“Zechariah understands, Safta. He doesn’t expect a huge feast in the middle of a drought.” Yael stood with one hand on her pregnant belly, the other pressed against her aching back. Dinah could see that the baby had dropped into position. It would be born any day.
“But we have guests coming,” Dinah said. “We have to feed them.”
“Besai and Rachel said they would bring what they could,” Yael said. The couple would travel from Bethlehem where Besai cared for the sacrificial flocks, bringing Hanan’s widow, who had remarried, with them. “And Abba will bring what he has from his farm. They’re coming to watch Zechariah become a priest, not to dine like kings.”
Dinah lifted a nearly empty jar of grain in one arm, a dwindling basket of figs in the other. “Let me help you with those,” Yael said.
“No, dear. I can manage. You need to rest and stay off your feet.”
“Rest? With two little ones to chase after?” Yael asked, laughing. “That isn’t likely to happen.” Dinah smiled, knowing she was right. The two daughters who had been born to Yael and Zechariah—five-year-old Abigail and three-year-old Sarah—were every bit as lively and mischievous as Yael had been as a young girl, exhausting their mother, their Aunt Hodaya, and everyone else in the household.
Dinah carried the supplies out to her courtyard kitchen and set them beside the hearth. She would begin cooking for tonight’s feast as soon as she returned from the morning sacrifice. Today Zechariah would minister as a priest for the first time, serving at both sacrifices. “Iddo says the Almighty One is trying to get our attention with this drought but that we’re not listening.”
“Well, so far we’ve had enough food to feed our family,” Yael said, grabbing little Sarah who had escaped from Hodaya’s grasp, and lifting her into her arms. “I’m sure there will be enough for this celebration, too. We didn’t have very much for Passover this year but it was still a joyous occasion, wasn’t it?”
“Abba said that sharing a meal with the people you love is what makes it a feast,” Hodaya said. She had pulled Abigail onto her lap so she could comb the tangles from her hair.
“Yes, Iddo did say that,” Dinah replied. “He said it wasn’t the amount of food on the table that mattered but the amount of love around the table.”
“In that case,” Yael said, “tonight we will dine like kings.”
“When did Besai and Rachel say they would arrive?” Hodaya asked.
Yael laughed and gave Hodaya’s braid an affectionate tug. “Why are you asking, little sister? Are you wondering about the lamb they’re bringing or their handsome son, Aaron?”
Dinah watched Hodaya’s cheeks turn bright red and wondered if she had missed something. Was there a budding romance between sixteen-year-old Hodaya and the shepherd’s eighteen-year-old son? But Dinah couldn’t worry about that right now. If she didn’t hurry, they would be late for the morning sacrifice. Zechariah and Iddo had already left before dawn.
She quickly checked to see how much water was in the jars and sighed when she saw they were nearly empty. There hadn’t been rain for such a long time that the cisterns beneath everyone’s homes had dried up, forcing the women in Jerusalem to walk all the way to the spring for water. Hodaya couldn’t hobble that far and Yael could no longer go in her condition, which meant that Dinah had to do it alone every day. Everyone told her it was too much for a woman her age to fetch water, but Dinah didn’t feel old. “It might take me longer to get there and back,” she had told her family, “and I may have to carry a smaller jug, but I’m still mistress of this household, thank you very much.” Typically, Yael hadn’t listened to Dinah and had recuited several neighbors to each carry an extra supply for them. Dinah knew that by the time she returned from the morning sacrifice, the jars would be mysteriously full.
“Is everyone ready?” she asked. “We should leave very soon if we want to get a place up front where we can see Zechariah.” She turned to Yael and saw her gripping her stomach, a look of surprise on her face. “Yael? Are you in labor?”
“No, it’s nothing. Just one of those false pains. And not a very strong one. This baby wouldn’t dare to arrive on his father’s big day.”
