Keepers of the Covenant (38 page)

T
HE
E
DOMITE
VILLAGE
OUTSIDE
J
ERUSALEM

A
mina went to bed early, exhausted from her slow, limping trek from Jerusalem to her sister’s village. Despite the utter weariness of her body, she couldn’t keep from weeping, however. The losses in her life seemed overwhelming, and she wondered how she had ever believed God would bring good from them. She touched her stomach, where Reuben’s child grew inside her. At least she would have his baby to love—or would God punish her and take away this child, too?

She had trouble falling into a deep sleep, dozing fitfully until a chill from a sudden breeze awakened her. She heard a rustling sound near the door and rolled over to look, squinting in the darkness. The door slowly opened. Amina sat up, covering her mouth to keep from screaming—and recognized Reuben.

He came inside without a sound and knelt down on the mat to hold her tightly. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t find you,” he whispered. “So afraid I would never see you again. I would have searched for you as long as I lived.”

“You shouldn’t have come,” she murmured as she hugged him tightly in return. Now she would have to endure the pain of losing him all over again.

“Why did you leave me, Amina?”

“They’re going to make me leave you anyway.”

“Never. They can’t make me give you up.”

“But you belong with your people—the law says so. And I belong with mine.”

He didn’t seem to be listening. He stood, pulling Amina to her feet, and helped her get dressed. He bent to pick up her crutch as she put on her sandals, then he glanced around the darkened storeroom as if searching for something. When he found her bundle of belongings, he scooped it up. “Is that everything?” he asked.

“Yes, but—” Reuben lifted her off her feet and into his arms. “What are you doing? Reuben, wait . . . we’ll only have to go through this pain all over again.”

“No, we won’t. You belong with me.”

Amina longed to return home to Jerusalem with him, and yet she was afraid. If he stayed married to her, he would have to give up everything else in his life. How could she explain to him that she wasn’t worth such a sacrifice? She leaned her head against his chest as he carried her through the back lanes of Sayfah’s village without making a sound. He knew exactly when to halt and when to move, peering around corners before proceeding with the skill of an expert.

When they were finally a short distance past the village, Reuben set her down so she could walk. It was nearly dawn. Behind them, the crimson sky above the mountain warned of more rain.

“Why did you leave me?” Reuben asked again.

“So you wouldn’t be faced with this impossible choice. God called you to be a Levite. You can’t walk away from the Holy One for my sake.”

“I don’t care about being a Levite. I found work as a blacksmith today. I talked to a shop owner, and he agreed to hire me. I’d rather work for him than serve a God who would take you away from me.”

“They can enforce the death penalty in this province if you defy God.”

“I’ve done plenty of things that deserved punishment, but loving you can’t possibly be wrong.”

“Reuben, please listen. I’d rather give you up than watch you sacrifice your faith and your heritage. There’s no other God to worship, no other place to go. I’ll still worship Him even if He makes me divorce you, and you have to do the same. Remember how Abraham offered up his son to God?”

They reached a fork in the road, where several large stones provided a place to rest. Amina sat gratefully, her legs trembling with weariness.

“I’ve been praying for an answer,” Reuben said, “praying about what to do, and Rebbe Ezra’s wife came to see me yesterday. She told us not to give up.”

Amina felt a sliver of hope. “Can she convince Governor Ezra to show mercy? What else did she say?”

“She said God knew the truth about what you believe. He knows you don’t worship idols. She said we could trust the Almighty One to do what was right.”

“Then let’s trust Him together, Reuben. Let’s wait for the jury’s judgment before we do anything else.” She hoped it would give Reuben more time to think about what he would have to sacrifice for her. Because deep in her heart, Amina knew the jury would consider her an unclean Gentile. They would never make an exception for her.

“I feel so helpless,” Reuben said, “and I hate feeling this way. I was helpless when my father died, helpless when my uncle sold the shop, helpless when I was boy and the gang of Babylonians jumped me and blindfolded me and tied me up. I swore I would never let other people decide my fate again, yet here I am in the same situation. People are forcing me to do things against my will.”

“But you aren’t fighting other people,” Amina said, “you’re
fighting God. His Torah clearly said not to marry a Gentile like me. So do we want our way, Reuben, or God’s way?”

“I want my way. Our way.”

“I do, too. But in the end we would have each other but not God. I know what my life was like before I found Him, and you told me what your life was like. Do you really want to go back to that emptiness? Do you want to live away from God and His people? To give up your work and the sacrifices at the temple? We would have no place to go, Reuben. Even the Gentiles wouldn’t want us. Years from now, after being isolated and exiled, we would end up hating each other.”

