Song of Redemption (42 page)

“It was inevitable,” Jonadab said. “No one has ever defeated the Assyrians. Samaria held out bravely for three years, but the remaining inhabitants neared starvation at the end. They’d resorted to cannibalism.”

“How does news like that find its way here?” Shebna grumbled.

“The Assyrians will make sure every man in Judah hears about it,” Jonadab said. “It’s part of their plan to demoralize their enemies so they’ll give up. The Assyrians are masters at it. They’ll keep some of their victims from Samaria alive until they reach the next city—then they’ll impale the poor souls around the walls and leave them there to die. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is to the people watching from inside the walls?”

“Yes, and if they attack Judah next, those Israelite prisoners will remind us that Israel was always larger and stronger than our nation.” Hezekiah passed his hand over his face. “What else, Jonadab?”

“The Assyrians will deport the survivors as slaves. By the time they finish, not one Israeli will remain in that country. It will be as if they disappeared from the face of the earth.”

Hezekiah felt a chill. That was what Isaiah had prophesied during the first year of Hezekiah’s reign. He wondered if this, the seventh year of his reign, would be his last.

“Has anyone learned what Assyria’s next move will be?” he asked.

“No, Your Majesty. No one seems to know.”

Hezekiah drew a deep breath and grimly faced the two men. “Use the signal fires to keep me informed on the Assyrians’ movements. I want to know as soon as they march. As I see it, we have two choices: submit and become a vassal nation to Assyria again, or call upon any allies we can find and get ready to fight back.”

Shebna gnawed his fingernails. “Whatever you decide to do, you had better do it quickly. Once the Assyrians cross our borders, it will be too late for tribute.”

“We shouldn’t wait to start mobilizing our allies or our troops,” Jonadab said.

“Are we prepared for a fight, General?”

“Not as ready as I’d like to be. We need more time to finish our fortifications and train our forces. But this is our land, Your Majesty. The men of Judah will fight with all their hearts to save it.”

Shebna stared at the floor and shook his head. “Their love for the land will never be enough. We are a nation of farmers and craftsmen; the Assyrians are professional soldiers. Without allies we are doomed—outnumbered a hundred to one.”

“Is slavery preferable to annihilation?” Hezekiah wondered aloud.

“Would the men of Judah prefer to live, laboring in their fields for foreign masters for the rest of their lives?”

“Given the choice, I think they would,” Shebna said.

“No! Only the cowards would choose to surrender,” Jonadab said. “We were outnumbered when we faced the Philistines, too. We should fight for what is rightfully ours.”

Hezekiah looked at the two men for a long moment. “The decision isn’t mine to make,” he said at last. “It’s God’s. I’m not going to choose either alternative until I know what God’s will is. Find Rabbi Isaiah. Ask him to seek the word of the Lord for me. Tell him I’ll do whatever Yahweh says.”

Shebna slumped in his seat and stared at the floor. Jonadab went rigid. “Shouldn’t I mobilize my troops, just in case—?”

“Not until I talk to Isaiah. But in the meantime, we can pray. Tell the priests and Levites to organize a special sacrifice at the Temple. Then send for Eliakim. If we ever needed a secure water supply, the time is now.”

When the blast of the shofar announced the service at the Temple, Eliakim was crouched deep inside the south tunnel, listening in vain for a sound from the other side. A messenger brought him the news and he dismissed all the workmen, then hurried home to change his clothes. Maacah met him at the door.

“What’s going on, Eliakim? Why are the shofars blowing?”

“It’s a special assembly at the Temple.”

“Why would they call one now, in the middle of the day?”

Samaria must have fallen. There could be no other reason. Jerusha and Maacah would find out eventually, but Eliakim didn’t want to be the one to tell them. He moved past Maacah.

“I don’t know. I’ve been in the tunnel all morning. Excuse me—I have to get ready.”

Eliakim bathed in the mikveh, then changed into clean clothes. But as he hurried across the courtyard, he heard Jerusha’s panicked voice coming through the open upstairs window.

“I’m packing some food and water and I’m getting out! I’m not staying in Jerusalem, Maacah. I’m not!”

“We can’t leave—not after everything Uncle Hilkiah has done for us!” Maacah said. “Besides, where would we go?”

“We’ll find Uncle Saul and live with him.”

“But if Eliakim couldn’t find him, how will we?”

“I don’t know! I don’t care! We’ve got to get out of here!”

“We’re safer behind the city walls—”

“No, we’re not! The Assyrians could easily topple these walls. I’ve watched them do it!”

Eliakim felt a knife twist in his stomach. He groaned and leaned against the wall of the house.

“Maacah, I’ve seen them attack walls much thicker than Jerusalem’s. And I’ve witnessed the horrible things they do once those walls are breached. I pitied the people who were trapped inside, and I won’t become one of them! I won’t!”

Eliakim felt a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready to go, son?” his father asked. Eliakim nodded. He didn’t want to hear any more.

They joined the crowd that stood before the sanctuary, anxiously waiting to hear the king’s announcement. When Hezekiah finally mounted the royal dais, the murmuring fell silent.

“Three days ago Samaria fell to the Assyrians.” His strong voice carried no tremor of fear, and he stood with his shoulders straight, his head held high. “We need to remember our brethren and to pray for them. And we need to pray for ourselves, as well.”

