Keepers of the Covenant (2 page)

B
ABYLON

T
he door to Ezra’s study burst open without warning. Startled, he looked up from his scroll and saw his brother Jude on the threshold, breathless. He still wore his leather potter’s apron, and streaks of dried clay smudged his arms and forehead. “You need to come right away.”

Ezra held the pointer in place on the scroll to mark where he’d stopped reading. “Can it wait a few more minutes? We’re nearly finished with this Torah portion, and it’s a particularly difficult one.”

Jude strode across the room and snatched the pointer from Ezra’s hand, tossing it onto the table. “No! It can’t wait. If the rumors are true, our people’s lives are at stake, and your Torah studies aren’t going to matter in the least!”

“I’m sorry,” Ezra said to the other three scholars. “I’ll be back as soon as I see what the problem is.”

“All of you need to come,” Jude said, gesturing to the men at the study table. “This involves all of us.”

“But our work—”

“This is more important.” Jude tugged Ezra’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “Come on.”

Ezra would chide his brother later for bursting in on him and his colleagues and not even allowing him time to put away the scrolls. Jude was thirty-one, four years younger than Ezra, and his temper could burn as hot as the kiln where he and their younger brother, Asher, fired their pottery. “Where are we going?” Ezra asked as Jude hurried him and the others from the room.

“To the house of assembly. The elders have called an emergency meeting.”

“Can you give me the gist of the problem, Jude? We have important work to do.” His brother didn’t understand the seriousness of Ezra’s scholarly work, studying and interpreting God’s holy law, putting it into practical terms so laborers like Jude could apply it to their everyday lives. The God of Abraham had called His people to live holy lives, and Ezra’s work would ensure that they didn’t repeat the failures of the past, which had led to their current captivity in Babylon.

“I know all about your important work,” Jude said as they strode through the narrow streets. “Why do you think Asher and I support you and give you a place to live?”

“That doesn’t give you the right to interrupt me and order me around—”

Jude halted, still gripping Ezra’s arm, and swung around to face him. “Did you hear what I said, Ezra? Or was your head in the clouds with the angels? This news concerns our people’s lives.”

“You can let go of my arm,” he said, pulling free. “I’m coming with you, aren’t I?”

Ezra seldom participated in community councils, preferring his life of scholarly isolation. But he sensed the urgency of the meeting as soon as he and Jude pushed their way into the packed assembly hall. Men from every strata of society had left work to gather here.
Rebbe
Nathan, the leader of Babylon’s exiled Jewish community, stood on the
bimah
calling for quiet. Beside
him stood an elderly Babylonian man, dressed in the robes of a royal sorcerer, looking out of place in this Jewish house of prayer. The stranger gazed around as if looking for an escape—as if the crowd might pull him limb-from-limb any minute. The mere sight of a Gentile, standing so close to where the sacred scrolls were kept, infuriated Ezra.

“What is that pagan shaman doing in our house of prayer?” he asked Jude. “It’s a desecration—”

“Shh!” Jude elbowed him. “Will you forget all your holy rules for once and just listen?”

“Quiet! Please!” Rebbe Nathan said. “Everyone needs to listen!” When the men finally quieted, he turned to the elderly Babylonian. “Tell them why you’ve come. Tell them everything you told me.”

The sorcerer stared at the floor, not at the crowd as he spoke in a halting voice. “Years ago, as one of the king’s young magi in training, I was honored to know the man you called Daniel the Righteous One—may he rest in peace. Because of my great admiration for him, I wanted you to hear about this royal dispatch immediately.” He held up an official-looking document. “Couriers delivered it from the citadel of Susa. King Xerxes sealed it with his own ring. It will be translated into every language and sent to satraps, governors, and nobles throughout the empire, announced to people of every nationality. The king’s edict is an unalterable law in every province—” The old man paused as his voice broke. He passed the document to Nathan. “Here, you read it . . . and may the God you serve have mercy.”

Rebbe Nathan cleared his throat. “This is an order to destroy, kill, and annihilate
all
Jews, young and old, women and children, in every province in the kingdom. . . .”

Horrified murmurs swept through the crowd. Ezra shook his head as to erase the words he’d just heard.
Kill all the
Jews?

