On This Foundation (22 page)

She felt restless as she listened to one of the city elders read the ketubah that Abba and Malkijah had agreed upon. The two men had haggled good-naturedly over the dowry and the bride-price, making Chana feel like a melon in the marketplace.
The completed contract would be as binding as marriage vows. Only a divorce or a death could end it. When Chana and Yitzhak had celebrated their betrothal, she had been so overjoyed and excited she hadn't been able to hold back her tears. The jittery unease she felt about the ritual this time had no logical explanation, nothing she could name as a reason why. Malkijah was a good man who lived according to the Torah. He treated his servants well. He could amply provide for her. And he'd told Chana that he wouldn't try to change her or force her to do anything she didn't want to do. He said he liked her spirit. Her life had been suspended after Yitzhak died; maybe now she would begin living again.

She watched as Malkijah and Abba signed the ketubah before all the witnesses. Then Malkijah poured his finest wine into a cup and offered it to her. Chana accepted it from his hand and drank it. They were betrothed.

Shouts of joy and wishes for their happiness filled the room. Malkijah broke into a wide grin, and Chana smiled in return. Abba seemed as pleased as Malkijah. And yet . . . and yet Chana still wondered if she was doing the right thing. Was it guilt for trying to be happy again without Yitzhak? For being unfaithful to his memory and to the vows she made to him at their betrothal?

Malkijah lifted his cup of wine as he addressed all the people. “Please, help yourselves to the food that my servants have prepared—or I should say,
our
servants. They are yours, as well, Chana. We are so happy that you could celebrate this wonderful event with us. Enjoy!”

Nervous tension stole Chana's appetite. She couldn't eat. She stood aside to watch as their guests gathered around the platters of food and filled their cups with Malkijah's famous wine. When she felt a gentle tug on her sleeve, she turned to see Nava, the servant girl. “Congratulations, my lady,” she said shyly. “I wish you many happy years with my master.”

“Thank you, Nava. I hope . . .” But the girl scurried away as Malkijah approached.

“Can I take you away for just a moment, Chana?” he asked. “I believe our guests are all occupied at the moment.” She followed Malkijah out to a small balcony with a view of the Mount of Olives across the valley and the star-filled sky above their heads. “How are you faring with all of this?” he asked.

“Everything is beautiful, Malkijah. Your servants did a wonderful job.”

“May I share something personal with you?”

“Of course.”

“Throughout this process, I have sometimes felt a little . . . guilty. There's no other way to describe it. I've felt as if I was being unfaithful to my wife's memory. You may have felt the same.” He quickly went on before Chana could respond. “But tonight I realized something. If it had been the other way around, if I had died instead of Rebecca, I would have wanted nothing but happiness for her future. I wouldn't have wanted her to grieve for the rest of her life. And I realized that it doesn't tarnish her memory or my love for her in any way for me to marry you and be happy with you. Am I making sense?”

“Yes. And thank you for sharing that with me.” The fact that he understood and had the same mixed feelings as she did somehow eased her mind.

“Come. We'd better go back,” he said. He took her hand as they rejoined the party, and Chana found that her appetite had returned. She was able to enjoy the celebration and the blessings and congratulations everyone bestowed on her.

Later that evening as the party wound down, Chana went in search of her father and took a wrong turn, ending up in a passageway near the servants' quarters. As she retraced her steps, she overheard a conversation between the high priest and the city elder who had read the ketubah earlier this evening.

“What a shrewd move on Malkijah's part to marry Shallum's
daughter,” Eliashib said. “This marriage will make him even more powerful than he already is.”

“Yes, and he was wise to move as quickly as he did, before another suitor had a chance to marry the girl and claim Shallum's district.”

“Malkijah is a very cunning politician. You can be sure that everything he does serves his own best interests.”

Chana's knees went weak. She couldn't move. Was this why Malkijah had pushed so hard for a betrothal? Had he been charming and attentive simply as a means to marry her and inherit Abba's district? She felt duped. Manipulated. She'd made a terrible mistake in agreeing to marry Malkijah, and now it was too late to change her mind.

“Why are you hiding back here?” Abba asked when he found her. “You look tired, my angel. Come, let's find your sisters and go home.” Chana followed them as if in a dream as they walked down the hill. Abba didn't notice her tears until they reached home. “What's wrong?” he asked. “I hope those are tears of joy and not regret.”

