Keepers of the Covenant (21 page)

“You don’t need to convince me,” she said, laughing. “I’m your wife. And to be honest, I was the same as you, growing up. I wouldn’t have done anything to displease my father.”

“I’ll have to discipline the boys, of course, but how? Will the rod accomplish anything? And then what? I can hardly watch over them day and night or make them my prisoners.”

“I know you have to punish them. But can’t you show mercy, too? You’re an expert at applying the Law, but doesn’t the Almighty One temper His law with mercy?”

“If I thought mercy would make as great of an impression on them as their adventure in Babylon did, I would gladly offer it. If fear of breaking the law didn’t deter them, I’m not sure what will. That’s the trouble with living here in Babylon—all the lines between right and wrong, good and evil, holy and common are starting to blur. I wish our sons saw those lines as clearly as the line between Shabbat and ordinary days. . . . If only we still lived in our own land.”

“But we don’t. We live in Babylon, and our children will become adults here.”

“Yes. And who knows what they’ll grow up to be. Their true
calling and heritage is to be priests, but that can’t happen. I feel so desperate, Devorah, so afraid we’ll lose them if we don’t do something. They see their excursion into Babylon as simply a day of skipping classes, but it’s so much more than that.”

Devorah stopped preparing their bed and came to him, holding him in her arms to soothe him. “But, Ezra, the lessons they skipped—I heard the boys say those portions of the Torah don’t apply here in Babylon. And in a way, they’re right.”

“Yes, and it worries me that they’ve figured it out already at their young age. How far will they take it in the future? Will they continue to exclude portions of God’s Word if they don’t think they need to follow them?”

He let his arms drop from around her, and she knew he needed to pace while he talked and thought. After more than a dozen years of marriage, Devorah had grown accustomed to Ezra’s need for solitude. He was not as demonstrative with his affection as Jude had been, yet she knew he cared for her—and valued her opinion. He considered her one of his most trusted advisors, an honor more precious and meaningful to her than his embraces.

“Do you see it, Devorah? The gradual assimilation, the daily compromises we make when we think the little things don’t really matter? If we aren’t careful, we’ll wake up one morning and discover we aren’t a separate people anymore. We’ll look and act and talk just like the Gentiles. This incident with our sons—how do we know it isn’t the first tiny step away from God?”

She walked to where he stood again and caressed his face, smoothing his beard, which was flecked with gray now like his hair. Rain drummed hard on the flat rooftop above them. “Come to bed, Ezra. I know God will show you what to do about the twins.” She removed her outer robe and climbed into bed. Ezra sank down beside her a moment later and tried to get comfortable, but she doubted he would sleep.

“It isn’t just our sons’ truancy,” he said after a moment. “I’ve
been praying about the apathy of our people for a long time now, and asking God what He wants me to do about it.”

“Apathy? That’s a very strong word.”

“Yes, but do you remember what it was like in our community after we defeated our enemies on the Thirteenth of Adar? We were all working together then, and everyone had a renewed passion for God and a desire to serve Him.”

“I think part of it was fear that if we disobeyed Him again He might not save us the next time,” she said.

“True, but I also believe there was genuine spiritual renewal going on. It was easy to rise up in faith and heroism when we faced a clear-cut enemy. It’s much harder to resist the enemy of gradualism and assimilation, much harder to maintain a passion for God when we’re bogged down in the daily routine of life.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

He rolled over to face her. “Our ancestors must have experienced spiritual revival after they were delivered from slavery in Egypt, because in that first flush of excitement they told Moses, ‘We will do everything the Lord has said.’ I don’t see that zeal anymore. I see apathy. If people follow God’s laws at all, it’s out of habit or legalism, not love. Some of us are no better than the Gentiles, ignoring God and His laws and then creating our own image of what God is like and what He wants from us.”

“Ezra, the women I know just want to raise their families in peace. And you can’t blame the young people for craving a little excitement now and then, can you? They long for something different.”

“I don’t want any of our children to adopt the apathy and carelessness of the people here in Babylon. Our sons think of this place as their home, but it isn’t. The land of Israel is their home. I don’t want them to grow up among these filthy Gentiles, do you?”

