“Look at her face, how blistered and red,” Edna the matchmaker whispered.
“What is wrong with her hands, Ima? Why are they wrapped?” a little girl asked as Arielah passed by. The girl’s ima clapped a hand over her mouth, but the little voice asked the righteous question that rumbled through the crowd.
At the sight of her, Jehoshaphat felt himself sway.
Oh, Lord Jehovah, no!
The crowd’s angry eyes cast daggers at Kemmuel and Igal. Kemmuel stared back in defiance. Igal looked away, too ashamed or afraid to face the truth.
Benaiah was stoic, his confusion evident. He reached out to steady Jehoshaphat. “What’s happening, my friend?”
Jehoshaphat couldn’t stem the tears rushing down his cheeks, and a low moan escaped.
Arielah knelt at his feet and bowed her head. “How may I serve you, Abba?”
He stepped down from the well curb and gently grasped her hands. She winced. He helped her stand and began unwrapping the bandages. Deep wounds on her palms and fingers testified against his sons. He lifted her chin with his finger to inspect the blisters on her face. The two stood for a moment in silence, Jehoshaphat lost in his daughter’s beautiful eyes.
It was the first time Kemmuel and Igal had been so bold in their cruelty. They had mocked his discipline, disobeyed repeatedly. They had cursed both him and Jehosheba with word and deed, and all the mercy offered to them had been cast aside like filthy rags. The law was clear on the matter.
“God’s will be done,” Jehoshaphat whispered. He released Arielah’s hands and turned toward Benaiah.
“Abba?” his daughter cried.
He could hear the confusion, the hurt, in Arielah’s voice. The vision of her unveiled hands dangling at her sides would forever be etched on his memory.
I cannot do what I must if I stop to explain it to you, my lamb.
Jehoshaphat ignored the plea he knew she would make.
He stepped away from the well and approached Benaiah, who snapped to attention as though he were readying for battle. Motioning the big man to lean close, he whispered, “The men who inflicted these wounds on my daughter must be dealt with. I need you to ensure they do not leave the city.”
Benaiah’s features became hard as stone. He was a frightening fellow, head and shoulders taller than any man in Shunem. With his jaw set, he stepped away from the well and parted the crowd on his way to gather his guards. They stood waiting at the city gate.
The crowd had become so deathly quiet that a feather falling on dust would have resounded like a clatter. Jehoshaphat returned to Arielah and kissed her cheek. “It’s all right, my lamb. Jehovah will make all things right.”
Then, resuming his perch on the rim of the well, he said, “I recite for you, my brother Shulammites, the law of Moses: ‘If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who does not obey his parents and will not listen to them when they discipline him, his abba and ima shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders at the gate of his town.’”
Nervous chatter rippled through the crowd like a boiling pot ready to overflow. Arielah looked wildly back at her ima, who was still standing at their courtyard gate.
Jehoshaphat’s heart pounded and his stomach balled into knots, but he must finish this. He swallowed the rising emotion and continued, undaunted. “‘They shall say to the elders, “This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a prodigal and a drunkard.” Then all the men of his town shall stone him to death. You must purge the evil from among you. All Israel will hear of it and be afraid.’”
Jehoshaphat gazed into the familiar faces of his friends and neighbors, those who would carry out judgment on his sons. Panic began a steady journey up from his stomach, and then it seized his throat.
Breathe! I must breathe!
he coached himself, bowing his head.
Lord Jehovah, give me strength to obey You and lead Your people in righteousness.
A few deep, heaving breaths escaped before he could regain a measure of control. When he finally felt the strength to lift his head, he searched the crowd of faces, gazed on his sons, and tore his robe.
“Kemmuel and Igal, you will be judged at the city gate.”
•
Exodus 21:17
•
Anyone who curses his father or mother must be put to death.
J
ehoshaphat watched all color drain from his sons’ faces. Kemmuel and Igal were standing at the back of the crowd near the southern city gate, surrounded by a clump of old men just under a market canopy. Shunem’s judge stepped toward his wayward sons.
Kemmuel’s eyes went wild. “Run, Igal!” He bolted toward the gate, but before he could take a second step, Benaiah’s meaty hand seized the collar of his robe. Kemmuel swung a fist in the general direction of his captor and found it captured in the vice grip of Benaiah’s mammoth paw.
