Keepers of the Covenant (8 page)

B
ABYLON

D
evorah’s stomach rumbled with hunger. How much longer would she have to wait to eat? Evening prayers were becoming longer and longer, and so were the practice drills that followed. The yard of Jude’s pottery works now sported targets so the archers could hone their skills, as well as straw-filled dummies for the swordsmen. Jude channeled his worry and fear into action, and even Ezra was learning to fight. Devorah had no such release, and her helplessness frustrated her. Having no control over her life had long been her worst fear. She couldn’t even take walks with the girls like she used to do, or visit the clay pits to watch Jude work. She could pray, of course, but that didn’t satisfy her need to
do
something.

Jude worried for her safety, but what was she supposed to do with her fear for him? He could be killed. Asher’s wife wept over the possibility of losing her husband every time Devorah saw her. “Aren’t you worried for Jude?” Miriam had asked just this morning.

“Of course I am,” she’d replied. “But I have to be courageous for my daughters. Instead of crying, I pray for Jude’s safety.”

“I have nightmares that Asher dies. I don’t know what I would
do without him. I know we’re no longer under a death sentence, but that doesn’t guarantee that we’ll all live.”

Devorah pushed thoughts like that from her mind. “Hasn’t God already heard our prayers? He took an impossible situation and provided a way for us to fight back. We have to keep trusting Him.”

“I wish I had your faith,” Miriam said.

“You can start by praying instead of worrying. And pray for poor Ezra. He’s going to fight, too, can you believe it? We should be worried for him. He isn’t as strong as Jude and Asher. And Ezra doesn’t have the temperament it takes to fight like our husbands do.” But for all of Devorah’s efforts, Miriam’s fear remained unchanged.

The sky was growing dark. The men couldn’t practice in the dark, could they? Devorah fed Abigail and Michal their supper and put them to bed. Afterward, she shifted the pots of food around on the hearth—too close to the fire and the food would stick to the pot and burn, too far from the embers and it would grow cold. Either way, it would serve the men right for taking so long.

Devorah’s life had changed so drastically in only a few short months. Would it settle down again after the thirteenth of Adar, and return to the way it had been? She hoped so. But after a trial of faith like this one, she would never view life the same or take her family for granted. For now, the hardest thing to live with was the uncertainty. No one knew if their enemies would still attack them or how strong their forces would be. Or how well her own people could fight back. As Miriam had said, they might not face execution, but there was no guarantee of survival, either.

At last she heard Jude’s deep voice echoing through the narrow lanes as he neared home. “There you are! At last,” she said as he walked through the gate. She longed to greet him with a hug in spite of the sweat that ran down his face and soaked
the front of his tunic, but Ezra was with him, and she and Jude had agreed to refrain from showing affection in front of him.

The rug was already spread for their meal. Devorah put the food in the middle of it while the men washed. They were still talking about swords and arrows as they sat down, but they paused long enough for Ezra to recite the blessing over the bread. They continued their conversation the moment they said
amen
. “Did I tell you, Jude, that the Persian governor has offered to let us confer with his experienced military officials?” Ezra asked. “They’ll help us draw up plans for our defense.”

“Are they going to help us fight, too?” Devorah asked.

Ezra looked at her as if surprised she was there, much less listening to their conversation. “They aren’t willing to go that far,” he replied before quickly looking away. She found it unnerving that he rarely addressed her directly and avoided looking at her whenever possible. She had asked Jude about it once, and he’d explained the Torah’s prohibition against lusting after another man’s wife.

“But I’m his sister-in-law, for goodness’ sakes,” she had said. “He lives here with us.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jude had replied. “As far as Ezra is concerned, every commandment and precept and decree and law should be taken literally.”

Devorah knew she should remain quiet now and let the men talk, but she had a sudden thought. “Excuse me, but how do you know that these Persian military officials are our friends?”

Jude held out his bowl for her to fill. “What do you mean, love?”

“Just because the Persian governor favors us doesn’t mean his army officers do. They could purposely give us bad advice. Or pretend to be allies and then share our battle plans with our enemies.”

