Return to Me (35 page)

The impossible.

He jumped down off the wall and ran up the hill, hurrying through the narrow lanes as fast as he could in the dark. He raced through the gate into his house, passing the others still sitting in the courtyard, and went straight into Saba’s room. His grandfather opened his eyes and looked up at him as Zechariah knelt beside the bed.

“We need to rebuild the temple,” he said, still breathless from the climb. “Not because King Cyrus told us to, but because we long to meet with God. Because we love Him and are incomplete without Him. It’s just like you said, Saba—God has been testing us with all these difficulties to see how important the temple is to us. Will we allow ourselves to be discouraged, or will we trust Him and do the impossible?”

A slow, gentle smile lit Saba’s pale face.

“The Almighty One wants our love, Saba, not guilty obedience. That’s what’s been missing in my life—love. Instead of waiting for God’s presence to come to me again, He wanted me
to pursue Him the way the Torah says to do, with all my heart and soul and strength. Following rules and offering sacrifices is meaningless without love. Am I making any sense?”

Saba nodded, still smiling.

“We need to rebuild the temple. We need to trust the God of the impossible. It’s so clear to me, so obvious—but how do I get the others to believe it?”

“You’ll have to convince them.”

“And you’ll have to help me!” Zechariah gripped his grandfather’s icy hand in both of his. “You have to fight to get well and to live so that we can do this together. It was your dream, and now it’s mine for us to minister together in the Holy One’s temple.”

He felt the gentle pressure of Saba’s hand in return. “I’ll do my best.”

And Zechariah would do his best, too, from now on. He would build his marriage with Yael and his faith in God—day by day, one loving, impossible step at a time. And then he would rebuild God’s temple.

“Not by might nor by power, but

by my Spirit,” says the Lord Almighty.

Z
ECHARIAH
4:6

S
IX
Y
EARS
L
ATER

T
he relentless sun left Zechariah parched and thirsty as he made the six-mile trek home from the grazing pastures outside Bethlehem. The report that he and the others had just heard from the chief shepherd, Besai, had discouraged all of them. “Let’s stop for a minute,” Rebbe Jakin said. “I need to rest.” Sweat rolled down his face, which was red with exertion from the uphill climb. Zechariah and the two other young priests-in-training halted in the stingy shade of a cedar tree, grateful for the rest.

“If it’s this hot in the springtime, what will summer be like?” Zechariah asked the others. He took a drink from his dwindling waterskin, not expecting a reply.

Jakin gestured to the straw-colored landscape all around them. “The Judean hills look nearly as desolate as the wilderness by the Dead Sea. Have any of you ever seen the Judean wilderness?”

“No,” Zechariah replied. “But I’ve walked this route before in the springtime and these
wadis
usually gush with water. It was a challenge to wade across some of them. Now they’re all dry. Even the Kidron Brook has dried up.”

The spring rains that usually filled the dry riverbeds to overflowing hadn’t come. Neither had the winter rains or the early rains last fall. Drought baked the Promised Land’s fertile soil, leaving it dry as ashes.

“Jeshua won’t be pleased with our report,” Jakin said. “The daily offerings will need to be scaled back yet again.”

“And what about the Passover sacrifices? And the ones for my ordination?” Zechariah asked. No one knew the answer. He mopped the sweat from his brow, and they set off again for the last leg of their climb over the Mount of Olives. “I’m finally going to be ordained in a few weeks,” he said to the others, “and now there may not be any lambs for me to offer.”

When they arrived in Jerusalem, they went straight to the house of assembly to give their report. From inside the high priest’s stifling room, Zechariah heard the young yeshiva boys’ voices droning like a beehive as they studied, their heads bent over their scrolls. Rebbe Jakin told Jeshua about the effects of the drought and how so many of the ewes from the temple flocks had miscarried. “If large crowds come for the Passover Feast, Besai fears that we may not have enough lambs to go around,” Jakin finished. “Let alone enough for the daily sacrifices.”

The high priest closed his eyes for a long moment, the strain evident on his face. “I checked our storehouses this morning and our supplies of grain and oil are critically low. Those daily offerings may have to be halted as well, for the first time since we rebuilt the altar.”

“The Almighty One won’t get His portion and neither will we,” Jakin said. “How will our families survive? We depend on the peoples’ tithes, and ten percent of nothing is nothing.”

“I don’t understand why this is happening,” Jeshua murmured, fanning himself with a dried palm frond.