“I could never hate you.”

“Let’s ask God for mercy. Let’s give Him our lives and then trust Him to do the best thing for us.”

Reuben stood, facing her. “What are you saying?”

“Let’s do what the rebbe’s wife said and let the jury decide. Let’s have faith in His justice. If they tell us to divorce—”

“Then we’ll go away together and live someplace else. I won’t stay here and serve an unfair God.”

“I don’t think faith works that way, Reuben. Before we can ask for mercy, we have to be prepared to obey the Almighty One no matter what happens. Abraham didn’t know that God would provide a ram in the thicket in place of Isaac. He was willing to obey and sacrifice the son he loved no matter what.”

“I don’t want to live without you.”

“Nor I without you. But maybe God is asking us to divorce for a reason—just as there must have been a reason why your father gave up his life. Was he willing to sacrifice his will for God’s?”

Reuben closed his eyes and nodded. “Abba said we should trust in God’s goodness even when all the evidence is to the contrary.”

“Then let’s submit to His will, Reuben. Let’s promise God and each other that if He asks us to divorce, we’ll obey Him.
It’ll mean God has rejected me, and you should, too. I’ll return to my people, and you’ll stay here with yours. Agreed?”

She watched his face as he wrestled with the decision, knowing the pain in his heart was every bit as great as her own. He paced in the crossroad, his hands balled into fists, before finally turning back to her and falling to his knees in front of her. Reuben gripped her tightly in his arms, weeping. But at last she heard him whisper, “Agreed.”

J
ERUSALEM

O
ne month into the hearings on mixed marriages, the cases involving men and women from Jerusalem were scheduled to appear before the court. Ezra had dreaded this day, and he guessed Reuben and his wife dreaded it, too. So far, in every case Ezra and the jury heard, the judgment had been for divorce. Evidence had always revealed the Gentile spouse still worshiped pagan gods. All the wives, as well as their children, had been forced to return to the Samaritan or Edomite villages where they’d come from. Ezra longed to show mercy as Devorah had pleaded with him to do, but he sat listening in the courtroom day after day, knowing what the law said, knowing there was nothing he could do but enforce it. God’s people could not remain married to idolaters.

Day after day Ezra witnessed the anger and hatred among the rejected Gentile spouses. Why would God put them through this much pain? Was it because He hated the Gentiles? No, Ezra had searched the Scriptures and saw too much evidence to the contrary, too much proof that He didn’t. Just this morning the Levite choir had sung,
“Declare His glory among the nations, His marvelous
deeds among all peoples.”
Why obey that com
mand and declare His deeds if He didn’t want the nations to know Him? No, the Almighty One didn’t hate the Gentiles—He hated their pagan practices and idols. And if the Gentiles weren’t willing to give up those practices, Ezra and the jury had no choice but to send them away.

The foreman called for the first case. The chamber door opened, and Ezra’s gut twisted painfully as the former chief priest, Eliezer, shuffled into the room. Tears streamed down his wrinkled face as he stood before the jury and took an oath to tell the truth. Eliezer and his Gentile wife probably had been married for many years. They’d raised children and grandchildren. All of the men on the jury knew Eliezer, and Ezra could sense their discomfort at being forced to question him.

“Were you aware that your wife was a Gentile before you married her?” the foreman began by asking.

“Yes. I was aware. I met her at a festival in her Samaritan village.”

“Did anyone try to warn you or prevent you from entering into this union?”

“My father, Jeshua, the high priest, did. But I wouldn’t listen to him.”

“As part of this hearing, the jury is willing to hear your wife’s testimony and offer her a chance to tell us what she believes.”

“My wife wouldn’t come,” Eliezer said, staring at his feet. “She’s angry with what she calls Jewish racism. She says it’s the same racism that led Joshua to destroy her Canaanite ancestors when he invaded this land.”

“I’m sorry . . . but if she won’t appear, then we’ll have to ask you to testify on her behalf.” The foreman paused to clear his throat. “Does she worship only the Almighty One? Does she follow the laws of the Torah? Is she careful to maintain a devout home and keep the dietary laws?” Eliezer shook his head in response to each question, wiping the tears that continued to flow.

“None of those things seemed important to me when I was
young and in love. Now my wife says she’s too old to change her ways and start following all those rules. In fact, she already left me, knowing this jury would force me to divorce her. She returned to her home village yesterday and won’t be back.”