“She’s right, you know,” Jude said. He suppressed a grin as he elbowed his brother.

“Besides,” Devorah continued, “the Scriptures are full of battles that our people fought under the Almighty One’s direction. Can’t those accounts act as a guide instead of us relying on Gentile Persian generals? Didn’t the Almighty One tell Joshua how to fight the battle of Jericho?”

Ezra laid down his bread. “I haven’t given the governor my answer yet. But you’ve given me something to think about.”

“We’ll have to call you ‘General Devorah’ from now on,” Jude teased.

She frowned at him, thinking it wasn’t funny. “Why not put our trust in God, not men?’ she continued. “Especially when we don’t know these Babylonians very well.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your thoughts,” Ezra said. Was he grateful or was he dismissing her? The brothers talked of other things while they ate, but the subject of fighting came up again after the meal when Ezra winced in pain as he massaged his shoulder.

“How are you getting along with that sword?” Jude asked.

“My arm aches. I’m using muscles I’ve never used before. At least you’re used to lifting heavy pots. The heaviest thing I lift is a Torah scroll. And look at these. . . .” Ezra held out his palm to show an oozing set of blisters.

“I have some balm that will help,” Devorah said. She rose to fetch it, still listening to their conversation.

“You know, our enemies may not be any better at fighting than we are,” Jude said.

“Let’s hope not. I never imagined I’d have to wield a sword in battle, did you, Jude?”

“Never.”

Devorah gave the little pot of salve to Ezra to rub on his palm. “I’m glad we don’t have a son who has to fight,” she said as she cleared away the bowls. “I don’t think I could bear it. It’s hard enough to send my husband to war.”

Jude reached for her arm and pulled her down on the carpet
beside him. “When this is finally over, maybe the Almighty One will give us a son. You know I love our daughters, but they’ll grow up and move to their husbands’ homes someday. But a son? A son can work alongside me and inherit my business. Sons are a blessing from the Almighty One.”

“What if your son doesn’t want to be a potter?” Ezra asked. His tone was lighthearted, and he wore a crooked smile. “What if he wants to study Torah with his uncle? What then?”

Devorah looked at him in surprise. Her serious brother-in-law rarely smiled. Jude laughed out loud. “Listen, if you want a son to study Torah with you, get married and have one of your own.
My
firstborn son will be a potter like his father.”

Ezra scratched his beard, his expression wistful. “You know, I just might look for a wife when this is all over. One of the Holy One’s first commands was to be fruitful and multiply.”

Jude laughed again. “You hear that, Devorah? On the fourteenth day of Adar you can help my brother find a wife. You won’t be sorry, Ezra. Don’t the writings say that a good wife is a gift from God? It’s about time you accepted His gift.”

Devorah smiled as she listened to the men. They had given her hope. The fighting would last for a day, but after that? . . . After that, life and love and joy would return.

B
ETHLEHEM

S
omething was wrong. Amina knew it the moment Abba stormed into their courtyard, shouting curses and throwing his staff onto the cobblestones in a rage. She and Sayfah had been sitting in the shade of the overhanging roof as they helped Mama cut up leeks and garlic, but Sayfah leaped to her feet and grabbed Amina’s arm the moment they heard him coming. She pulled Amina, stumbling and limping, into the storage room to hide. They were close enough to hear him if he called for them, far away enough to be out of his sight. Sayfah’s bruises were nearly healed, and neither of them wanted to risk another beating.

Amina heard one of their brothers talking to him, his voice low and cautious as if he was frightened of Abba, too. “It makes no sense!” Abba shouted in reply. “Whoever heard of such stupidity? One day they issue an order to kill every Jew in the kingdom, then they issue another one saying the Jews can fight back!”

Fight back?
Amina drew a quick breath, then covered her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Sayfah asked. “What’s he talking about?”
Sayfah hadn’t been awake to hear the meetings and celebrations. She didn’t know Abba’s plans. And Sayfah hadn’t met the kind Jewish woman in the marketplace. Maybe Hodaya wouldn’t have to die after all. She’d said her God would help her—and now He had.