“The massacre is scheduled to take place on a single day
later this year,” Nathan continued. “On the thirteenth day of the twelfth month.”

Ezra turned to his brother, hoping this was a mistake or a terrible joke, hoping he’d misunderstood. This couldn’t be true. They would all be slaughtered in a few short months? Jude, who had a wife and two young daughters, had tears in his eyes.

“But . . . why?” Ezra asked aloud. “Why kill all of us?” What had been the point of all his years of study, all his knowledge of the Torah, all the work of the men of the Great Assembly, if their lives ended this way? Why would the Almighty One allow it?

“What’s the reason for this decree?” someone shouted. “What did we do wrong?”

Rebbe Nathan wiped his eyes. “No explanation is given.”

“We don’t have enemies here in Babylon,” another man said. “They wouldn’t kill us here, in this city, would they?”

“The order allows our assassins to plunder our goods,” Nathan said. “Even those men who don’t hate us will join in the killing to take everything we have—homes, businesses . . .”

“And since this decree comes from King Xerxes himself,” the Babylonian sorcerer added, “many in his kingdom will rush to obey it in order to win his favor. You’ve been declared the king’s enemies.”

“We have to flee!” one of the elders said. “We have to get our families out of Babylon now!”

Ezra had the same thought. He needed to race back to his study and pack all the priceless Torah scrolls, the historical accounts, wisdom literature, the scrolls of the prophets, and take them someplace safe.

“There’s no place to go,” Nathan said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “The executions will take place simultaneously throughout the empire. In every province.”

“Oh, God of Abraham . . .” Ezra covered his mouth. He leaned against his sturdy brother, sick with horror. Panic and fear swelled like thunderclouds throughout the hall.

“What are we going to do?” someone moaned.

“Our wives . . . our children . . . we can’t let them die!”

“God of Abraham, why is this happening?” Wails of grief filled the hall.

“Why not just kill us now, if that’s what they want?” Jude shouted above the weeping. “Is it part of the torture to make us wait eleven months so we have to watch the angel of death slowly approach?”

Nathan held up his hands again to silence the commotion. He turned to the Babylonian sorcerer. “Please, can you help us get an audience with the government officials here in Babylon? Maybe if we begged them for mercy—”

“They’ll never agree to speak with you,” he replied, shaking his head. “They fear King Xerxes and his chief administrator, Haman, too much. In fact, I’m risking trouble myself by coming here and associating with you. I need to go.” He tried to step down from the bimah, but Nathan stopped him.

“Wait. Who is this Haman?”

“He sits at King Xerxes’ right hand, second in power only to the king.”

“Do you know his full name or anything about him? Would he show us mercy?”

“I don’t know. . . . Maybe his full name is there in the decree, somewhere,” he said, gesturing to the scroll. “Look for yourself. I have to leave.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do to stop this? Do you know anyone who would give us refuge or a place to hide? We’ll travel anywhere, no matter how distant.”

“If I knew I would tell you. I don’t want to see this happen, either. I came for Rebbe Daniel’s sake, but I really must go now. I never meant to stay this long.” Nathan helped him step down from the platform, and the crowd parted to let him through as he hurried away.

“How can this be?” Ezra tugged his hair and beard, the pain
a reminder that this was real and not a nightmare. How could every Jew in the empire be under a death sentence, without hope, without an escape? The God of Abraham would never do this to them. They’d suffered destruction and exile before, but God promised through His prophets that a remnant would survive, that His covenant would endure. Were the prophets wrong?

Ezra looked up and saw Nathan perusing the king’s decree, murmuring the words aloud as he read it. The crowd hushed to listen. “There’s no other way to interpret it,” Nathan said. “The decree is final, signed and sealed with King Xerxes’ authority . . . and witnessed by Haman son of Hammedatha, the Agagite.”

Ezra moaned. “Oh no. There’s our reason.”

“Does that name mean something to you?” Jude asked. Ezra could only nod, overwhelmed by the truth of who this powerful enemy was. “Tell all of us, Ezra,” Jude said, pushing him toward the front. “Listen, everyone! My brother has information. Let him speak!”

“You know this man Haman?” Nathan asked.

“No, I’m only a scholar. I’ve never traveled beyond this city.” Ezra climbed the bimah
,
his steps heavy. “But I know the Torah and the history of our people, and believe me, the man behind this murderous decree—this Haman the Agagite—is our enemy.”

