Judah's Wife

by Angela Hunt

  I moved our camp to a watershed near Jerusalem, an area of high ground from which all the roads to our capital were visible. The next general with his eye on the holy city might come from any direction, but we would see him before he arrived.

  I did not think the next attack would come from the west—we had already defeated one army on that approach. Over the next few days, my scouts at the northern and western lookouts remained silent, but scouts from the south soon appeared in camp, their eyes wide and their reports urgent. General Lysias had entered Judea, they reported, and his army was at least sixty thousand strong—swelled, apparently, by levies raised on his march and the stragglers who fled from Seron’s and Gorgias’s armies. Considering the fate of those two generals, Lysias had skirted the western passes leading to Jerusalem and was advancing toward the southern ascent where travel was easier.

  I was not surprised by his decision; I might have done the same thing.

  I transferred my men to the high ground at the southernmost point, where we waited for signs of the dust cloud that would arise from the movements of such a large force.

  As I waited, I often sat in my tent and thought of Leah. She had not been happy when my brothers and I left Modein, but I hoped she had been heartened by news of our first victory. I knew she had to be worried about giving birth, but she had both of our mothers and my sisters-in-law to help, so she would not be alone. But some things could not be foreseen, and sometimes trouble descended for no apparent reason. Would my wife be alive when I returned? And if so, would she forgive me for not being with her during her time of travail?

  Most important, would she ever be happy with me again? Her sweetness had evaporated when we went to war, and her gentle and kind spirit had not returned. Whenever I spoke of the struggle she turned away; when I went out to drill with other men, she painted on an agonized expression that did not fade until the next day—and only then if no one reminded her of the army of Israel.

  I couldn’t understand why she so adamantly opposed our struggle. She had explained her hatred of her father’s violence, but I was not her father and I had never struck her. So from where had her dislike sprung? And why had HaShem allowed me to marry a woman who hated what He had called me to do? I thought of Job’s wife, who had been a thorn in his side when the Lord allowed him to suffer a grievous reversal of fortune. Hosea’s wife had been a torment, not a helper, and even Eve, mother of all mankind, had dealt Adam a serious blow.

  Why would the Creator of the universe give men wives who proved to be their undoing? Was life not hard enough?

  I was about to put the question to Simon when a shout distracted me. I thrust my head out of my tent in time to see men pointing toward the southern horizon.

  Dust. The Seleucids were on their way.

  They were so far in the distance we could see nothing clearly, but I knew how quickly they advanced and how many were coming. They were marching over the plain of Epah, where the Philistines had challenged Saul and David. They would be hot and thirsty after this journey, and their scouts would tell them about the spring under the rocky escarpment near Beth-zur. That site would appeal to them, and from that settlement the Seleucids could simply continue marching northeast and within a few hours they would be in Jerusalem.

  I covered my head and lifted my hands in prayer: “Blessed art thou, O Savior of Israel, who did crush the attack of the mighty warrior by the hand of your servant David, and did give the camp of the Philistines into the hands of Jonathan, the son of Saul, and the man who carried his armor. So hem in this army by the hand of your people Israel, and let them be ashamed of their troops and their cavalry. Fill them with cowardice, melt the boldness of their strength, and let them tremble in their destruction. Strike them down with the sword of those who love you and let all who know your name praise you with hymns.”

  When I had finished praying, I turned and looked at the captains around me. “Brothers, gather your men. We are marching to Beth-zur, and we will be singing hymns on the way. We will meet a few thousand thirsty Gentiles at the spring, but we will not let them drink.”

  The captains cheered, then stalked away to alert their companies.

  As we marched to Beth-zur, I realized that I no longer led a small band of warriors. Our victories at Beth-horon and Emmaus had given the people such confidence that our ranks had swelled to over ten thousand. Our people had finally begun to understand that HaShem was the only real God, and He loved Israel. With Him as our leader, who could stand against us?

  I looked at the rugged hills we had just left and thought of David, the young shepherd who had killed Goliath on the plain we were approaching. We were ten thousand and the Seleucids were sixty thousand, plus cavalry, but we had the strength of HaShem. We might appear as David to a mighty Goliath, yet we were not afraid.

  Just before we reached Beth-zur, I halted the men and sent the archers to the front. “The enemy has been marching toward the spring as we marched to them,” I reminded my captains. “They are tired and desperate for water. So fight with all your might and do not give ground. We are all that stands between these Gentiles and the holy city.”

  The army of Israel rose to the challenge. We could barely see the distant army when we reached the spring. We watered our men and animals, then we advanced and resolutely approached the invaders. When we were close enough to see individuals in the enemy vanguard, our archers released a rain of arrows, which took out the men in the Gentile’s front line and terrified the remainder. They did not flee as they had in the past, but launched a desperate attack that our men quickly repelled.

  When the battlefield cleared, we counted over five thousand dead Seleucids, Assyrians, and Samaritans. My own men—bloodied and bruised, but victorious, thanks be to HaShem—picked through the spoils, each man taking a fair share of horses and treasure, food and fine garments.

