Keepers of the Covenant
Page 14
Mama pulled herself to her feet and rested her hands on Reuben’s shoulders to calm him. “Let him finish, Reuben. Please.” He stopped fighting for his mother’s sake, but he could barely catch his breath while he listened.
“The man who came to me with the offer wants to own the forge outright,” Hashabiah said. “He believes you’re too young at thirteen to partner with him, and I agree.”
“No, I’m not! Tell him you changed your mind! Please, don’t do this to us!”
Uncle Hashabiah shook his head, showing no mercy. “The deal I made is a generous one. He’ll pay your mother a very fair amount every month—enough for your family to live on—until the price we agreed on is paid in full, five years from now. He’ll let you continue working with him, Reuben, and once your apprenticeship ends, he’ll pay you a salary. What’s more, your family can continue to live in this house.” He released Reuben and turned to his mother. “I’m sure you’ll agree this is the best solution for everyone.”
“Yes . . . it is.” Her voice was so soft Reuben barely heard her above the pounding in his ears. “I don’t know what else we can do. . . .”
“But the forge is supposed to be mine!” Tears filled Reuben’s eyes at the injustice, in spite of all his efforts to be an adult and not cry. “Please don’t sell it. I promised Abba I would take care of you, and I will, Mama. I will!”
She tried to pull him into her arms. “I know you will, Reuben, when you’re older. But in the meantime, how will we live? If the baby was weaned I might be able find work as a servant but—”
“Never!” he said, shrugging off her embrace. “I’ll find a way to make money so you’ll never have to work. But please don’t let him sell our forge. Please! I can do the smithy work by myself, I know I can.”
No one listened to his pleas. Hashabiah bid them good night and left. The new owner arrived the next day.
Reuben recalled those events now as he waited outside the Babylonian’s house, and they made him so angry his heart raced. He had to calm himself. He had a job to do tonight. He would show everyone what he could do.
It was time to go. He’d waited long enough. He moved out of the shadows and scaled the wall, the bricks slippery from the rain, and dropped down into the courtyard on the other side. The first thing he did was lift the bar to the gate to unlock it from the inside so he could make a quick getaway. He had watched the servants going in and out through this rear gate and he already knew exactly where the storeroom was. He crept toward it, staying close to the wall, avoiding the open courtyard, and soon reached the rear of the house. Animals stirred inside their enclosure as if sensing his approach. He halted, waiting for them to settle down again. The same soaring rush of excitement he’d felt when he’d fired arrows at his enemies pounded through his veins. His heart galloped like racing horses, his every sense alert.
Reuben gripped the latch on the storeroom door and found it locked from the inside. He climbed the ladder to the roof, careful not to make a sound, and used his dagger to dig a hole through the packed clay. The roof gave way easier than he’d hoped, but he paused as dirt and lumps of dried mud showered and thudded down inside, fearing that someone had heard him. When all remained silent and the hole was wide enough to squeeze through, he gripped the wooden roof supports and lowered himself down, dropping to the floor inside the dark interior. Reuben quickly unbolted the door, letting light into the windowless room. When his eyes adjusted, he noticed another door leading into the house. He wedged a crate in front of it to block it, then paused again, listening. No sounds from inside. He finally dared to breathe.
He turned to the rows of storage jars next, choosing one filled with grain, another with olive oil. They were heavy, but he lifted them in his arms and carried them outside to the gate, then hurried back to the storage room. He spied an empty sack on the floor and filled it with anything he could find—dried apricots, dates, pistachios, figs. He added two skins of wine, tied the sack shut, and slung it over his shoulder.
Satisfied with his loot, Reuben closed the storage room door behind him and crept back to the gate. He closed it, too, and lifted the two jars. The load was heavy, and he had to stop several times on the way home to rest, but he was proud of his night’s work.
