“We must live according to God’s Word and trust Him to protect us. Our leaders made the right decision. Mattaniah and Joel will eventually see the wisdom of it.”
But Iddo couldn’t deny that he was afraid. He had witnessed the wrath of godless pagans as a child. Hanan’s widow was a constant reminder of the local people’s brutality.
The last thing Iddo had advised the high priest and the prince to do before leaving them was to be careful—and to double the number of guards.
Chapter
23
This wasn’t what Zechariah had wished for. He may have longed to do something more besides study all day, but he never wished for his studies to stop altogether. But the day after Prince Sheshbazzar turned down the Samaritans’ offer to help rebuild the temple, the elders decided to close the yeshiva. Not only was there no way to safeguard the Torah and the other sacred scrolls except to lock them away in the treasury, there weren’t enough rabbis left to teach the students. The prince had conscripted every able-bodied man in Jerusalem to serve as a guard. The building supplies for the temple needed to be guarded day and night. The breeches in the walls and even the city streets needed to be guarded, and there simply weren’t enough men to go around.
The elders put Zechariah and the older boys to work as watchmen during the day. His post, overlooking the Sheep Gate on the north side of the temple mount, had a view of the distant Judean hills. Zechariah sat atop a partially toppled watchtower with a small shofar in his hand. He was supposed to blow it at the first sign of danger.
He perched on his pile of rocks all day, swatting flies and wilting beneath the dizzying sun. He easily stayed alert and vigilant at first, energized with the excitement he used to feel when he went exploring. Along with the excitement, he also felt an undercurrent of fear. Mobs of angry Samaritans might converge on Jerusalem at any moment, and he was responsible for sounding the warning. But neither the excitement nor his heroic daydreams lasted long as boredom and the sun’s heat wore him down. By the third day, he found himself wishing he was back in the house of assembly, exploring the Torah’s many mysteries beneath a shady roof. When his replacement arrived at the end of the third day, he handed over the shofar and hurried to meet up with his grandfather for the evening sacrifice. Their prayers were needed now more than ever.
Afterward, he and Saba stayed to hear the troubling news that continued to pour in. “Reports of property damage, thefts, and threats are coming in from all over the district,” the prince said. “It’s no longer safe to go anywhere alone. In some places, food is becoming scarce after the local villages closed their markets to Jews.”
“Our work of rebuilding the temple has been forced to halt before it barely got started,” the high priest said.
“Halted! Why?” Saba asked.
“All of our supply lines have been cut off, our caravans are being attacked, our building materials stolen before they reach us. We can’t continue to build without supplies.”
“Or workers,” one of the chief Levites added. “We relied on local workers for our manual labor, and they’ve all quit. And where is Mattaniah?”
Yael’s father still hadn’t returned home, and Saba’s friend Joel refused to serve with the other priests or speak to Saba. The three men had been such good friends and co-workers, and now this.
One of the elders from Tekoa had come to complain about vandalism and sabotaged crops. “Our families are being forced to live in fear,” the elder shouted. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Come back and live in the city for now,” the prince urged.
“Then who will grow wheat for us or raise our flocks or tend our grapes? Why did you have to antagonize our neighbors?” And although Saba and the other priests explained their reasons once again, Zechariah saw that the unity of their tiny community had begun to fracture. The Almighty One had performed so many miracles during the first exodus. Why wasn’t He helping them this time?
“I’m sorry for all this trouble,” Prince Zerubbabel soothed. “We’re all praying that tempers will cool and things will return to normal. The local people will soon realize that it’s in their best interests to trade with us and work for us.”
“Saba, there’s something I don’t understand,” Zechariah said as they walked home afterward. “Didn’t the Almighty One promise Abraham that all the people on earth would be blessed through him?”
“Yes, that was the promise.”
“Then how can we be a blessing if we shut everyone out and refuse to let them worship with us?”
“They may worship with us, but they have to do it the way God prescribed, following His Law.”