  A feeling of deep peace and satisfaction settled over me as I watched my men reap their reward. We had defeated a governor’s militia, a general’s force, and a king’s army. Antiochus, wherever he was, could no longer think of us as rebellious vassals. We were Isra’el, we were supported by the hand of our God, and we would defend our Law—the code that governed our nation—even at the cost of our lives.

  Our people would no longer be the king’s to torture and destroy.

  I turned to my captains, who looked at me with expectant, sweat-stained faces. “Men,” I said, a joyous tremor filling my voice, “our enemies are vanquished. Let us go up to Jerusalem and cleanse the sanctuary of our God.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  So we went up to Jerusalem, the cold wind stinging our faces and watering our eyes, but no one minded the discomfort. We marched with light hearts and thankful spirits because we had finally eradicated the enemy who had dominated us from without and weakened us from within. Surely the time had come to reenter and restore the house of our God.

  Though I had visited Jerusalem since the rampage by Apollonius and his army, I had not been to the Temple. I had heard reports and seen desecrated Torah scrolls, but I do not believe anything could have prepared me for what I saw when we approached the sacred sanctuary.

  Our joyous hearts deflated as we stared at the remains of our beloved Temple. One man after another sagged as if his bones had suddenly gone soft, and I knew the sight of the desecrated sanctuary would stay forever in each warrior’s memory.

  We saw the sanctuary burned and broken, some of the great stones cracked and blackened, the others marked with obscene images and profane scrawling. The altar lay in pieces, with charred bones heaped around it. Thistles and wild plants crowded the Temple courtyards, tall weeds weaving their roots into cracks between the blackened flagstones. Wild olives hung on the walls of the outer court; creepers dangled from the stones like the beards of defeated old men. The beautiful gates had been chopped up or burned, and the priests’ chambers lay ruined and filled with every kind of refuse.

  The sight of our devastated Temple, the symbol of our peop
le and our God, cut straight to our hearts. We tore our tunics and mourned with loud wails, sprinkling our heads with dirt and ashes.

  As a nation, we had never been known for great architecture or art. Most of us were simple people who lived off the land. But our glorious Temple had been a reflection of our majestic God and the product of our most talented craftsmen. The Gentiles had vandalized our best offering and made it desolate, and we had been powerless to prevent its desecration.

  We lowered our faces to the ruined stones while the shofar sounded a mournful wail, calling us to repentance.

  Eleazar interrupted my mourning by tapping my shoulder. When I looked up, he pointed to the citadel on the Millo, the stronghold that still housed the king’s men and a group of renegade Jews. From their superior vantage point, the men in the stronghold looked down on us, studying our moving forms. Were they readying their weapons? One of their archers could easily strike one of our men.

  “Do you think they will attack?” Eleazar asked in a low voice.

  I kept my eyes on the tower where I glimpsed movement at the windows. “They are probably worried we will attack them. Still, I will not feel confident about working here until we are certain those men have something else to occupy their time.” I nodded at Eleazar, who had never lacked courage. “Take your company and surround the citadel. Do not strike unless they strike first, but maintain your position and keep their attention.” As he turned, I grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t forget to stay out of range of their arrows.”

  He grinned. “Right.”

  I watched him go and wished, not for the first time, that we had kept a few of the enemy’s catapults. They would have been difficult to transport through the mountains, but it would be a help to have one with us. Perhaps we could make one.

  After making certain that Eleazar’s men had encircled the tower, I summoned my captains and sent them to search for any priests remaining in Jerusalem. When they returned with a group of Levites, I chose godly men who were devoted to the Law of Moses and untainted by any form of heresy.

  My men and I stood guard over the next several days as the priests cleansed the derelict site according to the Law of Moses. They moved the defiled altar stones from the sacred sanctuary to a location that had not been ritually purified. Then, with my men, the Levites set about the work of restoring the Temple.

  As they labored, I realized that Jerusalem needed more than a rebuilt Temple. If we were to prevent another army from destroying the sanctuary, we’d have to rebuild the city’s broken walls and erect watchtowers around the perimeter. I set several companies to work on those projects, and within a few weeks we saw substantial progress.

  “The priests encountered a problem,” Simon told me at dinner one night. “The work goes well, but the Levites did not know what to do with the old altar stones.”

  “They have been defiled,” I said. “They cannot be reused.”

  “Yes, but they were once sacred. Is it right to throw them out with stones that have never been consecrated?”

  I sighed, grateful I was not responsible for finding a solution to that particular problem. “Could no priest decide the matter?”

  Simon shook his head. “The Levites finally agreed that only a prophet directly from God would have the proper answer. So they stored the stones in a chamber in the Beth-ha-Moked gatehouse at the corner of the altar court. The stones will remain there until a prophet arises to tell them what should be done.”

  “But HaShem has not sent us a prophet in over three hundred years.”

  “The priests insist another is coming soon.” Simon lifted his cup and smiled. “They will wait.”

  The work continued for weeks. Laboring together, the army of Israel, the Levites, and the people of Jerusalem united to restore the Temple. We rebuilt the ruined chambers, we constructed and hung new gates, and we sent Levites to dig in the Valley of Kedron’s virgin red earth for new altar stones. The priests cleaned the stones and brought them back to Jerusalem. Untouched by hammer or chisel, the stones were arranged in a wooden frame before being locked into place with mortar.

