Keepers of the Covenant (9 page)

B
ABYLON
T
HE
EVE
OF
THE
THIRTEENTH
OF
A
DAR

E
zra stood inside the shed they were using as a weapons cache and pulled a sword from the crate. It felt heavy in his hand. He had practiced for months against a straw-filled dummy tethered from a rope, his arm growing strong as he’d learned to wield the weapon. But the dummy hadn’t carried a sword or fought back. The enemies Ezra would face in a few hours would. And they would show no mercy.

“Ready?” Jude asked.

“Yes. Let’s take our positions.” Ezra walked with his brothers through emptied streets. The sun had sunk below the treetops, below the housetops, squatting on the horizon like a fiery ball. Today had been the longest day of Ezra’s life as he’d waited for the sun to set and the thirteenth day of Adar to begin—the day when his enemies would attack and kill and plunder his people. Yet it had also been the shortest day he could ever remember with time darting as swiftly and chaotically as swallows while he and the other men rehearsed their plans a final time. He had left the house early this morning so he wouldn’t have to watch his brothers say good-bye to their families. So he wouldn’t have
to wonder, as their wives surely did, if Jude and Asher would survive and return home. Better he died than one of them.

Ezra had stood before the people in the house of assembly this morning as their leader, encouraging them to look to the Almighty One for strength. “He holds our lives in His hands each and every day,” he’d told them, “although we’re seldom aware of it until we find ourselves facing danger. He knows the number of days written for each of us in His book. And so, whether we live or die in the coming hours, we can trust Him completely—because He is worthy of our trust. As Joshua prepared to fight the Gentile armies in Jericho, God told him, ‘Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you.’”

Then Ezra led the community in prayer one last time, begging for God’s mercy for the coming day. “Not because we deserve it,” he’d prayed, “but for your name’s sake, for your glory. Let not our enemies triumph over us.” And Ezra had continued to pray silently throughout the day as he’d helped construct barricades and secure their defenses and distribute weapons. He’d learned the difference, these past months, between talking about God with his students and colleagues in the yeshiva, and talking with the Almighty One, alone, on his face in prayer. If he survived the coming night and day, Ezra knew he could never go back to the way he’d approached prayer or Scripture in the past. The Torah would be a radically different book. Prayer would be intimate and sacred.

“It will be your responsibility to lead the evening prayers tonight,” he had told the young yeshiva students earlier today, the boys too young to fight. “It will be the most important job you’ll ever have.” They would be praying right now. The sky was already darker in the east, an indigo curtain falling closed as if the disappearing sun were a weight that yanked it shut. Before long, the first stars would poke through the curtain’s folds.

“Good evening, Rebbe Ezra.” His young Torah student, Shi
mon, hurried over to greet him when he arrived at the barricade. The sword looked awkward and out of place in the young man’s hand. “May the Almighty One be with you this night.”

“And also with you, Shimon.” He saw apprehension in Shimon’s eyes and pale face, and fought the urge to send him back to his books and his studies, away from the shadow of death. But he also saw his young student’s determination. Like their forefathers under Joshua’s command, he and the others were no longer individuals but the people of God, fighting together.

Earlier today, the men had blocked all the lanes leading into the Jewish community. Ezra and the others would defend those entrances while the women and children took refuge in the house of assembly. The arguments over that decision had been fierce. “Our families will become easy prey if they’re all grouped in one place,” some had insisted. “Why not hide them throughout the community, so at least a few might survive?”

Others had disagreed, arguing that it would be easier to protect the women and children if they were all in one place. “That way, if we’re forced to retreat we can form our last ring of defense around the house of assembly, guarding the women and children.” And the Torah scrolls. Shimon had helped Ezra wrap them in cloth and bury them in leather-bound boxes beneath the floor of the yeshiva in case their enemies set the building on fire.

Another group of men had wanted to make a suicide pact in case the enemy broke through and all was lost. “Let’s agree to kill the women and children and then ourselves,” they’d said, “rather than allow our enemies to slaughter us and rape our women.”

The arguing parties were unable to reach a consensus and had turned to Ezra to make the final decision. “I’m not an expert in military strategy and defensive tactics,” he’d said, “but I do know how to pray.” He’d become quite skilled at praying in the dwindling weeks—and so he’d turned to the Holy One before deciding. “The women and children will take shelter in
the house of assembly. But let’s not talk of suicide or rape or defeat. ‘God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.’”

His assigned barricade, a crude pile of discarded furniture, broken crates, and crumbling mud bricks blocking the street, provided a shield to fight behind. He chose Shimon to climb the nearest rooftop and serve as a lookout. Ezra gazed around at the men who would fight alongside him, their faces hardened with resolve in the fading light, as if molded from bronze instead of flesh. Did he look the same? Did these men feel the same gut-twisting unease he felt as they prepared to face their enemies?

