On This Foundation

by Lynn Austin

  “Stay here tonight,” Ephraim said when Nehemiah was ready to leave. “Don’t go out there alone.”

  Nehemiah started to argue, then realized that if he did leave, his brothers would insist on accompanying him. Unwilling to put them in danger, he spent his first night in Jerusalem at his brother Ephraim’s house.

  The next morning the three of them walked up the hill together to worship in God’s holy temple for the first time. Their mentor, Mordecai, had made sure Nehemiah and his brothers had studied the Torah, so he was very familiar with all the sacrifices and offerings and their significance. His studies had created a picture in his mind of what Solomon’s Temple must have looked like in all its glory, and this second temple paled in comparison to what he’d imagined. The Babylonians had demolished the walls that surrounded and protected it, stealing all the gold and bronze that once adorned it. Yet this was still the one place on earth where God had chosen to meet with His people.

  Nehemiah’s studies hadn’t prepared him for the emotions he experienced as he watched the lamb being slain, knowing that it had died for his sins, knowing that when the pillar of smoke ascended to heaven, those sins were forgiven. His joy was indescribable. As the congregation bowed in prayer, Nehemiah’s prayer also ascended to heaven. Lord, you’ve given me this task of restoring Jerusalem’s walls, and your gracious hand has been with me. Help me in the days and weeks ahead. I can’t do this without you.

  On his second day in Jerusalem, Nehemiah visited Ezra. He found the white-haired rebbe behind his worktable in the temple’s archives, nearly buried beneath piles of scrolls and clay tablets. Ezra looked up from his writing as Nehemiah introduced himself and greeted him with a smile and a warm welcome. “That explains the Persian soldiers down in the valley,” Ezra said. “I was hoping we weren’t going to be conquered a second time before I had a chance to finish writing my chronicles. Please, have a seat—if you can find one, that is—and tell me what brings you here.”

  Nehemiah cleared a stack of parchment from a chair and sat down, holding his papers on his lap. He showed Ezra the decree from King Artaxerxes with his appointment as governor. “I know you served as Judah’s governor in the past, Rebbe Ezra, so I came to ask if you had any advice for me.”

  Ezra leaned back in his seat, studying him for a moment. “I was essentially a spiritual leader,” he finally said, “entrusted with the task of religious reform. Not an easy job after more than one hundred years in exile. Babylon had invaded our people’s hearts and minds in ways that are much more insidious than the invasion of our land. I’m still not certain how much lasting progress I’ve made.”

  “My commission is a political one, not a religious one,” Nehemiah said. Once again, he decided not to mention his real mission until after he’d surveyed the walls and had drawn up a plan.

  “Judah needs a strong, decisive leader,” Ezra said. “But be prepared for opposition.”

  “From Judah’s enemies?”

  “Certainly from them. But also from some of the powerful landowners and noblemen among us who will see you as an outsider, infringing on their right to govern the land and the city.”

  Nehemiah was taken aback. “I wasn’t expecting resistance from our own people.”

  “You’ll get some, I’m sure. But once you’ve convinced them that you’re in charge, most of them will work with you.”

  He would need all of them to work with him; he couldn’t possibly accomplish such a huge task alone. “I stopped in Samaria on my way here and presented the king’s decree with my commission to Governor Sanballat, Tobiah the Ammonite, Geshem the Arab leader, and a few of the other neighboring rulers.”

  “A smart move on your part. But don’t trust our Gentile neighbors, not even for a second. Ever since this little patch of earth became a Jewish homeland again, they’ve been conspiring to accomplish what the Assyrians and the Babylonians and Haman the Agagite failed to do—which is to make sure every last Jew is buried in his grave. I recommend that you hold on to the Almighty One’s words to Joshua when he became the leader of our people: ‘Be strong and courageous—’”

  “‘Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged,’” Nehemiah finished, “‘for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.’”

  “Exactly. God also told Joshua not to make treaties with the Gentiles and not to intermarry with them. That’s still very good advice.”