Both Jeshua and Rebbe Jakin had seniority over Zechariah, and he knew better than to lecture his elders, but he could no
longer keep still. “Ask the Lord for rain in the springtime; it is the Lord who makes the storm clouds. He gives showers of rain to men, and plants of the field to everyone.” The men stared at him as if trying to place the Scripture he had just quoted. Where
had
it come from? The words had sprung to Zechariah’s mind, but he couldn’t place the verse, either. He scrambled to think of another one that he could quote. “I was reading and praying about the drought the other day, and I found a passage about it in the Torah. May I read it to you?”

“Yes, of course.”

Zechariah hurried into the yeshiva, interrupting the lessons as he borrowed the scroll of the fifth book of Moses. He searched for the verse as he returned to the high priest’s room, and although it wasn’t the one he had just quoted, he read it aloud to the others. “‘If you faithfully obey the commands I am giving you today—to love the Lord your God and to serve him with all your heart and with all your soul—then I will send the rain on your land in its season, both autumn and spring rains, so that you may gather your grain, new wine and oil. I will provide grass in the fields for your cattle, and you will eat and be satisfied.’”

“We’re all familiar with that promise,” Jakin said, his irritation apparent.

“Yes, that’s why I’ve asked all our priests and students to examine their lives for sin,” Jeshua added. “Can you say that any of us don’t love Him or serve Him, Zechariah? How are we failing to obey God?”

Zechariah drew a slow breath as he gathered his courage. He had been trying to get someone’s attention and say these words for the past six years as he’d served his apprenticeship for the priesthood. Maybe it was finally time. “With all due respect . . . I believe that we’re failing because we haven’t obeyed the Almighty One’s command to rebuild the temple. I think He sent this drought to get our attention.”

The high priest’s fan stilled. He leaned back in his seat, studying Zechariah for a moment. Zechariah’s heart began to race. Maybe the others would finally listen to him. But when Jeshua spoke, his words were disappointing. “Prince Zerubbabel and I met recently to discuss the temple, and we both agreed that the time hasn’t come for the Lord’s house to be built.”

“I disagree! The time to build was nearly twenty years ago when we first arrived. We’re disobeying God and—”

“Zechariah!” Jakin interrupted, his voice sharp. “You’re an outstanding Torah scholar, and you’re going to make a fine priest. But I think you’re forgetting that it was an edict from the Persian king that forced us to stop in the first place. Neither Jeshua nor Zerubbabel dares to come against the might and power of the king.”

And Zechariah shouldn’t come against his elders, but he couldn’t stop the flow of words as another Scripture verse came to him: “It’s not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the Lord Almighty.”

The men stared at him as if he had spoken another language. Where had
that
verse come from? One of the prophets? Zechariah couldn’t recall. He had studied the Scriptures diligently, had memorized large portions of it, and it upset him that he couldn’t recall where he had read this verse, imprinted so strongly on his mind. He was still trying to figure it out when Jeshua said, “The prince is concerned about the safety of our people. He’s responsible for us. He doesn’t want to risk retaliation from the king or from our enemies. We stopped rebuilding for the sake of peace.”

“But we haven’t made peace, we’ve simply compromised with our enemies,” Zechariah said. “We’re not fulfilling our purpose for being here in the land. We’re supposed to glorify the Holy One among the nations. He wants to fulfill His promise to Abraham that through his offspring all nations would be blessed!”

“What does that have to do with rebuilding the temple?” Jakin asked.

“It has everything to do with it! Our worship at the temple demonstrates the way to find fellowship with God. He promised to dwell here among us. The rebuilt temple isn’t just for us, it’s so that the whole world can know the Almighty One. We’re meant to bring life and hope to the world the same way we brought life from the rubble. The Babylonians and Samaritans have no hope because they don’t know God. That’s why they cling to superstition and try to see the future in the stars.”

“If they wanted to find God,” Jakin said, “they wouldn’t have opposed us when we began to rebuild.”

“No, I know some of those stargazers, and they’re searching for Him whether they realize it or not. Listen, during the first exodus from Egypt, the Almighty One commanded our ancestors to utterly destroy all the inhabitants of the land. This time He didn’t say that. I believe God wants us to live in such a way that we’ll draw all men to Him. So they’ll give up their idolatry and find the living God.” The way Yael had, after all these years.

Zechariah got the impression that only Jeshua, out of all the men in the room, was truly listening and trying to understand what he was desperate to say. “We’re supposed to remain separate from the other nations,” Jeshua said.

