The Judgment

by D. J. Niko

  His head pierced the water’s surface, and he opened his eyes. He felt the kiss of a wind gust and looked through the quivering leaves of the olive trees at the early morning sky. Its roof was a perfect tekhelet, the color of the heavens. The hue grew progressively lighter as the fingers of the rising sun touched it. Without a cloud to impede the panorama, the horizon seemed infinite. He took it as a sign: Yahweh was pleased at the work of his children.

  Shivering, Zadok stepped out of the water and dried himself. He dressed in the ceremonial garments of the high priest, reserved for the most important of occasions. First he slipped on a long white tunic made of spotless linen. Over that he wore a robe of the same blue as the sky, whose edges were trimmed in fabric pomegranates and tiny bells that would sound as he walked, calling the faithful to attention.

  With reverence he picked up the ephod, the holy outer garment that could be worn by no one but the high priest. It was magnificent. Woven of fine linen in a pattern of blue, purple, and scarlet squares intersected by threads of gold and trimmed in golden fringe, it surpassed in beauty the clothing of any king.

  The ephod was made of two pieces—to cover both the front and back of the body—joined by shoulder straps decorated with two onyx stones engraved with the names of the twelve sons of Israel, in order of their birth. The stones served as a memorial to their forefathers, whose struggles defined the Israelites’ identity and granted them a permanent home away from the cruel hand of oppression.

  His shaking fingers touched the breastplate of judgment. Attached to the onyx stones with two braided cords of pure gold and measuring a span on all four sides, it was woven of the same threads as the ephod and encrusted with precious stones, four on each of three rows. Each stone bore the name of a son of Israel so that the priest would keep the names close to his heart as he entered the holiest confines of the temple. His ancestors would guide him, it was said, in divining the judgment.

  In a pocket sewn onto the back of the breastplate were the two seeing stones, Urim and Thummim. He removed them and placed them in his hand, running his fingers over the smooth, polished surface of the black Thummim, which symbolized darkness, then the white Urim, which stood for light: the duality of the human spirit. He held them with reverence close to his heart before securing them in their place.

  He slipped the ephod over his head and felt the weight of it on his shoulders. It grew heavier as the years passed and the tribes grew more populous. Where there were more voices, there was a greater potential for discord. He feared that eventuality, though the winds blew favorably at that moment. Under Solomon’s rule, Israel was indeed the land of milk and honey. The people wanted for nothing. Leaders of surrounding nations did not raise a hand against Solomon, nor he against them. The era he had ushered in was unprecedented.

  But would it last?

  Zadok tied the substantial sash—a fringed band of the same workmanship as the ephod—around his waist and drew a deep breath. He felt the cool soil beneath his bare feet and was reminded of his place on Earth. His flesh was a conduit for the word of Yahweh. Though he had a grave purpose, he had no sense of self. He was but a mediator between the Lord and his people Israel.

  He picked up the final piece of his priestly ensemble. He coiled the white linen mitre around his head in the manner of a turban. With ribbons of blue lace he attached the golden plate engraved with the words Holiness to the Lord. It rested on his forehead like a crown, marking him as the bearer of the people’s iniquities—the heaviest of burdens—and the instrument of their earthly judgment.

  He stood tall. The sun gleamed on the eastern horizon like a promise. It was time.

  Solomon was already at the tent of meeting when Zadok arrived. The king was splendidly arrayed in clothing fit for the occasion: a long white tunic with wide sleeves, over which lay a white silk robe embroidered with gold thread and cinched with a fringed sash of the same fabric, and a crimson mantle attached at the shoulders with ruby-encrusted bindings, which cascaded down his back and to the ground.

  Solomon bowed deeply to Zadok, then regarded him with sparkling eyes. “Seven years it has taken to fulfill my father’s promise. Blessed be this day.”

  “So be it. A new day dawns for Israel. All the trials of our fathers, all the years of oppression and deliverance, they are rewarded today.” Zadok brought a hand to his chest, touching the corner of the breastplate. “You, my lord, have led us here.”

