Return to Me (27 page)

F
rom his post on the watchtower, Zechariah saw the soldiers marching up the road to Jerusalem. The dark forms of men on horseback had emerged from a cloud of dust, their swords glinting in the sunlight. They carried the colorful banners of the governor of Trans-Euphrates Province. He counted at least a dozen men.

Zechariah had stood watch on this crumbling tower for so long, seeing nothing unusual on the roads day after day, that now he could scarcely believe his eyes. But as a chorus of shofars began to blow, he knew that the other sentries saw them, too.

His first impulse was to climb down and join the men in challenging these invaders. If only he had a sword. If only he knew how to fight. But his community had been warned of their arrival, and now his job was to stay here and continue watching for more trouble, or for a threat from another direction. He worried about the soldiers all day as he sat at his lonely post, and when someone came to relieve him from watch duty, he begged for news about the armed strangers.

“I was told that the delegation came from the provincial capital, from the governor of Trans-Euphrates,” his replacement
said. “The foreigners were escorted to the governor’s residence to meet with Prince Sheshbazzar. That’s all I know.”

Zechariah ran all the way across the temple mount and found his grandfather waiting for him to watch the evening sacrifice. “What are those Samaritans doing here, Saba? Do you know why they’ve come?” he asked, still panting.

“I have no idea. They met with the prince in a closed meeting. Let’s hope they’re coming to help us get justice for Shoshanna and to restore peace.”

When the sacrifice ended, the younger prince, Zerubbabel, came forward to speak to the congregation. “Governor Sheshbazzar and I are calling for a convocation here on the temple mount in two days’ time, immediately after the morning sacrifice. We’re sending messengers to our brethren in all the surrounding villages, asking them to come, as well. I know you’ve all seen the emissaries and are wondering what’s going on, but the Samaritan governor has requested that we wait until everyone has assembled before making the announcement, so that rumors won’t spread and cause even more trouble.” He paused, and Zechariah saw him glance at the soldiers standing outside the courtyard. “The request comes at Governor Rehum’s insistence.”

“What do you suppose it’s about?” Zechariah asked again as they walked home.

“Believe me, I wish I knew,” Saba said. “It must be serious if they’re asking men to leave their land and their crops and come to Jerusalem at this time of year, so close to the grape harvest. Two days will be a long time to wait.”

A huge crowd filled the temple courtyards two days later, as large as on one of the feast days. Men from all over Judah stood beneath the burning sun, waiting to hear the provincial governor’s announcement. The Samaritan emissaries and soldiers watched from the Court of the Gentiles as if standing guard. Zechariah stood with his grandmother and the other women
while Saba stood with the chief priests to listen. “Depending on what the announcement is,” Saba had told Zechariah, “I may need to meet with the priests afterwards. I need you to make sure the women get home safely.”

The crowd quieted as Judah’s two princes climbed onto the platform where Saba usually stood to blow the trumpet. Prince Zerubbabel stepped forward to act as spokesman. The elderly Sheshbazzar looked too weary and defeated for the task, which could only mean that the news must be bad. Zechariah remembered the night in Babylon when Saba had talked about the power of words and wondered what power these words would unleash.

“Thank you for coming,” Zerubbabel began. “Governor Rehum of Samaria has asked me to read a copy of the letter he sent to King Artaxerxes in Persia. I’ve been told that Artaxerxes is the son of King Cyrus and as of a few months ago he now reigns as co-regent with his father.” He paused to look across the plaza at the leader of the Samaritan delegation, and Zechariah saw the controlled fury on Zerubbabel’s face, heard it in his voice. “Rehum shrewdly chose not to address his letter to King Cyrus himself but to his young son—for reasons that will soon become obvious. This is what Rehum’s letter said:

“‘To King Artaxerxes, from your servants, the men of Trans-Euphrates:

The king should know that the Jews who have moved here from Babylon are rebuilding the rebellious and wicked city of Jerusalem. They are restoring the walls and repairing the foundations. Furthermore, the king should know that if this city is built and its walls are restored, no more taxes, tribute or duty will be paid and the royal revenue will suffer. Now, since we are under obligation to the palace and it is not proper for us to see the king dishonored, we are sending this message to inform the king, so that a search may be made in the archives of your predecessors. In these records you will find that Jerusalem is a
rebellious city, troublesome to kings and a place of rebellion from ancient times. That is why this city was destroyed. We inform the king that if Jerusalem is rebuilt and its walls are restored, you will be left with nothing in Trans-Euphrates.’”