“I know. But we haven’t remained separate. In the name of peace we’ve gone to their pagan festivals, and we’ve eaten food sacrificed to their idols and followed their customs instead of showing them the right way to live and how to worship properly. My grandmother gave one of the bravest examples of how we’re to conduct ourselves among unbelievers when she saved a newborn baby that the Samaritans tried to kill. She could have reasoned that killing the child was just their custom and she shouldn’t interfere, but she didn’t. She told them that human life is precious to our God, and she adopted the child as her own.”

“We all admire her for her brave example,” Jeshua said.

“We
all
need to become examples,” Zechariah continued. “This is what the Lord Almighty says: ‘Men from all languages and nations will take firm hold of one Jew by the hem of his robe and say, “Let us go with you, because we have heard that God is with you.”’”

“Where is that written?” Jakin asked. “I’m not familiar with that verse.”

Once again, Zechariah couldn’t remember. Where had it come from? “I-I’m not certain . . . but God showed the prophet Isaiah a time when foreigners would seek Him. He said, ‘My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations.’ We need to rebuild His house! This drought is His way of getting our attention. The fact that we barely have enough offerings for the sacrifices should tell us that He isn’t pleased with our worship.”

“You’ve certainly given me much to think about,” Jeshua said. But then he sighed and laid down his fan, and Zechariah could see that he was dismissing the topic. They were all hot and tired. Jeshua had other work to do. “Right now I need to figure out how to hold the Passover feast with this shortage of lambs,” he said. “If the drought continues after the holiday, Prince Zerubbabel and I will call for a day of prayer to seek the Almighty One’s will. Thank you all for your report.”

Zechariah had been dismissed. But instead of going up to the temple mount with the others, he remained behind in the yeshiva to study the scrolls of the prophets, determined not to leave until he found the prophecies that had imprinted so strongly on his heart. He would prove the truth of God’s Word to Jeshua and Zerubbabel.
“It’s not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the Lord Almighty.”

D
inah rooted through the storage room, opening baskets and clay storage jars to see how much food was left. What she found—or rather, what she failed to find—dismayed her. “Look at this,” she said to Yael, who had followed her inside. “Every jar is nearly empty. I wanted to prepare an enormous meal for this joyous occasion but how can it be a feast with so little food?”

“Zechariah understands, Safta. He doesn’t expect a huge feast in the middle of a drought.” Yael stood with one hand on her pregnant belly, the other pressed against her aching back. Dinah could see that the baby had dropped into position. It would be born any day.

“But we have guests coming,” Dinah said. “We have to feed them.”

“Besai and Rachel said they would bring what they could,” Yael said. The couple would travel from Bethlehem where Besai cared for the sacrificial flocks, bringing Hanan’s widow, who had remarried, with them. “And Abba will bring what he has from his farm. They’re coming to watch Zechariah become a priest, not to dine like kings.”

Dinah lifted a nearly empty jar of grain in one arm, a
dwindling basket of figs in the other. “Let me help you with those,” Yael said.

“No, dear. I can manage. You need to rest and stay off your feet.”

“Rest? With two little ones to chase after?” Yael asked, laughing. “That isn’t likely to happen.” Dinah smiled, knowing she was right. The two daughters who had been born to Yael and Zechariah—five-year-old Abigail and three-year-old Sarah—were every bit as lively and mischievous as Yael had been as a young girl, exhausting their mother, their Aunt Hodaya, and everyone else in the household.

Dinah carried the supplies out to her courtyard kitchen and set them beside the hearth. She would begin cooking for tonight’s feast as soon as she returned from the morning sacrifice. Today Zechariah would minister as a priest for the first time, serving at both sacrifices. “Iddo says the Almighty One is trying to get our attention with this drought but that we’re not listening.”

“Well, so far we’ve had enough food to feed our family,” Yael said, grabbing little Sarah who had escaped from Hodaya’s grasp, and lifting her into her arms. “I’m sure there will be enough for this celebration, too. We didn’t have very much for Passover this year but it was still a joyous occasion, wasn’t it?”

“Abba said that sharing a meal with the people you love is what makes it a feast,” Hodaya said. She had pulled Abigail onto her lap so she could comb the tangles from her hair.

“Yes, Iddo did say that,” Dinah replied. “He said it wasn’t the amount of food
on
the table that mattered but the amount of love
around
the table.”

“In that case,” Yael said, “tonight we will dine like kings.”

“When did Besai and Rachel say they would arrive?” Hodaya asked.

Yael laughed and gave Hodaya’s braid an affectionate tug.
“Why are you asking, little sister? Are you wondering about the lamb they’re bringing or their handsome son, Aaron?”