Ezra had to look away from Eliezer’s obvious pain. And the questioning wasn’t over yet. “Do you have children?” one of the jury members asked.

“Yes. And grandchildren. Our children are grown and married with children and homes of their own. My son married a Samaritan woman from his mother’s village. He also left Jerusalem along with my wife, knowing that under the circumstances, he can never serve as a priest. My three daughters all married Jewish spouses, however, and they still live here in Jerusalem.”

“Do your daughters understand that since their mother isn’t Jewish, they and their husbands will have to come before this tribunal, as well?”

“Yes . . . they know. . . . They know that because of me, their husbands may have to divorce them, too. . . .” He covered his face and wept, unable to finish.

No matter how many times Ezra had been through this, it never got any easier. The room felt cold. He heard the wind blowing against the eaves, the rain slashing against the shutters. At last Eliezer looked up and nodded to indicate he was ready to continue.

“Did you swear an oath in the temple with the other men to divorce your Gentile wife?” the foreman asked.

“I was too cowardly.”

“What about now? Are you willing to abide by our decision and put aside your wife if necessary?”

“Yes. As I said, she’s already gone—and she made it clear that she won’t be back. I was so blind when I was young! Now my disobedience has not only caused pain for the woman I love, my wife of all these years, but also for my children and
grandchildren. I never would have believed years ago that my choice would have such terrible consequences.”

“I’m so sorry, Rebbe Eliezer,” Ezra said, unable to remain quiet. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” And although he longed to show mercy, he saw no way to do it, even though it was very clear from Eliezer’s life that his wife hadn’t led him to worship idols.

“Would you please step outside for a moment?” the foreman asked Eliezer. “The jury needs time to confer.”

“You don’t need to confer in private. I already know what your verdict will be. There’s no question my wife is a Gentile. Our marriage has already dissolved.”

“You understand the divorce will have to be permanent?”

“Yes. I understand.”

Eliezer would spend the rest of his years alone—an unbearable punishment. Still, by his own testimony, he had been warned years ago and had willfully chosen to disobey.

“Let’s take a short break,” Ezra said, rising to his feet. “We could all use some fresh air.” This had been the first case involving someone Ezra knew, and the emotional ordeal caused more pain than the stab wound to his arm had. But as he made his way from the room, Eliezer pulled him aside.

“I’ve already passed the age of retirement and no longer serve as a priest,” he said, “but I want you to know I’m resigning from your council as of today.”

“That isn’t necessary, Eliezer. You know as well as I do you’ll receive forgiveness if you confess and offer a ram from the flock as a guilt offering. Your remorse is obvious, and your suffering is more than I can imagine—”

“I know, I know, but I still intend to resign. I have a request to make, Rebbe. Instead of serving on the council, I would like to spend my remaining years teaching the younger priests. My youthful sins have cost me everything, and I would like to stand before the next generation as an example, so they can see the painful results of disobeying the Torah.”

“Of course. We’ll make a place for you as a teacher right away. . . . Thank you.” Ezra hurried outside to the courtyard for air and saw Reuben waiting in the corridor with his wife, a slender, pretty young woman. Reuben hovered over her protectively.
“She has a
name,”
Devorah had chided him
—“Amina.”
Ezra’s stomach ached with grief at the thought of witnessing his young friend’s suffering.

Knowing he couldn’t be gone long, Ezra quickly climbed the stairs to the rooftop of his residence to gaze up toward the temple mount. Only the rooftop of the sanctuary housing God’s mercy seat was visible. The column of smoke rising from the altar blended with the gray, scudding clouds. Ezra closed his eyes and prayed.
God, give me wisdom. . . . If there is a way to
offer your grace—if that’s what you want me
to do—please show me.

The jury was already seated when Ezra returned, and the foreman called for the next case. Reuben’s wife entered first, limping with a crutch and accompanied by five men who all swore an oath to tell the truth. Ezra recognized two of the men as priests, sons of Zechariah the prophet. One of the other three men introduced himself first.

“My name is Jacob ben Aaron, and these are my two brothers. We’re members of Amina’s family—perhaps not by blood but by bonds of love. We traveled here from Bethlehem to stand with her and give testimony on her behalf, so she wouldn’t have to face this jury alone.” He paused to offer Amina a reassuring smile, but she stood with her head bowed, staring at the floor as if too ashamed to face the jury.

