Return to Me

by Lynn Austin

  “It makes a huge difference!” He turned to their grandson, Zechariah. “Do you remember what we studied the other day about God’s four promises?”

  “Yes, Saba.” The boy smiled as if pleased to be included in the adult conversation. He was such a bright boy, a gifted boy, yet still sweet and tender at age eleven. Since the day he was born he’d been able to make Iddo smile, bringing a light to his eyes each time he toddled into the room, helping him forget the grief that haunted him. Even if Dinah didn’t have a million other reasons to love her firstborn grandchild, she would love Zechariah for that reason alone.

  “He promised to give us the land,” Zechariah replied, holding up one finger. “He promised that we would be as numerous as the stars in the heavens. . . .” He held up a second finger.

  “It must be a pretty cloudy sky,” his Uncle Hoshea muttered, “if we’re the only stars that are left.”

  “He promised that through us all the nations of the earth would be blessed. . . .”

  “All of the nations hate us,” Hoshea said, speaking louder this time. “It’s impossible to see how we have blessed anyone.”

  “Hoshea, please,” Dinah murmured.

  “But it’s true, Mama. The only way we’re a blessing to the Babylonians is as their slaves and servants.”

  “Tell us the fourth promise, Zaki,” Dinah said.

  “He promised to live among us and be our God.”

  “Yes! We were created to live with God,” Iddo said. “And His dwelling place on earth is His temple in Jerusalem. That’s why it’s so important for us to return and to rebuild it. Without it, our sins will continue to separate us from Him.”

  “Does it have to be in Jerusalem?” Hoshea asked.

  “Of course it does! Do you think He would dwell among us here, alongside pagan idols and pagan temples?”

  Dinah’s grandbaby fussed in his mother’s arms as if sensing the unsettled atmosphere. Shabbat dinner was never this loud, with raised voices and arguments. Dinah stood and took the child from his mother. “Let me see if I can soothe him,” she said. She left the room without looking back and carried the baby outside to the courtyard, gently rocking him in her arms.

  The rain had stopped but the winter night was cool, and she held her grandson close to keep him warm. She brushed her cheek against his smooth, soft skin as she tried to soothe him and quiet her own worried heart. A handful of stars peeked between the clouds, and she thought again of God’s promise to Abraham to make his family as numerous as the stars. But why couldn’t the promise of many descendants come true here? Dinah was content with her life. Why couldn’t Iddo be content, as well?

  “Something very precious to you will be ripped away . . .”

  Dinah gripped her grandchild tighter, humming a lullaby to push away the seer’s words. Little by little, the baby stopped fussing and her own soul quieted, as well. When he was asleep, she carried him inside and tucked him into bed. But before she had time to rejoin the others who were still sitting together after the meal, a man from their community arrived at the door.

  “Forgive me for disturbing your Sabbath meal,” he said, “but it’s time. My wife, Keziah, asked me to fetch the midwives.”

  “Yes, of course,” Dinah said. “Babies don’t wait until Shabbat is over, do they? Especially third babies. Let me get my shawl, and I’ll come with you.”

  Dinah loved being a midwife, bringing new babies into the world. She loved working side-by-side with her cousin Shoshanna, who was also a midwife, even when it meant that her meals were interrupted. She told her family where she was going and hurried down the street to fetch Shoshanna.

  Keziah’s baby was larger than the first two had been, and though the labor went smoothly, she had a difficult time delivering. Dinah soothed her as she struggled through hours of pain and endless contractions. “I can’t do this anymore!” Keziah moaned.

  “Think of the future,” Dinah coached. “Think of holding your precious child in your arms. A brand-new life.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Yes, you can, Keziah. Find the strength inside yourself.” After a hard struggle, Keziah’s first son was finally born. She was exhausted but joyful as she held him close, and the look on Keziah’s face brought tears to Dinah’s eyes. The miracle of birth always moved her.

  Long after midnight Dinah and Shoshanna returned to their homes. Dinah tried not to awaken Iddo as she crawled into bed beside him, but he was already awake. “I’m sorry if we upset you at dinner,” he said as he held her, warming her after the chilly walk home.

