On This Foundation

  “Lead the way.”

  Workers used a crane to maneuver the first door, twelve feet tall and over three inches thick, onto a sledge. It took three teams of oxen yoked together to drag it uphill to the gate. Nehemiah silently praised God as he stood in the opening that had been nothing but a rubble-strewn hole when he arrived. Now the broad walls and high watchtower extended well above his head. He put his hands over his ears to muffle the deafening sound of hammering as workers fastened supports into the new wall to hold the bars that would seal the doors shut at night. With the Almighty One’s hand upon them, their months of hard labor now neared completion.

  But Nehemiah’s joy quickly faded when Ephraim and Hanani arrived at the site and came to stand beside him. “What’s wrong? What are you doing here?” he asked. He’d been careful to avoid being with his brothers, even avoiding the daily sacrifices if he knew they would be there. Fear for their safety worried him far more than fear for himself. He had to lean close to hear their reply above the nearby pounding.

  “We’re here for the same reason you are,” Hanani said. “We heard that the doors to the Yeshana Gate were being hung in place, and we came to watch.”

  “But don’t you need to be—?”

  “We know what you’re doing,” Ephraim interrupted. “We aren’t stupid.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We know you’ve been pushing us away, keeping your distance.”

  “And we know why,” Hanani added when the pounding ceased for a moment. “Your life is in danger, and you think you’re protecting us.”

  Nehemiah moved out from beneath the gate tower and into the open area just inside the wall, his brothers following. “We can’t let down our guard,” Nehemiah told them. “Especially now.” He didn’t need to remind them that their parents had done that very thing, thinking the threat was over once the Thirteenth of Adar ended. They surely remembered.

  “We aren’t relaxing our guard,” Ephraim told him, gripping the hilt of his sword. “But we’re not going to keep our distance from you, either.”

  “We’re brothers,” Hanani added.

  They weren’t backing down. Nehemiah had to admit that he enjoyed having them by his side again. He stood with his brothers, well out of the way, as workers fastened the massive new door to a crane with ropes and slowly hauled it upright. The three of them watched in amazement as the door dangled, suspended in the air. Then, with workers guiding it, the crane lowered it into place on its huge hinges. It was dangerous work for all of the laborers. If the oxen that powered the crane balked or bolted, or if the ropes snapped, the door would crush dozens of workers.

  At last the door hung in position and the ropes could be removed. Nehemiah wanted to shout at the men to hurry, feeling a powerful urgency to finish before their enemies finally succeeded in stopping them. He was so close to being able to close the gates and keep their enemies out. But according to the list of names from Malkijah, some of Nehemiah’s enemies were already inside Jerusalem’s walls.

  “Governor Nehemiah!” One of the workers on top of the watchtower shouted down to him. “It looks like another delegation of Samaritan messengers is coming.”

  Ephraim and Hanani followed Nehemiah as he climbed the steps to the top of the tower and gazed down the road into the distance. “You’re right. Those are the uniforms and banners of Sanballat’s messengers. It’s probably another official summons from the governor and his friends. They’ve sent me the same message four times now, and each time I’ve given them the same reply. This will be the fifth one.”

  “It shows their desperation,” Ephraim said. “And how threatened they are by God’s work.”

  “Let’s not read it out here. Come with me to my chambers.” He descended the stairs and walked the short distance across the Hill of Ophel to his residence. When the message arrived, he sent everyone except his brothers out of the small room he used as a private office. “I’ll let you read it when I’m finished,” he told the noblemen and their aides who continually hovered around him. If being shut out angered some of them, so be it. Nehemiah had missed sharing the exclusive counsel of his brothers these past weeks, freely speaking his mind and heart. They sat down around the worktable in the middle of the room.

  “This letter is already open,” Hanani said in surprise. “There’s no seal. Why would Sanballat send his aide with an unsealed letter in his hand?”

  “Maybe they’ve been sharing the contents with the public all along the way,” Ephraim said.