The streets remained deserted. Most of Casiphia’s night watchmen patrolled near the walls, and he’d chosen a house well away from them. Even so, he’d invented a story in case anyone stopped him: Unexpected guests had arrived late at night, and he’d gone to his uncle’s house for provisions. But Reuben hadn’t needed to use the story. He would save it for another time.
When he reached home, Reuben hid everything inside their own storage room, then changed his clothes and went to bed. The sky was turning gray in the east; he would have only a few hours to sleep. He quickly drifted off—and the next thing he knew his mother was shaking him awake. “Reuben. Reuben, wake up.” She held the jar of grain in her arms. “Reuben, I found this in the storage room. Do you know where it came from?”
“What is it?”
“It’s filled with grain. It has Babylonian symbols on it.”
He rolled away from her so she couldn’t detect his guilt. “Maybe someone donated it to help us out.”
“Who would do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone who knew Abba.”
She was quiet. Reuben was afraid to look at her. “Well . . . come and eat something,” she finally said. “I need to talk to you before the others wake up.”
Reuben couldn’t imagine what she would say. She couldn’t possibly know what he’d done last night, could she? He dressed and went out to where she crouched beside the hearth. She looked thinner than he remembered, and lost without Abba, as if she’d awakened in a world where she didn’t belong. She gestured for him to sit down on the rug where she’d laid out his breakfast.
“Reuben . . .” She spoke his name with a sigh. “I’m very worried about you.”
“Why? I’m fine.”
“I found a second jar and a sack of food in the storage room. I don’t believe someone would just drop them off for us in the middle of the night. Tell me the truth. Do you know where they came from?”
He couldn’t lie. She may as well know. “It’s from our enemies. From the men who killed Abba.”
“And how did you get it?” He didn’t reply. She rose to her feet, looking paler and thinner than before. “Did you steal it?”
“It isn’t stolen. When people lose a war, they have to give everything they have to the victors. That’s what happens after a battle. That food is for us to live on so we won’t have to sell Abba’s forge.”
“Reuben, the forge has already been sold. It’s too much work for you to manage alone.”
He tossed down his bowl, unleashing his anger. “It’s my job to take care of you! I promised Abba!”
“But you can’t do it by stealing. Suppose you get caught? Then what? How will you take care of us from prison?”
“I won’t get caught.”
“You know it’s wrong to steal. The Torah says—”
“The Torah also says not to kill, but they killed Abba, didn’t they? They owe us!”
“Reuben, please,” she said, moving closer. “Think of what your father would say. He would be horrified to know you’ve become a thief.”
“He’d be more horrified to know Hashabiah sold my inheritance! Abba worked so hard for that shop. It’s supposed to be mine.” He scrambled to his feet, preparing to storm off, but Mama blocked the way.
“You can provide for us by working, not stealing. Listen to me!” She grabbed his arm so he couldn’t leave. “The man who bought the shop came to see me yesterday. He said you haven’t been showing up for work.”
“I don’t want to work for him. He should be working for me.”
“Reuben, you have to continue as his apprentice. That was part of the agreement your uncle made.”
“I never agreed—”
“Listen! If you don’t work as his ap
prentice, we can’t live here.”
He stared at her, stunned. He was being swept downstream against his will, drowning, just as he’d nearly done once before. Mama had tears in her eyes. “Please, Reuben.”
“Fine. I’ll work,” he said quietly. But right now, he had to get out of the house. He squirmed away from her and crossed the narrow alley to the forge.
Everything was the same as Abba had left it, his tools all neatly in place, the floor swept, the wood piled, and it seemed as though he might appear any moment, telling Reuben to fire up the furnace and fan the coals for him. Reuben knew the man who’d bought his father’s business, knew he’d be kind for Abba’s sake. But how could Reuben work as an apprentice in a forge that rightfully belonged to him? He could hardly stand to be here.
He hurried out again and went to the storeroom, rummaging through his loot for one of the wineskins he’d stolen. Tomorrow. He would go to work tomorrow as promised. Today he would go down to the river and console himself with wine while he planned the next house he would rob.
