Love in a Broken Vessel

by Mesu Andrews

  The drums in King Jeroboam’s temple kept beating, but Gomer stood like the blazing idol before her, staring at Amaziah. Somehow he was responsible for her life of pain. Deep, writhing hate rose within her as she watched the pompous fool clap off beat. She had been ten when her abba Diblaim sold her to Samaria’s priestess—the same day Amaziah was made Israel’s high priest. The same day Abba Diblaim became high priest at Bethel.

  Some men’s careers were built on little girls’ beauty. The thought that she had been bartered for her abba’s political favor consumed her with alternating hate and despair. A shiver worked through her. Gomer shook her head, trying to clear the memories. She must be at her best if she hoped to earn enough silver to escape with Merav tonight. She closed her eyes, willing herself to enjoy the drums, to feel the vibration of the beat beneath her feet.

  She resumed her dance toward the king’s platform, passing the new altar, an image of a man with a bull’s head, seated with legs crossed. Flames burned amber and white in its belly, the heat nearly singeing her. She gave the brazen beast a wide berth, marveling at its size and intensity. Twice as tall as a man, the image was wide enough for a camel to stand inside its fire chamber. She’d never seen anything like it in Samaria—or in Bethel, for that matter. The Canaanites had many gods, and Gomer felt cheated by her simple Israelite worship of El and Asherah, Baal and Anat.

  Asherah was her patron goddess, blessing and cursing the fertility rites of men and women. Gomer had given Israel’s gods the respect they’d been due, but something about this brazen furnace drew her, aroused her. The drums beat faster, and she flung her arms wide. She tipped back her head, abandoning herself to laugh and dance. The bells around her waist, ankles, and wrists tinkled in time with the bass thrum-pumming of the drums, and she was lost in the thrill of all this new god might offer.

  “Listen to the word of Yahweh, you Israelites.” A deep, male voice scraped her nerves, resounded over the drums, and hushed the noisy crowd. “Yahweh brings these charges against you.”

  Gomer’s spell was broken. Yahweh? She hadn’t heard of that god since Bethel, since Hosea . . .

  “Who dares interrupt the king’s holy sacrifice?” Amaziah rose from his gilded couch and stood at the edge of the king’s dais, searching the sea of faces. The crowd writhed and stirred until one man stood alone—encircled by curious but cautious spectators.

  “There is no faith, no love, and no knowledge of Elohim in this land,” the intruder continued, but Gomer couldn’t get close enough to see his face. “There is cursing, lying, murdering, stealing, and adultery. That is why the land is drying up, and everyone who lives in it is passing away—your animals, birds, and fish are dying too, are they not?”

  “Don’t lay blame on Israel’s leaders when it’s the people who commit these heinous crimes.” The high priest’s volume rose, as did the small humps where his shoulders belonged. Gomer had always thought Amaziah’s physique was more serpent than man.

  She weaved through the crowd. One more fat Israelite to pass, and I’ll finally see the Yahweh prophet.

  “It is Yahweh who says to you, Amaziah: My case is against you priests. I will destroy My people because they are ignorant. And because you have refused to learn and teach, I will refuse to let you be My priests. You have forgotten the teachings of your Elohim, so I will forget your children, Israel.”

  Finally! Gomer emerged from the crowd and found herself standing face-to-face with the prophet. By Asherah’s bosoms—no!

  “Hosea?” The word escaped in a whisper, and thank the gods, he didn’t hear her.

  But it was him.

  She’d always been the bold one on their childhood adventures. Now look at him. Her timid friend, now Yahweh’s fiery prophet. Her heart pounding louder than the drums that set her feet dancing, she watched her long-ago friend. In many ways he was the same. Curly hair. Soft brown eyes—as round and innocent as they were twelve years ago.

  Then he met Gomer’s gaze. And she saw his innocence shatter.

  Hosea bent forward, clutching his gut as if he’d taken a blow. Murmurs rose from the crowd, and he knew he had to continue with God’s message, but how? Maybe it’s not her. He allowed his eyes to wander across the mosaic floor tiles to the henna-dyed feet of the prostitute before him. Slowly, almost painfully, his eyes traveled the length of her scantily clad form. Every bangle, veil, and bell had been expertly placed to accentuate the smooth skin and perfect curves of the little girl he’d known in Bethel.

