Keepers of the Covenant (14 page)

B
ABYLON

T
he air inside the house of assembly felt so stifling on this hot summer morning, Ezra might have been sitting beside the kiln at the pottery works. Yet the hall was packed with men who had come to pray in spite of the heat. The battles that had raged six months ago had brought his community closer to God, and they still came every day to worship and pray and give thanks to the Almighty One for His salvation. Ezra was grateful for this spiritual renewal. But each day as he listened to the daily Torah passage and was reminded of the Almighty One’s deliverance from slavery in Egypt, he felt a growing discomfort with life here in Babylon. If only God would deliver them out of slavery once again and bring them to the Promised Land. He wiped sweat from his forehead as he listened to today’s passage, praying for the Holy One to speak to him and His people:

“‘If brothers are living together and one of them dies without a son, his widow must not marry outside the family. Her husband’s brother shall take her and marry her and fulfill the duty of a brother-in-law to her. . . .’”

What?

“‘The first son she bears shall carry on the name of the dead brother so that his name will not be blotted out from Israel. . . .’”

Marry Jude’s widow?

The words stunned Ezra. He had studied this passage countless times, but it had always been an academic exercise, a history lesson. God gave this command to Ezra’s ancestors when they lived in their own land, governed by their own king from the house of David. Generations had passed since those days. Surely this law was for a different time, a different set of circumstances—wasn’t it? Yet he had asked God to speak to him today, and Ezra couldn’t escape the conviction that He had spoken. And God’s commandment was clear: Ezra had to marry his brother’s widow.

Impossible. I can’t do it.

“I’ll put the holy book away,” Ezra told the assistant when morning prayers ended. He wanted to read the passage again. He waited for the hall to empty, then carried the scroll closer to the window, rereading it in a shaft of sunlight.
“If brothers are living together . . .”
That clearly described him and Jude before the battles took place.
“ . . . and one of them dies without a son . . .”
Jude had daughters, not sons.
“ . . . his widow must not marry
outside the family.”
Devorah was very young. Surely she would want to remarry someday for security and companionship. But according to the Torah, she wasn’t supposed to marry outside the family.
“Her husband’s brother shall take her
and marry her . . .”
God commanded Ezra to marry her! But how could he obey this law? Merely reading the words gave Ezra a shiver of guilt, as if he were betraying his brother.

He continued reading and learned that if he refused to marry his brother’s widow, she could appeal to the elders, accusing him of shirking his duty. The elders could summon him, and if he persisted in saying that he didn’t want to marry her, Devorah could publically spit in his face. He would be disgraced, shamed before all the people for disobeying the Torah. Ezra would be
disqualified from teaching. Banned from the house of assembly. Removed as the shepherd of God’s people. He couldn’t expect others to obey God’s law if he didn’t obey it himself.

But, marry Devorah?
His brother’s wife?

Ezra rolled up the scroll, covered it with the special cloth, and carefully stored it in the
Aron Ha Kodesh
with the other scrolls. He walked through the streets to his job in the pottery yard, unable to stop thinking about God’s command. If hot-tempered Jude had turned murderous when the Babylonian had lusted after his wife, what would he think of his own brother taking her to bed? It seemed wrong. No matter how Ezra looked at it, it seemed like a betrayal. And Devorah would likely see it that way, too.

He tried to push the Torah passage from his mind, starting his workday with the row of new pots that Asher had already shaped on the wheel. They lay drying in the sun, and he felt the clay to see if they had reached the texture of leather yet. He carried the ones that were ready to the kiln. His wounded arm had healed and his skills at all aspects of pottery making were slowly improving, but Ezra was certain he would learn faster and accomplish more if not for the steady stream of people from his congregation who came throughout the day to ask questions and bring cases involving the law for him to decide. He had just replied to the third petitioner of the day and had returned to his work on the ledger books beneath a shady roof of rushes when Asher walked over to him.

“I don’t know how you can concentrate with so many interruptions,” Asher said, shaking his head. “The least you could do is sell a pot to every person who comes here so we’d make a profit on all these disruptions.”

