Keepers of the Covenant (37 page)

J
ERUSALEM

I
’m sorry, Ezra,” Devorah said, “but I can’t hold my tongue any longer.” She had listened all morning to the tumult in Ezra’s nearby council chamber as the jury decided the fate of men who had married Gentile wives. Women wailed with grief in the courtyard outside Devorah’s rooms. Grown men wept, and she wanted to weep along with them. Now the jury had finished their deliberations for the day, and Ezra had returned home, exhausted and haggard. But Devorah simply couldn’t remain silent a moment longer. She met him at the door before he had a chance to take off his sandals and sit down.

“Has everyone in this province gone crazy?” she asked. “When is this heartache going to end?”

“Devorah, please . . .” he said wearily. “This doesn’t concern you. . . .”

“Of course it does! It concerns everyone in this province! You promised before we were married that you would let me speak my mind, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” He sank down on a bench near the door and pulled off his sandals. “I’m listening.”

“It seems as though you and the other men have become as
ruthless as hunters stalking their prey, chasing down Gentiles and punishing them. Why not go after all the Jews who’ve forsaken God? I’m sure there are plenty of those to hunt down, aren’t there?”

“We’re not stalking, we’re conducting a rigorous inquiry. The jury is willing to accept testimonies and examine the beliefs of each of these Gentile women before deciding if the marriage must be dissolved.”

“And have there been any marriages that you haven’t dissolved?”

Ezra looked away. “No. Not yet.”

“And you’re a voting member of this jury?”

“No, I’m not voting. I’m consulted as an expert on the Torah. If a question of the law is involved, then it’s up to me to give a legal ruling. We’ve never faced a situation like this in our history before. Each day I’m deciding precedents that will affect our people’s future marriages.”

“And what if there are children from these marriages? Does that matter at all to you?”

“According to the Torah, it can’t matter. Having children is not an acceptable excuse for preventing the divorce.”

“Oh, Ezra. That’s so cruel!”

“It isn’t up to me!” he said, spreading his hands.

“But it could be up to you. You’re the leader. You have the final say.”

He stood and walked past her, shaking his head. Devorah followed him into the room where they slept, wondering if she could still love a man who was so unbending. The law had brought about her marriage to Ezra and had given them children, but was it possible to have too much law? Why couldn’t he see that if God had strictly imposed the law without showing compassion, they all would have died in Babylon?

“What about Reuben?” she asked. “Have he and Amina come before the jury yet?”

“No. The cases from Jerusalem won’t be tried until next week.” He stood looking around uselessly, as if he couldn’t recall why he’d come into the room. “Reuben came to me and asked me to make an exception and help him,” he said, “but I had to refuse. I told him I couldn’t do that without breaking the law.”

“But he’s going to walk away from God if you don’t help him. I know he won’t divorce Amina.” Ezra closed his eyes, and she feared he longed for her to go away and leave him alone. But she moved closer instead and took his hands in hers. “You’re so faithful in following the law, but isn’t God merciful to Gentiles who seek Him? Gentiles like Ruth?”

“You have no idea how I’ve struggled to walk the fine line between law and grace. But the difference between us and the Gentiles is that they are pagans who don’t know God, and they make no attempt to follow His law. How can He show them mercy?”

She dropped his hands. “Ezra, I think you need to confront your hatred toward Gentiles.”

“I don’t hate them.”

“I think you do. Be honest: Don’t you believe this province would be a better place if every Gentile was banished outside its borders? In fact, what if we convinced the Persian king to issue a decree like Haman’s, only this time all the Gentiles would be executed on the Thirteenth of Adar instead of us?”