  “I hate it when you argue with each other.”

  “But do you agree with our sons, Dinah? Do you think they’re right and that the prophets are all wrong?”

  “I don’t know. . . . What do I know of such things?” She closed her eyes, wanting to sleep, not talk. Why spoil the contentment she felt after the miracle of her night’s work?

  “Dinah, it’s important to me to know how you feel about it. Do you agree with our sons?”

  She sighed and rolled over onto her back, knowing Iddo wouldn’t let the matter rest until she answered him. “Berekiah and Hoshea were only asking you to look around and see what you have now, here in this place, instead of longing for the past or trying to see into the future.”

  “But God always keeps His promises. He said as long as the sun and moon remain, Israel will remain. And what do you see shining in the sky every morning?”

  “The sun—but it rises above Babylon, too, not just Jerusalem.” Iddo gave an exasperated huff in reply. “I was born here, Iddo. This is the only home I’ve ever known. I’ve been happy here all my life with our family and my work. I’ve never experienced what you did or known your grief. . . . I just wish . . .”

  “What? What do you wish?”

  “I wish Rebbe Daniel and the other prophets had never offered you this hope. What if they’re wrong and this turns out to be another loss in your life?”

  “They won’t be wrong.”

  Dinah brushed her fingers through his white hair, trailed them down his soft white beard. “Then from now on I will pray that the prophets are right. Now please, Iddo. Let’s go to sleep.” She closed her eyes again and nestled in his arms. But as she tried to sleep, Dinah still feared that if his hopes didn’t come to pass, the disappointment would kill him.

  “I see a great tearing in your life . . .”A shudder passed through Dinah. She wished with all her heart that she had never allowed the Babylonian woman to gaze into her cup.

  Chapter

  3

  Zechariah sat hunched against the morning cold as he ate breakfast with his father and grandfather. Kindling a fire was forbidden on the Sabbath, and the air in the unheated room sent a chill through him. He felt his father watching him and looked up. “Come to work with me this morning, Zaki. I want you to see—”

  “On Shabbat?” his grandfather interrupted. “It’s bad enough that you choose to work on the Sabbath, but why ask your son to desecrate it?”

  “It just occurred to me that he will turn twelve soon. He’ll be an adult and his Torah studies will be finished. It’s time he learned the trading business from Hoshea and me.”

  “And what if he prefers to come to the house of assembly with me?”

  Zechariah stared at the floor as the argument bounced back and forth. He loved both men, but sometimes he felt as though his father was gripping one of his arms and his grandfather the other, yanking him in opposite directions, tearing him in two. He hated being trapped in the middle, but if they asked his opinion, he would rather go with Abba. Working alongside his father would be a welcome change from praying all morning—even though he hated to disappoint his grandfather.

  “He’s my son,” Abba finally said. “It’s my decision. We’ll be back in time for afternoon prayers.” He stood, motioning to Zechariah. “You ready?”

  Zechariah tried to mask his excitement as he rose to his feet to fetch his outer robe and sandals. He couldn’t meet
his grandfather’s gaze as Saba gathered his prayer shawl and phylacteries, then shuffled out the door to walk to the house of assembly alone.

  Abba strode briskly as they left their Jewish neighborhood, but Zechariah slowed his steps to gaze all around as they walked through Babylon’s strange, exotic streets. He rarely glimpsed this alien world except from the rooftop of his home. “What’s that building?” he asked as they passed a magnificent pillared structure.

  “That’s the temple of Ishtar, one of Babylon’s gods.”

  “Was the temple in Jerusalem like that?”

  “I don’t know. I never saw it. You’ll have to ask Saba.”

  Two men were ascending the temple stairs wearing the most beautiful white robes Zechariah had ever seen, embroidered with purple and gold. “Who are those men?” he asked.

  “Priests, I suppose. I don’t really know much about Babylonian religion. They have at least a dozen temples to their pagan gods here in this city, not counting the great ziggurat.”