  “Or else he’s implying that the public already knows the contents,” Nehemiah said. “That it’s common knowledge. Go ahead and read it, Hanani.”

  He unfurled the loosely rolled scroll and looked it over. “This letter is different from the others. Sanballat is the only leader who signed it this time. It says: ‘It is reported among the nations—and Geshem says it is true—that you and the Jews are plotting to revolt, and therefore you are building the wall . . .’”

  “I wonder how many spies are working to spread that lie for Sanballat and Geshem,” Nehemiah said.

  “‘Moreover,’” Hanani continued reading, “‘according to these reports, you are about to become their king and have even appointed prophets to make the proclamation about you in Jerusalem: There is a king in Judah!’”

  “I’ve appointed them?” Nehemiah asked. “That’s absurd!” He still wondered whether the prophets’ messages were from the Holy One or his enemies—but he knew he hadn’t hired them.

  “This is serious,” Ephraim said. “These rumors Sanballat refers to amount to treason on your part. And he said our neighboring nations have heard about them, too.”

  “‘Now this report will get back to King Artaxerxes,’” Hanani continued reading, “‘so come, let us confer together.’”

  “Isn’t that nice?” Ephraim asked, his tone biting. “Your friend Sanballat is offering to help you get out of this trouble you’re in. He couldn’t intimidate you into quitting, so now he’s claiming friendship.”

  “The truth is, my ‘friend’ Sanballat is plotting to murder me,” Nehemiah said.

  “You seem convinced of that. How do you know?”

  “My instincts tell me it’s true. He has tried everything else to stop me, so killing me is the only choice he has left.”

  “Does it worry you that King Artaxerxes might hear a rumor that you’re planning a rebellion?” Hanani asked.

  “Of course it does. For all I know, my enemies have already sent letters to Artaxerxes accusing me of rebellion and saying I rebuilt Jerusalem to use as my fortress. Persian troops might be marching here this very moment.”

  “I hope they don’t get here before the doors are hung,” Hanani said.

  Nehemiah appreciated his brother’s attempt at humor, but Sanballat’s accusations were too serious to ignore. “I should have sent my own messengers to the Persian king when these rumors first surfaced, assuring him of my loyalty.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Nehemiah didn’t reply. He hadn’t because there was a chance that God really was asking him to rebel and become Judah’s king. Why else would the Holy One help him win Artaxerxes’ favor and clear the way for him to come here and fortify the city? “It doesn’t matter now,” Nehemiah finally replied. “It’s much too late to send a message to Persia.”

  “How do you want me to respond to Governor Sanballat’s letter?” Hanani asked.

  Nehemiah exhaled. “Tell him, ‘Nothing like what you’re saying is happening; you’re just making it up in your head.’”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well, I would love to add that we know what he’s up to—that he’s trying to frighten us, thinking our hands and spirit will get too weak for the work before us. I would like to tell him that his letters only hardened my resolve and encouraged me to pray for God to strengthen me. But let’s not bother adding all those things.” He rose from his chair, eager to return to the Yeshana Gate, having wasted too much time alrea
dy on this letter. “The only way this intimidation will end is if I finish the wall, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Ephraim stopped him before he reached the door. Nehemiah saw his deep concern. “Are you really as brave and fearless as you claim to be? Don’t you ever have doubts or feel afraid?”

  Nehemiah knew that of all the many people in his life, he could be honest and vulnerable with these two men. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to die, but I know it’s a very real possibility. Day and night, wherever I go, the thought of a sudden attack is always in the back of my mind. Yes, I wish I could find someplace safe to hide, but I don’t know where that place would be. We know that it’s possible to be assassinated by someone you believe you can trust.”

  He took a few steps toward the door, then turned back and gestured to the letter still in Hananai’s hand. “That message from Sanballat was unsealed. It’s common knowledge that he summoned me to a meeting and I didn’t go. People probably think I’m a coward, afraid to leave Jerusalem. . . . Sometimes I wonder if I am a coward.”

