by Angela Hunt
In addition to those three hot spots, I also needed to maintain a vigilant watch over Jerusalem.
I considered our needs, then asked Adonai what I should do. Each petitioner had said his situation was urgent, and I could not discern which problem was worst. I could not be everywhere.
HaShem did not speak directly to me, but in time the answer became clear: the most difficult endeavor would be the expedition back to Gilead in the east, so I would take eight thousand men and my youngest brother to handle the problem.
I dispatched Simon to Galilee with three thousand men.
For the ongoing care and protection of Jerusalem, I appointed two young captains: Joseph ben Zacharias and Azarias. I advised them to remain vigilant and on the defensive, warning them not to attempt any venture with the undermanned army reserve stationed in Jerusalem.
The Philistines, I reckoned, could wait for their well-deserved thrashing.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Leah
With great interest I listened as Judah discussed his plans with his brothers. With the army of Israel splitting up to march in different directions, a bold thought occurred to me—why not go with my husband? I could support him as well as the other women who cooked and carried wood, and wouldn’t it be more loving to be near him than to wait for him at home?
I chewed on my thumbnail and paced as I considered Judah’s possible objections. He would say I was too frail, but I had fully recovered from the ordeal of childbirth. Unlike Morit, I had no children to care for at home. Judah might suggest that I remain behind to look after my mother, but she and Rosana were quite capable of taking care of each other.
With my mind made up to love my husband, I pulled a veil over my hair and went in search of him. I found him in an empty field, where a group of his men had built a bonfire. I tugged on his cloak and drew him away from the men he was teaching.
“Leah?” Even in the gloom of early dusk, I saw concern shining in his eyes. “Is something amiss?”
“I have been thinking,” I said, steeling my voice with as much iron as I could muster. “It is foolish for me to remain in Modein like some pampered princess, especially when your army has divided into companies. You will need help in the camp, and I am willing. Take me with you, Judah. Let me go with you.”
Astonishment blossomed on his face. He turned slightly and crossed his arms, a frown puckering the skin between his brows. “Has someone in Modein threatened you?”
I pressed a finger over my lips to avoid full-throated laughter. “No one has threatened me. I only want to help you. A wife should support her husband.”
He measured me with an appraising look. “You want to work in the camp. Where you will witness violence. And bloodshed.”
I resisted the urge to wince. “I want to help you,” I repeated. “I worked with the other women when you first became commander.”
“That was different. You remained a safe distance away.”
“Still, I want to help. Isn’t that what a wife is supposed to do?”
“You do not know how long the march will be,” he warned. “And our enemy can be brutal.”
“I know brutality, I can walk forever, and I do not faint at the sight of blood.”
His expression softened. “I will not have much time for you because my attention must be focused on my men. I would not have you feeling resentful or overlooked, because a commander must concentrate on the coming battle.”
“You will not even know I am present unless you seek me out. Have I been a clinging wife? When you left me before, did I cling to you and fill your ear with complaints because you chose to be the commander of Israel’s army?”
“I did not choose it.” His voice lowered as he looked away. “As to clinging, you only did it the one time.”
“I will not do it again. Let me go with you, husband. Please. There is nothing for me to do here and I am sick of cheese.”
He turned from the glowing horizon and studied my face. “Why do you want to go this time when you did not before?”
“Because . . . I want to understand. You say HaShem called you to do this, so I want to see and know what you do. I can tell others what I have seen . . .” In my mind a door opened and the truth spilled out. Of course! I could not read or write, but I could tell a story. The women and children, the old ones at home needed to know what Judah and his men were doing for Israel. They needed a storyteller, and I could fill that role.
“I want to see it all,” I told him, lifting my chin. “I will come back and tell the others what I’ve seen. They will tell others, and soon all Israel will know what HaShem is doing through you and your men.”
Judah lifted both brows, but he did not refuse me. His dark eyes searched my face, then he took my hand and squeezed it. “So be it,” he said, covering my other hand, as well. “We will leave in two days.”
“I will be ready.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Judah
I left Leah in a wagon with the other women who would help support the camp, then rode to the front. I found Jonathan waiting with men from Mount Gilead. They were understandably impatient to begin their journey home, so I gave the order to set out.
Once we were under way, I asked the Mount Gilead men for details about their situation. To my chagrin I learned their trouble had been instigated by our overthrow of Jazer. Timotheus, the Amorite captain, had been stung by our victory, so in revenge he captured several Israelite towns. The women and children he kept as captives, and the men—over one thousand—he put to death. Survivors from his raids fled to a fortress at Dathema, a fortress Timotheus now held under siege.
I felt a burdensome weight of responsibility for the dead men’s families. If we had not overthrown Jazer, Timotheus might have left the villages alone.
No, an inner voice assured me. He would not have done so.
We marched over the scorching plains of Jericho, forded the Jordan River, and climbed the rocky terrain of Mount Gilead. A sludge of anxiety slid around in my belly, for we were moving through territory we did not know. The Mount Gilead men showed us where to find food and water, and so we made quiet, slow progress toward Dathema.
