by Lynn Austin
“I know you are. And I know this marriage was God’s idea, but I wish He would show me how to squeeze more hours out of each day so I can accomplish all the work He’s given me to do. And I guess . . . I guess I thought it might be too painful for you to have me here all the time.”
“I want a real marriage, and I thought you did, too.”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why don’t you ever look at me, Ezra? You always avert your eyes. I know I’m not pretty but—”
“That’s not true!”
“I can see that my nose is too large, and—”
“Devorah, everything about you is beautiful.” He took her hands in his. “You’re as lovely as the beloved wife King Solomon describes in Song of Songs. ‘Your neck is like an ivory tower. Your eyes are the pools of Heshbon. . . . Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon. . . . Your hair is like royal tapestry. . . .’”
If Devorah hadn’t been so angry, she would have laughed out loud. Only Ezra would quote Scripture to tell his wife she was pretty. She pulled her hands free. “I know all about the Song of Songs. It’s a love poem that’s included in the holy books because God created married love for our enjoyment. As a beautiful gift. But you don’t know anything about enjoying God’s gift because you’re never home! We’re married in name only.”
“Forgive me,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I don’t know how to be a good husband. I don’t know how to relate to people except as their rebbe. Jude once told me to get my head out of the clouds and start living, but I’m still not very good at it.” He raked his fingers through his hair, knocking his kippah askew. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better,” he said as he straightened it. “If I shuffle my students around, maybe I can find more time—”
“I’m not asking for my own sake, but for our child’s sake.”
Ezra froze. His brows lifted in surprise. “Our child? You mean . . . ?”
Devorah nodded, resting her hand on her middle. “Yes. I’m expecting a baby.” This wasn’t the way she’d planned to tell him, but since he was always talking to other people or running off to the yeshiva, she had no choice.
“Devorah, I . . . I don’t know what to say. But I know what I would like to do more than anything else right now . . . if you’ll let me. . . .”
“What?”
He drew her into his arms and held her tightly. She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t help it. Being pregnant always made her emotional. “Devorah, please don’t cry,” he begged. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the last thing I would ever want to do.”
“It’s okay. . . . I’m okay. . . .” She wiped her eyes.
“Listen, I have a commitment tonight I absolutely can’t avoid, but I promise I’ll try to make more time for us to be a family from now on.”
Devorah nodded and let him go. She believed he meant well. But she also doubted he’d be able to change years of habit and priorities unless she helped him.
The next morning while Ezra led morning prayers, she walked with the girls to the pottery yard to talk to Asher. “I’m going to ask you a question,” she began, “and I want you to give me an honest answer. Do you still need Ezra to work full-time here at the pottery in Jude’s place, or can he return to the work he used to do?”
Asher set down the pot he carried. “I tell Ezra all the time he should go back to the yeshiva and be a full-time rebbe, but he insists on earning a living here to support you.”
“Don’t they pay him for leading our people and for teaching students?”
Asher shook his head. “Jude and I used to support all his Torah studies. That’s why he lived with you and Jude.”
“That’s outrageous! The least our people can do is pay him for all his hard work! The Torah clearly says not to muzzle an ox while it’s treading out the grain.”
“I agree, but it’s not up to me. Talk to the elders.”
“Will you arrange a meeting for me with them?”
Asher laughed. “I meant it was up to the elders to decide these things, Devorah. . . . I wasn’t suggesting you should really talk to them.”
“I know. But that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Can you arrange it for me? Without letting Ezra know?”
Asher had the look of a man who had let the reins slip from his hands and was racing downhill in a runaway cart. “I—I suppose I can, but do you really think it’s wise to go behind Ezra’s back?”
“In this case, I have no choice. You know your brother. He would never dream of speaking up and asking for such a thing himself. And if I tell him I’m going to talk to the elders, he’ll never let me do it. But someone needs to speak up on his behalf. He works night and day, Asher. He’s never home. The people are wearing him out.”
“I know. You’re right. I’ll see if I can arrange a meeting for you.”
“Thank you. And please make it soon.” Before she lost her nerve.
Three days later, Devorah found herself in the house of assembly after morning prayers, facing the community’s twelve elders. If she allowed herself to dwell on it, she could feel very intimidated by this somber group of men with stern faces, but the justice of her plea gave her courage. Asher had arranged for them to meet without Ezra’s knowledge, as promised, and he stood by her side, looking as though he’d rather be anyplace else but here.
“This is highly unusual,” one of the men began.
“I know,” Devorah replied. She lifted her chin and spoke the words she’d carefully rehearsed. “When my first husband, Jude, was killed on the Thirteenth of Adar, I couldn’t understand it. Jude was strong and brave and knew how to fight. Ezra was the inexperienced brother. Yet Jude died and Ezra was spared. And so I’ve decided the Almighty One must have spared him for a reason.”
She saw several of the elders leaning forward, drawn into her story, and it gave her courage. “I know you’ll agree that Ezra is a dedicated leader. He’s also an outstanding scholar and teacher. My husband has a unique gift for inspiring his students and making the Torah come alive. And when he leads the people of our community, he’s leading them closer to God. His work has eternal value, wouldn’t you agree?” Several men nodded as if inviting her to continue.
