Keepers of the Covenant (6 page)

“Good, Shimon. Very good. That’s exactly the kind of promises we’re looking for.”

“And in another prophecy, God said that although He would
completely destroy all the nations where we’ve been scattered, He would never completely destroy us.”

Ezra stopped to rest his hand on his student’s shoulder. “You’ll be a great help to us, Shimon. Thank you.”

A few minutes later, Ezra climbed onto the bimah to address the assembled men, ignoring the misgivings he still had about assuming a leadership role. “I’ll be leading prayers until Rebbe Nathan is well,” he began, “but first I want to—”

“Why should we pray?” someone shouted from the crowd. “Isn’t it obvious that God isn’t listening?”

It took Ezra a moment to recover his poise. “Well . . . we can ask God to spare us for Abraham’s sake, for His covenant’s sake. Even if we deserve this punishment for failing to keep our part of the covenant, God is merciful and—”

“But the king’s law can’t be repealed!”

“True. But the Almighty One proved He was more powerful than Pharaoh, didn’t He? He’s more powerful than the Persian king, too, and He can rescue us—”

“Yes, He’s powerful enough to save us—but will He?”

Ezra hesitated. “If it’s His will,” he finally replied. He knew it was an unsatisfactory answer. He and the other scholars would have to do better.

“If God loves us, how could He allow this to happen?” called out another voice. “Why did He allow the Egyptians to abuse us and throw our sons into the Nile?”

“Maybe He wants us to turn to Him,” Ezra said. “Maybe we would have been content living in Egypt if Pharaoh hadn’t issued his decree. And maybe we’ve become too content here in Babylon, too.”

“Then why are the Jews in Jerusalem sentenced to die along with us?”

“I don’t know,” Ezra said, exhaling. He had taught his students to ask good questions and dig deep into God’s Word. But these questions sprang from fear, not intellectual curiosity,
and were more difficult to answer. He could understand how the congregation’s terror and despair had overwhelmed Rebbe Nathan. But when Ezra remembered the two Gentiles who plotted to steal Jude’s business and rape his wife, his anger hardened into resolve like clay fired in the kiln. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his voice came out louder than before. “The Almighty One told Abraham, ‘I will establish my covenant as an everlasting covenant between me and you and your descendants after you for generations to come, to be your God and the God of your descendants.’
Everlasting
. That means a remnant of our people
will
survive. It may not be us. It may be Jews from another part of this empire. But I am certain of this: God’s people
will
survive—somewhere, somehow!”

“But it
may
be us?”

“Yes. And so every day, between now and the thirteenth of Adar, we need to repent of our sins and plead for mercy. And no matter what happens, whether we live or die, we need to pray for the salvation of God’s remnant.”

B
ABYLON

D
evorah knelt beside her sister-in-law’s bed and wiped her forehead with a cool cloth. “You have to stay calm, Miriam. It isn’t good for you or your baby to be so upset.”

“But I want my life back,” she wept. “The life I had before this terrible decree. The life I always dreamed of with Asher and a houseful of children. Our baby isn’t even born yet, and now it will die before it has a chance to live!”

“Shh . . . Don’t think about such things.” Fear, Devorah discovered, was contagious. Hours could pass as she cooked meals and cared for her daughters when she would almost forget about the Angel of Death. But Miriam’s panicked words made her aware of his arid whispers, the sickly vertigo of his touch. Devorah’s inevitable meeting with death’s angel would be bad enough, but he had no right to invade her soul now, bringing nightmares of her final moments—nightmares in which she clung to her husband and daughters, desperate to save them and herself, knowing she couldn’t.

Miriam grabbed the basin and held her head over it to vomit. Ill with worry and morning sickness, she had nothing left in her
stomach to bring up. “You need to lie down again,” Devorah told her as she wiped her face. “Try to rest, Miriam. Think of pleasant things.”

“I don’t want to die! And I can’t stop thinking about it, wondering how it will happen, if they’ll herd us all together or come here with their swords and—”

“Stop it!” Devorah fought the urge to shake her. “Miriam, you have to stop this! You’re dying a hundred times before the day finally comes—and it might not come, you know. As long as we have breath we can hope, can’t we? We have to trust God.”

