Isaiah's Daughter

by Mesu Andrews

  I waited in the silence, sure I’d said enough. Finally, she spoke. “I can’t let my heart love him now, Zibah. Not with Assyria at our gates.” She looked up then. “When I heard they were coming, the warnings felt like those we received in the days before Bethlehem was attacked. Some wanted to leave. Others were certain Yahweh would save us. But they came, Zibah. The soldiers came, and we were helpless.” Her voice broke, and she rubbed the work-hardened calluses on her hands. “I hope you don’t remember.”

  We’d never talked about it. As children, we were swept from captivity into Isaiah’s household and had little time to dwell on feelings. “Yes, Yaira, I do remember. And I’m afraid. I’m afraid of Assyria’s approach, but I also fear for you.” She looked at me, eyes brimming with tears. “For as long as I can remember, Yahweh has given me the gift of your love and friendship. But I fear you’ll hold too tightly to me or to your painful memories and miss the better things Yahweh would give.” I pulled her into my arms. “People will fail us. Armies can’t always save us. But Yahweh is faithful forever.”

  “I know you’re right, Zibah. It’s just hard to trust in the moment.”

  I nodded, releasing her to look into her eyes. “My words sound brave, but you’ve seen me at my best and my worst. No one trusts all the time.”

  “Zibah, you have become stronger since you spent time copying the prophecies.”

  I smiled a little. “We must keep our eyes on eternity, my friend, for today is sometimes more than we can bear.”

  The waiting was excruciating. Jerusalem’s gates had been closed for two days, and our carrier pigeons brought no word of Assyrian movement from outlying villages. Yaira and I had visited the harem yesterday morning, trying to allay fears and answer questions. Abijah told me of the underground tunnels where she and Hezi hid during Israel’s siege on Jerusalem many years ago. I pretended surprise. Would she be amused or offended if I told her Isaiah and Aya—her best friend—had hidden the prophets in those same tunnels? The Abijah I knew now would likely laugh with me.

  Today, Yaira and I hurried along the cobblestone street to Abba and Ima’s house accompanied by Amram and three additional guards. Hezi said he’d rather I stay in the palace, but I needed to see my parents. Sentimentality, yes, but I also needed to speak with Abba. Perhaps Yahweh had spoken to clarify something I could share with Judah’s king.

  When we entered the courtyard gate, Abba was waiting with an unsealed scroll. As he extended the scroll to me, Yaira hurried into the house. Abba’s expression revealed nothing. “Deliver this to Hezekiah. It is the word of the Lord without my personal opinion.”

  His faint grin hoisted the weight from my shoulders. I took the scroll from him, hope rising within. “Is it good news?”

  He could hide his smile no longer. “Read it for yourself, Daughter. I’m sure Hezekiah will share it with you.”

  I unrolled the parchment with trembling hands and began reading my abba’s familiar scrawl. “The Holy One of Israel says, ‘Look around you. Will you admit now that I am God? I told you long ago that these things would happen so you could not say, “My idols brought them to pass.” From now on I will tell you new things, hidden things, you’ve never heard before. For my own name’s sake, I will delay my wrath. For the sake of my praise I hold it back from you, so as not to destroy you completely. See, I have refined you and tested you in the furnace of affliction because I will not yield my glory to another.’ ”

  I released the breath I was holding. “Did Yahweh just promise He wouldn’t destroy Jerusalem?”

  Abba’s brows rose. “Yes, He did.”

  I threw my arms around his neck and wet his shoulder with my tears. “Thank you, Abba.”

  “I’m only the mouthpiece, my girl. It’s Yahweh we must thank. It is His mercy that saved us. But His judgment may yet test our northern villages.”

  I sobered, dropping my arms. “Did He reveal that Assyria will attack them?”

  He looked briefly at his sandals. “No. It is only my opinion, which is why it’s not written in the scroll. I’ve given much thought to Hezekiah’s complaints of my opinion versus prophecy, and I believe I still have a right to express my opinion as long as I clearly distinguish it from Yahweh’s words.” He lifted both eyebrows. “Assyria will still invade our northern villages, Zibah. That is the opinion of a man who served as foreign minister for three kings.”