Zerubbabel lowered the letter and faced the assembled people, his anger poorly concealed. “You’ll notice that Rehum said nothing in his letter about the Holy Temple, which was the true reason that King Cyrus commissioned us to return. If Rehum had mentioned the temple, then the original proclamation could have easily been found. Instead, the governor deliberately misled the new king. Now I’ll read King Artaxerxes’ reply, which Rehum has just received.” He unrolled a second scroll and began to read, his tone edged with bitterness.

“‘Greetings. The letter you sent us has been read and translated in my presence. I issued an order and a search was made, and it was found that Jerusalem has a long history of revolt against kings and has been a place of rebellion and sedition. The city has had powerful kings ruling over the whole of Trans-Euphrates in the past, and they demanded that taxes, tribute and duty be paid to them. Now issue an order to these men to stop work—’”

“No!” The outcry raced through the crowd at his words. Stop working? They had just begun! The prince waited for the cries to die away.

“‘ . . . Issue an order to these men to stop work so that Jerusalem will not be rebuilt until I so order. Be careful not to neglect this matter. Why let this threat grow, to the detriment of the royal interests?’”

The crowd’s outrage overflowed as the prince rolled up the letter. He finally held up his hand so he could continue. “Governor
Rehum and Shimshai his secretary and their associates are now compelling us to stop working through threat of force—you’ve all seen their
enforcers
among us.” Once again, he glared at the Samaritan leader and the soldiers standing guard beside him. “It grieves me to tell you that their order includes all work on the temple.” The loud cry came from the priests this time. Zechariah craned his neck to catch a glimpse of his grandfather and saw that he had covered his face with his hands.

“And since we can no longer build our city,” the prince continued, shouting to be heard above the murmuring, “it also means that new immigrants will not be allowed to come.”

At this, the crowd stilled. Zechariah caught his breath. His parents wouldn’t be allowed to come? He might never see them again? He looked at his grandmother and saw her standing with her eyes closed, her hands covering her mouth as if to hold back her grief.

“Rehum has assured us that once we stop building the temple and stop repairing the city walls and gates, our neighbors will make peace with us,” the prince continued. “The threats and the violence will end. The local people will trade with us again.”

It wasn’t a fair exchange. Zechariah knew they could survive without Samaritan food, but not without God’s presence. Their lives would have no meaning at all without Him. Once again Zerubbabel had to hold up his hands to quiet the people, who seemed to grow angrier every minute, like a hive of bees that had been disturbed. This time Prince Sheshbazzar stepped forward to speak.

“We all know that King Cyrus has commissioned us to build the temple. Rehum knows it, as well. Once the king’s original proclamation is found among the Persian documents, it will confirm our right to be here and to build here. I’m sending emissaries of my own to Persia immediately. This matter will be settled in our favor. Unfortunately, it will take time to get the
justice that we deserve, and in the meantime, I’m sorry to say that all construction on the temple must cease.”

“No . . .” Zechariah murmured. He repeated it, louder, joining the chorus of protests. “No! No! We can’t stop building!” He felt his grandmother’s hand on his shoulder and looked at her tear-streaked face. “Why won’t the Holy One help us?” he asked. “He could do miracles!” Safta could only shake her head in reply.

Once again, Zerubbabel gestured for silence. The high priest had joined the other two men on the platform, waiting to speak. “The daily sacrifices and annual feasts will continue,” Jeshua said. “No one can prevent us from worshiping God as we wait for the original proclamation to be found. In the meantime, we have much to pray about.”

There was nothing that anyone could do. The courtyards slowly emptied. Zechariah walked home with his grandmother and the other women, staying with them all day as Saba had asked him to instead of going to the watchtower. Why keep watch when the enemy was already in Jerusalem, defeating them?

