Judah's Wife

by Angela Hunt

  The boy nodded. “I counted thirty-two. They are spread out over the camp, one beast for each company.”

  Eleazar grinned. “They are coming at us with wild animals? No matter. An animal, no matter how large, cannot outwit a man.”

  I lifted my hand to protest, but the scout interrupted me. “The animals do not fight alone. A thousand men wearing coats of armor and brass helmets walk with each beast. Hundreds of horsemen have been positioned in front of each one. And there are towers!”

  I lifted a brow. “Explain.”

  “A wooden structure covered with armor; one sits atop each animal. A driver and four archers ride in the tower. They will be shooting from an elevated height.”

  I groaned and reached for my sword. “They have begun early, so we need to wake our men. Have your companies ready to march by sunrise. I do not think they will advance until then.”

  Our preparations appeared remarkably simple compared to the formation described by our scout. By the time the sun crested the eastern hills, we had assembled—archers at the front, horsemen behind them, swordsmen at the rear.

  Then the sun, rising behind us, shone on the enemy army. When the morning light struck the shields of gold and the brass helmets, the opposite horizon seemed to blaze like thousands of campfires. The elephants and their attendants were positioned along the main road, spaced as evenly as flower petals, with foot soldiers and cavalry along the sides to prevent a flanking movement from our army.

  The monstrous beasts of war glistened in their armor and shattered the silence with their agitated trumpeting. I felt the skin on my arms pebble at the marvelous sight. I had never seen an elephant, and neither, I daresay, had any of my men. The racket of the beasts’ trumpeting echoed among the mountains, cocooning us in bedlam.

  I looked at Simon, who met my gaze with alarm in his eyes. Together we turned toward Eleazar, who had always been the boldest of us, and saw that his eyes had gone wide with anticipation.

  Of course they had. The man loved a challenge.

  “Men!” I yelled, my voice barely penetrating the din. “Forward!”

  The army of Israel moved forward slowly, with the young king’s army advancing at a more rapid pace. The fearsome noise surrounded and deafened us. The animals continued to blare above the clanking of their armor while the earth trembled with the terror of their approach.

  “They are amazingly strong,” I said, moving in step with my brothers. “Look how easily they carry the weight of those men.”

  “They are not quick,” Eleazar countered. “Though the earth trembles with each step, they do not run as fast as a man.”

  “What are these creatures?” Simon shouted. “Can they be killed with a sword? Where should we strike?”

  “Of course they can be killed.” Eleazar jerked his head toward one of the approaching beasts. “Why would they be armored unless they were vulnerable? Think of the soft areas, brothers, where no armor exists.”

  “The skin is wrinkled,” I said. “Though it is hard to see past the armor, look at that nose—it is not covered, it is flesh.”

  “And if it is flesh, it can be pierced,” Eleazar said. “Maybe not on the nose, but perhaps through the belly? Many an armored beast has a soft underbelly.”

  “There are too many of them!” someone behind me shouted, and I turned to glare at the man, for nothing spread faster than cowardice.

  Behind me, others were beginning to voice doubt and fear. “Perhaps they can’t be killed,” another man cried. “HaShem alone can strike them down.”

  “Never fear!” I called over my shoulder, though my tone implied more confidence than I felt. “Today Adonai goes with you into battle!”

  Eleazar drew his sword from its sheath. “Are you coming with me?”

  I gripped my sword. “I am.”

  “Then let us lead by example.” He pointed toward one particular beast, more colorfully adorned than the others. “Perhaps the king himself rides there. Or his general.”

  I grinned at my brother. “Good thinking.”

  “So let us see what happens when a beast of war meets men of Adonai.”

  “Archers!” I called, glancing at the men behind me. “Keep the horsemen from us!”

  Moving directly toward the most decorated elephant, we walked with resolute steps as our archers shot at the riders who would stop us. One of the riders came between me and Eleazar, then the Greek fell off his horse as an arrow pierced his shoulder. I stopped to dispatch him as he lay on the ground, and when I looked up again, I saw Eleazar running straight toward the elephant. The Seleucid archers aimed at him but didn’t shoot for fear of harming the beast.