  She reached up awkwardly, covering the scar on her forehead from her fall out of the temple rafters. But she couldn’t hide the beauty mark beside her left nostril. She’d hated it as a child and tried to scrub it off with mashed cucumber and pine sap. It hadn’t worked, and now it distinguished her as a rare and exotic beauty.

  Hosea felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped like a frightened little boy. The crowd laughed, then gasped, but before he turned, he saw hatred in Gomer’s eyes when she glimpsed the old prophet behind him.

  Jonah had removed his hood, revealing his curdled skin and, subsequently, his identity. “My son, you must continue,” he whispered. “I realize you’ve become distracted—”

  “You don’t understand, Jonah. She’s—”

  “Yahweh understands, Hosea. Not even the smallest detail escapes His knowledge or plan.” He stepped back then, giving his student the freedom to choose. Ministry or distraction. He glanced again in Gomer’s direction, his heart breaking when she turned away.

  And then his anger flared.

  “Thus says Yahweh: the more priests there are, the more they sin against Me. So I will turn their glory into shame. They will eat, but they’ll never be full. They will have sex with prostitutes, but they’ll never have children.”

  He saw Gomer’s head snap in his direction, a wicked stare warning him to stop. He could not—even for his beloved friend.

  “Israel has abandoned Yahweh, and a spirit of prostitution leads them astray. They commit adultery by giving themselves to other gods.”

  Amaziah began to laugh and said to Jeroboam and Menahem, “It appears this young man does not approve of our lovely Gomer.” The crowd joined the mocking, pawing and lunging at the young prostitutes sprinkled among them.

  Hosea shoved the man who had taken Gomer into his arms. “Stay away from her!”

  “No! You stay away from me!” she shouted and nestled into the man’s barreled chest. She glanced over her shoulder at Hosea, almost daring him to defend her again.

  What had they done to her? Why would Gomer run into the arms of a man who would misuse her when Hosea could help her and restore their friendship? His chest ached at the pain of her betrayal.

  “Yahweh understands,” Jonah had said moments ago, when he thought Hosea had simply been distracted by a harlot’s lovely form. Well, finally, Hosea understood. He grasped Yahweh’s indescribable pain of a nation who refused His attempts to woo them, choosing instead to worship other lovers. Indignation fueled his passion.

  “My people offer sacrifices on mountaintops and burn incense on hills and under oaks and poplars. That is why your daughters become prostitutes and your daughters-in-law commit adultery.” His last words seemed to quiet the crowd. Evidently the mention of adulterous daughters-in-law strummed heartstrings that remained silent for lowly prostitutes. “‘Yet I will not punish your daughters when they become prostitutes,’ says Yahweh, ‘or your daughters-in-law when they commit adultery. For it is the men who go to prostitutes and offer sacrifices with the temple prostitutes. And Israel herself acts like a prostitute!’ Lord God, let not Judah become guilty too!”

  Barely had the word Judah escaped when King Jeroboam sprang from his throne. “Enough! I’ve heard enough from this seer. I recognize you, Jonah. You old conniver. How dare you hide behind a pink-cheeked boy to pronounce doom on a kingdom you helped build?”

  Jonah stepped forward and bowed while soldiers marched closer. “You are right, King Jeroboam, it is I, Jonah. But you are w
rong when you say I helped build your kingdom.” A serene smile stretched the old man’s mottled skin. “I delivered Yahweh’s message to you and your abba Jehoash. Elohim is the one who restored Israel’s boundaries from Hamath to the Dead Sea. Not King Jehoash. Not you. And certainly not me. Give Yahweh alone the glory—or prepare this nation to face His wrath.”

  The guards arrived just then and grabbed Jonah’s arms roughly.

  “He’s an old man,” Hosea said, shoving one soldier away. “You needn’t force him. We’ll leave.” He placed a protective arm around Jonah’s shoulders and walked toward the courtyard, shouting, “Israel is as stubborn as a bull. How can Yahweh feed you like lambs in open pasture? The people of Ephraim choose to worship idols, so we will leave you alone for now, but when you’re done drinking your wine and lying with your prostitutes, the wind will carry you all away. Your sacrifices will bring you shame!”

  “Remove them from my sanctuary!” Jeroboam shouted. “Resume the drums!”

