by Shlomo Kalo
“How have you come to that conclusion?” he wanted to know.
“The gift that she sent you, and the very fact that you carry it with you wherever you go. There exists between you a deep bond that will not easily be broken. No, it will not be broken!” he declared confidently. “The girl will come here and will be your wife, and there’s every reason to expect she will make an exemplary wife, and you will have joy in her and she will have joy in you. And so that she will be brought to Babylon in the style befitting her – befitting you, in fact, as senior clerk to the chief of the King’s advisers, I shall order that a special wagon be added to the convoy, luxuriously appointed in the manner suitable for ladies of noble birth. I assume she is of distinguished lineage, is she not?”
“She is,” he answered him, reluctantly for some reason.
“How do you know her?” Nashdernach went on to ask, and he realised that his interlocutor was trying to fill in the gaps in his knowledge about him, and this on account of the King’s reprimand.
He answered him willingly:
“Our families were closely acquainted. Her father, like my own revered father, served King Jehoiakim. My father was killed in battle, one standing against many,” – he thought it worth pointing out – “and her father disappeared. No one knows what became of him.”
Nashdernach was satisfied. He could tell that his senior assistant was doing his best to help him, filling in the gaps that had led to the reprimand, and he gave him a warm look of gratitude and appreciation.
“Don’t forget,” he reminded him, “to check that the wagon I just mentioned has been added to the convoy. I shall give the order today. What’s her name?” he asked.
“Nejeen of the house of Gamliel,” he answered him.
“Nejeen of the house of Gamliel!” he echoed, slowly and pensively, as he perused the little parchment scroll that had been filled during the course of the conversation with dense cuneiform symbols – letters forming words and words forming three short sentences, peremptory in tone and relating to the special “luxury” wagon that was to be sent with the delegation.
“A most agreeable name!” He looked up and scanned him with inquisitive eyes. “The damsel Nejeen of the house of Gamliel!” he repeated in a tone of pleasure and respect. “She adds a degree of urgency to the entire mission!”
“And what is the reason for this urgency, if I may ask?” he inquired earnestly, his voice sincere and imbued with a strength of purpose that could not be easily resisted.
In reply, Nashdernach told him that matters were complicated, and deeply worrying:
“Something strange is happening in Judah, your homeland! Zedekiah, the young king, who sits on his throne with the backing of the Chaldeans, and with the consent of their King, seems to be devoid of any intelligence or any of the qualities appropriate to a monarch. He associates himself with a coterie of young men who are… how to describe them… let me think for a moment… frivolous one might say, or ‘vain and reckless’ in the language of your Scriptures. And even if he himself is not vain and reckless, if we turn once more to the wisdom literature of the Hebrews and one of your most beautiful hymns: Blessed is the man who does not take his seat among the scornful – the meaning is that a man, even one who is not scornful himself, may be tempted to associate himself with the scornful, and thus lose his last opportunity to avoid falling into this sinful state…” Nashdernach tried to smile, without success, and added: “I’m sure you are familiar with the rest of this glorious psalm!”
He nodded, feeling his heart shrinking within him.
“And this King Zedekiah has been induced, or persuaded, against his better judgment – if indeed he has anything of the kind – to appoint worthless characters such as these to be his ministers and advisers. And here you have a fine example of the magnanimity of our King, His Majesty, and his generosity and tolerance. He does not interfere with the internal affairs of Judah. He is content with a small and symbolic tribute, and the choice of ministers and advisers he leaves in the hands of the King, who rules with his consent and has sworn him an oath of allegiance. So Zedekiah proceeds to make his appointments, invariably the wrong ones, while our King, His Majesty, looks on from the sidelines, showing great patience and waiting to see how things develop.