As Eliakim bowed down in the courtyard, one overwhelming thought filled his mind: His tunnel wasn’t finished. Eight months had passed since he had first begun to dig, and according to his calculations it was almost complete. But
almost
wasn’t good enough. His long months of digging would all go to waste. The Assyrians would win again.

In the Temple courtyard, the priests lifted their hands as they pleaded with God for help, but Eliakim was too panicked to pray. His mind raced in every direction at once, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong and how he could make the tunnels meet.

The priests killed the sacrifices, and Eliakim rose with the other men and crowded around the altar. But he didn’t hear any of the priests’ words as he frantically struggled to recall the latest measurements of the tunnels and to calculate how many more cubits they had to dig. Once again he asked the question that had haunted him day and night: Why hadn’t they heard the signals?

As the fire ascended heavenward, the Levites began their song of praise to Yahweh:
“‘I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing
of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble.”’

And before Eliakim realized it, the service was over. How could the lengthy sacrifice have passed so quickly without his hearing a word of it? As the men filed through the Temple gates to go home, panic gripped him. King Hezekiah was certain to ask for a report on the tunnel. Time had run out, and Eliakim had failed.

Forgetting his father, Eliakim elbowed through the slow-moving crowd, pushing people aside. Once outside the Temple gates, he ran through the streets to the foreman’s tent at the south tunnel. He was the first one to return, and when he realized that the work had stopped for the sacrifice, he grabbed a hammer and chisel and scrambled down the shaft to start digging. Then he remembered that he had calculations to make before King Hezekiah sent for him, and he threw down the tools and raced back to the tent. Sweat dripped from his forehead and ran down his neck as he bent over his scrolls in the suffocating tent.

At last he heard the laborers returning and the clang of their tools as they went back to work. Minutes passed; then Eliakim finally heard footsteps approaching. He mopped the sweat from his brow and looked up.

“A messenger has arrived from the palace, my lord. King Hezekiah wants to see you at once.”

“What do you mean, you can’t find Isaiah?” Hezekiah stared at the messenger as if he had misunderstood.

“The rabbi’s house is empty, Your Majesty. His neighbors say he left home about a week and a half ago.”

“And
no one
knows where he went?” Shebna asked.

“No one, sir. But we’ll continue searching for him.”

Hezekiah groaned. He couldn’t afford to wait for the prophet; he had to make a decision. He yearned to take action in this crisis, to issue commands instead of sitting around waiting for Isaiah. But he needed to hear from God first. He wondered if the prophet had fled because he knew that Judah was about to be invaded. All of a sudden God seemed very far away.

“You have to find Isaiah!” Hezekiah said, clenching his fists. “Someone must know where he is. Intensify the search. This is important; I need him.”

While Hezekiah debated what to do next, his engineer arrived. Eliakim entered with his head bowed and his shoulders sagging. The proud confidence he had displayed when he first unveiled his plans for the tunnel had vanished. Hezekiah knew without asking that the tunnel wasn’t finished. His anxiety deepened.

“I assume you’ve heard the news about Samaria,” he told Eliakim. “I’d like a report on the tunnel.”

Eliakim cleared his throat. “According to my calculations, the two tunnels are within a few cubits of breaking through.”

Shebna leaned forward. “Have the workmen heard the signals from the other side?”

“Uh, no … we still haven’t heard them, but—”

“Then this breakthrough you are talking about is only a theory.”

“There’s every indication that—”

Shebna’s voice rose to a shout. “Can you guarantee that we will have a functioning water system within the next few days or not?”

“No. I can’t.”

Shebna slapped his thighs. “That is great! Not only will the Assyrians be able to use our water supply, maybe they can finish digging the tunnel for us. You have given them a convenient door into the city so they will not
need
their battering rams!”

“Let him finish, Shebna,” Hezekiah said. “Eliakim, how much longer do you think it will take?”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his curly hair. “Your Majesty, we must be very close. I’ve been expecting a breakthrough for over a week. Just a few more days and—”

“And the Assyrians will be camped out there helping you dig!” Shebna finished. “Besides, how do you know that the two tunnels are even in alignment? How do you know that they will
ever
meet? Maybe they have passed by each other already!” Shebna gestured with his hands, sailing them by each other without touching.

“That’s enough, Shebna,” Hezekiah said.

“I am sorry, my lord.” He sat back and crossed his legs. Eliakim stared at the floor.

“Eliakim, assuming that you break through in the next day or two,” Hezekiah said, “how long until the tunnel is ready to use?”

“The new Pool of Siloam is ready now. We could probably start diverting the water from the old aqueduct right away.”

“The problem is—we can’t conceal the spring until the tunnel is finished, right?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And if it isn’t finished in the next two days,” Hezekiah continued, “there won’t be enough time to conceal it properly. Shebna’s right. The Assyrians will be here to help us dig.” He saw Eliakim close his eyes in defeat. “Now, we can spend the next two days digging and hope for a breakthrough, or we can spend that time erasing all traces of the half-finished project. Shebna, what do you say?”

“I am not a man who likes to gamble, Your Majesty. Forget the tunnel and prepare for a siege.”

“Eliakim, what do you think?”

“The two tunnels should have met by now,” he mumbled. “I don’t know why they haven’t. I … I can’t offer any advice.”

Hezekiah felt torn. They would desperately need water if the Assyrians laid siege to the city, but did he dare take a chance that the enemy would find the unfinished tunnel? Again he wished Isaiah were here to tell him what Yahweh had to say. But Isaiah wasn’t here. And Hezekiah had to make a decision.