Song of Redemption (6 page)

Six days after the raid in Dabbasheth, the Assyrian raiders finally reached their destination many miles to the north. Jerusha smelled the Assyrian camp before she saw it, sprawled like a vast black wasteland around a besieged city. Thick smoke and the scent of death hovered everywhere; the air carried the scent of blood and decay. All the trees—which Jerusha imagined had been centuries-old olive groves, vineyards, and fruit trees—had been cut down, and the farmland had been trampled beneath a blanket of black tents. The entire world of the Assyrians seemed dark and oppressive to Jerusha, and she saw more soldiers and chariots and horses than she imagined existed. Her chances of escaping from such a dreadful place seemed hopeless.

It was early evening when they arrived in the camp, and Iddina led her to the officers’ section, where the larger, three-roomed tents offered more luxuries than the enlisted men’s quarters. Iddina stopped beneath one of the few remaining trees where three more Assyrians, dressed in officers’ tunics like his, sat on mats beneath the tree, eating their evening meal. The other officers seemed pleased to see Iddina and greeted him with hearty shouts. He pushed Jerusha in front of them, a hunter proudly displaying his trophy, and the men quickly lost interest in their food as they gaped at her in undisguised lust.

“No … oh no, please …” Jerusha whimpered as she edged away from them.

Without warning, Iddina slapped her across the face and shoved her toward the other men. Then he shouted something, and a woman who had been kneeling by the hearth jumped up and hurried over to them. She was the first woman Jerusha had seen in days, but she seemed more animal than human, with the cowering, skittish movements of a beaten dog. Her every gesture reeked of fear.

“I am Marah,” she said in a toneless voice. “They want me to translate for you.”

Jerusha was amazed to hear her speaking perfect Hebrew. “Yyou’re from Israel?” she stammered. Marah nodded. In spite of the deadness in Marah’s eyes and the lifeless pallor of her skin, Jerusha could see that she had once been a beautiful woman. She seemed to be gazing straight through Jerusha as she translated Iddina’s angry tirade.

“Iddina says that the Assyrians always share their spoils of war. He says he will not be selfish and keep you for himself. You belong to all of them now.”

Jerusha instinctively drew back. “No … no!”

As swiftly as a pouncing cat, Iddina grabbed her from behind and held his dagger to her throat. Jerusha knew what he was saying even before Marah translated it. “Iddina says you must choose. Do you still wish to live?”

Fear paralyzed Jerusha.

“Choose,” Marah repeated.

Jerusha began to sob. There was no choice. Both alternatives horrified her; either choice would destroy her. Her tears produced laughter, not pity, among the men. They seemed more like animals than human beings.

“Die, you little fool!” Marah whispered harshly. “Die while you still have the chance to die quickly!”

Jerusha could no longer see the waiting men through her tears, but she felt the tension and strength in Iddina’s arms as he gripped her, the blade of his knife pressed against her throat.

“O God, please help me,” Jerusha sobbed. “I don’t want to die.”

Marah mumbled something and Jerusha felt Iddina’s arms relax. He seemed pleased with her decision. He laughed as he sheathed his knife and shoved her toward the waiting men.

5

K
ING
H
EZEKIAH STUDIED THE
faces of the men bowing before him, pledging their support, and wondered how he could tell the honest ones from the impostors. They assembled in an audience before his throne, waiting for him to begin.

Outside the palace windows, cold, slashing rain continued to pelt the city, turning Jerusalem’s creamy beige stones a deep golden color. The spring rains were as precious to his nation’s economy as gold, and they had been plentiful this year. Hezekiah hoped they marked the beginning of God’s blessings.

The windows of the throne room had been shuttered tightly against the rain and wind, and they admitted little light. Hezekiah had ordered all the torches and bronze lampstands to be lit, but the throne room remained gloomy, the atmosphere tense as the assembled men waited for him to speak.