“No, but there’s nothing we can do about it. We live side by side with them.”

“Did you hear Shallum say the Gentiles he met were nice?
Nice
, Devorah! Their generation has already forgotten how much the Babylonians hate us. I hate Gentiles and their pagan ways, and I don’t want our family anywhere near them!”

“We can’t hold our sons captive. They’ll be adults soon.”

“I know,” Ezra said with a groan. “But listen, Devorah: If I long for a better life for my children, a holy life, wouldn’t God want the same thing for us, His children?”

He left their bed a few minutes later, but Devorah didn’t go to him. She knew her husband well enough by now to know he needed to wrestle with God alone to find answers to his questions. Besides, Devorah had work to do tomorrow, a home and a family to care for. She sighed and went to sleep.

E
zra’s words haunted Devorah as she went about her work the next day. Was it true her people were growing apathetic toward the Holy One? That they were slowly becoming like their Gentile neighbors? She thought Ezra’s opinion was a little harsh, but as she stood in line at the well with her water jug, waiting for her turn, the conversation she overheard between two Jewish women changed her mind.

“Did you have a nice Shabbat?” one woman asked the other.

“It’s a day like all the others to me,” the second woman replied, waving her hand. “My husband’s employer is a Gentile, and he’d never dream of giving us a day of rest.”

“But you could still keep the Sabbath, couldn’t you? And not work?”

“Why bother? We live in Babylon, not Jerusalem.”

The dismissive words shocked Devorah. She made her way home again, balancing the jar on her head, and thought of the burdens Ezra carried for their entire community.

Later, she made her way to the open-air market to shop for produce, the noisy bustle of bartering and vendors shouting out the virtues of their wares assaulting her from a distance. The air smelled of spices and ripe leeks and fresh fish. As she squeezed between the tightly packed booths, through crowds of
Jews and Gentiles, she met a friend she hadn’t seen in months. “Have you been away?” Devorah asked her. “We’ve missed you in the house of assembly.”

“No . . . It’s hard to get there regularly with the children and my husband’s work. You know how it is. . . .” Devorah didn’t reply, but she wondered if Ezra had been right when he’d accused their people of apathy. Devorah and her friend talked about their families for a while, catching up as they haggled with vendors and sniffed melons for freshness. “Your twins will come of age later this year, won’t they?” her friend asked as they sorted through a mound of fragrant garlic. “Aren’t they the same age as my son?”

“Yes, their bar mitzvah is at the end of this year.”

“Have you decided on an apprenticeship for them yet? Or are they going to work in the family pottery yard?”

“Ezra wants them to continue studying in the yeshiva.”

“What for?” she asked, with a look of surprise. “Won’t they need a trade in order to make a living someday?”

Devorah bristled. “Ezra studies and teaches and he makes a living—”

“That’s different. He’s our leader. But why would he want your boys to study something as outdated and impractical as the Torah? What good is it for everyday life here in Babylon?”

Devorah was too stunned to reply. Her friend said good-bye and they parted, but afterward Devorah was more attuned to the swirl of activity around her. Jews mingled with pagan Gentiles as if there were no differences between them, as if the Thirteenth of Adar had never happened.

Walking home again, the conversation she overheard between two Jewish women stunned her. “I’ll be planning a wedding for my daughter soon,” one of them said. “My husband is arranging a betrothal for her with his boss’s son.”

“I thought his boss was a Gentile,” the other replied.

“He is. But he’s a good man. And he has always treated us kindly.”

Devorah halted and turned around. “Excuse me for interrupting, but how can you allow your daughter to marry a pagan?”

“I want her to have a happy life. She’ll have servants and a lovely home and will never lack for a thing as long as she lives.”

“You think servants and wealth will bring happiness?” Devorah asked.

The woman gave her a scathing look. “I think you should mind your own business.”

That night after supper, as her daughters cleared the table and washed the dishes, Devorah remained seated beside her husband. “I’ve been thinking about what we discussed last night—about our people’s apathy and the danger of assimilation with the Gentiles. I guess my eyes were closed to it, but I see what you mean now, Ezra. I paid attention today while I was in the market and at the well, and I can see the danger our children face. But what can we do about it?”

