Faith of My Fathers (21 page)

Manasseh struggled to conceal his shock. He’d heard of these ungodly rituals involving male and female prostitutes. “But that’s how pagans worship,” he said. “The Torah says—”

“No. Only the priestly laws say it’s wrong. Abraham had more than one wife. Jacob had at least four women.”

Manasseh shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t absorb all of this.”

“That’s why I warned you to give it time. But as long as you are already shocked, I may as well tell you the rest of it. True worship involves sacred union with both aspects of God. Male and female. Think about it.”

Manasseh suppressed a shudder of revulsion. “Do you expect me to throw out everything I’ve been taught?”

“Of course not. You can’t. Your old worship system was built entirely upon a foundation of guilt: sin, confession, sacrifice. You won’t be free until you realize that sin is an illusion created to control you. There is no such thing as sin. Could good exist without evil? Don’t we need to experience evil in order to understand good? Don’t both good and evil operate inside of you?”

“Of course.”

“Then when you deny what’s inside you, when you deny what you were created to experience, you live a stunted life, crippled by guilt. Would a loving God expect that? Would He want you to deny the way He created you?”

“I just don’t know—”

“You see?” Zerah said. “You have been brainwashed. Name one instance when Abraham offered a sacrifice for sin.”

Manasseh tried to think of one, but it seemed like a long time ago that he had studied the Torah with Rabbi Gershom. And he had hated those lessons. The rabbi was too strict, the monotonous laws too boring. He had relied on Joshua to interpret everything for him. Just as his father had relied on the traitorous Eliakim.

“Get rid of the concept of sin, Your Majesty, and you will be free. The priests will have no control over you. The omens won’t be blocked by your unbelief, and you will worship God in His fullness.”

The more Manasseh thought about it, the more he saw how Isaiah had used guilt to control his father, making him a slave to the Temple rituals, a slave to his prophecies. At once Manasseh’s idyllic image of Hezekiah shattered like broken pottery. Instead of seeing him as a strong leader, filled with a matchless faith, he now saw his father as a helpless figure, deceived and deluded by lies, tied to a powerless god who couldn’t even grant him a son. All of his life Manasseh had feared not living up to his father’s stature; now Zerah offered him a way to rise to even greater heights than Hezekiah.

“Come with me, Zerah,” Manasseh said. He strode across the courtyard to where one of the chief priests was tending the altar fire. “Listen to me,” he told the priest. “Tell your fellow priests and Levites that from now on Zerah and his priests are in charge of this Temple. He is the new high priest with full authority over everything. All of you will serve him. Do you understand?”

The priest looked at Manasseh in fear and confusion. “We can’t do that, Your Majesty. We—”

“But you
will
do it—or die. Along with your wives and your children. And if any of you tries to leave Jerusalem or to shirk your Temple duties, I will hunt you down and destroy you like dogs.”

Miriam knelt in the courtyard by the hearth, coaxing the coals into flames to heat a caldron of water for Joshua’s bath. The men would be home for dinner soon. Jerimoth and Joel would arrive first and greet their wives and children with kisses. Joshua would soon follow. Miriam always made sure he had a warm bath to soak in and clean clothes to wear. It was what any good wife would do.

Taking care of Joshua the way Tirza and Sara cared for their husbands— washing and mending his clothes, cooking special foods for him, preparing his bath—seemed natural to Miriam. Each time she traced the imprint of his foot in the soft leather of his sandal or smelled the salty, outdoor scent on his clothes, her love for him grew stronger.

She knew that Joshua still struggled with his grief. His suffering seemed so much deeper than that of the others. After living in Moab for nine months, Miriam had yet to see him smile or hear him laugh. But she was certain that one day his sorrow would finally lift, and he

would notice all the things she did for him. He would realize how much she meant to him, and he would return her love at last. Finally she and Joshua would be together.

The gate creaked open and Miriam looked up from her work. Joshua walked into the courtyard, looking tired and dusty. She ran to fetch him a drink of water.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but your bath water isn’t warm yet,” she told him. “I didn’t expect you this soon.”

“That’s all right. I came home early on purpose. I need to talk to you.”

