by Lynn Austin
“I’m not afraid. If they ask me what I’m doing there, I’ll say I’m looking for my father. He’s been on night watch a couple of times.”
“It’s never a good idea to lie, Yael.”
Her hands went to her hips. “Do you want me to come with you or not?”
Yes. He did. But how would he explain what they were doing if they got caught?
The hardest part was remaining awake until everyone else was asleep, and then being careful not to disturb one of the small children who seemed to awaken at every little sound. Yael had promised to keep the door to the room she shared with her father open a crack, and when Zechariah peered inside he saw her sitting up. He motioned to her to follow him.
“Let me lead the way. I’m better at this than you are,” she whispered after they’d gone a short way. She was right. His nervousness made Zechariah clumsy, tripping over rocks and sending stones skittering downhill. Yael was as quiet and agile as a deer. She obviously enjoyed sneaking around in the dark and seemed to think that eluding the guards was a game. Meanwhile, Zaki’s heart thudded as loudly as his feet. His stomach felt like he’d eaten snakes for dinner. But he hadn’t changed his mind.
They crept between the clustered houses, moving up through the center of the settlement and staying away from the walls where guards watched over the breeches and fallen gates. They spotted one of the guards near the stairs to the mount where the ritual baths were, and waited until his back was turned. As soon as he walked in the opposite direction, Yael led the way to the bottom of the stairs, crouching low. Thankfully the clouds had returned, hiding the moon’s light and making the shadows dark and deep. The darkness also made it hard to see where he was going. He and Yael climbed the newly-repaired stairs without being seen, feeling their way, but she held up her hand to stop him before they reached the top.
“Let me look around, first,” she whispered. Zaki sat down on a step to wait until Yael returned a few minutes later. “The guard went toward the altar so the coast is clear.”
“There’s more than one guard—”
“I know!” He heard her impatience, even if it was too dark to see her roll her eyes.
Zechariah crawled to the top of the stairs and saw the altar looming ahead of them, illuminated by the soft, red glow of smoldering coals. A thin plume of smoke curled into the sky above it. He could smell the aroma of roasting meat, left to burn throughout the night. He pointed to the mound of rubble beyond the altar and they made a short, crouching sprint to Solomon’s porch. Yael chose a good place to hide among the fallen pillars and Zechariah sank down to catch his breath. His breathlessness wasn’t from running but from fear and anticipation. Then they crept along the western edge of the mount, staying in the shadows until they finally reached the point where piles of fallen building stones blocked their way. They sat down again to catch their breath, hidden among the enormous stones.
“The guards can’t see us here,” she said, her voice quickened with excitement. “Now, tell me why you wanted to sneak up here in the middle of the night. Is there buried treasure here?”
“No, nothing like that. This is a sacred place. The temple that stood here was like a map, showing us how to get back what we lost when Adam sinned.”
“How can a building be a map? And what did we lose?”
“We lost the right to have the Almighty One living and walking with us. But if we rebuild the temple and follow all the steps that He showed us—offering the right sacrifices, and the incense, lighting the golden lamp, and laying out the bread of His presence, then the Holy One will dwell here with us.”
Her sigh and shrug told him she was unimpressed. “So why did you want to come here?”
“I wanted you to see that the Almighty One is the only true God—and that your idols aren’t.”
“I don’t see anything but broken stones.”
“Not here. We need to go a little farther.” He bent over and led the way as they scurried the last few yards into the rubble. The stones were difficult to climb over and nearly impossible to skirt around, especially in the dark. But eventually they reached an area where some of the stones had been cleared and the square outline of the former foundations had been exposed. Zechariah drew a deep breath for courage and climbed over the crumbled foundation to step into the sacred area. He was there! Inside the holy space. Standing where Solomon’s temple once stood.
“This is as far as we dare to go,” he whispered. “If we accidentally step on holy ground, the Holy One might strike us dead.”
“You’re making that up.”