We marched three days into the wilderness, where we encountered a tribe of peaceable Nabatheans who told us Bozrah was in danger of falling into enemy hands, as were the cities of Bosor, Casphor, and Maked.
“The Amorites are preparing to attack these strongholds tomorrow,” the Nabatheans told us. “They will capture and destroy all these people in a single day.”
Bozrah stood on the road to the Euphrates, sixty miles east of the Jordan. Though the long journey would divert us from our primary task, we could not let those people be destroyed. We turned back by the wilderness road, marched to Bozrah, and fought to free the town. Before leaving, we killed every invader.
Because the Amorites were preparing to attack the cities on the plain, we left Bozrah during the night and marched north to Dathema, the last stronghold of our people. As the rising sun brightened the area, we saw a huge company advancing toward the fortress with ladders and battering rams. I commanded the men to blow the shofar to announce our presence, then smiled when the Amorites turned to find themselves trapped between the fortress of Dathema and the army of Israel.
Though we were weary from our overnight march, HaShem gave us the strength we needed. At the sound of the shofar we charged, lifting our voices in hymns of praise. Timotheus and his army fled, but they could not escape. We killed eight thousand Amorite besiegers, relieved the captives in the fortress, and returned the surrounding area to Jewish control.
But Timotheus escaped us.
As we rested after the battle, Jonathan came over and sat beside me. “How did you know we should press on toward Dathema?” he asked. “Any other commander would have spent the night in Bozrah and marched the next morning—arriving too late.”
I stretched my legs toward the crackling fire. “I thought of Saul, who once marched all night to relieve Jabe
sh-gilead, which had been put under siege by Nahash the Ammonite. If HaShem gave Saul and his men the strength to march all night, why wouldn’t He help us do the same?”
Jonathan grinned.
“But I tell you one thing, little brother—I am growing weary of battling Timotheus. I should have killed him at our first encounter, but I mistook mercy for wisdom.”
“We will get him tomorrow,” Jonathan said.
I grunted. “If not tomorrow, then soon. Because I will not make the same mistake twice.”
Chapter Fifty
Leah
War, it seemed to me, consisted of riding through desolate lands while searching for food, water, and the enemy. Safe in a wagon at the end of the advance, the other women and I saw little of the actual fighting, but we did see the aftermath—which, thanks be to HaShem, was not as bloody as it could have been.
Despite the hardships of the journey, I determined that I would not complain or cause my husband distress. I had made up my mind to support him, and if supporting him required hauling water or washing wounds, I would do it without complaint. But all the while I would be watching and memorizing details of each battle, details I could relay to others once we returned home. If HaShem called Judah to be a warrior, why couldn’t He call me to be a witness to the struggle?
We traveled through plains and mountains I had never heard of; we rode by devastation I had never imagined. I had never understood the urgency of war, but as I gazed at burned villages and spotted lost children hiding in the ruins, I realized Modein could have easily been destroyed as well. If Mattathias had not led us away after killing the king’s envoys, the Seleucids could have swept in from the north, killed all the men, captured the women, and left the children to fend for themselves.
When we could, we picked up homeless children, gave comfort to the dying, and buried the dead. And more than once I found myself weeping for all the innocent lives that had been callously snuffed out by the Amorites.
After relieving the siege at Dathema, we stopped to rest. I climbed out of the wagon and took my pail to the nearby spring, then carried water to the men gathered around their campfires. I saw Judah sitting next to Jonathan, but I did not want to draw attention as the commander’s wife. So I silently served all the men in the circle, offering them a drink from my dipper, waiting until each had drunk before moving on to the next man.
I felt the pressure of Judah’s eyes the moment he spotted me. There was no denying the heat of his gaze, and from the corner of my eye I saw a smile tug at his lips. I smiled in return, still not looking at him, and not until I worked my way around the circle did I allow my eyes to meet his.
“Water, sir?”
His smile deepened as he accepted the ladle, and the look in his eyes spurred the drops of my blood to race through my veins.
He drank, and I turned my face to the starlit heavens, pretending to be distracted. When I felt his hand on my ankle, my blood began racing again.
“Thank you, miss.”
I stepped past him and offered the ladle to Jonathan. “Water?”
“Thanks, Leah.” He took it and drank, but I could not deny the invisible thread that attached me to Judah. I glanced back and saw that he was still watching me.
I hoped the yearning that showed on his face was not quite as apparent on my own.
Chapter Fifty-One
Judah
Not content to leave Timotheus free to create further trouble for Israel, we pursued him. The Amorites had encamped around the city of Raphana, which lay on the far side of a stream. I sent scouts to spy out the enemy camp, and when they returned we learned that hundreds of neighboring Arabs had joined Timotheus in hope of plundering the Jews. After studying the situation, I became convinced they were waiting for us.
Clearly, the Gentiles hoped to overawe the army of Israel by their great numbers and the strength of their location. But after three years and many battles, HaShem had made us confident. We did not even bother to establish a camp but crossed the stream and attacked straightaway. The Gentiles quailed before our direct assault, and many fled. We soundly defeated those who remained.
