by Lynn Austin
“I stayed awake all night, and I never saw a watch fire or a torch or even an oil lamp,” Hezekiah said.
“How can they keep predators away from the camp without watch fires?”
“Something is very odd, Eliakim. Let’s walk a bit.” Cold and cramped from his all-night vigil, Hezekiah began a slow circuit of the top of the city wall with Eliakim, stopping to talk to his unit commanders along the way. The enemy encampment completely surrounded Jerusalem, but with the exception of the Assyrian horses, they saw no sign of movement or life.
As the sun rose higher, Jerusalem began to stir. Hezekiah smelled the smoke of early fires and heard the faint grinding of hand mills. Serving girls walked through the streets toward the Pool of Siloam with their jars on their heads. But outside the walls all was quiet.
It took Hezekiah and Eliakim almost two hours to complete their circuit and return to where they had started. By the time they stood overlooking the Kidron Valley once again, the sun had risen over the Mount of Olives, chasing away the chilly clouds.
“Was that body lying down there before, Your Majesty?” Eliakim asked. He pointed to a figure sprawled facedown in the clearing where the Rabshekah had stood a day earlier.
“I don’t know. It was too dark to see when we started our circuit.”
The Assyrian horses whinnied, pacing restlessly in the paddocks. “They’ll need water,” Hezekiah said. “Especially once the sun gets high.” But the Assyrian camp remained motionless. A quiet surge of hope swelled inside Hezekiah.
“Do you suppose it’s a trick?” Eliakim asked. “To get us to open the gates?”
“We’ll wait and see.”
Soon word began to spread throughout the city that nothing moved in the Assyrian camp, and people hurried to the walls to see. As they packed the ledge, gazing in wonder at the scene below, no one spoke above a whisper, as if awed into silence themselves. The only sounds Hezekiah heard as he stood watching and waiting were the joyous chorus of birds in the olive groves and the distant sound of frightened horses as they capered nervously in their corrals.
“Lord Emperor?”
“Get back! Stay away from me!” The servant froze in the doorway of Emperor Sennacherib’s tent. “What is it now? More sickness?” The linen cloth the emperor held over his nose and mouth muffled his voice.
“Worse!”
“Tell me.”
“A dozen soldiers just rode in from your camp outside Jerusalem, and—”
“Has King Hezekiah surrendered yet? Or are the Judeans fighting back?”
“Your Majesty, this handful of soldiers are the only survivors!”
“Handful! Where are the others?”
“It’s a disaster of unbelievable proportions! A plague has spread throughout the entire camp, and—”
“What about my commander in chief? My officers? My Rabshekah?”
“They’re all dead, along with your entire army! One hundred and eighty-five thousand soldiers!”
“May all the gods preserve us!” Sennacherib clutched the cloth to his mouth, murmuring incantations to the gods as he dropped into his chair.
“It was the same sickness as here, my lord. All the men had fevers and tumors.”
Sennacherib trembled as fear rocked through him. He had to get out of Judean territory, away from Yahweh, the god of plagues and pestilences. The stories of the devastation he had inflicted on Egypt centuries before were legendary, but the emperor had never believed in them until now. Nor would he have believed the Philistines’ superstitious story of rats and tumors if he hadn’t witnessed this plague with his own eyes. Yahweh’s power was beyond his comprehension.
“I was so close!” he suddenly cried. “I could have conquered Egypt. I could have succeeded where my father and grandfather failed. How . . . ? Why . . . ? Are you certain they’re all dead?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I had the most powerful army the world has ever seen! How could the gods fail me like this? How could they let the god of Judah defeat us all?” Sennacherib’s anger and frustration brought him close to tears, but he couldn’t allow his servant to witness his distress.
“Break camp,” he said suddenly. “Right now. Right away. We’ll take whatever men are left. The healthy ones. Make sure none of them are sick.”
“Where will we go?”
“If what you say is true—if my army is truly destroyed—then I have no choice. I’ll have to return to Nineveh.”
