“Ezra . . .” Jude said, breaking the silence. “You’re a million miles away again.”
“Sorry. My mind seems to spin in useless circles lately.” He found it harder and harder to concentrate each day. And while he used to love maneuvering through legal labyrinths, exploring circuitous rabbit trails in the written and oral Torah, this dilemma had no end—or maybe the end was too final. A dead end. He massaged his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, pressing against the throbbing pain in his head.
“God is just, but He is also merciful,” he finally said. “Even if we deserve this punishment, we can plead for His mercy. Either He’ll spare us or He won’t. I don’t know what more I can do as a leader except tell everyone to fast and pray.”
“There’s plenty more you can do,” Jude shouted. “Stop stuttering excuses like Moses and make up your mind to lead us!”
“Help us make sense of this,” Asher added. “Give us hope.”
“I don’t want to give false hope—”
“How do you know it’s false?” Asher asked.
Ezra stared at his feet, unable to meet his gaze. When he looked up again, he saw Jude’s face harden as he gave Asher a nudge. “Look . . . they’re back again.” Jude pointed to two Babylonian men who stood across the yard from them, gesturing to the kiln and the rows of pots as if surveying the property.
“Who are they? What do they want?” Ezra asked.
“Our pottery works,” Jude said. “They’re planning to steal it after they kill us. Hey!” he shouted as he bolted across the grove toward them. “This is my property! I told you the other day to stay away from here!” Ezra and Asher hurried to keep up.
“Not for long,” one of the strangers said. He had the gall to smile.
“That’s right,” the other one added. “You’ll be dead in eight months and this will all be ours.”
“But maybe we won’t kill all of you,” the first man said. “I think I’ll keep your pretty little wife around for a while until I get tired of her.”
Jude rushed the man but Asher was quicker, grabbing Jude from behind. “Let me go!” Jude shouted. “Let me kill these dogs!” It took all of Ezra’s strength to help Asher hold him back.
One of the Babylonians leaned forward as Jude struggled to free himself and spit in his face. “We’re the ones who will be doing the killing, Jew!”
Ezra trembled with helpless rage as he watched the Babylonians turn away. All his life, he had felt disdain toward Gentiles with their useless superstitions, willful ignorance, and shocking immorality. But the king’s decree had transformed his disdain into hatred so violent that his body shook with it. Jude finally freed himself and wiped the spittle from his face. “I’m going home,” he said, and Ezra knew it was to check on Devorah and his daughters, to reassure himself that they were safe.
Ezra retreated back to his study and closed the door, unwilling to spend another moment among his Gentile enemies, watching them go about their carefree lives, gloating as they plotted his destruction. How could the Holy One allow these animals to destroy His people?
He slumped down in his seat, waiting for his anger to fade. He had no desire to lead their community in Rebbe Nathan’s place. He was a scholar, not a leader. But was he really stuttering excuses like Moses had at the burning bush? Ezra remembered the promise God had made to Moses, saying, “I will be with you.”
He sat alone in his room for a long time as an idea began to take shape, fueled by his hatred toward the Gentiles. Then, before he had a chance to change his mind, Ezra rose and went out to the study hall where two scholars and a handful of yeshiva students sat talking. “Go and gather all the other rabbis and teachers for me, and any students who are available. Tell them to meet me here as quickly as possible. I have a proposal to make.”
An hour later he stood before a roomful of his fellow teachers and their disciples, the memory of their enemies’ taunts still fresh. “Our people are asking why the Almighty One would allow this decree,” he said. “What is His purpose in this? Will He really allow all of the descendants of Abraham to die? I’ve been searching for answers, but the task is too huge for me to accomplish alone in the short time that remains. But working together, maybe we can find the reason why we’ve been abandoned. Maybe we can discover a way to obtain the Holy One’s mercy.” He paused to wipe the runner of sweat that trickled down his forehead, remembering the spittle on Jude’s face.
“This is what I’m proposing: We will divide the holy books among as many of us who are willing, and read them day and night, scroll after scroll, searching to find out what the Almighty One has promised us, where we have gone wrong, and why God is allowing evil to win. We’ll read and study the books of the law and the prophets and the history of our people, and at the end of each day we’ll compare notes. Together, we’ll assemble the pieces, and maybe God will reveal the bigger picture to us. When we gather for evening prayers, I’ll share what we’ve learned with our people to encourage them. They’re begging for hope and direction. In fact, it’s time for evening prayers right now,” he said, noticing the angle of the late afternoon sun. “If you’d like to help me with this project, meet me here first thing tomorrow.”
Ezra led the way outside for the short walk to the house of assembly, his young student, Shimon, falling into step beside him. “Rebbe Ezra, I just read the Holy One’s promises in the prophecies of Jeremiah. God said that only if the heavens could be measured and the foundations of the earth be searched out would He reject all the descendants of Israel.”
“Good, Shimon. Very good. That’s exactly the kind of promises we’re looking for.”
“And in another prophecy, God said that although He would completely destroy all the nations where we’ve been scattered, He would never completely destroy us.”
