Keepers of the Covenant (20 page)

“Yes. I’m sure,” she said, and for once she didn’t whisper.

Amina broke free from Hodaya and ran to Sayfah, hugging her tightly, wondering if she would ever see her sister again.
She couldn’t stop her tears, which were a mixture of sorrow at their separation and joy at her salvation.

“Where is your village?” Jacob asked Amina’s uncle. “Where are you taking Sayfah?”

“It’s just across the valley there,” Abdel said. “At the foot of the mountain.”

“And you know where we live in Bethlehem,” Jacob told Sayfah. “You’ll always be welcome if you ever want to come back and visit us.”

It was time to part. Amina released her sister and limped back to Hodaya’s side, taking her hand again. In spite of all the pain she felt in this moment, a tiny flame of joy warmed her heart. The Almighty One, Hodaya’s God, had answered her prayer. He had rescued her.

Her God.

B
ABYLON

D
evorah was in labor. Ezra heard her crying out in pain as he paced his courtyard with Asher, and he suffered along with her. “Why is it taking so long?” he asked. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“Hey, this is nothing!” Asher said. “My wife had our first child on the Thirteenth of Adar, remember? We were fighting for our lives when she went through this. I not only was concerned for Miriam, I was worried sick that the enemy would break through any minute and slaughter all of us.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure it was much worse for you. It’s just that . . . what if I lose her? Women die in childbirth, you know. I don’t know what I would do without Devorah.” He had married her only a year ago, and already he could barely remember what his life had been like before or how it had felt to be alone, unable to come home to Devorah’s smile, her loving arms. How had he lived without the softness and sweetness of Devorah lying beside him at night, without her gentle words as she smoothed his hair and beard or rested her hand on his shoulder? He had never imagined such contentment—but did she still think of Jude? Was she closing her eyes and pretending Ezra was him?

He heard another scream and wanted to break down the door and help her. He was glad he’d sent Abigail and Michal to stay with Miriam so they wouldn’t have to hear their mother suffering. “I went so many years without a wife,” he said, “and I used to be envious of you and Jude. I never imagined it would be so . . . so . . .” He tugged his beard as he searched in vain for the words to describe the fear and worry and distress he was experiencing. Would he have taken Jude’s advice to join the real world if he’d known how costly it would be? He had experienced much less drama and emotion, much less risk in the world of his studies and scrolls—yet Ezra knew the happiness he shared with Devorah was worth it. Devorah—his wife. “Do you think she’s okay?” he asked Asher.

“Listen to yourself. You sound like a man in love.”

“Is this what love feels like?”

“Yes. And I’d be very surprised if you didn’t love her after all the things she’s done for you.”

But did Devorah love him?

Finally—finally—the terrible screams stopped and Ezra heard the fragile cry of a baby. “Oh, thank God,” he murmured. “I need to sit down.” Asher laughed as Ezra sank down on his niece’s stool. The newborn was still wailing loudly when one of the women came out to find him. “You have a son, Rebbe Ezra.
Mazel tov.
”

He sprang to his feet. “Is Devorah all right?”

“She seems to be.”

“May I see her?”

“It’s not a good time right now.” The woman went back inside.

“What did she mean, Asher? She
seems
to be all right? Don’t they know?”

“Just be patient. They’ll call for you when they’re finished.”

“But you’ve been through this twice now. What do you think she meant? Why is it taking so long?”

“Ezra. Did you hear what she said? You have a son! Mazel tov!” Asher grabbed him in a bear hug.

Yes, he had heard. And he’d thought of Jude. “He isn’t my son, you know,” Ezra said, smiling for the first time. “He’s Jude’s son. God rewarded Devorah for obeying the law and marrying me.” He was beginning to relax when Devorah cried out again. “She’s still in pain, Asher! Something must be wrong!”

Asher sighed as if exasperated. He pushed Ezra toward the gate, away from the house. “Come on, you need to go for a walk or something. Maybe you’ll feel better if we go to the house of assembly and pray.”