  I heard the rebuke in his voice and looked at the scroll in my hand. “Why didn’t you deliver this scroll to Hezi yourself? He’s the one who needs to hear what you’ve just explained about distinguishing prophecy from opinion.”

  The lines in Abba’s face suddenly seemed deeper, the rings under his eyes darker. “I can’t engage in a word battle with Hezi right now. And that’s what most of our discussions become.” He dragged his hand down the length of his face, releasing a weary sigh. “Yahweh said He would delay His wrath, Zibah, which means the rod of His judgment still depends on the decisions of our king and the people of Judah.”

  “What do you mean?” My anger flashed quick and hot. “What more can Hezi do to please Yahweh?”

  Abba stood silent, eyes closed, lips pressed firmly together. I would get no answer from Yahweh’s prophet.

  I rolled the scroll in my hand and recited the first of the Ten Commandments before responding. “I’ll point out the word delay to our king. I’m sure he’ll remain vigilant—as he has from the first day of his reign until now.” I looked at Abba again.

  He seemed as weary as every advisor in the palace, but this time his eyes held compassion for his daughter. “Like my prophecies in which doom often overshadows promises, Hezekiah hears my criticism more than my praise. Even in this, I must obey Yahweh first, Zibah, rather than curry the favor of a king I love like my son.” He kissed my cheek and turned toward the house.

  I watched him walk away. A little slower. A little more stooped. And my heart ached. I shouldn’t have responded in anger. “I love you, Abba.”

  He stopped and turned to look at me. “And I you, Daughter—delight of the Lord.”

  50

  In the fourteenth year of King Hezekiah’s reign, Sennacherib king of Assyria attacked all the fortified cities of Judah and captured them. Then the king of Assyria sent his field commander [Rabshakeh] with a large army from Lachish to King Hezekiah at Jerusalem. When the [Rabshakeh] stopped at the aqueduct of the Upper Pool, on the road to the Launderer’s Field, Eliakim son of Hilkiah the palace administrator, Shebna the secretary, and Joah son of Asaph the recorder went out to him.

  —Isaiah 36:1–3

  Hezi sat on his throne in an empty courtroom clasping a tiny parchment in his hand. The terrible news had arrived on a carrier pigeon, the band on its leg bearing the colors of Judah’s fortified city of Sokoh. The parchment read, “Assyrian attack. City falling.”

  King Sennacherib had kept the tribute and attacked anyway. The report from the Judean spies had also proven exact. Three days. Assyria had officially invaded Judah—and Yahweh had not intervened. After two days of no pigeon communication, today’s birds had flown in from all directions, reporting major devastation. Faithful Judeans were dying torturous deaths, staked on poles as high as their fortified walls once were. No miraculous victories.

  “Is it true?” Her voice was small, vulnerable, like the first time he’d heard it.

  Hezi lifted his eyes to his beautiful wife, approaching like a lost lamb. “Reports are still coming in, but we know Assyrian troops have taken Sokoh. Their walls had been fortified because it was a military depot, so the weaker cities nearby have likely already been destroyed.”

  Zibah took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. No tears. “Will the Assyrians take prisoners?” She was trying so hard to be brave.

  “A few will serve the soldiers in camp.” Hezi left his throne and pulled her into his arms. “Assyrian troops wait until the end of a campaign to relocate captives.” Relocate. It sounded so neat and tidy, but it meant a nation lost its identi
ty when most of its citizens were forever removed from their homes and family.

  She looked up at him, trembling now. “Is there anything we can do to help the villagers?”

  “We sent extra troops in hopes they could hold the cities under siege, but even the fortified walls fell quickly against the Assyrians’ new war machines.” Hezi squeezed her tighter. “Jerusalem’s citizens have worked night and day to block nearby springs and wells. Assyrian spies almost certainly reported back to King Sennacherib by now, so he’ll likely come here last.” “Almost certainly…likely.” Could she tell he was terrified too?

  They stood in the cavernous courtroom in silence for a long time. Waiting. Praying. “Hezi?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What do we do now?”

  He searched the windows of her soul. There was fear, of course, but also strength in those depths. “I’ve asked Eliakim to assemble the whole city at this evening’s sacrifice. We must prepare our hearts to stay faithful when Assyria comes. Will you stand with me?”