Chapter
23
BABYLON
The air inside the house of assembly felt so stifling on this hot summer morning, Ezra might have been sitting beside the kiln at the pottery works. Yet the hall was packed with men who had come to pray in spite of the heat. The battles that had raged six months ago had brought his community closer to God, and they still came every day to worship and pray and give thanks to the Almighty One for His salvation. Ezra was grateful for this spiritual renewal. But each day as he listened to the daily Torah passage and was reminded of the Almighty One’s deliverance from slavery in Egypt, he felt a growing discomfort with life here in Babylon. If only God would deliver them out of slavery once again and bring them to the Promised Land. He wiped sweat from his forehead as he listened to today’s passage, praying for the Holy One to speak to him and His people:
“‘If brothers are living together and one of them dies without a son, his widow must not marry outside the family. Her husband’s brother shall take her and marry her and fulfill the duty of a brother-in-law to her. . . .’”
What?
“‘The first son she bears shall carry on the name of the dead brother so that his name will not be blotted out from Israel. . . .’”
Marry Jude’s widow?
The words stunned Ezra. He had studied this passage countless times, but it had always been an academic exercise, a history lesson. God gave this command to Ezra’s ancestors when they lived in their own land, governed by their own king from the house of David. Generations had passed since those days. Surely this law was for a different time, a different set of circumstances—wasn’t it? Yet he had asked God to speak to him today, and Ezra couldn’t escape the conviction that He had spoken. And God’s commandment was clear: Ezra had to marry his brother’s widow.
Impossible. I can’t do it.
“I’ll put the holy book away,” Ezra told the assistant when morning prayers ended. He wanted to read the passage again. He waited for the hall to empty, then carried the scroll closer to the window, rereading it in a shaft of sunlight. “If brothers are living together . . .” That clearly described him and Jude before the battles took place. “ . . . and one of them dies without a son . . .” Jude had daughters, not sons. “ . . . his widow must not marry outside the family.” Devorah was very young. Surely she would want to remarry someday for security and companionship. But according to the Torah, she wasn’t supposed to marry outside the family. “Her husband’s brother shall take her and marry her . . .” God commanded Ezra to marry her! But how could he obey this law? Merely reading the words gave Ezra a shiver of guilt, as if he were betraying his brother.
He continued reading and learned that if he refused to marry his brother’s widow, she could appeal to the elders, accusing him of shirking his duty. The elders could summon him, and if he persisted in saying that he didn’t want to marry her, Devorah could publically spit in his face. He would be disgraced, shamed before all the people for disobeying the Torah. Ezra would be disqualified from teaching. Banned from the house of assembly. Removed as the shepherd of God’s people. He couldn’t expect others to obey God’s law if he didn’t obey it himself.
But, marry Devorah? His brother’s wife?
Ezra rolled up the scroll, covered it with the special cloth, and carefully stored it in the Aron Ha Kodesh with the other scrolls. He walked through the streets to his job in the pottery yard, unable to stop thinking about God’s command. If hot-tempered Jude had turned murderous when the Babylonian had lusted after his wife, what would he think of his own brother taking her to bed? It seemed wrong. No matter how Ezra looked at it, it seemed like a betrayal. And Devorah would likely see it that way, too.
He tried to push the Torah passage from his mind, starting his workday with the row of new pots that Asher had already shaped on the wheel. They lay drying in the sun, and he felt the clay to see if they had reached the texture of leather yet. He carried the ones that were ready to the kiln. His wounded arm had healed and his skills at all aspects of pottery making were slowly improving, but Ezra was certain he would learn faster and accomplish more if not for the steady stream of people from his congregation who came throughout the day to ask questions and bring cases involving the law for him to decide. He had just replied to the third petitioner of the day and had returned to his work on the ledger books beneath a shady roof of rushes when Asher walked over to him.
