The Strength of His Hand (18 page)

“None of us do, Eliakim.
Not one
of us. You know my past better than anyone. But God forgave me. I don’t deserve all of this,” she said, making a sweeping gesture with her arms. “My sins are just as great as Hephzibah’s, and if she deserves to be stoned to death, then so do I.”

For a moment he couldn’t reply. Then his features softened, and the gentleness returned to his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You’re right; we’ve all sinned.” He took her hand in both of his and squeezed it tenderly. “But Hephzibah will have to be reconciled with God some other way. You can’t become involved with her. You won’t.”

If Jerusha wanted an excuse for staying away from Hephzibah, Eliakim had provided one. Yet she couldn’t shake the conviction that she had to return. “What if God asks me to go back?” she asked him.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“This wasn’t my idea, Eliakim. I felt the same way you did about her. But this morning when I went to the Temple and I saw the king standing there all alone, God reminded me of my own past, and I knew that this was something I had to do.”

Instantly Eliakim grew angry again. “And suppose King Hezekiah hears about it? Don’t you understand what a difficult situation you’re placing me in? How will it look to him? He hates Hephzibah! He has every right to hate her!”

“How can the king go to the Temple and stand before God with hatred in his heart?”

“That’s none of my business, and it’s none of yours, either.”

“If you’re his friend, it
should
be your business.”

Again, she saw Eliakim’s face turn white as the coldness and hatred crept back into his eyes. “When I took office, I swore an oath of allegiance and loyalty to the king. I can’t have you compromising my integrity by socializing with his idolatrous wife! Stay away from her!”

Jerusha recalled Hephzibah’s parting words and knew that regardless of what Eliakim said, she had to return one more time. She had to explain that God could forgive any sin, even one as shocking as Hephzibah’s.

“All right,” she said softly. “I’ll go to her tomorrow and tell her why I can’t come anymore, and—”

“No, Jerusha, you won’t! You won’t ever go back there again!”

“Will you help me write a letter to her so I can explain why—”

“No!”

“But I need to tell her—”

“Aren’t you listening to me? Didn’t you understand a word I’ve said?”

“But, she’ll think—”

“I don’t care what she thinks! I’m worried about what the king will think!” He was shouting again, and the baby awoke from her nap and began to cry. “You’d better make up your mind which you care about more, Jerusha—Hephzibah’s feelings or mine!” He pushed past her and stormed out the front door, slamming it behind him.

Late that night Eliakim still hadn’t returned home. Jerusha lay in bed in the dark unable to sleep, her mind turning endlessly as she grappled with her dilemma. She wanted to obey Eliakim and promise not to see Hephzibah again, but she couldn’t shake the conviction that God wanted her to return. If she disobeyed her husband, she would have to deceive him, just like Hephzibah had deceived her husband. But what if she lost Eliakim’s love forever?

As she tossed in bed, she finally heard the front door open. She slipped into her robe and slowly went downstairs, afraid to face her husband. He was sitting on the bench removing his sandals, but he sprang to his feet when he saw her.

“Eliakim, I’m sorry—” she began, but he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.

“I was afraid to come home,” he said. “I was ashamed of the way I treated you, Jerusha. I should have
asked
you not to go back there instead of shouting at you. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t realize that visiting Hephzibah would reflect on you.”

“Please, Jerusha. Do you understand now why you can’t go back?” He held her away from him and searched her face. She hoped he wouldn’t make her promise. She wasn’t sure she could do it.

“Yes, but—”

“Then we won’t mention it again.”

But as she clung to Eliakim, Jerusha knew she had to return once more to explain everything to Hephzibah. She whispered a silent prayer that her husband would never find out.

14

F
OR THE SECOND TIME
in a matter of months, foreign envoys paraded into Hezekiah’s throne room and bowed before him, this time from Egypt. But as he extended his scepter to Pharaoh Shabako’s representatives, Hezekiah experienced none of the elation and excitement of the Babylonians’ visit. Isaiah’s rebuke had transformed the Babylonian treaty from one of his greatest successes into a reminder of his sin. He had succumbed to the same temptation as his ancestor King Uzziah: pride.

“Your Majesty, King Hezekiah, I bring gifts and greetings from Pharaoh Shabako, founder of the twenty-fifth dynasty of Egypt. He has asked me to extend the hand of friendship to you on his behalf.”