“I thought that’s what the Samaritans were offering to do.”
Saba shook his head. “We had no guarantee that they would give up their pagan ways and serve only God. If we allowed the Samaritans to help us rebuild, we would have to allow them to make decisions with us, and we couldn’t take that risk.”
“But . . . when I was reading through the scrolls of the prophets, they said that someday all nations would worship with us. How will that ever happen if we keep turning them away?”
They had reached home, and before Saba could reply, Safta came out to meet them. “There you are!” she said. “Dinner is waiting.” Zaki saw his grandmother’s relief each time he and Saba returned home safe and sound at the end of the day.
“There must be an answer to your question, Zechariah,” Saba said as they washed their hands before the meal, “but I don’t know what it is, yet. As soon as this trouble blows over, I promise we’ll search the Scriptures together for the answer.”
They sat down to eat, but the atmosphere around the table seemed tense. “Where’s Rachel tonight?” Saba asked, looking all around. The shepherd’s wife wasn’t eating with them or working in the courtyard.
Safta leaned close to him and said, “You need to talk to her, Iddo. She’s so worried about Besai that she can barely perform the simplest household chores.”
“We sent as many men as we could spare out to the grazing lands to safeguard Besai and our temple flocks,” Saba told her. “But he can’t return to Jerusalem until all the ewes give birth and the new spring lambs gain strength.”
“I hate being surrounded by so much fear and hostility,” Safta said as she pushed away her plate. The worry crease on her forehead seemed to be permanent. “Armed guards came with us to the spring again today, but we’re forced to wait until late in the day once again, until the local women are gone. We have to haul water up the hill at noon, in the heat of the day.” Zechariah knew all about the sun’s brutal heat—and he wasn’t required to carry a heavy water jar like Safta. “Your decision has divided our community, Iddo, and we need each other now more than ever.”
“I’m not happy about it, either. But when we do the right thing and obey God, we can expect opposition from the world. It’s always easier to compromise. There’s a difference between the easy way and the right way.”
They were still eating when Mattaniah finally returned home for the first time in three days. Yael jumped up from her place and ran to him, clinging to him. “I didn’t know where you were, Abba, or what happened to you!” Her words sounded muffled against his chest. She had been afraid for him all this time, Zaki realized, and hadn’t let her fear or worry show.
“I’m fine, Yael. I’m fine.”
“Have something to eat,” Safta offered as she rose to wait on him. “There’s plenty.”
“No, thank you, Dinah. I can’t stay. I only came back for some of my things. I need to leave again before dark.” He disappeared into his room, and Zechariah could hear him shuffling around as he packed his belongings. No one seemed hungry anymore. Saba stood to talk with Mattaniah when he came out again.
“I hate this rift between us. Please stay. We’ve come to think of you as a son, your daughter as our granddaughter.”
“I’m not leaving because I’m angry. My friend Zabad has agreed to keep renting the land to me. He
even sold me a couple of goats so we’ll have milk for the little ones from now on, and Dinah can make cheese. But I need to show good faith by living down there instead of here in Jerusalem. I’m building a house.” He paused, looking down at his feet for a moment before continuing. “I’ve decided to do what Jeshua asked and be your eyes and ears. Not because I like the idea—I don’t. But for our families’ sakes.”
Yael had disappeared into the room she shared with Mattaniah while he and Saba talked. She reappeared with her bag packed and her bedroll tied, and handed them to her father. “What’s all this, Yael?”
“I gathered my things, like you said, so I can go with you.”
“Not this time. Everything is too unsettled. You have to stay here with Dinah and Iddo for now.”
“But I don’t want to stay here. I want to be with you!”
“I’ll be back and forth whenever I can. You’ll see me.”
“I haven’t visited Leyla all week. When can I see her again?”
