Keepers of the Covenant (32 page)

J
ERUSALEM

D
evorah knelt inside her tent in the dark to arrange their bedding for the night, unhappy with the news Ezra had just told her. “Do we really have to move into the governor’s house?” she asked. “I won’t be sorry to move out of this tent, of course, but I can’t imagine living in a house that big. Who needs all that space? And servants to cook for us and wait on us? I’m happy with a simple life.”

Ezra sat cross-legged near the door, writing in his journal, bending close to see it in the light of a single oil lamp. Ever since he’d traveled to Susa, he’d written in it each night, keeping a record of everything he did. Devorah could see the scroll was going to run out very soon. “I agree,” he said without looking up, “but the elders insisted we live there.”

Devorah shook the blanket as she spread it out, causing Ezra’s lamp to flicker. “I’m very uncomfortable with such luxuries when Miriam and Asher and all the others are doing without. Why can’t we build a house like the one we had in Babylon? That was big enough, wasn’t it?”

“The elders believe it gives me stature and respect among the other provincial leaders if I live in the governor’s residence.”

“People should respect you for who you are and how well you lead us, not for where you live.”

He made a helpless gesture, still not looking up from his work. “People have strange priorities sometimes.”

“It can’t be avoided, then?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not. I trust you’ll soon get used to it.”

Devorah poked the blankets, searching for lumps, smoothing the wrinkles, trying to imagine having servants hovering everywhere, intruding on their privacy. “When?” she asked. Ezra stopped writing and looked up at her, puzzled. “When do I have to move into this palace and be waited on by servants?” She didn’t try to disguise her scorn.

“They said we could move in right away, but would you rather wait until I return from my travels next week?”

“Yes,” she said, relieved. “I can’t imagine living there with you, let alone without you.” She dropped onto all fours to continue arranging their bedding, the goat hair tent hovering low above her head. Ezra had told her only a short time ago his work would require traveling, and she didn’t like that idea any more than she liked the thought of moving into the palace. “After your trip to Susa, I hoped we’d never have to be apart again,” she said.

“I know, Devorah. But I need to visit as many towns in Judah as I can. I need to assess where we stand and start teaching the people, putting judges in place, making sure the law is followed. The king’s decree commands everyone who lives in the province of Judah to follow God’s law. But how can they possibly follow it if no one explains it to them? And if they don’t follow it, God’s wrath may fall on us all over again.”

“Is it safe to travel? What about the local people, the Samaritans and Edomites?”

“If they attack me, they’re attacking the representative of the Persian Empire.”

“Well, that’s very comforting. I’m sure the highwaymen will quickly change their villainous ways when they hear that.” Her
sarcasm made him look up from his journal again. “Can’t someone else go in your place?” she asked, sitting back.

He shook his head. “I’m the leader.”

Devorah exhaled in frustration. “How long will you be gone? You’ll be back in time for the Sabbath, I hope.”

“Don’t count on me getting back. The Sabbath isn’t being honored here in Jerusalem, so I’m sure it’s being desecrated in other towns, as well. I want to set an example in the places I visit by not traveling or working.”

“Did you forget Reuben is bringing a friend this Shabbat for the evening meal?”

Ezra looked stricken. “I’m sorry—I did forget. But it’s too late to change my plans.”

“I really hoped you’d be here. Reuben says
she
is just a friend and she’s an orphan, but he acted so nervous when he asked me if she could come, I think she might be much more than a friend.”

“You don’t need me. You’re better at these things than I am, Devorah.” He pulled the lamp closer to return to his journal.

“These
things
? Reuben and his new friend are real people, you know.”

“I meant romantic things—courtships, engagements. Those things.”

She sighed. “No one would ever accuse you of being a romantic, Ezra ben Seraiah—unless you count quoting Scripture to me as romantic. It’s just that Reuben doesn’t have parents here. He looks up to you for advice.”

“I know, but he’s a grown man. And when it comes to falling in love, very few men are willing to listen to advice, especially from a rebbe.”

“Never mind, then. We’ll miss you this Sabbath. . . . But, Ezra, what will I do all day in that great big house if I don’t need to cook for our family?”