Ezra listened, tense and uneasy in the evening stillness. Even the birds had stopped twittering. No one spoke, and the unnatural silence lengthened and grew until he could no longer fight the urge to shatter it. “Remember, men, if we must die there’s no greater honor than to die as the people of God.” He closed his eyes and led them in the ancient creed of their faith: “‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.’”

The curtain of night descended around them. The thirteenth day of Adar had begun. It was impossible to see more than a dozen yards away from where they stood. Now Ezra would wait, sword in hand.

“Do you really believe we’ll survive this?” Jude asked. “That God will protect us?”

Ezra exhaled. What did he believe after months of endless soul-searching, hours of studying Scripture? He replied carefully. “I believe with all my heart that God will save a remnant of His people. Hasn’t He already helped us by changing the king’s heart and allowing us to defend ourselves? You were there when the governor told us how the Babylonian nobles and satraps have sided with us out of fear of Mordecai the Jew.”

“Yes, but will
we
be part of that remnant? You and me and Asher?”

“God knows. . . . I pray that we will be.”

Jude edged closer, lowering his voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “In case you don’t know it, a lot of men are upset about your decision not to plunder our enemies. I’m not sure we can restrain some of them if the battle goes in our favor.”

“I explained my reasons for not taking the Gentiles’ spoils. Mordecai may have followed the language of Haman’s letter, but I don’t think he intended for Jews to kill women and children. We only need to defend our lives. That’s why I also said not to kill unless you have to.”

“I think your decision was wrong.”

“Yes, Jude. I know you do. We’ve had this argument before.”

“Why should we allow our enemies to live? They’ll gladly kill us. Why not be as ruthless as they are?”

Asher had inched closer to listen and join the discussion. “Remember the story of Saul and the Amalekites?” he asked. “Saul was supposed to destroy
all
of them. If he had obeyed and done what God ordered, we wouldn’t be fighting them now.”

“True. But in all my prayers and pleadings, I never once heard the Almighty One order us to utterly destroy them. He granted us the right to defend ourselves—that’s all. Revenge is His to repay.”

Jude shook his head, unconvinced.

“Don’t let your hatred overrule your caution,” Ezra warned him. “I hate these Gentiles as much as you do. But letting that hatred take control would be a fatal mistake.”

They moved apart, and Ezra continued to wait, alert to every rustle, every shifting shadow, his sweating palm fused to the grip of his sword. Months ago, Jude had admonished him to leave his study and join the real world. Now that he had, Ezra had grown to love this group of courageous men. He had accepted God’s call to lead them, and he felt responsible for them as they
stood waiting to defend their wives and children.
Lord, help them. . . . Help us all.

“I still say we should go on the offensive,” Jude said, breaking into Ezra’s thoughts. “Why not flush out our enemies and kill them first instead of waiting here like fish in a pond?”

“Because then we would be taking matters into our own hands. Trust God, Jude.”

They settled back to wait some more.

Eventually, Ezra grew so accustomed to the soft, nighttime sounds of fidgeting men and chirping insects that he no longer noticed them—until the sounds suddenly stopped. He stood up straight, instantly alert. “Over there,” Jude whispered, pointing. Ezra glimpsed movement in the distant darkness as the shadows shifted. He heard the rustle of approaching footsteps. He glanced at Jude for confirmation, and he nodded, hearing it, too. Shimon whistled the warning sign from the rooftop. The archers readied their bows.

This was it. The first attack. Ezra would signal the archers to fire as soon as the enemy came into range. He and the other swordsmen would rise up out of hiding after that first volley. Ezra’s heart raced as the ominous shadows drew closer, skittering between buildings, staying under cover. He wiped his palms on his thighs.
Get control. Steady.

“God, be with us,” he whispered. Then, as the shadows materialized into a flood of enemies, Ezra shouted, “Fire!” He ducked his head as a volley of arrows slammed into the attackers. Sickening thuds and cries of pain told him the arrows had found their marks. He peered over the barricade and saw dozens of fallen men, but a tidal wave of attackers still surged forward.

Ezra shouted the battle cry, and his men rose up to defend their homes and families, fighting for their lives.

