Iddo’s temper simmered all day. As much as he enjoyed his grandson’s company, he knew it was a mistake to keep the young men from their studies. It was also a mistake to delay the rebuilding during the winter months, but he was helpless to change things.
His mood hadn’t improved by the time he arrived home that evening, and he could tell right away that Dinah was still angry with him. She knelt alone in their courtyard, mashing chickpeas into a smooth paste, but didn’t greet him or even lift her head as Iddo came through the gate. He watched her for a moment, remembering how she had stormed away from him the day that Zechariah had been injured, furious with him for not coddling him, refusing to understand that the boy needed to face the consequences of his actions. She had remained angry with him ever since. The crack in their once-strong marriage seemed to widen every day. They used to be so close, two people who were truly one. Iddo had no idea how to repair the widening rift.
“You used to sing while you worked,” he said quietly. “I’ve noticed that you don’t sing anymore.” Iddo moved into the courtyard and sat down on the low wall, facing her. She continued working without looking up. “What are you thinking about, Dinah? You look so sad.”
“I miss our family.”
“I miss them, too.”
She finally lifted her chin and he saw reproach in her eyes. “It doesn’t seem that way. You never talk about our children and grandchildren. You don’t seem to notice how different our Sabbath meals are without them. It’s as if . . . as if they never existed for you.”
“Of course I notice the difference. But don’t you understand how important this work is? We’re rebuilding this temple for their sakes and for future generations so that the Almighty One will dwell in our midst again.”
She huffed and bent over her work again, the grinding stone crushing harder, moving faster. Iddo lost his patience. “Don’t you see that anything we put in place of God or that keeps us from serving Him with all our heart and strength is an idol? Even if it’s our own children and grandchildren?”
He saw by her reaction that he had said the wrong thing. She slammed down the bowl and pestle, spilling some of the food onto the ground, and rose to her feet. “Your heart has turned to stone, Iddo.” He tried to catch her arm so he could hold her, but she twisted away. “Leave me alone!” She fled into their tiny house, and if they’d had a door, she would have slammed it in his face.
He would celebrate the Day of Atonement soon. Worshipers were supposed to examine themselves and search their hearts for all the ways that they had sinned—sins against God and against other people. It was a time for repairing relationships, but Iddo had no idea where to begin with his own wife.
He walked the short distance to where Shoshanna and Joel lived and found them sitting in their outdoor courtyard. “May I please speak with you, Shoshanna?” he asked. “It’s about Dinah.”
Iddo couldn’t talk to another man’s wife alone, so Joel would have to hear this, too. Since Dinah could have married Joel instead of him, it embarrassed Iddo to admit that she was unhappy. But he had to do something to make her happy again besides taking her back to Babylon. Iddo would never do that.
“Yes, of course,” Shoshanna replied. “Won’t you sit down?”
Iddo shook his head. He fingered the fringes on his robe as he spoke. “I know you spend a lot of time with Dinah, and I wondered if you’ve noticed a change in her.”
“Yes . . . I’ve noticed.”
“She seems . . . despondent . . . and I don’t know how to cheer her up.”
He saw compassion in Shoshanna’s eyes as she looked at him. “Dinah was a leader among the women in Babylon, dearly loved and respected. I know I’m biased because I’m her cousin, but she was strong and wise and everyone admired her. She loved her work as a midwife, and all of the young mothers depended on her. But she has nothing to do here. She barely leaves her house, barely speaks. She doesn’t even join our conversations at the spring.”
“Does she ever say what’s wrong?”
“She used to have her children and grandchildren with her all day, and now she only has Yael—who can be difficult at times.”
“What can I do, Shoshanna?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did. . . . It might help if she could work as a midwife again. Maybe once she has new babies to bring into the world . . . Maybe Dinah needs a child to hold and care for.”
“Won’t it make it worse for her, remembering her own children?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.”
Iddo had been right in guessing that Dinah was despondent, right about the cause. But what should he do? “Thank you for your time, Shoshanna.” He went home, his feet heavy, his heart heavier still. Dinah knelt in the courtyard again, mashing the chickpeas. “We must talk,” he told her. She nodded but didn’t look up from her work. “You barely look at me anymore. Are you truly that angry with me?”
“I’m tired, Iddo. You know I haven’t been sleeping very well.”
“I know. I used to be the one who couldn’t sleep.” Now Dinah was often awake in the night, and she would climb out of bed to wander outside and stare up at the cold night sky. “What can I do to make you happy again?” he asked her.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t know what to say or what to do. In all the years we’ve been married, we never struggled like this to talk to each other. We were always close.”
“I’m sorry for disappointing you.”
“Dinah, please. Yell at me, get angry, whatever it takes—but tell me what I can do to help.”
She finally looked up at him and the deadness he saw in her expression frightened him. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do, Iddo. Followed all the rules, made the sacrifice of this move, started my life all over again. But there’s no meaning in what I do. No life from it, no joy. I used to be so satisfied, so full. Now I simply do what you expect of me. Don’t ask for more, because I don’t have anything left to give.”