“What about the men who are sick and dying?”
“Leave them.”
“But—”
“Don’t you understand? We have to get out of Judean territory now! Away from the wrath of their god! Harness my chariot! Hurry!”
Alone in his tent, Sennacherib raged at the injustice of it all. He had defeated nations far more powerful than Judah—Babylon, Moab, and a huge Egyptian army. How could he return home in defeat, conquered by King Hezekiah of Judah? He thought of all the golden images he had deported to his temple in Nineveh, but the unseen, imageless god of Israel had defeated him in the end. Sennacherib covered his face in anger and despair.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the morning wind carried the stench of death to the top of the wall. A half-dozen vultures began making slow, sweeping circles over the valley.
“Your Majesty, it’s been hours,” Eliakim said. “Nothing has moved down there. Let me go out and investigate.”
“Are you sure you want to do that, Eliakim?”
“Yes. I’m not afraid.”
“I’ll go, too,” the general said, “with some of my men.”
“Take volunteers. No one should go out unless he wants to.”
Excitement crept through Eliakim as he descended the stairs and waited for the soldiers to open the city gate for him.
“You’re not armed, my lord. Do you want my dagger again?” General Benjamin asked.
“No. I won’t need it.” Eliakim knew Yahweh had worked a miracle. He jogged across the clearing toward the Assyrian camp, his legs trembling with anticipation. When he reached the body lying face-down, he kicked it over with his foot. Trails of dried blood ran from Iddina’s ears and nose and mouth. His wide eyes stared sightlessly.
“Oh, thank God . . . thank God,” Eliakim murmured. Yahweh had done it—He had avenged Jerusha more wonderfully than Eliakim could have ever imagined. He looked for something to take to Jerusha, something to prove that Iddina was dead, and spotted the dagger tucked in Iddina’s belt. He remembered Jerusha’s story of the night she had nearly ended her life with that dagger. He pulled it from Iddina’s belt and carefully tucked it into his own.
Suddenly Eliakim heard a soft moan and looked up. Gedaliah dangled above him on the stake.
“General Benjamin! Come over here,” Eliakim shouted. “Help me take him down.” Gedaliah cried out in agony as they lifted him off the stake and laid him on the grass. “Do you have any water we can give him?” Eliakim asked.
“He won’t live, my lord,” the general whispered as he untied a skin of water from his belt.
“I know. But we can still ease his suffering. Tell your men to take the others down, too.” He raised Gedaliah’s head and poured water between his parched lips.
“Eliakim? You came back?”
“The siege is over, Gedaliah. The Assyrians are all dead. Yahweh destroyed them during the night.” The prince sighed and closed his eyes.
Eliakim stood and began to jog toward the Assyrian camp. Under the hot sun, the stench of death nearly overpowered him. He needed to look in only three or four tents to know what he would find in all the others. All the Assyrians were dead. Hundreds of thousands of them.
He turned around and ran back toward the gate, shouting to King Hezekiah and the men on the wall above him as he ran. “They’re dead! Yahweh sent the angel of death! The Assyrians are all dead!”
The cheer that went up from the city made Eliakim’s ears ring. He was breathless when he reached King Hezekiah on the wall. He bent over with his
hands on his thighs, panting. “They’re all dead!”
“Plunder the Assyrians’ weapons and chariots,” the king ordered his soldiers. “Then burn all their tents and the dead bodies.” He turned to Eliakim, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Well, I guess I didn’t need to buy Egyptian horses after all. Yahweh sent more horses than I can possibly use!”
“Your Majesty, may I go home for . . . I have to tell . . .”
“Yes! Certainly, Eliakim! Go!”
He took off at a run again, never slowing until he burst through his front door. He took the stairs two at a time and was stunned to see Hephzibah still sitting on his bed, gently rocking his son. Jerusha looked shaky, but she was all right.
Eliakim could barely talk. He carefully pulled Iddina’s dagger from his belt and laid it in Jerusha’s hands. “Look!”