“And something else you should know, my lad,” Nashdernach continued, suddenly adopting an affectionate mode of address; his voice was warm, and rising in his eyes was a kind of distant sadness, musings of the heart drawn up from the depths of the soul. “This King of ours, His Majesty, whom I so admire – is the most God-fearing man alive! He will not take a single step without consulting God. He is the total opposite of the boy, Zedekiah, who sits on the throne of the kingdom of Judah, which had a glorious past and roots running deep, and used to be ruled by men whose way was lit by the fear of God! And the voice of God addresses Zedekiah directly and explicitly, morning and evening, warning of the disaster that he is inviting upon his people and upon himself, and calling on him to abandon his perversities. And he, this boy, closes his ears and refuses to listen, as did his predecessor, Jehoiakim!”
“Where does it come from, the voice of God that addresses him directly and explicitly?” he asked in a wavering tone, knowing that Nashdernach spoke the truth. And Nashdernach answered him willingly and at once:
“From the lips of Jeremiah the prophet.”
His head slumped. It was as if whips had struck him down. Nashdernach realised that he had touched a sensitive point, and was silent.
After a lengthy pause, the Chaldean spoke again:
“Better perhaps not to inquire too deeply!”
“Not at all!” He looked up at once, his voice steadier now. “I’m eager to know all the details, if indeed you have details to give me.”
“Indeed I have,” Nashdernach sighed and added: “As with every sensible government, Babylon too has eyes and ears in the lands it has conquered, and in those it is yet to conquer. It’s a disreputable business but – a practical necessity!”
“This ‘business’ as you call it doesn’t say much for the faith of those involved.”
“You’re absolutely right!” Nashdernach agreed with him, adding: “This is a secret service, doing its work, disagreeable work, in the best possible way. From the point of view of faith, even wars are forbidden. Not by force and not by power, says your God, but by my spirit. Do you agree?”
“In all respects!” he stressed.
“Except that in the case of Judah there is no need for these ‘eyes’ and ‘ears’ operating secretly,” the other continued. “Everything is done there in the light of day, in public. Perhaps Zedekiah knows that in the end all will be known, and hiding it is just a waste of effort.”
“What is he doing now?” he asked.
“Fishing for support.”
“Fishing where?”
“In Egypt.”
He lowered his head again. This recurrent error on the part of kings of Judah and Israel. Egypt – the “broken reed”.
“And preparations for revolt?” he asked, wanting to know for how long Nejeen would be safe.
“In the early stages. Let us wait – and hope!” Nashdernach sighed again.
“And pray!” the other added, thoughtfully.
At the order of the King’s chief adviser, a special wagon was added to the convoy setting out for Judah, well upholstered and designed to withstand the rigours of the journey, however long it might be.
Taking the advice of Nashdernach he came and inspected the wagon: inside and out, shafts, suspension, upholstery, canopy, wheels, axles. All was to his satisfaction.
“By the decree of Nashdernach, chief adviser to the King, the delegation is not to depart until Belteshazzar, his senior aide, has authorised it!” Azariah proclaimed with joyful enthusiasm and handed him the papyrus sheet for his signature.
He took a pen and signed in red ink, under the few words stating that the extra wagon had been checked and found fit for travel – his Jewish
name in full and alongside it the Chaldean name that he was growing accustomed to, Belteshazzar.
“I shall keep this certificate!” cried Azariah with youthful ebullience. “In my mind there isn’t the shadow of a doubt that seeing this signature of yours will set her heart a-flutter and fill it with joy!”
The delegation set out on its way.
The Man With The Dagger
One Sabbath he met with Hananiah and Mishael.
“We are on our way to visit the Jewish community, down there between the walls, and if you feel like joining us – you’ll be very welcome!” Mishael invited him.
“What we are really doing is visiting our fiancées and their families!” Hananiah explained with a gentle smile. Mishael added:
“From what we hear, it seems you too will soon be in need of the priestly services of that community, just like us! Anyway, it will do you no harm to become acquainted with these Jews, most of whom trace their ancestry from genealogical scrolls that they have in their possession; a few are of priestly or levitical descent, and there is also a family descended from the Tribe of Benjamin. And the Jews have strange stories to tell about themselves and their community.”
