Iscariot: A Novel of Judasby Tosca Lee
Acclaimed New York Times bestselling author Tosca Lee brilliantly adapts the life of Judas Iscariot into a dazzling and award-winning work/i>/b>/i>
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Acclaimed New York Times bestselling author Tosca Lee brilliantly adapts the life of Judas Iscariot into a dazzling work of fiction—humanizing the man whose very name is synonymous with betrayal.
Acclaimed New York Times bestselling author Tosca Lee brilliantly adapts the life of Judas Iscariot into a dazzling and award-winning work of fiction—humanizing the man whose very name is synonymous with betrayal.
History has called him many things: Thief. Liar. Traitor. Reviled throughout history and infamous for his suicide, he is the man whose very name is synonymous with betrayal . . .
And he is the only disciple that Jesus called “friend.”
From the acclaimed bestselling author of Havah: The Story of Eve, Iscariot is a compelling portrait of biblical history’s most maligned character—from his tumultuous childhood to his emergence as the man known to the world as the betrayer of Jesus. But even more, it is an extraordinary view into the life of Jesus that forces us to reexamine everything we thought we knew about one of the most famous—and infamous—religious icons in history.
"This brilliant, sympathetic reinterpretation of Judas will force readers to reexamine the man they thought they knew."
“Tosca Lee continues to mature and deepen as a master story-teller. Iscariot is the best example of this to date. I can hardly wait for what is coming!”
“Written in a voice that is original, animated, and refreshing, Tosca Lee has forged a poignant tale of Judas, a character we only thought we knew. History and emotion entangle into an entertaining nugget, each page like a tasty treat.”
“Tosca Lee’s take on the most notorious figure in history is at once highly imaginative and deeply moving. Weaving historical detail, human drama and spiritual insight, Iscariot will hold you all the way to its shattering conclusion.”
“A startlingly dark and breathtaking novel. Iscariot is both visionary in scope and historically accurate down to the most minute detail—which is an astonishing feat. This is epic, masterful storytelling from one of the most gifted novelists writing today.”
“Iscariot is one of those rare novels that makes you go deep and come out both crying and cheering at once. If you think you know Jesus or Judas, think again. Through meticulous detail and powerful prose, Tosca Lee brings the world a story that will reshape the hearts and minds of many. An absolute must-read.”
"How Jesus’ suffering and ministry could disappoint or perplex is at the heart of Iscariot. It is entertaining fiction rooted in the story of Judas and Jesus. It will cause you to reflect and rethink what you know. It is well -done, solid fiction.”
“To call the writing excellent is a severe understatement—phenomenal might come close, but even that is not quite strong enough. . . . It’s complex, inventive, beautiful, heart-wrenching, and a multitude of other positive adjectives all which speak of a well-written, inspiring novel.”
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Read an Excerpt
I was six years old the day we fled Jerusalem, and Caesar Augustus was emperor.
I had known nothing but Jerusalem all my life. It was the home of the Temple and navel of the world. Even infected with Roman soldiers and Herod’s stadium, God’s house was in Jerusalem, and no good man of Israel ever wanted to leave it.
And so I was stunned the day my father, a devout man, announced that we were leaving.
Especially now. Just that morning Father had come bursting into the house with the news that Herod, our king, was dead. I had thought it the happiest day of my life, if only because I had never seen Father so jubilant. He sang that day, one of the hymns of David, as my mother clapped her hands and my older brother Joshua and I went shouting and dancing into the street. We weren’t the only ones. Soon all Jerusalem would erupt with joy.
We were still celebrating when Father’s friend Aaron came hurrying toward the house. “Where’s your father? Simon!” he shouted. “They’re taking the eagle down!”
Father came out to meet him but Aaron was too excited to even kiss him in greeting. “They’ve gone to take Herod’s eagle off the Temple!”
Even at the age of six I had heard plenty about this abomination affixed to the great Temple gate, this golden kiss of our king to the buttock of Rome. It was everything a Jew must hate: a graven image, which was an affront to God’s law, and the symbol of Rome.
“Boys, get inside,” Father said. And then he left for the Temple.