  She looked away. “I won’t break God’s Law and stand under the king’s canopy, Hezi.”

  He tipped her chin, drawing her to look at him. “I wouldn’t ask you to break the Law. I’ll stand among the people—with you.”

  Her breath caught. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

  “They must know that I am with them. If Jerusalem falls, I fall with it.” He nearly choked on the hard truth. The whole line of David was at stake, God’s eternal promise. Yahweh, You must hear and answer!

  Zibah hugged him as if he were a lifeline. He couldn’t let her sense his fear. Nor could he show it to the thousands of citizens who would gather at tonight’s sacrifice. Can fear and faith dwell together in one heart, Lord? It must be so. Because in this moment, Hezi believed Yahweh could deliver Jerusalem. But would He?

  Hezi folded his arms across his chest and exchanged a wry glance with Zibah. She looked weary, but relief brightened her features. Yesterday he’d delivered the news of Judah’s fallen cities and seen despair darken her lovely eyes. Last night’s sacrifice and worship had been healing balm and kept them at the Temple until the moon reached its zenith. But it was Eliakim’s predawn shouting at their door that infused his wife’s face with hope this morning.

  The royal advisors whispered and pointed at Eliakim’s empty chair.

  “I called this special meeting,” Hezi said, “because our palace administrator—and chief engineer—woke me before dawn with the news.” He paused, relishing the anticipation on their faces. “The tunnel connected! We have water inside Jerusalem!”

  The gallery of advisors erupted in applause, the response Hezi had hoped for. They needed something to celebrate after having closed Jerusalem’s gates three days ago.

  After sharing their joy, Hezi called the group to order. “Let’s hear the rest of your reports.”

  As conscientious as ever, Shebna was first to stand. In his role as palace secretary, he’d garnered every statistic in the land. “We closed our gates three days ago, so we have no income from merchant taxation. Twenty-seven new babies since yesterday’s report and seven deaths.” He glanced at Hezi. “No deaths in Jerusalem were war related.”

  How many had died outside Jerusalem’s walls? Shebna was thinking it, and the same grief shone from every advisor’s eyes as Hezi scanned the gallery. Each of them had friends or family in outlying villages. “Thank you, Shebna,” Hezi said. “Any other reports?” Averted glances and shaking heads told him to move on. “Commander Jokim, yours is the report we’re all waiting to hear—the war-related deaths in Judah.”

  The general’s booming voice echoed off the near-empty courtroom walls. “Of the five military depot cities, we’ve received messages by carrier pigeon from Sokoh, Hebron, and Ziph. They’ve suffered total destruction. Signal flags tell us Lachish is currently under heavy siege.” Hezi’s heart skipped a beat. His brother Mattaniah had been governor in Lachish for ten years now. He hadn’t visited Jerusalem in that time. Ima said he was simply too busy to attend Yahweh’s feasts and festivals. Hezi feared Lachish, where pagan worship had been strongest under Ahaz, might have resumed pagan worship. Abba’s early influence on Mattaniah may have proven too strong for his little brother to overcome.

  The report on Jerusalem regained Hezi’s attention. “We’re the only military stronghold untouched by the Assyrians. We expect King Sennacherib to split his army after a concerted push against Lachish and then send a significant force against us soon thereafter.”

  Hezi saw his advisors whispering concerns and voiced his own. “How long can Lachish stand against such an assault, Commander?”

  “Lachish, like Jerusalem, has favorable positioning atop a plateau.” He turned to the council with a reassuring lift of his brows. “And its walls and gates were fortified by the sweat of our own king’s brow.”

  “What about Egypt?” one of the advisors shouted. “Weren’t they supposed to help us?”

  Jokim stood, taking a commanding position over the other men. “An Egyptian force is currently moving northerly to provide aid and protection for our coastal cities along the Great Sea. They’ll move east into the coastal plain when General Tirhakah joins the regular troops with his elite guard.”

  “Thank you, Commander.” Hezi noticed an uneasy rumble among his advisors. “Our Egyptian friends are honoring our treaty.” A few nodded their agreement. Others still looked as if the sky might fall tomorrow.

