Return to Me (15 page)

“Just be careful what you promise. Her people are very suspicious of us as it is, and we need them if we’re going to survive here in the land.”

“Why can’t we all be friends like Leyla and me? Why don’t her people and ours get along, Abba?”

“It’s complicated. I would like it if we all got along, but I guess our biggest disagreement has to do with religion. We believe our God gave this land to us, and they believe their gods gave the same land to them. Religion can cause the biggest divisions of all.”

Yael remembered the argument between Leyla’s father and her grandmother over the potion that Leyla drank. And she knew
she had to hide the little figurine and the charts that Parthia had given her from people who didn’t share her beliefs. Yael had learned a lot from Leyla’s grandmother, and soon she would be able to read the future in the stars and make decisions for herself. In the meantime, she couldn’t wait to return to the village and visit her friend.

Z
echariah held the weighted cord next to the stone wall of his house and let it dangle freely. As he had feared, the last course of stones weren’t quite straight. He would have to remove them and build all over again—and his arms already ached from lifting them into place. He groaned aloud in frustration.

“What’s wrong, Zaki?” Yael peered around the corner of the house from where she’d been working with his grandmother.

“My studies ended early today, and I wanted to get this part of the wall done before Saba comes home. I wanted to surprise him. Now I have to take all these stones down again.”

“Why isn’t your grandfather working on the house with you?”

“Because he’s rebuilding the temple, and that’s much more important.” Zechariah lifted a stone from the top row and dropped it to the ground.

Yael came to stand beside him, one hand on her hip. “I don’t understand why you have to take them down.”

“Because the wall isn’t straight. See?” He held up the weighted cord to show her. “If it’s just a little bit off in the beginning and you don’t correct it, it will get further and further off as you build higher. The entire wall could collapse.” He reached up to
remove another stone and set it on the ground. Yael sat down on a large rock to watch him, idly jiggling her foot. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping my grandmother?” he asked her.

“She went to borrow something from Shoshanna. You and Abba got a lot done while I was visiting Leyla,” she told him. “The walls in my room are higher than my head now. I can stand up under the tent covering.”

Zechariah removed another block, then held up the cord again. “Saba says the Torah is like this plumb line. We can measure our lives with His word to see if we’re living straight. And if we stray from the Holy One’s laws just a tiny bit, pretty soon our whole life will be off course.”

Yael gave a long, loud sigh. “All you ever talk about is the Torah. Don’t you get tired of studying sometimes? Don’t you want to do something different for a change?”

Zechariah remembered going to the canal in Babylon with Yael, watching the ships sailing past, feeling free. He remembered walking to work with his father and watching the laborers unload cargo from all over the world. Now he spent all day studying with the handful of boys his age who had come to Jerusalem with their parents.

Yes
, he wanted to tell Yael. Yes, he did wish he could do something different for a change, but he didn’t dare say so out loud. “Studying the Torah is very important,” he said instead.

Yael exhaled again. “My friend Leyla has a brother your age, and he doesn’t study all the time.”

Zechariah felt a stab of jealousy, envying Yael’s freedom. He turned his back on her and continued working. “What do you do when you visit your friend?” he asked.

“Well, we couldn’t play the last time I was there because Leyla was too weak to get out of bed. So I told her stories about how we used to go exploring in Babylon. Remember? She wants to go with us when she’s better. She gets sick a lot, so I gave her
my—” Yael stopped so abruptly that Zechariah glanced over his shoulder to see why. She had her hand over her mouth, a guilty expression on her face.

“You gave her your . . . what?”

“Never mind.”

“No, I’m curious. What did you give her?” He stopped working and leaned against the wall, waiting.

“Just a necklace I had. She’s much better now. You should come with me sometime and meet her brother Rafi.”

Zechariah would never be allowed to go. He felt another stab of jealousy and wished he could do something to erase the contented smile from Yael’s face. “You should stay away from that village,” he said. “Those people are our enemies.”

“That’s not true. Abba and I made friends with them.”

“They’re idol worshipers, you know. They don’t worship the same God we do.”

“That’s not true, either. Leyla’s father is a son of Abraham.”

Zechariah couldn’t ruffle her contentment, and now he felt more irritated with her than before. He leaned close to her to whisper, “Did you get rid of your pagan stuff, yet?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a shrug.