“I prayed about Judah and Shallum all night,” he said, lowering his voice. “And when I finally did fall asleep, I had a nightmare. I dreamt the Gentiles were coming to kill us again, but our children didn’t have any weapons, no way to defend themselves.”

Devorah felt cold at the thought. “When our ancestors were on the way from Egypt to the Promised Land, our enemies attacked us and tried to kill us. When that didn’t work they hired Balaam and tried to put a curse on us. That plan also failed, so they decided to be friendly to us and invite our young people to their festivals. They enticed us with the offer of ‘freedom’ and with sexual immorality, and thousands fell for it. We ended up destroying ourselves. That could so easily happen again, Ezra. We can’t escape the Gentiles’ influence. They’re all around us.”

“I know. We don’t belong here. We belong in the land God gave us.”

“But He exiled us here. What can we do if He won’t let us go home?”

“God did let some of us go home, remember? Under Prince
Zerubbabel? Maybe He’d make a way for the rest of us to return, too, if we asked.”

“Wouldn’t that take a miracle?”

“We serve a God of miracles.” She could see his growing excitement. “That’s the answer, Devorah, don’t you see? We need to pray—all of us, every day—and ask God to open the door for us to return the way He did eighty years ago with King Cyrus’s decree. That’s the only way we can ever truly protect our children.”

“Do you think God will answer such a prayer?”

“Why wouldn’t He? Nothing is impossible for Him. But if He did, Devorah, would you go with me? Would you help me move our family back to our homeland where we belong?”

She took a moment to reply, knowing it would mean an enormous sacrifice and incalculable changes to leave the only home she’d ever known and travel across a vast, dangerous land. But the risk of having her daughters marry Gentiles or seeing her sons enticed by Babylon seemed deadlier. “If God worked a miracle and moved the Persian king’s heart a second time,” she finally said, “we would be fools not to obey. Our parents and grandparents never should have remained behind the last time.”

Ezra gripped Devorah’s hands. “God sent Moses and Aaron to Pharaoh to demand our freedom. We need to ask the Persian king to let our people go.”

“Who would dare ask such a thing? He’s even more powerful than Pharaoh was.”

He met her gaze. “I would go if the Holy One sent me.”

She gave a nervous laugh, frightened at the thought of her gentle, humble husband confronting the empire’s ruthless leader. “The boys skipped one day of school and you’re Moses now?” she asked. But she could see Ezra’s determination.

“Do you agree that we need to get our family out of Babylon?”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“The Holy One declared that our exile had ended when King
Cyrus issued his decree. So why are we still here? God promised Abraham that the land would be ours forever. Of course it’s His will for us to go home. We need to be courageous enough to ask for our freedom.” Ezra rose from the table to pace in the courtyard. “The twins were right; there are so many commandments in the Torah we can’t obey here. And they were born to be priests, not potters in Babylon.” He paused and turned back to her. “Will you pray with me, Devorah, and convince others to pray? We need to ask God for a miracle.”

“Do you think this dream is even possible?” She felt overwhelmed and excited and afraid all at the same time. “And are you really the one who should talk to the Persian king?”

“I don’t know. But I’m not going to stop praying about it until the Holy One shows me if this is what He wants me to do.”

Ezra sat in the yeshiva with his head bowed, his eyes closed, praying for the Almighty One’s guidance while his sons studied the lessons he had assigned them, putting in another long evening of work by lamplight. He heard them talking with each other as they prepared, discussing their ideas, bickering over sources. Then their chatter halted. Ezra looked up. “We finally have the three examples you asked us to find, Abba,” Judah told him. “We found people who were discontented with their lives.”

“And a verse for each one,” Shallum added, “showing what God thought of their disobedience.”

“Very good. I’m listening.” Ezra sat back in his seat, arms folded.

“In the first book of the Torah, Adam and Eve wanted to taste the forbidden fruit,” Judah said. “They weren’t content with what God gave them and wanted more.”

