The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

  Jerusha walked forward to meet him with a skin of water. For the third time that morning, the words of David’s psalm echoed in Joshua’s mind: “You brought me out of the womb; you made me trust in you even at my mother’s breast. . . .” My God . . . why?

  “Thanks, Mama.”

  “You look tired, Joshua.” She brushed the dusting of chaff off his beard and eyebrows. It made him look old, gray-haired. He wondered if he reminded her of Abba. Maybe she was using the weariness of hard labor to crush her memories, as well.

  Miriam opened the bundle of food and passed barley buns to everyone. “Here, Master Joshua.”

  “Miriam, I told you not to call me that! Look at me! Do I look like anyone’s master?” He regretted his harsh words as soon as he said them, but Miriam didn’t seem to mind. As he held out his hand for the bread, she examined the blisters on his palm from gripping the sickle.

  “Your blisters have broken open. Do they hurt?” she asked.

  “I’ll have calluses soon. Then it won’t matter.” As he took the bread and began to eat, Miriam removed her head covering. He glanced around to see if any Moabites were watching. “Miriam, it’s indecent to—” She tore off a narrow strip from one edge. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

  “Hold out your hand.” For a young girl, she had an insistent way of taking charge that made everyone listen. Joshua held out his hand. Within moments, Miriam had deftly wrapped the cloth around his blistered palm, securing it around his thumb and wrist so it wouldn’t slide. As she tied the ends he noticed that her own hands were rough and scratched from the stubble. “Too tight?” she asked him.

  “It’s fine.” He turned away from her and went to sit beside his mother. He avoided Miriam as much as he possibly could. Seeing her reminded him of Maki’s death and his own stupid mistakes. Remembering filled him with unmanageable guilt.

  When the break ended, Joshua crossed the field again to join the other men. He surveyed the work they had done and calculated how much was left to do—at least three more days’ worth, he hoped. When he saw the foreman walking toward him, he felt a wave of uneasiness.

  “Can I have a word with you, Jew?” the man asked.

  “Yes, my lord.” The foreman worked bare-chested like the other Moabites, and his bronzed arms and chest were heavily muscled. He was probably in his mid-thirties, and Joshua had heard that he lived a rough-and-tumble life among his workers, breaking up their fights with his own fists, celebrating with them with strong drink after the harvest. The foreman lived in a modest home on the edge of the landowner’s property, overseeing his crops and herds year round. Joshua had never met the rich landowner. He lived in a lavish house in town.

  “I notice you eat with those three women every day,” the foreman said.

  “Yes, we’re all one family.”

  “Is one of them your wife?”

  “I’m not married.”

  “I’ve been watching the little dark-faced one, the one doing all the work. I’m wondering if she’s available.”

  “To work for you?”

  The foreman laughed. “In a manner of speaking. I meant as my concubine.”

  Hot anger blazed through Joshua at this insult to his family. He choked it back, remembering that his family no longer had stature in anyone’s eyes. Besides, if he threw a punch at this brawny man, he would likely end up with several broken bones and a few missing teeth. Joshua needed this job. He must answer shrewdly.

  “As you know, my lord, we are Judeans. Our customs are very different from—”

  “You’re in Moab now, Jew.”

  “Yes, my lord, that’s true. However, our religious beliefs require a contract of marriage before—”

  “All right, then, I’ll marry the girl. She appeals to me. I’ll make any arrangements you want. I’ll even see that you’re hired for the threshing. After that, the grape harvest. Who knows, as my brother-in-law you could work for me full time.”

  “But I understood that you were already married, my lord.”

  The foreman shrugged his burly shoulders. “So? It happens that I am. But I make a good living. I assure you that I can support two wives quite well.”

  The second insult hit Joshua harder than the first. He wasn’t able to afford even one wife, and his own mother had been reduced to gleaning. “I can see that you do well, my lord,” he mumbled.

  “My first wife has only given me daughters. I would like to have a son.”

