by Mesu Andrews
Zerubbabel bowed. “Thank you for your kindness, but I must return. I’ve promised to beat Allamu at another drinking game.”
Still contemplating the intriguing character, Daniel entered the gate and passed the sprouting plants in their garden to the heart-stirring sound of his children. He stood in the shadow of a tamarisk tree and watched all four daughters and their husbands teasing one another and telling stories, while Belili watched with a contented smile. Shesh sat beside Belili, and Kezia beside him. Their eldest daughter always placed herself so she needn’t meet her ima’s gaze.
Their youngest, Gia, seemed most comfortable with her ima and began relating a childhood memory of harp lessons. “For everyone’s health, I practiced my harp while Mert taught the other girls to cook. I still can’t boil water.”
“That’s not true.” Belili patted her knee. “You’ve become a very good cook—but still a better harp player.” Everyone exploded with laughter.
Daniel stepped from behind the tree and opened his arms wide. “What a wonderful surprise!” His children hurried from their cushions to greet him, while Belili remained seated.
She tilted her head up when he approached, eyes sparkling. “Our children brought the evening meal to share with me.” Her eyes grew moist. “Wasn’t that thoughtful?”
Daniel kissed the top of her head and sat beside her. All the splendid chatter fell to silence. “Please don’t let me stop your storytelling. You were having such a pleasant visit.”
“Actually, Abba,” Shesh, the family spokesman, began, “we brought the meal for Ima because she’d been eating alone all week, but we also wanted to learn more about your vision.”
Daniel felt the renewed guilt of a scattered focus. Once again he’d let his position as a councilman steal his thoughts every waking moment. He couldn’t define his schedule, but he did have reign over his thoughts—and he’d failed to focus on family and eternal matters as often as he ought. “Of course, yes. Let’s make a plan. What do you have in mind, Shesh?”
Shesh exchanged uneasy glances with his brothers-in-law. “We’d like to discuss your idea of exiles rebuilding Jerusalem and the Temple. We don’t see how that’s feasible. We’ve been thinking. You’ve been here sixty-six years, which means by Jeremiah’s prophecy, the Temple will be rebuilt within four years. Who would make such a decision—Cyrus or Gubaru? How would such a project be financed, especially the vast resources needed to rebuild the Temple?” He left his couch and knelt before Daniel. “Do you see how far-fetched a return to Jerusalem seems, Abba?”
The weariness of his day returned, and Daniel longed for his bed and a cup of hot spiced wine. He sensed Belili’s tension and didn’t dare look at her. If she lost her temper and defended him, she could forfeit the healing they’d gained through tonight’s laughter. He remembered Zerubbabel’s comment, that he’d seen Jerusalem, the wilderness it had become. Was it harder for Daniel himself to believe the vision or his children who had never seen God’s chosen city?
Affixing his most patient expression, he met Shesh’s concerns with the truth. “You’re absolutely right. The vision is entirely far-fetched. It’s unreasonable to imagine that an empire on seemingly wobbly legs can stand, let alone gather resources and allocate them to a small band of foreigners to rebuild an extravagant Temple to their invisible God.” Daniel let his family rest in their satisfaction just long enough to unseat them with his next words. “And that’s exactly the circumstance in which Yahweh works best. Don’t you understand? If we could organize the path to take, we wouldn’t need a miracle-working God to create it.”
He placed his arm around Belili’s shoulders and drew her near. “We’ve seen Yahweh do impossible things, which has strengthened our faith to endure more impossible things. We’ve grown spoiled and lazy in our freedoms, making us afraid to trust Yahweh for the uncomfortable.” Daniel felt energized after his speech, but when he searched his children’s faces for signs of faith or resolve, he found none.
Shesh had donned his mask of patience for Daniel. “Abba, we know Yahweh can do miracles. We just don’t want you to hold on to a childhood dream and be disappointed at this stage of your life.”
