Keepers of the Covenant (17 page)

In the weeks that followed, Devorah rarely saw Ezra and didn’t have a chance to speak with him again. He was always on the move, always busy with other people, answering their questions, making decisions. She sat through the festivities at the house
of assembly on the Thirteenth of Adar, trying to celebrate a victory that wasn’t a victory at all for her, and watched Ezra try to be a dozen places at once. His congregation continually depleted him as if plucking a tree of all its fruit.

She listened to the story of Queen Esther, the story of a simple Jewish woman who changed the course of history for her people, and a thought occurred to Devorah for the first time. Obviously God wanted to provide for her and her children through this law. And He obviously wanted Jude to have a son to carry his name. But maybe God was just as concerned for Ezra, His servant, a man who surely needed a wife and helper to carry some of his burdens. Could God have specifically chosen Devorah, who knew more about the Torah than most women, to be that support for Ezra?

A week after the victory celebration, Devorah’s family and friends gathered in her home for the ceremony. Ezra presented the marriage contract that the elders had drawn up and that he’d signed. He poured wine from a flask and offered Devorah the cup that would seal their betrothal. She forced back tears, remembering her betrothal to Jude. But she would do this; she would trust God and marry Jude’s brother.

Devorah’s hand trembled as she accepted the cup and took a drink, committing her life and her future to Ezra.

C
ASIPHIA

P
lease, Reuben,” his mother begged. “Please come with us tonight. Celebrate with us.” She stood by the door, dressed in her finest Sabbath clothes. Reuben’s two sisters danced with excitement, eager to leave, their hair elaborately braided for this special occasion. Even his baby brother, perched on Mama’s hip, looked scrubbed and happy. The community had spent weeks planning the festivities for the anniversary of the Thirteenth of Adar, but Reuben wanted nothing to do with it. He pushed Mama’s hand away when she tried to take his.

“How can you expect me to celebrate Abba’s death?” he asked. “And why are you celebrating?”

“It could have been all of us, Reuben. If the Almighty One hadn’t made a way for us to defend ourselves, we might all be dead. That’s what we’re remembering—the fact that we’re alive.”

“Well, I don’t feel like celebrating. I’m going out. I want to be by myself.”

“You already spend too much time by yourself. Yes, this is a sad day for us with many sad memories. But that’s why Uncle Hashabiah and everyone who loved your father want to be with us on this occasion.”

“I just want to be alone.”

Someone knocked at their door, and when Reuben opened it and saw his uncle, he turned around and walked straight out the back door and across the lane to the forge without a word of greeting. Everything in the smithy looked the same after one year. Though Reuben had loved working here with his father, he now hated his job as an apprentice, hated his new boss. He had no choice. Working here was the only way his family could remain in their home. It was a prison sentence to him.

Tonight, while his community celebrated, Reuben would do the work he really enjoyed—stealing from the Babylonians. He no longer needed to steal. His family managed to live on the income his mother earned from the sale of the forge. Instead, Reuben stole for the thrill of it, the rush of excitement he felt each time he escaped with loot the Babylonians owed him. He was good at what he did. Many nights, the only thing he stole was wine, which he drank in secret by himself. Sometimes he stole food, too, and it had become a game for him to add it to the storage room a little at a time so his mother wouldn’t notice. He brought treats for his siblings—fresh dates, pistachios, apricots—telling them, “It’s our secret. Don’t show Mama, or I won’t bring you any more.” Sometimes he happened upon gold coins or something valuable, but not very often. He hid the gold, saving it to buy back his inheritance someday. At this rate, it would take years.

The noise from the celebrations faded in the distance as Reuben left his Jewish community and walked through the dark streets of Casiphia. When he finally broke into the storeroom he’d chosen—after waiting in the dark for a very long time, after watching for the lights to go out inside, after waiting some more to make sure everyone was asleep—the contents disappointed him. The storeroom contained nothing special, just the usual grain and olives and oil. Even the wine tasted weak and bitter.

As he hurried through the deserted streets afterward, head
ing home, he thought he heard footsteps behind him. Reuben turned to look over his shoulder, but before he could see who was following him, a dark, heavy shape rammed into him, nearly knocking him down. He recovered his balance and dropped his bag of loot so he could fight back, but three more shadows came from nowhere, surrounding him, jumping him. Reuben fought with all his strength, his heart racing in panic. He couldn’t see his attackers, but if they were the Persian authorities, they would throw him into prison—or worse, cut off his right hand for stealing. Maybe even execute him.