“I’m sorry. . . . Are my people bothering you?”

“Me?” he asked, laughing. “No, I’m getting my work done as usual, but I don’t see how you cope with this all day.”

“It’s wonderful that the people ask questions,” Ezra said.
“They want to please God and live by His Torah. The Almighty One listens to our prayers anytime, anyplace, doesn’t He? And we’re His priests, Asher. It’s our job to listen to them.”

“I know. Haven’t I been trying to convince you to quit this place and go back to teaching?” He spoke kindly, without animosity.

Ezra shook his head. “You mean well, Asher, but it’s impossible. I have a responsibility to you and to Jude’s family.” Even as he spoke the words, they reminded him all over again that the Torah commanded him to marry Devorah. Commanded him! Should he talk to Asher about it? People came to Ezra with their questions, but who could he go to with his own? He opened his mouth to speak, yet there was nothing to ask. The law was very clear.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” Asher said, “before the next interruption comes.”

That evening as Ezra ate dinner with Asher and Miriam, a new thought occurred to him. He had a responsibility to tell Devorah about this law. She needed to know that when her time of mourning ended, she wasn’t supposed to marry outside the family. She didn’t have to remarry at all, of course. She could refuse to marry Ezra, and he imagined that she would. Yet she had a right to know that God had provided a way for Jude’s name and his inheritance to continue after his death. Ezra had a duty to tell her about it.

He left the house after the meal and walked to the yeshiva as usual to teach his students. Tonight he was excited to share the lessons he had learned while laboring in the pottery yard for the past six months. “The Almighty One is teaching me some important lessons in my work as a potter,” he told his students. “I’m reminded of the two great prophets, Jeremiah and Ezekiel, who used the picture of God as the Master Potter in their prophecies. I’ve learned that just as the clay must be perfectly centered on the wheel before it can be shaped, so must
we center our lives on God’s law as we allow Him to shape us. If we aren’t centered, we’ll become misshapen beneath His hands when the events of our lives spin us faster and faster like the potter’s wheel. Or maybe fly off the wheel entirely.” He paused, speaking to himself as well as to them. He had to center his life on the Torah—and that meant obeying the law, regardless of how he felt about it.

“But even before the clay can be shaped, it must be wedged,” he continued, “a process of applying pressure in order to remove all the air bubbles from the clay. These impurities may seem insignificant, but if too many of them remain, the vessel can become distorted beneath the pressure of the potter’s hands. And once in the kiln, these hidden imperfections in the pot can cause it to crack in the searing heat. I’m reminded of all our sins and imperfections, all the seemingly insignificant ways that the values and morals of Babylon creep into our thoughts and actions and cause us to become misshapen instead of the vessel God intended. We’re slowly being polluted here living among the pagans, and when the heat and pressure in our lives increase, we’ll crumble. If we want to be the people of God, we must eliminate the impurities from our lives and follow His law.”

Follow the law
. As much as Ezra wanted to forget about marrying Devorah, he knew he had to speak with her. Tomorrow.

“I’ll be a little late to work today,” he told Asher after morning prayers the next day. “But I promise I’ll be there.”

Once again, people stopped him with their questions before he could leave the house of assembly. The fall holy days were approaching, and his congregation had a renewed interest in celebrating the appointed feasts, even though they couldn’t worship at the temple in Jerusalem or offer sacrifices as the Torah required. What would it be like to celebrate the holy days in Jerusalem, worshiping the Almighty One the way He had commanded? Ever since the Thirteenth of Adar, the longing for home had become a gnawing ache in Ezra’s soul.

When he’d patiently answered everyone’s questions, Ezra walked the familiar lanes to Jude’s house. The grief he felt at the loss of his brother hadn’t diminished over time. If only he had clung tighter to Jude as he’d bolted over the barricade. If only he hadn’t died. . . .

Ezra was still deep in thought when he arrived and found Devorah and her two daughters just leaving their courtyard. She was beautiful, he realized, even though the light had gone out of her eyes and sorrow and grief lined her face. “Are you going somewhere?” he asked.

