Hannah was at Abby’s work site when she got back, discussing something with Ari. The vans had left the hotel this morning without Dr. Voss and Hannah—which Abby had thought was strange. Now Hannah beckoned to Abby when she saw her.
“I was just telling Ari the bad news. Dr. Voss hasn’t been feeling well these past few days, which is why he didn’t come with us to Jerusalem. When he complained of chest pains yesterday, Ramona and I finally convinced him to go to the hospital for tests. The bottom line is, he needs bypass surgery. He and Ramona are flying home to Colorado today.”
“Will he be all right?” Abby asked.
“With surgery, the doctors expect him to fully recover. But now I’m going to need someone to take over for him.” She turned to Ari, but before she had a chance to ask, he held up his hands in protest.
“No, Hannah. Not me.”
“But the work on the Roman villa has barely begun and—”
Ari answered her in a rapid burst of Hebrew, but it was clear to Abby from his expression and his tone of voice that he was refusing. It seemed odd that he wouldn’t want to help out, especially since his specialty was the Roman era. Perhaps he was reluctant to elbow into Dr. Voss’s territory.
“Please, Ari. As a favor to me,” Hannah begged. “You know how important this dig is to me. I can’t find anyone else at this late date . . . I’ll lose my funding.”
“I told you, I can’t.”
“But no one else is half as qualified as you are. Please.”
Ari looked away, raking his fingers through his dusty hair as he stared off into the distance for a long moment. “Do you know what a difficult position you’re placing me in?” he finally asked.
“Yes, I know. And you know that I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice. Listen, you won’t have to write any reports. Give me your notes at the end of the season and I’ll write them for you.”
When Ari turned, he had a pained expression on his face. “Hannah . . .”
“Please, Ari.” She reached up to touch his shoulder, and a silent acknowledgment of affection and respect passed between them.
“All right,” he said quietly. He glanced at Abby. “But I would like my team from this area to move with me.”
Abby wondered about Ari’s request as she and the four college students gathered all their tools and equipment, then transported them by wheelbarrow across the mound to the far side of the village. There had been little rapport built between Ari and his team, let alone friendship. Why would he request that they all move along with him? But as Abby got caught up in the students’ excitement, she finally decided that it didn’t matter. They all knew that the chances of finding significant artifacts—even buried treasure—were much greater in the sprawling Roman-style villa than they had been in Leah’s house. Everyone was eager to begin.
“I assume you know all your fellow volunteers by now,” Hannah said when Abby and the others arrived at the new site, “but I want you to meet my good Palestinian friend, Mar-wan Ashrawi. I’ve hired him to help out with some of the heavy manual labor.”
He gave a little wave, smiling slightly. He was a nice-looking man in his early thirties, with a square, clean-shaven face and a high, smooth forehead. Abby saw the biceps of a weight lifter beneath Marwan’s sweat-stained T-shirt and wondered if it was from lifting rocks or weights.
“Marwan is a little shy,” Hannah added, “but if you get to know him, you’ll find that he likes to practice his English.”
* * *
In the next few weeks, the volunteers began making spectacular finds under Ari’s guidance—traces of decorated stucco walls; a hand mirror, comb, and other delicate toiletry articles; shards of ivory and Roman glass from furnishings and glassware. The difference between this elegant, spacious home and Leah’s tiny hovel was dramatic. So was the change in Ari Bazak.
His enthusiasm became contagious as he climbed down into the pits to sweat and labor alongside his workers. He began to join in their conversation and laughter for the first time all summer and even took part in Hannah’s daily lectures, adding extra tidbits of his own knowledge to hers. He became friendly and personable with everyone on the site—everyone, that is, except the Palestinian worker, Marwan. Whenever Ari and Marwan got within a few yards of each other, the tension between them made everyone uncomfortable.
“Who do you think might have owned this house, Ari?” Abby asked as they worked side by side one morning. He was teaching her how to recover and preserve the fine remnants of painted stucco that had once decorated the walls of the main reception hall.