Dinah watched Hodaya’s cheeks turn bright red and wondered if she had missed something. Was there a budding romance between sixteen-year-old Hodaya and the shepherd’s eighteen-year-old son? But Dinah couldn’t worry about that right now. If she didn’t hurry, they would be late for the morning sacrifice. Zechariah and Iddo had already left before dawn.

She quickly checked to see how much water was in the jars and sighed when she saw they were nearly empty. There hadn’t been rain for such a long time that the cisterns beneath everyone’s homes had dried up, forcing the women in Jerusalem to walk all the way to the spring for water. Hodaya couldn’t hobble that far and Yael could no longer go in her condition, which meant that Dinah had to do it alone every day. Everyone told her it was too much for a woman her age to fetch water, but Dinah didn’t feel old. “It might take me longer to get there and back,” she had told her family, “and I may have to carry a smaller jug, but I’m still mistress of this household, thank you very much.” Typically, Yael hadn’t listened to Dinah and had recuited several neighbors to each carry an extra supply for them. Dinah knew that by the time she returned from the morning sacrifice, the jars would be mysteriously full.

“Is everyone ready?” she asked. “We should leave very soon if we want to get a place up front where we can see Zechariah.” She turned to Yael and saw her gripping her stomach, a look of surprise on her face. “Yael? Are you in labor?”

“No, it’s nothing. Just one of those false pains. And not a very strong one. This baby wouldn’t dare to arrive on his father’s big day.”

Dinah coralled her two great-granddaughters and they all set out for the uphill walk to the temple mount. They would have to walk slowly for Hodaya’s sake, and for Yael’s, who stopped often
to rest. “I can’t believe Zechariah turns thirty years old today,” Dinah said the first time they paused. “A grown man, already.”

“Remember the day of his bar mitzvah in Babylon?” Yael asked—and then caught herself. “I’m so sorry. I know you don’t like to talk about Babylon.”

“Never mind, dear. It’s okay. And yes, I do remember that day. We had a big celebration for him. Naomi and Sarah and I cooked for a week. I only wish we could do the same for this birthday.”

Abigail tugged on Dinah’s arm. “Come on, Safta. I want to see Abba.” They started walking again.

“I still wonder about my family in Babylon,” Dinah said, “but I’ve learned that children are only loaned to us for a short time. A husband, especially the right one, is given by God for a lifetime. Yes, it was hard to leave my family, and I grieved for a long time. But even if Iddo and I had stayed in Babylon, there were no guarantees that we wouldn’t suffer sorrow and loss. I’m glad we came to Jerusalem.”

“You are?” Yael asked.

“Yes. Don’t look so surprised. If Iddo and I hadn’t come, Zechariah wouldn’t be serving as a priest today.” She took Hodaya’s hand for a moment and added, “And Hodaya wouldn’t have come into our lives.”

Dinah’s adopted daughter was growing into a lovely woman with beautiful dark eyes and thick, curly hair that was the envy of the other girls her age. She could maneuver so well around their house with her crutch that no one dared to call her crippled. Hodaya knew she was adopted, but she didn’t know the terrible details of her birth. So far, Dinah had been able to evade her daughter’s questions with vague replies.

The women rested again at the bottom of the stairs leading to the temple mount, then began the ascent. Dinah’s anticipation grew with each step. She never thought she would live to
see this day. Iddo was well past the age of retirement, but the other priests had invited him to put on priestly robes today and assist his grandson with the sacrifice.

At last they reached the Court of Women and walked all the way to the front so they could see over the barrier to where the sacrifice would take place. They arrived just in time to see Zechariah emerge from the robing room and stride across the courtyard to stand beside the altar. His linen robe and turban looked dazzling white against his black hair and beard. A red sash encircled his waist. Iddo walked forward behind him, his hair and beard as white as his robe, his shoulders a little stooped. He had never regained all the weight he’d lost after being stabbed six years ago, but by the grace of God he had survived. Dinah watched them perform the sacrifice together with tears in her eyes, her heart so full she feared it might burst. Zechariah climbed the ramp and laid the offering on the altar and the crowd gave a shout of joy as the smoke and fire ascended. But Yael gave a sharp gasp and doubled over. “You’re in labor,” Dinah said. “We need to get you home.”

“I’ll be fine. Let’s watch for just a few more minutes.”

They did, but as soon as the sacrifice came to an end, Dinah made everyone start for home. She kept a close eye on Yael as they walked, the journey easier downhill.

“I can’t go into labor today,” Yael said. “I don’t want to miss the evening sacrifice or ruin the celebration tonight. Besides, you need my help with the preparations and—”

“I’ll have plenty of help. Hodaya is a better cook than all of us put together.”

