Keepers of the Covenant

by Lynn Austin

  “Good evening, Rebbe Ezra.” His young Torah student, Shimon, hurried over to greet him when he arrived at the barricade. The sword looked awkward and out of place in the young man’s hand. “May the Almighty One be with you this night.”

  “And also with you, Shimon.” He saw apprehension in Shimon’s eyes and pale face, and fought the urge to send him back to his books and his studies, away from the shadow of death. But he also saw his young student’s determination. Like their forefathers under Joshua’s command, he and the others were no longer individuals but the people of God, fighting together.

  Earlier today, the men had blocked all the lanes leading into the Jewish community. Ezra and the others would defend those entrances while the women and children took refuge in the house of assembly. The arguments over that decision had been fierce. “Our families will become easy prey if they’re all grouped in one place,” some had insisted. “Why not hide them throughout the community, so at least a few might survive?”

  Others had disagreed, arguing that it would be easier to protect the women and children if they were all in one place. “That way, if we’re forced to retreat we can form our last ring of defense around the house of assembly, guarding the women and children.” And the Torah scrolls. Shimon had helped Ezra wrap them in cloth and bury them in leather-bound boxes beneath the floor of the yeshiva in case their enemies set the building on fire.

  Another group of men had wanted to make a suicide pact in case the enemy broke through and all was lost. “Let’s agree to kill the women and children and then ourselves,” they’d said, “rather than allow our enemies to slaughter us and rape our women.”

  The arguing parties were unable to reach a consensus and had turned to Ezra to make the final decision. “I’m not an expert in military strategy and defensive tactics,” he’d said, “but I do know how to pray.” He’d become quite skilled at praying in the dwindling weeks—and so he’d turned to the Holy One before deciding. “The women and children will take shelter in the house of assembly. But let’s not talk of suicide or rape or defeat. ‘God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.’”

  His assigned barricade, a crude pile of discarded furniture, broken crates, and crumbling mud bricks blocking the street, provided a shield to fight behind. He chose Shimon to climb the nearest rooftop and serve as a lookout. Ezra gazed around at the men who would fight alongside him, their faces hardened with resolve in the fading light, as if molded from bronze instead of flesh. Did he look the same? Did these men feel the same gut-twisting unease he felt as they prepared to face their enemies?

  Ezra listened, tense and uneasy in the evening stillness. Even the birds had stopped twittering. No one spoke, and the unnatural silence lengthened and grew until he could no longer fight the urge to shatter it. “Remember, men, if we must die there’s no greater honor than to die as the people of God.” He closed his eyes and led them in the ancient creed of their faith: “‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.’”

  The curtain of night descended around them. The thirteenth day of Adar had begun. It was impossible to see more than a dozen yards away from where they stood. Now Ezra would wait, sword in hand.

  “Do you really believe we’ll survive this?” Jude asked. “That God will protect us?”

  Ezra exhaled. What did he believe after months of endless soul-searching, hours of studying Scripture? He replied carefully. “I believe with all my heart that God will save a remnant of His people. Hasn’t He already helped us by changing the king’s heart and allowing us to defend ourselves? You were there when the governor told us how the Babylonian nobles and satraps have sided with us out of fear of Mordecai the Jew.”

  “Yes, but will we be part of that remnant? You and me and Asher?”

  “God knows. . . . I pray that we will be.”

  Jude edged closer, lowering his voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “In case you don’t know it, a lot of men are upset about your decision not to plunder our enemies. I’m not sure we can restrain some of them if the battle goes in our favor.”

  “I explained my reasons for not taking the Gentiles’ spoils. Mordecai may have followed the language of Haman’s letter, but I don’t think he intended for Jews to kill women and children. We only need to defend our lives. That’s why I also said not to kill unless you have to.”

  “I think your decision was wrong.”

  “Yes, Jude. I know you do. We’ve had this argument before.”

  “Why should we allow our enemies to live? They’ll gladly kill us. Why not be as ruthless as they are?”

  Asher had inched closer to listen and join the discussion. “Remember the story of Saul and the Amalekites?” he asked. “Saul was supposed to destroy all of them. If he had obeyed and done what God ordered, we wouldn’t be fighting them now.”

  “True. But in all my prayers and pleadings, I never once heard the Almighty One order us to utterly destroy them. He granted us the right to defend ourselves—that’s all. Revenge is His to repay.”

  Jude shook his head, unconvinced.

  “Don’t let your hatred overrule your caution,” Ezra warned him. “I hate these Gentiles as much as you do. But letting that hatred take control would be a fatal mistake.”

  They moved apart, and Ezra continued to wait, alert to every rustle, every shifting shadow, his sweating palm fused to the grip of his sword. Months ago, Jude had admonished him to leave his study and join the real world. Now that he had, Ezra had grown to love this group of courageous men. He had accepted God’s call to lead them, and he felt responsible for them as they stood waiting to defend their wives and children. Lord, help them. . . . Help us all.

  “I still say we should go on the offensive,” Jude said, breaking into Ezra’s thoughts. “Why not flush out our enemies and kill them first instead of waiting here like fish in a pond?”