Igal measured the commander from the top of his lofty head to the tip of his boat-sized sandals and crumpled into a whimpering heap.
Jehoshaphat arrived at the scene—as did Jehosheba and Arielah—just in time to see Benaiah’s jaw flexing and his scar pulsating from lip to eyebrow. A pang of terror seized Jehoshaphat at the ferocity of his warrior friend.
Hoisting Igal to his feet like a ragdoll, Benaiah ground out, “You will stand at the city gate like a man while your parents accuse you as the law requires.” Two other Mighty Men righted Kemmuel to face him. “How dare you shame your abba like this.”
A few in the crowd jeered and shouted, crying for justice—long overdue—against the sons of Jehoshaphat.
Jehosheba’s head fell forward. She stood silently at her husband’s side. Jehoshaphat took her hand and gently reached for the bandages that still dangled from Arielah’s wrists. “My beloved wife, our sons have defied our discipline. We must now be Jehovah’s obedient children and accuse them before the elders at the gate.”
Jehosheba met her husband’s gaze and nodded. This strong and silent woman loved her sons deeply, but Jehoshaphat knew by her eyes that she agreed with his judgment—God’s judgment. Kemmuel and Igal had chosen their own destruction.
Jehoshaphat squared his shoulders and faced the king’s commander. The eyes that moments ago blazed with battle fury were now the kind portals to the heart of his friend. Shunem’s judge had no words for the big man, and Benaiah’s affirming nod assured him none were needed.
“Where is the city’s stoning platform, Jehoshaphat?” Benaiah asked.
Jehoshaphat’s mind was a blank papyrus, and an eerie hush settled over the crowd as the reality of the impending judgment struck like a blow. He looked at the other six elders gathered around them. Two had never thrown a stone in judgment. Almost an entire generation had passed since Shunem had seen a stoning, and most of those crying for justice would likely falter if they had to hurl the final death stones.
“We . . . we don’t have a platform. We use a natural ledge above the foothills of Mount Moreh. It is twice a man’s height, as is required.”
“Jehoshaphat,” said Phaltiel, the leading elder in Jehoshaphat’s absence, “what grievance do you bring to the elders of Shunem?”
Lord Jehovah!
Jehoshaphat squeezed his eyes shut.
He’s beginning the proceedings.
With a frantic prayer for peace, he motioned for Arielah to take her place next to her ima so that all three stood opposite his sons. The two members of their household who would not heed discipline—or receive mercy—would look into the pained faces of those who would rather love them than judge them.
Jehoshaphat cleared his throat. “Elder Phaltiel, my sons, Kemmuel and Igal, are disobedient, stubborn, and rebellious. They have become prodigals and drunkards.”
Phaltiel nodded gravely. “Jehosheba, what have you to say?”
Jehoshaphat felt her whole body trembling, their shoulders touching, their spirits bound in agony.
He closed his eyes, and tears dripped down his beard. Then suddenly, from deep within his soul, the emotions erupted in a piercing cry. “I love my sons! Ahhh!” Jehoshaphat fell to his knees before the elders.
The ever-silent Jehosheba released a mournful wail and collapsed into Arielah’s arms. No other sound echoed among the Shulammites. Even the Mighty Men, hardened by years of battle, blinked back tears as the prince of Shunem’s sobs ran their painful course.
Finally, when Jehoshaphat could stand, he gathered Jehosheba in his arms, and the two stood facing Elder Phaltiel. “Tell them, my wife. Tell them the words our son spoke to me the night of King David’s death. The night our most recent attempt at discipline failed.”
Lifting questioning eyes to her husband, she seemed hesitant to repeat such disrespect before the crowd. When Jehoshaphat affirmed his intentions with a nod, she spoke with a quivering voice. “Our son Kemmuel . . . Abba . . . weak . . . old man.”
“Oh, say it so everyone can hear,” Kemmuel shouted. “My abba is a weak and foolish old man! He babbles on about love and mercy, but underneath it all, he’s just a coward with fine words.”
The back of Benaiah’s hand nearly took off Kemmuel’s head, and he fell to the ground motionless. The crowd gasped, and then an approving hum rippled over satisfied faces.
When Kemmuel finally stirred, he held out his hand for Igal’s help. For the first time, Jehoshaphat watched the younger brother rebuff his older sibling.
