The Chronicles of the Kings Collection

by Lynn Austin

  “I have every right to be angry.”

  “You’re angry, Joshua, because Yahweh’s actions don’t fit your image of Him. The idol you’ve made won’t do your bidding.”

  “But the Torah promises that if we observe God’s commandments we will live. ‘He whose walk is blameless is kept safe.’ My father—”

  “Is your idol limited to one verse? Does that sum up all of your beliefs? Don’t you see? Yahweh had to destroy your limited image of Him so you would worship Him as the sovereign God. We are put here to do His bidding, not the other way around.”

  Joshua didn’t want to hear any of this. He wanted to leave. But even in the dim lamplight, Gershom’s eyes and voice and words had pinioned him, and he couldn’t move. The rabbi was forcing Joshua’s feet to find their footing, to seek solid ground after floundering in bitterness and uncertainty for so long.

  “I understand your anger, son. You have suffered a great deal for one so young. But that only means that Yahweh has a great purpose for your life.”

  “My life had a purpose before Yahweh abandoned me!”

  “Every great man God has used first suffered adversity and seeming abandonment. Think of Jacob, running from Esau’s death threats; Joseph, sold into slavery and unjustly imprisoned; Moses, fleeing Pharaoh’s palace to tend sheep for forty years; or King David, hiding from Saul’s jealous rages. Yahweh deals with our pride and our self-sufficiency through adversity. And, oh yes, my young friend, you had plenty of both. In adversity our intellectual knowledge becomes actual knowledge. You’ve learned these words . . . say them with me: ‘Even though I walk . . .’”

  “‘ . . . Through the valley of the shadow of death,’” Joshua recited, “‘I will fear no evil, for you are with me. . . .’”

  “Yes, Joshua. And now that you and I are walking through that valley, we will learn if it is true. Adversity is the testing ground of our faith. God has to risk losing you forever to your anger and bitterness in order to have you for His true son. Anyone can believe and sing praises on the Temple Mount when the sun is shining, but true praise is sung in the darkest valley when the Accuser tells you to curse God for making you suffer so much pain. If you can still praise your Father’s goodness, even in the darkness, then you are His son indeed.”

  Joshua stood, his body rigid with anger. “Then I guess I failed the test. I failed God and I failed you. Yahweh’s risk didn’t pay off. He has lost me!”

  Rabbi Gershom laughed out loud. The sound of it—unexpected and unfamiliar—stunned Joshua. He slid to the floor again.

  When the rabbi’s laughter ended, he wiped his eyes. “You fail to convince me, Joshua ben Eliakim. You have your faults, but being a quitter was never one of them. I’ve seen you wrestle with a difficult interpretation of the Law long after your friend Manasseh gave up—working late into the night, wasting gallons of lamp oil, so your father told me. But to give up on Yahweh before He gives you an answer for your suffering? I know you too well.”

  “You’re right! I do have questions for God! Like, why did He allow Abba to die? Abba loved God. He served Him faithfully. Why—?”

  “Hold it. Stop right there.” Gershom held up his hand, the stern teacher, once again. “You are not asking a valid question, and so Yahweh is not obligated to answer it.”

  “I have a right to know why Yahweh allowed my father to die!”

  “No, you don’t. You have no right at all. What Yahweh asks of your father is Eliakim’s business, not yours. Just as it’s none of your business why Yahweh has me lying here on a bed of pain, wasting away.”

  “He was my father!”

  “Yes. And so was I.”

  Joshua clenched his fists, clinging to his anger like a drowning man clings to a plank. It was the only thing that kept him afloat, preventing him from sinking even further into sorrow and loss. God was taking everyone—his father, his grandfather, Yael, and now Rabbi Gershom. “I’m not supposed to ask why?” he said, his voice shaking.

  “You may certainly question Yahweh, but ask the right questions, Joshua. Ask Him what He wants to teach you through this suffering. Ask which of your faults, like pride or self-sufficiency or self-righteousness, He’s trying to purge from you. Ask which of His eternal qualities, like love and compassion and forgiveness, He wants to burn into your heart. Yes, go ahead, ask questions! Ask why He gave you the talents and gifts that He did—your excellent mind, your ability to lead others. Ask Him what He wants you to do with your life.