The deserters ran to Ashtoreth Carnaim and took refuge in the famous temple of the Queen of Heaven. Johanan wanted to leave them alone, but I suspected Timotheus had gone with them and I did not want him to slip through my grasp again.
So we followed immediately. Completely focused on the enemy, we captured Ashtoreth Carnaim and set the pagan temple aflame. Timotheus, I later learned, perished in that fire.
As we made camp and celebrated our victory, I acted on a lesson I had learned from an earlier excursion. Unwilling for the survivors at Raphana to suffer the vengeance of neighboring Arabs and Amorites, I urged them to join us on the journey home. “Come live in Jerusalem,” I urged them, “where your neighbors will be brothers.”
I was pleased to see that most of the city’s inhabitants joined our company. We lingered two days to give the people time to gather their belongings and livestock, then we set out for the holy city.
Our journey was slow, for our caravan included not only the army of Israel, but dozens of families who would build new homes in Judea. Traveling slowly made me nervous, because we made a large and ponderous target.
We marched southwest, toward the Jordan and the fortress of Ephron. We would have to pass through that city to reach Judea, yet the people of Ephron were not willing to open their gates.
I called out with a friendly message. “Let us pass through your land to get to ours. We will not harm you; we will simply pass through on foot.”
No one responded. Instead, stalwart young men with weapons appeared atop the walls. Even from where we stood, we could hear the sound of stones being stacked behind the gates. They were not only refusing to let us pass, they were also refusing to let us drink and water our livestock.
I folded my arms and considered the situation. The inhabitants of Ephron had to know that refusing hospitality in a hot and arid land was a grievous affront, for life depended on water. Without it, we would all suffer, and we could lose many lives during our trek across the desert.
“What should we do?” Jonathan shaded his eyes as he studied the men on the wall. “We don’t have weapons to take down a fortress.”
“We will call on Adonai,” I answered, “and He will supply what we need to build them.”
I instructed our company to establish a camp on the plain. I invited the families to rest in the shade of our tents while the army of Israel built catapults and cut logs that could be used for battering rams. By midafternoon, we moved forward to assault the gates and walls. After battering the city for several hours, the gates fell. With swords unsheathed, we entered the city and put the hardhearted men of Ephron to death.
We spent the night within the city walls. The next day we filled our pitchers and waterskins and marched through the fortress, exiting at the south side. I placed Jonathan at the rear of the procession to make sure we did not lose any of our families, and a few days later we were climbing the ascent to Jerusalem, singing the psalms of David as we advanced. When we finally arrived within the holy city, our company—families and soldiers alike—walked together toward the Temple to offer sacrifices for our deliverance and safe journey.
But before we approached the Temple, I went in search of my wife.
Within a few days of our return, Simon and his army of three thousand arrived in Jerusalem with another group of emigrating families. Simon’s campaign to fight invaders from Tyre, Sidon, and Accho had been successful, the captive Jews had been released, and three thousand Gentile invaders had been slain.
Longing for security and safety, the Jewish families in the area hastened to join Simon, so we had more new arrivals to live in Jerusalem and share the work of rebuilding the city.
Both expeditions, mine and Simon’s, returned without the loss of a single man. Adonai had been our sword and our shield.
But while we were away, all had not gone well in our capital.
Though the young men I left in charge were warned not to attempt any offensive military action, Azarias and Joseph ben Zacharias did not heed our words. Craving fame and success, they concocted a plan to win victories of their own.
“The two of them,” one of the priests explained, “said, ‘Let us also get us a name and go fight the heathen that are round about us.’”
“So,” another priest concluded, “they undertook an expedition you would never have endorsed, Judah. And they were not victorious.”
I exhaled through tight lips. I had learned that most of my brother Jews, none of whom had been born to the sword, could wage battle against trained soldiers only if they held defensive positions on high ground or behind boulders. In my early days, I would never have dared to meet a professional army on flat, open ground.
Yet Azarias and Joseph ben Zacharias had mustered the remnant of my men and advanced against Gorgias, one of Antiochus’s best generals. Gorgias had entrenched his army in Jamnia, a town at the top of a round hill above the Valley of Sorek. Gorgias held the high ground with professional warriors.
When the general looked out and saw Azarias and Joseph advancing with the Israelite army on the open plain, he ordered his men to sweep down from the mountain, swords flaring and hooves thundering. Two thousand men of Israel died that day, and Gorgias’s army pursued the survivors across the plain into the Judean hills.
When word of the defeat reached Jerusalem, the city’s governing council censured the young captains for acting out of disobedience and pride. “Moreover,” one priest sternly noted, “these two men came not of the seed of those by whose hand deliverance was given to Israel.”
A shiver ran up my spine when I heard about the priest’s remark. The notion that HaShem had selected my family to deliver Israel . . . the thought left me profoundly shaken. In His sovereignty, HaShem had chosen to use the line of Hasmon for a divine purpose: He had anointed us to deliver Israel from the Seleucids and the Hellenes, who would destroy us by their laws and their idolatrous influence.