It took a lot to make Ezra angry, but his eyes flashed as his temper flared. She heard the controlled rage in his tight voice as he replied. “The Gentiles will never stop hating us, Devorah. Never! Throughout the ages, time after time, they have tried to annihilate us just like Haman did. The Egyptians threw all our sons into the Nile to drown them. The Moabites hired Balaam to curse us. The Amalekites attacked us and our families when we were helpless in the wilderness. The Philistines hired a giant to lead their army and destroy us. The Assyrians killed millions of us when they conquered the northern tribes. The Babylonians
slaughtered us mercilessly when they destroyed Jerusalem, and they did it gleefully! Our Edomite ‘brethren’ joined in pillaging us instead of helping us. In any given time or place, if given the chance to slaughter us, the Gentiles will gladly do it. They don’t believe in the Almighty One. They blaspheme His name. They rebel against His authority and moral order. That’s why they want to wipe out all traces of His people from the earth—because we represent Him and His Law.”

“Not every Gentile hates us and our God. What about Rahab, who helped Joshua conquer Jericho? What about Ruth?”

“I’m sorry to say that they’re the exceptions, not the rule.”

“So, you hate Gentiles because you believe God hates them?” Ezra didn’t reply. “I don’t believe God hates them, Ezra. And if you do, I think you need to excuse yourself from these deliberations.”

“I wish I could. But I’m under orders from the king of Persia to govern this province by the Torah. Believe me, I would gladly show mercy if I could. Do you think I enjoy what I’m doing? It’s eating me up inside!”

She trailed her hand down his arm to comfort him. “Do you suppose this is how the Holy One feels? Loving us, wanting to show us mercy and grace, yet needing to balance it against His holiness and justice?”

“God is God. He has the wisdom to balance law and grace perfectly. I just wish He would show me how to do it under these circumstances.”

“Ezra, why did God forgive us and bring us back here to start all over again?”

“Because He loves us and wants us to love Him and serve Him in return. He has a plan for us.”

“Did our people receive the judgment we deserved, or did He show mercy?”

“He showed mercy, of course.”

“Is it possible that He wants the Gentiles to love and serve
Him, too? Might some Jewish husbands lead their Gentile wives to God instead of the wives enticing their husbands to idols?”

“Of course . . . but the Torah forbids mixed marriages. I have to judge according to the revealed word of God.”

“Then do what you do best, Ezra—study God’s Word. Let Him show you His answer for this impossible situation. Ask Him to show you how He would balance law and grace in situations like Reuben’s. Please, that’s all I’m asking of you. Find the God of grace in the Torah—the God who forgave our people and gave us a second chance.”

Ezra scrubbed his face with his hands, pressing his fingers against his closed eyes. Then he lowered his hands and looked at her again, nodding. “I can do that. I’ve been focusing on the law that forbids intermarriage. I can see what else God has said about marriage in His Word.” He pulled her close for a long moment, holding her tightly, then released her and left the room, heading toward the front door.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to take a walk.”

Devorah didn’t know what to do with herself after Ezra left. Had he truly heard her? Would it change the way the jury made decisions? She thought about Reuben and Amina, wondering how their faith was holding up through this ordeal. Ezra said Reuben had spoken to him, but what if he and Amina gave up after Ezra refused to help them? What if they left Jerusalem instead of waiting for the jury to decide their future?

The more she thought about it, the more convinced Devorah was that she needed to talk with Reuben and Amina and encourage them to trust in God’s mercy. She grabbed her shawl and left the house to hurry through the twisting streets to the young couple’s home. Reuben answered the door when Devorah knocked. “Is Amina with you?” he asked before she had a chance to speak. He wore a frantic look on his face and sounded breathless, as if he’d been running.

“No. I haven’t seen her. I came—”

“She’s gone! Amina is gone, and I can’t find her anywhere!” His panic became contagious, and Devorah’s heart beat faster.

“Tell me what happened,” she said.

“I went to see a blacksmith this morning, looking for work. I can’t serve as a Levite in the temple anymore because of Amina. I just got home a few minutes ago, and she was gone! The house is empty! If something happened to her . . .”

Devorah bent to feel the hearth. It was cold. She saw no signs of food being prepared, as it should be this time of day. “Are any of her clothes or other things missing?”

She followed him as he ducked inside the house and looked around. “Yes! Her clothes are gone! So are all her things!”