For hours, I imagined him on the shoulders of others, tearing the eagle free to the sound of cheers. But when he returned, his jaw was tight beneath his beard.
“Pack what you can carry. Quickly,” he said. “We’re leaving.”
We left that night, bribing the guard to let us out the small door in the city gate.
All the next day we traveled in silence, my mother’s hand viselike around mine, my brother pale and pensive as he cast furtive glances at my father.
I didn’t know what had happened—only that Jerusalem was somehow unsafe and the lines had deepened around Father’s eyes. I knew better than to press him with questions; I would ask Joshua to explain it all to me later. He was brilliant, my ten-year-old brother. Even then everyone knew he would become a great teacher of the law. And for that reason I wanted to become one, too.
But a few hours later, when I realized I was the farthest from Jerusalem I had ever been, I began to worry.
“Father,” I said. “Will we be home in time for Passover?”
It was my favorite holiday, a time when Joshua and I went with him to buy our lamb and bring it to the Temple priests.
“No, Judas,” he said. “Jerusalem is a tinderbox and God calls us to Galilee.”
“No more now.”
That night, in the dank lower room of an inn, my brother lay in troubled silence beside me.
I leaned up on my elbow. A lone lamp somewhere on the floor above cast a dull glow across the stairwell; I could just make out Joshua’s profile staring up at the ceiling.
“Herod isn’t dead,” he said finally. “I heard Father talking with one of the men we traveled with today. It was a rumor. The king’s sick, but he’s alive.”
“But Father said—”
“He was wrong. They all were. The rumor gave men the courage to take the eagle down. Until Herod’s soldiers arrived.” He turned and looked at me. “Aaron was arrested.”
I stared at him in the darkness.
“It was the teachers Judas and Matthias who led the charge to the Temple with their students.”
Father and Aaron both had been students of the famous teacher Judas bar Sepphoraeus. It was partially for him—and for Judas Maccabee, the warrior called the Hammer—that I had been named. The lower room was suddenly far too cold.
“I heard Father say that when they got there Aaron pushed right through the mob. He climbed up on the shoulders of one of the students to help pull the eagle down. But Father couldn’t get through the crowd. So he stood back to watch—he said he wanted to witness for his sons what would surely become known as the first day of the Lord’s coming. They had just gotten the eagle off when the soldiers came. No one heard him trying to warn them through the cheering.”
“Then he didn’t do it!” But even as I said it, I was afraid.
Joshua was silent.
“Will they arrest Father?”
“No. But that’s why we left.”
“What’ll happen to the others?”
“I don’t know.”
“But what if—”
“Mother’s coming. Go to sleep.”
But I couldn’t sleep. Only after Father came down did I even close my eyes, but not before wishing we had traveled through the night. For the first time since leaving Jerusalem, I wished we were a league away.
I dreamed of soldiers. I was used to seeing them throughout the Holy City, coming in and out of the Antonia Fortress or working along the walls and aqueducts, but that night they came to the room where we slept and dragged my father away. I woke up screaming.
“What’s this, Judas? Hush,” Father said, drawing me next to him. I could smell the heat of day lingering on his skin. “All is well. Sleep now.”
I curled beneath the weight of his arm, my eyes open in the dark, until the soldiers became as fleeting as ghosts and there was only the low rumble of his breath beside me.
WE WERE FIFTEEN MILES from the Sea of Galilee by the time we stopped in Scythopolis. It was nearly Purim, the spring feast before Passover.
Scythopolis was the largest city we had come to since Jericho and there was construction everywhere, including a wide street being paved in perfect basalt squares. We passed a building that looked like a temple and I gaped at the statue of a nude man in front of it, the finely chiseled face and full lips—the naked sex dangling between his thighs like a cluster of grapes. I had seen few graven images and I had never seen an uncircumcised penis.
“Look away,” Father said. “This is not the Lord’s.”
I did look away, but I was already reconstructing the images in my mind—of the nude man and wreath-headed others dancing in naked relief across the temple face behind him.
We found an inn run by Jews and that evening, after changing into clean clothing, began our fast and went to the synagogue.
Right in the middle of the reading of the scroll, my stomach began to growl. Joshua leaned over and whispered, “Maybe our fast will bring God’s kingdom that much more quickly.”