He looked up at her as if he was finally listening to what she was saying. “You have a greater purpose than cooking meals,
Devorah. It’s no accident your father taught you the Torah so well. Now you’ll have time to talk with the women God brings into your life and teach them what you know. Many don’t know how important their role in the home is, how they’re responsible for following the dietary laws, setting the religious tone in the home, and teaching their children from a very young age to fear God—as you’ve done with our children. Mothers are the ones who teach young people the stories of our ancestors before they attend the yeshiva. I know of no pagan religion that places such important tasks in the hands of their women.”

If Devorah didn’t know better, she would think Ezra was trying to flatter her to make up for going away and missing Shabbat. But her husband seemed immune to flattery himself and certainly lacked the ability to flatter someone else. “Which villages will you visit?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I’m off to Bethany first, just over the mountain, then on to Bethlehem. I’m still amazed to find myself in the land of the Torah, seeing places I’ve read about all my life. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m really here and my feet are walking the same roads our ancestors walked. The hills and valleys and rivers and deserts—they’re all unchanged from Abraham’s time. It’s remarkable!”

Devorah knew she always had Ezra’s full attention whenever she asked about his work. Mundane things like hosting Reuben’s new friend or moving to a huge house were never important to him. “What will you do? How will you begin your work?” she asked.

“Well, if the villagers have a house of assembly, I’ll go there to teach the people, explaining what the Torah says in plain language so everyone can understand it. It’s the same thing I tried to do back in Babylon, but I never dreamed I would be teaching Torah here in the Promised Land. I still wake up every morning amazed to find myself here, don’t you?”

“Yes, Ezra.” She rose and took the scroll from his hand, lay
ing it aside, then blew out the lamp. She knelt in front of him, holding his face in her hands. “Your work can consume you all next week. But tonight I deserve to have you all to myself before you leave.”

The next morning Devorah forced herself not to cry when Ezra left. Time always passed so slowly when she was alone, even with the needs of her children to fill her days. She was grateful for the distraction of meeting Reuben’s friend when the week came to an end, but she decided to cook the Sabbath meal with Miriam, enlisting their daughters’ help. “I think Reuben will be more comfortable with another man at the table besides my sons,” Devorah told Miriam as she kneaded the bread. “Asher can preside over the meal and recite the prayers.”

She and Miriam worked all day, preparing enough food for the evening meal and all the meals the next day. They lit the Sabbath lights just as the sun set, and a few minutes later Reuben arrived with his friend Amina. It was easy to see why he was attracted to her. She was small and slender and very pretty with the loveliest reddish-brown hair Devorah had ever seen. Her beautifully dyed robe in shades of rust and amber perfectly complemented her hair. She looked very young, but maybe it was just her tiny frame, especially when she stood beside Reuben, who was at least six feet tall.

“Welcome, Amina.
Shabbat shalom
. I’m so glad you could join us tonight,” Devorah said.

“Thank you so much for inviting me.” She seemed nervous—but then, who wouldn’t be? To Devorah, Ezra was simply her husband; to everyone else he was a distinguished rebbe and the governor of Judah. She was glad for Reuben’s and Amina’s sakes that he wasn’t here—and they hadn’t moved into the governor’s residence yet.

“I’m sorry my husband is out of town and won’t be able to
join us tonight,” Devorah told them. “But let me introduce you to everyone else. And don’t worry if you can’t tell our twin sons apart—few people can.”

Later, as they sat down together to enjoy the meal, Devorah was surprised by how talkative Reuben was, for once. He described what a skilled weaver Amina was, and how she’d grown up in Bethlehem but lived with a priestly family while she wove linen for the temple garments. He didn’t explain how she had become crippled or why she walked with a crutch, but it was clear to Devorah within a matter of minutes that Reuben was infatuated with her and wouldn’t have cared if she was missing all of her limbs.

Everyone began to relax as they shared the familiar rituals, breaking bread and sipping the Sabbath wine. Devorah could see that Amina had been raised in a good Jewish home and was familiar with all the Sabbath traditions, more so than Reuben. Throughout the lengthy meal, Devorah caught Amina gazing up at Reuben as if he were the only person there. He looked at her the same way—making Devorah miss Ezra more than ever.

At the end of the evening, as soon as their guests were gone, Devorah couldn’t wait to compare notes with Miriam. “Well? What did you think?”

