Keepers of the Covenant (5 page)

B
ABYLON

T
ime passed with a swiftness that left Ezra breathless, the days and weeks trampling each other in a wild stampede. Ever since they’d heard the king’s decree a month ago, Ezra had spent each day here in his study, searching for answers, finding none. Now, as spring began to blossom and their death sentence loomed closer, he felt a desperation that bordered on panic. Studying and teaching the Scriptures had fulfilled him in the past, but it had been an intellectual pursuit, not a matter of life and death. And he hadn’t worried about time eroding, hour by hour, like a riverbank in a rainstorm.

His people had less than nine more months to live, less time than it took for a child to form in its mother’s womb. He had cancelled all his classes and suspended work with his fellow scholars to study in solitude, praying and confessing, fasting and weeping and then studying some more. But Ezra was no closer to discovering the mind of God or a way to save his people. Instead, he’d discovered the vast difference between talking about God all day and talking to Him; between knowing about God and His laws, and knowing God. The more he learned, the less
he understood—and the more unqualified he felt to lead his people as Jude still urged him to do.

He looked down at the scroll of Isaiah lying open in front of him. The prophet’s words had blurred on the page a moment ago as he’d read them through his tears:
“O Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay
, you are the potter; we are all the work of
your hand. Do not be angry beyond measure, O Lord
.”
He had thought of his own father, a master potter, pictured his muscled hands, skilled at shaping a formless lump of clay into a useful vessel. Abba had been proud of Ezra, his firstborn son, blessed by the Almighty One to be a Torah scholar instead of a potter, and the youngest member of the Great Assembly. Abba had continually reminded his three sons of their heritage as priests, tracing their lineage back to Moses’ brother Aaron, and to Zadok, the high priest in King Solomon’s temple. If they hadn’t been exiled here in Babylon, Ezra might be serving as the high priest of the temple in Jerusalem, the spiritual leader of his people. But his learning and his pedigree did him no good, now. He may as well make pots like his younger brothers.

He stood and rolled up the scroll to put it away. He needed to get out of his stifling study. The sackcloth beneath his tunic burned his irritated skin like fire, but he refused to remove it, a reminder to pray each time it chafed. As he walked through the quiet, meandering lanes of Babylon’s Jewish community, hearing the familiar sounds of goats bleating and babies crying, only two things were clear to him—and they were contradictory. The Almighty One had made a covenant with Abraham and his descendants, an everlasting covenant that would never change; and the Persian king had decreed his people’s annihilation, a decree that also could never be changed.

Ezra’s steps took him to the grove near the canal where his brothers continued their father’s pottery business, the towering palm trees above the clay pit motionless in the still air. He wove
his way around the shimmering heat of the kiln and through the obstacle course of pottery in various stages of completion to where Jude sat at his potter’s wheel, shaping a vessel on the upper wheel while spinning the lower wheel with his foot. Jude glanced up and acknowledged Ezra with a nod before returning to his work, dipping his fingers in water to keep the clay supple. The knee-high vessel he was making would be glazed and fired, then used to store grain or olive oil.

Ezra watched the clay expand and grow beneath Jude’s experienced hands like a living thing, obeying the pressure of his fingers, the pull of his hands. He thought of Isaiah’s words:
“We are the clay, you are the potter . . .”

Ezra had apprenticed with his father in his younger years and knew that a pot couldn’t be shaped without pressure. He also knew the importance of centering the lump of clay precisely in the middle of the wheel before beginning. If it wasn’t centered, the emerging vessel would become deformed or even fly off the wheel as it spun. Ezra had never mastered the centering process, and his pots had inevitably become misshapen beneath the pressure of his fingers. Was that where his people had gone wrong? Had they failed to center their lives on God’s law before being shaped by Him? Maybe if Ezra could teach the Law to his people more diligently, centering them and—

“What brings you here?” Jude asked, pulling Ezra from his thoughts. The wheel had stopped spinning, the pot finished.

“I needed to get out for a while. Get some perspective.” Or was he avoiding God’s echoing silence? His brother cut the pot free with a thin cord, then climbed from behind the wheel, stretching his arms and shoulders.

“Did you find a reason for the king’s decree?”