I nodded. I didn’t know exactly what the coming kingdom would look like except that there would be no Romans or Gentiles or Samaritans in it.
Most important, Aaron would not be arrested and Father would be safe.
That night we stayed up late on the roof with the other guests beneath the full moon. At home, my cousins would play games into the night and sleep late the next day, shortening the time until sundown when they could eat at last. But here there were no games, and the little children had already eaten and fallen asleep beside their mothers.
I was by then miserable with hunger, my stomach twisting into a fist. But I knew I must learn to fast if I hoped to be an important teacher like my brother, who listened in on the men’s conversation as though he were one of them already. But as the night wore on I began to pray for the comfort of sleep.
“Herod’s moved all those they rounded up to Jericho,” I heard the innkeeper say. “A merchant brought the news two days ago.”
Joshua nudged me and I realized they were talking about the men who had been arrested. Suddenly I was very awake.
Another man, who had walked with us from the inn to the synagogue earlier, shook his head. “There’ll be no good end for them. Why must they martyr themselves when, in a few more days, Herod will be dead? May the Lord make it so!”
A round of assenting murmurs.
I stared at Joshua, my heart hammering. I didn’t know what a martyr was, but I saw the roundness of my brother’s eyes, the grim line of Father’s mouth as all the men began speaking at once.
“The Romans will still be here.”
“I’d take the Romans over Herod. His own family isn’t even safe from him. Caesar said it right that he’d rather be Herod’s pig than his son.”
“I wouldn’t put it past that whoreson to eat a pig.”
I rolled forward, arms clutched around my middle.
“Come, Judas,” Joshua whispered, motioning me to follow him downstairs. I uncurled in agony to follow him.
He led me to his roll near our things in one of the inn’s back rooms. After rummaging around, Joshua took my hand and laid a stale piece of bread in it. “Here. If you don’t eat, you’ll be sick like last time.”
I looked from him to the bread, thinking. I should give it back. I should throw it down.
“You are very zealous,” Joshua said. “But you are young and not expected to go without food.”
“But the coming kingdom—”
“A piece of bread will not make the Romans leave or Herod die any faster. I’m your older brother, aren’t I?”
I nodded, tears welling stupidly in my eyes. I ate the bread in quick bites as I followed Joshua back up to the roof.
I was just swallowing the last of it when a surprised shout broke the night—followed quickly by another and the shrill sound of a woman’s voice.
We ran back to the roof to find everyone on their feet staring at the sky. And then I saw why: The moon, so full and white when we had gone down into the house, was partially sheathed in shadow.
“It’s an omen!” someone said. “A sign!”
I blinked at the sky, at the moon half-covered as though with a black lid. Would it go out? What evil could do that?
And then I knew.
I began to tremble, my skin having gone cold and then hot at once. A wail filled my ears. It came from my throat.
“Shush, Judas!” My mother pulled me to her. But as she did, my stomach lurched and I doubled over and vomited at her feet. It was only a little amount, the bread having come out in pale bits shamefully illuminated by the light of the disappearing moon. I began to cry, the acrid taste in my mouth and nostrils, as my mother gathered me up and carried me past the mess to the corner. I was by now beside myself, shaking, hot tears tracking down my face.
“It’s my fault!” I cried.
“What?” My mother said.
“The moon—I did it.” As Eve with her fruit, I had ruined the moon for the sky.
“Ah, my dove, no you did not—what is a little bread to God? I told Joshua to give it to you so you wouldn’t get sick. Hush now,” she said, starting to clean my face. “This is not about you, Judas.”
But as shouts sounded from other rooftops and the men began to argue about what it meant, I knew better. The world could be ruined by the smallest of actions. For striking a rock, Moses had never entered the Promised Land. And now I had been the sky’s undoing.
I jerked away from my mother, ran to the clot of men, and found my father. I grabbed his sleeve.
“Judas! What’s this?”
I fell down to my knees, and he hauled me up under my arms.
“It’s my fault!”
“This? No, Judas, it’s a portent, a sign. Don’t be afraid. The Lord winks at us. See?”