He was no match for the four men. They easily overwhelmed him, knocking him to the ground, pushing his face into the dust, tying his hands together. One of them sat on Reuben’s back, forcing the air from his lungs, pinning him so he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He felt the cold blade of a knife pressing against his throat, then a stinging burn as it slowly slit his flesh. Reuben closed his eyes, believing he was going to die.

“You’d be wise to stop struggling,” a voice hissed in his ear. “You can’t win.”

Reuben gave a grunt of defiance with what little air he could draw. “Let me go!”

“Not too loud now, son. You wouldn’t want to attract the wrong attention with a bag of stolen loot by your side, would you?”

“Take it, if that’s what you want.”

“We want you, not this stuff. You’re going to come with us, understand? Don’t make a sound, and you won’t get hurt.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Sure, you have a choice. You can stay here, all tied up beside your bag of loot, for the guards to find.”

They had tied the ropes so tightly they dug into his wrists. Someone slipped a burlap bag over his head. It smelled of rotting fruit. The men hauled Reuben to his feet and gave him a shove to start moving. They huddled around him as they walked, holding
him upright as if hoping any observers would mistake them for drunkards. The bag over his head was only loose enough for Reuben to see his feet and the dark street beneath them. That was all. The ten minutes they walked seemed like hours. Fear made Reuben’s heart work so hard he worried it might burst. None of them spoke.

At last Reuben heard the rush of the river nearby. The air smelled of fish and stagnant water. They slowed, and one of his captors pushed Reuben’s head down, forcing him to duck as they entered an airless enclosure. A heavy door thumped shut behind him. A bar slid into place. Then they pushed Reuben down onto the floor. He heard the four men talking amongst themselves, and Reuben could tell by the dullness of the sound, the closeness of the voices, that the room was very small. It smelled of sweat and unwashed bodies and mildew. If only they would untie his hands and let him fight them one at a time, he might be able to escape. But he couldn’t fight all of them at once.

“What do you want?” he asked. “If you’re going to turn me in or kill me, just do it.”

“Neither,” one of them replied, laughing. “We want you to join us. We’re in the same business you are. And you’re a very talented thief, you know.” The man’s accent was Babylonian.

“We’ve been watching you,” a second man added. Another Babylonian. “You move as silently as a leopard. And you’re quick. You get in and out without a sound.”

“But we’re good, too,” a third Babylonian said. “Have you ever seen us watching you or following you?” He poked Reuben’s arm, expecting an answer.

“No. I haven’t seen you.” He wanted to reach up and wipe the sticky blood off his neck, but his hands were tied. Tightly. He could barely move, let alone twist them free. The cut on his neck burned and stung, irritated by the rough sack over his head.

“You should be honored, son,” the first man said. “We’re inviting you to join our gang. What do you say?”

Reuben hesitated. He was at their mercy. They might kill him if he refused. He longed to tell them just how much he hated Babylonians like them for killing his father, but maybe they didn’t know he was Jewish, dressed the way he was.

“Or we could simply kill you right now,” a fourth voice said. “Are you ready to die, Jew?”

Reuben stopped breathing. They knew. “I can’t die. I have a family to support.”

“Oh, we know all about your family and your work as a blacksmith’s apprentice.”

Reuben was glad his face was covered so they couldn’t see his fear. They knew about his mother. His siblings.

“But we’re not in the business of simply pilfering food like you do,” the man continued, “or maybe a couple of gold coins if you get lucky. We have bigger goals: robbing ships and warehouses, stealing from caravans and merchants. We sell our goods and make a tidy profit.”

Sweat broke out on Reuben’s forehead. The fibers from the bag clogged his nose and throat as he breathed. “What do you need me for?”

“You’re faster than any of us at breaking in.”

“And the thing is, we could use some better weapons. You know where we can get them, don’t you, Jew?”

“Aren’t your people and mine enemies?” Reuben asked.

“Enemies? Where did you get that idea?”

“We fought each other a year ago. Babylonians like you killed my father.”

“We didn’t take part in those battles. We have nothing against Jews. We’ll steal from anyone!” All four of them laughed.

“With better weapons and a good break-in man, we’ll be able to make a really big haul one of these days. One shipment of gold or silver is all we need, and we’ll be set for life. None of us will ever have to work again. We can leave Casiphia and go wherever we want.”

“Have all the women we want!” Everyone laughed again.

Reuben could buy back the forge with his share. But he took his time replying, trying not to sound too eager. “What if I don’t want to join you?