Yael’s face was flushed and beaded with perspiration by the time they reached home. Dinah sent her into her room to check for spotting, but she knew the truth even before Yael returned. Her labor had begun. She insisted on helping Dinah with a few simple cooking chores, but by noontime, Yael had to give in and lie down in her room.

“Hodaya, I’m putting you in charge of the children while I go fetch the midwife.” Dinah had trained another woman as well as Yael, and rarely delivered babies anymore. But she was thrilled to help deliver this one.

Yael’s third child arrived faster than her first two babies had, but her labor still took all day. At the hour that Zechariah slew the evening sacrifice, his first son entered the world. Dinah delivered him with her own hands, her third great-grandchild. How could she be so blessed? “He’s a beautiful, healthy boy,” she told Yael as she laid him down beside her.

“I hope he’s not going to be a troublemaker,” Yael said with a smile. “He already made us miss his father’s big day.”

“I don’t think Zechariah will mind in the least once he sees why.”

Dinah’s neighbors helped her finish preparing the meal, and by the time everyone arrived home from the evening sacrifice, the feast was ready. Dinah ran to embrace her grandson. “I’m so proud of you, Zechariah! So proud!”

“Thanks, Safta.” He looked all around the crowded courtyard and asked, “Where’s Yael?”

“In your room. She has a surprise for you.” Dinah followed Zaki into the room, wishing she could see his face when he saw Yael lying in bed with their baby beside her.

“You have a son, Zaki,” Yael told him. “And he has the same birthday as you do.”

Dinah turned away to give them privacy as Zaki fell to his knees beside the bed to hold his wife in his arms.

Yael was dozing later that night when Zechariah finally said good-night to his family and guests and came to bed. When she opened her eyes he was sitting beside their bed, gazing at her. “Why are you staring at me?” she asked.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look, lying here?” He bent to kiss her.

“You’re just saying that because I gave you a son.”

“No, I’m saying it because it’s true. I love you so much, Yael. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. At least my labor was quick this time. Just as grueling, but faster than the other two. I’m sorry I missed the evening sacrifice.”

“You had a good excuse. And you’ll have a lifetime to watch me offer sacrifices.”

“How was your first day on your new job?”

“I can’t even begin to describe my joy! All the long years of apprenticeship are over, and it’s like I’m beginning a brand-new life. How many times do we get to begin new lives?”

“I can think of a few. When we arrived in Jerusalem . . . when you and I got married . . . when we became parents—”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he said, laughing. “And now I’m beginning my ministry for God. Saba says priests stand as peacemakers between the Almighty One and His people. I didn’t think my joy could be any more complete while I was working today, but then I came home to you . . . and our son.”

“You should have seen Safta trying to prepare a meal and deliver a baby at the same time,” she said, smiling.

“I told her what a wonderful feast it was—and in the middle of a famine, no less.” He bent to kiss her again, then asked softly, “Are you happy, Yael?”

“Can’t you tell? I can’t stop smiling!”

“I don’t mean right now but every day. Do you ever feel . . . trapped?”

“Zaki! Why would you ask such a question?” When he didn’t reply, she nudged him. “We’ve been married for six years. Why are you asking me if I’m happy?”

“I used to feel trapped when we first arrived in Jerusalem and
I had to study all day. I envied your freedom. You didn’t seem to want a life like my grandmother’s or the other women’s. Safta despaired of ever getting you to settle down. And now that you have, I sometimes wonder if . . . if you ever regret it. Do you long for more than this life we have? Tell me the truth, Yael.”

“I didn’t feel ‘free’ at the time, I felt like I was always running and never getting anywhere. Like I was missing out on something, so I had to keep looking for it. My life felt so uncertain after my mother died that it was like being tossed around in the back of a runaway cart. I couldn’t find anything solid to hang on to. I tried to control my future because I didn’t know God or trust that He had me in His care.” She reached to take his hand. “And now I’ve finally found something solid.”

“Are you sure you don’t long for an adventure or two?” He was typical Zaki—so serious as he asked the question.

Yael smiled. “Marriage has been an adventure, don’t you think? And raising children certainly has been!”

“But you never seemed to want this life, and now . . . here you are.”

Yael studied him for a moment in the dim moonlight, wishing she knew why he was asking her these things. Was he thinking about Rafi after all this time? “I love you, Zaki. I know you must wonder if I still think about Rafi.” She saw his surprise and added, “I can read your mind, you know.”