  “Thank you, Rebbe. I’m grateful for your counsel. And I would be even more grateful for your prayers.” A sense of urgency made Nehemiah sit forward in his seat as he pictured Jerusalem’s crumbling walls. “So tell me, what’s the best way to win the support of the Jewish leaders and nobles?”

  “Don’t cater to them,” Ezra said, shaking his head. “Take a stand. Lead them. The civic leaders and the religious leaders each have their own special interests, and they don’t always agree with each other. If you try to walk a careful line between them, keeping them both placated, you’ll never accomplish anything. Neither side was happy when I announced my mission to enforce Torah law, but I ignored all of them and did the work God gave me to do. Make your decisions and stick to them.”

  “That’s good to know.” Nehemiah wouldn’t ask for their support in rebuilding the walls, he would expect it. Demand it. And if they refused, he would do it without their help.

  “Be careful whom you trust,” Ezra added. “Eliashib the high priest is the head of the religious leaders, but he has close ties with Governor Sanballat by marriage. Some of our civic leaders also have close connections with the Gentile nations around us.”

  “Do you think these men will act as spies, keeping an eye on me and reporting back?”

  “No doubt they will.”

  Nehemiah sat back in his chair again. “That’s sobering.”

  “Now let me ask you a question, if I may. Why you, Nehemiah ben Hacaliah? Why were you chosen to lead us?”

  “I wondered the same thing when I saw Jerusalem for the first time yesterday. I was living in Susa, serving as King Artaxerxes’ cupbearer, when my brother Hanani came with the Judean delegation. He told me about the situation here in the city, and ever since then, I couldn’t get Jerusalem out of my mind. I began fasting and praying, asking God what I could do, and He made a way for me to present my request to the king. Artaxerxes granted me a leave of absence and gave me a commission as governor. And here I am.”

  “Do you feel called by the Holy One for this task?”

  Nehemiah took a moment to reply. “Yes. Very much so.”

  “Good. Then don’t let anyone or anything discourage you or keep you from your mission. When the Almighty One gives us a job to do, we can expect two things: both strength and wisdom from God and opposition from His enemies. Be strong and very courageous. You’ll be in my prayers.”

  “Thank you, Rebbe. That means a great deal to me.” The strain Nehemiah had felt since arriving in Jerusalem lifted for just a moment, knowing he had Ezra’s support.

  “Now,” Ezra said, rising from his chair. “I would be very pleased if you would share dinner with my family and me this evening.”

  The invitation surprised Nehemiah. His responsibilities back in Susa had made it difficult for him to socialize. “I would be honored to come.”

  “Excellent. I’ll tell my wife, Devorah, to expect a guest.”

  Chapter

  11

  THE DISTRICT OF BETH HAKKEREM

  Every day Nava’s master, Malkijah, walked through the grounds of his estate, surveying his storehouses and flocks, vineyards and orchards, making sure that the work was being done exactly the way he wanted. He was firm with his servants but not cruel, and so far, Nava could find no fault with the way he treated her and the others. But he kept all of his servants on edge as they tried to perform their daily tasks to his high standards. This morning when Nava looked up from her work, she saw that he had brought his two sons, Aaron and Josef, on his inspection tour. When they stopped beside the pen where she and Shimon prepared to
milk the goats, the sight of all three of her masters watching her made her as skittish as a sparrow. Shimon hobbled over to greet the men as Nava led the first goat to the stool to be milked.

  “I see you still haven’t taken the flock out to the grazing lands, Shimon,” she heard Malkijah say.

  “Not enough water or food for them out there. We’d risk losing the weaker ones.”

  “But since they aren’t foraging, that means they’re eating more feed than usual for this time of year.”

  “That’s true, my lord.”

  Nava paused to hear what her master would say next, dreading what it might be. “Select my best milk goats, Shimon, and cull the rest.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  She closed her eyes as sorrow tightened her throat. Her goats were among the weakest. Raised under harsher conditions than her master’s, they didn’t produce as much milk. Even the small joy these “friends” from home had given her might soon be lost.