He returned to his labor, reaching up to remove another stone from the top of the wall. “Well, instead of sitting there, why don’t you gather up some of those smaller rocks to stuff between the cracks?”

She did what he asked, picking up a handful of smaller stones and carefully wedging them between the larger ones. “Don’t you ever wish we could go exploring like we used to?” she asked as they worked.

“I’m not a child anymore. I’m a son of the covenant now—and I like studying. Every time I think I’ve learned all of the lessons from one passage in the Torah or studied all of the words
in one verse, I discover that there’s another layer of meaning beneath it and—”

“You’re no fun anymore. Why did you come to Jerusalem, anyway? You could have studied the Torah back home.” She struck her usual pose, her hand on her hip, a look of disapproval on her face.

Had he imagined that the Almighty One had spoken to him? Zechariah could barely remember the feeling of His presence on the day of his bar mitzvah. He did remember being in the tug-of-war between Saba and his father, remembered the dull pain he used to get in his stomach when they had argued about him. But God had proven that He was real, and Zechariah had obeyed His call to come. If only God would speak to him again and tell him why. What was he supposed to be doing here—besides studying? Every night he tried to remember the dreams that disturbed his sleep, hoping God would speak to him through them. The dreams seemed weighted with importance, but Zechariah could never remember them when he woke up, their content and meaning floating just beyond his grasp.

He lifted another stone from the top and dropped it to the ground. What would he be doing if he had stayed in Babylon? Would he be working with his father by now? But staying would have meant disobeying God’s call. “Maybe after we finish building our house I’ll have time to explore again,” he told Yael. At least he hoped it was true.

“Promise? Promise that we’ll do something fun when we have time?”

Zechariah hesitated, aware that he had fallen into Yael’s trap before by making rash promises. But he missed her and longed to spend time with her again. Most of all, he longed to convince her to give up her sorcery. Before he could stop himself he replied, “I promise.”

“Thank you!” She scampered off to finish preparing dinner
while he grabbed another rock from the last course of stones and tossed it onto the ground. Yael had reignited a longing for adventure that still nagged him as he sat through prayers at the house of assembly later that evening. The longing intensified when Mattaniah stood up after the prayers ended and addressed all of the assembled men.

“Listen, I received a message today from my new friend Zabad, the leader of one of the local villages. He asked me to extend his invitation to all of you to attend a celebration in his village tomorrow night.”

“What kind of celebration?” the high priest asked.

“It’s an annual festival to celebrate the olive harvest. But Zabad is also celebrating his daughter’s recovery. She was very ill, and he seems to think that my daughter, Yael, contributed to her recovery somehow. That’s why he’s inviting all of us.”

A chill went through Zechariah. What could Yael possibly have done to help her friend recover? Was it sorcery?

“Zabad has also agreed to let me farm that patch of land I wanted,” Mattaniah continued. “Our neighbors are offering to make peace with us, so I think we all have a reason to celebrate.”

Zechariah listened as the men discussed the invitation, and when they eventually agreed that a delegation should attend for the sake of goodwill and friendship, he longed to go with them. But the frown of disapproval on Saba’s face told him that he would never be allowed to go. The restrictions Saba placed on him chafed like ill-fitting sandals, and he silently bemoaned the fact that Yael would certainly be going to the festival. Then he remembered that he did have the freedom to go. He was a man now. He could decide for himself what he would do, just as he’d made the decision to leave Babylon.

“I want to go with you tomorrow night,” he told Mattaniah as they walked home.

Saba halted and pulled Zechariah to a stop beside him. “No,
son. I can’t let you go. Priests of God have no business going to pagan celebrations.”

“But I’m not a priest yet . . . and Zabad is a son of Abraham, and . . . and I want to go.” His voice shook as he defied his grandfather for the first time. He saw Saba’s surprise and disappointment, but he drew a steadying breath and said, “I’m old enough to make my own decisions now.”

“You may be old enough, but you’re not showing much wisdom. Did you pray and ask for guidance before deciding? I believe you should.” Saba started walking again, but Zaki slowed his steps and turned to Mattaniah. His mind was made up. “I’m going with you,” he told him.