Ezra stopped to rest his hand on his student’s shoulder. “You’ll be a great help to us, Shimon. Thank you.”
A few minutes later, Ezra climbed onto the bimah to address the assembled men, ignoring the misgivings he still had about assuming a leadership role. “I’ll be leading prayers until Rebbe Nathan is well,” he began, “but first I want to—”
“Why should we pray?” someone shouted from the crowd. “Isn’t it obvious that God isn’t listening?”
It took Ezra a moment to recover his poise. “Well . . . we can ask God to spare us for Abraham’s sake, for His covenant’s sake. Even if we deserve this punishment for failing to keep our part of the covenant, God is merciful and—”
“But the king’s law can’t be repealed!”
“True. But the Almighty One proved He was more powerful than Pharaoh, didn’t He? He’s more powerful than the Persian king, too, and He can rescue us—”
“Yes, He’s powerful enough to save us—but will He?”
Ezra hesitated. “If it’s His will,” he finally replied. He knew it was an unsatisfactory answer. He and the other scholars would have to do better.
“If God loves us, how could He allow this to happen?” called out another voice. “Why did He allow the Egyptians to abuse us and throw our sons into the Nile?”
“Maybe He wants us to turn to Him,” Ezra said. “Maybe we would have been content living in Egypt if Pharaoh hadn’t issued his decree. And maybe we’ve become too content here in Babylon, too.”
“Then why are the Jews in Jerusalem sentenced to die along with us?”
“I don’t know,” Ezra said, exhaling. He had taught his students to ask good questions and dig deep into God’s Word. But these questions sprang from fear, not intellectual curiosity, and were more difficult to answer. He could understand how the congregation’s terror and despair had overwhelmed Rebbe Nathan. But when Ezra remembered the two Gentiles who plotted to steal Jude’s business and rape his wife, his anger hardened into resolve like clay fired in the kiln. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his voice came out louder than before. “The Almighty One told Abraham, ‘I will establish my covenant as an everlasting covenant between me and
you and your descendants after you for generations to come, to be your God and the God of your descendants.’ Everlasting. That means a remnant of our people will survive. It may not be us. It may be Jews from another part of this empire. But I am certain of this: God’s people will survive—somewhere, somehow!”
“But it may be us?”
“Yes. And so every day, between now and the thirteenth of Adar, we need to repent of our sins and plead for mercy. And no matter what happens, whether we live or die, we need to pray for the salvation of God’s remnant.”
Chapter
6
BABYLON
Devorah knelt beside her sister-in-law’s bed and wiped her forehead with a cool cloth. “You have to stay calm, Miriam. It isn’t good for you or your baby to be so upset.”
“But I want my life back,” she wept. “The life I had before this terrible decree. The life I always dreamed of with Asher and a houseful of children. Our baby isn’t even born yet, and now it will die before it has a chance to live!”
“Shh . . . Don’t think about such things.” Fear, Devorah discovered, was contagious. Hours could pass as she cooked meals and cared for her daughters when she would almost forget about the Angel of Death. But Miriam’s panicked words made her aware of his arid whispers, the sickly vertigo of his touch. Devorah’s inevitable meeting with death’s angel would be bad enough, but he had no right to invade her soul now, bringing nightmares of her final moments—nightmares in which she clung to her husband and daughters, desperate to save them and herself, knowing she couldn’t.
Miriam grabbed the basin and held her head over it to vomit. Ill with worry and morning sickness, she had nothing left in her stomach to bring up. “You need to lie down again,” Devorah told her as she wiped her face. “Try to rest, Miriam. Think of pleasant things.”
“I don’t want to die! And I can’t stop thinking about it, wondering how it will happen, if they’ll herd us all together or come here with their swords and—”
“Stop it!” Devorah fought the urge to shake her. “Miriam, you have to stop this! You’re dying a hundred times before the day finally comes—and it might not come, you know. As long as we have breath we can hope, can’t we? We have to trust God.”
Miriam covered her face and wept, her cries so heartrending that Devorah had to swallow her own tears. Her daughters were out in the courtyard with Miriam’s mother, and Devorah determined never to let them witness such fear and grief. Asher had begged her to console Miriam, but it was proving impossible. She took Miriam’s hand to try again.
“Listen, Miriam. You must know the words to some of the psalms. Why don’t you recite them when you’re afraid? That’s what I do.” Devorah tried to think of one now, but the fever of fear had scattered her thoughts. She sat by Miriam’s side until she finally calmed down, then gathered up her girls and returned home in defeat.
She had only been away from home a short time, but when she came through the gate, she found Jude pacing their courtyard in his potter’s apron, raking his fingers through his curly black hair. “Devorah, thank God!” he said when he saw her. He rushed to meet her, pulling her into his arms without waiting for her to put down the baby. The strength of his embrace could have crushed both of them. “Where were you?” he asked. “When I came home and you weren’t here I was worried sick!”
“Visiting Miriam. Why were you worried? . . . And since when do you come home in the middle of the morning? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I . . . I just felt like coming home.”