“It could have been a wealthy landowner or a merchant,” he said, swatting at a pesky swarm of gnats. “Or it could have been the local Roman tax collector’s house. Degania was near a main caravan route, a convenient place for . . . eh, how do you say? . . . a customs booth.”
“Why did everyone hate tax collectors back then?” Abby asked. “The New Testament talks about them as if they were the scum of the earth. I mean, I don’t like to pay taxes either, but I don’t take it out on the poor guy who works for the IRS.”
“It was because most tax collectors cheated the people. It was an insult for Jews to pay taxes to their enemies in the first place, but the collectors took even more money than the Romans demanded, getting rich in the process. Do you remember when the Pharisees asked Jesus if it was all right to pay taxes to Caesar?”
“I think so. . . . Is that when Jesus asked whose picture was on the coin and said give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s?”
“Yes. His enemies were trying to trap Him, and He knew it. If He said they should pay taxes to Rome, it would anger His followers, but if He said no, don’t pay, his enemies could report him to the Romans for teaching the people to rebel. Jesus’ answer was as wise as Solomon’s was when he told the two women to divide the baby in half. His enemies were so amazed they walked away.”
Abby had grown accustomed to hearing Hannah talk about Jesus, so it took her a moment to realize how extraordinary it was for Ari to mention Him. Before she could react, they were interrupted by a shout from one of the students digging in a nearby storage room.
“Dr. Bazak, come here! We found a bunch of painted pottery!”
“Let’s go see.” Ari offered Abby his hand to help her up. The smudges of dirt on his face made him look as endearing as a schoolboy.
The excited students showed them broken pieces of plates and bowls, all exquisitely painted. More remnants were still half-buried in a pile, as if the storeroom had once held a china cupboard. Ari handed Abby a potsherd. Unlike the chunky pieces they’d found in Leah’s house, it was lightweight and delicate, with leaves and geometric designs painted in black on the brownish red clay.
“This is Nabatean pottery,” Ari said as he carefully fitted two large sections together. “It’s well known for its beauty and workmanship. We rarely find it unbroken because it is so fragile. Leave everything where it is and go get Dr. Rahov,” he told the students. “Tell her to bring the camera.”
“Oh my! It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Hannah said when she arrived at the site. Her face seemed radiant. “God bless those clever Nabateans!”
Abby remembered that Hannah had met her husband while excavating Nabatean ruins. She kept forgetting to ask Hannah if she would have a chance to meet Jake this summer, but now wasn’t the time. Hannah was busy snapping dozens of photographs, from every possible angle, to document their find.
Two days later, it was Abby’s turn to make a discovery. While digging in the main reception hall, she found a slab of wood buried beneath the collapsed wall that Marwan was helping her remove. The board was about the size and shape of a book, with a narrow, raised border all around it like a frame. Remnants of a crumbly substance coated one side. She was carefully cleaning the frame with a toothbrush when she noticed something carved into the wood. Abby studied it closely, then stared in disbelief. It looked like the same three Hebrew letters she had found on the weaver’s shuttle
in the other house. She quickly called for Ari.
“Am I seeing things?” she asked. “Does that say what I think it does?”
Ari took his eyeglasses from his pocket to peer at it. “Yes . . .” he breathed. “It says Leah . . . Unbelievable!”
“What is this thing anyway?” she asked while they waited for Hannah to arrive. “What did I find?”
“It looks like a writing tablet. It would have been coated with wax—that’s what this yellowish stuff is. When you wanted to write something, you carved into the wax, then you scraped it clean to erase it. Children used it like . . . how do you say . . . ?”
“A slate?”
“Yes, like a slate, to practice their letters.”
“Do you think it could be the same Leah?” she asked Hannah after she’d arrived to examine it.
“Well, the name was common enough, but the ability to write it certainly wasn’t.”
“But why would she leave her personal things in two very different houses?”
“That’s a good question,” Hannah said. “Any ideas, Ari?”