Daniel wanted to laugh—and cry. “Disappointment is the bridge to awe, my son. I’ve witnessed too much of Yahweh’s power in my life to ever be disappointed again,” he said. “I’ve felt His presence when He reveals a dream or vision. I saw Him standing in a brick furnace with my three best friends. And I watched Yahweh transform an arrogant king into a beast and then turn him into a ruler who acknowledged his limitations. It has never been Yahweh who disappointed me, Sheshbazzar.”
With those words, he stood and offered his hand to Belili. He looked at their children once more. “Your ima and I are old and tired. We’re so thankful you came for a visit. Please, let’s do it again—and we’ll talk more about returning to Jerusalem.” He led his wife up the stairs to their bedchamber, ignoring the whispered protests in their courtyard below.
36
Restore us to yourself, LORD, that we may return;
renew our days as of old.
—LAMENTATIONS 5:21
Two Weeks Later
The smell of singed hair interrupted my brooding. “Oh no!” I released the bronze curling tongs from Daniel’s beard.
“That one’s a little crispy,” he said with a wry grin.
I swatted him. “Shall I start under your arms next?”
“No!” Arms tight against his sides, he chuckled. “I need some hair left to meet King Cyrus.”
King Cyrus’s arrival had stolen my attention. I applied scented oil to Daniel’s singed beard, hoping to mask the smell. “Is the council still divided on how to approach Cyrus with their demands?”
“From what I’ve discerned from the various members, no one demands anything from Cyrus.” He checked his beard in the mirror. “You missed a spot.”
I rolled my eyes and reapplied the bronze tongs. He was fussier about his beard than our girls about their braids and curls. It was that meticulous nature that made him indispensable to the Medes’ General Gubaru. When his soldiers began grousing that today’s Persian arrival would steal their victory over Babylon, Daniel suggested pairing a Median soldier with a Persian guard to engender trust between the troops and build a “Medo-Persian” force.
“I want our family to stand close to the south gate when Cyrus enters the palace courtyard.” His reflection in the handheld mirror was grim, his levity fallen away like the last leaves of autumn. “Keep everyone together and stand in the back row if you must to ensure a quick and clear exit if needed.”
Setting aside the bronze tongs, I tried to steady my breathing. “Do you expect violence?”
A small V formed between his brows. “I don’t expect it, but I want to be prepared should the Medes’ resentment toward Cyrus turn bloody. They believe this city belongs to them, to General Gubaru. When they successfully invaded Babylon three weeks ago, Cyrus promised to set Gubaru on the throne and give him a new title.” Daniel shrugged. “I’ve never met Cyrus, but I’ve known dozens of kings. They all disappoint. If he reneges on a single promise…well, you know that loyalty is what makes a Mede—a Mede. And betrayal is dealt with swiftly.”
The trembling I’d felt all morning worked into my chest. “Should we leave the babies at home with servants? The smaller children too?”
Daniel set aside his hand mirror and pressed a gentle kiss on my lips. “Keep them all with you, my love. You’ll know what to do. You’ve survived worse.” Was that supposed to make me feel better?
He rose from his stool, looking every bit as regal as a king. His linen robe was exquisitely patterned, his dark outer robe of finest wool. Reaching for his short white overcoat, he shrugged it on and then absently straightened the two layers of sleeves underneath while he spoke. “Cyrus plans to honor General Gubaru by giving him the throne n
ame Darius. He is to reign over Babylon, Syria, Phoenicia, and Palestine. If he follows through, I suspect it will be enough to assuage the Medes’ grousing, but I’ve never seen a successful shared government.”
I offered no reply, letting my husband process his thoughts aloud, while I feared my own demise in silence. Other than Allamu and Mert, Cyrus the Persian was the only one who could identify me as Mithra’s high priestess. The Cyrus I remembered was a spoiled prince. His mother was Amyitis’s sister, a woman much too gentle to be a Mede. Cyrus and his mother were forced into exile when old king Astyages dreamed Cyrus, his grandson, would plot to kill him someday. One autumn, when Allamu was seven, Amyitis detoured our return to Babylon by way of Susa, insisting Allamu and Cyrus meet. The boys were instant friends, though Cyrus was three years older. In an effort to impress the young prince, Allamu told him I’d once been high priestess of Mithra. Now the little boy who knew my secret ruled the empire.