“That’s Iddina’s!”
“Yes. He won’t need it anymore. He’s dead.” She stared at it, wide-eyed, as if afraid of it. “I saw him with my own eyes, Jerusha. He’s dead. They’re all dead. The entire Assyrian army. Yahweh worked a miracle!”
Hephzibah touched his sleeve. “Eliakim. Yahweh worked another miracle last night. Here.” She laid Eliakim’s tiny son in his arms. Joshua’s breathing was smooth and even.
“God of Abraham, thank you!” he whispered. Suddenly the baby opened his eyes. He gazed up at Eliakim for a moment; then his miniature face puckered. And for the first time in his short life, Joshua let out a gusty wail.
As Hezekiah looked down from the wall at the miracle Yahweh had performed, he wondered if Moses could have felt more joy when the Red Sea swallowed the Egyptians. “Praise our God, O peoples,” he said aloud, “let the sound of His praise be heard; He has preserved our lives and kept our feet from slipping.”
The shofars began to sound from the Temple hill, trumpeting in joy and triumph. It was still Passover week, the celebration of Yahweh’s deliverance in the past. Now they would celebrate His deliverance in the present, eyewitnesses to God’s salvation power. Hezekiah climbed down from the wall to join the joyful pilgrimage to the Temple.
When he reached the lower gate, he found Shebna waiting for him. He looked like such a weary old man that Hezekiah barely recognized him at first. His back sagged beneath the weight of his body, and his stubbled chin trembled when he spoke.
“Your Majesty, I . . . I see it with my eyes . . . but I . . .” Then much to Hezekiah’s surprise, Shebna began to weep. In all their years together it had never happened before. Hezekiah rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder, fighting his own tears.
“We tried so hard to figure out a way to save ourselves, didn’t we, Shebna? Weapons, fortresses, armies, alliances. We worked for fourteen years, but all our efforts failed. We were helpless. But what we were powerless to do, Yahweh accomplished in a single night! They’re all dead! The entire Assyrian army! Hundreds of thousands of men! They can never threaten us again. Can you comprehend that? I-I don’t think I can.” Hezekiah brushed a tear from his eye with the heel of his hand.
“Your Majesty, I beg you. Let me stand in the Court of the Gentiles today. Please.”
“Do you believe in Yahweh, Shebna?”
“I cannot deny this miracle . . .”
“If you’re coming to seek God, I know you’ll find Him. But don’t come to the Temple for any other reason.”
Shebna looked into Hezekiah’s eyes. “Will you help me, Your Majesty? Will you help me believe?”
Hezekiah squeezed his shoulder and nodded. “Come on.”
As they passed the Women’s Court, Hezekiah saw Hephzibah kneeling in worship. He was so overwhelmed with gratitude and praise he could no longer stop his tears. He knelt on the royal platform and closed his eyes, praying silently. O Lord, let me praise you with my life. Let me live in faith and obedience to you. Then he fell on his face before God as the praises of the Levites rang from the Temple hill in triumphant song:
In Judah God is known;
his name is great in Israel.
His tent is in Salem,
his dwelling place in Zion.
There he broke the flashing arrows,
the shields and the swords, the weapons of war.
You are resplendent with light,
more majestic than mountains rich with game.
Valiant men lie plundered,
they sleep their last sleep;
not one of the warriors
can lift his hands.
At your rebuke, O God of Jacob,
both horse and chariot lie still.
You alone are to be feared.
Who can stand before you when you are angry?
From heaven you pronounced judgment,
and the land feared and was quiet—
when you, O God, rose up to judge,
to save all the afflicted of the land.
Surely your wrath against men brings you praise,
and the survivors of your wrath are restrained.
Make vows to the Lord your God and fulfill them;
let all the neighboring lands bring gifts to the One to be feared.
He breaks the spirit of rulers;
he is feared by the kings of the earth.
Acrid smoke from the funeral pyres drifted up to Hezekiah, carried by the wind. The scent of idolatry reminded him once again of Yahweh’s promise, spoken by Isaiah years ago: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.”