  “With so many beautiful Moabite women, I’m surprised you would choose a foreign wife—and one who is Jewish.”

  The foreman grinned, and Joshua didn’t like the look of it. “I have my reasons for choosing a Jew,” he said. “But you haven’t answered my question. Is the girl available or not? And at what price?”

  Joshua recalled Maki’s death grip on his wrist, the strangled plea to take care of Miriam. Right now, Joshua’s own future looked pretty hopeless. How could he take care of Miriam? The foreman’s offer would certainly give her a better life than gleaning and subsistence in an overcrowded shack, better than the life she had lived in Jerusalem. But she was so young—probably no more than fifteen or sixteen. And so thin. Still, this was an honest offer of marriage, even if it was polygamous.

  “I really cannot give you an answer, my lord,” Joshua said at last. “My older brother is the head of our family. I will tell him about your offer tonight.”

  The foreman grinned. “Good. I’ll be waiting for his answer.”

  When the day finally ended, Joshua walked back to town with the women. He ate the simple evening meal of bread and lentils and still felt hungry when he rose from the table. The heavy field labor created an appetite that these meager portions couldn’t quite satisfy. Yet the meal would have to suffice. They had three men, four women, and four growing children to feed.

  As Joshua experienced true hunger for the first time in his life, he wondered how he had ever taken food for granted. Against his will, he thought of all the lavish meals he had eaten in the palace banquet hall, all the platters heaped with scraps that went to waste. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten meat. Yes, he could—it was at Yael’s house, the night his privileged life had come to an end.

  He joined his brother and Joel in one corner of the room to recite evening prayers. Yahweh knew that Joshua wasn’t really praying, that he was only reciting memorized words. But the ritual seemed to give comfort to the other two men. Afterward, Joshua told them about the foreman’s marriage proposal.

  “Is he an honest man? A God-fearing man?” Jerimoth asked.

  “We didn’t discuss religion,” Joshua said. He heard the edge of bitterness in his voice. “He’s a Moabite. But he can offer Miriam a better life than we can.”

  “Do you think her father would have approved of him?”

  “I don’t know! You knew Maki better than I did! You worked with him every day!”

  Jerimoth’s brow furrowed with concern. “You’re tired, Joshua. Maybe we should discuss this another time.”

  “No, listen. I’m sorry I lost my temper. But we need to talk now. He’s waiting for your answer.”

  “My answer?”

  “You’re the head of the house now.”

  Jerimoth sighed and rubbed his eyes. For a moment Joshua glimpsed the enormous strain Jerimoth was under. Joshua’s work might be backbreaking, but Jerimoth’s was nerve-racking. He was taking heavy financial risks with what little gold and silver they had managed to smuggle out.

  “In that case,” Jerimoth said at last, “I think we should ask Miriam.”

  “Ask Miriam? Are you out of your mind?”

  “Why?”

  “Her father wouldn’t ask her opinion! Did Abba ask Tirza’s opinion before her betrothal?”

  “Actually, your father did ask her,” Joel said quietly.

  “That’s unheard of.”

  “I know. But your father loved his daughters. Tirza’s happiness was important to him.”

  Joshua turned
away to hide his grief at this painful reminder of their father and the love he had lavished on all of them. “Go ahead. Ask Miriam, then,” he said.

  Jerimoth called her over. Joshua knew she had already heard every word they’d said. In a house this small, it was impossible not to.

  “Miriam, you’ve seen this man Joshua works for?” Jerimoth asked. “You’ve heard that he has asked to marry you?”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “What do you wish to do, my child?” She stared at the dirt floor, kneading her hands.

  “What about my brothers? Will they come, too?”

  “We’ll have to talk to this man and come to some sort of agreement about the boys. But as you know, I’ve grown very fond of Mattan. Both boys have become invaluable to my work in the marketplace. I would hate to lose them. Still, it’s up to you, Miriam.”

  “I . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Joshua, can you tell us anything more about this man that might help Miriam decide?” Jerimoth asked.