Flustered at my thoughts and Daniel’s musings, I reached for a simple gold-braided belt to tie around Daniel’s waist and then searched the jewelry box for accessories. He pointed to a gold pendant and sat on his stool again so I could fasten it around his neck while he talked. “We must remember that Yahweh has already determined which king will send a remnant back to Jerusalem and is currently in the process of placing that man—or men—on the proper throne. Or thrones.”
He picked up the hand mirror again and peered at me in the reflection, but I avoided his gaze, choosing instead to pillage the jewelry box again. I’d successfully avoided offering my opinion on his vision. Our children had tried that, and their doubts had been abruptly dismissed. They hadn’t returned to the villa for a meal or visit since.
Our chamber was suddenly quiet. I looked up from the jewelry and found that Daniel was staring at me. “Will you help me convince Allamu to search for the Ark?” he asked. “His connections to Mithra’s temples could be the link we need if it’s in Media.”
“Absolutely not!”
He pulled me into his arms. “If Allamu won’t help us, I think the Hebrew bodyguard—Zerubbabel—might be willing. I’ve coaxed a bit of his story from him. Evidently, he’s served Astyages, Cyrus, and Gubaru.”
My heart skipped. “He hardly seems old enough to have served Astyages.”
“I said the same thing, but he changed the subject.”
Before I could concoct an excuse to abandon the search, he released me and began rummaging through the jewelry box himself. “Let me choose something for you, my love. If Cyrus sees you today, he might remember you as his aunt Amyitis’s best friend. You should be well dressed.”
“Thankfully, Amyitis didn’t live to see Cyrus assassinate her father,” I mumbled as he chattered about the jewelry.
“This one!” He lifted out a string of carnelian beads with a lapis-inlaid pendant. “The red beads and blue inlay will bring out the roses in your cheeks when I tell Cyrus that I’ve loved you all my life.”
I turned my back to him so he could fasten the necklace and I could hide my fear. Lost in what-ifs, I let my fingers glide over the necklace. Daniel’s arms enfolded me, and he leaned over to still my hands. I hadn’t realized they were shaking. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Please don’t be upset.” I should have asked him first. “I sent a messenger to Mert this morning to send me our wooden trunk of keepsakes when the family comes today.”
I faced him, and his expression softened. “Belili…why?”
“Why?” Because if Cyrus recognizes me, and you divorce me, I’ll need Amyitis’s crown to survive. I found myself telling my husband half truths again. “Because you’ve told me there may be war between the Medes and Persians, and you’ve cautioned me to gather our family by the south gate for a quick escape. How can you ask why I want our wealth transferred here for easy trading?”
He sifted the jewelry from our box through his fingers. “We have enough here to get our family to safety if things go badly with Cyrus.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “You said I know how to survive. It’s true, but surviving pushed me into places I never wanted to go.” I opened my eyes and voiced my decision. “I can’t return to Jerusalem, Daniel. I won’t. Our lives are here in Babylon.”
He couldn’t have looked more wounded if I’d stabbed him with his short sword. His hand went to his middle as if removing the blade. “But why? Jerusalem was our home. It’s Yahweh’s jewel. It’s—”
Mert appeared at our doorway. “Kezia and Shesh have arrived with the trunk. The rest of the family is following close behind. Where should the messenger put it?”
“Have him put it in the library,” Daniel said before I could speak.
I turned a burning glare on my husband. “I don’t want to go into your library today, because I don’t wish to discuss scrolls or visions. There’s enough tension with Cyrus’s arrival.”
He drew breath to speak, but I joined Mert at the door, escaping my husband and the renewed guilt clawing at me.
“What’s wrong?” my friend asked, giving me a sideways glance on the stairs.
“I can’t talk about it now.” Daniel had fallen into step behind us. Our children were coming in steadily from their side of the Processional Way. “Good morning,” I said brightly. They called back greetings with smiles to both Daniel and me, and I felt warmth from those dearest to my heart. They’d been strangers too long. Yahweh was working to restore our kinship. How could I even think of parting from them again—vision or not?