“Tell us what you know.”

Ezra needed a moment to catch his breath. “Agag was the king of the Amalekites—a tribe of people who descended from Esau’s grandson, Amalek. If Haman calls himself the Agagite, then he must be from their royal family. He’s their king—and now he’s in a position of power over the entire Persian Empire. Of course he would want to use that authority to destroy us.” Ezra had to pause again, horror-struck by what he was saying.

“The Amalekites have long been the enemies of our people. They attacked our ancestors as soon as we escaped from Egypt with Moses. They didn’t care that we were unarmed or that we traveled with women and children.”

“Cowards!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“That’s exactly right,” Ezra said. “The Almighty One commanded our first king, Saul, to completely destroy all the Amalekites. When Saul disobeyed, his kingship was taken away and given to David. We’ve been at war with the Amalekites throughout our history. These descendants of Esau believe that if they destroy all of the descendants of Jacob, they’ll inherit the covenant blessings from God that rightfully belong to us.”

“Do we have to sit by and accept this?” Jude asked. “Why not arm ourselves and fight back?”

Nathan bowed his head for a moment before looking up again. “The King will use the Persian army to enforce this decree. Even if we tried to fight, we couldn’t possibly win. When the thirteenth day of Adar comes . . .” He couldn’t finish. He leaned against Ezra as if about to collapse, weeping.

“Get a bench!” Ezra shouted. “He needs to sit down.” The men passed one up to the platform, and Ezra helped the elderly rebbe sit on it. “Are you all right?” he asked. Nathan didn’t reply. He continued to weep, his body bent double, his head in his hands.

“Isn’t there anyone in the government who can help us?” one of the elders asked. Ezra realized that the man was addressing him. Everyone was looking to him to take Nathan’s place.

“None that I know of,” he replied. “Daniel the Righteous One was an advisor to the king when he was alive, but we no longer have an advocate in Babylon or Susa or anywhere else. Even if we did, the king sealed the decree, and the laws of the Medes and Persians can never be changed.”

Sounds of mourning filled the hall again. “I refuse to accept this death sentence!” Jude shouted above the cries. “There must be something we can do besides sit around waiting to die!”

“We can fast and pray,” Ezra said. “We can wrestle with God the way Jacob did at the Jabbok River as he prepared to face Esau.” He spoke the correct words, giving the response that a
man of faith would offer, but in that moment, Ezra’s faith was so shaken, his heart and mind so engulfed by the rising river of hopelessness, that he didn’t know how God could possibly save them. They were all sentenced to death.

“Do you think this is God’s punishment?” someone asked. “Is it because our fathers remained here instead of returning to Jerusalem with Prince Zerubbabel?”

“It can’t be,” Jude said before Ezra could reply. “Isn’t Jerusalem under the same death sentence we are? Every Jew in the kingdom will be annihilated!”

“We need to pray,” Ezra repeated.

“What good will that do?” Jude asked.

Ezra couldn’t answer Jude’s question, nor did he want to argue with him in front of the entire community. “I need to go back to my study and—”

“Ezra! For once in your life, put away your scrolls and join the real world!” Jude said. “Do you think you’ll be allowed to go on studying while the rest of us are slaughtered?”

“My scrolls may not help, but neither will shouting,” he replied. “There’s nothing any of us can do for now, except pray. Maybe God will tell us why this is happening or show us a way out. In the meantime, someone needs to take Nathan home. . . . We all need to go home.” Ezra stepped down from the platform, desperate to reach the nearest door. He couldn’t stay here a moment longer, listening to questions he couldn’t answer, defending a God he didn’t understand. The fear in the hall had become paralyzing, and he needed to escape it while he still could walk.

But when Ezra reached his study and sank onto his stool, he could only stare in stunned disbelief at the Torah scroll lying open where he’d left it. “How can this be?” he asked aloud. “God of Abraham, how can you let our enemy triumph this way? How have we angered you?” In spite of all Ezra’s knowledge and learning and his ability to interpret the finest details of the
law, the Almighty One seemed unknowable at that moment. Ezra lowered his head to the table, resting his forehead on his folded his arms. “‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning?’”