  Joshua couldn’t look at either of them. “I should probably tell you that he’s already married.”

  “Married!” Jerimoth shouted.

  “Miriam would be his second wife. His first wife has only given him daughters.”

  “Absolutely not!” Jerimoth said. “It’s out of the question!”

  “Why?” Joshua asked. “He can well afford two wives.”

  “You may go now, Miriam,” Jerimoth said. “I’m sorry we bothered you with this.”

  “Don’t you understand?” Joshua asked. “I’ll probably be fired if we turn him down!”

  “Then we’ll have to trust God for another job.”

  “That’s easy for you to say! You have work!” Joshua strode outside, banging the rickety door behind him. He dodged around the sodden laundry, forever hanging on the line, and sat down on a low step leading out of their yard. The evening breeze felt cool after the stuffy air in the overcrowded house, but it brought the nauseating smell of sewage from the filthy street. These Moabites had worse sanitary habits than the poorest Judeans. Joshua’s entire family had been sick from drinking the water at first.

  After a few minutes, Joshua heard the door open and close behind him. He didn’t turn around. “Go away, Jerimoth. I want to be alone.”

  “I’m not Jerimoth,” his mother said. “May I stay?” She began to knead his aching shoulders. It felt good.

  “You heard our discussion?” he asked her.

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “And what do you think Miriam should do?”

  “I agree with Jerimoth.”

  “But how are we going to survive? You know how difficult it was for me to find work!”

  “Yes, but you would have this job only until the season ends. Miriam would have to live with this man, and his jealous first wife, for the rest of her life.”

  “It would be a better life than the one we’re giving her.”

  “Are you so sure of that? You’re comparing this life with the one you knew.”

  He whirled to face her. “Well, don’t you, Mama? Sometimes everything seems so hopeless that I can barely stand it! I sleep and work, and work and sleep, just so I won’t have to think about my old life. But I can’t help it—I want it back! All of it! And I want to know why God let me survive when I was a baby, why He called me to a life of service beside the king, why He trained me and prepared me for it, then ripped it all way from me! What did we do to deserve this suffering? What did Abba do that he deserved to die?”

  “I understand how you feel, Joshua.” His mother had tears in her eyes as she touched his cheek. “You know the story of my life. You know those aren’t empty words. I do understand.”

  He fell into her arms, clinging to her. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

  “Hang on to Yahweh, Joshua. Cling to Him, just like you’re clinging to me. Even in the darkness. Even in the times when it seems like He has forsaken you. Because He hasn’t forsaken you. ‘Where can I flee from your presence? If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.’ That’s where we are now—in the depths. But hang on to God, son. That’s what all of us must do.”

  “But why is this happening? I need to know why.”

  “When the Assyrians captured me my suffering seemed pointless, too. But God did have a reason. And I’ve chosen to trust that He has a reason for this suffering as well. I will thank Him for all that He has given me, not curse Him for all that I’ve lost.”

  “But it’s so hard to do that.”

  “Yes, Joshua, it is. But I know that deep in your heart you desire to serve Yahweh. When serving Him meant years of discipline and study and learning, you poured yourself into it willingly. I used to fear that you would ruin your eyesight, reading all those scrolls by lamplight. Now Yahweh has asked you to bend your back all day, cutting grain. Can you do that job for Him with the same willingness? Without letting bitterness and resentment grow in your heart?”

  “Why should I bother? Look how God rewarded Abba for serving Him.”

  “Your father was willing to serve God as an engineer when it meant laboring in a suffocating tunnel. He was willing to serve as secretary of state when it meant being persecuted by Prince Gedaliah and Lord Shebna. He gladly served as palace administrator during the most dangerous time in King Hezekiah’s reign, confronting the Assyrians face-to-face. And I know that if God asked Eliakim to die at Manasseh’s hands in order to fulfill His purpose, then your father gave his life willingly.”