  Zaki stopped to stare until the men disappeared inside, then hurried to catch up with his father. “Saba says we’ll wear white robes like that when we’re priests, someday.”

  “You and I will never be priests, in spite of what your grandfather thinks.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s no longer a temple in Jerusalem. It’s gone. Destroyed.”

  “But Rebbe Daniel said—”

  “The prophets are all dreamers, son. It’s much wiser to place your hope in things you can see right in front of you. Then you won’t be disappointed. That’s why your uncle and I are working so hard to build this business for you and your brothers. You know I love your grandfather, but we can’t all live in a dream world like he does.”

  “Is it true what you said this morning? That I’ll get to go to work with you after my birthday instead of studying the Torah?”

  “Well . . . maybe you should continue to study it some of the time. But my business will be yours someday, so it’s time you learned how to run it with me.” They reached a squat, low-roofed building near the canal a few minutes later and went inside through a rear door. After passing Babylon’s towering buildings, Zechariah was disappointed in his father’s gloomy office. The walls inside the one-room structure were lined with shelves and stuffed with even more scrolls and clay tablets than at the yeshiva Zaki attended. Abba showed him the worktable where he and Uncle Hoshea sat all day, buying and selling goods throughout the empire, keeping track of debts and sales. The work seemed no different or more exciting to Zechariah than sitting in the yeshiva all day, studying Torah scrolls.

  Abba led the way to the front of the building and opened a door that overlooked the canal. “This is our slowest season of the year,” he said. “The ships from Armenia won’t begin to arrive until the trading season resumes in the spring.”

  “Ships like that one?” Zechariah asked, pointing to a tall-masted vessel similar to the ones he saw on the canal near their house.

  “Some of them are. But the ones that come from Armenia are round and made from willow staves and animal skins. They sail downriver from Armenia with goods to sell—and carrying a donkey or two. Since the river can only be navigated in one direction, the traders sell their goods, dismantle their boats, and then load the staves and skins on their donkeys for the return trip. It’s interesting to watch.”

  “I wish I could travel someplace new.”

  Abba rested his hand on Zaki’s head for a moment. “Maybe you and I will have that chance someday. Listen, I have to go over my accounts now. Go ahead and explore while I work.”

  For the next two hours, Zechariah wandered along the edge of the canal outside his father’s building, watching the flurry of activity on the waterfront and in the other shops and warehouses. He loved listening to the slurping, splashing sounds that the water made against the dock and dreaming of faraway places. But even though he wasn’t doing any forbidden work, Zaki still felt guilty for not going to the house of assembly with Saba and the others on this Sabbath morning. When he finally turned to retrace his steps, he heard music in the distance and the persistent thumping of drums. He raced back to his father’s office. “What’s that music, Abba? Do you hear it?”

  Abba had been hunched over his worktable, but he sat up straight, cocking his head to listen. “I don’t know what that is. . . . But give me a minute to finish this, and we’ll go see.”

  A short time later Abba closed the building, and they hurried up the street together, following the sound. “It’s a royal procession,” a stranger told Abba when he asked. “You’ll get the best view from the top of the wall.”

  Abba found the nearest stairway leading to the top of Babylon’s massive walls, and they puffed their way to the top. Zechariah had never been up this high in his life. The walls were as wide as The Processional Way, Babylon’s main street, and wide enough for teams of horses and chariots to race each other. Tiny Persian soldiers in bright blue tunics swarmed in the street below like busy insects as they cleared a path for the procession. The music grew louder and louder, the drums banging and thumping in time with Zaki’s heart. An escort of musicians paraded past first, followed by four magnificent white horses pulling a golden chariot. The man riding in the chariot wore a long, purple robe trimmed with gold, and the people lining the street bowed down to him as he passed. “Is that the new Persian king?” Zechariah whispered.

  “Yes, I suppose it is. It’s a good thing we’re watching from up here. We only bow down to the Almighty One.”