  She opened her eyes again, determined not to cry, and did her job quickly, coaxing out the last drops of milk. Then she waded into the herd to capture another goat and tethered it beside the low stool. Nava risked a glance at her masters as she sat down and saw Malkijah calling to the boy who helped clean the pens. He was ten years old and newly arrived from another desperate family who couldn’t repay their debts. The boy hurried over, standing mute with dread before his masters.

  “You’re supposed to say, ‘Here I am,’” Aaron told him.

  “He’s new here, Aaron,” Malkijah soothed. “Give him time to learn.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m teaching him,” Aaron said. “From now on, boy, when your master calls, you must drop what you’re doing and run to stand before him and say, ‘Here I am.’”

  The boy’s voice shook as he stammered, “H-here I am.” Nava understood his fear, and she ached for him.

  “You missed the corners,” Malkijah said, his voice kind, not harsh. He pointed to an area the boy had supposedly shoveled clean. “That isn’t good enough. Do it over again, please.”

  “Y-yes, my lord.” The boy nearly tripped over his own feet as he hurried to fetch the shovel. Nava rose to catch another goat, and she reached out to touch the boy’s shoulder as he passed, trying her best to give him a reassuring smile.

  “Shimon, that animal over there with the brown spots . . . is she limping?” Malkijah asked. It was one of Nava’s goats. How had her master seen the slight limp from clear across the enclosure?

  “One of the bigger goats pushed her against the fence,” Shimon replied. “I’m keeping my eye on her.”

  “Good. You may return to your work.”

  Shimon led another animal to his milking stool beside Nava’s and sank down on it with a grunt. He had told her that his joints gave him pain each time he sat down or stood up. “What’s taking so long, girlie?” he said in his customary growl. The old man’s gruffness meant nothing. By the end of her first week of work, Nava had discovered Shimon’s gentle nature beneath the gruff façade. “You have a nice way with the animals, girlie,” he had told her, and they had been friends ever since.

  “I wish our masters wouldn’t watch us,” she whispered.

  “Just ignore them and do your work.”

  She bent to her task, resting her forehead against the goat’s side.

  Across the pen, one of her master’s sons asked a question that Nava couldn’t hear. But she heard Malkijah’s response: “I worked hard for what I have. That’s why I want my sons to learn every aspect of running this estate firsthand. The two most important things to watch out for are laziness and waste. They not only will ruin us, but they are insults to the Holy One, who has helped us prosper.”

  There was no doubt at all that Master Malkijah’s estate was prosperous, his wealth unimaginable. His clothing came from the finest wool, the softest linen, dyed with the most expensive colors. He enjoyed plentiful food, and his servants ate well, too. But as Nava had already noticed, he reserved his harshest criticism for servants who were lazy or wasteful.

  “I’ll be working in my vineyard for the rest of the day,” he told his sons.

  “Do we have to come with you?” Josef asked. “It’s too hot out there.”

  Nava knew what it was like to work beneath the blazing summer sun, yet she had always been willing to help her father.

  “No, I want you to work with Shimon in the animal pens today. I want you to become familiar with everything he does and with the animals in his care. There is a great deal he can teach you.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “We promise.”

  Nava’s mouth went dry at the thought of being watched as she worked alongside Shimon all day. A few minutes later, Malkijah left for his vineyard, leaving his sons behind. Nava heard them laughing as they whispered together. They were up to something. The moment their father was out of sight, they turned their backs on the goat pen and walked away. “Don’t you dare tell our father,” Aaron called over his shoulder to Shimon as he sauntered toward the house, “or you’ll be sorry.”

  Their disobedience stunned Nava. She thought of Dan and of her own two brothers. They would never dream of doing such a thing or being so disrespectful to their father. She and Shimon finished the milking, and as she carried the wooden buckets of fresh goats’ milk to Penina in the kitchen, she heard laughter coming from Malkijah’s wine cellar. Aaron and Josef emerged from inside the cavelike interior, each with a skin of stolen wine. Nava tried to look away and pretend she hadn’t seen them but she was too late.