Miriam covered her face and wept, her cries so heartrending that Devorah had to swallow her own tears. Her daughters were out in the courtyard with Miriam’s mother, and Devorah determined never to let them witness such fear and grief. Asher had begged her to console Miriam, but it was proving impossible. She took Miriam’s hand to try again.

“Listen, Miriam. You must know the words to some of the psalms. Why don’t you recite them when you’re afraid? That’s what I do.” Devorah tried to think of one now, but the fever of fear had scattered her thoughts. She sat by Miriam’s side until she finally calmed down, then gathered up her girls and returned home in defeat.

She had only been away from home a short time, but when she came through the gate, she found Jude pacing their courtyard in his potter’s apron, raking his fingers through his curly black hair. “Devorah, thank God!” he said when he saw her. He rushed to meet her, pulling her into his arms without waiting for her to put down the baby. The strength of his embrace could have crushed both of them. “Where were you?” he asked. “When I came home and you weren’t here I was worried sick!”

“Visiting Miriam. Why were you worried? . . . And since when do you come home in the middle of the morning? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I . . . I just felt like coming home.”

She didn’t believe him. Devorah studied her husband’s face as he picked up Abigail, who was clinging to his leg. She saw worry lines on Jude’s forehead that she hadn’t noticed before, and she reached up to smooth them.

“Asher asked me to talk to Miriam. She hasn’t been well and—”

“You didn’t walk to her house all alone, did you?”

“Of course. The girls and I—”

“Devorah, no! From now on I don’t want you to leave our house by yourself! Ever!”

She stared at him. He was angry over nothing. Jude had always had a quick temper, but lately it seemed nearly impossible for him to control it. She longed to argue with him and tell him that his command for her to hide at home was unreasonable, but she knew she would have to tread carefully or risk stepping on a beehive.

“The girls need a nap,” she said as calmly as she could. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She took them inside and made them lie down, promising a treat if they stayed quiet and obeyed her. When she came outside he was pacing again. “You’re going to wear out our pavement. It’s only mud-brick, you know. . . . Now, tell me what’s going on, Jude.”

“This decree has me edgy, I guess. I can’t bear to think of something happening to you and the girls.”

She moved into his arms, at home in his embrace. He was a wonderful husband, strong yet tender, handsome yet without arrogance, generous and hardworking—and more than willing to love her even though she was too strong-willed to fit the mold of the ideal wife. Jude had his bad habits, of course, such as his fiery temper. But all husbands had faults and none of Jude’s outweighed her love for him. Never, for even a second, did she doubt that he loved her, too. But lately he had taken on the role of overseer and guardian instead of partner, in spite of his promise.

“Listen to me, Jude,” she said when she felt his muscles relax. “If you want me to stay locked up in our house all day, you have to give me a good reason why.”

He was silent for such a long time that she didn’t think he would reply. At last he released her. “Two Babylonians keep hanging around work, eyeing our business. They come back every day to taunt us, saying we’ll be dead soon and everything will be theirs.” He ran his hand over his face as if trying to wipe it clean.

“Just ignore them. They can’t make you angry unless you allow them to. Don’t give them that power. David didn’t care about Goliath’s taunts.”

Jude frowned and the worry lines in his forehead deepened. “As I recall, David didn’t put up with those taunts. He hurled a rock at Goliath’s head and killed him—which is what I might have to do if I see those pigs hanging around again.”

She ran her hands down his muscled arms to soothe him. “How will that help anything? If you kill two Babylonians, the authorities will haul you away for murder. How will you protect me then?”

“I can’t stand being helpless, Devorah.”

“Trust God.”

He exhaled and turned away. “I don’t have your faith. I need to do something! To kill them before they kill us!”

His anger seemed out of proportion to the taunts. And why make her stay locked inside the house all day? Then another thought occurred to her. “Did the men threaten the girls and me? Is that why you don’t want me to leave the house?” She knew by his guilty expression that she had guessed correctly. “No wonder you’re so angry.” His gallantry touched her, and if it were possible, made her love him even more.

“They knew all about you, Devorah, as if . . . as if they’ve been watching you. Watching our house!”

Her stomach made a slow, cold turn. She felt violated with
out ever being touched. Living with a death sentence was bad enough, but would she have to spend her few remaining months looking over her shoulder? “I won’t live in fear,” she said, acting braver than she felt. “As I just told Miriam, we’ll die a hundred times before the day finally comes if we give in to fear. You shouldn’t worry about me, Jude. I’m stronger than you think. Trust God.”