  I stepped over the warrior who had detained me, then ran to support my brother. Another man attacked from my left, so I struck him quickly, so eager was I to reach Eleazar. Then a blow struck the nape of my neck, dropping me to my knees, and I barely had time to duck a blade. A quick upthrust of my sword ended that encounter, and from my position on the chalky ground I saw Eleazar dart between the treelike legs of the most decorated war elephant. “For Adonai and Isra’el!” he cried, then with both hands he thrust his sword into the belly of the beast.

  Time seemed to stand still as I breathed in the scents of dust and earth and saw blood rush out like a waterfall, coating my exultant brother. The beast roared and shuddered and collapsed to his front legs, sending the tower forward as the men in it screamed and horses fled, and then I remembered Eleazar in a dream, O Adonai, not that nightmare . . . When I looked back at the hind legs, the gigantic creature sighed and collapsed and exhaled in a shuddering gasp as the light went out of its eyes, covering the place where Eleazar had stood.

  Behind me, the men of Israel shouted with dismay, and while I lay on the ground, stunned and confused, I looked back and saw that the army of Israel, the army of Adonai, was doing something it had never done—fleeing.

  I looked again for Eleazar, wondering if he had somehow made progress against the enemy’s advancing line, and then I saw a sandaled foot and realized that the war beast had fallen hard upon my brother.

  “Eleazar!” I rose up and would have run toward the downed beast, but someone jerked the back of my tunic and yanked me away from the line advancing as inexorably as death. I turned in fury and saw Simon, who wore a look of grim determination as he drew me away from the battle and turned me toward Jerusalem.

  “We cannot lose you, too,” he shouted, and we took flight like the others.

  Running after my men on legs that felt as insubstantial as air, I left the battlefield in grief and disgrace.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Leah

  Leaving the other women to load a wagon with supplies, I watched in dazed horror as our men streamed into Jerusalem, sweat covering their faces and arms, blood trickling from noses, mouths, and open wounds. The most badly injured remained on the road—we would not be able to retrieve them until the enemy had left the scene . . . if the Seleucids let them live.

  I ran over to meet the returning men but could not find my husband.

  “Have you seen Judah?” I grabbed one warrior’s arm and forced him to stop. “Judah, your commander. Have you seen him?”

  He shook his head and trudged away.

  I ran to the wall and hurried up the stairs, slipping past two guards who would have stopped me if I had not been the wife of Judah Maccabaeus. When I reached the top, I walked out onto the rampart, shaded my eyes, and gasped at the scene before me. The road in front of the gate was still filled with our soldiers, but in the distance I saw utter carnage—the bodies of fallen men, writhing horses, and . . . monsters. The unfamiliar creatures appeared to have tails on their faces, tails that swung from side to side, lifting, trumpeting, picking up men and tossing them aside, creating the most unimaginable havoc.

  One of the beasts, thanks be to HaShem, lay dead in the distance, while the others stirred up dust as they ambled toward Jerusalem, accompanied by horsemen and soldiers.

  I backed awa
y from the sight, my mind reeling.

  What sort of devils had come against us today? No wonder the men had returned in such confusion.

  I hurried back down the stairs and began to examine the wounded who had dropped near the southern gate. Most of them sat with heads lowered, but one group stood silently, their tunics ripped and their heads covered in ashes and dirt. No wonder they were mourning—Judah’s army had never lost a battle until today.

  “Leah?”

  “Judah!” I whirled around and saw him striding toward me, his face streaked with sweat and dust. Because he was limping, I slipped under his arm and supported him as I helped him find a place to sit. “You need to rest.”

  “I cannot.” He looked at me, despair on his face. “The enemy is advancing, so we must bar the gates and get the men to safety.”

  “Where?”

  “The Temple fortress is the safest place. We will grab whatever supplies we can and move everyone there.”