  We also rebuilt the interior of the Temple. The people made new vessels of gold to replace those Antiochus had stolen. Then we brought the new lampstand, altar of incense, and table into the Temple. The priests burned incense on the altar and lit the lamps, restoring light to the sanctuary. They placed bread on the marble table and hung linen curtains of blue, scarlet, and purple over the entrance to the Holy Place.

  Finally, in the month of Chislev, the priests came to me and announced that they had finished all the work they had undertaken.

  Early in the morning on the twenty-fifth day of the ninth month, every man in Jerusalem offered a sacrifice on the new altar of burnt offering. As the sacrifices took place inside, we decorated the front of the Temple with golden crowns and shields, symbolizing HaShem’s defense of His people and His eternal throne.

  In the same season and on the same date the Gentiles had profaned the altar, the priests rededicated it, accompanied by songs and harps and lutes and cymbals.

  For eight days we offered burnt offerings with gladness. Throughout the Temple we offered sacrifices of praise. With feasts and prayers, psalms and music, processions of priests bearing palm branches and every expression of festivity, we celebrated the Temple’s dedication.

  Then all the assembly of Israel determined that every year of the same season our people should observe a ḥănukkâ, or dedication ceremony, with gladness and joy for eight days, beginning on the twenty-fifth day of the month of Chislev.

  Very great gladness filled all the people, because we had removed the disgrace the Gentiles had thrust upon us and our Temple.

  I stood with my brothers and considered how, from that day forward, the sacred service of the Temple would resume. Each day a lamb would be examined to see if it was spotless. If it passed the Levites’ inspection, it would spend the night in a stone cell to await the sacrifice. Before sunrise the next morning, the master of the Temple would summon the priests who watched in the gatehouse of Beth-ha-Moked. They would fetch the spotless lamb and bring it to the Temple as the sun broke through the horizon.

  The priest appointed to conduct the sacrifice would then go into the Temple and bathe at the great laver. When he had finished washing, he would mount the stone steps of the altar and stir the ashes until he found the glowing red embers of the fire that was never extinguished. Once he added new fuel and robust flames burned, other priests would go into the sacred court and fetch the lamb, which would be sacrificed as Jerusalem woke to a new day.

  Content to know that the holy city was on her way to complete healing, I bade the army complete one additional task before we departed for our homes—we had to finish strengthening the city itself. So we put off our return to our families and completed the job, fortifying Mount Zion with high walls and strong towers to keep the Gentiles from trampling Jerusalem as they had before.

  Only one situation left me unsatisfied—we had not been able to come up with a feasible plan to rid Jerusalem of the Seleucids who remained in the citadel. Still, Simon encouraged me to be at peace. “Better the enemy you can see,” he said, gesturing to the tall stone tower, “than the one you cannot. Keep an eye on them, and let them be.”

  Because enemies still remained in our capital city, I stationed a garrison in one of the watchtowers for the city’s defense. I also ordered the fortification of Beth-zur, because whoever controlled that elevated city would control the southern approach from Hebron to Jerusalem.

  I did not know when Antiochus would send another army, but I knew he had not finished with our capital.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Leah

  Push, daughter. Hold my hand and bear down.”

  Rosana’s voice, soft and urgent, cut through the haze of pain. I drew a deep breath and groaned, struggling to expel the child that lay like a boulder inside my belly.

  No progress. The babe refused to move.

  “
Let me die,” I whispered, turning my face to the wall. “I am too tired.”

  I was so weary my nerves throbbed. My mind had thickened with fatigue, and when I had clear thoughts, they were memories of Mother sliding down the wall, Father’s angry face, and long nights when I pretended to sleep. I tried to remember what Rosana had told me about why Judah went to war, but the only memories that came to me were old ones, tinged with terror and dread.

  Morit stepped forward, smiling at me from what seemed a great height. “Let me help,” she said, lowering her fingers into a jar. When she lifted her hand, her fingertips dripped with honey. “This will ease the baby’s passage. Lie still and let me see what I can do.”

  I closed my eyes, no longer caring what any of them did.

  The first birth pangs had come two days before, when I stopped to make water in one of the fields. A sharp pain so caught me by surprise that I staggered and fell backward into the grass, an awkward collection of arms, legs, and belly. Ona giggled as she helped me to my feet. “I knew pregnant women could be clumsy, but—”

  “I think the child is coming,” I interrupted as a flood of water poured from between my legs. “Call Rosana. Call my mother.”

  “Your mother is visiting a friend in the next village.” Ona took my arm. “But I will bring Rosana as soon as I get you home.”

  With one hand pressed to my aching back, I hobbled back to my house with Ona, then paced and breathed through my teeth as the pains came in quick succession. Rosana arrived a few moments later, and I could tell that my mother-in-law was astounded to hear that hard labor had begun so quickly.

  “Squat here,” she said, pointing to an empty spot on the earthen floor. “Ona, stand behind her and support her back. I will sit in front and catch the baby when it comes. When the urge is too strong to resist, push with all your might.”