  Hosea heard the pounding begin again and glanced at Jonah, worried that the guards might have harmed him. Instead, he was met with a satisfied grin and a nod of approval.

  “Nooo!” A woman’s scream split the amiable moment.

  Both prophets were shoved from the sanctuary while an old woman clawed and kicked at the soldiers leading her in. Blood streamed from her nose and a cut above her eye. She’d been beaten—probably by the massive soldier walking ahead of her. He held a squalling infant, swaddled and raised high above his head like an offering. Who was this woman? Too old to be the baby’s ima, was she the savta, protecting her daughter’s child?

  Panic fueled Hosea’s strength, and he made a final attempt to escape his captors. One of the soldiers landed a blow across his cheek with the hilt of his sword, and Jonah grabbed Hosea’s forearm before he could fight back.

  “No, my son,” Jonah said. “We have been obedient to Yahweh’s will. Now Israel must choose to repent and obey or engage in the single most abominable act of humankind. If they sacrifice that child in the fire, they’ll be no better than the Canaanites, and they’ll be driven from Yahweh’s Promised Land into exile.”

  Hosea was given no time to think, no time to decide. The soldiers dragged both prophets outside the temple courtyard and threw them into the drainage ditch of Samaria’s main street. They sat in the stench, listening as the drums beat faster and the crowd shouted louder.

  It seemed to last an eternity. And then the drums stopped.

  A single wail split the air, and Hosea pictured the beaten old woman. When the voice was snuffed out abruptly, he wondered what fate had befallen the only one who dared defy her nation.

  4

  • EXODUS 22:29–30 •

  [Yahweh said to Moses,] “You must give me your firstborn son. . . . They will stay with their mothers seven days, but on the eighth day you must give them to me.”

  Gomer watched in horror as Menahem’s captain paraded through the frenzied crowd, holding the swaddled infant above his head. She’d been with many of Israel’s most influential soldiers, but this man, Eitan, was second in cruelty to Menahem alone. The drums beat louder, faster, and she measured the guard’s pace with his obvious destination. She angled through the crowd, arriving at the altar moments before Eitan.

  “Please, please . . .” She knelt before him, the heat from the furnace nearly igniting her veils. But before she could continue, he swept her aside with a casual kick, and she landed awkwardly on her side.

  Merav saw her lying there and seemed torn about whom to protect—the babe destined for the fire, or Gomer, the girl she’d cared for so long. The moment passed and Gomer knew. Merav was saying good-bye.

  Eitan held the infant aloft, facing the brazen image. He stood just a camel’s length from the roaring flames while two guards held Merav between them. She had stopped struggling, but the blade of a dagger still glinted against her left side. Gomer bowed her head and wept.

  “Do not let a bitter young man and a vindictive old prophet disillusion you, Israel.” Amaziah raised his arms and shouted above the noise. The crowd quieted, but the drums kept pounding. “The priests of Israel know the Law of Moses as well as Jonah, but he selects the laws that serve his purpose. For didn’t El also say to our great prophet Moses, ‘You must give me your firstborn sons; they may stay with their imas for seven days, but on the eighth day you must give them to me’? It is El, the benign one, who has allowed Mot to overpower Prince Baal and keep the rains from us. So be warned, O godly Mot, that the fearsome Anat contemplates the battle. We will finally do as we’ve been told and offer a firstborn to the gods. Let our tidings stir Anat’s fury, the desire for her lover, Baal. Let the rider of the clouds again grace the skies with thunder and lightning. Receive, O Baal, this offering, and pour down rain from the window of your palace.” Israel’s high priest dropped his arms, and the drums fell silent.

  Eitan lofted the swaddled babe in a perfect arc into the altar flames, and in the same moment Merav lunged forward. Gomer watched the guard’s dagger sink deep into her friend’s side. Merav wilted where she stood, unable to make a sound.

  “Nooo!” Gomer wailed and tried to crawl to her, but Eitan grabbed Gomer’s hair and brought his knee into her belly. All breath left her.

  “Get the old woman out of here,” he whispered to his men through clenched teeth. “I’ll take care of the harlot.”

  Music began playing again, and the crowd roared in celebration. Flutes and lyres joined the drums, reviving the frenzied worship, while Gomer lay gasping for breath. All around her, feet were dancing and harlots’ bells tinkled.