“Now, that would be very tragic. Especially since you know all about us.”

“I’m blindfolded. I have no idea where I am. I’m not a threat to you.”

“Come on, why keep breaking into houses, risking getting caught some night by a sleepless servant? Your luck is bound to run out one of these days. Join us, and you can have true riches.”

“Tell us,” one of them said. “What would you do with your share of the loot?”

Reuben didn’t even have to think about it—he would buy back his inheritance. Make his boss work for him from now on. Get all of Abba’s tools back. Spit in his uncle’s face. But he would never tell these men his plans.

“If I were rich,” Reuben said, “I wouldn’t let anyone push me around or make decisions for me.” He heard murmurs of agreement. “All right,” he finally decided. “I’ll join you, but it has to be on an equal basis. We have to split everything fairly. And I get a say in making the decisions.” No one was ever going to decide his fate again the way his uncle had.

“Will you get weapons for us?”

“I’ll get them, but you’ll have to pay me.”

“I’m the leader,” the loud one said.

“Yes, but I’m your partner. Deal?”

“Deal.” They pulled off Reuben’s mask, and he squinted in the light. It came from a small oil lamp that barely lit the dingy, low-ceilinged room. He faced four Babylonian men, ten years older than him, squatting in a circle around him. They wore dark robes, dark turbans on their heads, their faces smudged with charcoal. All four of them stood up at the same time and pulled Reuben to his feet. One of the men untied his hands and
Reuben massaged his wrists to get the feeling back in his fingers. When they lifted the bar and opened the door to walk outside, he immediately knew where he was. Their hideout was near the first house Reuben had robbed a year ago.

“How long will it take you to get weapons for us?” one of the men asked.

“I don’t know . . . maybe two weeks. I know where they’re stored, but I’ll have to steal one at a time so they aren’t missed.”

“Good. Bring them here two weeks from tonight. We’ll be waiting.” The man tossed Reuben a small leather pouch. Coins jingled inside as he caught it. “Here’s your first payment. Call it an apology for roughing you up.”

Reuben loosened the drawstring and looked inside. Gold. He suppressed a smile, needing to act tough. “I’ll be back in two weeks,” he said and walked off into the night, alone.

B
ABYLON

D
evorah watched her husband swallow his last bite of supper, then rise to leave moments later, and anger boiled up inside her like water in a cooking pot. Ezra had arrived home late, long after Abigail and Michal were asleep, and the food Devorah had prepared for her new husband had grown cold. Now he was leaving again for the yeshiva, where he would study until well past midnight.

“Don’t wait up,” he said as he lifted the latch to the gate. As if she really intended to! Her anger spilled over as she rose to her feet.

“This isn’t a marriage, Ezra. We’ve been husband and wife for three months now, and I never see you except when we eat and sleep. Is this what God intended when He commanded us to marry each other?”

He turned and came back, resting his hand on her shoulder as he guided her inside where they could speak in private. He obviously didn’t want the neighbors to know their esteemed leader and his new bride had troubles. “No, Devorah. This isn’t what God intended,” he said. “I’m sorry. But there’s so much work to do at the pottery yard, and then there’s my work at the yeshiva and—”

“Doesn’t the Torah say two people become one in marriage? We’re not ‘one.’ We’re two people living under the same roof and trying to make a baby to fulfill the law.”

He winced at her blunt words. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, closing his eyes. “I have obligations. Tell me . . . what do you want me to do? What do other husbands do?”

“Other newly married husbands
want
to spend time with their wives. A team of chariot horses couldn’t drag them away every evening, six days a week.” She bit her tongue to stop herself from comparing Ezra to Jude, who had savored every spare moment with her. Would it always be this way? Would she spend the rest of her life comparing her marriage to Ezra with what she enjoyed with his brother?

“I . . . I didn’t think you would necessarily want to spend time with me,” he said. “I remember how things were with you and Jude, and . . . and I know it wasn’t your idea to marry me.”

“It was the Holy One’s idea. Which is why I intend to give our marriage a chance, putting the same time and effort into it that Jude and I . . .” Her throat swelled, and she couldn’t finish.

“Devorah, I’m sorry.” He pulled her close for a moment, and it still felt strange to her to be in his arms, even after three months of marriage.

“Jude is gone. We’re married to each other now,” she said as she pulled free again. “I don’t think either of us expects to fall in love, but I do expect companionship. The Holy One said it wasn’t good for man to be alone, and the same is true for women. Yet I’m home alone every night.”