“Not anytime soon, I’m afraid. Wait until tempers cool.” Mattaniah tried to hand back her things, but Yael let them drop to the floor, then stalked off to her room. Zaki thought he heard her crying. He felt enormous relief. The only good thing to come out of this mess was that Yael could no longer go to the village and read fortunes.
Zechariah was still in bed the next morning when his grandmother’s shout awakened him. “Iddo! Iddo, come quick! Yael’s gone! She’s gone!” Zaki leaped out of bed and went to see. “I came in to wake her up,” Safta said, “and look! Her room is empty. Her bag and bedroll are missing.” This was much worse than when Yael had run away in Babylon. This time it was dangerous for anyone to go off by themselves, even grown men.
“Don’t worry,” Saba soothed. “She couldn’t have gone far. We have guards all over the city to keep intruders out. She couldn’t have gotten past them.”
Zechariah knew better. Yael would make a game of sneaking past the guards. She was stubborn and fearless—and too young and naïve to know what a gang of village boys would do to her if Leyla’s brother wasn’t with them.
“We have to find her!” Safta insisted.
“We will, Dinah. As soon as I get back from the morning sacrifice.”
“How can you go up to the temple when she’s missing?”
“It’s barely dawn. She couldn’t have gone far. She would never leave in the dark. One of the guards has probably found her by now.”
Zechariah needed to tell them that Yael wasn’t afraid of the dark and that she knew how to evade the guards. But they would ask how he knew, and then he would incriminate himself. He remembered the beating he had suffered at the hands of the Samaritans and fear for his friend tied his stomach in a knot. For Safta’s sake—and for Yael’s—he had to say something.
“Saba? Yael is small and wiry. She loves to climb around on rocks and things. I think she could easily sneak past the guards if she wanted to. I’ll bet she went to be with her father.”
“You have to go look for her!” Safta said. “Didn’t Mattaniah tell us it was dangerous down there? Don’t you remember the gang of boys who attacked Zechariah?”
“And haven’t you been telling me how strong-willed Yael is? Perhaps suffering the consequences of her rebellion will teach her a lesson.”
“Iddo! How can you say such a terrible thing?” The color seemed to drain from Safta’s face. “How can you walk away when Yael might be in danger and say that she deserves it? She’s a child! And we’re responsible for her!”
Saba was maddeningly calm. “When I get back from prayers, I’ll go look for her.”
“No! You need to go look for her now, not mumble useless prayers!”
“Enough, Dinah. My mind is made up.”
Zechariah accompanied Saba to the temple, but he couldn’t concentrate on the sacrifice or his prayers. He wished the priests would hurry. Safta was right to be worried. Yael was too strong-willed, too fearless, for her own good. And Saba was wrong to waste time at the sacrifice when they should be searching for her. Again, Zechariah remembered his own brutal beating and felt sick inside. By the time the service ended, he had made up his mind to go down to the valley and search for his friend himself. “I want to help you find Yael,” he told his grandfather.
“Absolutely not. If she did manage to leave the city to look for her father, I don’t want you down there. Especially now, with all the trouble.”
“I’m not afraid.” He sounded braver than he felt.
“Zechariah—”
“I’m an adult now. I can make my own decisions.”
“Yes, but this is a terrible one.”
“Maybe so, but it’s mine to make. If you don’t let me come, I’ll go search by myself after you leave—but I’d rather go with you.”
Saba lifted the kippah off his head and ran his hand through his white hair before replacing his cap again with a sigh. “If you’re determined to defy me, then I’d rather you come with me than go off alone.” They returned home to tell Safta they were going to search for Yael, but they didn’t mention that they were leaving the city.
Zechariah didn’t realize how trapped and confined he had felt being cooped up in Jerusalem until he passed the guards at the checkpoint and walked down the road from the city. As the lush Kidron Valley spread out before him, he didn’t blame Yael for wanting to escape. If danger lurked here, he didn’t see it. He longed to run down the path in the bright sunshine, leaping like a calf set free from its stall. Much too soon they reached Mattaniah’s patch of land, his sprouting crops laid out neatly in rock-bordered plots. Two goats grazed near the hut he had built, and he was already at work, bending over his grove of grape vines. If Yael was here with him, Zechariah didn’t see her. Mattaniah stopped working when he saw them and stood up straight, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Is Yael with you?” Saba called out as they drew near.