“No. I’m staying right here. She might need me.” He ran his hands through his hair, knocking his kippah to the ground, then bent to pick it up again. “I couldn’t bear to lose her, Asher. You’re right. I do love her. She listens to me talk when I know I must be boring her. And she really seems to enjoy discussing the Torah with me. She knows so much about it. In fact, she’s brighter than some of my students. And sometimes when I’m so tired from answering questions and solving problems and deciding cases all day, she knows just how to lift me out of my slump and encourage me. She’s a real woman of faith. I never imagined we would grow so close—after all, she married me out of duty. But it’s such a joy to come home to her every evening and receive her affection.” He looked up at Asher, who grinned and shook his head as if amused. “What? What did I say?”

“I’m going to give you a word of advice, Ezra. When this is over, tell her. Tell Devorah what you just told me.”

The baby, who had been quiet for several minutes, suddenly began to wail again. “Something’s wrong with the baby!” Ezra said in a panic. “We need to pray!” He sank down on the stool again, burying his head in his lap as he pleaded with the Almighty One for his wife and newborn son. If only God would give him a chance, he would take Asher’s advice. He would tell
Devorah that he loved her. He would be a husband to her the way God was a husband to Israel. “Please,” he begged. “Please . . .”

After what seemed like hours, the door to the house opened again. Ezra leaped to his feet as one of the women came out. “Devorah is asking to see you.”

Dread engulfed him. The words sounded so ominous, as if his wife was about to die and needed to speak with him one last time. He hurried into their room, fearing the worst. Devorah lay on their mat looking exhausted but beautiful, her long, dark hair damp and tangled around her face. She held their new son in the crook of her arm . . . but . . . Ezra thought he must be seeing things. She had an infant in each of her arms. Where had the second child come from? He opened his mouth to ask, but nothing came out.

“Twins,” she said, smiling. “Identical sons.” She looked radiant. Ezra knelt down beside her, longing to hold her, kiss her. Thank her. But her arms were full with two tiny, fragile babies. Were all newborns so small? “He is the firstborn,” she said, nodding toward the boy closest to Ezra. The baby had a piece of yarn tied around his wrist.

“That means he’s Jude’s son,” Ezra said, stroking the child’s dark hair.

“And this is your firstborn son,” she said, indicating the other one.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, wiping his eyes. “My son! Did the Almighty One feel this much joy when He created mankind?”

Devorah smiled. “Yes, I think He must have.”

Ezra knew as he gazed at his wife and infant sons that he would do anything for them—even lay down his life for them. But the knowledge that his family was trapped here in Babylon, surrounded by pagan enemies, made it difficult to catch his breath for a moment. He had to find a way out, a way to take them home to Jerusalem.

“What’s wrong?” Devorah asked. “Your face just went pale.”

“Nothing . . . I’m—I’m overwhelmed with joy.” He wouldn’t share his fear with her and overshadow their happiness. “God gave you a double blessing, Devorah. You obeyed God’s law and married me, and look how He has blessed you! And Jude, too!”

“And He has blessed you, Ezra.”

The thought astounded him. “Yes! Yes, He has! We must redeem both boys as firstborn sons, as the Torah commands.”

“I would like to name our older son Judah—if you agree.”

“Of course. I would like that.” He bent to kiss Devorah’s forehead. “You know I’m not good with words, but I realized something this afternoon while I was waiting. . . . I don’t know when it happened, but I’ve stopped thinking of you as Jude’s wife. You’re my wife now.
My
wife, and a truly remarkable woman in every respect. I’m a better man because of you. I’ve grown to care for you, Devorah. I know I’ll never take Jude’s place—”

“Stop,” she said softly. “I’ll always think about Jude and love him. And I’ll remember him every time I look at his daughters. But Jude would want me to be happy with you. And I am.”

“You are? . . . With—with me . . . ?”