  “Your friend Manasseh has been asking the wrong questions, as well. He also wanted to know why God allowed his father to die after all the good things Hezekiah had done. Yahweh longed to use Manasseh’s grief to draw him to himself, to teach Manasseh to lean on Him as he had once leaned on his father. But Manasseh wanted easy answers. He didn’t want to wrestle with God, and so he answered the questions himself. He decided that Isaiah and your father had killed King Hezekiah. Now sin and bloodshed and suffering have multiplied from Manasseh’s mistake. And he’s still looking for easy answers. Instead of asking God how he should live each day, he’s asking sorcerers and mediums what his future is going to be. Have you seen what King Manasseh has done to our nation?”

  “I can’t move around freely, Rabbi. It isn’t safe.”

  “Manasseh practices all the sins of his grandfather, King Ahaz: idolatry, witchcraft, divination, sorcery. Sometimes I think, this can’t be Hezekiah’s son! How devastated that godly man would be if he saw the evil in his child’s heart!”

  Joshua choked back his shame. What would Abba say if he saw the hatred and bitterness in his son’s heart? Joshua leaned his elbows on his thighs and rested his forehead in his hands. “What do you expect from me, Rabbi? Manasseh won’t listen to me anymore.”

  “The Torah says, ‘Can a corrupt throne be allied with you—one that brings on misery by its decrees? They band together against the righteous and condemn the innocent to death.’ Earlier the psalmist also asks this question, ‘Who will rise up for me against the wicked? Who will take a stand for me against evildoers?’”

  “You expect me to oppose the king? How? I can’t undo all the evil Manasseh has done. What do you want from me?”

  “There’s a scroll on that table over there. Can you reach it? Yes, that one. Now, unroll it and read it to me.”

  Joshua removed the linen covering and unrolled the scroll, recognizing the precise script of the Temple scribes. But it was a long scroll, much longer than any of the books of the Torah. He found the beginning and read, “‘The vision concerning Judah and Jerusalem that Isaiah son of Amoz saw during the reigns of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz and Hezekiah, kings of Judah—’” He stopped in amazement. “These are Isaiah’s prophecies?”

  “Yes. An entire lifetime of oracles. A few years ago Isaiah asked the scribes to make a copy of his original scrolls for safekeeping. I want you to take it with you when you leave Jerusalem.”

  “But why? What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Manasseh confiscated all of Isaiah’s original writings. Keep this copy safe until all this madness ends.”

  “And then what?”

  “A valid question. I expect Yahweh will tell you if you ask Him.”

  Joshua laid the scroll on the bed beside the rabbi. “I can’t take this. I’m not going back to Moab. I’m leaving for Egypt tomorrow with the caravan.”

  “So. You’ve decided to run away from God instead of running to Him?”

  “I’ve tried, Rabbi! I’ve cried out to God for answers! He hasn’t given me any!”

  “With all that you’ve suffered, I suspect that your own cries of pain are still drowning out the voice of God. He’s waiting for you to let Him shine the light of His presence in the darkness of your fear and grief. But you’re not desperate for that light yet.”

  “You think I enjoy this suffering?”

  “No, but you’re still looking for a way to cure it yourself. You thought that coming back and marrying Yael would make you happy again, and it mi
ght have for a while. But the only thing that will ever make you feel whole again is a sense of Yahweh’s presence in your life.”

  “He abandoned me, Rabbi, not the other way around!”

  “That’s not quite true. How earnestly did you seek God’s presence before all this happened, when you had your old life?”

  “I read the Torah, I prayed, I kept all the sacrifices, obeyed all the laws—”

  Gershom’s eyes pinned Joshua. “Did you have a daily sense of His presence? Or did you live in the afterglow of your father’s and grandfather’s relationships with God? Think about it. They brought an awareness of God into your life. They were the ones who impressed His commandments on your heart and talked about them when you sat at home and when you walked along, when you lay down and when you got up. When did you ever have to seek Yahweh’s face before this tragedy happened? In whose strength were you living: God’s or yours?”