“I've been so blind,” Chana said, swiping them away. “I believed all the charming things Malkijah said about being well-suited for each other and finding contentment together. But I overheard the high priest talking tonight and realized how naïve I've been. Our betrothal was nothing more than a grab for power. Malkijah is marrying me so he can inherit your district. That's why he pushed so hard for a ketubah, isn't it?”

“Chana . . . Chana . . . calm down, my angel. Malkijah would never commit to a lifetime with you if he wasn't taken with your charms.”

“But what if it was all an act? Eliashib said that marrying me was a shrewd political move on Malkijah's part.”

“Of course it was. And a shrewd move on my part, as well. An alliance with Malkijah benefits us as much as it does him. He's one of the wealthiest men in the province. You will never
need to work another day in your life with him as your husband. Think of your children, Chana, and what they'll stand to gain. And if this match happens to benefit Malkijah, increasing his land or his wealth—”

“Or his power?” she asked bitterly.

“Yes, or his power—then it's an excellent arrangement for all of us. Listen, you're a smart woman, Chana. You know how and why marriages are arranged. Every father in Judah tries to make the best possible match for his daughter, one that will benefit her and her family. Why are you so surprised by this?”

“I don't know . . . because . . . because my betrothal to Yitzhak was different. He didn't care about power; he loved me. I was foolish to believe that Malkijah was the same, that he was interested in me, not in what he stood to gain by marrying me.”

“Listen, I believe that Yitzhak did love you, my angel. But he also knew very well that if he married you, he would become the leader of Jerusalem someday. He would inherit both halves of the district—my half and his father's. He talked about it all the time, remember? He used to brag that he would be king and your children would be little princes.”

For a second time that evening, all of Chana's strength melted away. She had to sit down. “That . . . that was a joke . . .”

“Perhaps he treated it as a joke, but Yitzhak was very aware of the power and position he would gain by marrying you. He wanted those things just as much as Malkijah does. The two men are no different in that respect—except that Malkijah will only inherit half of the district of Jerusalem.”

She covered her face and lowered her head to her lap. How could she have been so stupid, letting her love for Yitzhak blind her to his other motives? Chana remembered all the months she had wasted, grieving and mourning for him, how she had nearly stopped living, and she felt like a fool. And she was an even bigger fool for trusting Malkijah, falling for his charm and
his sympathy, believing him when he'd insisted he understood how she felt.

Abba was still pleading with her to understand, but she didn't want to hear it. “I don't want to talk about it anymore, Abba. Please, I need to be alone.”

She was betrothed to Malkijah. Their union was as binding as marriage. Chana couldn't dissolve the contract without forfeiting everything, including her father's good name and reputation. The scandal of a divorce would hurt Yudit and Sarah, too. And Chana would sacrifice any chance of getting married and having a family. She was going to become Malkijah ben Recab's wife, his pathway to more power. And she could do nothing to stop it.

J
ERUSALEM
A
UGUST

N
ehemiah stood in the temple courtyard for the morning sacrifice, his prayers the same as he'd prayed since arriving in Jerusalem: for the Almighty One's help in quickly rebuilding the wall, for His wisdom in making the right decisions, and for His aid against their enemies. The temperature had fallen during the night, and the morning air felt cooler than it had in several weeks as a refreshing mountain breeze blew up from the Great Sea. He thanked the Almighty One that the long heat wave had finally broken. The work would proceed more quickly in cooler weather.

After whispering “Amen” and opening his eyes, Nehemiah immediately scanned the area all around him. His training had taught him to constantly assess his surroundings, to be aware of every detail, and quickly discern anything that looked different or out of place. It was second nature to him now. But this morning when he gazed around at the worshiping men, something was amiss. Nehemiah couldn't put his finger on it but the atmosphere seemed different. He sensed a charge in the air—as if a thunderstorm approached, even though the sky was a cloudless blue. The
laborers gathered in the courtyard this morning looked restless, their attention distracted from the priestly ritual. Groups of men stood whispering together, their faces sullen and angry. None of them seemed focused on the temple service or on the priest who was about to pronounce the blessing to close the morning sacrifice. Was it Nehemiah's imagination, or were the men watching him?

He casually turned his head to look behind him and noticed something else that was different. Usually only a handful of women and children attended the morning sacrifice, but today they filled the outer courtyard. Hundreds of them. He leaned close to his brother Hanani and whispered, “Something's going on. Any idea what it is?”

“What do you mean?” His brother's senses weren't as well-honed as Nehemiah's.

“Look around, Hanani. The sacrifice is over, yet no one is leaving. And there are more people here than usual, certainly more women and children. I don't think I'm imagining that they're watching me.”