  An image of the brutal execution pit came to Joshua’s mind, merging with an image of his father’s face. No, this time what Yahweh had asked of Abba had been too much. Joshua buried his face in his mother’s shoulder. “Mama . . . I miss him so much!”

  Jerusha gripped him tightly. “I know, son. I know.”

  Part Two

  [Manasseh] did evil in the eyes of the Lord . . . He rebuilt the high places his father Hezekiah had destroyed . . . Manasseh also shed so much innocent blood that he filled Jerusalem from end to end. . . .

  2 Kings 21:2–3, 16

  12

  “Unclear? What do you mean the omens are unclear?” Manasseh stared at the sheep’s liver lying in the bloody basin and wished he knew how to read the signs himself. Zerah rinsed the blood off his hands, then dried them on a towel.

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but something is blocking our vision.”

  “Well, can’t you remove it? You know I don’t like to begin the day until you’ve read the omens for me.”

  “Only you can remove the blockage, Your Majesty.”

  “Stop talking in riddles, Zerah. I have work to do, and I need guidance. Just tell me what the problem is.”

  Zerah rested his hands on his hips. “Very well. The full picture is blocked because you are controlled by the narrow traditions you grew up with. My priests and I are forced to function with our hands tied.”

  “But you told me this would work. Before I built this altar, you said I could continue to attend the Temple sacrifices like I’ve always done, then walk across the courtyard to you for the omens.”

  “I thought it would work, Your Majesty, but I see now that the old rituals are holding you back from all that God has for you. They’re blocking your path to true knowledge and preventing me from guiding you properly.”

  “I won’t give up the daily sacrifices and the feasts, Zerah.”

  “I’m not asking you to. You don’t have to give up anything or change anything—simply move beyond it. You can have all of this and so much more,” he said, gesturing broadly.

  “That’s why you’re here. I’ve already told you I gain more from your daily rituals than I ever did from the other sacrifices. Now you’re telling me it’s not working?”

  “You’re still limiting your experience to one mountain, one Temple, one sacrifice,” Zerah said. “God is in everyone and everything, not just in this Temple. All is spirit. You must be willing to move beyond this experience and seek the mystical oneness of all things.”
br />   “More riddles! What are you talking about?”

  “Tell me, do you feel united with God after your daily ritual over there?” Zerah asked, pointing to Yahweh’s altar. “Do you really experience God?”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to experience anything.”

  “No. You simply do it because you think the Torah says to do it. But isn’t the goal of worship to experience union with God?”

  “I suppose so,” Manasseh said grudgingly.

  “Your Majesty, you will never experience that union until you worship God in all of His fullness. Listen, the Torah says, ‘God created man in his own image . . . male and female he created them.’ If we are made in His image and we are male and female, then God must be both male and female, too. True worship acknowledges both. Authentic worship includes Yahweh’s female counterpart.”

  “Now you’re asking me to worship Asherah?” Manasseh asked in astonishment.

  “Call her Asherah or call her whatever you want. But those are the words of your own Torah—‘male and female.’ You can’t deny what Scripture says.”

  Like most of Zerah’s words, these sounded dangerously close to blasphemy. Yet everything Zerah said always contained a familiar ring of truth. The priest confused Manasseh, leaving him afraid to believe his words and equally afraid not to believe them. Manasseh had been told all his life that it was wrong to worship Asherah. Now he didn’t know what to think.

  “I need proof, Zerah. A sign that you’re speaking the truth about Asherah.”

  “You are proof, Your Majesty. Living proof. Your father would only worship Yahweh, and he went for years without a son. After your enemy Joshua was born, they set your mother free from prison to worship Asherah. Nine months later you were born. What Yahweh never gave your father, Asherah gave your mother.”

  A terrible desolation filled Manasseh at the reminder of his mother’s sin. Hephzibah had worshiped Asherah. Isaiah had admitted it. But was worshiping Asherah really a sin? If what Zerah said was true, then his mother had merely worshiped God in His fullness.