I cried harder, hiccupping now. He didn’t know the grievousness of my sin. “I ate and see what happened!” I wouldn’t blame my mother or Joshua—I alone had eaten the bread.
He blinked at me in the darkness, and then chuckled. It had not bothered me so much that my mother did not understand, but hearing this from my father—and in the face of such obvious disaster—I felt more alone than I had ever felt in my life.
“Do you think you’ve caused this, little Judas? But there—see? The moon is emerging again.”
I followed the line of his finger. Sure enough, the shadow had moved a little bit away. I watched as it began to retreat, my fear subsiding the tiniest increment.
He patted my back. “The Lord won’t reject you for being a hungry boy. But if it will make you feel better, we will immerse tomorrow.”
The next day I immersed in the synagogue mikva three times to the bafflement of my father and the empathetic observance of my brother. Not until the third time did I feel any measure of relief, and even then not until I went outside that evening and saw that the moon was whole once more.
THE NEWS CAME BEFORE we left Scythopolis: Herod had died the night of the eclipse—but not before burning two of Jerusalem’s great teachers and forty of their students at the stake in Jericho. My father broke out with a great cry and tore his clothes. Joshua did likewise.
I simply cried.
The students who said they had not instigated the taking down of the eagle survived, and I hated them for it. I hated them because I knew Aaron was not among them—Aaron who would have condemned Herod until the last of his life for sheer love of the law. And then I cried harder because I wished he had not loved the law so much.
For nights to come I shivered beneath my blanket and dreamed of the students burning in the fires.
THOUGH I THOUGHT I shouldn’t love Sepphoris, I did. I shouldn’t, because it was far from Jerusalem, and her fortress seemed to inhabit a world that knew no such thing as the holy Temple. And I should not love it because it was Herod’s, and even though Herod was dead, his sons were eagle-kissers just like him who wanted everything Roman—down to the scraps of power the empire threw them like crusts to dogs.
But I loved it because Father was safe. Nothing could touch us here.
I came to know Sepphoris by its sounds. Voices of children my own age wafted up from farther down the hill where the farmers kept their houses and tended their vineyards. Roosters crowed throughout the day. At times I could hear one of the distant shepherds playing a flute. And always there was birdsong.
That spring when it rained, water trickled from the roof into the channels of the cisterns below. It was a good sound, the sound of water. Moss clung to the stones of the houses, so that even on sunny days the air near any house seemed to smell of rain as pines rustled overhead.
We stayed with my father’s cousin, Eleazar—a priest who helped place Joshua and me with a teacher who was so impressed with Joshua’s early abilities that he called him “little rabbi.”
I saw how everyone looked at him with ready fascination, as though such a boy might be proof that God had not forgotten us, but planted in the soil of this generation the mustard seed of a greatness unknown by the last. And though I knew I would never be Joshua’s equal, I didn’t care. People would say, “There goes the brother of Joshua bar Simon. What is his name? Ah, that’s right—Judas.” And that would be enough.
That year was the first that I did not go to the Temple for Passover. Instead, we watched the families that left together, my heart full of jagged envy as they sang their psalms out the city gate.
Eleazar had fallen ill weeks before and been unable to leave with the rest of the priests. I saw the way his wife, old Zipporah, covered her face with her hands when she thought no one was looking. It made me afraid for Eleazar, whom I had grown fond of, and I prayed for him. I immersed so often that my brother got angry with me and told me that even the Pharisees didn’t wash that much, nor the Essenes, who were so extreme as to not move their bowels on the Sabbath. Was I going to keep from that as well?
I did briefly consider it, but I knew better than to rely on my stomach to do what it was told.
We celebrated Passover in the synagogue and at the home of Eleazar, who had recovered in what seemed like a miracle, claiming it was Mother and Zipporah’s good lamb stew.
Then, a few days later, the first pilgrims began to return.
We had just gathered for the evening meal when Eleazar’s nephew came into the house, tearing at his hair.
“They slaughtered them with their sacrifices!” he shouted.
“What’s this?” Eleazar demanded, rising from his seat.