Hanani gazed around and drew a quick breath. “You're right. What shall we do?”

“Stay calm.”

For the first time since his escort of Persian soldiers returned to Susa, Nehemiah wished they hadn't. His brothers had worked behind the scenes to gather swords and spears and other weapons ever since the day Sanballat and the other provincial leaders left Jerusalem, and they'd unearthed a storehouse full of arms left over from the battles on the Thirteenth of Adar, nearly thirty years ago. Many of the weapons needed to be repaired, and all of them needed to be sharpened or the bows restrung. Nehemiah had commissioned every local blacksmith he could find to work on them and make them functional again, planning to arm his laymen workers in the event of an enemy threat. Now, seeing the restless mob that had gathered in the courtyard, he was glad that he hadn't.

He whispered a silent prayer, then turned to his brother. “Let's go. Start walking toward the stairs.” Maybe the unrest he'd sensed was all in his mind. But as he started to leave, the mass of men, women, and children moved into the center of the courtyard, blocking his way.

“We would like a word with you, Governor Nehemiah.” The spokesman had the sturdy build of a laborer, the tanned face and calloused hands of a man familiar with hard work.

“Certainly. What is it?” He kept his tone friendly and courteous, careful to show no fear or resistance.

“We have a grievance, Governor. And even though every one of us has worked willingly to help rebuild the wall, we refuse to work another day until you listen to us and help us.”

This was bribery. Extortion. Nehemiah shouldn't surrender to their tactics. He should require them to go through the proper channels and present their petition without resorting to threats. But he also knew that if he refused to listen now, he might lose several valuable working days. Nehemiah needed all of these men on his side, even if their methods infuriated him. “What's your grievance?” He folded his arms across his chest, determined to show no emotion.
The hand of
the Lord my God is upon me.

“We need your help to correct a great injustice in our province—”

Before the man could finish, the courtyard erupted with everyone shouting at once, desperate to be heard.

“We're losing our homes, our livelihood!”

“We want our children back!”

“And our land!”

“We need food!”

“We're starving!”

Women wept as they held up raggedy, undernourished children for him to see. But Nehemiah found it hard to follow the thread of their protest in the thunder of so many angry
voices. He looked at his brother, then back at the crowd, and all he could do was hold up his hands for silence. Tempers and emotions were so high that he whispered a prayer for Hanani's safety, afraid the crowd would trample him if it surged forward.

“I'm willing to listen,” he shouted. “But you must speak one at a time. If this turns into a riot, then nothing will be accomplished.” Even though Nehemiah pleaded for order, it took several minutes for the clamoring protests to die down. At last, the angry buzz of voices quieted. “Let one man speak for all of you.” There was another mumble of conversation before the man who had first spoken stepped forward again.

“The drought has been severe. We and our sons and daughters are numerous. In order for us to eat and stay alive, we must get grain!” Again, everyone began shouting at once. As Nehemiah waited, a second man stepped forward.

“We're landowners, working to support our families on property that belonged to our ancestors before the exile. But we're forced to mortgage our fields, our vineyards, and our homes to get grain during the famine.”

“On top of that,” the first speaker added, “we had to borrow money to pay the tax the king imposed on our fields and vineyards.”

During another loud protest against the king and his heavy taxation, Hanani leaned close to whisper to Nehemiah. “Our delegation to Susa learned that the Persian king collects twenty-million darics every year in taxes. None of it ever benefits the provinces.”

When the mob finally calmed down, Nehemiah asked the men, “Who have you borrowed from? Who holds the mortgages on your land?” He expected to hear that it was Persian government officials like Sanballat and Tobiah. The people's answer shocked him.

“Our own brethren!”

“The wealthy few who have grown rich on our misfortune!”

“The rich nobles on your own council!”

“Is this true?” Nehemiah whispered to his brother as he waited for the shouting to stop.

“I don't know,” Hanani said with a shrug.

“Although we're of the same flesh and blood as our countrymen,” the man continued, “and though our children are as good at theirs, we have to subject our sons and daughters to slavery to the men who hold our mortgages.”

“Some of our daughters have already been enslaved,” the other speaker continued, “but we're powerless because our fields and our vineyards belong to others.”

“This can't be happening,” Nehemiah said, not because he doubted the protesters, but because he didn't want to believe that his fellow Jews would subject their own people to slavery.

“Ask them!” a young man shouted. “Ask men like Malkijah ben Recab how many of our children he enslaved!”

