“How will you bring in a good crop without your sons? For all of our sakes, your sons need to stay and help you work the land. Your daughter will be well cared for, I promise you. She’ll be part of a staff of servants whose families are in the same position as yours and can’t repay their debts. The truth is, I don’t need another servant, but I’m making this offer as a kindness to you and your family.”
Nava could no longer hold back her tears. She loved her family and longed to do whatever she could to help them, but leave home and go to work for this man? Become his bondservant? It was unimaginable. And what about marrying Dan?
Abba wrapped his arm around Nava’s shoulder. “How is it a kindness to make my little girl your slave?” he asked.
“Believe me, I’ve been searching for a way to help families like yours in my district. I’ve talked it over with the priests and other leaders in Jerusalem, and they’ve assured me that this is the provision prescribed by the Torah in cases like this. It’s not my idea. It’s in God’s law.”
“And how long will Nava have to be your bondservant?”
“The term of service given in the Torah is six years—”
“Six years!”
“And no longer. After that she goes free, even if you haven’t paid off your debt.”
Nava covered her mouth to keep from crying out. Six years as this man’s slave? Six years until she and Dan could be married? It was more than one-third of the lifetime she’d already lived. It seemed like forever.
“And even if I agreed to this, my land would still be mortgaged to you?” Abba asked.
“Yes. Unless you choose to sell your land to me to pay off all of your debts.”
“Don’t do it, Abba,” Nava said, unable to remain quiet. “You can’t sell your land.”
“If I did, we would all starve for sure,” he said.
The nobleman spread his hands, backing away a few steps. “Listen, I understand how overwhelming this must be. You don’t need to decide right now. Talk it over with your family. And talk to some of your neighbors who are facing the same difficult choices. I’ll come back tomorrow.” He mounted his donkey and left with his son, returning the way they had come.
Abba didn’t watch him go. He trudged back to the field and picked up his sickle to return to his labors without saying another word. Nava could see that his heart was no longer in his work. Only a small portion of this crop was his? It didn’t seem fair.
“What happened? What did he say?” Mama asked him.
Abba simply shook his head. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Nava had the rest of the morning to think about their situation while she worked. As her shock gradually began to wear off, she was unable to control her tears at the thought of being enslaved for six long years. But what other choice did her family have?
By noon the sun was unbearable, and they stopped working to sit in the shade of the pomegranate tree and eat a small meal. In a halting voice, Abba explained to everyone what the man had told him. Mama covered her face and wept. Nava’s brothers vented their anger with loud protests. Abba seemed heartbroken.
“I think we should accept the man’s offer,” Nava said, trying to sound brave. “When he comes back tomorrow, tell him I’ll work for him.”
“Nava, no!”
“It’s okay, Abba. I want to help you and Mama. And this way, you’ll get to keep your land. I don’t want that horrible, greedy man to have it. It’s yours. It belonged to our ancestors.”
“I know, but there must be some other way.”
Nava knew that there wasn’t. They all returned to the field later that afternoon and worked until sunset. Then Abba walked up the path to talk to Dan’s father. He wouldn’t let Nava come with him, and the evening seemed endless until he finally returned. She heard him open and close the gate as she and Mama were laying out the sleeping mats, getting ready for bed. Nava was afraid to ask him what he and Dan’s father had talked about, but Mama wasn’t. “What are our neighbors going to do? What did you decide?”
Abba shook his head. Nava saw him swallowing, struggling for control as he replied. “We have no choice,” he said hoarsely. “If Nava is willing to go—” He swallowed again, turning to her. “If you’re willing to do this for us . . .”
She went to him, holding him tightly. The knot of grief and sorrow in her chest felt as if it might swell and burst and shatter her heart. She would be a bondservant for the next six years. Somehow she managed to choke out the words, “Of course I’m willing, Abba.” He gave her a crushing hug, then freed himself from her grip, kissing her forehead before fleeing outside into the darkness. Her mother sat with her face covered, weeping. Nava crouched beside her and wrapped her arms around her as they wept together.