“The new king sent his guard to the Temple the day before the feast—a guard of foreign mercenaries. Some of the pilgrims started throwing stones at them in protest. The king retaliated by sending in his army. They massacred the people. Pilgrims—men, women, children. Thousands dead!”
Father staggered, the color gone from his face. The house that night was filled with Mother’s and Zipporah’s weeping and the groans of Eleazar, who sounded less like a weathered old priest than just a broken old man.
Three thousand died in the massacre that Passover. The tinderbox had exploded.
It was only the beginning.
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Meet the Author
Tosca Lee is the award-winning, New York Times bestselling author of The Progeny, Firstborn, Iscariot, The Legend of Sheba, Demon: A Memoir, Havah: The Story of Eve, and the Books of Mortals series (Forbidden, Mortal, and Sovereign) with New York Times bestseller Ted Dekker. She received her BA in English and International Relations from Smith College. A lifelong adventure traveler, Tosca makes her home in the Midwest with her husband and children. To learn more please visit: ToscaLee.com.
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Brave, passionate and fearless are three words that I would choose to describe both the author Tosca Lee and her new novel Iscariot, A Novel of Judas. I think it takes a true master and someone who is willing to take a major risk to write a novel like this. And take risks she did. But I think unequivocally the risk paid off as Iscariot is an amazing literary work that takes us on Judas’ journey with Jesus in a way that was so heartfelt and yes, heartbreaking, I mean, how can it not be? Personally I think it’s very tough to take a story where everyone knows the ending and the ending is not a good one, but still make it a compelling read. Tosca Lee does this so well and I really appreciated the journey and feel that everyone who reads this book will look at Judas a little differently. Judas is portrayed as someone who was always searching- searching for a true messiah. And with much heartache and tragedy to show for this search, his story unravels in an intricately done way. He loses vastly important people to him, and his grief and guilt play a major role in shaping him as a man. His search for a messiah and search for love draw him to this person of Jesus. Along with Tosca’s portrayal of Judas, I loved how she wrote Jesus as well. His amazing love for his disciples and the people around him showed through beautifully, as well as the absolute desperation for why he came to us. I think the thing I most loved about this portrayal of Judas though, is the fact that he loved Jesus, but still even with that love there was his constant battle between what he grew up knowing as the law versus what he saw before him in the person of Jesus. Another aspect of this novel that I found utterly compelling was Judas’ “fall”- so different from how I have ever pictured it, I think that most of us have just left Judas as a 2 dimensional character- “he’s the bad guy who betrayed Jesus”, but Tosca brings him alive and we can see him and understand him and empathize with him and yes, even see ourselves in him. He like so many of us was a man deceived and with that deception came ultimate destruction. Finally, I would like to urge you to read the author’s note at the end of the book- it is fascinating to read Tosca’s journey as she wrote this book. I loved the questions that she wrestled with to bring this character of Judas to life; especially with regards to grace- are there no limits? Truly this last bit of the book puts a period at the end of the story, which is why I mention it- I always feel that if we get a further look into the heart of the author with regards to their work that it broadens our understanding. In the usual Tosca Lee style she brings beautiful prose to this book as well as an intense realness to the situations. I found it to be masterful, compelling storytelling and a story that I will remember for a long time. I was given a complimentary copy of this novel from the publisher in exchange for an honest review. All opinions expressed are my own.
This book is amazing. What a writer and what a book. It's taken me a while to read it because I can only read a few chapters of it at a time. In most books, that's a bad thing, but not this one. I can only read a bit at a time because this book breaks my heart every time I read it. Suppose -- just suppose mind you -- that Judas Iscariot wasn't the wolf in sheep's clothing that we always thought he was. Suppose he was someone who loved Jesus as much as any of us or perhaps even more? What if his story didn't end in betrayal and suicide? And yet it does end that way (no spoiler there, she starts the novel with his death). That's what makes this story so heartbreaking. So how does she make Judas a sympathetic character and yet keep the ending believable? Because Tosca Lee is an amazing storyteller. Ah. Maz. Zing! For this is not only Judas' story, it's a story of Jesus as well. If you want to explore how much you love Christ, read this book. If you think you bear no resemblance at all to Judas Iscariot, read this book. It will open your eyes and yes, probably break your heart. Thanks to The DeMoss Group for providing a copy for me to review.