“No, I’m not. A Levite named Uzzah was struck dead just for steadying the Holy Ark when the oxen stumbled and the cart shifted. This is where I wanted to come. I want to pray here.” He sat cross-legged on the ground and closed his eyes as Yael sat down beside him. He longed to bask in the warmth of the Holy One’s presence again, and longed for Yael to feel it, too.
Where are you, Lord? he prayed silently in the darkness. Why can’t I feel your presence anymore? Why did you ask me to leave my family and come here? What do you want from me? . . . And why won’t you tell me?
Zechariah waited. Then waited some more, praying that the Holy One would draw close to them. The night was so still that he could hear the sacrificial animals stirring in their pens, the occasional bleating of sheep. Time passed.
If you won’t come to me, he prayed, then please come to Yael so she’ll believe in you. He waited a few more minutes but nothing happened. God’s presence wouldn’t return to a heap of broken stones. They would have to rebuild His temple first. Maybe then Yael would find Him—and so would he.
Zechariah opened his eyes. Yael had her head tilted back as she gazed up at the stars peeking from between the filmy clouds. “That’s the central star,” she said, pointing to a bright one above their heads. “All the other stars circle around it.”
He felt tears welling up. He couldn’t let himself cry in front of her. “Let’s go home,” he said.
Chapter
22
The almond trees blossomed first, a sign of hope. Iddo breathed in the cool, scented air, excited to see winter end and spring arrive. At last, they would begin rebuilding the temple. Today was the eve of Passover, the anniversary of their deliverance from slavery in Egypt, and as Iddo watched Dinah and the two young mothers preparing breakfast, his wife seemed more content than she had for many months. Once again, she had children to care for, babies to hold in her arms.
Hanan’s widow, Tikvah, had given birth to a baby boy, the first child that Dinah had delivered since coming to Jerusalem. “This travail is what our nation must go through,” he’d told Dinah after the long hours of Tikvah’s labor and delivery had ended. “It’s always a struggle to give birth to new life. But our sorrows will be quickly forgotten when we can worship in the Holy One’s presence again.”
Now, as joy filled him at the prospect of their first Passover celebration in Jerusalem, he dared to catch Dinah’s hand as she rose from tending the hearth and say, “Isn’t the Promised Land beautiful in the springtime? The trees are in bloom, the poppies and wildflowers are flourishing among the ruins. Doesn’t it make you feel . . . hopeful?”
“Yes, Iddo. It’s lovely.” She smiled her beautiful smile before shooing him out of the courtyard. “Now, go. We have a thousand things to do before tonight.”
Iddo worked all day at the temple, helping the other priests slay the Passover lambs, one for every household. Each of the thousands of lambs had to be inspected to make sure it was free from blemishes, each one slain the proper way. The priests had been forced to purchase them from the local people at inflated prices to make certain they had enough for the feast. Pilgrims from all the scattered towns and villages in Judah were making the trip to Jerusalem as the Torah commanded. Shoshanna and Joel would join his family for the seder at sundown.
Dinah looked tired but content when they finally sat down together for the meal that evening. The people seated around her and Iddo
weren’t related to him by blood, but they had become family just the same. Mattaniah and Yael. The shepherd, Besai, and his wife, Rachel, and their children. Hanan’s widow, Tikvah, and her children, who were learning the Passover traditions for the first time. Shoshanna and Joel. All the traditional elements of the meal were in place—wine and unleavened bread, roasted lamb, bitter herbs and salt water for tears, haroset to remember making bricks in Egypt. Iddo retold the exodus story, reminding everyone of the significance of this celebration and their deliverance from slavery in Egypt.
This time last year they had celebrated Passover in Babylon with their children and grandchildren, and it had been a somber meal. Everyone had been aware of the coming separation, and Iddo had worried about the long journey ahead. But Dinah showed no signs of sadness now as she played hostess for this meal and surrogate grandmother to all of the children.
Long before the lengthy meal ended, the children grew restless and were put to bed. But as the adults lingered at the table, Iddo learned that Dinah had been thinking about their children after all. She turned to Joel and asked, “Have any of the others heard news from home? Do you think our families will be coming from Babylon soon?”