  I knew the place—the tower known as the Temple fortress stood in the northwest corner of the wall around the Temple Mount. I’d never been inside, but it looked large enough to shelter all those who had fought with my husband.

  Judah squeezed my hand and limped away, shouting at the men who wandered about as if lost. “We are moving into the Temple fortress. Leave the tents; grab the food and water from the animals. Go at once. The enemy is coming.”

  As my thoughts spun in a frenzy of dismay, I ran from group to group, shouting at any man who was sitting still. “You cannot rest now. Gather your provisions and go to the Temple fortress. They are coming!”

  The dazed men stared at me and reacted only when my words hit home. They had to know their enemy would not stop until those trumpeting beasts were trampling the earth beneath our feet.

  “Bar the gate!” Judah’s strong voice rang out over the crowd. “Send a watch to secure every gate, but bar that one at once. And obey my wife, for the enemy is coming!”

  “You!” I pointed to two men who stood beside a mule, then pointed to another who had collapsed on the ground. “See to him. Put him over the mule if you must! We must get to the Temple tower at once. Hurry!”

  Leaving Judah to motivate the remaining stragglers, I ran to a pen that held five donkeys. I pulled heavy saddlebags from an improvised railing, draped one over each donkey’s back, and tied the animals to one another in a train.

  When the ground trembled beneath my feet, I did not need to look up to know that the monstrous beasts were near the gate. They were coming, but they would not get our supplies.

  As I scrambled to gather all the food I could find, a random thought occurred to me: a safe and sheltered life . . . was a boring life.

  I grabbed the reins on the first donkey and tugged him toward the Temple Mount.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Judah

  We lost the battle of Beth-Zacharias. Perhaps it was my fault, for I freely admit that I approached the encounter with the confidence of a man who had never known defeat. I relied on the strength of my army and took the support of our God for granted.

  In any case, we lost the battle, and more important, I lost a brother.

  We fled the field in disarray, and not until later did I realize that none of us had been able to secure Eleazar’s body. The Seleucids would not bury our dead. I would be surprised if they did anything beyond tossing the bodies in a heap and setting fire to the lot. This realization brought me a great deal of grief, but it was nothing compared to what I would feel when I had to stand before Ona and inform her that her husband was gone.

  Confusion reigned in the aftermath. Once we were all inside the walls of Jerusalem, our men ran in a hundred different directions despite my pleas for them to get to the Temple fortress. Those who lived in Jerusalem went home to protect their families. Others asked for shelter from people on the street. Some simply scattered, preferring to hide in the rubble that still remained from the last time a Seleucid king visited the holy city.

  Because they scattered rather than following my orders, I knew they no longer trusted me. They would rather fend for themselves than take a chance with Judah Maccabaeus. After all, once Lysias entered the city, his first action would be to arrest Israel’s leaders.

  I plodded toward the Temple Mount, grateful that Leah and the members of my family had obeyed my instructions. The walls of Jerusalem were not completely finished, so Antiochus would be inside the city in a matter of days. But the Temple fortress had been standing for years, so it should be secure.

  I waited until Jonathan, always the straggler, entered the tower, then we barred the gates and sent my family and the members of the Jerusalem council up the stairs. After stationing men at the windows to serve as lookouts, I joined my brothers and their wives in an upstairs room where together we mourned Eleazar. The women comforted Ona, and we brothers comforted each other. “HaShem was merciful to take Father and Mother before this day,” Simon said. “They would be beside themselves with grief.”

  By sunset, tense shouts from the street below informed me that the Seleucids had reached the city walls. At midnight, one of our scouts slipped a message beneath the tower door.

  Antiochus Eupator, he wrote, had set up his camp at Mount Zion, the old City of David southeast of Jerusalem. Guided by his general, Lysias, the king had sent an emissary to Beth-zur with terms for surrender. The Jewish citizens inside the walls had no choice but to accept the king’s terms because they could not survive a siege—due to the sabbatical year, they had no food in storage. The Jews of Beth-zur left the city peacefully, and the Seleucid warriors entered and claimed the fortress in the name of the king.