“At least in Babylon our families could stay together,” a weeping woman shouted.

Nehemiah couldn't reply. The people's outcry and the charges they had brought forward infuriated him. He saw desperation in the eyes of the people in front of him and remembered the lavish meal he had eaten at Malkijah's home in Jerusalem. He had little doubt that what the protesters said was true. “I am very angry to learn about these abuses,” he said when he finally could be heard. “I had no idea this was happening. Anyone who is starving may come to my residence this afternoon, and I'll give you and your family food. I'll order my servants to open my storehouses to you. From now on, you'll be under my protection. My table will be your table.”

“That's just for today,” someone shouted. “What about freeing our sons and daughters from slavery?”

“Give me time to find a solution. I'll meet with you again when I have answers for you.”

“We're not working on your wall until you do something!”
Again, the outcry was so great that Nehemiah knew the crowd wouldn't be able to hear him even if he did try to plead with them to reconsider. He motioned to Hanani to follow him, then waded into the mob to return home. Nehemiah liked to keep a safe corridor of space around him at all times, and as he was forced to pass through the crush and press of the mob, he felt close to panic. Ever since the night he and his brothers crowded behind a piece of furniture to save their lives, Nehemiah hated tight spaces.

By the time he reached the bottom of the temple steps, he was breathing hard and drenched with sweat, but grateful to have open space around him again. “This is exactly what our enemies have been hoping for, Hanani. They want the work to halt. They want our people to be so deeply divided that they can no longer work together.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know yet. . . . Listen, I need you to open my storehouses like I just promised to do. In the meantime, if there is a solution to this problem it has to be in the Torah. I'm going to talk to Rebbe Ezra and see if he has any advice. I know the Almighty One commands us to help the poor.”

But when he reached Ezra's home, he was distressed to learn that the rebbe hadn't returned from the morning sacrifice yet. Had there been a riot after he'd left? Had Ezra, the former governor, been caught up in it? Nehemiah waited, pacing in place, until Ezra finally arrived home. “Sorry,” the rebbe said. “I decided to wait on the temple mount until the crowd dispersed.”

“So, you heard what happened there this morning?”

“Yes, I heard.”

“And is what they said true? Are the wealthy landowners really taking advantage of the famine to become even richer? Are they forcing their brethren to mortgage their land and enslave their children in order to put food on their tables?”

“I don't doubt that it's true. The drought has been very severe.”

Nehemiah had to draw a deep breath and exhale slowly to remain calm. “And what does the Torah have to say about it? That's what I came to ask you, Rebbe. I want to demand that these outrageous practices stop immediately, but I need the law to back me up.”

“Sit down, please,” Ezra said. “I could use a seat myself.” Nehemiah obeyed, but he perched at the very edge of the chair, waiting for Ezra's reply. “Concerning any impoverished men and women who don't own land and are without food,” the rebbe began, “the Torah says we are not to be hard-hearted or tightfisted toward them but openhanded. We are to give generously and do so without a grudging heart. God says there will always be poor in the land, therefore He commands us to be merciful toward our needy brethren.”

“So it's a command,” Nehemiah said.

“Yes. Now, as for the men who do own land, the Torah allows for their property to be mortgaged in times of need. But at the end of seven years, the debt must be canceled.”

“Even if it hasn't been repaid?”

“Yes. The Torah says that the man who made the loan shall not require payment from his fellow Israelite. He must cancel any debt his brother owes him, but only after seven years.”

“That's a long time. Can we force these wealthy men to give back the people's land before then?”

“I'm afraid not. We can only appeal to them to show mercy. As for those who have been forced by circumstances to borrow money at exorbitant rates and sell their children into slavery, the Torah clearly says, ‘Do not charge your brother interest, whether on money or food or anything else that may earn interest.' Any man who is currently exacting usury from his fellow Jews is breaking the law.”

“I'll make sure that practice stops immediately.”

“As for the sons and daughters of the poor who are being enslaved, the Torah forbids our people to hold a fellow Jew as
a slave. I doubt that this has occurred. But the Law does allow us to sell our children or ourselves as bondservants if we become poor. Only for six years, mind you. In the seventh year they must go free.”

“Six years?”

“Yes. And when they finally are set free, they are not to be sent away empty-handed. ‘Supply him liberally from your flock, your threshing floor and your winepress,' the Torah says. ‘Give to him as the Lord your God has blessed you.'”

“So no one is breaking the law if these children remain bondservants for the next six years?”

“That's true. But I believe our compassionate God wants us to show compassion to one another.”