“I can’t believe it!” Abba shouted. “We’ve been planning this for four months!”

“Planning what?” Sayfah whispered.

“To kill his enemies,” Amina whispered back. “That’s why he bought all those weapons.”

“But why—?”

“Shh! I want to hear what they’re saying.”

“We can still kill all the Jews, can’t we?” her brother asked. “And take their goods?”

“And we still have the advantage,” her other brother said. “The Jews won’t have much time to buy weapons. And don’t we outnumber them?”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Abba said. His temper had cooled, but he sounded hoarse from shouting. “The first edict is still the law of the land. Now we need to make sure the Jews can’t buy weapons. We’ll intercept all caravans and shipments so nothing reaches them. In the meantime, we can’t let them suspect that we still plan to attack. Tell the women to shop in the market as usual and act friendly. We’ll take the Jews by surprise.”

Amina longed to run all the way to Bethlehem and warn her friend what Abba and the others still planned to do. But when she walked into Bethlehem two days later with Mama, the market square looked deserted. Amina slipped away from her sister and limped to her friend’s booth, longing to glimpse Hodaya’s kind, wrinkled face one last time and feel her warm arms surrounding her. But Hodaya and her beautiful cloth were gone. None of the Jews had come to buy or sell. The only merchants and customers were from Amina’s village. She bent to pick up a forgotten strand of blue thread, the only thing that remained
of the colorful piles of fabric, clutching it in her hand like a valuable coin. Would she ever see her friend again?

“What are you doing?” Sayfah asked, surprising her as she came up behind her.

“Nothing.” Amina gripped the strand of blue wool tightly so Sayfah wouldn’t see it and ask questions.

“Come on, Mama needs our help.”

“I’m coming.” Maybe Amina’s friend had gone away to hide. Maybe she wouldn’t die after all.

C
ASIPHIA

R
euben crouched beside the fire, fanning the flames with his bellows in smooth, even strokes. He watched his father’s every move, trying to anticipate what he might need and help him any way he could. Their work was of the utmost importance now, and may mean the difference between life and death for his people. He and Abba worked from before dawn until after dark, laboring to forge weapons in the blistering summer heat as the months continued to speed past. Reuben’s anxiety grew along with the stockpile. He and everyone in his family still might die. But they also might live. He fanned that ember of hope the same way he fanned the coals, waiting for it to ignite and burn brightly.

His arms ached from the strain of the added work, and he longed to rest. But this morning he remembered something the rebbe had said a few years ago:
“We’re all called
to serve God.”
Reuben hadn’t understood what he’d meant back then, thinking he had to study all day or become a rabbi to serve God. Now, as Reuben crouched beside the furnace, feeling the fire’s intense heat and watching Abba rotate the glowing metal, he finally understood. God called him and his father to serve God
as blacksmiths. The Almighty One chose them for this work, so their people could survive.

Reuben’s apprenticeship had accelerated from all his labor, transforming his skills. Along with added knowledge and experience, his love and respect for his father also increased. Weapons now filled stacks of crates behind the partition—swords and knives, spears and arrowheads. Abba would ship most of them to Rebbe Ezra in Babylon, hidden inside wagonloads of produce. Every able-bodied man in Casiphia was now armed, too.

“Take a break, Reuben.” Abba pulled the blade from the flames and turned to hammer it on the anvil. “Get a drink and cool off.” Reuben could tell by the ringing sound and the thickness of the metal that the sword was nearly finished. He laid down his bellows and removed his leather apron, hanging it on the hook behind the partition before bending to ladle a drink from one of the clay jars. With his thirst quenched, he retrieved the arrow and bow he had begged from one of Abba’s craftsmen and carried them to the narrow lane behind the forge where the straw target was set up. Reuben could hit it every time, so he stepped back from where he’d practiced yesterday, increasing his range. He felt the growing strength in his arms as he strung the bow and drew back the string, certain that God had created him to use these weapons as well as fashion them.
Thwack.
The wild thrill he felt each time his muscles strained to draw the bow, each time his arrow struck its mark, satisfied him more than his daring escapades with his friends.