  “Because then we would be taking matters into our own hands. Trust God, Jude.”

  They settled back to wait some more.

  Eventually, Ezra grew so accustomed to the soft, nighttime sounds of fidgeting men and chirping insects that he no longer noticed them—until the sounds suddenly stopped. He stood up straight, instantly alert. “Over there,” Jude whispered, pointing. Ezra glimpsed movement in the distant darkness as the shadows shifted. He heard the rustle of approaching footsteps. He glanced at Jude for confirmation, and he nodded, hearing it, too. Shimon whistled the warning sign from the rooftop. The archers readied their bows.

  This was it. The first attack. Ezra would signal the archers to fire as soon as the enemy came into range. He and the other swordsmen would rise up out of hiding after that first volley. Ezra’s heart raced as the ominous shadows drew closer, skittering between buildings, staying under cover. He wiped his palms on his thighs. Get control. Steady.

  “God, be with us,” he whispered. Then, as the shadows materialized into a flood of enemies, Ezra shouted, “Fire!” He ducked his head as a volley of arrows slammed into the attackers. Sickening thuds and cries of pain told him the arrows had found their marks. He peered over the barricade and saw dozens of fallen men, but a tidal wave of attackers still surged forward.

  Ezra shouted the battle cry, and his men rose up to defend their homes and families, fighting for their lives.

  Chapter

  14

  CASIPHIA

  THE EVE OF THE THIRTEENTH OF ADAR

  The sky was still light when Reuben and his father led Mama and his younger siblings to the house of assembly for shelter. The other men in his community were doing the same, bringing enough food and supplies for the women and children to last a full day under siege. Mama carried his new baby brother while Reuben carried extra oil for the lamps and bedding for tonight. Would anyone besides the very smallest children be able to sleep? Reuben
certainly wouldn’t. Every muscle in his body ached with tension and fear. The meal he’d tried to eat lay lumped in his stomach. What would happen to his family, to him, before the sun went down tomorrow night?

  A short distance from the assembly hall, their progress halted. Reuben set down his bundles and followed his father forward to see why. Two large wagons loaded with household goods blocked the street and the entrance to the building like a plug in a wineskin. “What’s all this?” Abba asked the well-dressed man, sitting beside one of the drivers. “You’re blocking the road—and it’s nearly sunset.”

  “I’m not leaving my valuables behind for the pagans to steal,” he replied. “I’m storing them inside for safekeeping.”

  “There’s no room inside,” someone shouted at the man. “Leave them!”

  “Get your wagons out of our way,” another said. “Our families need to get through.”

  “This isn’t the time to worry about your possessions,” Abba said. “This is a fight to the death.”

  “Everything I’ve worked for is in these wagons!”

  “And I’m trying to get my family inside! They’re the only things worth safeguarding. Now move aside!” Abba stepped toward him, challenging him, but the man didn’t flinch.

  “You can’t tell me what to do. I own men like you.”

  Abba was brawny and strong—and determined. “I don’t care how rich you are. If we lose this fight, we’ll all be dead by this time tomorrow, and our enemies will steal everything we own no matter where you store it. If we win, your goods will be perfectly safe inside your own house. Now move your wagons out of the way! The house of assembly is a shelter for women and children, not household goods.”

  By now, several other men had gathered around. Their tempers seemed as hot as banked coals as they waited for their enemies to become the fuel that would unleash the flames. This man, blocking their path, fanned those coals. At Abba’s signal, the men grabbed the oxen and dragged them and the wagons out of way. The owner sputtered and shouted helplessly.

  With the path cleared, Reuben’s family hurried inside and found a place to spread their bedding. Women and children packed the hall, the mothers trying to distract their little ones with songs and games and treats. Reuben felt the tension in the air, as if a dark, storm-filled cloud was slowly rolling toward them.

  “I have to leave now,” Abba said. “You’ll be safe here. The men will form a protective ring around the hall, and every window and door will be guarded.” He held Mama in his arms for a long moment, then kissed her and each of Reuben’s sisters. He pulled Reuben close for a hard embrace. “Watch over them for me, Reuben.”

  “I don’t want to wait inside, Abba. If I can’t fight, at least let me help the other men keep watch outside.”

  “Listen, son—”

  “Please, Abba! I’ll go crazy in here with the babies.”

  Abba exhaled. “I’ll talk to the man in charge. But you’ll have to obey him and do exactly as he says. And don’t leave here. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Be sure to check on your mother from time to time to see if she needs anything,” he added as they walked toward the entrance.

  “I will, Abba.”

  Reuben’s father talked with the chief guard, who agreed to let Reuben stand watch outside. The guards, mostly elderly men, were too old to fight but still eager to defend their families with their lives. Shortly after Abba left, the sun set. The day everyone had long dreaded had come. Reuben strained in the darkness, trying to see into the deserted streets. “It’s so dark!” he said to the man beside him. “How can our men see anything?”

  “They can’t. But our enemies can’t see anything, either.”