“I know you are. And I know this marriage was God’s idea, but I wish He would show me how to squeeze more hours out of each day so I can accomplish all the work He’s given me to do. And I guess . . . I guess I thought it might be too painful for you to have me here all the time.”

“I want a real marriage, and I thought you did, too.”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why don’t you ever look at me, Ezra? You always avert your eyes. I know I’m not pretty but—”

“That’s not true!”

“I can see that my nose is too large, and—”

“Devorah, everything about you is beautiful.” He took her hands in his. “You’re as lovely as the beloved wife King Solomon describes in
Song of Songs.
‘Your neck is like an ivory tower. Your eyes are the pools of Heshbon. . . . Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon. . . . Your hair is like royal tapestry. . . .’”

If Devorah hadn’t been so angry, she would have laughed out loud. Only Ezra would quote Scripture to tell his wife she was pretty. She pulled her hands free. “I know all about the
Song of Songs
. It’s a love poem that’s included in the holy books because God created married love for our enjoyment. As a beautiful gift. But you don’t know anything about enjoying God’s gift because you’re never home! We’re married in name only.”

“Forgive me,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I don’t know how to be a good husband. I don’t know how to relate to people except as their rebbe. Jude once told me to get my head out of the clouds and start living, but I’m still not very good at it.” He raked his fingers through his hair, knocking his kippah askew. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better,” he said as he straightened it. “If I shuffle my students around, maybe I can find more time—”

“I’m not asking for my own sake, but for our child’s sake.”

Ezra froze. His brows lifted in surprise. “Our child? You mean . . . ?”

Devorah nodded, resting her hand on her middle. “Yes. I’m expecting a baby.” This wasn’t the way she’d planned to tell him, but since he was always talking to other people or running off to the yeshiva, she had no choice.

“Devorah, I . . . I don’t know what to say. But I know what I would like to do more than anything else right now . . . if you’ll let me. . . .”

“What?”

He drew her into his arms and held her tightly. She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t help it. Being pregnant always made her emotional. “Devorah, please don’t cry,” he begged. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the last thing I would ever want to do.”

“It’s okay. . . . I’m okay. . . .” She wiped her eyes.

“Listen, I have a commitment tonight I absolutely can’t avoid, but I promise I’ll try to make more time for us to be a family from now on.”

Devorah nodded and let him go. She believed he meant well. But she also doubted he’d be able to change years of habit and priorities unless she helped him.

The next morning while Ezra led morning prayers, she walked with the girls to the pottery yard to talk to Asher. “I’m going to ask you a question,” she began, “and I want you to give me an honest answer. Do you still need Ezra to work full-time here at the pottery in Jude’s place, or can he return to the work he used to do?”

Asher set down the pot he carried. “I tell Ezra all the time he should go back to the yeshiva and be a full-time rebbe, but he insists on earning a living here to support you.”

“Don’t they pay him for leading our people and for teaching students?”

Asher shook his head. “Jude and I used to support all his Torah studies. That’s why he lived with you and Jude.”

“That’s outrageous! The least our people can do is pay him for all his hard work! The Torah clearly says not to muzzle an ox while it’s treading out the grain.”

“I agree, but it’s not up to me. Talk to the elders.”

“Will you arrange a meeting for me with them?”

Asher laughed. “I meant it was up to the elders to decide these things, Devorah. . . . I wasn’t suggesting you should really talk to them.”

“I know. But that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Can you arrange it for me? Without letting Ezra know?”

Asher had the look of a man who had let the reins slip from his hands and was racing downhill in a runaway cart. “I—I suppose I can, but do you really think it’s wise to go behind Ezra’s back?”

“In this case, I have no choice. You know your brother. He would never dream of speaking up and asking for such a thing himself. And if I tell him I’m going to talk to the elders, he’ll never let me do it. But someone needs to speak up on his behalf. He works night and day, Asher. He’s never home. The people are wearing him out.”

“I know. You’re right. I’ll see if I can arrange a meeting for you.”

“Thank you. And please make it soon.” Before she lost her nerve.

Three days later, Devorah found herself in the house of assembly after morning prayers, facing the community’s twelve elders. If she allowed herself to dwell on it, she could feel very intimidated by this somber group of men with stern faces, but the justice of her plea gave her courage. Asher had arranged for them to meet without Ezra’s knowledge, as promised, and he stood by her side, looking as though he’d rather be anyplace else but here.

“This is highly unusual,” one of the men began.