Dinah coralled her two great-granddaughters and they all set out for the uphill walk to the temple mount. They would have to walk slowly for Hodaya’s sake, and for Yael’s, who stopped often to rest. “I can’t believe Zechariah turns thirty years old today,” Dinah said the first time they paused. “A grown man, already.”
“Remember the day of his bar mitzvah in Babylon?” Yael asked—and then caught herself. “I’m so sorry. I know you don’t like to talk about Babylon.”
“Never mind, dear. It’s okay. And yes, I do remember that day. We had a big celebration for him. Naomi and Sarah and I cooked for a week. I only wish we could do the same for this birthday.”
Abigail tugged on Dinah’s arm. “Come on, Safta. I want to see Abba.” They started walking again.
“I still wonder about my family in Babylon,” Dinah said, “but I’ve learned that children are only loaned to us for a short time. A husband, especially the right one, is given by God for a lifetime. Yes, it was hard to leave my family, and I grieved for a long time. But even if Iddo and I had stayed in Babylon, there were no guarantees that we wouldn’t suffer sorrow and loss. I’m glad we came to Jerusalem.”
“You are?” Yael asked.
“Yes. Don’t look so surprised. If Iddo and I hadn’t come, Zechariah wouldn’t be serving as a priest today.” She took Hodaya’s hand for a moment and added, “And Hodaya wouldn’t have come into our lives.”
Dinah’s adopted daughter was growing into a lovely woman with beautiful dark eyes and thick, curly hair that was the envy of the other girls her age. She could maneuver so well around their house with her crutch that no one dared to call her crippled. Hodaya knew she was adopted, but she didn’t know the terrible details of her birth. So far, Dinah had been able to evade her daughter’s questions with vague replies.
The women rested again at the bottom of the stairs leading to the temple mount, then began the ascent. Dinah’s anticipation grew with each step. She never thought she would live to see this day. Iddo was well past the age of retirement, but the other priests had invited him to put on priestly robes today and assist his grandson with the sacrifice.
At last they reached the Court of Women and walked all the way to the front so they could see over the barrier to where the sacrifice would take place. They arrived just in time to see Zechariah emerge from the robing room and stride across the courtyard to stand beside the altar. His linen robe and turban looked dazzling white against his black hair and beard. A red sash encircled his waist. Iddo walked forward behind him, his hair and beard as white as his robe, his shoulders a little stooped. He had never regained all the weight he’d lost after being stabbed six years ago, but by the grace of God he had survived. Dinah watched them perform the sacrifice together with tears in her eyes, her heart so full she feared it might burst. Zechariah climbed the ramp and laid the offering on the altar and the crowd gave a shout of joy as the smoke and fire ascended. But Yael gave a sharp gasp and doubled over. “You’re in labor,” Dinah said. “We need to get you home.”
“I’ll be fine. Let’s watch for just a few more minutes.”
They did, but as soon as the sacrifice came to an end, Dinah made everyone start for home. She kept a close eye on Yael as they walked, the journey easier downhill.
“I can’t go into labor today,” Yael said. “I don’t want to miss the evening sacrifice or ruin the celebration tonight. Besides, you need my help with the preparations and—”
“I’ll have plenty of help. Hodaya is a better cook than all of us put together.”
Yael’s face was flushed and beaded with perspiration by the time they reached home. Dinah sent her into her room to check for spotting, but she knew the truth even before Yael returned. Her labor had begun. She insisted on helping Dinah with a few simple cooking chores, but by noon
time, Yael had to give in and lie down in her room.
“Hodaya, I’m putting you in charge of the children while I go fetch the midwife.” Dinah had trained another woman as well as Yael, and rarely delivered babies anymore. But she was thrilled to help deliver this one.
Yael’s third child arrived faster than her first two babies had, but her labor still took all day. At the hour that Zechariah slew the evening sacrifice, his first son entered the world. Dinah delivered him with her own hands, her third great-grandchild. How could she be so blessed? “He’s a beautiful, healthy boy,” she told Yael as she laid him down beside her.