  Solomon looked over Zadok’s shoulder. “The Levites come. Soon we will sound the trumpet of glory.”

  Zadok turned. The elders of the tribe of Levi, the kohanim of the kingdom, had begun to gather before the tent of meeting. They were dressed in pure white tunics bound at the waist with red embroidered sashes. Their heads were wrapped with white turbans. Many held instruments, for part of their role as priests was to make the joyous music that could be heard in the high heavens.

  When all the Levites, some fourscore of them, and the leaders of each tribe had arrived in the City of David, Solomon signaled to the shofar blower to announce the beginning of the ceremonies that would last seven days. The Levite raised the ram’s horn to his lips and delivered a long blast that resonated throughout the city.

  Within moments, the people exited their homes and took up their places along the path leading to Jerusalem so they, too, could accompany the Hebrews’ most precious relic to its new home.

  Zadok regarded the tabernacle King David had made in his youth, a copy of the original tabernacle of Moses, when he brought the ark of the Lord from Gibeon to his city. Zadok, then at the threshold of manhood, was one of the ark bearers for David, just as he would be for his son.

  The tabernacle was a tent sanctuary much like the original that dated from the days of the Exodus, but far less tattered. It was covered with rams’ skins that stretched from the roof of the structure to the ground on two sides. Curtains made of goat hair dyed in crimson, blue, and violet concealed and protected the inner sanctum, where the divine presence dwelled.

  Within the sanctuary courtyard sat the laver for ablutions and the altar of burnt offering for ritual sacrifices. Solomon stood next to the altar, addressing the assembly. “Since the day our fathers escaped from Egypt, the tablets of the Law have dwelled inside a temple of cloth. It has been a symbol of the Hebrews’ wanderings, our ancestors’ quest for their promised land. Just as the ark will be committed to its eternal place today, so the children of Israel will dwell on this land forever.”

  The old song master Chenaniah, chief of the Levites since the days of David, sang a verse without accompaniment, then signaled to his fellow priests to start the music. The happy notes of psalteries and harps, trumpets and cymbals sounded across the city as Chenaniah sang the ancient tune said to have been written by Aaron, their forebear.

  Zadok felt the clang of the cymbals in the pit of his stomach. Pride filled him to the tips of his fingers and the soles of his bare feet. He walked toward the tent’s entrance, followed by the Levite elders to whom the task of carrying the ark had been appointed. He kneeled before the curtain with head scraping the ground, humbling himself before the creator, before entering the holy shrine.

  They walked in single file past the tables of shewbread, the altars of incense, and the golden lamps until they came to the veil separating the holy of holies. He turned to the men and gestured to them to gather round him in a circle. He touched their turbaned heads, and they all bowed toward the center of the circle, whispering a prayer in unison.

  Zadok parted the veil, a heavy wool curtain with stripes of crimson, violet, and blue, and entered the innermost sanctum. Though he had gone inside the holiest place scores of times, on this occasion he was overcome with emotion. Mostly he was elated that the ark would have a permanent home befitting its importance. Yet he could not deny a vague sadness. On this day, the tabernacle that had served as the holy sanctuary for hundreds of years would be no more. It would be folded and taken, along with the holy vessels, to the new temple, where the memory
of what it stood for would slowly fade. The prosperity brought forth by Solomon was glorious, a blessing from the Lord, but a part of Zadok longed for the simplicity of their nation’s humble beginnings and the modesty inherent in scarcity.

  Perhaps he was too old a man to truly appreciate progress. Or maybe he feared the fine line between plenty and excess, for crossing it would surely corrupt men’s hearts.

  The four Levites took their places at each of the four handles of the stretcher beneath the acacia box that held the two stone tablets of testimony. These were the gravest of relics, inscribed by Yahweh himself as a covenant with his people Israel. Since the day Moses brought them down from Mount Sinai, the tablets had been a guiding force for the people. More than a prescription of conduct, it was a reminder that, for all their scheming, mortals were not in charge.