“Such as, for example?” he asked with amused interest.
“Such as, for example,” Mishael proceeded to elaborate, in an entirely earnest tone of voice, “the story that their forefathers settled in the place before the outer wall was built, and this was many generations ago, in the time of King Solomon, and they came here in obedience to his explicit decree, or so they claim, these strange Jews! And those genealogical scrolls of theirs leave no room for doubt.”
“And why did King Solomon command their forefathers to leave their native land and their patrimony and abandon their homes, and pitch their tents in foreign parts?” he asked, still in jesting mood.
“They have an explanation for this,” Hananiah interjected with a grim look on his face, “and they whisper it among themselves like a secret that must not under any circumstances reach ‘Gentile ears’ or the ‘house of the Gentiles’ – as they are fond of repeating. According to their account, a mission was entrusted to them – to be the vanguard of the army of the greatest of all the kings of Judah, and in their opinion – greatest of all kings of the universe, the wisest of all men. They were to settle in foreign lands and when the time came, go out to meet his army, coming to take Babylon by storm, Babylon the wicked city, as they call it, as is the will and the commandment of God, and to destroy the homes of sinners and set them ablaze and above all, to tear down utterly the ‘temples of Moloch’ – their name for all the deities of Babylon – and smash his abominable idols and obliterate the lascivious wall-paintings and prove before all the nations of the world their right to be called the true heirs of Abraham their father, who did the same thing in his time and smashed the idols in the house of his pagan father.”
“And how do they reconcile themselves to the fact that the armies of King Solomon did not come here, as they expected and as they hoped and, if their account is to be believed, as was promised to them by none other than King Solomon himself?”
Mishael was quick to answer:
“They don’t reconcile themselves to it at all. Nor could it be said that they ignore it – they are aware of it, but they don’t consider it rationally.”
“So what do they do?” he asked, the humorous note fading from his voice.
“They wait. They go on waiting, from day to day, month to month, year to year, decade to decade, generation to generation, century to century. They wait in the belief, firm as iron, that the event will come about, and everything that has been spoken of and is awaited with yearning will be fulfilled, and when the army of Jewish liberation approaches, all the Jews will rise as one man and slaughter the pagans, and put them to the sword, and destroy, and smash, and ruin, and set ablaze, and they will go forth clean and purified to meet the holy army, and greet the King who stands at its head, and join forces with him, and they will deal ruthlessly with all the peoples who remain, leaving no vestige of them, no survivors and – in defiance of the edicts of Scripture and the precepts of the Torah – they will show no mercy to women, to the old or the young.”
“There are some,” Hananiah interposed, “who hold that there is a duty to show mercy to domestic beasts, that the beast is not infected by the pagan sin of its master, but the majority dismiss this argument with contempt, declaring that not even the beast is to be spared. And all of this passes from father to son and from teacher to pupil, as a great secret and a holy commandment, and this small community does everything in its power to stay confined within its walls, enclosed and shut off and separated, shunning involvement with the peoples around it, or as they put it, avoiding ‘contamination’ and preserving their ‘purity’ – and waiting with peerless, incomparable patience for the coming of salvation.”
They left the royal palace and made their way on foot. The warmth was pleasant, with rays of sunshine sparkling in the clear air. It was easy to breathe air such as this.
“This climate is reminiscent of the homeland,” Mishael commented.
“Except for the summer,” he answered him and explained: “The summer here is arid and oppressive, and were it not for the Euphrates, Babylon would be nothing but a desert country.”
Their gait was brisk and vigorous and yet – light and surprisingly steady, in a fashion not typical of men of their age.
“And how do you fit into this legend?” he asked as they walked.
“The beliefs and hopes of these Jews?” Hananiah answered with a question.
He nodded.
“Sometimes they are amusing!” Mishael laughed lightly. “Sometimes – they leave behind an unpleasant taste.”
“How so?”