“I know,” Devorah replied. She lifted her chin and spoke the words she’d carefully rehearsed. “When my first husband, Jude, was killed on the Thirteenth of Adar, I couldn’t understand it. Jude was strong and brave and knew how to fight. Ezra was the inexperienced brother. Yet Jude died and Ezra was spared. And so I’ve decided the Almighty One must have spared him for a reason.”

She saw several of the elders leaning forward, drawn into her story, and it gave her courage. “I know you’ll agree that Ezra is a dedicated leader. He’s also an outstanding scholar and teacher. My husband has a unique gift for inspiring his students and
making the Torah come alive. And when he leads the people of our community, he’s leading them closer to God. His work has eternal value, wouldn’t you agree?” Several men nodded as if inviting her to continue.

“But in order to support his family he makes pots all day. He has no choice. I believe he’s wasting a very precious, God-given talent by doing that work. And so I’ve come to ask if there’s some way our community could allow him do what he was created to do without allowing his family to starve. I’m willing to live on less so Ezra can do God’s work, but he’s a responsible, hardworking man, and he would never agree.” Devorah paused, avoiding telling them bluntly they ought to pay him. Men rarely liked being told what to do, especially by a woman. Let them think of it themselves.

“People are always coming to speak with my husband, at all hours of the day, and he never turns anyone away. But he is so very tired. And he has no time to pursue his own Torah studies—the work he loves most of all. I just wondered how often it is in our people’s history that a gifted scholar like Ezra comes along. Once in a lifetime, maybe? Isn’t there anything you can do to help him?” She let the silence stretch for a moment, then said, “Thank you for listening and for and considering my question.”

She left the room, her steps unhurried, and returned home to wait. She had no idea what would happen—or what Ezra’s reaction would be when he found out. Jude’s hot temper had sometimes been troublesome, but at least she’d always known what he thought and if he was angry and why. Ezra’s quiet, self-contained nature was maddening. But one way or another, she would soon know exactly how Ezra felt about what she’d done.

Ezra stared down at the ledger books without seeing them. A dozen times a day he was distracted from his work at the pottery
yard by the realization he was going to be a father. What did he feel? Joy? Wonder? Disbelief? All of those and yet something more: a sense of awe that this might be how God felt when He’d created mankind.

Devorah said she wanted a real marriage, wanted to spend more time with him. Was it possible she could love him one day? Never as much as she’d loved Jude, certainly, but was it possible? And how did he feel about her after three months—after creating a child together? Sure, he had very little time to spend with her, but he also knew he was afraid to let himself fall in love, afraid he could never measure up to Jude, afraid his presence reminded her of what she’d once had and lost. He’d been fulfilling his duty as a husband and little more. Amazingly, Devorah wanted more.

He tried to return to his computations, then noticed a knot of men making their way across the yard, coming toward him. He silently groaned. Not another interruption. But as the men drew nearer, he realized they were his community’s elders. He shot to his feet, afraid something had happened, and hurried toward them. Asher saw the men, too, and left his wheel and the pot he’d been shaping to join him, wiping his hands on a rag. Asher wore a faint smile on his face, as if he was going to make a joke and ask the elders if they’d come to purchase pottery.

“I hope it isn’t bad news that brings you gentlemen here,” Ezra said.

“Not at all,” the chief elder replied. “We’ve come with a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?”

“Yes. Would you consider resigning from your work here? On behalf of our community, we would like to pay you to be our full-time rebbe and leader.”

Ezra stared. He couldn’t have been more surprised if they
had
come to purchase pots.

“I don’t understand.”

Asher’s smile spread into a grin. “It’s simple. No more pottery-making, Ezra.”

“From now on your job will be to lead us and teach us,” the elder continued, “and make sure we follow the Torah. That job should occupy all your time, along with your own studies.”

“We’ve worked it out so you can spend your days teaching the next generation of leaders and scholars,” a second man added. “It’s what you’ve been doing for more than a year, but by not paying you for your work, we were doing God and you a great disservice. We must not allow you to waste the great mind He has given you on ledger books and pottery sales. Your gift comes only once in a lifetime. Maybe two lifetimes.”

Ezra turned to his brother, struggling for words. “I don’t want to abandon you, Asher. There’s too much work here for you to do alone.”

“We’ve done very well this past year,” Asher said. “I think I can find someone to take your place. I have to learn to trust God, too.”

Ezra turned back to the elders, surprised to see them smiling. “I-I don’t know what to say. You’ve taken me by surprise. . . . Thank you, Asher. And thank you—”