes festering from the sun and lack of sleep, he was in torment. He had scribbled notes on a piece of parchment: "The minutes run on, and I, Matthew Levi, am here on Bald Mountain, and still no death!" and "The sun is sinking, but no death." He wrote hopelessly with the sharp stylus: "God! Why are you angry with him? Send him death." The reason for his despair lay in the terrible misfortune that had befallen Yeshua and in the grave error he, Levi, had committed. Two days earlier, Yeshua had left him in Bethphage to go alone to Yershalaim, and Levi had been struck by a sudden illness that kept him in a gardener's shed until dawn on Friday. When he reached Yershalaim, he learned that the disaster had occurred. He had conceived a plan to stab Yeshua with a knife to save him from suffering, but he had no knife. He ran back to the city, stole a long, razor-sharp bread knife from a shop, and ran back, but he was too late. Now, in his rage, he cursed himself, called out meaningless words, and demanded an immediate miracle from God, shouting: "I curse you, God!" and "You are a deaf god!" He shouted that he was convinced of God's injustice and did not intend to believe in him any longer. Then, as if in answer to his curses, a storm cloud rose menacingly in the west, its edges seething with white foam, its black smoky belly tinged with yellow, and threads of fire falling from it.

The Death of Yeshua

When the fourth hour of the execution had gone by, the tribune climbed the mountain, accompanied by an aide. He whispered something to Ratslayer, then spoke to the man in the hood, and they all went over to the posts. Yeshua had been more fortunate than the other two. In the very first hour, he began to have blackouts, and then fell into oblivion, his head hanging in its unwound turban. Flies and horseflies covered him completely, so that his face disappeared under the black swarming mass. Fat horseflies sat sucking at his yellow naked body. One of the executioners took a spear and another brought a bucket and a sponge to the post. The first executioner raised the spear and tapped first one, then the other of Yeshua's arms, stretched out and bound with ropes to the crossbar. The body, with its protruding ribs, gave a start. The executioner passed the tip of the spear over the belly. Yeshua raised his head, and the flies moved off, revealing his face, swollen with bites, his eyes puffy, an unrecognizable face. He asked hoarsely, "What do you want? Why have you come to me?" The executioner said, "Drink!" and a water-soaked sponge on the tip of a spear rose to Yeshua's lips. Joy flashed in his eyes, he clung to the sponge and began greedily imbibing the moisture. Dysmas, on the second post, cried out in protest, but was silenced by Ratslayer. Yeshua tore himself away from the sponge and begged the executioner hoarsely: "Give him a drink." It was growing ever darker. The storm cloud had already poured across half the sky. There was a flash and a thunderclap right over the hill. The executioner removed the sponge from the spear, whispered solemnly, "Praise the magnanimous hegemon!" and gently pricked Yeshua in the heart. Yeshua twitched and whispered, "Hegemon..." Blood ran down his belly, his lower jaw twitched convulsively, and his head dropped. At the second thunderclap, the executioner killed Dysmas and then Gestas in the same manner.

The Aftermath and the Storm

The man in the hood, followed by the executioner and the centurion, stopped at the first post, examined the blood-covered Yeshua attentively, touched his foot with his white hand, and said to his companions: "Dead." The same was repeated at the other two posts. The tribune motioned to the centurion and, turning, started off the hilltop together with the head of the temple guard and the man in the hood. Semi-darkness set in, and lightning furrowed the black sky. Fire suddenly sprayed out of it, and the centurion's shout, "Raise the cordon!" was drowned in rumbling. The happy soldiers rushed headlong down the hill, putting on their helmets. Darkness covered Yershalaim. Torrents of rain poured down suddenly and caught the centuries halfway down the hill. The deluge fell so terribly that the soldiers were pursued by raging streams as they ran downhill, slipping and falling in the sodden clay. A few minutes later, only one man remained in the smoky brew of storm, water, and fire on the hill. Shaking the not uselessly stolen knife, falling from slippery ledges, clutching at whatever was there, sometimes crawling on his knees, Matthew Levi strained towards the posts. Having made his way to them, already up to his ankles in water, he tore off his heavy water-soaked tallith, clung to Yeshua's feet, cut the ropes on his shins, stepped up on the lower crossbar, embraced Yeshua, and freed his arms from the upper bonds. The naked, wet body of Yeshua collapsed on Levi and brought him to the ground. He left the body with its thrown-back head and outspread arms on the ground in the water, ran to the other posts, cut the ropes on them as well, and the two bodies collapsed on the ground. Several minutes passed, and all that remained on the top of the hill were these two bodies and the three empty posts. Water beat on the bodies and rolled them over. By that time, both Levi and the body of Yeshua were gone from the hilltop.