“He is very generous. What is his petition?”

“Pharaoh knows that we have a mutual enemy in Emperor Sennacherib of Assyria. He has heard of your defense treaty with Babylon. Our nation has signed a similar treaty with the kings of Philistia and Tyre, pledging our mutual military support against the Assyrians. Pharaoh invites you to sign, as well. Why not join with us?”

Indeed, why not? Hezekiah wasn’t allied with Assyria. Why not ally himself with her enemies? And Egypt was one of the three major world powers. Still, he couldn’t help wondering if he truly had a choice. What would happen to his nation if he refused Pharaoh’s request?

“And what does Pharaoh Shabako expect of my nation in return for this treaty?”

“Only that you will remain an enemy of Assyria. Then we will form a solid block of resistance to halt their southward advance.”

“I’m sure Pharaoh knows my nation guards his northern border. Assyria would have to attack me before he could get to Egypt. What does Pharaoh offer me in return for guarding the door to his country?” “Pharaoh pledges that his army will come to your aid if you or any of our other allies are attacked. We also offer you the opportunity to purchase horses and chariots to bolster your armed forces.”

Hezekiah glanced at General Jonadab, aware of the general’s eagerness to acquire a cavalry and chariots. The unnamed heaviness that had settled over Hezekiah after Isaiah’s rebuke refused to lift, and he felt old and tired.

“You will be my guests here at the palace while I consider Pharaoh Shabako’s generous offer,” he finally said. “Please join me for a banquet tonight in his honor. I will give Pharaoh my answer tomorrow.” The Egyptians’ confident faces told Hezekiah that they already expected him to join the alliance. He had nothing to lose and an important ally to gain. Why, then, did he feel such a nagging uneasiness? After the servants had escorted the Egyptians to their quarters, Hezekiah turned to Shebna. “You’re the obvious choice to go as my envoy, Shebna. And I imagine General Jonadab will want to accompany you to negotiate for those chariots and horses.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. It is an incredible opportunity to—” Eliakim came out of his seat. “Wait a minute. You can’t do this. You can’t sign a treaty with Egypt.”

“What’s wrong, Eliakim?”

“Your Majesty, in the first year of your reign you said you would make all your decisions in keeping with the laws of the Torah, didn’t you?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, in the fifth Book of Moses it says, ‘The king … must not acquire great numbers of horses for himself or make the people return to Egypt to get more of them.’ ” Hezekiah shifted in his seat. He knew that verse. It came right before the one that said, “He must not take many wives.” Zechariah said the first verse forbade alliances with Egypt. But Zechariah also said the next one forbade marriage to more than one wife—and that misinterpretation had not only kept Hezekiah from having an heir, it had nearly cost him his life. He felt angry suddenly, and he didn’t want to hear these passages of Scripture misused anymore. He was weary of them.

“I know what it says, Eliakim. But it doesn’t apply in this situation. We’re not returning to Egypt as slaves. We’re making a purchase, that’s all. A business transaction.”

Eliakim kept his voice controlled. “No, Your Majesty, it’s more than that. You’ll be making a terrible mistake if you sign an alliance with Egypt. And I strongly oppose the purchase of Egyptian horses and chariots for the same reason that I opposed the alliance with Babylon.”

“We all remember your foolish opposition,” Shebna interrupted, “but these alliances will greatly increase our national security. You, your family, this entire city will be safer because of these treaties.”

“No. The Torah says, ‘Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain.’ We need to put our trust in God, as we did the last time Assyria threatened us.”

Hezekiah remembered the Assyrian invasion of Israel and Yahweh’s protection of Judah as if it had happened to someone else, not to him. It seemed a lifetime ago … before he’d lost Hephzibah … before he’d heard Isaiah’s rebuke. Right now, God’s help seemed far away, Egypt’s help much closer and more certain.

“Listen,” Eliakim continued, “alliances offer false security. It won’t matter to the Assyrians how many nations oppose them. The greater the opposition, the greater the challenge for them. The Assyrians thrive on challenges! They’ll pick our allies off one by one, so swiftly they’ll never have time to come to each other’s defense. Don’t you see what a trap we’re falling into? Isaiah warned us not to get involved in the Ashdod rebellion several years ago, and we were wise to listen to him. When Assyria took revenge on them, we were spared. Besides, when have the Egyptians or the Philistines ever come to our aid before? Read the history books. They want this alliance for themselves. It’s a trap. They’ll use us to absorb Assyria’s wrath and save themselves. Don’t fall for their lies, Your Majesty. God is our Protector and Ally. We don’t need anyone else!”