“Trust God . . . trust God,” he mimicked. “You need to stop saying that, as if trusting Him is something I can just snap my fingers and do. Besides, it’s pretty hard to keep trusting Him after He allowed us to be sentenced to death. Even Ezra admits that his trust has been shaken. Isn’t yours? If you’re honest?”

Tears filled her eyes. Yes. If she was honest. But she would never admit it to anyone, even herself. “Listen, if God isn’t trustworthy . . . if everything we know about Him from Scripture is a lie . . . then we may as well sit down and die right now because life isn’t worth living.” She paused to wipe at her tears, frustrated that she couldn’t control her emotions. “I’ve made up my mind to trust Him even if we all die, because God must have a reason for it. He must!”

Jude reached for her again, pulling her close. “Listen, you crazy woman. I’m glad you trust God—you have more than enough faith for both of us. But promise me that you won’t leave the house all alone. Walk with one of the other women if you have to go out. Please, Devorah. Promise?”

Once again, her stomach turned with dread at the thought of being watched. “Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, I promise.”

B
ETHLEHEM

A
mina lifted another shovelful of manure from the goat pen and dumped it on the pile. She paused to rest. Along with the late afternoon sounds of whirring insects and chirping birds, she thought she heard muffled hoofbeats on the dirt road and a donkey braying. She listened for a moment. Yes, the hoarse cry of Abba’s donkey was unmistakable. Dread made her heart beat faster. Abba was home.

He’d been away for more than a week, and Amina had dared to relax during that time, freed from fear of him. Now she tensed, glancing around to make sure Abba couldn’t find fault with anything—although he seldom needed a reason to be angry with her. She stood very still, listening for his voice and for her brothers’ voices, trying to determine their mood after their long journey.

Laughter. She heard laughter, and allowed herself to exhale before stowing the shovel in its proper place and running to fetch water for the donkey. When she rounded the corner with the jug, Abba and her brothers were standing in front of the house with not one donkey but three, the animals’ backs swaying beneath towering loads. Amina ran with the heavy jar and poured water
into the trough. In no time, the donkeys lapped up what she’d given them, and she hurried to fetch more. Sayfah brought water for the men while Mama fussed over Amina’s older brothers, ruffling their damp hair and lavishing them with the affection and attention that Amina never received.

“Unload the animals,” Abba told her brothers after they’d all quenched their thirst. “Carry everything inside. Carefully!”

“What is all this?” Mama asked. “What did you bring?”

Abba grinned. “Weapons. The most beautiful swords and spearheads and arrow tips I’ve ever seen in my life. The men of Ashdod are superb craftsmen.” Amina’s brothers untied the awkward bundles, stowing them in the storeroom alongside jars of wheat and olive oil and grain. She knew the sacks were heavy because it took both brothers, working together, to carry each one. At last the donkeys’ backs were bare.

“I met with the leaders of several other villages along the way,” Abba told Mama as Sayfah filled his cup a third time. “They have some good ideas for carrying out the king’s decree and executing the Jews efficiently. I’m having a meeting here tonight so I can tell the others what I’ve learned and show them the weapons.”

So that’s what Abba’s journey had been about. Amina hadn’t known why he’d left or where he’d gone. Nor had he mentioned killing the Jews since the night of the celebration. But it hadn’t been just a bad dream after all. Killing had been on Abba’s mind all this time, which meant he still planned to kill Hodaya, the kind Jewish woman from the marketplace.

The men were hungry after their long journey, and Amina helped Mama prepare a meal and serve it right away. Abba was still in good spirits as he sat down to eat, and he called for Mama to join him in the courtyard, saying he had news to discuss. Amina and her sister stood listening in the shadows, ready to serve him if he called for them.

“I talked to the leader of my brother’s village just outside
Jerusalem,” Abba said. “He’s very interested in taking Sayfah as a wife for one of his sons.” Sayfah gave a startled cry.

“Shh . . . Sayfah, he’ll hear you!” Amina whispered. Her sister gripped Amina’s arm so tightly it hurt.

“But I don’t want to get married!”

“Shh!”