  “Hey! Goat girl,” Josef called. “You didn’t see us, understand?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “He’s right,” Aaron agreed. “You saw that worthless goat herder, Shimon, stealing our father’s wine, didn’t you.”

  As soon as they disappeared, Nava hurried into the kitchen courtyard with the milk buckets and told Penina what she had seen.

  “Do exactly what they said and stay out of it,” Penina said. “Our master will believe his sons before he’ll ever believe you.”

  Rachel, who had been working alongside Penina, huddled close to Nava, keeping her voice low. “And the sons will take revenge if you tell on them. I’ve seen it happen before.”

  “But Shimon will be wrongly accused.”

  “It won’t be the first time one of us was,” Penina said. “Stay out of it.” She moved away toward the hearth.

  But Nava stayed right beside her, still carrying the milk. “Wouldn’t our master want to know that his sons are liars and thieves? What kind of men will they become?”

  “He has spoiled them ever since their mother died, and he’s blind to their faults. I’m warning you to stay out of it. Go do your job now, and take care of the milk. Keep your mouth shut and your head down.”

  When Nava returned to the goat pen late that afternoon at milking time, Aaron and Josef stood leaning against the wall of the enclosure as if they had worked with the animals the entire day. She heard their father praising them for their hard work when he arrived home, and they all went inside together for the evening meal. The outward perfection of her master’s estate had been deceiving—like a fresh fig that looked juicy and succulent on the outside but crawled with worms when cut open.

  The next day Aaron was already waiting outside the goat pen when Nava arrived for the morning milking. He watched as she did her chores, then showed up again for the evening milking. He did the same the next day and the next until she realized that he wasn’t overseeing the animals, he was watching her. At first she thought it was because she had seen him stealing the wine, and he wanted to send her a message. And maybe that was the reason in the beginning. But the look she saw in his eyes as he followed her every move wasn’t a threatening look. Her master’s son stared at her the way a glutton surveys a banquet of food. Nava knew exactly what Aaron wanted, and her growing panic made her so upset she couldn’t eat.

  When Aaron reappeared on the fourth morning as Nava sat down on the milk
ing stool, her hands trembled so badly she couldn’t squeeze out any milk. The goat seemed to sense her nervousness and backed away, nearly upsetting the wooden bucket. “It’s all right,” she said, stroking the animal’s flank. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She knotted her hands into fists to try to control their shaking, but the milk still wouldn’t come when she tried again. Shimon led over the next goat and caught her glancing up at Master Aaron.

  “Him again, eh?” He tethered his goat to the post and shuffled over to where Aaron stood. “Do you need something, Master Aaron?”

  “No. I just enjoy watching your pretty little goat princess.”

  A surge of fear made Nava pull the teat too hard. The goat bleated and kicked, upsetting the bucket and spilling the milk. Nava quickly righted it then leaned her head against the goat’s side, trying not to cry. She would be in trouble for certain. There was nothing Master Malkijah hated more than wastefulness. “Don’t worry about it, girlie,” Shimon soothed as he sat down again. “That goat gets ornery sometimes.” He swatted the animal’s hindquarters, sending her out into the pen with the others.

  Later, after the milking was done and Aaron was gone, Nava went to Shimon, who was holding one of her goats, gently examining her sore foot. “I’m sorry about spilling the milk this morning, but Master Aaron makes me nervous when he watches me like that.”

  “Just ignore him.”

  Penina had warned her to keep quiet about what she’d seen, but Shimon had cared for her like a second father, and Nava couldn’t hold her secret any longer. “Shimon . . . there’s something you should know. I saw our master’s sons stealing some of his wine. They told me to keep quiet about it, and I did. But . . . but they said if Malkijah noticed it was missing, they would accuse you of stealing it.”

  Shimon gave his usual growl of disgust. “I’ve known Aaron since the day he was born. His father spoiled him too much after his mother died.”

  “I don’t want you to get into trouble. What should I do?”

  “Nothing any of us can do.”