He looked thoughtful as he combed his fingers through his woolly beard. “Well . . . if it is the same Leah, the only reason I can imagine is if the first house was her home but she worked here as a servant. Children were sometimes sold as servants if their fathers were unable to pay their debts.”
“Sold!” Abby said. “That’s terrible!”
“It was a fact of life back then,” Ari said with a shrug. “We know from history that there was a famine here in the first century, around A.D. 46 or 47.”
“Yes, good point,” Hannah said. “Abby, you may recall the apostle Paul mentioning it in some of his letters. He collected funds among the Gentile Christians to help the Jewish brethren in Israel.”
“The Jews were an enslaved people,” Ari said. “Besides paying Roman taxes, every man also paid a yearly temple tax and a tithe of ten percent of all his crops to the priests. That left most farmers very poor.”
“And a famine like the one in A.D. 47 would have ruined them,” Hannah finished.
“How awful!” Abby said, shuddering. “To have to sell your own children!”
She thought about Leah that night as she lay in bed, wondering how she had coped after her life was thrown into turmoil. As turbulent as Abby’s own life was at the moment, at least she wasn’t facing overwhelming debt and servitude. Had Leah ever known happiness, or only poverty and disappointment?
THE VILLAGE OF DEGANIA—A.D. 48
You have no idea why Abba wants to see me?” Gideon asked as he and Leah hurried home through Degania’s parched, dusty streets.
“No,” she replied. “I already told you. Reb Nahum and Rabbi Eliezer came to the house with Reuben ben Johanan, that pig of a tax collector. Abba sent me inside while they talked, then Mama came inside and told me to run up to the fields and get you.”
“Poor Abba,” Gideon said, groaning. “If only it would rain. Nothing is growing in the fields. Saul’s sheep can’t find pasture . . . our grapes have all shriveled up. Reuben ben Johanan can’t expect to collect taxes in the middle of a famine, can he?”
“I told you I don’t know what he wants.”
When they arrived home, Reuben and the other two men stood in the tiny courtyard with Abba, waiting. The tax collector wore a pale blue linen robe with a richly embroidered border of scarlet and gold threads. Leah knew she wasn’t supposed to stare but she couldn’t stop herself. It was the most beautiful garment she had ever seen. The coat that Jacob gave his favored son Joseph couldn’t possibly have been more spectacular.
“This is my son Gideon . . . my daughter, Leah,” Abba said.
His voice was so soft Leah wondered how Reb Reuben could even hear him. She felt the tax collector’s gaze sweep over both of them. Then he gave Abba a curt nod and left with the other two men. The fragrant scent of perfumed oil trailed in his wake.
“Abba, what’s going on?” Gideon asked. Their father didn’t answer. Instead, he turned abruptly and ducked into the house. Gideon and Leah followed. “Why were they here, Abba? What did they want? And why did you send for me?” Fear made Gideon’s voice shrill.
Abba paced in the cramped room, pulling at his beard as if he intended to pluck his face clean. “I can’t . . . I . . . I need Saul. He can do a . . . a man’s share of the work. Together we can grow enough to . . . and Matthew is too young . . . he . . .” Abba’s voice sounded breathless, as if he had been the one to run all the way up to the pasture and back, not Leah.
“If this drought ever ends . . . if we can just grow enough next year, I’ll buy you back, Gideon, I’ll redeem you—”
“You sold me?” Gideon cried. He shook his head in disbelief, as if trying to awaken from a dream. “Who . . . who did you sell me to?”
The lump on Abba’s throat moved up and down as he swallowed. “Reuben ben Johanan. He agreed to take you . . . and Leah . . .”
“Me?” Leah cried. “You sold me, too?” She leaned against the stone wall, feeling dizzy. Her heart beat wildly, like the wings of a snared bird—for that was what she was. The district tax collector would be her master. If she burned the bread or spilled the soup, he wouldn’t be patient and indulgent with her as Mama was. Leah would be beaten for her mistakes. What little freedom she had known was gone. Her life was over at age fourteen.