“She’s a beautiful girl. They make a handsome couple.”

“Do you think they’re falling in love, Miriam? Is there going to be a wedding?”

“No doubt at all about that!”

Devorah was so happy for Reuben she felt like dancing. Ezra was fond of Reuben, too, and would rejoice with him, in spite of his reluctance to get involved with romantic matters. She couldn’t wait to have him home again and to tell him the good news.

J
ERUSALEM

M
illions of stars shone in the heavens as Amina stood with Reuben in the courtyard of Johanan’s home, gazing down at the Kidron Valley below. “My sister’s village is just across the valley from here,” she said, pointing beyond the dark void to the shadowy mountain in the distance. Reuben had eaten dinner with her and Johanan’s family, and now they stood together, talking on this crisp, fall night.

“I wish you weren’t going to a pagan village, Amina.”

“It’s only for one night. I’ll be back the next day.” Reuben’s concern touched her. Over the past two months they had grown very close, their feelings for each other deepening. Amina couldn’t believe a man as wonderful as Reuben cared for her.

“How far is it? Do you have to walk all the way there?” he asked.

“Johanan is letting me ride his donkey. One of his servants will walk there with me before sunset like he did the last time.”

“But then he’s going to leave you there all alone?”

“Don’t worry. I’m visiting my sister, Sayfah.”

“I know what pagan festivals were like in Casiphia and—”

“She’s married and has a family.” Amina longed to take
Reuben’s strong hands in hers and soothe his concerns, but it wasn’t proper. “Sayfah invited me to come to the festival months ago, before I met you, and I know it means a lot to have me visit. She doesn’t know the Almighty One, and I want to help her understand Him.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to go?” he asked.

“Yes. They’re Edomites, like me.”

“I want to come with you.”

“Reuben, they won’t let you into their village. I’m allowed in because they know I’m one of them, but you’re Jewish.”

“At least let me walk as far as the village entrance with you. I won’t worry as much if I know where you are and that you’re safe.”

“That would be very kind of you. Thank you.”

But as they walked down the ramp from Jerusalem on the day of the festival and crossed the Kidron Valley to Sayfah’s village, Amina could see Reuben’s worry multiplying with each step they took. “What kind of festival is it?” he asked again, although Amina had already told him.

“Sayfah says they’re celebrating the harvest.” He exhaled heavily but didn’t reply. “I’ll be fine,” she soothed.

The village elders at the entrance rose to their feet as if preparing for a confrontation as Amina approached with the two Jewish men. Reuben drew the donkey to a halt a dozen yards away and helped her down. “I wish you hadn’t promised your sister you’d come. I’m worried about you, Amina. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Sayfah will watch out for me. I promise I’ll stay close to her.” She left Reuben and the servant behind and walked forward alone to talk to the elders. They motioned for Amina to enter the village, but when she glanced over her shoulder at Reuben one last time, he still stood where she had left him, watching her. She gave a little wave, then didn’t look back again as she hurried through the streets to Sayfah’s house,
afraid she would change her mind and run back to his strong, protective arms.

Sayfah seemed pleased to see her, hugging her tightly. “I didn’t think you’d come,” she said. “I was sure you’d change your mind.”

“Of course I came. I’ve been looking forward to spending time with you, and I have so much to tell you.” But they were quickly caught up in the preparations for the festival and didn’t have a chance to talk quietly. Amina finally met Sayfah’s husband, who seemed to be a pleasant man even if he didn’t show his wife much affection. Amina had become accustomed to the loving ways of the Jewish couples she knew, and only now remembered that none of the men in her parents’ village had treated their wives with such affection. Sayfah was a very good mother to her three boys and seemed to be content with her life, though Amina noticed she rarely smiled.

After sunset the entire community gathered in the village square, like people used to do in Amina’s village. The harvest festival turned out to be a wild, raucous affair with lots of drinking and shouting and uninhibited dancing. It brought back memories from childhood, especially of the night her father and the other villagers planned to kill the Jews.

The women piled food on rugs and small tables in the middle of the square, and everyone jostled for position around the food as they filled their plates, the men pushing forward first. “You didn’t take very much to eat,” Sayfah said when they returned to their place with the other women on the side of the square.