“She will marry his third son, not his firstborn,” Abba continued. “But even so, he will be a very rich man in just a few more months. There’s a wealth of gold in the Jewish temple in Jerusalem, and the men from Abdel’s village plan to claim it after they execute the Jews. There will be plenty of gold for everyone.”

“Does this man know he will have to wait another year for Sayfah?” Mama asked. “She’s only eleven and isn’t a woman yet.”

“He knows. But it will be a good arrangement for both of us. The deal is done.”

“No!” Sayfah moaned. She leaned her head against Amina’s shoulder as she burst into tears, nearly knocking her over.

“Sayfah . . . shh!” Amina begged. “Abba will be furious if he hears you.” And he might take out his fury on both of them. Sayfah covered her mouth to muffle her sobs. She and Amina both knew that marriage meant becoming a slave to your new mother-in-law and obeying your husband’s every whim or risking a beating. The sisters had whispered about all these things as they lay in bed at night, and they were both terrified of marriage. As difficult as their lives were as daughters, they could become much worse with a demanding husband and a mother-in-law to obey. Marriage meant leaving home and each other. And having babies.

“What about Amina?” Mama asked. “Have you made a decision about her?” Amina held her breath, waiting to hear Abba’s reply.

“Not yet. I’ll give her one more year to make up her mind
to walk without limping, and if she refuses, I’ll be forced to do something about it. No one pays a dowry for a cripple.”

Tears burned Amina’s eyes, but she forced them back. Abba hated any sign of weakness. She silently repeated the Jewish weaver’s words so she wouldn’t forget them:
“God created you to do something special that
they can’t do.”

“Sayfah!” Abba suddenly called out. “Sayfah, come here.”

She stared at Amina, her eyes wide with fear. “What should I do?”

“Dry your eyes,” Amina whispered. “Hurry! You have to go to him.”

“I don’t want to! I’m scared.”

“Sayfah, get in here!” he called again.

“He’ll see that I’ve been crying, and he’ll beat me,” Sayfah whispered as she wiped her face. It was true. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks streaked with tears—and a respectful daughter should respond with gratitude and joy to such an important announcement from her father.

Amina let out the breath she’d been holding. “I’ll go. I’ll tell him you went to the latrine. But don’t take too long.” She stepped out into the courtyard, trying to walk straight and tall, trying not to limp. But her knees wobbled with fear, making it nearly impossible. She stopped after only a few steps. “Sayfah went to relieve herself,” she said, looking down at her feet. “She won’t be long.”

Sayfah entered the courtyard a minute later, a stiff smile on her face as she approached their father. She stopped several feet away, staring at the ground, not at him. “Yes, Abba?”

“Come here and let me have a look at you. . . . Turn around,” he said, twirling his finger in a circle. Sayfah obeyed. “Not bad . . . not bad . . . You will be a beauty like your mother.” Amina had always envied her sister’s wavy black hair and wide, brown eyes. Sayfah’s back was straight, her legs long and shapely, her skin a golden, tawny color. But even from where Amina stood, she could see her sister’s chin quivering with fear.

“I’ve found a husband for you. We’ll begin the negotiations as soon as this business with the Jews is finished.”

Amina held her breath, silently willing Sayfah to answer quietly and respectfully, not revealing her emotions. But Sayfah’s fear of marriage proved stronger than her caution. “Abba, no!” she said with a wail. “I don’t want to leave home and get married. Please don’t make me, Abba, please!”

His anger was swift and terrible. Amina saw him pounce, and she ran from the courtyard to hide in the goat pen, plugging her ears to drown out the sounds of Abba’s blows and Sayfah’s pitiful screams. They seemed to last a long, long time.

Amina held her sister in her arms later that night until she cried herself to sleep. But Amina couldn’t sleep. What had Abba meant when he’d said he’d be forced to do something if she didn’t stop limping? With all the drama that had taken place in her home that evening, she had forgotten all about Abba’s meeting with the other village men until she heard them gathering in the courtyard. Her brothers carried the bundled weapons from the storeroom to show the other men. Amina lay awake, listening to the faint clanking of metal, the murmurs of approval.

“We bought enough weapons for everyone,” Abba said. “And I talked with other village leaders about their plans. Most of them plan to surround each Jewish settlement ahead of time so no one can escape.”