She nodded, smiling. “When I decided to talk to the elders about your work, I was surprised to realize that more than anything else, I wanted to make you happy.”

“You have, Devorah! Tell me your heart’s desire, and it’s yours.”

She sighed, looking exhausted. “The strength to raise our two sons, for now. . . . And then . . . a long life by your side.”

B
ABYLON

E
zra watched the setting sun at the close of the Sabbath day from the rooftop of his home and felt more than his usual sadness at the end of this day of rest. The darkness that slowly approached from the eastern horizon bringing heavy clouds would soon extinguish whatever light the moon and stars offered tonight. The clouds seemed prophetic, mirroring the heaviness that hovered over his soul when he prayed for the people he loved.

His family gathered around him—his wife, Devorah; his adopted daughters, Abigail and Michal, now lovely young women in their teens; his twin sons, Judah and Shallum; and the three younger daughters born to him and Devorah. Ezra kindled the
havdalah
light and recited the prayers that ended the Sabbath and ushered in a new week. The tradition helped draw a clear line between Sabbath time, consecrated to God, and ordinary days—a dividing line between the holy and the common. God chose His people to be a holy nation, a light to the Gentiles, but the ever-darkening sky that crept toward Babylon seemed an ominous picture of the increasing darkness that threatened to extinguish God’s light.

“Amen,” he said at the end of his prayer, and Ezra heard one of his children sigh as if relieved the long Sabbath day of rest had finally ended. All seven children scrambled to their feet, eager to return to activities forbidden on the Sabbath. “Judah and Shallum, please wait here with me,” Ezra said. “You girls may go downstairs and help your mother.”

He motioned for the boys to sit down again and noticed Shallum glancing up at the clouds.

The cool wind rustling across the rooftop threatened rain, blowing the clouds toward them. Ezra usually enjoyed studying Torah with his sons on Sabbath afternoons, but he hadn’t studied with them today, too grieved by the report he’d received about them just before Shabbat began. The twins stared down at the clay roof tiles, not at him, knowing what was coming. “Look at me, please,” Ezra said. They looked up, their black hair, brown eyes, and twin faces so identical that only family members could tell them apart. Eleven years of experience had taught Ezra the twins’ individual mannerisms and quirks. They would be Sons of the Commandments at the end of this year, responsible for their own souls before God. The thought made Ezra shudder.

“Did you think you could skip your lessons at the yeshiva and I wouldn’t hear about it?” he asked now. “Why weren’t you in school on the eve of Shabbat?”

“We weren’t prepared for our lesson, so we went for a walk,” Judah said. He was older by a few minutes and usually took the lead.

“We didn’t plan it,” Shallum added, as if to soften the news. “We saw a ship down by the canal and went to watch it being unloaded.”

Ezra saw Judah nudge his brother, and they exchanged a quick look—Judah signaling Shallum to be quiet, as if they were hiding something else. “Tell me the truth,” Ezra said quietly. “Did you also walk into the city? Into Babylon?”

“Yes, Abba.” They answered together, as they so often did.
Ezra used to find it amusing that they thought alike and said things simultaneously, but not today. One of them, acting alone, never would have summoned the courage to skip class, let alone wander among the pagan Babylonians. But together they were fearless. He thought of how the Holy One had confused the world’s languages at the Tower of Babel, saying,
“If as one people speaking the
same language they have begun to do this, then nothing
they plan to do will be impossible for them.”

“We knew you would be angry, Abba,” Shallum said.

“And yet you chose to go anyway?” They wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You’re right, I am angry.” And along with his anger he felt fear—fear for his sons’ spiritual well-being as well as their physical safety. “The Babylonians are our enemies. Did you stop to think it could be dangerous to wander among the Gentiles? They hate us. They tried to annihilate us barely two years before you were born. They will do it again if they get the chance. Not only that, but I’m the leader of our Jewish community. I stand before the governor as the Minister of Jewish Affairs in Babylon. Did it occur to you that you could be a target for our enemies because you’re my sons?”