“And the Torah says, ‘The Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken,’” Shallum read.

“Good. The Holy One takes our rebellion very seriously, wouldn’t you say?” The boys nodded in tandem.

“The second example comes from the fourth book of Moses,” Judah said. “When Israel was in the desert, some of the people became discontented with following God’s rules and eating manna all the time, and so they decided to feast with the Moabites and take part in all their forbidden rituals.”

“So the Lord told Moses, ‘Take all the leaders of these people and kill them and expose them in broad daylight,’” Shallum read.

Ezra nodded. It was the same example Devorah had mentioned when they’d talked earlier in the evening. “Again, it’s pretty clear how God felt about their discontent, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Abba.”

“Our last example is from the fifth book of the Torah. It tells what will happen whenever any of us become discontented. The Holy One lists all the blessings we can expect if we obey Him, then all the ways we’ll be cursed if we don’t. And most of the curses have already come true, Abba. That’s why we live here in Babylon and not in the Promised Land.”

“But we decided to choose a verse for this one that also shows God’s mercy,” Shallum said, “because God is a compassionate and gracious God. The verse says, ‘Even if you have been banished to the most distant land under the heavens, from there the Lord God will gather you and bring you back. He will bring you to the land that belonged to your fathers.’” Shallum finished and looked up from the scroll, waiting.

Ezra couldn’t speak. From the mouths of his own sons, God had shown him His will.
The Lord God will gather you and bring you
back.
The Almighty One would open the door for His people and bring them home.

“Isn’t the last example good enough, Abba?” Judah asked when Ezra hadn’t replied.

“It’s perfect, son. Let’s go home.”

Ezra wasted no time convening a meeting of the community’s elders the following day. Rain was falling, misting through the open windows and making the meeting room damp and clammy. According to the Torah, rain was a blessing from God—and Ezra prayed for God’s blessing on what he was about to propose.

“We’ve finished our work of studying how the law applies to our lives,” he began. “Now we need to live it. But my own sons have pointed out to me how impossible it is to do that here in Babylon. God commands us to bring sacrifices to His temple. Impossible. He commands us to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem three times a year to celebrate the appointed feasts. Impossible. Why would the Almighty One give us laws that are impossible to fulfill?” He paused and studied the faces of the assembled men before continuing. “The answer is, He wouldn’t. He doesn’t expect us to do the impossible, so there must be a way to obey Him. My sons also reminded me of God’s promise, ‘Even if you have been banished to the most distant land under the heavens, from there the Lord God will gather you and bring you back. He will bring you to the land that belonged to your fathers.’ I believe God keeps His promises. And I believe He wants us to return home to Jerusalem. Now. All of us. With our families.”

“Now?”
one of the elders asked. “Who will lead us? We don’t have Moses or a royal descendant like Prince Zerubbabel this time.”

“All you have is me,” Ezra replied. “And we have each other. I believe God is calling us to return to our land, and I’m asking for your support and prayers. When the Holy One first asked me to lead you fourteen years ago, we were in a fight for our lives. I studied the Torah day and night with the other scholars, trying to learn about God in order to save our people. We figured out that we weren’t keeping the terms of His covenant—and we still aren’t. Maybe that’s why our enemies nearly prevailed over us. We need to return home and live by the laws of the Torah. We need to keep the Sabbath and the appointed feasts.
We need to appoint judges who will govern the Promised Land by God’s law. And we need to bring our offerings to the temple, for our children’s sakes as well as our own. It’s the only way to safeguard our families’ futures. We have to put into practice what we know from the Torah. We have to keep our side of the covenant we made with God.”

“How can we possibly convince King Artaxerxes to set us free?”

“I don’t know, but we have to do it. We can’t let the Hamans of this world threaten us again. We may have survived the sword the last time, but now we stand in danger of perishing by assimilation. We must return to our land where we’ll be free to live by the Torah. It’s the only way to avoid the divine curse. It doesn’t matter if we read the Torah every day if it isn’t evident in our lives. But if God grants us success, gentlemen—and I believe He will—then we can return home and live in our land.”