I love it when great writers take the time to completely research a project if they are going to write a historical fiction novel. It's even better for me as a reader when I can get my hands on a greatly researched and well-thought out biblical historical fiction. When they can take me by the hand and transport me back into history and allow me to walk side by side with a character, it truly helps me understand them better and what may have motivated them to make the decisions they did. Such is the case in the latest novel from Tosca Lee in Iscariot: A Novel of Judas. She provides an in depth look at what the life of Judas Iscariot may have been like and attempts to fill in the missing holes to help us understand why someone who was invited into the sacred circle of being one of the twelve disciples of Jesus Christ, could easily sell him out to the men who wanted to kill him. It provided me with a different view point. First of all by tackling the difficult process of establishing the time period where Judas would have grown up in. What was really happening in the world? Why was there such a great fear from the Roman's from the Jews? What was life really like living back in Israel so long ago and what might have life been like looking at these circumstances through the lives of one of the most notorious biblical men in history? I have to say, I completely applaud Tosca Lee. Too often it's hard to label people just based on one side of the facts. We obviously know more happened that just what the writers of the gospels have to say, and I think she filled in the holes masterfully. I never realized just how difficult it was growing up for Judas. How difficult it was to deal with all the backlash from the Romans towards the Jewish people. If just a handful of people voiced their concerns against the Romans and caused conflict, they were dealt with harshly, either imprisoned or crucified. Sometimes even entire cities were may to pay for the consequences caused by a group of men who didn't agree with the way Herod was handling things such as taxes or even property disbursements. How hard it would have been to be such faithful followers of the old Jewish laws and in studying the Torah, believing that the Lord would return bring about justice to those that oppressed the Jewish people. This is why so many didn't believe Jesus was the promised Messiah. They wanted someone to punish the Romans and reward the Jewish people, but Jesus was the complete opposite. He dealt with things justly with love, grace and peace, but was not the promised Messiah the Jewish people believed would come to right all the wrongs in their minds. This is a novel that I believe every single Christian should read. Not to glorify what Judas Iscariot did but to understand why he may have did it. It was such an exceptional read, I had to go and purchase a copy of Tosca Lee's other biblical novels, Havah: The Story of Eve and Demon: A Memoir, a story about the fall of Lucifer. Tosca Lee's exceptional ability to find the truth and fill in the holes without much to go on, allows us to see things differently while still holding on to the Biblical truth. I easily give this one a perfect 5 out of 5 stars. I received Iscariot: A Novel of Judas by Tosca Lee compliments of Howard Books, a division of Simon & Schuster Publishers for my honest review. Trust me, you'll want to pick this one up, to see if there really was a motivation for Judas making the decision he made and wondering if we, in fact, would have followed in his footsteps as well.
This book blew me away. I tried hard not to simply read the text but to fully devour it and understand it. There was so much time and effort put into this book that I thought it needed more than just a simple read through. But I'm not sure that simply reading it and forgetting about it all would be possible. The concepts and ideas put forth create a new way of looking at the life of Judas, and even the life of Christ. Very exciting. After finishing the book and handing it off to be read by someone else I'm already looking forward to getting it back again so I can once more dive into the story and perhaps see something else in a new light.
This book, like others Ms Lee has written, brings a human touch to a vilified person. I ask myself what would I do if I became disillusioned with my hopes, dreams and bases for my whole life. Jesus wanted to follow His fathers plan. Judas had a different plan and eventually they clashed. Judas, like so many of us, then tried to do it his way. Wrong thing to do. We believe we are right and God's way needs tweaking. Judas tried to interject and tweak God. Not the best thing to do! I have read this book twice and both times gleaned new insight into Jesus, Judas and myself!
Just like her other books Tosca really makes you rethink your perceptions of well known characters. Beautifully written and thought provoking.
A very interesting insight into the possibility of a totally different Judas than proclaimed before.