“Not yet.”

Jude sloshed his hands in a bucket of water to clean them off. In the pit in front of them, an apprentice treaded the oozing slime, mixing water into the clay with his feet. Two more
apprentices knelt beside a wooden board, wedging the clay to force the air out before forming the clay into a pot. Ezra had never mastered the skill of wedging, either. But the Torah? He could recite large portions of all five books by memory. Jude crouched beside the boards to inspect the wedged clay, poking it to feel the texture. He shook his head. “Work it some more.”

Their youngest brother, Asher, worked beside the kiln, dressed in a turban and loincloth. His lean body glistened with sweat in the intense heat. Married for less than a year, Asher had been ecstatic as he’d shared the news that his wife was expecting. Ezra remembered how he had bounced from one foot to the other as he’d announced the news. Now Asher’s joy had turned to despair. He seemed to shrivel a little more each day, like a branch hanging too close to the flames, knowing he couldn’t protect his wife and unborn infant. Why would God doom his child—all their children—to such a short life?

Asher left his work to talk with his brothers, unwinding his turban as he walked closer, using the end of it to wipe the sweat from his face. “I told Jude that it’s a waste of time to keep making pots all day,” he said. “Why not stop and enjoy the few months we have left?”

“And I told him that we still need to earn money to feed our families,” Jude said.

Asher responded with a huff. “Right. Let’s fatten everyone up like calves in the stall, even though we’ve been sentenced to death. In fact, maybe we should hold a banquet!”

“Would you rather we all starved to death before our enemies have a chance to kill us?” Jude asked. “Because starvation is an agonizing way to die, you know.”

“And being slaughtered isn’t agonizing?”

“Stop . . . please . . .” Ezra held up his hands.

“Is there any hope at all?” Asher asked. “That’s what I want to know.”

“As the psalmist wrote, our hope is in the Almighty One’s
unfailing love,” Ezra said. But did he really believe that, or were they mere words?

“I hope you’ve made up your mind to lead us,” Jude said. “We need a strong leader more than ever.”

Ezra spread his hands. “How can I lead if I don’t have any answers?”

“Then find answers! Give us hope or understanding or something,” Jude said. “You’re the expert on God, the great theologian. We don’t care about your doubts, just tell us what God is doing to us!”

“Have you heard about Rebbe Nathan?” Asher asked before Ezra could reply.

“No . . . what about him?”

“He resigned as head of the house of assembly. He’s suffered such severe pains in his chest that he’s bedridden.”

“We were discussing his replacement this morning,” Jude said, “and the other men requested I ask you.”

Ezra groaned. “You’re the natural-born leader in this family, Jude. Not me.”

Jude rubbed his forehead, leaving behind a smear of clay. When he spoke, Ezra heard the emotion in his voice, the unshed tears that threatened to choke him. “I can’t lead. It takes all my energy to be strong for Devorah and the girls. I can’t do more than that. I can’t be strong for our people, too. You need to help us, Ezra. You don’t have a family like the rest of us do.”

As difficult as it was to face his own death, Ezra knew this ordeal was even worse for men like Jude and Asher with wives and children. Ezra wouldn’t have to spend the final months of his life struggling to console the people he loved. He could stay awake day and night as he had been doing, falling asleep at his study table with his scrolls and sputtering oil lamp in front of him. And he could mourn and weep alone instead of pretending to be strong for someone else. Yet Ezra envied his brothers now more than ever before. What would it be like to
find comfort in a loving wife’s arms? Who would he hold in his final moments of life?

“Ezra . . .” Jude said, breaking the silence. “You’re a million miles away again.”

“Sorry. My mind seems to spin in useless circles lately.” He found it harder and harder to concentrate each day. And while he used to love maneuvering through legal labyrinths, exploring circuitous rabbit trails in the written and oral Torah, this dilemma had no end—or maybe the end was too final. A dead end. He massaged his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, pressing against the throbbing pain in his head.

“God is just, but He is also merciful,” he finally said. “Even if we deserve this punishment, we can plead for His mercy. Either He’ll spare us or He won’t. I don’t know what more I can do as a leader except tell everyone to fast and pray.”