The rest of the night seemed like a bad dream. This was the last time she would sleep in this house, this bed. The last time she would get up in the morning and watch the sun rise over this beautiful, hilly patch of land where she had always lived. How could she bear saying good-bye to Dan? To be separated from him? Would she be allowed to visit him or her family in the years ahead?
She didn’t sleep. She finally ran out of tears as dawn approached and her eyes burned from weeping, her head ached. As her room grew lighter, she heard a soft, familiar whistle outside her window.
Dan.
She quickly dressed and tiptoed outside to meet him. They had always been very careful to remain modest in their relationship and refrain from showing their affection until they were married, but Dan suddenly pulled Nava into his arms, hugging her tightly. She savored the moment, loving the feeling of his strong, protective arms surrounding her. She never wanted him to let go. “Let’s run away,” he whispered. “I can’t bear the thought of you going away!”
As much as Nava longed to be with him, she knew they couldn’t run away. “I need to help my family, Dan. Abba will lose his land if I don’t do this. My family will starve.”
His arms tightened around her for a moment longer, then he pulled away. “Nava, there’s something that rich man didn’t tell you or your father. I walked into Jerusalem last night and talked to the priests myself—”
“Dan, you shouldn’t have! It’s too dangerous to walk alone at night!”
“Just listen. According to the Torah, Malkijah could give you to one of his sons for a wife.”
“But I’m already promised to you.”
“He won’t care. Malkijah ben Recab takes whatever he wants, and no one can stop him. Besides, it’s legal according to the law. The priest told me that as long as he takes care of you as a daughter-in-law and not as a servant, he’s within his rights. He could marry you himself, for that matter.”
“No. It’s too horrible to even think about.”
“You would be rich, Nava, with beautiful clothes to wear and servants to wait on you.”
“But I love you. I want to marry you, no matter how rich or poor we are. Marrying anybody else is . . . is . . . I could never do it!”
Dan pulled her into his arms again. “I’ll wait for you. And if I can’t marry you, then I won’t get married at all.”
“Will we at least get to visit each other during that time?”
“The priests said that it’s up to your master. He owns you. He gets to decide.” Dan hugged her tenderly, then bent to kiss her for the very first time. “That kiss seals you as mine,” he said when their lips parted. Tears filled his eyes and trailed down his cheeks. “Don’t forget me, Nava.”
“Dan, wait—” But he turned away from her, and she watched him sprint across the fields toward home as if he couldn’t bear to look back. Nava sank down on the ground and quietly wept, her sorrow and grief unbearable. As the stars faded and the sky grew light in the east, she heard her family stirring inside the house. Nava stood and wiped her eyes. If her parents saw her crying it would make it even harder for them to watch her go. She needed to be brave for their sakes.
She couldn’t eat breakfast, her stomach sick with fear. Before her family had a ch
ance to return to the wheat field with their sickles, Malkijah’s son arrived. “My father wants to know if you’ve made a decision,” he said. Once again, he didn’t bother to dismount. He would take Nava away just as he’d taken her herd of goats.
“My daughter has agreed to become your bondservant,” Abba said, his voice hoarse. “But if I had any other choice—” He began to weep and couldn’t finish. Nava had never seen her father cry. She went to him, hugging him tightly.
“It’s all right, Abba. Everything will be fine.” She hugged her mother, too, and then picked up the sack with her meager belongings. Her sandals had come apart again, so she would have to walk barefooted until they were fixed. When she looked up at Malkijah’s son to tell him she was ready, she saw him appraising her from head to toe and remembered what Dan had said. Her stomach churned with dread. Her new masters had the right to take her for a wife. She lifted her chin, unwilling to let her family see her fear, and followed the donkey as it returned the way it had come. She had never been separated from them before, not even for a single night, and couldn’t imagine living apart from them. Or from Dan.
Why wasn’t the Almighty One helping them? Why didn’t He answer their prayers for rain? They were His people, this was His land. Abba had left Babylon so they could all live here and worship Him in Jerusalem. Why was God making them suffer this way?