“No one has heard any news since we left,” he replied. “I wish we had a way to communicate with our families, but we don’t.”
“They would be leaving now, in the springtime like we did, wouldn’t they?” she asked.
“We can only wait and pray,” Shoshanna said. She and Joel were waiting for their grown children to arrive, too, but Iddo feared they would all be disappointed. If his sons had felt any longing at all to return to the Promised Land and rebuild the temple, they would have let nothing stop them from coming with the first group of returning exiles. Instead, they had recited a litany of excuses. Iddo doubted that they would ever come.
“Whether or not our families join us,” he told the group, “we have many reasons to be excited about the months ahead. The construction of the temple will move forward at last. The high priest plans to begin next month, the same month that Solomon began building the first temple.”
“I noticed a construction crane on the temple mount when I went to the sacrifice yesterday,” Shoshanna said. “I wondered if it was the start of something.”
“It is,” Iddo said. “It took quite an effort to build a crane sturdy enough to lift and move those huge stones. Our workers went to great effort to cut timber from Israel’s central forests and haul it up here to Jerusalem. They used the teams of oxen that were part of our caravan. Mattaniah can tell you how the crane works.”
“It’s a system of ropes and pulleys,” Mattaniah said. “I learned to use a crane on construction projects back in Babylon.” But Iddo could tell by the way Mattaniah looked down at his lap, avoiding everyone’s gaze, that he would prefer to work his land rather than build. He had told Iddo once before that laboring with bricks and stones was a slave’s job—a reminder that they had labored as slaves in Egypt and Babylon. Free men worked their own land and enjoyed the fruits of their labor.
“We’ve already hired masons and carpenters,” Iddo continued, “and sent food and wine and oil to the people of Sidon and Tyre so they’ll ship cedar logs to us by sea from Lebanon to Joppa. All the plans that King Cyrus of Persia authorized and funded are moving forward.”
“The new foundations will be laid in the same location as the first temple’s foundations,” Joel said. “We’re planning a celebration once the new foundation is finished.”
Iddo reached for Dinah’s hand, hoping she felt the contagious excitement in the room. “Rebuilding the temple is what we came here to do,” he said. “And praise God, we’re doing it at last!”
The work proceeded quickly in the days that followed the Passover feast. Iddo was overjoyed when the workers completed the new foundation in a few short months. Sheshbazzar, son of King Jehoiachin, who served as the official governor of the new territory, presided over the dedication ceremony dressed in his royal robes. It seemed to Iddo that all of the thousands of people who had been part of the original caravan from Babylon had returned to Jerusalem to celebrate the foundation’s dedication. Perched on his platform where he played the silver trumpet, Iddo saw people jamming every inch of cleared space on the temple mount. Tears streamed down his face as the high priest in his embroidered robes and ephod gave the signal, and all of the people gave a great shout of praise to the Lord. Iddo didn’t know if his tears were from joy or grief—maybe both. He had seen Solomon’s temple as a child, and like many of the older priests and Levites, he knew that the new temple would have none of the splendor of the first one. The building stones would be much simpler and unadorned. No one had the skill or craftsmanship of those first artisans, and so the temple would be little more than a large boxlike structure. They also lacked the funds to adorn the structure with gold and bronze like the first one. King Solomon had been the richest man in the world, and the temple he’d built reflected his wealth. And so the older men like Iddo wept aloud when they saw the foundations of its humble replacement.
But at the same time, Iddo couldn’t help shouting for joy, so loudly that his throat grew hoarse. The Almighty One had kept His promise. He had forgiven them and restored them. Iddo would worship and serve God at this temple for the rest of his life when it was finished. He had witnessed the horror of the first temple’s destruction as a child, never dreaming that he would live to see this day. With the sound of deafening praise enveloping him, Iddo stood on the platform sounding his shofar, certain that the noise could be heard far, far away.