C
ASIPHIA
T
HE
EVE
OF
THE
THIRTEENTH
OF
A
DAR

T
he sky was still light when Reuben and his father led Mama and his younger siblings to the house of assembly for shelter. The other men in his community were doing the same, bringing enough food and supplies for the women and children to last a full day under siege. Mama carried his new baby brother while Reuben carried extra oil for the lamps and bedding for tonight. Would anyone besides the very smallest children be able to sleep? Reuben certainly wouldn’t. Every muscle in his body ached with tension and fear. The meal he’d tried to eat lay lumped in his stomach. What would happen to his family, to him, before the sun went down tomorrow night?

A short distance from the assembly hall, their progress halted. Reuben set down his bundles and followed his father forward to see why. Two large wagons loaded with household goods blocked the street and the entrance to the building like a plug in a wineskin. “What’s all this?” Abba asked the well-dressed man, sitting beside one of the drivers. “You’re blocking the road—and it’s nearly sunset.”

“I’m not leaving my valuables behind for the pagans to steal,” he replied. “I’m storing them inside for safekeeping.”

“There’s no room inside,” someone shouted at the man. “Leave them!”

“Get your wagons out of our way,” another said. “Our families need to get through.”

“This isn’t the time to worry about your possessions,” Abba said. “This is a fight to the death.”

“Everything I’ve worked for is in these wagons!”

“And I’m trying to get my family inside! They’re the only things worth safeguarding. Now move aside!” Abba stepped toward him, challenging him, but the man didn’t flinch.

“You can’t tell me what to do. I own men like you.”

Abba was brawny and strong—and determined. “I don’t care how rich you are. If we lose this fight, we’ll all be dead by this time tomorrow, and our enemies will steal everything we own no matter where you store it. If we win, your goods will be perfectly safe inside your own house. Now move your wagons out of the way! The house of assembly is a shelter for women and children, not household goods.”

By now, several other men had gathered around. Their tempers seemed as hot as banked coals as they waited for their enemies to become the fuel that would unleash the flames. This man, blocking their path, fanned those coals. At Abba’s signal, the men grabbed the oxen and dragged them and the wagons out of way. The owner sputtered and shouted helplessly.

With the path cleared, Reuben’s family hurried inside and found a place to spread their bedding. Women and children packed the hall, the mothers trying to distract their little ones with songs and games and treats. Reuben felt the tension in the air, as if a dark, storm-filled cloud was slowly rolling toward them.

“I have to leave now,” Abba said. “You’ll be safe here. The men will form a protective ring around the hall, and every win
dow and door will be guarded.” He held Mama in his arms for a long moment, then kissed her and each of Reuben’s sisters. He pulled Reuben close for a hard embrace. “Watch over them for me, Reuben.”

“I don’t want to wait inside, Abba. If I can’t fight, at least let me help the other men keep watch outside.”

“Listen, son—”

“Please, Abba! I’ll go crazy in here with the babies.”

Abba exhaled. “I’ll talk to the man in charge. But you’ll have to obey him and do exactly as he says. And don’t leave here. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Be sure to check on your mother from time to time to see if she needs anything,” he added as they walked toward the entrance.

“I will, Abba.”

Reuben’s father talked with the chief guard, who agreed to let Reuben stand watch outside. The guards, mostly elderly men, were too old to fight but still eager to defend their families with their lives. Shortly after Abba left, the sun set. The day everyone had long dreaded had come. Reuben strained in the darkness, trying to see into the deserted streets. “It’s so dark!” he said to the man beside him. “How can our men see anything?”

“They can’t. But our enemies can’t see anything, either.”

Time passed. Nothing happened. The guards paced as they made their rounds. Reuben heard a baby crying inside the building and wondered if it was his brother. The hardest thing in the world was waiting, doing nothing.

Then in the distance, Reuben heard the unmistakable sounds of battle—swords clashing, men shouting. The guards went on high alert. “Go inside, son,” the chief guard told him. Reuben had promised to obey, but he halted on the other side of the threshold to watch from the doorway. The sounds continued for more than an hour before fading away. Then a knot of figures
materialized out of the darkness, hurrying toward them. Reuben unsheathed the knife he had made out of scrap metal, wishing he had a sword. Had their enemies broken through their defenses? If only he could prove his courage in battle.

“We’re on your side,” one of the figures called out. “We’re bringing in the wounded.”

Two guards went forward to help, carrying the injured men past Reuben and laying them inside the assembly hall. The women brought lamps and huddled around the groaning men to tend their wounds. Reuben craned his neck to see, praying he wouldn’t see his father. Two of the bloodied men were strangers, the third a young man named Samuel who was only a few years older than him. Reuben had watched Samuel practice with the men a few days ago—now he lay gravely injured.

The thirteenth day of Adar had just begun. Hours and hours remained until it ended. Reuben went outside again, unsure how he would bear the suspense of waiting until it did.