The following evening as the sun was setting, Zechariah walked to the festival with Yael and Mattaniah and a dozen other Jewish men. This was the first time he had ventured away from their caravan camp and their settlement in Jerusalem, and his heart raced with excitement as they hiked across the narrow valley. The unwalled village, perched at the foot of the Mount of Olives, was little more than a cluster of plastered stone houses, but at least he was away from his studies and seeing something new, something different. A snaking path led uphill from the town, and Zechariah saw the glow of flames halfway to the top and a knot of men gathered around a stone altar. The aroma of roasting meat filled the air. A tingle of shock rippled through him. Were they worshiping at a high place?

“What are they cooking way up there?” he asked Mattaniah.

“I think they’re making a sacrifice. It’s an ancient tradition from the time before there was a temple—and since the temple is gone, where else can they offer sacrifices?”

A pagan image from the pages of the Torah had sprung to life right in front of Zechariah. “But the Torah says—”

“We’re guests here, Zaki,” he said, lowering his voice. “Let’s not start preaching the Torah to our hosts.”

A group of elders stood at the entrance to the village to greet them, ushering Zechariah and the other men into the open village square. Yael, the only girl in the delegation, was sent off to join the village women. A variety of rugs and woven mats had been spread out in the square, and when the sacrifice on the high place ended, the men sat down to feast. The women brought platters and trays and bowls of food and laid them before the gathered men, then disappeared again. Someone handed Zechariah a cup of wine as he sat down beside Mattaniah.

“Welcome, my esteemed guests,” Zabad said, lifting his cup. “Please eat and drink your fill!”

Zechariah waited for his host to recite the traditional blessings on the bread and wine, but he never did. Zaki mumbled the blessings himself as the other men dug in, using their bread as a spoon as they ate from the common dishes. Every time one platter emptied, the women quickly set a full one in its place. Mattaniah gestured to a heaping plate of roasted meat and said, “Help yourself to some lamb, Zaki.”

It smelled delicious, roasted to perfection and seasoned with fragrant rosemary. But as he reached to take a portion, he remembered the altar and the high place above the village. What if this meat had been sacrificed to idols? He had just studied the Fellowship Offering and knew that portions of that sacrifice would be offered to God while the rest would be eaten by family members and guests. He had no way of knowing if he was feasting with the Almighty One or with idols. No one had mentioned the God of Abraham or offered blessings to Him. Zaki shook his head at the mouth-watering lamb and nibbled on the eggplant and lentil dishes instead. Wine flowed as freely as the food. Mattaniah and the other Jewish men seemed to be having a good time, but Zechariah worried about the dozens of ways he was being tempted to disobey the Torah.

Toward the end of the meal, a troupe of musicians began
to play. Zaki didn’t recognize any of the songs. When the men rose to allow the women to clear away the remnants of the feast, he decided to look around for Yael. “Most of the women are out there,” a boy his age told him. He pointed to the village entrance. Zechariah watched from a distance and saw that Yael was surrounded by a group of women. They seemed to be coming and going, talking to Yael and an elderly woman for a few minutes, looking up at the stars together and pointing toward the heavens, then leaving again. Yael held a scroll in her hands, and when he remembered the ones she had consulted on the night of Saba’s nightmare, he felt sick inside. These village women were coming to Yael to have their fortunes read in the stars.

He had to stop her. He and Mattaniah needed to leave with Yael before the other men from Jerusalem saw her practicing astrology. He hurried back to find Mattaniah, wishing with all his heart that he hadn’t seen what Yael was doing.

The music and drinking had continued after the feast, and the celebration was growing very rowdy. As he searched the crowd for Yael’s father, Zechariah saw several young couples lurking in the shadows away from the torchlight, their arms entwined. The thundering drumbeat and the dancing weren’t like any Jewish celebration he’d ever attended. All the men sat back to watch the young women dance—and the girls were bare-armed and bare-legged. Their movements were so sensuous that Zechariah felt his face grow warm. He quickly looked away, not knowing what to do or where to turn. He remembered the story in the Torah about how the Midianites had tempted his ancestors to take part in an orgy and knew Saba had been right. Zechariah never should have come. He found Mattaniah watching the dancers and hurried over to whisper in his ear. “I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home.”

Mattaniah turned around to face him, his eyes bleary, his
face flushed from too much wine. “What? . . . Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was how they celebrated.”

Zechariah nodded. “I’m leaving. Should I take Yael with me?”