Yahweh had brought him through the flood to prove His strength and faithfulness. He had taken Hezekiah through the fire to finally purge all the idolatry from his heart. As Isaiah had prophesied, a remnant from the house of Judah would “take root below and bear fruit above.” Hezekiah could start anew, his sins and his foolish pride forgiven. Hezekiah knew that someday, from his own seed, Yahweh would send the Messiah, and this great day of salvation from Assyria would be only a shadow of the eternal salvation the Messiah would bring.
With a heart too full to speak, Hezekiah lifted his hands toward heaven in praise to his holy God.
Epilogue
“May I see Hephzibah now?” Hezekiah asked the midwife.
“Yes, and congratulations, Your Majesty,” she said, bowing to him.
Hezekiah still couldn’t comprehend the amazing news. He had a son. Yahweh had given him an heir.
Hephzibah looked weary and flushed after her long ordeal. She lay propped against her pillow holding a tiny mound of blankets in her arms. Hezekiah sat down on the bed beside her and kissed her.
“How are you?”
“Tired. But I never dreamed I could be so happy. Look at him.” Hephzibah shifted the bundle in her arms, and Hezekiah stared at his son’s pinched, ruddy face in alarm.
“Is he all right?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “He’s strong and healthy. And he shouts like a king when he’s hungry.”
“But he looks so . . .” Hezekiah didn’t want to say it, but the baby looked too scrawny to survive the night.
“Hezekiah, haven’t you ever seen a newborn baby before?”
“No, I guess I haven’t.”
“He’s a strong, healthy boy who will grow to be as tall and handsome as his father one day.”
“Have you thought of a name?”
“I would like to call him Manasseh, because Yahweh has helped me forget all my sorrow.”
“Then that’s his name—Manasseh.” Outside the window, shofars began to sound from the Temple wall. “Do you hear that?” he asked. “The priests are announcing to the nation that an heir has been born at last. The throne of David will continue through all the generations, just as Yahweh promised.”
“Would you like to hold him?”
“Hold him? Is it all right?” He was so tiny, Hezekiah was afraid he would crush him.
“You’l
l do fine,” she smiled. “He won’t break.” She lifted Manasseh into Hezekiah’s arms before he could reply. The bundle felt soft and warm. This sweet-smelling, vulnerable little child was his son! Hezekiah’s heart filled with love for him, but it amazed him to think that what he felt was only a shadow of the overwhelming love Yahweh felt toward His children.
Manasseh opened his eyes and looked up at his father, blinking in the light. “Listen carefully, son,” Hezekiah said. “I’m going to teach you your very first lesson. And you must never forget it, because it’s also the most important lesson you’ll ever learn: ‘Hear, O Israel! Yahweh is our God—Yahweh alone!’ And you must love Yahweh your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.”
So the Lord saved Hezekiah and the people of Jerusalem from the hand of Sennacherib king of Assyria and from the hand of all others. He took care of them on every side. Many brought offerings to Jerusalem for the Lord and valuable gifts for Hezekiah king of Judah. From then on he was highly regarded by all the nations.
2 Chronicles 32:22–23
Hezekiah trusted in the Lord, the God of Israel. There was no one like him among all the kings of Judah, either before him or after him. He held fast to the Lord and did not cease to follow him; he kept the commands the Lord had given Moses. And the Lord was with him; he was successful in whatever he undertook.
2 Kings 18:5–7
Hezekiah rested with his fathers and was buried on the hill where the tombs of David’s descendants are. All Judah and the people of Jerusalem honored him when he died. And Manasseh his son succeeded him as king.
2 Chronicles 32:33
Dedicated to my friend
Catherine Pruim.
God must have known I would need
a special friend like you.
The Lord is my strength and my song;
he has become my salvation.
He is my God, and I will praise him,
my father’s God, and I will exalt him.
Exodus 15:2
Contents
Dedication
A Note to the Reader