“I hope he’s not going to be a troublemaker,” Yael said with a smile. “He already made us miss his father’s big day.”
“I don’t think Zechariah will mind in the least once he sees why.”
Dinah’s neighbors helped her finish preparing the meal, and by the time everyone arrived home from the evening sacrifice, the feast was ready. Dinah ran to embrace her grandson. “I’m so proud of you, Zechariah! So proud!”
“Thanks, Safta.” He looked all around the crowded courtyard and asked, “Where’s Yael?”
“In your room. She has a surprise for you.” Dinah followed Zaki into the room, wishing she could see his face when he saw Yael lying in bed with their baby beside her.
“You have a son, Zaki,” Yael told him. “And he has the same birthday as you do.”
Dinah turned away to give them privacy as Zaki fell to his knees beside the bed to hold his wife in his arms.
Yael was dozing later that night when Zechariah finally said good-night to his family and guests and came to bed. When she opened her eyes he was sitting beside their bed, gazing at her. “Why are you staring at me?” she asked.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look, lying here?” He bent to kiss her.
“You’re just saying that because I gave you a son.”
“No, I’m saying it because it’s true. I love you so much, Yael. How are you feeling?”
“Tired. At least my labor was quick this time. Just as grueling, but faster than the other two. I’m sorry I missed the evening sacrifice.”
“You had a good excuse. And you’ll have a lifetime to watch me offer sacrifices.”
“How was your first day on your new job?”
“I can’t even begin to describe my joy! All the long years of apprenticeship are over, and it’s like I’m beginning a brand-new life. How many times do we get to begin new lives?”
“I can think of a few. When we arrived in Jerusalem . . . when you and I got married . . . when we became parents—”
“You’re right, you’re right,” he said, laughing. “And now I’m beginning my ministry for God. Saba says priests stand as peacemakers between the Almighty One and His people. I didn’t think my joy could be any more complete while I was working today, but then I came home to you . . . and our son.”
“You should have seen Safta trying to prepare a meal and deliver a baby at the same time,” she said, smiling.
“I told her what a wonderful feast it was—and in the middle of a famine, no less.” He bent to kiss her again, then asked softly, “Are you happy, Yael?”
“Can’t you tell? I can’t stop smiling!”
“I don’t mean right now but every day. Do you ever feel . . . trapped?”
“Zaki! Why would you ask such a question?” When he didn’t reply, she nudged him. “We’ve been married for six years. Why are you asking me if I’m happy?”
“I used to feel trapped when we first arrived in Jerusalem and I had to study all day. I envied your freedom. You didn’t seem to want a life like my grandmother’s or the other women’s. Safta despaired of ever getting you to settle down. And now that you have, I sometimes wonder if . . . if you ever regret it. Do you long for more than this life we have? Tell me the truth, Yael.”
“I didn’t feel ‘free’ at the time, I felt like I was always running and never getting anywhere. Like I was missing out on something, so I had to keep looking for it. My life felt so uncertain after my mother died that it was like being tossed around in the back of a runaway cart. I couldn’t find anything solid to hang on to. I tried to control my future because I didn’t know God or trust that He had me in His care.” She reached to take his hand. “And now I’ve finally found something solid.”
“Are you sure you don’t long for an adventure or two?” He was typical Zaki—so serious as he asked the question.
Yael smiled. “Marriage has been an adventure, don’t you think? And raising children certainly has been!”
“But you never seemed to want this life, and now . . . here you are.”
Yael studied him for a moment in the dim moonlight, wishing she knew why he was asking her these things. Was he thinking about Rafi after all this time? “I love you, Zaki. I know you must wonder if I still think about Rafi.” She saw his surprise and added, “I can read your mind, you know.”
“I thought you gave up your Babylonian sorcery.” At last he smiled.