  Before the battle of Beth-Zacharias, we had worried about a citadel outside the Temple. Now we had to worry about a citadel and an occupied fortress outside Jerusalem.

  Over the next few days my brothers and I frequently slipped out of the Temple tower and observed the enemy from the ramparts of the city walls. From all directions we watched Antiochus’s men set up siege towers and build war machines designed to hurl fire, stones, and boiling oil. I considered commanding my men to build the same sort of weapons, but what would be the point? Like the people of Beth-zur, we had no food stored, so we could not endure a protracted siege no matter what weapons we used.

  Neither could we guard our restored Temple forever. The Levites served as Temple guards, and Jonathan informed me that the number of guards grew smaller every day. In the face of such daunting odds, the men kept slipping away, going home to safeguard their families.

  I could not blame them.

  Faced with a siege, looming starvation, and impossible odds, one night I walked out into the Temple courtyard to pray. As men slept fitfully around me, I fell to my knees and begged HaShem for an answer to what seemed an impossible situation. God had granted us glorious victories in the beginning, so what had changed? Why had we lost Eleazar, the bravest and best of us? Why had HaShem allowed us to lose Beth-zur? Why had we never been able to rid the city of the Seleucids and renegades in the citadel?

  “And now the enemy king is camped outside your holy city,” I told HaShem. “He walks in the old City of David. Tell me, Adonai, is this the end for us? Have you brought us so far only to abandon us in your Temple? Or will you save us for your name’s sake?”

  I waited, but I heard no answer save the snores and moans of sleeping men. Above me, the moon hid its face in the clouds, as if it, too, were dismayed by the hopelessness of our situation.

  I sank to the ground and swallowed hard. I could see no way to escape. The enemy would wait until we were on the verge of starvation, then they would offer terms. They would demand that the leaders of the revolt—my brothers and I—be turned over for execution. They would insist that all worship of Jehovah cease. Then, if the young king was merciful, the women, children, and the elderly would be allowed to leave the city while the king’s men set to work. They would topple the city walls, they would tear down the sanctuary and destroy the sacred altar, an
d they would abolish all worship of the God who had given us so many victories.

  “What have I done?” I cried, my voice echoing in the Temple. “Did I disobey one of your commands? Has Israel sinned in some way? Speak to me, Adonai, as you spoke to Moses and Joshua and Samuel. Let me know what you would have me do.”

  But the Lord remained silent, so I could only listen . . . and wait for His plan to unfold.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Leah

  As a faint wind exhaled through the courtyard, I stood in one of the tower windows and watched my husband agonize in a thin sheen of moonlight. When we married, I had gone to him looking for peace and safety, and he had sought the same things for Israel. And what had happened? In Judah I found the safety I sought, but he and his men had endured a crushing defeat. Worst of all, we had lost Eleazar.

  When Judah lifted his voice in that heartrending cry, I swallowed hard and blinked back tears. I had never seen my husband so devastated, not even when we lost our son. He had always managed to accept whatever HaShem sent his way, but this—this loss must have felt like abandonment.

  Judah didn’t have to tell me what lay ahead for us. I read the inevitable in the haggard expression on his face and in the frightened eyes of the mothers of Jerusalem. They had begun to ration their children’s food, and several nights they had sent their children to bed hungry. I saw the hard truth in the gestures of the wide-eyed priests who walked slowly through the Temple, touching the walls as if storing up impressions to share with future generations.

  And I saw our reality in the army of Antiochus. Judah did not like women on the ramparts, but I climbed the stairs in search of him and saw the Seleucid army encircling Jerusalem like a wreath. I beheld the fires, the war machines, and the armored soldiers who lounged around and laughed when they looked up and spotted us. They were biding time until their attack, relaxing before the hard work of destruction would begin.

  The possibility of death did not disturb me overmuch. I had heard stories of women who endured far more suffering than I had, so I would not complain. I would not exchange my life, as bleak as it seemed in that moment, for that of a peaceful country wife.