  “Rejoice,” Amaziah exalted. “Rejoice with me, people of Israel! Surely our gods have heard our prayers and will answer us quickly. Take your pleasure where you find it, and may Asherah’s fertile groves fill your every desire.”

  “Get up.” Eitan jerked Gomer by her hair and trapped her ear against his lips. “You should know better than to detract from Amaziah’s big moment. I’m afraid you’ll have to pay for your poor judgment.” He held her under one arm and dragged her toward the courtyard exit. She tried to struggle free, but he crushed her to his side.

  Barely able to catch her breath because of the stabbing pain in her ribs, she croaked out the words, “What will happen to Merav’s body?”

  Eitan didn’t answer. She assumed he was ignoring her concern, but after clearing the crowded courtyard, Eitan turned down a deserted street beside the temple and asked, “Who?”

  “Merav, the old—”

  Before she could finish, understanding lit his features. “You were wailing about the old hag, not the child? I should have known a woman like you would have no maternal instinct.” He chuckled and shoved her into a corner.

  The street ended at the courtyard wall. She had nowhere to run. “Please, Eitan. I’m the only family Merav had. I need to wash and wrap her body for burial.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “So you remember my name? I’m flattered.”

  She saw an advantage, stepped toward him, and reached up to caress his cheek. “Of course I remember you. You’re the only man—” White-hot pain seared her cheekbone, and she found herself on the ground looking up at the giant.

  He yanked her to her feet and drew her close. “I’d love to hear all the wonderful things you would say about me, but I cannot let your actions go unpunished. Because I like you, I’ll have the old woman’s body sent to Tamir’s brothel.” He smiled, and Gomer’s stomach knotted. “Unfortunately, I doubt that you’ll be in any condition to prepare her for burial.”

  Then the blows began, and Gomer waited for sweet darkness to rescue her.

  “I can’t do it, Jonah.” Hosea cut a slice of hard cheese and offered it to his friend. “Besides, Yahweh didn’t say I must marry Gomer. He said I must marry a prostitute and have children with her. I didn’t even know Gomer was a prostitute.” Hosea’s heart was in his throat at even acknowledging the fact.

  Jonah cut a slice of cheese, placed it on a pie
ce of bread, and took a bite. Nodding. Chewing. He stared at the afternoon sun from their shady hillside outside of Samaria. They’d escaped the city when they heard the worship resume in Jeroboam’s temple and waited here for Yahweh’s instruction.

  Jonah took another bite. Chewed. Watched travelers pass by on the road beyond. Took another bite.

  “Say something!” Hosea’s frustrated shout drew the attention of a nearby family, who quickly gathered their supplies and started toward town. “I know you have an opinion, and perhaps the Lord has even given you a message for me?”

  Jonah set aside his meal and rested his elbow on his bent knee. “I believe everything you’ve just said is wishful thinking. First, you wish Yahweh would speak to me because you want someone else to tell you what’s right. But you are God’s prophet for this moment in Israel’s history, my son. And then you wish for a prostitute you don’t know because if you love her, she’ll hurt you. But isn’t the point of God’s prophecy that you should feel His love and His pain? It seems to me this Gomer is the only woman who holds the same place in your heart that Israel holds with God. Who else could you ever love as you love this girl?”

  “I don’t love Gomer,” he said, indignation rising.

  “More wishful thinking.” Jonah reached for the cheese and knife and began eating again.

  “She was like a sister to me in Bethel. We were inseparable after our imas died during childbirth one month apart. Her abba and mine were priests, but her abba had a reputation for drink and violence. She was the girl who fell out of the rafters the day Amos prophesied, remember?”

  Understanding dawned on Jonah’s features. “She was the girl you begged your abba to betroth to you and take to Tekoa, but her abba wouldn’t allow it.”

  Hosea’s throat tightened, and he swallowed his warring emotions. “She was six when I left Bethel, Jonah. What happened to her?”

  “She is a beautiful woman, Hosea, and she was a beautiful child.” Jonah cleared his throat, keeping his head bowed. Hosea knew his tenderhearted friend was fighting to control his emotions. “If her abba refused Beeri’s betrothal agreement and bride-price, we can assume he was certain of a better offer to come.”