She didn’t believe him. Devorah studied her husband’s face as he picked up Abigail, who was clinging to his leg. She saw worry lines on Jude’s forehead that she hadn’t noticed before, and she reached up to smooth them.
“Asher asked me to talk to Miriam. She hasn’t been well and—”
“You didn’t walk to her house all alone, did you?”
“Of course. The girls and I—”
“Devorah, no! From now on I don’t want you to leave our house by yourself! Ever!”
She stared at him. He was angry over nothing. Jude had always had a quick temper, but lately it seemed nearly impossible for him to control it. She longed to argue with him and tell him that his command for her to hide at home was unreasonable, but she knew she would have to tread carefully or risk stepping on a beehive.
“The girls need a nap,” she said as calmly as she could. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She took them inside and made them lie down, promising a treat if they stayed quiet and obeyed her. When she came outside he was pacing again. “You’re going to wear out our pavement. It’s only mud-brick, you know. . . . Now, tell me what’s going on, Jude.”
“This decree has me edgy, I guess. I can’t bear to think of something happening to you and the girls.”
She moved into his arms, at home in his embrace. He was a wonderful husband, strong yet tender, handsome yet without arrogance, generous and hardworking—and more than willing to love her even though she was too strong-willed to fit the mold of the ideal wife. Jude had his bad habits, of course, such as his fiery temper. But all husbands had faults and none of Jude’s outweighed her love for him. Never, for even a second, did she doubt that he loved her, too. But lately he had taken on the role of overseer and guardian instead of partner, in spite of his promise.
“Listen to me, Jude,” she said when she felt his muscles relax. “If you want me to stay locked up in our house all day, you have to give me a good reason why.”
He was silent for such a long time that she didn’t think he would reply. At last he released her. “Two Babylonians keep hanging around work, eyeing our business. They come back every day to taunt us, saying we’ll be dead soon and everything will be theirs.” He ran his hand over his face as if trying to wipe it clean.
“Just ignore them. They can’t make you angry unless you allow them to. Don’t give them that power. David didn’t care about Goliath’s taunts.”
Jude frowned and the worry lines in his forehead deepened. “As I recall, David didn’t put up with those taunts. He hurled a rock at Goliath’s head and killed him—which is what I might have to do if I see those pigs hanging around again.”
She ran her hands down his muscled arms to soothe him. “How will that help anything? If you kill two Babylonians, the authorities will haul you away for murder. How will you protect me then?”
“I can’t stand being helpless, Devorah.”
“Trust God.”
He exhaled and turned away. “I don’t have your faith. I need to do something! To kill them before they kill us!”
His anger seemed out of proportion to the taunts. And why make her stay locked inside the house all day? Then another thought occurred to her. “Did the men threaten the girls and me? Is that why you don’t want me to leave the house?” She knew by his guilty expression that she had guessed correctly. “No wonder you’re so angry.” His gallantry touched her, and if it were possible, made her love him even more.
“They knew all about you, Devorah, as if . . . as if they’ve been watching you. Watching our house!”
Her stomach made a slow, cold turn. She felt violated without ever being touched. Living with a death sentence was bad enough, but would she have to spend her few remaining months looking over her shoulder? “I won’t live in fear,” she said, acting braver than she felt. “As I just told Miriam, we’ll die a hundred times before the day finally comes if we give in to fear. You shouldn’t worry about me, Jude. I’m stronger than you think. Trust God.”
“Trust God . . . trust God,” he mimicked. “You need to stop saying that, as if trusting Him is something I can just snap my fingers and do. Besides, it’s pretty hard to keep trusting Him after He allowed us to be sentenced to death. Even Ezra admits that his trust has been shaken. Isn’t yours? If you’re honest?”
Tears filled her eyes. Yes. If she was honest. But she would never admit it to anyone, even herself. “Listen, if God isn’t trustworthy . . . if everything we k
now about Him from Scripture is a lie . . . then we may as well sit down and die right now because life isn’t worth living.” She paused to wipe at her tears, frustrated that she couldn’t control her emotions. “I’ve made up my mind to trust Him even if we all die, because God must have a reason for it. He must!”
Jude reached for her again, pulling her close. “Listen, you crazy woman. I’m glad you trust God—you have more than enough faith for both of us. But promise me that you won’t leave the house all alone. Walk with one of the other women if you have to go out. Please, Devorah. Promise?”
Once again, her stomach turned with dread at the thought of being watched. “Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, I promise.”
Chapter
7
BETHLEHEM
Amina lifted another shovelful of manure from the goat pen and dumped it on the pile. She paused to rest. Along with the late afternoon sounds of whirring insects and chirping birds, she thought she heard muffled hoofbeats on the dirt road and a donkey braying. She listened for a moment. Yes, the hoarse cry of Abba’s donkey was unmistakable. Dread made her heart beat faster. Abba was home.
He’d been away for more than a week, and Amina had dared to relax during that time, freed from fear of him. Now she tensed, glancing around to make sure Abba couldn’t find fault with anything—although he seldom needed a reason to be angry with her. She stood very still, listening for his voice and for her brothers’ voices, trying to determine their mood after their long journey.