“She must have given up hope,” Devorah murmured. Why hadn’t she come to see Amina sooner?

“I have to find her!” Reuben cried.

Devorah grabbed his arm as he started to rush from the room. “Wait. When you find her, tell her to trust God. That’s what I came here to encourage you to do. I’m convinced Amina loves God, and I know He will judge fairly when you stand before the jury. God knows the truth about what she believes. He knows she doesn’t worship idols. You just have to wait and have faith in His justice.” Reuben nodded, but he was so distraught, Devorah wondered if he’d even heard her.

“I’ll never stop searching for her! Never! . . . I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

Devorah went back out into the drizzling rain to return home, wondering if it would change Ezra’s mind and heart if he could see what his decisions were doing to the lives of real people. She was convinced the Holy One longed to have mercy on Reuben and Amina. Why couldn’t her husband and the men on the jury show the same compassion?

J
ERUSALEM

E
zra was desperate for someone to talk to. Devorah’s pleas for mercy broke his heart and eroded his resolve to continue as Judah’s leader. Was she right about his hatred toward Gentiles? Was that what was motivating him? If so, he should resign.

Not knowing where else to go, he walked through the streets to his brother Asher’s house. “He isn’t here,” Miriam told him. “He went down to the pottery yard on the south side of the city.”

“The pottery yard? What’s he doing down there?”

“Making pots,” she said with a shrug. “He says it helps him relax.”

Apprentices and workers bustled around the yard in spite of the misting rain when Ezra arrived. He could feel the heat of the kiln standing several feet away from it. The foreman saw Ezra and dropped what he was doing to hurry over to him. “Governor Ezra! May I help you?”

“I came to talk to my brother. I was told he was here.”

“Yes, over there.” He pointed to the clay pit.

Ezra saw him now, but Asher had blended in so thoroughly with the other workers in his leather apron and clay-smudged
hands that he hadn’t recognized him at first. Ezra walked closer, then stopped, remaining at a distance to watch unnoticed. Asher scooped a lump of clay from the treading pit and carried it to the worktable, wedging it to remove the air pockets. He finished the job with the speed and efficiency of an expert and carried it to one of the potters’ wheels. As he sat down, he glanced up and noticed Ezra for the first time.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as Ezra walked closer.

“I could ask you the same question. Have you resigned from the priesthood already?”

“No. I’m not scheduled to serve this week.” Asher dropped the clay in the center of the wheel with a firm thud, then kicked the lower wheel with his foot to start it spinning. He bent to dip his hands in the basin of water, shaking off the excess.

“Why come here, Asher? I’m sure you don’t need to work as a potter anymore.”

“Because,” he replied with a vague lift of his shoulders. “There’s so much in life that I don’t understand, but this is one thing I do. It’s comforting for me to see the finished product of all my hard work at the end of the day. How many other tasks in life give us the satisfaction of saying, ‘There, it’s finished, I accomplished something useful’?”

Ezra exhaled. “I doubt if I’ll ever finish my reforms or turn all the people back to God.” He watched as Asher spun the wheel faster with his foot, then pressed the sides of the clay with his hands until he formed a smooth, round mound. He dipped his hands in the water again, then pushed his thumbs into the center of the spinning lump and gently drew it upwards to form a cylinder.

“Does it do any good,” Asher asked him without looking up, “to get people to follow all God’s rules if they still don’t know Him?”

“Maybe not—but that’s what I’m supposed to do. The Persian emperor gave me the authority to enforce the Torah, even if it
means breaking up marriages and sending children away from their fathers and their homes.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted? The authority to enforce the Torah?”

“I thought I did. . . . Devorah and Reuben both accused me of being cruel, and what I’m doing does seem cruel. These are real people, real families. Yet I know it has to be done. God’s remnant people can’t survive if we intermarry with idolaters. . . . But the process is just so painful.”

“Remember when you were wounded during the battle? It was painful to have your wound cleaned and dressed, wasn’t it?” Asher glanced up at him briefly before returning to his work. “But what would’ve happened to you if you’d let the contamination remain?”