“This is plenty for me,” Amina replied. She didn’t tell Sayfah that she couldn’t eat the meat because it had been sacrificed to Edom’s gods, nor did she know what animal it had come from. The Jews had special rules for how to kill and cook everything properly, so Amina ate only fruit and plain vegetables, knowing they would be safe, fearing she would break one of the dietary laws. The Edomites consumed gallons of wine, but Amina
sipped from the same cup all evening, refusing the refills that Sayfah offered. The Jews never drank this much wine at their festivals, and Amina had never seen any of them get drunk and lose control. But even Sayfah seemed to feel the wine’s euphoric effects as the evening continued.

When the food was gone, the men built a bonfire in the middle of the square, even though the fall evening was warm. The music grew louder and wilder, the thundering drums pounding so noisily she wondered if Reuben could hear them up on the ridge in Jerusalem. Close to midnight, Amina gradually became aware of something she hadn’t noticed when she was a child—the young men and women were pairing off, moving away from the bonfire and into the shadows, their arms draped around each other. The Torah would call their behavior immoral and forbidden. She could see why. She was ready for the evening to end, ready to return to Sayfah’s house. Amina’s three nephews had fallen asleep on the rug beside her, but Sayfah showed no sign of leaving.

Late in the night, two young men walked over to where they sat and Sayfah introduced them as her husband’s cousins. “Come dance with us,” they told Amina.

“You should go,” Sayfah said. “You don’t need to stay here with the married women and children.”

The thought of going off into the dark with these strangers terrified Amina. “I can’t dance. I’m crippled.” She lifted her hem to show them her shriveled leg. As she’d hoped, the men were repulsed and went away. Sayfah was furious with her.

“What did you do that for? They just wanted to have a little fun.”

“I didn’t want to go with them. . . . Sayfah, there’s someone special in my life—”

“I’m done talking to you.” Sayfah refused to listen, turning her back on Amina and ignoring her as she talked with the other married women seated around them. Amina wished she’d
listened to Reuben and stayed home. If only this long, horrible night would end. When she was tired of having her sister ignore her, Amina tugged on her sleeve to get her attention. “I thought you wanted me to come to the festival so we could spend time with each other.”

“I did. But I also wanted you to meet my husband’s relatives. We’re all one family now. Or isn’t family important to you anymore?”

“Of course it’s important, but . . .” She longed to tell Sayfah about Reuben, to talk about the feelings she had for him and how wonderful it felt to be falling in love. She wanted to laugh as she shared her hopes and dreams. But her sister would probably be angry to learn Amina was falling in love with a Jewish man.

Time passed, and Amina began to doze. Sayfah nudged her awake and pointed out a well-built young man weaving his way toward them with drunken, swaying steps. “That’s my husband’s brother walking toward us. If he stops and talks to us, be nice to him.” Amina looked away, desperate for the man to ignore her and keep walking, hoping he wouldn’t notice them in the dark. But Sayfah called to him as soon as he was near, and he stopped a few feet from where they sat, looking down at them.

“This is my sister, Amina,” Sayfah said. “Remember I told you about her?”

“She’s as pretty as you are. And not married? How did that happen? Come on, Amina, you don’t want to sit here with the married women and little children. I’ll introduce you to some of my friends.” He extended his hand to pull her to her feet.

“But I really don’t—”

“Go,” Sayfah whispered, pushing her from behind. “Don’t be difficult.”

Amina ignored his outstretched hand and used her crutch to get up, hoping it would discourage him. Instead, her crutch slipped and fell to the ground as he grabbed her arm. She had to leave it behind as he pulled her toward the darkened lane
where the other couples had disappeared. “I-I’d rather stay out here in the square by the bonfire,” she said, dragging her feet.

“There are too many people out here. And you look like you could use a drink.”

“I don’t want any more wine. I’ve had enough already. . . .”

He stopped short and gave her a little shake. “What’s wrong with you? Sayfah said you were looking for a good time.”

“I-I’m not!”

“Well, I am!” He wouldn’t let go as he pulled her toward the alley against her will. The more she resisted, the tighter he held on to her until she was sure he would leave bruises on her arm. She wanted to scream, to run, but he held her so tightly and the party had become so loud, no one would hear her above the noise and shrieks of laughter.