“Yes, Amina is a Gentile by birth,” Jacob continued. “An Edomite who was orphaned at the age of eight after the battles on the Thirteenth of Adar. Our mother, Hodaya, adopted her. I’ll admit my brothers and I weren’t too happy about my mother’s decision at first. Emotions were running very high after the events of that day, and the hatred we felt toward the enemies who had tried to annihilate us was still very strong. I was convinced
my mother was making a mistake by bringing Amina and her sister into our home. But my mother’s great faith in God soon became Amina’s faith. She loves the Holy One as much as any Jewish woman I know. We’ve witnessed her devotion to Him over the years. Amina has followed the Torah all of her life, and we testify under oath that her conversion to our faith is genuine and sincere.” Again, he paused as if to reassure Amina, but she still hadn’t lifted her head.

“Amina had a chance to return to her people and live with her Edomite uncle a number of years ago,” Aaron continued. “And although her sister decided to return, Amina chose to stay with us. Because of her confession of faith in the God of Abraham, we told her she was now considered one of us. She bathed in the mikveh, put her trust in God, and renounced the gods of her people long before she met her husband, Reuben.”

“Thank you,” the foreman said when he finished. The two priests stepped forward to stand alongside Amina next. From where he sat, Ezra could see Amina’s hand trembling as she wiped tears from her face.

“My name is Johanan ben Zechariah, and this is my brother Joshua. We also are glad to testify on Amina’s behalf. Our aunt Hodaya adopted her after the Thirteenth of Adar, and she and Amina loved each other very much. She was like a daughter to our aunt, lovingly caring for her as our aunt’s health deteriorated in her final years. Besides the love bonding them like mother and daughter, they also shared a bond of understanding because our aunt was also lame.” He paused to draw a breath, squaring his shoulders. “We know Amina to be a godly woman who worships God faithfully and joyfully. When Reuben asked to marry her, we didn’t hesitate to give them our blessing. We knew Amina was a Gentile by birth, but our aunt Hodaya was also a Gentile by birth, yet she had always been completely accepted by our people as one of us. Our father, Zechariah, who was both a priest and prophet, considered Hodaya Jewish and saw
her happily married to a Jewish man. Naturally, we considered Amina Jewish for all the same reasons.”

“How old was Hodaya when she was adopted?” one of the men on the jury asked.

“She was a newborn baby. The Samaritans rejected her and left her to die right after her birth because she was crippled.”

“So Hodaya never knew or lived with her people?”

“No.”

“But Amina lived with her family until she was eight years old, correct?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

Ezra winced, seeing where this line of reasoning was going. Devorah’s question still haunted him—
What about Ruth?
She was a Gentile, raised in the land of Moab. Why weren’t Ruth’s children—including King David’s royal family—considered Gentiles?

Jacob held on to Amina’s arm as she waited to be questioned next. “I have only a few questions for you,” the jury foreman said. “Did your family take part in pagan rituals to false gods when you were growing up?”

“Yes, they did.”

“And you participated with them?”

“As a child, yes.”

“Have you ever returned to your people or to your village after you became an adult?”

Ezra saw fear in her eyes. A few seconds passed before she replied. “Y-yes, I returned to my sister Sayfah’s village to visit her.”

“And did you participate in any form of pagan worship as an adult?”

Amina took longer to reply this time. Her voice became softer. “I-I attended a harvest festival with Sayfah. But I was careful not to eat sacrificed meat or anything else unclean. I went to see my sister, not to worship. I didn’t know what the festival would be like.”

“And what was the festival like?”

She stared down at her feet, not at the men. “Embarrassing . . . unholy . . .”

“Did you leave when you saw it was a pagan festival?”

“No. I didn’t leave, although I wanted to. I had no way to get home.”

The foreman looked at the other men to see if they had any questions. When they shook their heads he said, “That’s all. You may go.”

Ezra stood. “Wait. I have a question, if I may. . . . What made you decide to leave your people and give up your family’s gods to follow the Holy One?”

Amina raised her head to reply. “Because I saw that everything Hodaya taught me about Him was true. I learned how wonderful the Almighty One was, and that He was a God who loves His people and provides for them. I saw how He saved them on the Thirteenth of Adar. And He became my God when He saved me. My uncle tried to make me go back with him to live with my people, and Sayfah insisted I had to go. So I prayed and begged God to save me and allow me to stay with Hodaya so I could worship Him. The Holy One answered my prayer and made a way for me to stay. He has been my God ever since.”

“Thank you. You may go,” Ezra said, sitting down again. “Send Reuben in, please.”