“I would have died. You and I understand that, but men like Reuben, who love their Gentile wives, don’t realize our future is at stake. All they know is they don’t want to divorce their wives.”

Ezra watched Asher’s hands as he continued to shape the clay. It seemed almost fluid beneath his touch, obeying the pressure of his fingers. He wasn’t simply creating a pot but something beautiful and graceful—and useful.

“I think I should resign, Asher. I can’t lead anymore. I can’t make these difficult decisions and try to enforce God’s law among people who are determined to break it—people who think the law is wrong and should be changed to fit their particular circumstances. I can’t keep apologizing for God’s rules and trying to explain what He’s doing. I can’t carry the responsibility of them on my shoulders anymore.”

“But we’re priests, Ezra. We’re responsible for these people. Even if you were no longer the governor, your job as a priest is to carry the people before God’s throne, to offer sacrifices for their sins.”

“It’s one thing to have them sin in ignorance—that’s what
the daily offerings are for. But these men who have married Gentiles knew what the law said and deliberately disobeyed it.”

“It happens all the time,” Asher said with a shrug. “A man came to me the other day to confess and bring his sin offering—and it was the same sin he had confessed to me a month ago! What was I supposed to tell him? Go away? I’m done with you and so is God?”

“That’s what I mean. These men sinned when they married Gentiles, and now they want me to sin by looking the other way. I can’t lead these people anymore. It’s tearing me up inside. I’m not sleeping at night. Most days my stomach aches so badly I can barely eat. I’m not the Messiah, Asher.”

“No one expects you to be.” He halted the spinning wheel with his foot, then pinched the mouth of the clay jar to form a spout. He would add a handle to the finished flask so it could be used to dip olive oil or wine from a larger vessel.

“Anyway, I just came here to tell you that I’m planning to resign. I’ll serve in the temple as a regular priest and—” Asher’s loud laughter interrupted him. “What’s so funny?”

“You can’t resign! You didn’t volunteer to lead these people in the first place, nor did they ask you to lead them. God gave you this task. Do you honestly think you can tell Him you’re resigning and just walk away?”

“He’s asking me to do the impossible.”

“No, He’s asking you to sound the warning like the prophet Ezekiel’s watchman on the wall. If the people don’t heed your warning, they’ll die in their sins. But if you fail to warn them . . .”

“Their sins will be on my head.”

“Yes.” Asher took a thin cord and sliced the flask free from the wheel at its base. He rose from his stool and carried the finished pot to the drying shelf. “You’re feeling the flames, Ezra, but that’s part of the process. This pot I just made won’t be useful for anything until it goes through that fire.” He pointed to the kiln, where waves of heat shimmered above it. “The pots
baking in there right now would be useless if they didn’t endure the heat.”

“I’ve also seen them crack inside the kiln,” Ezra said. “And I feel near the breaking point myself. Even Devorah disagrees with me, and our marriage is suffering. She believes I should show mercy to men like Reuben and his Gentile wife. But how can I? How much more heat does the Almighty One think I can take before I break?”

“The pots that break under fire are the ones with flaws. Maybe the potter didn’t shape the clay evenly because it wasn’t centered on the wheel, or maybe the clay had impurities or air pockets. But you know the Torah better than any of us. You know God’s Word is flawless. And I know you better than most other men do. I know you’re a man of integrity and faith, whose life is truly centered on God. If you want to be useful to our people, then you need to stand firm through the fire until you come out on the other side.”

“How?”

“Don’t try to do this alone. Ask the Holy One to help you. Remember how we all pleaded with Him to help us before the Thirteenth of Adar? Do you think we would’ve been victorious that day without His help?”

That’s what Devorah had advised him to do—to ask God to show him how to balance law and grace. “Thanks for listening, Asher. . . . And by the way,” he gestured to the finished pot, “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your touch.”

“You like it? I’ll give it to you after it’s been fired.”

“Asher . . . you’re still going to serve as a priest, aren’t you?”

“Of course!” he said with a grin. “When I’m not making pots.”