“You’ve become quite a good shot, Reuben.”

He turned to see Uncle Hashabiah and another elder from the house of assembly standing in the alleyway behind him. “Thank you.” He grinned and hurried forward to pull the arrow from the target, hoping they would stay for a moment and watch him shoot again. They were in charge of training the men in his community.

“Is your father here? We’ve come to see if he has more weapons for us.”

Reuben waited to reply until after he’d taken aim and the arrow had penetrated the center of the target
.
“Yes, we’ve finished a few more swords,” he said. “I’m practicing so I can join you when training begins.” The two men looked at each other without replying. “I heard that practice starts soon,” Reuben continued. “I want to fight with you.”

“You’re only twelve, Reuben.”

“I’ll be thirteen in a few months. And I can already shoot. You just saw me. I can use a sword, too.”

“Is your father inside?” Hashabiah asked again. He went into the forge without waiting for Reuben’s reply. Reuben followed them, still carrying his bow and arrow, and they found Abba at the grinding stone, sharpening a new blade.

“Are the weapons ready?” Hashabiah asked.

“Yes, Reuben and I finished a few more since you were here. And the shipment to Babylon leaves tomorrow.”

“Good. Will you have time to come for training tonight? I know you’re busy with all of this,” he said, gesturing to the forge.

Abba tested the edge of the sword with his thumb, then bent to sharpen it some more. “Yes, I plan to come.”

“I want to come, too,” Reuben said.

Hashabiah shook his head. “You’re too young, son. The elders have decided that volunteers must be at least sixteen.”

“But that’s not fair! I’ve worked as hard as any man making these weapons. Why can’t I use them, too?” He struggled to keep his voice level and not whine like a child, but the injustice angered him.

“I know, Reuben, but—”

“Don’t our enemies outnumber us?” Reuben asked. “Won’t we need every man we have? Tell them I’m strong enough, Abba. Tell them how I’ve been helping you.”

Abba laid down the sword and rested his hand on Reuben’s
shoulder. “You’re my right-hand man, son. Strong and smart and very capable. But I was there when the elders made this decision. I’m sorry, but I agree with them.”

“No! Let me fight and defend myself! The Gentiles will kill me if they get the chance. They’ll even kill little children.”

“I know.” Abba’s hand squeezed tighter. “But we need you in the second ring of defense, to guard the women and children.”

“I want to fight!”

“I pray that none of us will have to fight,” Abba said. “And that the Gentiles will be too afraid to attack us. But you have your whole life ahead of you, Reuben. Imagine for a moment that you’re a father who loves his son very much. Try to understand why I don’t want you on the front lines.”

“But I can shoot—”

“I know you can. But do you understand what our enemies will do to your mother and sisters and the baby if they break through our defenses? The greatest help you can give me is to protect our women and children. Someone has to do that very important job. Promise me that you’ll take care of them for me.” He waited, still gripping Reuben’s shoulder, refusing to look away until Reuben finally replied.

“I promise. . . . But can I at least come and watch you practice tonight?”

“Yes, you may watch.”

“Wait,” Hashabiah said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The other boys his age will want to come, too, and—”

“My son worked as hard as any man making these weapons,” Abba interrupted. “He deserves to watch us learn how to use them.”

“I understand. But I worry that we won’t be able to restrain our young people’s zeal for war after this is over. How can we teach our boys that self-defense is sometimes necessary but that it’s wrong to hate?”

“Don’t you hate?” Abba asked. His voice grew louder, angrier,
as he continued. “You surely must, if you’re honest. My wife just had our fourth child and the Gentiles will slaughter him without blinking an eye. So yes, I do hate them. Just as much as they hate us.”

Reuben remained silent as he watched the two men. Hashabiah seemed about to argue, then shook his head as if changing his mind. “We’ll take those weapons now,” he said. “And we’ll see you later tonight for training.”