As Mert and I reached the bottom step, Eva rushed ahead of her sisters with a bundle wrapped in cloth. “Ima, we’ve been so busy with sesame harvest and making oil that we haven’t been back to share a meal.” She offered me the wrapped bundle. “But we wanted you to try the bread recipe Kezia wheedled from the new breadmaker in the market. We baked it earlier this morning. I’m sorry it’s cold.”
“No apologies,” I said. “I’m sure it’s wonderful.” I received the aromatic bundle from our older twin and unwrapped it.
Daniel came to my side, placing his arm tenderly around my waist. The tiny gesture assured me we could work out my fears with his faith. He leaned over and broke off a small bite. I did the same. At first the flavor was dull. Flour and sesame oil, a little water and perhaps some salt. I dared not pronounce the recipe mediocre when our girls seemed so enamored. In the next moment, the loaf in my hands warmed as if fresh from the oven and sweetness filled my mouth. The flavor was unmistakable. I stared down at the small round loaf in my hand. It couldn’t be.
Then at Daniel, who seemed utterly unaffected. “I taste a hint of cumin,” he said.
Cumin? I tore off another bite from the now-blazing loaf. The flavor of the Temple’s sacred bread burst in my mouth, the aroma from my childhood undeniable. There was no cumin in Temple loaves.
“Yes, a little cumin and some fennel-flower sprinkled on top before baking,” Eden added.
I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes, and offered the loaf to my husband again. “Touch it, Husband.”
Noticing my reaction, concern wrinkled his brow, but he did as I asked. The moment his fingers met the bread, his eyes widened—and a slow grin revealed both his joy and strong faith. “Yahweh is at work, my love. Tell us what’s happening.”
My tears had overflowed their banks, and I covered an awe-filled laugh. In my hand was proof. Yahweh was at work, indeed. It was time to tell my children that I’d experienced His presence in Jerusalem’s Temple. “My bite of bread was rather bland at first, but when the loaf began to warm in my hand, the faint taste of olive oil and honey burst in my mouth.” I held out the small loaf for my daughters and their husbands to touch. While their eyes grew round with wonder, I relayed my story of my sacred loaf in the Holy of Holies.
“And this bread tasted like that to you?” Kezia’s question was sincere wonder, not suspicion.
“Y
es, Daughter. I might have doubted it myself had Yahweh not warmed the bread for everyone to experience with me.”
Daniel turned to me as silence settled over our family. “Are you with me, my love?” He offered his hand to me, and I knew he wasn’t just asking me to follow him to meet Cyrus the Great. He was asking me to follow him to Jerusalem. My mind raced back to Jerusalem’s captive camp when he and his three friends made their promise, wrists linked, hands piled together.
With the warmth of Yahweh’s presence in one hand and Daniel holding the other, I nodded. “Yes. I’ll be with you, Daniel ben Johanan, whether we go or stay.”
Before Daniel could respond, Shesh stepped around our daughters. “I’ve done more research into the old records at the Esagila but found no mention of the Ark.”
I felt both relief and sadness. Perhaps if the Ark was never found, we could stay in Babylon, but I didn’t wish the Ark to be lost forever. Kezia—as usual—reacted with anger first. “Why would you look for it?”
Daniel lifted his hands to silence them both and spoke to the whole family. “I’m encouraged that Sheshbazzar began the search before today’s display of power. It tells me he felt the touch of Yahweh’s feather before the Lord used His holy mallet.” Even Kezia grinned at her abba’s word picture. “The remnant will return to Jerusalem, my children. Begin searching your hearts now to decide if you’ll be among them. Can you give up your comfortable routine to live in the tension of God’s uncharted plan?”
Daniel returned his attention to Shesh and put a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps you’d be willing to speak with some of Marduk’s retired priests who served during Nebuchadnezzar’s reign. Ask them if they recall hiding the Ark without recording it for some reason.” My husband wiggled his eyebrows. “Retired priests might enjoy sharing their secrets.”