Mattaniah froze for a moment before hurrying toward them. “What do you mean? No, she’s not with me. I left her with you and Dinah.”
Saba’s shoulders sagged and for the first time, Zechariah glimpsed his worry. “Yael is missing,” he said. “When Dinah went in to wake her up this morning she was gone. So were her bedding and her bag. We thought she might have followed you here.”
Mattaniah appeared stricken. He glanced all around as if he needed to sit down somewhere. “I . . . I don’t see how she could have left the city. I had to pass the guards myself when I came up to the city last night and when I left again.”
“Zaki seems to think she could sneak past them.”
Mattaniah lifted his arms, then dropped them again, helplessly. “The only other place I can think of where she might be is with her friend, Leyla. She hasn’t been able to visit her and . . .”
“Do you want us to come with you, Mattaniah?”
“Not if you’re going to be hostile toward them—especially if they have my daughter!”
“I can be calm,” Saba said quietly. “They wouldn’t hurt her, I don’t think. The gang of boys left her alone the last time, didn’t they?”
“Zabad’s family has always treated her well. But what if she isn’t there?” He looked as though he was about to panic.
“One step at a time,” Saba soothed. “We’ll find her. But I think we should send Zechariah back to the city first.”
“No! I want to come with you!” He wanted to show the boys who had beaten him that he wasn’t afraid, that he wouldn’t cower in fear. And if they had laid a single hand on Yael, he wanted to be there to exact revenge.
“What do you think?” Saba asked Mattaniah. “Is it safe for him to come with us?”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s just go!”
Mattaniah set a brisk pace as they walked across the narrow valley to the village.
The elders sitting at the entrance took them straight to Zabad’s house. His son Rafi met them at the gate to the compound, and although Zechariah recognized him as one of the gang members, he wasn’t one
of the boys who had attacked him. Rafi led them into the house and into a dark, shadowy room where Zabad sat on a raised dais like a king on his throne.
“Mattaniah, my friend,” he said, gesturing for him to approach. “I think I know why you’re here. We were very surprised when your daughter came to visit Leyla without you.” Zechariah felt his knees go weak with relief.
Mattaniah exhaled. “Then she’s here. Thank you, my lord, for taking her in.”
“Yes, she’s here.” Zabad smiled, a grin of superiority that held no warmth. “Unlike your people, we’re careful to keep a close watch over our young girls, for their own safety.”
“What Yael did was inexcusable, my lord. She was upset about the rift between our people and yours. We’re all concerned about it—isn’t that right, Iddo?”
Saba took a small step forward and gave a slight bow of his head. “Yes. There have been too many misunderstandings in the past, and what has happened most recently has all of my fellow Jews unhappy. Our leaders never meant to imply that you weren’t welcome to worship with us. We would be happy to discuss it further—whenever you’re ready to speak with us, of course.”
Zabad took a sip from his cup without replying. He had offered none of the usual courtesies of hospitality.
“We won’t take any more of your time,” Saba said. “My wife is very concerned about Yael since she disappeared without telling anyone. I know it would be a great relief to her if we brought Yael home.”
“Thank you, my lord, for taking care of her for me,” Mattaniah added.
Rafi escorted them from the room again and back out to the courtyard. Yael was waiting for them there, bag and bedroll in hand. She looked defiant, but at a gesture from her father she remained quiet until they were well down the road away from the village.
“I don’t want to go back to the city, Abba. I want to stay with you.”
“That’s out of the question.”
“Why can’t—?”
“Be quiet! You shamed me today! Zabad thinks that I don’t care enough about you to watch over you. He believes that our people don’t value our women.”