Judah heaved a sigh of frustration. “Sometimes it’s very hard to be your sons, Abba.”

“Yes? How so?” He waited to hear more.

“Everyone expects us to be perfect all the time because you are,” Shallum said.

“And you expect more of us than other fathers do,” Judah added.

“Don’t you ever get tired of trying to be perfect, Abba? We do.”

“And we’re not perfect! We just wanted to get away on our own for once and explore the city.”

“We knew you’d find out and you’d have to punish us but—”

“But we decided it was worth it, just to have a day off. There. That’s the truth, Abba.”

Ezra closed his eyes for a moment at their painful words. How many times had God’s people willfully defied God’s law for the immediate pleasure it promised? Was this a taste of the fear and pain God felt when His children disobeyed Him? “So tell me,” he said with calm control, “did you learn anything on your walk? On your day off from trying to be perfect?” They didn’t reply. “What did you think of the city?”

“Parts of Babylon are very beautiful,” Judah said. Enthusiasm sparkled in his eyes and voice. “And it seemed very . . . exciting, especially compared to our community.”

“And you, Shallum?” Ezra asked. “What did you think?”

“You won’t like hearing this, Abba, but . . . the Gentiles seemed very nice. We got lost and one of them told us how to get home. A stranger.”

“Did these ‘nice’ Gentiles know you were Jewish? Were you wearing your head coverings and tassels?” Again, they didn’t reply. Their faces wore identical expressions of guilt. “I didn’t think so,” Ezra said. “These ‘nice’ Gentiles killed your father, Judah. They would have killed your mother and sisters and everyone else in our community if the Almighty One hadn’t saved us.”

“So, do we have to stay locked away in our community for the rest our lives?” Judah asked.

“The Almighty One can protect us from danger if we live in obedience to Him,” Ezra replied. “The greater threat the Gentiles pose is that their beliefs and practices will slowly creep into our way of thinking and acting. The Torah continually warns us to separate the clean from the unclean, the holy from the common. That’s why we lock ourselves away, as you put it. We stay away from Gentiles and live according to the Torah to help restore the fellowship with God that was lost when Adam and Eve were banned from
Gan
Eden.”

Judah gestured to the huddle of dull, mud brick houses below them. “This doesn’t seem like Gan Eden to us, Abba,”

“Did the city of Babylon seem more like Eden to you?”

“No,” they said in tandem. But their slumped shoulders and somber expressions were unconvincing.

“It’s not Eden, but their buildings are much more magnificent than ours,” Shallum said after a moment. “And they have parks with lots of trees.”

A gust of wind blew across the rooftop, nearly snatching Ezra’s kippah from his head and bringing the first few drops of rain. He secured his head covering and continued on, determined to get soaked rather than curtail this conversation. “You’re right, boys; I do demand a lot from you. As a family of priests, we have an even greater calling to demonstrate God’s holiness in our lives and to help others live it. Your direct ancestor, Seraiah, who was exiled here when Jerusalem was destroyed, was the High Priest under King Zedekiah—”

“And before him, Hilkiah was High Priest under King Josiah,” Judah cut in. “And Zadok served in the first temple under King Solomon. We know, Abba. You’ve told us many times before.”

“And you’re tired of hearing it?”

“It’s just that . . . we aren’t priests,” he said with a shrug. “And I don’t see how we ever will be unless we decide to build a temple for the Almighty One here in Babylon.”

“Never!” Ezra wanted to shout at the absurdity of that thought. “A temple to the Holy One can never exist side by side with temples to idols. The Holy One’s temple must be in Jerusalem, the place God commanded.”

“It’s just that . . . we know we’ll probably end up being teachers, like you,” Shallum said, “or maybe potters, like Uncle Asher. So I don’t see why we have to learn all the temple rules and regulations like the ones we skipped the other day.”

It took a great effort for Ezra to control his temper. “No matter what work you do as adults, you still have a responsibility to live by the Torah. So please explain to me about these passages you decided to skip.”