A week or so after starting this book, I realized I was reading it slowly. Then I had to analyze why I was reading it that way. Was it boring? No. Was it poorly written? No. Did the subject not interest me? No again. Then I figured it out. I was reading slowly for three interconnected reasons: 1) Because there was a depth and earnestness to it that I probably hadn’t run into since I read Tosca’s “Havah” a few years back. The situations are plausible, and the characters refreshingly real. 2) Because it was troubling and convicting. It is difficult to think that someone as reviled as Judas wasn’t really that different from everyone else. That, given the right circumstances and surroundings, any of us might find ourselves betraying someone we love. 3) Because I was savoring it! This is something that only happens to me on rare occasions. There are some books I love and blast through, and others (a smaller subset) that I love and savor, hoping to delay the end as long as possible. Iscariot was the later for me. I’ve read three of Tosca’s books so far and I think this is probably the best. Very well done and hits all the right notes. I highly recommend it!
Was Judas Iscariot the instrument used by God to fulfill a divine prophesy? ON THE NIGHT HE WAS BETRAYED is the phrase all Roman Catholics hear at the start of the Liturgy during every Mass. But was Jesus really betrayed by Judas, or did Judas complete the outcome that was he was designed to do? There is no historical support to the theory stated here, but Tosca Lee has opened that conversation in my mind as to what the relationship between Judas and Jesus really was, what their friendship was like, what their lives were like as they traveled around preaching the Word. Was it the destiny of Judas to have a hand in Jesus’ death, to be the deliverer? Did Judas really think that he was saving Jesus by turning him in to the Sanhedrin with the promise of not charging Jesus with blasphemy? Tosca Lee stated that she had many questions as she researched this book, as stated in the Authors Notes section. After finishing ISCARIOT, I also have many questions. It is intriguing to think of what Judas’ real motive was.
A fabulous retelling of the Gospel story from the perspective of Judas. Does a great job of explaining why Jesus was feared by both the Romans and Jewish religious leaders. I found it much better than Killing Jesus by Bill O'Reilly.
I think the story told of the real life of Judas and showed what he had to endure and the things that caused him to do what he thought was best. Strange how Judas was trying to protect Jesus all the time yet he was unsure whether the method was best. Very thought provoking.
Taylor Caldwell wrote a book called "I, Judas" - I read it over 30 years ago; and like this book, it gave me a completely different perspective on the role Judas played in Christian history.
The subject matter and themes seem to be for the 16+ audience but the writing style is more appropriate for ages 10-13. At first i thought perhaps she was writing that way because her narrator was 7 years old, so I leafed ahead to a chapter 3/4 of the way through and found the writing was the same. Had to stop reading there. Life is too short. The hyperbole in the book description (dazzling, vivid, etc) is, to be aas kind a possible, wishful thinking.
Was almost great the ending just lost me
Very interesting take.
Is it possible to give a 10 star rating on a 5 star scale? If not, it should be, because Iscariot deserved it! What a fantastic read! I loved the way Tosca Lee presents Judas without ever glorifying him and yet she totally glorified Jesus. The story caused me to fall more in love with Jesus just by her representation of his amazing love and devotion. Ms. Lee is an amazing author already, but Iscariot took her writing to a new dimension of outstanding. This book will knock the socks off any reader.
I have always been interested in Judas and the big WHY. This book fallows the politics of the time and lays out a 'POSSIBLE" WHY. I enjoyed learning more about what the times were and how a person there could see the things Jesus did and said.
The book was a wonderful depiction of a person that people usually speak of in heinous terms. Judas was a human with human failings. Rome was a very real threat. Tosca Lee portrayed Judas as a person with a past that was not very pleasant which affected his future. I really liked and recommend the book, especially her comments at the end.
As the product of twelve years of Catholic schools, I've only heard the Church's view of Judas. Now this author has given me a lot to think about - if only a tiny portion of this story could be true, it sheds a whole new light on Judas, as well as Jesus. I've always felt that Judas was too harshly condemned by the Church as the betrayer of Jesus. After all, if Jesus' fate was preordained, then didn't there have to be a "Judas" to fulfill His destiny? Even though I knew the ending, I couldn't put this book down!
This book is well written and makes the reader think. Tosca Lee has a way of bringing the characters to life and drawing the reader in. This is one of the few fictional books that I have recommended to my husband to read. Well-researched and awesome for bible studies.