Tears of joy sprang to Miriam’s eyes. This was the day she had been waiting for. Joshua wanted to talk to her, alone. He stood close to her, his deep voice low and intimate.

“Miriam, you’ve taken good care of me these past months. I know I don’t always remember to say thank you. I hope you don’t think I’m ungrateful or that I take you for granted. If it weren’t for you, my mother would have to work twice as hard as she does.”

“I enjoy taking care of you, my lord.” She looked up at him and their eyes met for a moment; then Joshua quickly turned away. She wished she knew what it was that always made him turn from her— shyness, or something else?

“Then you’re happy living here?” he asked. “You would like to stay?”

“Of course. This is my home now. Your family is like my own.”

“My family is very fond of you.” He gazed into the distance, and Miriam glimpsed the suffering in his dark eyes. She felt herself being pulled deeper into his soul. She could help soothe away all the pain if he would let her.

“I wanted to talk to you first, Miriam, before telling the others, because this should really be your decision. I’ve been saving all the money I’ve earned for the past few months, and I finally have enough for a dowry. I don’t earn a lot, but at least I can afford to support a wife now.”

Miriam’s heart raced with joy and anticipation. She moved a step closer to him, sensing that any moment he would reach for her. After all these months, she would finally feel his strong arms surrounding her. She would be able to hold his handsome face between her hands and feel the softness of his hair and beard, the way she had when he lay ill with his head in her lap.

“I need you, Miriam,” he said. “Yael isn’t used to washing clothes or cooking meals. Before I go back to Jerusalem to marry her, I need to know if you would be willing to work for us.”

Miriam felt the shock of his unexpected words like a dash of cold water. He couldn’t have hurt her more if he had run a knife through her heart. She turned away and sank to her knees to keep from falling, then poked at the fire so he wouldn’t see her shame or the hot tears that filled her eyes. What a fool she had been, imagining that he would marry her. He thought of her as his servant. Nothing more.

“Of course I don’t expect you to work for nothing,” he said. “I’m willing to pay you a fair wage. And I think you’ll like Yael. She’s a gentle woman, kind and sweet.”

Miriam pushed one of the logs deeper into the fire until the flames licked at her hand, burning her. She cried out in pain, letting Joshua think her tears were from the burn on her fingers, not the wound in her heart.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“It’s just a burn. Clumsy of me. If you would like your bath now, the water is hot.”

“In a minute. You haven’t answered my question. Would you be willing to work for Yael and me?”

Miriam nodded, knowing it was a lie. She wouldn’t stay in his house. She couldn’t bear to watch him with another woman. A dull pain throbbed behind her eyes from holding back the full force of her tears.

“Thank you, Miriam. And please don’t say anything to the others about this yet. I have a few more plans to make before I tell them, all right?”

“Sure.”

“You should go put something on your hand. It’s hurting you. I can carry my own bath water.”

Miriam turned her back to him and walked into the house, her unseeing eyes gazing straight ahead, her feet taking her by memory to the small room where she slept. She and the others had recently moved to a bigger house in a nicer part of town, and until today she had been so excited to have a room of her own that she hadn’t cared that it was in the servants’ quarters. Now she realized that she wasn’t a member of this family. She never would be. Miriam buried her face in her blanket and sobbed.

After a long time, she sat up and dried her tears. She couldn’t let the others know what a fool she was, falling in love with a man who would never love her in return. She poured cold water into a basin and splashed some on her face so no one would see that she had been crying, then she looked at herself in the bronze mirror hanging above the basin. Her nose was too big, the beauty mark on her cheek, loathsome. Her hair was plain brown, her skin a dull tan. Yael was kind and gentle and sweet, Joshua had said. Miriam remembered how his voice had softened when he’d spoken Yael’s name, and tears sprang to her eyes again.

Miriam couldn’t live here anymore. But she had no idea where else to go. Several months ago the Moabite foreman had wanted to marry her. Now she wished she had accepted his offer.

When Miriam heard Jerimoth’s voice outside in the courtyard she went to her window and looked out. He, Joel, and her brothers had just arrived home from the marketplace. Mattan walked beside Jerimoth, holding his hand.