“They described things we’re supposed to do if we lived in
the Promised Land,” Judah said, “like setting aside the Year of Jubilee and bringing sacrifices to the temple and celebrating the feasts by killing lambs and bulls and waving branches.”

“Since we don’t live in Jerusalem,” Shallum added, “I don’t see why we have to learn all those things. We’ll never get to do any of them here in Babylon.”

Ezra had no idea how to reply. He longed to shout at them and lecture them, reminding them that he was responsible for their souls for only a few more months, and then they would be accountable for their own souls before God. If only he could pack up his family and leave Babylon for good and return home to the land God promised them. But that was impossible.

“I don’t hear any regret or sorrow for what you’ve done,” he finally said. “And that grieves and disappoints me.”

“We’re sorry for disappointing you,” Judah said. Shallum nodded in agreement.

“But you’re not sorry you went? What I hear you saying is that escaping from your boring lessons for a day and seeing Babylon was worth being disciplined, as far as you’re concerned. You’ll take whatever punishment I dole out, but at least you had a day of freedom. Am I right?”

“It’s hard having such a wise father,” Judah said after a pause.

Now they were trying to manipulate him, taking advantage of his love for them, a fierce love Ezra never imagined he would feel. “Unfortunately, my wisdom is failing me at the moment, and I can’t think of a suitable punishment to make an impression on you. Five strikes with the rod? Ten? Do you know what the Torah says to do with wayward sons?”

“Stone them,” they said in unison. But Ezra saw no fear on their faces. They were well aware of how much he loved them. Even so, fear of losing his sons to the evils of Babylon felt like a crushing weight on his chest. What if he spent his lifetime helping the people in his community follow God, yet ended up losing his own sons?

At last he exhaled. “To make up for missing your lessons, you will have to go to the house of assembly in your spare time and read the portion you skipped. When you’re prepared, you will present the lesson to me instead of your teacher, and we’ll see if we can find relevance in those passages for your lives here in Babylon. Of course, you’ll also keep up with your regular yeshiva lessons.”

“That’s a lot of extra study, Abba,” Shallum said.

“We’re preparing for our
bar mitzvah
, too,” his brother added. But Ezra could tell by their expressions they were relieved, thinking this was the only punishment they would receive.

“I know it’s a lot of work. And I’m expecting even more. I’m very troubled to learn that Babylon has such a powerful attraction for you, and your studies and your life in our dull community do not. When you finish the portion you skipped, I want you to search God’s Word and find three passages for me that speak to your discontent. Three examples of people who were dissatisfied with God’s commands and provision. And then tell me what God said—and did—about their discontent. This is the ‘learning’ part. I will let you know what the punishment part will be after I’ve had a chance to pray about it.”

“Yes, Abba. May we go inside now?” The rain was falling harder, the drops thick and chilling.

“Yes, go inside.”

With a house as small as theirs, Devorah easily overheard every word her husband and sons had said. “Won’t the boys resent the Torah even more if you use it as a punishment?” she asked when they were alone in their room that night, the room that used to be Ezra’s when he was single. He sank onto a stool near the door to remove his sandals, and she could sense the heaviness of his heart.

“I’m not using it to punish them. The Torah is God’s Word.
They need to hear God teaching them these lessons, not me. Hopefully, they’ll find it more difficult to disappoint the Almighty One than to disappoint me.”

“They’re young boys,” she said as she spread out their sleeping mat. “Didn’t you ever crave a little excitement now and then when you were their age?” He didn’t answer her question, and when she looked up and saw his puzzled expression, she smiled. “Let me guess—your idea of excitement was studying a new passage of Scripture. Am I right?”

“I loved to study and could never get enough of it. I wouldn’t dream of cutting class. Jude and Asher wandered into mischief occasionally, but . . . Forgive me. I sounded pompous and prideful. Did you hear our sons’ accusation that I was too ‘perfect,’ and they were tired of being perfect? I’m very far from perfect!”