The sun went down and the stars came out, but Saba still didn’t return home. Zechariah pushed food around on his plate at dinnertime, unable to eat as bitter questions churned inside him. He waited for his grandfather outside the gate to their courtyard, watching for him, and when he finally trudged down the street toward home, alone, Saba resembled a plant that had withered in the summer’s heat. Zechariah ran out to meet him.

“I don’t understand why the Holy One allowed this to happen, Saba!”

“Our enemies are very shrewd, Zaki. But they won’t be able to stand in God’s way for long.”

He blocked Saba’s path, needing answers before his grandfather talked to the others. “Why doesn’t He help us? The Holy
One drowned all the Egyptians and their chariots. He struck their firstborn dead and—”

“The Holy One has a purpose in this. Maybe this time of waiting will be good for us.”

“How can it be good for us? We should fight back instead of giving in to our enemies.”

“I’ve been arguing about this all day, Zaki,” he said, and his voice did sound hoarse. “I told them that we should obey God, who commanded us to rebuild the temple, and not the men who told us to stop. But Prince Sheshbazzar has the final authority, and he fears that because the Persians have labeled Jerusalem a rebellious city, they will retaliate with force if we disobey. He has decided to send emissaries to Persia and go through the proper diplomatic channels and wait for a reply. He wants to protect our people.”

“But . . . but the Almighty One could protect us!”

Saba laid his hand on Zechariah’s shoulder. “You and I are among the very few who believe that, I’m afraid. No one listened to me today. The last time the priests took my advice, our enemies attacked us and killed Shoshanna. Now our leaders are afraid.”

Zechariah turned to slouch away, but Saba stopped him before he could open the gate. “Listen, every man among us—including you and me—has to settle this matter in his heart: Did God command us to rebuild the temple or did King Cyrus? If it was King Cyrus, then construction may stop for good. But if it was God, then this setback by our enemies is only temporary.”

Zechariah rubbed his eyes, fighting tears. “I heard the prince say that new immigrants won’t be allowed to come.”

Saba put his arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. “You’re worried about your parents, aren’t you?”

“Abba said that he and Mama would come later, and now they can’t.”

“Your father made the mistake of waiting when he should have acted. And he wasn’t the only one. When we hear God’s call, we need to respond to it immediately. Now all of those people who stayed behind in Babylon will have to obey the Persian authorities because they chose not to obey God.”

This wasn’t what Zechariah wanted to hear. He tried to escape his grandfather’s grasp, but Saba wouldn’t let go. “Are you doubting that the Almighty One spoke to you, Zechariah?” He didn’t reply. “Listen, son. Do you remember how God tested Israel in the wilderness? How He wanted to see what was in the people’s hearts—fear or faith? God already knows what’s in our hearts, of course, but He tests us so we’ll see it for ourselves. Our forefathers should have used their time in the wilderness to learn about God, to learn that He would lead them and provide for them and fight for them. But they didn’t. As soon as the bad spies gave their report, the people were ready to turn back to Egypt. Only Joshua and Caleb had faith. Do you remember what they told the others?”

“Don’t be afraid of the people of the land,” he said woodenly. “God is with Israel.”

“That’s what you and I need to be saying to all of the others now, while we wait for justice.”

“How long will we have to wait?” Zechariah asked. He had been calculating in his head all afternoon and not liking the results. It would take at least three months for Prince Sheshbazzar’s emissaries to travel to Persia. Weeks or maybe months longer to go through the proper diplomatic channels and get an audience with the king. More time would be spent waiting while the king’s officials searched the archives for King Cyrus’ original proclamation. And even if the king issued a favorable ruling, it would take another three months for the emissaries to travel back to Jerusalem with the news.

“How long?” Saba repeated. “I suppose it depends on how long it takes us to learn the lessons of faith.”

“It’s not fair! We just started building the temple!”

“Life is seldom fair, Zechariah. But we can use this time to nurture our faith or to nurture doubt. That’s what these times of testing are all about. How long did David have to wait before becoming our king while his enemy, Saul, chased him around the wilderness? Was that fair? During those long years of waiting, David nurtured his faith, and now the words of his psalms can strengthen ours. ‘Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.’”