“Kemmuel and Igal,” Jehoshaphat said in a voice firm yet without malice, “though I love you, I must obey Jehovah, and by condemning you to death, all of Israel will hear and be afraid.”
Kemmuel rose by his own power, though still blurry-eyed.
“I had hoped you could serve Israel with your lives,” Jehoshaphat continued. “Instead, you will serve Israel by your deaths.”
“Noooo!” Kemmuel screamed. “No! You will not make this a righteous cause, you broken-down banner bearer. And you . . .” Like a hawk pouncing on its prey, Kemmuel lunged at his sister. “This is all your doing!”
Benaiah’s grasp tightened in time to restrain Kemmuel physically, but he continued to spew venom at Arielah. “You have brought this evil on Igal and me! If you hadn’t stolen Abba’s love, we would never—”
“Stop!” A male voice shattered the tirade—not Jehoshaphat or an elder. Not even Benaiah or one of the other soldiers. “Enough, Kemmuel! We’ve blamed our sister long enough.” It was Igal. His words held a passion completely foreign to this shadow of a man. “She is not to blame for the blisters on her face or the wounds on her hands. She is not to blame for the scars under her headpiece and robe that others cannot even see.”
Jehoshaphat’s quiet young son had found his voice, and the crowd gasped. Benaiah’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits, and Jehoshaphat too wondered about his son’s sincerity.
Only Kemmuel believed his brother—and his evil laughter made even their abba cringe. “You think you can escape judgment by turning on me, Igal? You have joined me in every deed. You’ll find no mercy from the great judge of Shunem after harming his precious Arielah.”
Igal was silent, his head bowed low. Finally, he looked up at Arielah, and for the first time, Jehoshaphat realized he truly
saw
her.
“I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you,” he said. “You have always been kind to me, and I have repaid your kindness with cruelty. I don’t deserve it, but I ask your forgiveness.” He tried to kneel before her, but the soldiers on either side held him firmly in place.
Jehoshaphat watched in awe as Arielah stepped toward him. Benaiah held his hand up to stop her, but Arielah took the commander’s large hand in hers, wincing when his calluses scraped her wounds. Their eyes locked, and something passed between them. Benaiah relented, and Arielah approached her penitent brother.
Igal knelt. Laying her hand on his head, Arielah spoke—not to the condemned, but to Jehoshaphat. “Abba,” she began, “I believe your son Igal has truly repented of his sin. Look at the changes in his heart. Have you ever heard him speak against his brother or publicly declare his own opinion?” She removed her hand from Igal’s head, leaving a small bloodstain there. Turning to face her parents, she continued, “Israel must hear of the evil purged from its borders, but perhaps mercy could also ring loud in its ears.”
Already a queen
, Jehoshaphat thought of his beautiful daughter. But before he could give his reply, Kemmuel’s voice intruded.
“That’s right, you witch! Have you come from Endor in a new form to beguile the whole town with your fine arguments?” Again his laugh was low, dark, otherworldly.
Before Kemmuel could bring further shame, Jehoshaphat shouted over his ravings. “Elders of Shunem, because Jehovah shows mercy to a truly repentant heart, I forgive all right to reprisal against my son Igal. Instead, I bring only one rebellious son, Kemmuel, a prodigal and drunkard, who has refused all attempts at instruction and discipline.” With unyielding determination, he concluded. “The law requires punishment to be carried out on the same day the verdict is rendered. The sun is past midday. My complaint is before you.”
Igal’s face contorted in an inexplicable mix of emotions as Arielah helped him to his feet and the two embraced. Jehoshaphat enfolded them both, enjoying the warmth of his middle child for the first time since Igal was a small boy.
Kemmuel roared, and this time Benaiah required the aid of two guards to control his outburst.
Jehoshaphat gathered Jehosheba, Arielah, and Igal under his protective wings while the elders deliberated.
As lead elder, Phaltiel announced the verdict. It hadn’t taken long to reach. “We, the judges of Shunem, declare a unanimous decision. Kemmuel, son of Jehoshaphat, you are condemned to death by stoning, according to the law of Moses.” No cheer of triumph. “Every man in the city is required to join the processional to the place of judgment.”