“We cannot stay neutral,” Shebna said. “Look at a map if you do not believe it.We are already in the middle of it all. When war comes, it will be worldwide. The Assyrian Empire is crumbling, and it is time to grab our rightful share of it.”

“Shebna’s right,” Hezekiah said reluctantly. “It’s too late to decide if we want to get involved; we’re already involved whether we like it or not.”

His first decision to befriend Babylon had started a chain reaction that he couldn’t stop. He felt trapped, as if he was no longer making sovereign decisions but was having them forced on him. He supposed it was the price he had to pay for having allies.

As he’d listened to the two men arguing, Hezekiah’s uneasiness had grown to a deep anxiety that he couldn’t quite place. He trusted Shebna’s wisdom; he was a man of exceptional abilities who understood current events and international politics. But Hezekiah also trusted Eliakim’s judgment, even when he disagreed with him. Hezekiah knew he had made a mistake with the Babylonians, and Isaiah’s rebuke had shaken his confidence in himself and in his ability to make decisions. He could no longer figure out how to strike a compromise between his two advisors’ differing opinions. One of them must be wrong—and one of them right. Hezekiah had decided to side with Shebna. He hoped he had made the right choice.

Eliakim returned to his office feeling very troubled and unable to concentrate on his work. The king had just made a serious mistake. How could he convince him to change his mind before it was too late?

Hezekiah seemed different since his illness. He still worshiped God, still followed all the rituals, but his zeal for the Lord had withered. Earlier in his reign he would have consulted Yahweh before making such an important decision as this, but ever since the Babylonians had come, Hezekiah seemed afraid to seek God for answers the way he used to. And Eliakim didn’t know what to do about it.

When a shadow fell across his worktable, he looked up. Shebna stood in his doorway. Eliakim returned Shebna’s gaze, waiting. He felt at a disadvantage sitting, so he slowly stood. Neither of them would look away. Finally Shebna spoke.

“It is obvious that you do not support King Hezekiah’s policies and decisions anymore.”

It was a true statement, and Eliakim felt no need to defend himself. He nodded slightly.

Anger flared in Shebna’s eyes at Eliakim’s refusal to be drawn into an argument. “It is time for you to step down and make room for a secretary of state who supports the king.”

Eliakim’s heart pumped faster, making it difficult to stay calm. “Has King Hezekiah asked for my resignation, or is this your idea?”

“As palace administrator, I speak for the king.”

“Answer my question, Shebna! Did King Hezekiah tell you to come here?”

“I am trying to spare you the embarrassment of being publicly dismissed.”

“That’s very kind of you. And I thought you didn’t like me.”

“You will resign, then?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Do not take too long, or the decision will be taken out of your hands.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It is a fact.” Shebna turned and left.

Eliakim sat deep in thought for several minutes. He shrank at the thought of being fired, but did King Hezekiah really feel the same way as Shebna? Eliakim had taken an oath of loyalty and obedience to King Hezekiah, but was it disloyal to disagree with him? Should he resign? For his family’s sake, Eliakim knew he would be wise to step down voluntarily. But what if this was Shebna’s idea and not the king’s? Eliakim would hate to let Shebna have his own way.

Finally, Eliakim spread a blank square of parchment on the table in front of him and carefully penned his letter of resignation. He signed it and sealed it with his signet ring, but he had no peace about the decision he had just made. He rolled it up and tucked it into the fold of his tunic, then put on his outer cloak.

“Where are you going, my lord?” his aide asked when he saw Eliakim leaving.

“I’m not sure.”

He pushed past his aide and left the palace, hurrying down the hill toward the city. He walked past the street where he lived, into the older section of Jerusalem with its closely packed houses and tangled, twisting streets. He passed horses and mules straining beneath their loads and children playing games in the dirt—and he had to watch his step to avoid the shallow gutters where waste water ran. He had walked this route long ago in the dark of night, and it had seemed spooky to a boy of thirteen. Years later, little had changed.