  Chanting, the Levites picked up the sacred object and followed Zadok out of the sanctuary. When they reemerged in daylight, the priests’ tune swelled into a sort of rapture. Zadok scanned the faces of the gathered and saw untarnished optimism in them as the old gave way to the new. As trumpets blew with a fevered pitch, the congregation sang a song of hope, eager to embrace Solomon’s temple and the new Jerusalem it symbolized.

  On the highest point of Mount Moriah, the temple stood thirty cubits high, as was mandated in the plans drawn up by King David, who had received instruction from the angels of heaven.

  The ashlars had been hewn to perfection and fitted together in a manner so flawless it surpassed Zadok’s estimation of human capabilities. It was as if the work had been done not by the hand of man but by the angels themselves. A gilt door carved with lilies and palm trees offered entrance into the sanctuary. Two monumental bronze columns with chapiters carved with pomegranates and lilies demarcated the vestibule leading to the entrance. Solomon called one pillar Boaz, the other Jachin, for each was a sentinel deserving of a name. Silently they guarded the treasures of the earthly kingdom of heaven.

  In the courtyard stood the brazen sea that held two thousand baths for the priests’ ablutions. Solomon had described it years ago: It will rest on the backs of twelve oxen, each representing a tribe of Israel, which will be arranged in a circle and face the sky. And it will be filled with living water flowing from the spring. Zadok could not visualize it then and thought it an exaggeration. Now, standing before the bronze sea that stood five cubits high, he marveled anew at the king’s vision.

  Sharing space with the sea in the courtyard was the altar of burnt offering, built of hewn stones with twelve steps leading up to the massive fire pit. The altar was made as Yahweh had commanded centuries ago, when the children of Israel came out of Egypt: a square frame of acacia wood overlaid with bronze, with horns on each corner and a grate of bronze. The fire’s swirling copper flames reached through the network of the grate, ready to swallow the sacrificial animals that would die in the place of man.

  Zadok inhaled the fragrant acacia wood smoke wafting toward the heavens as he watched Solomon ascend the steps to make the first, symbolic sacrifice. The priests assembled in a line from the washbasins to the altar, passing the skinned and washed animals from hand to hand. The priest standing closest to the altar handed Solomon the first of the animals, a sheep that had not yet reached its prime. The king held it up before the thousands of Israelites that had gathered on Mount Moriah and threw it into the fire. The process continued until the sacrificial sheep numbered seven.

  The air was filled with the pleasing scent of scorched meat. When the animals had been so consumed by the fire that the flesh separated from the bone, Solomon descended the altar and signaled to Zadok that it was time.

  The trumpets and the goat skin drums sounded as the Levites picked up the ark and the holy vessels. Zadok led the procession, stepping gingerly as if to not disturb the sacred ground. His heart pounded as he stood between Boaz and Jachin. Though he had prepared for this moment and had come before the temple with pure heart, mind, and body, he did not deem himself fully worthy. He dropped to his knees and kissed the ground, not bothering to hold back the tears that flooded his eyes. With a soft sob, he stood and pushed open the heavy gilt doors.

  It was the first time he’d seen the nave since its completion. He was in awe. The walls, soaring thirty cubits to the beamed ceiling, had been carved of cedar in patterns of open lilies, palm trees, and cherubim and covered with pure gold from Ophir. Not a single stone was seen inside the sanctuary, and no metal nails had been used, only pegs of gold. Softer and more pliable than stone, and finer besides, wood and gold symbolized the yielding of the soul before God, and nowhere had they been used more magnificently.

  Solomon, like all men, was flawed, but in this he had come as close to perfection as a mortal could. That would be his legacy unto the ages of ages.

  Zadok stopped before the altar of incense, on which sat a censer with live coals from the altar of burnt offering. On his right hand, Zadok held a pan of incense he himself had pounded the night prior. It was an amalgam of four ingredients—balsam gum, frankincense, galbanum resin, and the operculum of a Sea of Reeds mollusk—representing the four elements of the universe.