Softening his voice to a whisper, Phaltiel turned to Jehoshaphat and his wife. “Jehosheba will be the only woman allowed in the procession. As the two witnesses against your son, one of you will cast Kemmuel from the stoning ledge of Mount Moreh, and the other will wait on the foothill below to hurl the death stone at his chest.” Pausing at Jehosheba’s shudder, Phaltiel lifted his voice again to the crowd. “If anyone can declare a reason for reprieve, he should declare it now or on the way to judgment.”
Jehosheba began to tremble violently, and Jehoshaphat gathered her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “It will be over soon, my love,” he whispered. Then he released her but kept an arm around her waist to catch her if she fell.
Noticing movement over one elder’s shoulders, Jehoshaphat heard himself gasp. It was Reu. Fresh tears came as he sensed Jehovah’s answer to a prayer he hadn’t prayed. “Elder Phaltiel,” he said, still uncertain of such a request, “the law requires that parents accuse a rebellious son before the elders, which we have done.” Reu had pressed his way through the crowd and was standing just behind Arielah. The young man’s tender compassion emboldened Jehoshaphat’s heart to ask the unthinkable. “I humbly request that my wife be released from the task of second witness and another witness take her place.”
Crowd whispers buzzed like a swarm of bees.
Jehosheba reached for her husband’s hand and squeezed it. “Jehoshaphat?” A hopeful sob escaped.
Only her cry wrested his attention from Reu’s startled gaze. “Yes, my love. Reu heard Kemmuel’s curses and rebellion. It is my plea that the blood of your son will not stain your hands.” When Jehoshaphat looked up, Reu’s eyes were wide and his face the color of goat’s milk.
Elder Phaltiel had observed in silence, but now he cleared his throat to draw the crowd’s attention. Communicating to his peers with affirming glances and nods, Shunem’s interim elder announced their hurried decision. “The royal courier, Reu, may serve as second witness if he confirms Kemmuel’s guilt and willingly assumes the responsibility.”
The elders stood aside as Jehoshaphat approached his young friend. “Do you affirm that Kemmuel has grievously and publicly defied my discipline and become a prodigal and a drunkard?”
Reu’s eyes, focused on Jehoshaphat’s face, swam in unshed tears. “I do affirm it,” he said, looking neither to the right nor the left.
Holding out his hand, Jehoshaphat issued his final request, regret filling him. “Will you serve as second witness against my son Kemmuel?”
The jolly messenger boy from Jerusalem stood unable—or unwilling—to move. Jehoshaphat’s hand hung in midair as he waited for Reu’s response. Moment lapsed into excruciating moment.
Finally, as if lifting the death stone already, Reu clasped Jehoshaphat’s hand. “May Jehovah give me courage. I will.”
Jehosheba’s wail punctuated the moment, and Jehoshaphat nodded silent thanks to his young friend.
Thanks?
No. Thanks didn’t describe the emotions roiling inside him. But perhaps relief would come to him with time, knowing he and Jehosheba had been obedient to their heavenly Abba.
Jehoshaphat watched Arielah gather her ima into consoling arms and noted Igal’s hands shift awkwardly from his hips to his side. “Come, my son,” Jehoshaphat said, embracing the young man and kissing both cheeks. “We will face this hardship together and then start anew.”
Kemmuel let out another roar, but Benaiah’s threatening glance quelled further attempts at violence.
As the law dictated, Jehoshaphat stepped forward to lead the procession as the first witness. Reu, as second, walked at his right side. Igal stepped in line with the elders, and Benaiah guided Kemmuel with a small detachment of his men for safety’s sake. Kemmuel’s hands were bound, his head held high in defiance but some of his bluster spent.
One of the elders removed Shunem’s banner from the gatepost and held it aloft while another rehearsed word for word the commands Kemmuel had broken. The retinue of royal guards in Jehoshaphat’s caravan who had watched the horrific proceedings now stood aside as the death march passed by. Words of support and hands of friendship eased Jehoshaphat’s shame as he looked into the eyes of these strangers from the palace, people suddenly thrust into the most private pain of his life. They were strangers no longer. They were now friends, bound to him with the emotion he saw glistening on their cheeks.
Every Shulammite male twenty years and over joined the processional. The women followed from the southern gate to the western side of the city wall, where the men began the winding path up to Mount Moreh’s stoning ledge. Jehoshaphat’s ears ached to hear even one person speak in defense of his wayward son. The late afternoon air was as silent as the stones beneath their feet.