“I don’t know how you can concentrate with so many interruptions,” Asher said, shaking his head. “The least you could do is sell a pot to every person who comes here so we’d make a profit on all these disruptions.”
“I’m sorry. . . . Are my people bothering you?”
“Me?” he asked, laughing. “No, I’m getting my work done as usual, but I don’t see how you cope with this all day.”
“It’s wonderful that the people ask questions,” Ezra said. “They want to please God and live by His Torah. The Almighty One listens to our prayers anytime, anyplace, doesn’t He? And we’re His priests, Asher. It’s our job to listen to them.”
“I know. Haven’t I been trying to convince you to quit this place and go back to teaching?” He spoke kindly, without animosity.
Ezra shook his head. “You mean well, Asher, but it’s impossible. I have a responsibility to you and to Jude’s family.” Even as he spoke the words, they reminded him all over again that the Torah commanded him to marry Devorah. Commanded him! Should he talk to Asher about it? People came to Ezra with their questions, but who could he go to with his own? He opened his mouth to speak, yet there was nothing to ask. The law was very clear.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” Asher said, “before the next interruption comes.”
That evening as Ezra ate dinner with Asher and Miriam, a new thought occurred to him. He had a responsibility to tell Devorah about this law. She needed to know that when her time of mourning ended, she wasn’t supposed to marry outside the family. She didn’t have to remarry at all, of course. She could refuse to marry Ezra, and he imagined that she would. Yet she had a right to know that God had provided a way for Jude’s name and his inheritance to continue after his death. Ezra had a duty to tell her about it.
He left the house after the meal and walked to the yeshiva as usual to teach his students. Tonight he was excited to share the lessons he had learned while laboring in the pottery yard for the past six months. “The Almighty One is teaching me some important lessons in my work as a potter,” he told his students. “I’m reminded of the two great prophets, Jeremiah and Ezekiel, who used the picture of God as the Master Potter in their prophecies. I’ve learned that just as the clay must be perfectly centered on the wheel before it can be shaped, so must we center our lives on God’s law as we allow Him to shape us. If we aren’t centered, we’ll become misshapen beneath His hands when the events of our lives spin us faster and faster like the potter’s wheel. Or maybe fly off the wheel entirely.” He paused,
speaking to himself as well as to them. He had to center his life on the Torah—and that meant obeying the law, regardless of how he felt about it.
“But even before the clay can be shaped, it must be wedged,” he continued, “a process of applying pressure in order to remove all the air bubbles from the clay. These impurities may seem insignificant, but if too many of them remain, the vessel can become distorted beneath the pressure of the potter’s hands. And once in the kiln, these hidden imperfections in the pot can cause it to crack in the searing heat. I’m reminded of all our sins and imperfections, all the seemingly insignificant ways that the values and morals of Babylon creep into our thoughts and actions and cause us to become misshapen instead of the vessel God intended. We’re slowly being polluted here living among the pagans, and when the heat and pressure in our lives increase, we’ll crumble. If we want to be the people of God, we must eliminate the impurities from our lives and follow His law.”
Follow the law. As much as Ezra wanted to forget about marrying Devorah, he knew he had to speak with her. Tomorrow.
“I’ll be a little late to work today,” he told Asher after morning prayers the next day. “But I promise I’ll be there.”
Once again, people stopped him with their questions before he could leave the house of assembly. The fall holy days were approaching, and his congregation had a renewed interest in celebrating the appointed feasts, even though they couldn’t worship at the temple in Jerusalem or offer sacrifices as the Torah required. What would it be like to celebrate the holy days in Jerusalem, worshiping the Almighty One the way He had commanded? Ever since the Thirteenth of Adar, the longing for home had become a gnawing ache in Ezra’s soul.
When he’d patiently answered everyone’s questions, Ezra walked the familiar lanes to Jude’s house. The grief he felt at the loss of his brother hadn’t diminished over time. If only he had clung tighter to Jude as he’d bolted over the barricade. If only he hadn’t died. . . .