“Herd them like sheep into a pen,” someone said.

“Jerusalem’s walls and gates have never been rebuilt,” Abba continued. “The Jews wouldn’t be able to defend the city even if they were allowed to.”

“Is it true that the temple treasuries hold a wealth of gold and silver?” someone asked.

“It’s true. And we’re welcome to join that fight once the killing is finished in Bethlehem.”

Amina stuffed her fingers into her ears and buried her head
beneath the covers so she wouldn’t hear any more. She fell asleep to muffled murmurs and laughter.

The next morning, Amina and her mother walked to Bethlehem for market day. Abba made Sayfah stay home, her punishment for showing disrespect. “Feast your eyes on all of the Jews’ goods,” he told them before they left. “Remember, it’ll all be ours very soon.”

The women from Amina’s village acted friendly toward the Jews as they bartered for goods in the market square, but Amina knew it was a lie. She let the other children run ahead of her as she searched the rows of booths for Hodaya’s. The piles of beautiful woolen cloth were easy to find, the weaving so much finer and more colorful than anything Amina would ever wear.

“Well, good morning, Amina,” Hodaya said when she saw her. “I wondered if I would see you here today.”

Amina ducked behind one of the piles where she wouldn’t be seen. “I have to tell you something,” she whispered. She glanced all around, her heart beating like birds’ wings. “The men in our village are going to kill you. I heard my father and the others planning it. Abba bought swords and weapons and—”

“I know, little one. I know.” Hodaya’s gentle smile faded as tears filled her eyes. “We know all about the king’s decree.”

“Are . . . are you scared?”

“Not so much for myself, but I’m terrified for my grandchildren. The youngest is about your age, and I know how frightened she’ll be. I hate to think that her short life will end in fear. I’ve lived a good, long life, but the children—” She couldn’t finish. Amina reached to touch her arm as Hodaya wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry,” the older woman said after a moment. “I’m trying to remain brave for their sakes, but as the weeks race by and the day draws closer and closer . . . sometimes it’s very difficult.” She blew her nose in her handkerchief.

“You need to run away,” Amina whispered. “I don’t want Abba to kill you.” But when she saw Hodaya’s crutch propped
alongside her, she knew the elderly woman wouldn’t be able to escape. Hodaya bent to give Amina a long, tight hug. Affection was so rare for Amina that she soaked it up like butter melting into warm bread.

“It’s very sweet of you to be concerned for me,” Hodaya said. “You have a beautiful, tender heart.”

“I hate my father for wanting to kill you,” she said when they finally pulled apart.

“No, don’t hate him. Killing us isn’t his idea. The order came from the Persian king, and there isn’t anything we can do about it.”

“Can’t you hide?”

“I’m not sure. The men in our village have been praying about it, and some people are talking about escaping into the desert.”

“You should go. And if you have trouble walking, maybe you could ride a donkey.”

“Yes, sweet child. I will. I ride a donkey whenever we travel to God’s temple in Jerusalem. We’ve been going there as often as we can to pray and beg for His mercy. I have friends there who are priests, and they believe that our God is going to save us. I don’t know how He’ll do it, and I know it looks hopeless right now, but they’re telling us to trust God.”

Amina heard laughter and running feet, and she ducked down to hide as the other children ran past. “Aren’t you playing with them today?” Hodaya asked. “And where’s your sister? . . . What was her name?”

“Sayfah. Abba wouldn’t let her come. He’s punishing her because she told him she doesn’t want to get married.”

“Married! How old is she?”

“Eleven. Abba chose a husband for her from another village, and she has to marry him as soon as she turns twelve. He says her husband will be rich after—”
After they kill the
Jews.
Amina put her hand over her mouth, regretting what she’d been about to say.

Hodaya pulled Amina close for a moment and kissed her forehead. “You are a dear, sweet girl. Don’t let the ugliness of life ever change that.”

“I need to go.” If she didn’t, she would start crying, and Mama would ask why.

“Thank you for coming to warn me,” Hodaya said. “And may God bless you for your kindness.”

“I . . . I hope I see you again.” Amina stood on tiptoe to kiss Hodaya’s soft cheek, then hurried from the booth, her heart breaking. When she reached the end of the lane, she turned to look back at her friend one last time.