  Ephraim shook his head. “Hanani and I know better.”

  “Trust God,” Hanani said.

  “I do trust Him. But there’s no guarantee that I’ll be safe just because I’m doing God’s work.” He thought of their parents again. “Send my reply, Hanani. Seal it, and send it back to Sanballat. I have more gates to finish.”

  Chapter

  49

  BETH HAKKEREM

  Chana couldn’t stop thinking about Shimon as she ate breakfast with Malkijah later that morning beneath the dining trellis. Everything about this estate seemed perfect with attentive servants, pristine courtyards, and magnificent views of vineyards and olive groves. Yet Chana also saw the ugliness that marred her future husband’s home—not only in the brutal events of last night, but in the underlying attitude of greed that fostered it. She watched Malkijah, seated across the table from her as he spoke to the servants about their breakfast, and couldn’t help noticing that his crooked nose marred the perfection of his handsome face.

  Shimon knew Malkijah better than anyone else did, and Chana suspected that he was right about Malkijah’s love of wealth. Shimon was certainly right about his blindness toward his son. But what could Chana do about it? How could she make sure that Shimon and Nava received justice for what Aaron had done? She wasn’t Malkijah’s wife yet. Shimon’s words kept coming back to her: “Only God can change his heart.”

  “Where are Meshullam and your other guests this morning?” she asked when the servants left. “Aren’t they eating with us?”

  “Most of them went home last night. Meshullam wanted to get an early start this morning. And I need to return to Jerusalem as soon as possible. The doors to the Dung Gate are nearly complete and ready to be hung. It will be a huge job. I need to be there.”

  She leaned closer to him, lowering her voice. “Did the conspirators tell you their plans last night?”

  “Not everything.” He glanced around and leaned toward Chana. “They want to get as many council members and priests on their side as possible. Once they have a majority, they’ll call for a meeting. They’ll tell the governor he’s outnumbered and demand that he hand back the governing power they had before he arrived. They’ll keep him on as a figurehead, at best.”

  “When will this council meeting take place?”

  “As soon as they have a majority behind them. There’s a great deal of fear and speculation at the moment that the common people are going to crown Nehemiah as their king. The nobles want to prevent that from happening. Otherwise, once Nehemiah becomes the king, the nobles will have lost everything.”

  “What if Nehemiah doesn’t give in to the council?”

  She saw his jaw tighten before he spoke. “Some of the men favor assassination.”

  A shiver of fear washed through Chana. Might these coldblooded conspirators kill Malkijah, too—especially if they discovered that he was deceiving them and spying on them? The servants brought the food, and she waited until they laid platters and bowls on the table and returned to the kitchen before speaking. She had no appetite but knew she should eat before their journey. “I don’t understand how these noblemen can simply take over,” she said, pulling a warm flatbread from the basket. “Wasn’t Nehemiah appointed governor by King Artaxerxes?”

  “Yes, but Persia is a thousand miles away. Artaxerxes doesn’t know what’s going on in this far-flung province beyond the river. The conspirators have the support of Sanballat and Tobiah and Judah’s other neighbors, who are threatening to report him as a traitor. They’ll use fear as a lever to convince Nehemiah that he’s outmaneuvered.”

  She thought about Nehemiah’s tenacity and said, “I don’t think he’ll back down.”

  “I don’t either, in spite of the danger he’s in.” Malkijah piled bread and cheese and olives onto his plate and began to eat.

  Chana’s stomach churned from all of the unsettling events. “How will we get a message to the governor now that my section of the wall is finished?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to think of a way.”

  Chana suddenly thought of one. “When Nehemiah comes to the Dung Gate, tell him my father is recovering and would like to see him. I can pass the information to him when he comes to our home.”

  Malkijah looked up at her and nodded. “It’s a good plan. Thank you. This whole dangerous business of the conspiracy has occupied too much of my mind and my time. I hated leaving you with that mess last night involving the servants. I’m sorry. Could you make any sense of it? How is Shimon?”