“I smell lamb for dinner, Abba,” Mattan said, gazing up at him.

Jerimoth smiled and tousled the boy’s hair.

“Yes, run and ask your mother if it’s ready. I’m starved.”

Jerimoth had kept his promise and had become a loving father to Mattan. Miriam’s brother no longer resembled a ragged urchin but a strong, healthy six-year-old with a bright future ahead of him. Miriam knew she would have to leave Mattan behind if she went away. It would be cruel to tear him from his new home and the father he had grown to love. But her brothers were the only family Miriam had, and when she thought about leaving them she felt lost.

As she watched, she saw Joshua come outside to greet Jerimoth and Joel. His curly hair was still wet from his bath, and he wore the clothes she had washed and laid out for him. She would find his dirty tunic on the floor near the mikveh where he had dropped it, leaving it for her to pick up. She was only his servant.

Joshua said a few words to Nathan, but there was no warmth between them as there was between Jerimoth and Mattan. Nathan hadn’t allowed himself to get close to anyone. He liked studying with Joel and had a remarkable aptitude for numbers, but Miriam knew Nathan still stole from the other vendors in the marketplace. He did it for the thrill, since there was no longer any need. Miriam worried about him. Nathan wasn’t happy unless danger edged his life. What would happen to him if she left? She saw no answer to her dilemma, and she began to cry again.

“Miriam, is something wrong?” She felt Jerusha’s hand on her shoulder and quickly wiped her eyes. Over the past nine months, Jerusha had gradually filled the ache inside Miriam that Abba had once filled. Miriam loved Jerusha more than she had loved her own mother. Jerusha always talked to her as they worked together, and she was teaching Miriam the ancient stories of their ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. In return, Miriam listened as Jerusha talked about her husband, Eliakim. Miriam could see how much she missed him, how much she had loved him. But Jerusha’s deep faith and trust in God always prevented her grief from overwhelming her. Miriam wondered what it would be like to have faith like Jerusha’s, to have a God you could look to in trust, a God you could call “Abba.”

“They’re tears of joy,” Miriam lied. “It makes me so happy to see little Mattan with Jerimoth.”

Jerusha pulled Miriam into her arms and held her close. “I love you, my precious daughter. I lost my Dinah, but I thank God for bringing you to me.”

13

T
HE INNKEEPER DROPPED
another log onto the hearth, sending a cloud of smoke and soot into the narrow, windowless room. They filled Joshua’s lungs and throat, making his chest hurt when he breathed. He hated this dingy place, but since the foreman of his work crew had invited him here to share a drink after work, he couldn’t refuse. The inn’s low-beamed ceiling seemed to press down on him, suffocating him. He couldn’t wait to finish this conversation and escape into the cool evening air. He sipped his cup of strong wine slowly, hoping the foreman wouldn’t notice his distaste.

“I have to admit, Jew, I didn’t think you could even lift a brick when you first asked for a job on my construction crew. But you’ve more than proven yourself in the last few months.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“And you’re an excellent leader, too. The men respect you and work hard for you. That’s why I’ve decided to make you my assistant on our next project. And any more of your handy little inventions would be welcome, too.”

“I’m very honored, my lord. What is the next project?”

“I’ve been asked to make some improvements to the temple complex.”

Joshua stared down at his drink. After nine months, he still had no answers from God on why He had rejected him, but Joshua wasn’t sure he wanted to turn his back on God completely by building a temple dedicated to idols. When he remembered that his father’s first building project for King Hezekiah had been repairing Yahweh’s Temple, he felt ashamed of what he was considering.

“When would the work start?” he finally asked.

“As soon as this job is finished. Probably early next week. Why? Is there a problem?”

“A small one, my lord. I was planning to get married as soon as we’re finished.”

“Congratulations! That calls for a toast.” The foreman signaled the innkeeper to refill their glasses. What little wine Joshua had drunk was already burning his stomach and making him dizzy, but he allowed his glass to be refilled.

“So,” the foreman continued after they had toasted, “you’ll need a few days off? A week, maybe, to spend with your new bride?”

“A bit longer, my lord. She lives in Jerusalem. I’ll need time to travel there and—”