  With the assistance of one of his priests, he spread the incense over the coals as an offering of atonement for the sins of the people. As wisps of aromatic smoke wafted skyward, he breathed in the quintessence of Israel. It was a most pleasing scent redolent of wood and spice with hints of sea air in summertime.

  He walked to the rear of the nave and ascended the steps to the most holy place. He pushed open the folding doors. A gossamer linen veil dyed in the three holy shades—crimson for earth, tekhelet for the heavens, purple for the marriage of the two—offered a clouded glimpse of the innermost sanctum. The windowless room had been built as a perfect square, twenty cubits on each side, and decorated in the same manner as the sanctuary. In its midst stood two cherubim—human faces with the bodies of lions and outstretched wings touching the walls.

  Zadok parted the veil and was dazzled as if he’d walked into a room full of treasure. Every surface from the fir floor to the ceiling to the cedar walls had been covered with gold that shone with an inextinguishable radiance.

  He held back the veil, and the Levites entered the holy of holies, depositing the sacred tablets of the covenant within a golden box beneath the wings of the cherubim. And Zadok said, “Lord, our God, may your word rest here for all eternity, guiding your people Israel that their souls might not fall into darkness. May the wings of these cherubs serve as your throne and the ark box as your footstool as you judge this people. Come now and fill your house with your holy presence that it may be consecrated before all who have come to bear witness.”

  One by one, the priests backed away from the holy of holies and exited the sanctuary. As the last of them closed the doors behind him, there came a low rumble like distant thunder, and dark clouds gathered in the sky. A gust of wind swept across the mountaintop, and the cloud, like rolling gray smoke, hung above the temple. There was no rain, nor lightning; this storm was silent but sure, an omen and a promise.

  Solomon lifted his arms to the sky. As the wind blew his kingly robes and raven curls, he shouted to the assembled masses. “The Lord said he would dwell in the thick darkness. Now, as surely as I have built this house for his glory, the divine presence has descended from heaven and walks among us. Fall, one and all, to your knees and bow your heads in reverence, for the Lord sees you and knows what is in your hearts.”

  With arms stretched toward heaven, Solomon kneeled before the congregation, which numbered in the tens of thousands. “O Lord, God of Israel, all-powerful and divine, bless your children who have come before you to dedicate this house in your name. It is but a humble gesture from your children, a manifestation of the covenant you made with your servant David, my father. You said, ‘Build me a house, but do not let it be done by your bloodied hand. Let it be the duty and the legacy of your son, who comes forth from your loins.’ Just as you deemed, O Lord, it has been done.

&n
bsp; “And when your children come before you in the altar of your house with pure heart, judge them for their righteousness. But should they swear against you at this altar or harbor darkness in their hearts, condemn them for their wickedness. For this house is your throne room in the lower heavens, from whence divine judgment springs forth like the eternal waters of Gihon.

  “When your people Israel sin against you, for none among us is without sin, when they are afflicted with ills, or taken up by the enemy and held captive in foreign lands, if the same people kneel before you and turn their eyes toward this holy city you have chosen and this house I have built in your name, hear their pleas, O Lord, and deliver them from their iniquities.

  “When heaven is shut up and there is no rain, and the animals and people thirst and the trees wither, if your children walk upright before you with goodness in their hearts, and sacrifice in your name at this place, let there be water to feed the land which you have given them for an inheritance.

  “For these are your people who you have brought forth from the land of the Nile and delivered from oppression and injustice, the people to whom you spoke through Moses your servant and who are your inheritance upon this earth.”

  Solomon stood and addressed the crowd. “Our Lord has never faltered on his promise to us, his chosen people, nor has he forsaken us in our hour of need. Neither shall we falter on our promise to him but rather keep his commandments and laws, which he gave unto our fathers. Let everyone gathered here today, and all the people of Israel, know there is but one God. There is no other. Those who turn against him, or open the doors of their hearts to let false gods enter, shall be cast to the barren desert of the wicked, and those who glorify him shall dwell in a valley of fragrant lilies. Be, therefore, pure before this temple as on this day. Bring forth your livestock and let its blood soak the earth and its flesh feed the fire in the name of the most holy.”