“Our nation has stumbled around in darkness, without God’s light to lead us, for much too long,” he began. “But this is about to change. I’m going to rebuild this government from the ground up, and I intend to rule this nation according to the laws of Moses. That means changing the way things were done in the past. From now on you will consult the Levites and the teachers of the Law in every judgment and decision you make and in every action you take. We must remain faithful to the laws of the Torah. Positions of authority in my government will be reserved for men who live by those laws and who haven’t compromised with idolatry.”

A gust of wind whistled outside, and the driving rain beat against the wooden shutters as Hezekiah paused. When no one questioned the fact that Shebna—an unbeliever—sat at his right-hand side, Hezekiah knew that he faced an audience of seasoned politicians skilled at hiding their thoughts and emotions. The throne room was cold, but a trickle of sweat ran down Hezekiah’s neck.

“I’m going to oversee the administration of all levels of government at first, in order to eliminate the bribery and corruption of my father’s reign. I’ll also hold open court to hear all petitions, so that the injustice toward the poor that’s currently taking place at the lower court levels will come to an end. Micah of Moresheth has recently made me aware of how angry God is with such injustices,” he said, gesturing to the prophet, “and I trust that he’ll continue to hold us all accountable.”

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” Micah replied. He wore his left arm in a sling, and his many bruises had discolored to a deep, purplish black. With his tanned face and simple clothing, he looked out of place among the wealthy nobles.

“I have ordered the priests and Levites to reconsecrate the Temple,” Hezekiah said, “so that the regular daily sacrifices can be offered once again. But first the Temple will need repairs as well as cleansing from everything that wasn’t commanded by Yahweh. I’ve asked Eliakim, son of Hilkiah, to join our council.” He motioned for him to come forward, then paused for a moment while he bowed low. “Eliakim, you’ve been recommended to me as a capable engineer as well as a faithful follower of Yahweh. I’m putting you in charge of the structural repairs to the Temple. You’ll also serve as a member of my advisory council from now on.”

Hezekiah detected a murmur of surprise, or perhaps discontent, as a newcomer lacking royal credentials was given such an important commission. Eliakim’s speechless expression covered a wide range of emotions including astonishment and awe, but he quickly recovered and bowed again.

“I … I am honored, Your Majesty. It will be a great privilege.”

“As for the repairs,” Hezekiah continued, “I’ve recovered a small sum of gold that Uriah stole from the tribute to Assyria. Since this treasure originally came from the Temple, I’m using it to finance the repairs. When the Temple is ready, I plan to offer a sacrifice for the sin of our nation and to renew our covenant with God. I’ll be contributing animals from the royal flocks, but members of my court and city officials are welcome to participate, as well as everyone in Judah who wants to ask forgiveness for his sins.”

He gazed at the faces assembled before him, trying to discern their thoughts. He believed there was discontent, mistrust, perhaps even conspiracy among them, but he saw no outward signs of it. He wanted to shock them into speaking their minds, coax them out of hiding and see where the battle lines were drawn. Zechariah had helped him choose an explosive topic beforehand, and he decided to raise it now, hoping to elicit a response and discover where the divisions lay.

“I have one final question that we need to discuss. The Law of Moses requires the people to give a tenth portion to the priests and Levites so they can devote themselves to the Temple and its sacrifices. But the people are already heavily taxed to pay the Assyrian tribute demands. It seems that the Law of God and the demands of Assyria are in direct conflict. If our nation is to have any future, we need to consider what to do about that. I’d like to be free from Assyria’s control and put our trust in God, but first I must consider what would happen if we stopped sending the tribute payments.”

“You would be committing suicide!” one of Ahaz’s former advisors shouted. He was an experienced statesman who had served under King Jotham as well as Ahaz. “The Assyrians would begin marching their massive army toward Jerusalem as soon as they heard of our rebellion.”

“That’s right,” another advisor added. “You would be needlessly endangering the entire nation.”