“We’re on our way to Asher’s house.”

“May I walk with you? I need to discuss something with you.”

“Of course. But we’ll have to go slowly until Michal gets tired of walking. She wants to do it herself without any help. Jude would be so proud of her independence and—” Devorah stopped, struggling to control her emotions. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No, I understand. I miss him, too.” He remembered how Jude used to swing his daughters high in the air, grinning as their laughter rippled around him like waves. They walked on in silence, the older girl skipping happily ahead of them as Devorah took baby steps with the younger one, holding her chubby hand.

“Don’t get too far ahead, Abigail,” Devorah called.

“I won’t. I know the way.”

Ezra cleared his throat. “I promised Jude I would take care of you, and I want you to know that I will always provide a home and food and protection for you and the girls. Always. The question is, what’s the best way for me to do that?”

He glanced at her as he paused. Ezra had never allowed himself to dwell on Devorah’s form or her features. “You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife,” the Torah said—much less your brother’s. He had lived with Devorah and Jude for nearly five years, yet he couldn’t have described what she looked like in any detail. Now, as he let his gaze linger a moment longer, he saw
again how lovely she was, with almond-shaped eyes beneath arched brows and soft, full lips. She seemed too thin, though, and her face was still pale with grief. Jude had often praised his wife as a woman of faith. “General Devorah,” he had called her the day she’d advised Ezra not to trust the Persian military officials. And she had been right.

“You’ve always been very kind to us, Ezra,” Devorah said, “especially these past few months. I’m not sure I have any choice except to rely on you. I’m not ready to marry again, even if I knew someone who would marry me. I’ve heard of other widows who return to their father’s house, but you know that my parents are gone, and I have no sisters or brothers.”

“I know. It’s perfectly fine for you and the girls to keep living where you are. That’s your home.” He kept his head down as they walked through the narrow, twisting lanes, not wanting to be interrupted by the people they passed. “The thing is, Devorah . . . there’s a law in the Torah that covers our . . . situation.” She looked up at him, waiting. “It’s called the law of
levirate
marriage—
levir
meaning brother-in-law in Hebrew.”

She frowned as if annoyed. “I know what
levir
means. My father taught me Hebrew.”

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to be condescending.” This subject was difficult enough to discuss without making Devorah angry. He lowered his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Are you familiar with the law of levirate marriage, then?” She shook her head. “The Torah says that if a man dies without an heir, as Jude has, then his brother has a duty to marry his widow.”

She halted. “You’re supposed to marry me?”

“Yes.”

She quickly turned her face away, her pale cheeks tinged with scarlet. “I see. . . . Is that the law behind the story of Ruth and Naomi?” she asked a moment later.

“Yes, that’s right.” He tried not to reveal his surprise at her knowledge. “God provided for Ruth and Naomi by allowing
Ruth to marry Boaz, her husband’s kinsman, since her brothers-in-law were dead—”

“I know the story. But somehow it sounds different in our time—with you and me.” She shook her head, almost a shiver.

“I don’t blame you for your reaction. It seems like we’re betraying Jude. I was reminded of this law only yesterday, and I’ve barely had time to consider all the implications, but . . . I thought you should know what the Torah says.”

He was relieved when Devorah bent to lift the baby in her arms. They could walk faster now. They were nearly to Asher’s house, and the older girl was calling to them to hurry. Ezra wanted to get this over with.

“You don’t have to make a decision right away, Devorah. Take your time. And the law doesn’t force you to marry me if you don’t want to. But I felt it was my duty to make you aware of the law since I’m responsible for teaching our people . . . and we . . . I mean, you . . .”
Stop talking and be quiet,
he admonished himself. He was making an awkward situation worse by going on and on about it. They finally reached Asher’s gate. “I need to go to work,” he said. “Thank you for talking with me.”

He’d started to leave when she called to him. “Ezra?” He halted. “Why would God command such a thing?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” he said, staring at his feet, “and the simple answer is He wants to make sure widows and orphans are protected. The Torah says over and over that He cares about their welfare, and the law provides many ways for supporting them—”