The summer day was already growing hot. The dirt road felt warm beneath Nava’s bare feet as she followed the plodding donkey. She didn’t dare look back.
Chapter
8
SAMARIA, CAPITAL CITY OF THE LAND
BEYOND THE RIVER
Nehemiah stood in Governor Sanballat’s throne room, enduring the preliminary formalities and official introductions. He’d witnessed this process countless times in King Artaxerxes’ throne room and understood the necessity of the ritual, but it still tried his patience. Like boys playing in the streets, sizing each other up, the assembled men would choose allies, assess their enemies.
“Governor Sanballat. Thank you for arranging this meeting,” Nehemiah said when it was his turn to speak. He made sure to address the Samaritan governor as an equal and not let his posture or expression convey submission. “And thank you for your gracious hospitality, hosting us here in your palace.” He used the word palace in an effort to flatter the governor, but it couldn’t begin to compare to the Persian palaces where he’d served as cupbearer. This room was a shabby copy of a Persian assembly hall, paneled with cedar and warmed with tapestries and carpets. But the furnishings looked worn and threadbare, as if used by Persian royalty for a dozen years, then discarded. The overall look reminded Nehemiah of an aging noblewoman struggling to keep up appearances after falling on hard times. From the moment he entered Sanballat’s palace, Nehemiah had been assessing it from a security standpoint, and he was surprised to find that it failed every test. A determined enemy could find dozens of ways to breach its defenses and assassinate the governor.
Nehemiah turned to the other gathered leaders, showing respect but not deference. “And it was good of all of you to come on such short notice. As the new governor of the province of Judah, I believe it’s important for me to meet my fellow leaders.” He had longed to go directly to Jerusalem to survey the city’s defenses, but his experience with politics and protocol had taught him that he needed to pay an official visit to the other provincial leaders first, establishing his credentials as Judah’s new governor, claiming his rightful authority. A few days before reaching Damascus, he’d sent messengers ahead to Samaria to announce his arrival and arrange this meeting with Judah’s neighbors. Now he took careful note of each of these men—the rulers of the Ammonites, Edomites, Ashdodites, Samaritans, and Arab tribes. Except for the Samaritans, who had been transplanted to the Promised Land by the conquering Assyrians more than two hundred years ago, these neighbors were his peoples’ historic enemies. Nehemiah had no reason to believe that their enmity had changed. Today’s meeting tested everyone’s willpower and strength.
“I bring greetings to each of you from King Artaxerxes’ court,” he continued, “along with the king’s sincere desire that we work together for the good of his empire and for the people we govern.” Nehemiah had listened to his peers’ long introductions knowing that these men were in a position to either help or hinder his work. Sanballat, leader of the Samaritans on Judah’s northern border, presided over the gathering while the others deferred to him. The oldest of the gathered leaders, he struck Nehemiah as a seasoned politician, wily and duplicitous, determined to surrender none of his power as the leader of the province known as The Land Beyond the River. A large, beardless, heavyset man, he sat on his throne with his hands resting on his protruding belly. Sanballat’s elaborate robes, decorated with purple fringe and gold braid, looked much too hot to wear on a summer day and necessitated a team of servants with palm branches to keep him cool.
“So, you’re the new governor of Judah?” Sanballat said when the preliminaries ended. Nehemiah detected a tone of ridicule in his voice.
“Yes, I’ve been appointed by the Persian emperor Artaxerxes. Here are the letters he sent to announce my appointment.” He passed around the emperor’s decree, watching the other leaders’ reactions. Tobiah the Ammonite governed the territory east of Judah across the Jordan River and was Judah’s closest neighbor. He passed the letter on after only a cursory glance. Tobiah was a popular Jewish name, meaning “the Lord is good,” and he appeared to be Jewish with his traditional beard, head covering, and fringed robe. Nehemiah wondered how he had become the leader of Israel’s long-standing enemies the Ammonites, descendants of Abraham’s nephew, Lot. Tobiah was quiet and self-contained and hard to read. Nothing stood out about him, neither height nor weight nor facial features nor clothing, as if he wanted to blend in with the crowd and not draw attention to himself.