“But in order to support his family he makes pots all day. He has no choice. I believe he’s wasting a very precious, God-given talent by doing that work. And so I’ve come to ask if there’s some way our community could allow him do what he was created to do without allowing his family to starve. I’m willing to live on less so Ezra can do God’s work, but he’s a responsible, hardworking man, and he would never agree.” Devorah paused, avoiding telling them bluntly they ought to pay him. Men rarely liked being told what to do, especially by a woman. Let them think of it themselves.
“People are always coming to speak with my husband, at all hours of the day, and he never turns anyone away. But he is so very tired. And he has no time to pursue his own Torah studies—the work he loves most of all. I just wondered how often it is in our people’s history that a gifted scholar like Ezra comes along. Once in a lifetime, maybe? Isn’t there anything you can do to help him?” She let the silence stretch for a moment, then said, “Thank you for listening and for and considering my question.”
She left the room, her steps unhurried, and returned home to wait. She had no idea what would happen—or what Ezra’s reaction would be when he found out. Jude’s hot temper had sometimes been troublesome, but at least she’d always known what he thought and if he was angry and why. Ezra’s quiet, self-contained nature was maddening. But one way or another, she would soon know exactly how Ezra felt about what she’d done.
Ezra stared down at the ledger books without seeing them. A dozen times a day he was distracted from his work at the pottery yard by the realization he was going to be a father. What did he feel? Joy? Wonder? Disbelief? All of those and yet something more: a sense of awe that this might be how God felt when He’d created mankind.
Devorah said she wanted a real marriage, wanted to
spend more time with him. Was it possible she could love him one day? Never as much as she’d loved Jude, certainly, but was it possible? And how did he feel about her after three months—after creating a child together? Sure, he had very little time to spend with her, but he also knew he was afraid to let himself fall in love, afraid he could never measure up to Jude, afraid his presence reminded her of what she’d once had and lost. He’d been fulfilling his duty as a husband and little more. Amazingly, Devorah wanted more.
He tried to return to his computations, then noticed a knot of men making their way across the yard, coming toward him. He silently groaned. Not another interruption. But as the men drew nearer, he realized they were his community’s elders. He shot to his feet, afraid something had happened, and hurried toward them. Asher saw the men, too, and left his wheel and the pot he’d been shaping to join him, wiping his hands on a rag. Asher wore a faint smile on his face, as if he was going to make a joke and ask the elders if they’d come to purchase pottery.
“I hope it isn’t bad news that brings you gentlemen here,” Ezra said.
“Not at all,” the chief elder replied. “We’ve come with a proposition for you.”
“A proposition?”
“Yes. Would you consider resigning from your work here? On behalf of our community, we would like to pay you to be our full-time rebbe and leader.”
Ezra stared. He couldn’t have been more surprised if they had come to purchase pots.
“I don’t understand.”
Asher’s smile spread into a grin. “It’s simple. No more pottery-making, Ezra.”
“From now on your job will be to lead us and teach us,” the elder continued, “and make sure we follow the Torah. That job should occupy all your time, along with your own studies.”
“We’ve worked it out so you can spend your days teaching the next generation of leaders and scholars,” a second man added. “It’s what you’ve been doing for more than a year, but by not paying you for your work, we were doing God and you a great disservice. We must not allow you to waste the great mind He has given you on ledger books and pottery sales. Your gift comes only once in a lifetime. Maybe two lifetimes.”
Ezra turned to his brother, struggling for words. “I don’t want to abandon you, Asher. There’s too much work here for you to do alone.”
“We’ve done very well this past year,” Asher said. “I think I can find someone to take your place. I have to learn to trust God, too.”
Ezra turned back to the elders, surprised to see them smiling. “I-I don’t know what to say. You’ve taken me by surprise. . . . Thank you, Asher. And thank you—”
“Don’t thank us,” the chief elder said. “Thank God. And your wife.”
“My wife? What do you mean?”
“Devorah came to me and asked if I needed you at the pottery yard,” Asher said. “Then she took the initiative and went to see the elders.”
“She reminded us of all the work you do for our people,” one of the elders continued. “Teaching us, leading us. And she pointed out that God called you and spared you for a reason—and it wasn’t to make pottery.”
“She even said she’d be willing to live with less so you could do God’s work, but you felt responsible to support your family.”
The chief elder turned to face him. “So what do you say, Ezra? Will you accept our offer?”
“This . . . this is such a surprise. But of course! Of course I will.” He reached out to grasp the chief elder’s hand, too stunned to think what to do next.
His wife—General Devorah—had gone to battle for him. She had dared to approach the elders on her own to speak for him. The knowledge left him speechless.
Devorah was washing sticky date juice from Michal’s hands when she heard Ezra return home. Ever since she’d gone before the elders, she’d worried about what their reaction would be—and what her husband’s would be when he found out. She finished wiping Michal’s fingers and turned to greet him. The moment she saw his face, she knew something had changed. He must have spoken with the elders. He must have learned what she’d done. He seemed to be searching for words, and as she waited for him to speak, his stillness unnerved her. She prepared to defend herself if he was angry. She would point out all the reasons why she’d done it.