“No, stop! Let me go! Please!” she begged.

Her captor merely laughed at her futile struggles. “A cripple like you can’t afford to be choosy, you know.”

Was this her punishment for coming to a pagan feast? “Lord, help me, please!” she wept.

Out of nowhere, a shadow emerged from the darkness, racing toward them. It hurtled into the drunken Edomite, knocking Amina free. She knew it was Reuben, but it seemed impossible that he could be here, that he had come just in time to save her. Reuben punched the startled man in the stomach, then in the jaw, making him stumble backward and nearly fall. “Leave her alone, or I’ll kill you!” he said. Then he lifted Amina in his arms and sprinted away with her before the man could protest.

“Oh, thank God, thank God.” She wept against his chest.

“Are you okay, Amina?”

“Yes . . . yes . . . but I was so scared!” Her body trembled from head to toe, and she couldn’t stop crying. Reuben stopped and set her down in a dark lane between two houses, holding her close and letting her cling to him and weep until her tears of fear and relief and shame were finally exhausted. Then he led
her to Sayfah’s house—she had no idea how he knew where it was. They sat side by side in Sayfah’s courtyard until she finally stopped trembling, the music booming from the village square, the glow of the bonfire lighting up the night sky.

“I can’t believe you’re really here, Reuben. Why . . . ? How . . . ? How did you find me?”

“I followed you. I had Babylonian friends back in Casiphia, so I know what their festivals are like. As soon as I saw this village, I had a bad feeling about what would go on here tonight. I’ve been watching you from the shadows all night.”

“No one saw you?”

He gave a short laugh. “I used to be a thief, Amina. I’m still pretty good at watching without being seen. Pretty good at sneaking into places, too. And waiting.”

“I’m so glad you did!”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes. But I want to go home.”

“What about your sister?”

“I don’t care about her. She’s the one who made me go with him, and she’ll be furious with me when she finds out what happened. We don’t have anything in common anymore.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait until she comes home? If you leave, she might worry about you. Besides, it’s a long way back to Jerusalem in the dark.”

“You’re right. I guess I should wait here. It’ll be dawn soon, won’t it? How much longer will the festival last?”

“Probably until then. We can go home as soon as it’s light.”

Amina realized she was still clinging to him for protection like a drowning woman, unwilling to let go. He made her feel safe as he gently rubbed her back to soothe her. She wished she could stay in his embrace forever, but he released her after a while and held her at arms’ length to look into her eyes.

“Amina, I feel like I’ve wasted so much of my life already. I don’t want to waste another day or hour or minute of it. I’ve
fallen in love with you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you be my wife?”

She had finally stopped crying, but once again tears blurred her vision at his words. She couldn’t believe it. A wonderful man like Reuben loved her? She couldn’t speak. “Amina, say something, please.”

“Yes, Reuben, yes! I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day you came to be measured for your robe, and I was so happy when I saw you again at the temple and you helped me. Whenever we’re together, I feel like my heart is being woven into yours, like this”—she said, twining her fingers together—“but I was afraid to fall in love with you, afraid it couldn’t possibly work out—a man like you with someone like me.”

“I’m the lucky one, not you. So you’ll really marry me?”

“Yes! Yes, I will!” He bent his head to kiss her, and the touch of his lips on hers—tender at first, then conveying all of his passion and love—was the most wonderful feeling she had ever known. “I’m sorry,” he said when he finally pulled away. “That probably wasn’t proper, but I couldn’t resist a single moment longer.”

“I’m not sorry,” she said, letting him kiss her again.

“What do we do next?” he asked. “How long do we have to wait to get married?”

“I think our fathers are supposed to arrange our betrothal, but we don’t have any parents. Jacob is the closest thing I have to a father or a guardian, but he isn’t coming back to Jerusalem until the Feast of Passover, next spring.”

“We’ll go to Bethlehem and ask him, then.”

“I don’t have a dowry, Reuben.”

“That doesn’t matter—I don’t have any money for a bride price. Let’s just do it, Amina. I can’t stand to say good-bye to you every day. I don’t even know how I’ll stand to go to work and be away from you once we’re married.”

“Where will we live?”