Geshem, ruler of the Arab tribes beyond Judah’s southern border, took even less notice of Nehemiah’s letter, passing it to his aide to study. The ruler of an Arab confederacy that stretched from Egypt to Arabia to southern Judah, Geshem enjoyed favored status under the Persian king and had visited his court on a yearly basis. Nehemiah remembered the bearded, dark-skinned chieftain in his flowing white robes and keffiah, and hoped Geshem wouldn’t recognize him as a former cupbearer.
The Edomite leader, whose territory also bordered Judah to the south, seemed to take his cue from Geshem. Only the leader of Ashdod, to the west of Judah, showed any interest in examining the decree. These men were seasoned politicians, and Nehemiah was not. But his years of service at the emperor’s side had taught him a great deal, even if he had simply served the king’s wine. Foremost in Nehemiah’s mind was the fact that his appointment had ultimately come from the Almighty One. That alone gave him the courage to stand up to these men. The hand of the Lord God was upon him.
“What I find odd,” Sanballat said, twisting one of his glittering rings, “is that we’ve heard no complaints from the Persian authorities about the way I’ve governed the Judean territories since your last governor retired. Therefore, what’s the true reason why you’ve been sent?”
Nehemiah remained unruffled, anticipating this question. “I can’t pretend to read the emperor’s mind. Nevertheless, as his letter states, I will assume leadership of the province from now on. And in case there’s any question of the letter’s authenticity, my authority is clearly visible in the official Persian military escort that accompanied me.”
Sanballat smiled coldly. “No one has questioned your credentials. You needn’t be so apologetic.”
“I don’t recall apologizing.”
“I believe I speak for the others as well as myself,” Sanballat continued, “when I question why King Artaxerxes has suddenly decided that a governor is necessary at all. Judah is such a tiny, insignificant territory of little economic importance.”
Nehemiah knew the Samaritan was baiting him, trying to diminish his authority by degrading his nation. He’d witnessed this mane
uver among the Persian courtiers on occasion, and knew he must control his temper. “Since you regard Judah as such an insignificant territory, I’m happy to relieve you of the burden of governing it.”
Sanballat ignored Nehemiah’s comment and went on. “Perhaps there is simmering political or religious unrest in Judah that I was unaware of. You’re a Jew, and I’m obviously not. Have you been sent to cool tempers? Eliminate agitators?”
“You would know much more about any simmering unrest than I would. I haven’t even seen Jerusalem yet, nor have I met with the Jewish council leaders and priests.”
Tobiah the Ammonite abruptly took over the interrogation. “Like you, I also have a Jewish ancestry. When the Babylonian army carried your forefathers into exile, mine were spared their punishment and were allowed to remain behind on our land. As the Almighty One helped my family grow and prosper and spread across the province, we came to the aid of the beleaguered Ammonites, who looked to us for leadership and direction. While you were in exile, I have enjoyed a good relationship with the Ammonite people, living and worshiping together, forming marriage and business partnerships.”
Nehemiah struggled not to react to Tobiah’s condescending tone or the implication that his ancestors were more deserving than Nehemiah’s. Whatever else Tobiah believed, he was not a follower of the Torah if he had intermarried with Ammonites.
“We both know,” Tobiah continued, “that the Judeans have a long history of rebellion against political authority. The fanatics among them claim homage only to the Holy One and will accept no king but a descendant of King David. They await a Messiah to free them from bondage to the Gentile nations. Perhaps you’ve come to fulfill that role, Governor Nehemiah?”
Again, Nehemiah was careful not to react to the inflammatory question. “If I’m the promised Messiah, I haven’t been made aware of it. The letters of authority I carry with me are stamped with the Persian emperor’s seal, not the Holy One’s.” He was tired of this game and eager to complete the journey to Jerusalem, sixty miles away. But he dared show no sign of weakness or weariness.