Iddo struggled to comprehend her words. How could she not see the higher purpose in coming here? What about all of God’s promises, the gift of freedom their people had been given? “I thought you came here to serve the Almighty One,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’m your wife. I had to come. It was never my choice to leave Babylon. That’s where I truly want to be.”
“And so now you’re simply going through the motions without love in your heart?”
“There’s nothing in my heart, Iddo. My heart is still in Babylon. But I could ask you the same question. Why are you enduring all this hardship? Why do you want to perform all those rituals at the temple? Is it from love or from duty? Is it merely to appease the Almighty One because you fear more punishment if you don’t?”
Iddo didn’t know what to say. Was it true that he served God only out of fear? Could he say that he loved God or that he believed God loved him? He wanted Dinah to walk beside him because she loved him—was it possible that God wanted the same thing?
“You asked why I’m unhappy,” she continued. “Why don’t you ask Zechariah the same question? Why don’t you explain to him why you treated him so harshly after he was attacked?”
“I was only doing what any father would do.”
“You believe that’s how God treats us. We have to follow all the rules, do everything exactly right, or He’ll punish our smallest misstep. And so you made the boy limp up the hill for prayers when he was in pain, and you humiliated him in front of all the others. You used to do the same thing with our sons. You were always criticizing them, making it impossible for them to keep all your picky little rules or to have a life of their own. The moment they were old enough to think for themselves, they walked away from your religion. They certainly saw no reason to uproot their lives to serve as priests for such a harsh, unloving God.”
“That’s . . . that’s not true, Dinah.” She was allowing bitterness to cloud her memories. He started to explain that he had raised their
children according to the Torah, but she interrupted.
“All you think about is appeasing your God. What about the people in your life? You accuse me of making them into idols, but you don’t care about them at all. People aren’t important to you. Does your God see us as His slaves who are required to wait on Him at all costs? Even at the cost of the people we love?”
“Of course we aren’t slaves. But we should be willing to sacrifice everything for Him.”
“Why? And why is He so cruel that He demands everything?”
“He isn’t cruel. . . .” Yet Iddo found he had no explanation for the horror he’d witnessed as a boy—horror that God had allowed.
“Well, I’ve sacrificed everything, Iddo, and it seems as if God still isn’t pleased.”
Iddo knelt down in front of her. “You haven’t sacrificed everything, Dinah. We still have each other. And I love you.” He took the bowl from her hands and set it on the ground, then gathered her in his arms. He clung to her tightly, but her embrace felt empty and rigid in return. She was angry with him and with God for losing her family. And in his heart, Iddo knew he was still angry with God for losing his family as a child. Was he doing the same thing Dinah was doing—going through the motions out of fear instead of love, holding anger inside?
He had wanted to rebuild the temple for the sake of his family and for the future of their people, the generations that would follow. But the coldness in Dinah’s embrace made him wonder if he would lose his family all over again.
Chapter
20
Iddo left his house before dawn the next morning to take his turn as a guard near the Sheep Gate on the temple mount. “It’s been a quiet night,” the man from the last watch told him.
“That’s the best kind,” Iddo said. They exchanged a few words before the guard shuffled away to catch a few hours’ sleep. Iddo didn’t mind standing watch. The hours alone before dawn gave him a chance to pray about Dinah’s unhappiness and the accusations she had made. He needed to pray for Zechariah, too. Iddo wished he knew for certain that it was merely youthful curiosity that had led him to go to the village festival with Mattaniah and to explore the tombs with Yael. The boy was wrestling with the call of God on his life, and like the enemy opposition his community faced, Zechariah faced testing, as well.
“Why can’t I learn to shoot a bow and arrow,” he had asked Iddo yesterday, “or fight with a sword? I want to help defend Jerusalem.”
“Because it’s a priest’s job to intercede for the people in the temple. If we’re obedient to Him, He’ll fight all our battles. If we’re not, then it won’t matter if you’re the most valiant swordsman in the world.” But had that been the right answer? With all of the troubles they faced, maybe the young men Zaki’s age should learn to fight.
A narrow rim of light had just appeared above the Mount of Olives when Iddo heard sheep bleating. He stood in the opening where the collapsed gate once hung and gazed down the darkened road. A man approached, walking like a drunkard with a swaying, limping step. A handful of bedraggled sheep followed him. What were they doing here? The shepherds weren’t supposed to bring the sheep for the sacrifices until next week. The pens weren’t even finished yet. Iddo watched warily as the odd little band drew closer, the sheep bleating piteously. Then he recognized the man. He was indeed one of the temple shepherds, and he wasn’t drunk. He had been savagely beaten, his clothes torn and streaked with blood. Iddo rushed forward to help him.
“Are you all right? What happened?” He wrapped his arm around the man to support him as he helped him sit down on a large stone inside the toppled walls. “What happened?” he asked again.
“Hanan and I were guarding the temple flocks last night when we were attacked.”
The man clearly needed help before being interrogated further. He looked ready to faint. Iddo remembered Dinah’s accusation that he had a heart of stone, and he took pity on the man. “What’s your name?”
“Besai.”