“There’s plenty more you can do,” Jude shouted. “Stop stuttering excuses like Moses and make up your mind to lead us!”

“Help us make sense of this,” Asher added. “Give us hope.”

“I don’t want to give false hope—”

“How do you know it’s false?” Asher asked.

Ezra stared at his feet, unable to meet his gaze. When he looked up again, he saw Jude’s face harden as he gave Asher a nudge. “Look . . . they’re back again.” Jude pointed to two Babylonian men who stood across the yard from them, gesturing to the kiln and the rows of pots as if surveying the property.

“Who are they? What do they want?” Ezra asked.

“Our pottery works,” Jude said. “They’re planning to steal it after they kill us. Hey!” he shouted as he bolted across the grove toward them. “This is my property! I told you the other day to stay away from here!” Ezra and Asher hurried to keep up.

“Not for long,” one of the strangers said. He had the gall to smile.

“That’s right,” the other one added. “You’ll be dead in eight months and this will all be ours.”

“But maybe we won’t kill
all
of you,” the first man said. “I think I’ll keep your pretty little wife around for a while until I get tired of her.”

Jude rushed the man but Asher was quicker, grabbing Jude from behind. “Let me go!” Jude shouted. “Let me kill these dogs!” It took all of Ezra’s strength to help Asher hold him back.

One of the Babylonians leaned forward as Jude struggled to free himself and spit in his face. “We’re the ones who will be doing the killing,
Jew
!”

Ezra trembled with helpless rage as he watched the Babylonians turn away. All his life, he had felt disdain toward Gentiles with their useless superstitions, willful ignorance, and shocking immorality. But the king’s decree had transformed his disdain into hatred so violent that his body shook with it. Jude finally freed himself and wiped the spittle from his face. “I’m going home,” he said, and Ezra knew it was to check on Devorah and his daughters, to reassure himself that they were safe.

Ezra retreated back to his study and closed the door, unwilling to spend another moment among his Gentile enemies, watching them go about their carefree lives, gloating as they plotted his destruction. How could the Holy One allow these
animals
to destroy His people?

He slumped down in his seat, waiting for his anger to fade. He had no desire to lead their community in Rebbe Nathan’s place. He was a scholar, not a leader. But was he really stuttering excuses like Moses had at the burning bush? Ezra remembered the promise God had made to Moses, saying,
“
I will be with you.”

He sat alone in his room for a long time as an idea began to take shape, fueled by his hatred toward the Gentiles. Then, before he had a chance to change his mind, Ezra rose and went out to the study hall where two scholars and a handful of yeshiva students sat talking. “Go and gather all the other rabbis and teachers for me, and any students who are available. Tell them to meet me here as quickly as possible. I have a proposal to make.”

An hour later he stood before a roomful of his fellow teachers and their disciples, the memory of their enemies’ taunts still fresh. “Our people are asking why the Almighty One would allow this decree,” he said. “What is His purpose in this? Will He really allow all of the descendants of Abraham to die? I’ve been searching for answers, but the task is too huge for me to accomplish alone in the short time that remains. But working together, maybe we can find the reason why we’ve been abandoned. Maybe we can discover a way to obtain the Holy One’s mercy.” He paused to wipe the runner of sweat that trickled down his forehead, remembering the spittle on Jude’s face.

“This is what I’m proposing: We will divide the holy books among as many of us who are willing, and read them day and night, scroll after scroll, searching to find out what the Almighty One has promised us, where we have gone wrong, and why God is allowing evil to win. We’ll read and study the books of the law and the prophets and the history of our people, and at the end of each day we’ll compare notes. Together, we’ll assemble the pieces, and maybe God will reveal the bigger picture to us. When we gather for evening prayers, I’ll share what we’ve learned with our people to encourage them. They’re begging for hope and direction. In fact, it’s time for evening prayers right now,” he said, noticing the angle of the late afternoon sun. “If you’d like to help me with this project, meet me here first thing tomorrow.”

Ezra led the way outside for the short walk to the house of assembly, his young student, Shimon, falling into step beside him. “Rebbe Ezra, I just read the Holy One’s promises in the prophecies of Jeremiah. God said that only if the heavens could be measured and the foundations of the earth be searched out would He reject all the descendants of Israel.”