  Time passed. Nothing happened. The guards paced as they made their rounds. Reuben heard a baby crying inside the building and wondered if it was his brother. The hardest thing in the world was waiting, doing nothing.

  Then in the distance, Reuben heard the unmistakable sounds of battle—swords clashing, men shouting. The guards went on high alert. “Go inside, son,” the chief guard told him. Reuben had promised to obey, but he halted on the other side of the threshold to watch from the doorway. The sounds continued for more than an hour before fading away. Then a knot of figures materialized out of the darkness, hurrying toward them. Reuben unsheathed the knife he had made out of scrap metal, wishing he had a sword. Had their enemies broken through their defenses? If only he could prove his courage in battle.

  “We’re on your side,” one of the figures called out. “We’re bringing in the wounded.”

  Two guards went forward to help, carrying the injured men past Reuben and laying them inside the assembly hall. The women brought lamps and huddled around the groaning men to tend their wounds. Reuben craned his neck to see, praying he wouldn’t see his father. Two of the bloodied men were strangers, the third a young man named Samuel who was only a few years older than him. Reuben had watched Samuel practice with the men a few days ago—now he lay gravely injured.

  The thirteenth day of Adar had just begun. Hours and hours remained until it ended. Reuben went outside again, unsure how he would bear the suspense of waiting until it did.

  Chapter

  15

  OUTSIDE BETHLEHEM

  Amina listened from the safety of the storage room to the commotion in her family’s household. Her father had been in a high state of readiness all day, barking orders, running red-faced in and out of their house, holding final, impassioned meetings with the other village leaders. He wore a sword strapped to his side, as did both of her brothers. The day they’d waited and planned for had finally come. The day when all the Jews would die.

  “By this time tomorrow we’ll be rich men,” one of Amina’s brothers said.

  “Yes, but only if you keep your wits,” Abba said. “Don’t waste too much of your strength on the Jewish girls.”

  One of the other men laughed. “Let the young men enjoy the delights of conquest. They’ll only be young once.”

  “What about the women from our village?” another man asked. “Will they be safe from the enemy’s lust?”

  “The Jews will never get this far,” Abba replied. “By morning this will all be over, and the Jews will be dead.”

  “What if we lose and—?”

  “We won’t!” Abba’s shout made Amina’s skin prickle. “We outnumber them, out-arm them. We’ll move in as soon as the sun sets and finish them off.”

  The windowless storage room was cold. Amina wished Abba and the others would hurry up and leave so she could come out again. “Sayfah! Amina!” he suddenly shouted. They hurried to see what he wanted.

  “Gather up all the blankets you can find,” he said. “We’ll use them to carry home the spoils.” Amina did as she was told, piling them near the door. The nights were cold during the month of Adar, and she wondered how she would stay warm without her blanket. The men ate a final, hurried meal and prepared to leave.

  “Remember,” her father told Mama, “be ready to leave with all the other women as soon as the moon rises. You can help carry home the plunder after the battle. Wait near the market square in Bethlehem until we signal that it’s safe to enter the village.”

  “Amina is too clumsy to walk that far in the dark,” Mama said.

  “Then I don’t want her slowing everyone down. Stay here!” he said, pointing his finger at her.

  The men left home first. A few hours later when the moon rose, the women and girls walked down the dark road to Bethlehem with sacks and blankets and pack animals, leaving Amina alone in the house. At first she waited in the animal enclosure with Abba’s goats, trying to draw comfort from their warmth. But even the animals seemed to sense the tension in this long, strange night. They startled at every sound, staring wide-eyed into the darkness, bleating loudly. She finally left the enclosure and went to stand near her front gate, gazing into the shadowy street. The entire village stood empty and deserted. No lamps glimmered in the windows. Not e
ven a baby’s cry disturbed the eerie stillness, although Amina knew there must be small children and old people who’d been left behind like her. She sank down in the shadows beside the gate to wait.

  Amina’s life had never been a happy one, but she had endured it by living day to day, trying to forget yesterday and never thinking about tomorrow. Now for the very first time, she wondered what her life would be like after Abba and the other men got what they wanted. Would it be different from what she’d known? Would Abba be happier? Would she?

  She finally went inside again and lay down on her pallet, curling into a ball to stay warm as she waited for this long, dark night to end.

  BABYLON

  Devorah sat on a mat in the house of assembly, singing softly to put Abigail and Michal to sleep. No one spoke above a whisper in the packed room, nor did they dare to light any oil lamps. They couldn’t let their enemies know that the women and children had taken shelter here, so many of them that they’d spilled over into the yeshiva next door. Devorah paused in her tune, listening for sounds of battle in the distance. Instead she heard Miriam sniffling tears. “Crying won’t help, you know.”

  “I’m sorry,” Miriam said, “but I can’t help being scared.”

  “I’m scared, too. We all are.”

  “And I can’t get comfortable. My back is killing me!”

  Devorah sympathized. Miriam was in her last month of pregnancy, and Devorah recalled how difficult it had been to find a comfortable sitting position when she’d been pregnant, let alone lie down on the hard floor.

  “Try walking. Maybe it will help.”