  Joshua rubbed his eyes. He was tired of this discussion. It was almost dawn, and he had a long journey ahead. He didn’t want to hear any more. But the rabbi showed no sign of letting up on him.

  “King David knew suffering like yours, Joshua. David’s father-in-law gave his wife to another man, too. But David knew the secret of conquering despair. Of all the things he could have asked for—relief from his enemies, the restoration of his kingdom, his very life—what was David’s request? ‘One thing I ask of the Lord, this is what I seek . . . to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord.’”

  Gershom gently laid his hand on Joshua’s lowered head. “Get still before Yahweh. Seek His face. Then wait for the Lord. Don’t be impatient. Remember, Jacob wrestled with God all night until the sun rose, saying, ‘I will not let you go unless you bless me.’”

  “I’ve already lost everything. There is no blessing God could give me that would bring any of it back. What more does He want from me?”

  “Ask Him. Then wait for His answer.” The rabbi’s strength suddenly gave out, and he sagged against the cushions and closed his eyes.

  After a moment Joshua stood, his limbs cramped and stiff. “I should go now and let you rest.”

  Gershom opened his eyes. “Take Isaiah’s scroll. There’s a leather bag with a shoulder strap under that table.”

  “But what am I supposed to—”

  “You’ll find a use for the scroll someday. May Yahweh go with you, my beloved son.” He smiled briefly and closed his eyes.

  Asher was waiting for Joshua near the front door. “Thanks for talking to him,” he said. “I know it will help the rabbi rest in peace.”

  Joshua wasn’t sure if anything he had said would ease Gershom’s suffering, but he nodded anyway. “Take care of him, Asher,” he said. Then he hefted the leather bag to his shoulder and they walked outside. Joshua was surprised to see how light the sky was, how fresh and clean the morning air smelled. The city’s stones glowed rosy pink, reflecting the dawn sky. He had forgotten how beautiful Jerusalem was, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. When he left this time, he would probably never see Jerusalem again.

  Joshua wondered what had become of his old house. His family had left everything they owned behind, all of his father’s things, Hilkiah’s things, a lifetime of precious possessions. It was only a few blocks away, but he wouldn’t go past it. Better not to stir up any memories he couldn’t handle. He would return to his caravan, help load the cargo, move on without looking back.

  Asher was still beside him when they reached the main street that ran from the palace and Temple to the marketplace. Even before he reached the corner, Joshua heard the rumble of marching feet. Asher pushed him into the shadows behind the buildings.

  “Wait here. It sounds like soldiers. Let me have a look first.” Asher ducked around the corner, then returned a moment later. “Stay hidden. It’s a royal procession—King Manasseh.”

  “Is he going up to the Temple?”

  “No, he’s coming this way.”

  “I have to see him.” Joshua pushed past Asher and peered around the corner at the approaching procession. Dozens of palace guards surrounded the king, white-robed priests trailed behind him. “What are all the guards for?” he whispered to Asher.

  “The king imagines all kinds of conspiracies against him. He won’t go anywhere without guards.”

  “Where is he going?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, there are priests with him and you’re a Levite. You should know where—”

  “Those are Manasseh’s priests.”

  The procession was close now, and Joshua could see Manasseh clearly. More than nine months had passed, but the king looked the same. His handsome face was somber yet arrogant, his stride controlled, powerful, like a lion staking his territory. Except for the guards, Joshua saw nothing different about Manasseh, nothing that would explain why he had suddenly turned against Joshua and his family. Manasseh had been Joshua’s closest friend his entire life. They shared twenty years of memories and confidences, laughter and tears. But this man was a stranger to Joshua: a murderer, a tyrant.

  Joshua wanted to rush forward and demand an answer, then plunge his knife into Manasseh’s gut in revenge for his father and his grandfather and his sister. A life for a life. But he had promised Jerimoth on oath that he wouldn’t do anything foolish. Their mother was doing well, but she couldn’t survive any more losses.

  A moment later the king had passed by him. Crowds of curious townspeople followed the procession, and Joshua fell in step with them. Asher tried to pull him back.