“You went to the elders,” he said quietly.
“I did.”
“You told them they should pay me for the work I do?”
“Not in those exact words. I simply reminded them of all the things you already do for this community and of all the study time you’re missing because you have a family to support and—”
“You told them God spared me for a reason, and they were making me waste the mind God gave me creating pots.”
“That’s . . . yes, that’s the gist of it.” She still couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and she could see he was becoming emotional. But was it anger or something else?
“You would do that for me? Speak up like that? A woman, going alone in front of all the elders?”
“Well, the elders hardly scare me since I’m married to the leader of our entire community, the most brilliant man in Babylon—”
He pulled her into his arms, cutting off her words. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“You’re not angry, then?”
He laughed, a rare and wonderful sound considering all the pressures he faced. He hugged her tighter. “No, I’m not angry. I was shocked at first. But I’m proud of you. I feel blessed to have such a wife.” He pulled back, still holding her, and looked into her eyes. “You did a brave, beautiful thing for me, Devorah. A very loving thing. You’re a wonderful, strong woman—my partner and helpmeet. . . .” His eyes glistened. “My . . . my wife.”
Chapter
28
CASIPHIA
Reuben finished work at the end of a long week, storing his tools in their proper places, straightening his work area. His mind wasn’t on his labor, though, but on the plans he and his partners had for later tonight. The ship docked at one of Casiphia’s wharves was rumored to carry gold amongst its cargo. “This could be our big chance,” one of his partners had said. “We can all retire after tonight.”
He removed his leather apron and hung it on the hook behind the partition, smiling in anticipation. But he halted, his smile fading when he saw his uncle standing inside the forge talking with his boss. Reuben clenched his jaw and started walking again, his shoulders braced, intending to walk past them without speaking.
His boss stopped him. “Whoa, son. Stay another minute. I have something for you, and I asked your uncle to come here for the occasion. Hold out your hand.”
When Reuben obeyed, his boss dropped four silver coins into his palm. “What’s this for?”
“As of this week, you’re no longer an apprentice, but one of my workers.” He grinned and slapped Reuben’s back. “Those are your first week’s wages.”
“Congratulations, son,” his uncle said. “I’m told you do fine work.”
Reuben knew he should be happy, but he wasn’t. It would still take years to earn enough to buy back his forge, even with a weekly wage.
“Say something, Reuben,” his uncle urged.
He shook his head, refusing to show gratitude to the men who had stolen his inheritance. If he opened his mouth now, it would be to shout and curse at them.
“Come to evening prayers with me,” Hashabiah said. “It’s only right to thank the Holy One on such an important occasion. And I’d like to honor you with a celebration dinner afterward in my home. Your mother and sisters are invited, too.”
Reuben forced himself to stay calm, just as he did when breaking into one of the many homes he’d robbed. “I don’t want anything from you.”
Hashabiah tilted his head as if talking to a child. “Listen, I can understand why you’re angry with me—even though I acted in your best interests. But don’t cut yourself off from the entire Jewish communit
y. Fellowship is the lifeblood of our people. Besides, now that you’re no longer an apprentice, you’ll want to get married in a few more years. You can’t expect a future father-in-law to agree to a betrothal if you never pray with us, or if you’re not part of us.”
“I don’t care about any of that.” Reuben’s jaw felt so tight he thought the bone might snap. He longed to bolt.
“Come back to prayers, at least.”
“What for? I don’t believe in your God.”
Hashabiah’s friendly façade changed to a concerned frown. “Do you know what the Torah says about a wayward son, Reuben? A son who continually rebels and refuses to repent? He can be expelled from the community at best—stoned to death at worst. I’m not asking for myself, but for your mother’s sake. The Torah says—”
“Don’t you dare preach to me! What does the Torah say about giving away another man’s inheritance?” Reuben tried to push past them, but Hashabiah stopped him.
“For you father’s sake—”
“Don’t talk about my father! He was a better man than you’ll ever be. You have no right to even speak his name!”
“You’re bringing shame on your household. Your mother has suffered enough. It’s time you settled down and—”
“Why should I settle down? What for? Nothing we do in life matters anyway. It’s all a game of chance. One minute we’re living happily, and the next minute the king issues an edict and our enemies can kill us. Then we die. The end. Don’t tell me what to do. I’m fourteen now—old enough to live my own life.”
He twisted free and ran across the lane to his room, hurrying in case his uncle decided to follow. Reuben grabbed the bag with his Babylonian clothes and left again, walking through back alleys and deserted lanes to the hideout where his gang met. He was early, the first one there, and he sat down to wait for the others. They had become his friends, the men he called Ram, Nib, Bear, and Digger. Reuben didn’t know their real names and didn’t care. The secret life he had with them was worth far more than what his Jewish community could offer. As for a bride, Bear promised to find girls for Reuben when he was ready. And after tonight, he would have much more than four silver coins jingling in his pouch.