“It’s because this zealotry is dark on the one hand and on the other…” Mishael deliberated, turning to him without slackening his pace and measuring him with a quizzical look, before concluding the sentence, with an air of absolute seriousness: “On the other hand, it arouses reverence and respect!”
“You’re saying these people arouse reverence and respect? How?” he persisted.
“With their fanatical devotion to an idea,” Hananiah interjected, “however grotesque and demented and mortally dangerous that idea may be.”
“Do they appeal to God and seek His help?” he asked.
“There is a family of priests among them, so I suppose it is theoretically possible,” Hananiah surmised
“To the best of my knowledge,” Azariah commented, “they don’t feel the need for any such appeal. They have unshakeable trust in themselves, and that is what turns their heads.”
“Their belief in their mission is strong,” Hananiah added.
“Their belief in God too?” he persisted.
Neither Hananiah nor Mishael could give him a clear answer.
“Sometimes,” Mishael resumed, “they look demented, and sometimes – as mild as babies! The family of Deborah, my future bride, isn’t among the zealots. Her father is a dedicated campaigner for peace and a man of innocent faith, and all the talk of insurrections and revolt and bloodshed and destruction, and royal missions to which they’re supposedly committed – elicit from him nothing more than a tolerant smile. And my belief is that if only he could, Baruch, my future father-in-law, would leave this strange community behind and move to somewhere that isn’t hemmed in by walls all around.”
“Why doesn’t he do that?”
“Because he has children who are all dependent on him, and his income is meagre,” Mishael explained. He has a field and a few milch-cows, and hives some distance away – and that’s all. And he’s not renowned for his courage. He works his field and milks his cows and extracts his honey, and sells his produce in the market by the temple of Marduk. When he has cash in his hand, then he’s in high spirits and he’s a pleasant fellow to talk to, and when business is poor his heart is heavy and at such times he may turn to drink, quaffing the potent Chaldean liquor that
is brewed from all kinds of toxic herbs, and he sits at home listless and morose, saying nothing. I have happened to be in his company in these disagreeable moments, and despite my best efforts to hold a conversation with him, if only for a moment, I’ve failed utterly.”
“Simeon, the father of Hannah my future bride,” Hananiah interjected, “is one of the fanatics. Unlike Baruch, whom Mishael mentioned just now, he isn’t prone to changes of mood – he has a stern look on his face at all times, and you would think he’d been gloomy since the day of his birth. He says little, and there’s no way of knowing what is going on behind that wrinkled brow, or buried deep in the recesses of his frozen heart. And yet, he showed some signs of pleasure when giving consent to the betrothal of his middle daughter, Hannah.”
The morning sun was still high in the sky when the three of them turned aside from the broad, paved, royal highway, teeming with men and beasts, carts and wagons – and plunged into the dark passageway leading to the north-eastern wall. Soon afterwards they received an enthusiastic welcome at the house of Deborah, Mishael’s betrothed, where Havatzelet and Hannah, future wives of Azariah and Hananiah, were also waiting for them. The three maidens were brightly dressed in freshly laundered festive costumes, coloured pink, blue and purple and trimmed with silver lace. Baruch, Deborah’s father, pronounced the blessings, and his broad, round features shone with the light of exuberant high spirits.
“He must be trading at a profit!” Mishael whispered in his ear, smiling broadly, and sure enough, Baruch was quick to confirm his future son-in-law’s hypothesis:
“Yesterday the Lord held out to me His generous hand, and bestowed upon me a share of those favours of His that gladden the heart. Everything that I took to the market of Marduk was sold in no time at all, and I made a handsome profit!”
“Damn him to Hell!” – a sour-tempered man entered the room, tall of build and heavy of movement, wearing a woollen shirt, coarsely sewn and coloured black, and breeches of the same colour. He identified him at once as Simeon, prospective father-in-law of Hananiah. “Curse the name and the memory of all pagan idols!” the newcomer stressed, accompanying his words with a grinding of teeth, and they realised it was Marduk he was referring to. Tucked into his broad black belt was a long-bladed dagger.