  Zibah leaned close. “Perhaps now is a good time to remind your counsel of Yahweh’s prophecy that Jerusalem will not be destroyed.” She straightened on Bathsheba’s throne, graceful and gentle, with the heart of a lion and the strength of an army. She had no idea how beautiful she was.

  A commotion in the back of the courtroom stole Hezi’s attention. Eliakim flung open the door and ran up the aisle. Still covered in mud from the digging and celebration, he stopped at the foot of the dais, hands on his knees, breathless. “King Sennacherib sent his officials, Hez. And they brought thousands of their friends.”

  Hezi swallowed the boulder in his throat. “Have they made demands?”

  The advisors stilled, and Eliakim’s voice filled the room. “Assyria’s top three soldiers—the Tartan, Rabsaris, and Rabshakeh—came from Lachish. They will meet only with King Hezekiah.”

  Zibah grabbed Hezi’s hand. “You can’t meet with them. No matter what they say or promise, you can’t trust them.”

  When Hezi turned for advice from his counselors, they looked as if he’d already been skewered on an Assyrian stake. “I’ve heard from my best advisor. What do the rest of you say?”

  All spoke at once, but every one of them agreed with the queen.

  Hezi returned his attention to Eliakim, who shrugged and said, “I’m going, Hez. Who will you send with me?”

  Hezi’s throat tightened. Eliakim had always been his protector. Yahweh, protect him now. He scanned the gallery of advisors. If he asked for volunteers, Commander Jokim would be first to stand and would single-handedly ignite King Sennacherib’s fury.

  He must send someone familiar with the Assyrian language in case they attempted to veil their communication during the face-to-face negotiations. “Shebna, are you willing to accompany Eliakim?”

  Shebna stood too quickly. “I am at your service, my king.”

  Hezi’s heart ached a little at the next appointment. “Joah?”

  The young recorder lifted his reed from the parchment and looked up, seeming oblivious to what was about to be asked of him.

  “There must be a record of the conversation between the Assyrian officials and the leaders of Judah.” He waited until his meaning dawned on the man’s features. “Are you willing to serve?”

  His gulp echoed in the room. “I am willing, my king.” He quickly wrote down their conversation—perhaps so the recorder himself couldn’t change his mind.

  “It’s settled then.” Hezekiah stood, and his counsel stood with him. “We will wait and pray while our three frien
ds conduct business with our enemies. We’ll reconvene after the midday respite.”

  51

  Then Eliakim…Shebna…and Joah…went to Hezekiah, with their clothes torn, and told him what the [Rabshakeh] had said.

  —2 Kings 18:37

  The council filed out of the courtroom, and Samuel escorted Hezi and me to our chamber for more waiting. I had memorized Abba’s most recent prophecy and recited it silently, trusting Yahweh to delay His wrath on Jerusalem as He promised—even though thousands of Assyrians now waited outside Jerusalem’s gates. Could Abba have heard wrong? No. Yahweh spoke. He will prove faithful.

  After Samuel deposited us in our chamber and closed the door, Hezi searched my face. “What are you thinking?”

  How could I describe my deceptive heart? “It’s as if my emotions are a dark cloth that covers my eyes and distorts what I know to be true.”

  His brows knit together, considering my description, and then he offered his hand. “Let’s sit in the sunshine while we wait and pray.” Seven lamps lit the room with only a sliver of sunlight peeking through the curtains.

  I followed Hezi toward the balcony. “It looks like a beautiful day,” he said. “I wonder why Yaira left the curtains closed.”

  He yanked them open, and I gasped, wishing he’d left them closed. Below in the Kidron Valley, like a sea of black and crimson, thousands of Assyrian soldiers camped. Seeing them was worse than hearing about them.

  Hezi walked out and leaned over the railing, straining to see farther south. “Zibah, come look.”

  My feet felt rooted to the limestone balcony. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Shaking from head to toe, I stared at the sea of soldiers and could think of nothing but death. The horrific death that awaited city leaders who refused to open their gates to Assyrian oppressors. Wives and children tortured while their husbands watched. Hezi would see me die. But death wasn’t the worst of their tortures. Yahweh, take me now before they destroy my humanity.