  “Not good. His hip is broken.” She paused. “His injuries will probably kill him.”

  Malkijah stopped eating. He looked stunned. “I didn’t think he was that badly injured. He’s been a loyal servant for many years.” Chana waited for him to comment on his son’s part in Shimon’s injuries, but he didn’t. “I wish it hadn’t happened right now, with this conspiracy to worry about and the façade I’m forced to keep up when I’m with the other nobles. Then there’s the Dung Gate that needs to be finished—that’s still my primary responsibility.”

  It worried Chana that he had changed the subject, avoiding the need to address what had happened. “About last night . . .” she said. “Is it possible that the servants are telling the truth? And that your son is lying to you?”

  Malkijah’s dark eyes flashed. “Why would Aaron lie to me?”

  “Why would the servants lie?” she asked, determined not to back down.

  “I suppose they’re angry because I didn’t give them their freedom. They’re getting even by accusing Aaron.”

  “But Shimon could have been free years ago, and he chose to stay here. Do you think he would lie to you? Or that he would hatch a plot to deceive you?”

  Malkijah exhaled, massaging the worry lines in his forehead. “I don’t know, Chana. I don’t know who or what to believe. Someone isn’t telling the truth, but I can’t believe that it’s Aaron. People resent us because of our wealth and noble birth, and jealousy can lead them to make up all sorts of lies.” Chana remembered the story of how Malkijah’s nose had gotten broken and wondered if he was recalling the same incident. “Will you be ready to leave within the hour, Chana?” he asked, changing the subject again.

  “Of course. But I think you should go see Shimon before we do.”

  Malkijah set down his cup and pushed his chair back, preparing to leave. “I will. But it will have to be quick.”

  Chana had to force back sudden tears at his abruptness. Malkijah’s brief, distracted visit might be the last time Shimon would ever see his beloved son. “One more thing,” she said, stopping him again. “I don’t think it would be wise for us to go back to Jerusalem as if nothing ever happened with your servants last night. If it can’t be resolved, we should at least separate the antagonists until we can learn the truth.”

  “Do you want to take the servant girl with yo
u?”

  “That would be the easiest solution, but she is taking care of Shimon and won’t leave his side. We may have to take Aaron with us, instead.”

  “He can’t leave. He’s overseeing the estate for me.”

  Chana prayed for wisdom as she carefully chose her words. She knew she could be outspokenly blunt at times, but she needed to tread carefully as she reasoned with this man who wasn’t her husband yet. “Maybe you don’t remember how many of your other servants also accused Aaron last night. For whatever reason, they don’t seem to like him. Is it wise to leave him here in such an atmosphere of mistrust? It might be better for both sides if they had some time apart.”

  “That means I’ll have to assign a new overseer. That’s going to take time, and I wanted to leave right away.”

  “I can make sure Aaron is awake and ready to go if that will save you some time. We can still arrive in Jerusalem well before noon.” Chana waited. She had no right to push him or to expect him to listen to her.

  “Very well. We’ll take Josef with us, as well. Maybe they would enjoy watching the Dung Gate being hung in place. Would you mind asking the servants to awaken my sons and help them pack? I’ll go talk to my manager.”

  “And you’ll talk to Shimon, too?” Chana asked before he could leave.

  “I will.” Malkijah would see that Shimon was dying. She prayed it would shock him into confronting Aaron for his brutal attack.

  Within the hour they were on the road, the four of them traveling together along with a few servants. Aaron looked disgruntled, and Chana caught him shooting angry looks at her like arrows, as if it were her fault that he’d been yanked from his bed and forced to come. They were within sight of Jerusalem when Aaron seemed unable to hold his tongue a moment longer.

  “Am I being punished for something, Father, that you assigned another overseer in my place and made me come with you? Haven’t I done a good enough job while you were away?”