The lingering joy that Iddo experienced at the dedication was still with him the following day when a messenger summoned all the priests to an urgent meeting at Governor Sheshbazzar’s residence. Along with living quarters for the two princes, workers had built a throne room where Sheshbazzar and his young nephew Zerubbabel held court and conducted business. The high priest and most of the chief priests and elders already had crowded into the simple, unadorned hall when Iddo arrived. He and Mattaniah found a place to stand alongside one of the cedar support pillars. Worry lines creased Governor Sheshbazzar’s forehead as he opened the meeting from his modest throne at the head of the long, narrow room.
“I received a message from Shimshai, secretary to Rehum, the provincial governor of Trans-Euphrates. He requests a meeting with our leaders and priests, and with a delegation of Samaritan elders from the surrounding communities.”
“Did they give a reason for the meeting?” the high priest asked.
“No. The last time we communicated was when I sent a formal complaint to Rehum after our shepherd was murdered. I provided details of our neighbors’ terrorist actions, the thefts and beatings. If this meeting is in response to that report, it is very much overdue.”
“If he’s inviting the leaders of the local villages,” Jeshua said, “maybe he’s trying to smooth things over between us.”
“Let’s hope so,” Sheshbazzar said. “Protocol would dictate that I respond to this request by inviting them to meet here in Jerusalem. Rehum once controlled all of Trans-Euphrates Province, and he wasn’t pleased when I was made governor over this city and the territory of Judah. Prince Zerubbabel and I met with him in Samaria when we first arrived. We’ve lived here a year now, and this will be his first reciprocal visit. And so the question I ask you to consider is, where should we receive them? My governor’s residence is still incomplete, this hall too small. And besides, we don’t want them to see our treasury—or even suspect that we have one.”
“We can’t meet with them on the temple mount,” Jeshua said. “It’s out of the question. It’s a holy place. The barriers that will separate the Court of the Gentiles from the sacred areas haven’t been completed yet.”
“How about down in the valley where the caravans first camped,” someone suggested. “That area is vacant now that everyone has either moved to their ancestral villages or built houses in Jerusalem.”
Mattaniah moved forward to speak.
“I’m acquainted with one of the local village leaders, and he would view it as an insult if we met in the valley. He would think we were deliberately keeping him out of the city.”
Iddo knew Mattaniah was right, but the idea of allowing the heathen governor or hostile local leaders inside Jerusalem worried him. “When we held the Feast of Tabernacles last fall,” Iddo said, “we built a communal booth near the Water Gate. Why not erect another pavilion like that one, with a roof for shade, and offer to hold a feast for the leaders there? It would still be inside Jerusalem.”
“Iddo has a point,” Jeshua said. “An open-air pavilion would demonstrate the truth to them that we aren’t wealthy and don’t have much that’s worth stealing.”
“But won’t they also see how vulnerable we are?” someone asked. “They’ll see that our city has no walls or gates.”
“Our neighbors already know it,” Iddo said. “They were able to sneak in at night and sabotage our mikveh, weren’t they?”
“Very well,” Sheshbazzar decided. “We’ll build a temporary pavilion as Iddo has suggested and prepare a small banquet to show our hospitality. As the leaders of our community, you priests and elders should all be there. One week should give us enough time to prepare, don’t you think?”
Workers quickly erected the pavilion and outfitted the space with carpets and raised daises for Rehum and Shimshai at one end and Judah’s most important dignitaries at the other. The Samaritans arrived in great splendor—and with a small escort of their own soldiers as if to emphasize their military superiority. Iddo sat with the other priests and listened impatiently to all the formalities as Prince Sheshbazzar and the governor of Trans-Euphrates exchanged lavish and insincere compliments. Mattaniah pointed out Zabad to Iddo, the leader of the local village.
“I apologize for the simplicity of our banquet hall,” Sheshbazzar said. “Our foremost construction project is to rebuild the Holy One’s temple, so we still aren’t up to the standards that you’re accustomed to in Samaria, even after living here nearly a year.”