  “Someone might recognize you. It isn’t safe.”

  “I want to know where he’s going.”

  The procession passed through the marketplace and continued south, heading toward the Valley Gate. Joshua lagged farther and farther behind, wary of being trapped outside the gate in the narrow Valley of Hinnom. Except for the trampling feet and a few murmured whispers, the procession moved in silence. But suddenly, above the sound of marching, Joshua heard the faint cry of a baby.

  Asher stood utterly still. “O God, no!”

  “What’s wrong? What’s Manasseh doing?”

  “He’s going to sacrifice his son!”

  “His son? Manasseh has a son?”

  “They announced his birth eight days ago.”

  Joshua refused to believe it. Manasseh wasn’t a pagan. They had studied the Torah together. The king knew that child sacrifice was evil. But in the distance a column of smoke slowly rose in the sky. Joshua heard the drums, throbbing their deadly cadence. The sound echoed off the jagged cliffs. He grabbed Asher’s arm and started to run.

  “Come on. We have to stop him.”

  “Are you crazy? You saw the guards. They’ll kill you before you even get close to him.”

  “I don’t care! I can’t let him do this. I can’t let him murder an innocent child.”

  “Joshua, don’t—!”

  Suddenly there was a loud shout and the drums rumbled like thunder. Then everything was still.

  “It’s too late,” Asher whispered. “God help us all.”

  It wasn’t just Abba and Grandpa and Dinah. They weren’t the only innocent ones to die in Manasseh’s bloodbath. How had Yahweh lost control of His nation? Why had he abandoned His chosen people to this evil man’s reign?

  “Listen to me, people of Jerusalem, listen!” Joshua recognized the man who stood shouting a few hundred feet away from them, outside the Valley Gate. He was one of the company of prophets, a disciple of Rabbi Isaiah. “Manasseh king of Judah has committed these detestable sins,” the prophet shouted. “He has done more evil than the Amorites who preceded him and has led Judah into sin with his idols. Therefore, this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: ‘I am going to bring such disaster on Jerusalem and Judah that the ears of everyone who hears of it will tingle. I will stretch out over Jerusalem the measuring line used against Samaria and the plumb line used against the house of Ahab . . .’”

  Joshua and Asher saw the three guards hurrying up the road to
ward the gate, and so did the prophet. The crowd began to scatter. “Run!” Asher whispered. “Why doesn’t he run?”

  But the prophet continued to shout, undaunted by the approaching soldiers. “‘ . . . I will wipe out Jerusalem as one wipes a dish, wiping it and turning it upside down. I will forsake the remnant of my inheritance and hand them over to their enemies. They will be looted and plundered by all their foes, because they have done evil in my eyes and have provoked me to anger from the day their forefathers came out of Egypt until this day.’”

  Before Joshua’s startled eyes, one of the guards drew his sword and ran it through the prophet’s body. The remaining crowd fled in fear as the man lay dying. His blood flowed, unavenged, in the dusty street.

  Joshua took a final look at the dark funnel of smoke, curling toward heaven. Then he turned and ran up the hill to rejoin his caravan, determined to leave this godforsaken city forever.

  16

  Manasseh stared at the ceiling beams above his bed and remembered his son’s cries—helpless, pitiful cries. He had almost called out to Zerah to stop the sacrifice. But then the drums had drowned out the sound, and in that emotional moment he had thought of Abraham, raising the knife high above his son Isaac, unwavering, unhesitant. Manasseh had renewed his resolve, watching in fatherly pride as Zerah approached the flaming altar with Manasseh’s firstborn son in his hands. God would honor Manasseh’s faith. God would intercede.

  But no ram had miraculously appeared in the thicket. No divine hand had snatched his son from the altar. Manasseh had watched, paralyzed with horror, as the flames licked his son’s small body, reducing him to ashes and smoke.

  Now Manasseh lay alone in his room, too stunned by what he had done to move from his bed. He couldn’t remember walking up the hill to his palace afterward. He didn’t know if anyone had spoken to him or if he had answered them. He had locked himself in his chambers, alone, giving orders not to be disturbed.