“You can’t let him take us!” Gideon shouted. “It’s bad enough that you sold me to that . . . that sinner, but not Leah! He probably uses his women as concubines!”
“That’s enough!” Abba cried, halting his blind pacing.
Leah’s terror rose up inside her like a flock of frightened sparrows at Gideon’s words. She had dreaded the thought of marrying a village boy and sharing his bed, but to become the concubine of a man as hated and feared as Reuben ben Johanan was unimaginable!
“I had no choice,” Abba said, his face stern. “I owed taxes to Rome. It was either this or . . . or my land . . . and how would we live if I sold my land?”
“How could you do this to us?” Gideon moaned. “Please, Abba . . . there must be some other way.”
All of a sudden Abba’s face seemed to crumble as the stern expression he always wore fell like a mask. He covered his face. “I’m sorry . . . I had no choice . . . Oh, God, forgive me!”
Abba had always held his children at a distance with his gruffness, but Leah suddenly saw what she had always suspected—that his outward manner really hid a deep, unfaltering love for his children. She wondered if God was the same—if the Pharisees’ rigid code of laws and rules hid a loving Father from view? She went to Abba and tenderly rested her hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t mind, Abba,” she said softly. “I’m not afraid to work for him. The famine isn’t your fault.” For the first time Leah could ever remember, her father took her in his arms and held her tightly. But when she looked up, Gideon was gone.
* * *
Leah and Gideon left home at dawn the next day and slowly walked across town to the tax collector’s villa. Leah carried her meager possessions bundled inside her shawl, but Gideon had taken nothing except the clothes on his back. Leah knew that word of their servitude had already spread throughout the village when their fellow townspeople quickly turned aside as they approached. No one would meet her eye. She now belonged to the most hated man in town.
“At least we’ll eat,” Leah said, trying to be courageous. “Even if the drought continues we won’t starve to death. He has to feed us.”
“You don’t know that.” Gideon kicked a stone in his path and sent it flying. “Reuben’s servants never mix with the other villagers. We don’t know what goes on in his house.”
Leah had stayed awake all night, unable to sleep at the thought of what she faced. By dawn she was certain she had run out of tears, but they still rolled down her cheeks in spite of her efforts to stop them. “Do you think we’ll ever go free again?” she asked, wiping her eyes. Gideon shrugged.
“The rabbi tol
d me that according to the Torah, even if Abba can’t redeem us, a manservant has to be set free after seven years.”
“A man-servant . . . but what about a woman-servant?”
Leah could see from Gideon’s face how upset he was, how reluctant he was to answer her. “He said that Reuben has a right to . . . to take you. But afterward, if he isn’t pleased, he must let you be redeemed.”
Leah drew a shuddering breath as she tried to compose herself. “Maybe Abba will redeem both of us before then. And who knows, I’m not much to look at, maybe Reb Reuben won’t . . .” Fear choked off her words before she could finish them.
Gideon stopped walking. “See this?” He showed Leah a small knife in a leather pouch that he had hidden in the folds of his tunic. “I’ll protect you, Leah. If that pig tries to come near you, I’ll—”
“Don’t, Gideon,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. “It’s wrong to kill. Besides, Abba would have married me off to someone in a year or two, anyway—probably someone as poor as we are. This way, at least I’ll always be well-provided for.”
Gideon exhaled as he hid the knife again. “The rabbi also said that when it comes time to set us free, Reuben can’t send us away empty-handed.”
“Do you really think Reuben ben Johanan will obey the Torah?” Leah asked. “Everyone knows what a notorious sinner he is. I’ve heard that he even eats with Gentiles.”
“We could run away,” Gideon said.
But Leah had considered that option during the night and decided it would be hopeless to run. “Where? Where could we go? He would probably send Roman soldiers after us. Either that or he would just take Matthew and Saul instead of us.” She nudged Gideon to start him walking again.