“I don’t need to be a sorceress. I know you very well. You always think too much, worry too much. When good things happen you always question them, waiting for something bad to happen to balance them out. Your grandfather is the same way. You have such a brilliant mind that you over-analyze everything. Just enjoy the moment, Zaki, enjoy this day. Isn’t that what the Almighty One tells us to do?”
“Yes, but you’re my wife. I need to be certain that you’re happy.”
She gazed down at their son, running her fingers over his soft, downy head, then back at her husband. “You want to know why I was so restless and wild, exploring the tombs and getting mixed up with all that Babylonian stuff? I think I was testing the limits, wanting to be stopped. Because we’re not free when there are no boundaries—we’re in great danger. I see that so clearly with our children. If I allowed Sarah and Abigail to run wild without limits, they would end up getting hurt. But once I learned what the Almighty One was really like and why He sets boundaries, I saw that His way is the best way to live. Without Him, we’d be just like the murderous Samaritans.” She waited for Zaki to speak, and when he didn’t she said, “Now tell me what’s really prompting all these questions.”
He looked up at her, tears shining in his eyes. “I’m just so incredibly happy today, and I want you to be as happy as I am.”
“But today was an exceptional day, Zaki. Do you ever feel trapped?”
“Just the opposite. I feel like my life is on the brink of breaking through into something huge . . . something enormous. I’ve been holding my breath, expecting a miracle or a sign, and I think our son is that sign. Especially because he was born today, at the beginning of my new ministry.”
Yael wasn’t sure she followed him, but his words flowed out faster than he could stop them. He needed both hands to speak. “I understand why Saba wanted my father and uncle to come with us to Jerusalem. Why he was so happy when I decided to come. The God of the universe condescends to have His dwelling place here, in the temple we’re supposed to be building. And it’s my calling—our son’s calling—to serve as His priests. Every time I see that empty foundation where the temple should be I want to stand up and shout at everyone to wake up! It’s time to do what God told us to do!”
“Shh! Zaki! You really will wake everyone up.”
“But do you understand what I’m trying to say? I don’t think I’m saying it very well.”
“Yes, I understand. You’ve found joy because you’re doing God’s work. And I’m trying to tell you that I’ve found joy, too. Because if we obey God, then our lives do have meaning, even if all He asks us to do is cook lentils and raise children.”
He looked down at their son. “Today we brought another priest into the world,” he said, holding the baby’s tiny hand. “He’s another star in the sky that our father Abraham saw.”
Yael reached up to stroke his cheek. “I love you, Zaki. I never dreamed I could be this happy. And every day I thank
God that you’re my husband and not Rafi.”
Chapter
38
Zechariah held his grandfather’s arm, steadying him as they made their way to the priests’ room to change into their white linen robes. Drenched with sweat from the relentless heat, Zechariah didn’t know how they would manage to peel off their damp street clothing. But Prince Zerubbabel and the high priest had asked every able-bodied priest to minister at the evening sacrifice and to pray. Saba would sing with the Levite musicians.
Since Zechariah’s ordination four months ago, the drought had continued its devastation. Khamsin winds had blown in from the desert, creating dust storms of gritty sand and scorching hot air. No hope remained for their withered crops, but the leaders had asked the nation to pray for God’s mercy, for an end to the wind and the drought and the famine.
Zechariah bent to untie his sandals. The priests ministered with bare feet according to God’s instructions, but today he worried that the overheated cobblestones would burn their feet. “This heat, these winds—they’re the Almighty One’s judgment, aren’t they?” he asked his grandfather.
“The Torah says that drought and famine are curses for our disobedience.”
“And we’re disobeying by not completing the temple. Why can’t our leaders see that?” Iddo didn’t reply as he struggled to pull the white robe over his head. Zechariah helped him with it, then tied his red sash for him. “I wish I could do something to wake everyone up,” he continued, “but I don’t know what to do. You told me to wait until I finished my training as a priest. Will I have to keep waiting until I work my way up through the ranks and earn the respect of the other priests and leaders? Why can’t they see that we’re disobeying Him by not completing His temple?”