  The dazzling parade slowly moved past—soldiers on horseback, noblemen in chariots, and golden images of Babylon’s gods on wheeled carts, glittering in the bright sunshine. Zaki had never seen anything like this before, but Abba assured him that kings and emperors always traveled in such splendor wherever they went. “Did King David and King Solomon travel that way, too?” he asked.

  “Maybe . . . That was a long time ago, son.”

  As Zechariah gazed out over Babylon, the city looked beautiful to him, the buildings and temples decorated with glazed bricks of blue and red and gold. His Jewish neighborhood of tightly clustered square buildings was dull in comparison, the color of mud. He made a slow turn, taking it all in, and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else but Babylon. At last they descended the stairs again and headed home.

  “Abba, are we really going to move back to Jerusalem like Saba said last night?”

  He shook his head. “No king would ever let his slaves go free. Has anything changed since the Persians arrived?”

  “No.” Zaki’s life had continued the same as always, with school and chores and prayers in the house of assembly. Today was the first hint that something new may be coming, and he was excited about it, even if his father’s workplace had been a disappointment.

  They went to prayers together, as Abba had promised. Afterward, Zechariah walked home with his grandfather, trying to make amends. “There’s a little time to study the Torah before we eat,” Saba said. “Shall we go up to the roof?”

  Zechariah stifled a sigh. There would be no escaping to play with his neighbor, Yael. She was his best friend, and even though she was a girl, she behaved more like a boy, exploring the canal with him whenever they had free time. He couldn’t wait to tell her about all the things he’d seen today with his father. But Saba had already opened the gate to their courtyard and was heading toward the stairs to the roof. Zechariah glanced at the distant palm trees near the water’s edge one last time before racing up the stairs ahead of him. He enjoyed learning with Saba—as long as the lessons didn’t take forever.

  From the rooftop he saw the Euphrates River gliding through the middle of the city like a thick brown snake. He could see the top of the ziggurat in the city’s center, a long distance away from his Jewish neighborhood. He would love to climb that mountain of bricks someday and see what the view was like from such a glorious height.

  “What are you looking at?” Saba asked when he reached the to
p of the stairs.

  “I like the way the sun is shining on the ziggurat. Doesn’t it look beautiful?”

  Saba turned his back on the view without replying.

  “Saba, I’ve been wondering: How can seventy years of exile have passed already? You aren’t seventy years old, and you remember being brought here.”

  “Our captivity began before I was born, son. Groups of our people were forced into exile three different times in a little more than twenty years. I don’t remember the first two invasions, but when Judah’s last king rebelled against the Babylonians, their armies demolished everything and brought me here.”

  Zechariah sank down on the rug beside his grandfather, hoping he would tell him more. Saba never talked about the past or the things he remembered. But he’d offered a few hints at dinner last night, and Zechariah longed to hear more. “How old were you then? My age?”

  “I was ten when the Babylonians broke through the walls and destroyed the temple. Now you and I will be among those who are blessed to return and rebuild it.”

  Zechariah felt pulled in two directions again. Babylon was his home, Jerusalem a distant place he knew only from the Torah. He celebrated the story of the exodus from slavery in Egypt at Passover every year, but it had always seemed like a myth to him, no different from the exaggerated stories that the Babylonians told about their gods, Marduk and Ishtar and Enlil. He thought of the temple and the priests he’d seen today and asked, “Do you remember the sacrifices at the temple?”

  “Only vaguely. I was just a boy, too small to see over the heads of the taller men. I remember my mother lifting me up once, so I could see my father in his white robes, but I was too young to understand what the sacrifices were all about.”

  “Did the soldiers really destroy everything?”

  Saba nodded, closing his eyes. “We tasted ash in our mouths for days and days. The charred land was empty, and when the wind blew, the ash went down our throats and into our eyes. The stench of death was everywhere. You couldn’t escape it.” Saba’s voice had grown very soft. “You can’t imagine our fear to find ourselves in enemy hands. They stripped us and forced us to march, and we were so terrified. . . .” He fell silent, shaking his head as he stared down at his lap. Zechariah knew about Saba’s nightmares. He’d heard him screaming in the night.