“But our nation is called to be a servant of Yahweh, not a servant of Assyria,” Azariah said. Hezekiah had asked the new High Priest to deliberately draw out the opposition, but a third advisor turned on him sharply.

“Listen—all the nations around us pay tribute, as well. Do you think they’re all fools? There’s a very good reason why our taxes go to Assyria and not the Temple.”

“He’s right, Your Majesty,” General Jonadab added. “I can prepare a detailed report on the Assyrians if you’d like me to. I think you will find it horrifying to read. They are a brutal, merciless, bloodthirsty people.”

“And we can’t afford to pay more taxes to the Temple,” Ahaz’s former treasurer added. “The Assyrian demands alone are staggering.”

“But it was our nation’s sin that caused our bondage to Assyria in the first place,” the prophet Micah said. He had risen to his feet, his passion for his subject unmistakable. “Once we make Yahweh the head of our nation again, we can throw off the Assyrian yoke.”

“Now, wait just a minute!” Shebna said. He perched on the edge of his seat as he confronted Micah. “If you want to launch a religious revival and make everyone throw away their idols to worship Yahweh, that is immaterial to me. But it would be disastrous to allow your religious zeal to spill over into your political decisions.”

Micah didn’t back down. “Once we renew our covenant with God and purify the land of idolatry, we can’t serve any other master but Yahweh. To give Yahweh’s portion to Assyria would be a grave sin.”

“You know nothing of world politics,” Shebna said. “If we stop sending the tribute to Assyria, we will be destroyed. We cannot confuse religious idealism with political reality.”

“You’re wrong.” Micah’s voice was quiet but firm. “There’s no difference between the two. King Hezekiah isn’t the true ruler of Judah—Yahweh is. Our forefathers demanded a king like the other nations, but God is our true king. Therefore, there’s no difference between our religion and our politics. They’re one and the same.”

Hezekiah was alarmed to see that Shebna disagreed so sharply with Yahweh’s prophet. He wondered if his appointment had been a serious mistake. He watched the assembled men carefully as more and more of them joined the debate and noted that most of them sided with Shebna. The rift between the religious and secular factions was obviously very deep. But as Hezekiah listened to both sides of the argument, he wasn’t sure which side he agreed with. Shebna had taught him to make practical, informed decisions based on reason; Zechariah urged him to trust in God’s power alone. These two sides of Hezekiah seemed as irreconcilable as the two fighting parties.

A flash of lightning suddenly flickered outside the shuttered window, and Hezekiah heard the answering grumble of thunder a moment later. For his nation’s sake, he would try to appease both political factions—and both sides of himself—for as long as he possibly could. With his economy in chaos, his nobility sharply divided, and his nation in a state of turmoil, the next few months of his reign would be challenging enough.

Prince Gedaliah seethed with rage as he sat through the king’s council meeting. Hezekiah had finally appointed a palace administrator—and it wasn’t him. In fact, Hezekiah hadn’t appointed Gedaliah to
any
position, not even the job of overseeing the repairs at the Temple. Some commoner named Eliakim had been given that job, and Gedaliah was furious about it. He longed to get even with Hezekiah for not granting him any political favors, and as he listened to the bitter opposition between his father’s advisors and the new religious faction, he began to see how he might get revenge—and more. Why settle for Shebna’s position as second-in-command if he could be king instead?

Hezekiah’s new policies had angered many powerful, important men among the nobility. Gedaliah would be their obvious choice once they decided they’d had enough of Hezekiah’s religion. But first he needed to let them know that he agreed with them. He had noted all of the advisors who spoke against canceling the Assyrian tribute, and when he saw that Shebna was among them, he knew exactly how he could win the Egyptian’s support. Gedaliah waited for him outside the throne room, then fell into step beside him as he strode through the palace courtyard.

“I want you to know that I was on your side in there, Shebna.”

“I do not know what ‘side’ you are referring to,” he said coldly. He walked on, but Gedaliah kept up with him.