“Stay here, Besai, and catch your breath. I’ll go get help.” The sheep seemed content to graze on the grass that still grew between the paving stones. Iddo left them and jogged as fast he could over the rough terrain until he reached the guard at the next breach in the wall. “Go wake the high priest,” Iddo told him. “Our shepherds have been attacked. Gather some of the others and meet me back at the Sheep Gate. . . . And fetch some food and water and bandages for the poor man.”
Besai was sitting on the ground when Iddo returned, his back propped against the stone, his eyes closed. Iddo let him rest until Jeshua and the others arrived.
“Tell us what happened, Besai,” Jeshua said, after giving him something to drink and bandaging the worst of his cuts.
“We herded the sheep inside the stone pen for the night, as we always do, and we were taking turns keeping watch. Hanan stood guard first, so I lay down to sleep in front of the door to the enclosure. Our attackers came out of nowhere. Hanan barely had time to cry out before they jumped him and beat him. I woke up when he yelled, but before I could help him, two more men attacked me. They stole most of the sheep and left Hanan and me for dead. These are all that’s left of the flock.” He gestured to the handful he had brought with him. “They were too frightened to follow the strangers.”
The sky was fully light now, and Iddo could see how badly Besai had been beaten, his face swollen and still oozing blood. He sat hunched over as if his stomach and ribs ached. One of his ankles had swollen to twice its size and was turning purple. “What about the other shepherd, Hanan?”
Besai shook his head. “They beat him worse than me. He was still unconscious when I left to get help. I hated to leave him, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“And you walked all the way here in your condition?” Jeshua asked. “Don’t the temple flocks graze on the other side of the mountain, at least three miles from here?”
Besai nodded. “There was no other place I could go for help. I didn’t trust the people in the nearest village. They might have been the ones who attacked us.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll send some men back to help Hanan,” Jeshua said.
“You’ll need a litter,” Besai said. “He’ll have to be carried.”
“Where should we bring him? Do you know where he lives?”
“He and his family are still in the tent city in the valley. We both arrived with the very last caravan, and we’ve been too busy tending the flocks for the feasts to build proper houses.”
“You can bring both men to my house,” Iddo said. “My wife will know how to care for them. She and her cousin Shoshanna work as midwives.”
Someone quickly fetched a tanned hide to use for a litter, and Iddo left with three other men to help the injured shepherd. The walk down through the valley seemed peaceful in spite of the violence Besai had just described. Birdsong filled the air as the sun dawned in the pale pink sky. Any other day, Iddo would have enjoyed the walk and the tranquility, aware that the pace at the temple would accelerate once the fall feasts began. But his concern for the injured shepherds and stolen sheep overshadowed the beautiful morning. What if there weren’t enough sheep left for the sacrifices?
They reached the grazing lands on the other side of the mountain and found Hanan still lying unconscious, savagely beaten. The large flock of sheep he and Besai had tended had vanished. Iddo helped lift him onto the litter and carried him the three miles back to the city. By the time they arrived, Dinah and Shoshanna had cleaned and bandaged Besai’s wounds, and he was resting inside Iddo’s house. They laid Hanan’s litter in the courtyard and both women knelt over him. “He has a very bad head injury,” Dinah said. “It isn’t good that he’s still unconscious.”
“Does he have a wife and family?” Shoshanna asked. “If so, we should send for them right away. And for Besai’s family, as well.”
“I’ll go for them,” Iddo said. “Besai told me that they’re still living in tents down in the valley.” It was time for morning prayers, and Zec
hariah was dressed and waiting to go. Dinah’s criticism still worried Iddo—she’d said that the people in his life weren’t important to him, that he’d been too strict as a father. Would it hurt the boy to miss prayers this one time? Didn’t a priest need to learn compassion as well as laws and statutes? “Come with me, Zechariah,” Iddo said at last. “I may need your help.”
It took a great deal of searching, but they finally found the tents where the shepherds’ families lived side by side among the hundreds of people still camped in the valley. Both of the men had young wives and small children—and they were astoundingly poor. None of the returning exiles had much, but at least Iddo had a roof over his head and something resembling a real house to sleep in at night. Dinah had a proper hearth where she could cook instead of a crude campfire.
The two shepherds’ wives reacted with shock and tears when Iddo told them the bad news. They didn’t seem to know what to do or which way to turn. “Do you have families here who can help you through this?” he asked.
“We left our families behind in Babylon.”
Iddo’s heart broke for these women and for the sacrifice they had made. “Gather your children and anything else you might need,” he told them. “You can stay with us and be close to your husbands. We’ll carry your household goods up to the city later.”
Besai’s wife wrapped a small baby in a sling and tied him to her chest so she could hold her little boy’s hand. Zaki lifted Hanan’s little girl and carried her for Hanan’s wife, who was round with child. Iddo shouldered the few necessities they had gathered, and they all set off up the hill.
When they finally arrived, Dinah pulled Iddo aside to whisper, “Hanan is still unconscious. That’s not a good sign.”
“I was afraid of that. Listen, I’m sorry for making more work for you, Dinah—”
“No, it’s the least I can do for these poor souls.” She coaxed the frightened children to sit on the rug so Yael could give them something to eat. When they were settled, she concentrated on soothing the frightened wives.