On This Foundation

by Lynn Austin

  “A handsome exterior without warmth or grace is like a gold ring in a pig’s snout.”

  “Chana! You’re terrible!” Sarah said.

  “Oh, go to sleep.”

  Chapter

  13

  JERUSALEM

  Nehemiah had been in Jerusalem for three days and still hadn’t inspected the ruined walls or come up with a plan for rebuilding them. Nor had he told a soul why he had come all this way and what he intended to do. Tonight, as he’d dined with Jerusalem’s two district rulers, he’d been reminded again of the young bridegroom’s murder. When Shallum’s daughter asked what he planned to do about it, her question stabbed his conscience like a knife. Guilt for failing to come up with a response plunged the knife deeper. He felt a measure of relief when the woman finally left the table and didn’t return.

  Now, standing in the street beneath a universe of stars, Nehemiah recognized the true source of his irritation with Shallum’s daughter: Like him, she had also lost someone she loved, someone who’d been helpless and unarmed when attacked in the night. Nehemiah had looked away from her, recognizing her anger and grief. They were as familiar as his face in the mirror. He longed to assure her that he would rebuild the walls of Jerusalem if he had to lift every stone into place with his own two hands, but he couldn’t reply to her question just yet. He couldn’t reveal what God had put on his heart to do, because he didn’t know who to trust. Rebbe Ezra warned of enemy spies among his own leaders.

  The full moon rose as they’d dined, and it lit up the night as he and his three young aides, Jehohanan, Rehum, and Levi, left Shallum’s house. In fact, the sky was nearly as bright as in the hours just before dawn, making it easy to walk down the Street of the Bakers to his brother’s house. Nehemiah halted abruptly. Why not inspect the walls right now, tonight, while the city slept? The full moon certainly made it light enough to see his way. “Do any of you know where I could borrow a mule or a donkey?” he asked the men accompanying him.

  “Of course, Governor,” Jehohanan replied. “I’ll make sure you have one first thing tomorrow.”

  “I need the mule now. There’s something I need to do tonight. Out there.” He pointed beyond the ragged stump of wall. He wouldn’t wait until morning. He would survey the ruins now, when no one was watching. He would have liked to take his brothers along, knowing he could trust them. But after being reminded of the dangers tonight, he made up his mind not to involve them. He had come to Jerusalem to protect them and their families.

  His aides didn’t respond, perhaps wondering if they’d misunderstood. It occurred to Nehemiah that the men might be afraid. “You don’t need to come with me,” he told them. “All I need is a mount.”

  “My father-in-law, Meshullam, owns a mule,” Jehohanan finally said. “He lives near the Horse Gate, on the Hill of Ophel. It’s not far from here.”

  “Excellent. I would be grateful if he would let me borrow the animal.” Nehemiah’s anticipation grew as they climbed the Hill of Ophel and arrived at the house, just below the temple mount. Jehohanan managed to awaken the sleeping family without causing too much alarm, and the mule, which had been tethered inside the courtyard of the home to discourage thieves, was quickly prepared for Nehemiah to ride. The animal had a long, broad back, sturdy legs, and withers as high as Nehemiah’s chin. He stroked its elegant muzzle, understanding why its owner would hide such a fine mount.

  “You don’t need to accompany me,” he repeated as his aides led the mule outside and helped him climb onto its back.

  “Where are you going, my lord?” Rehum asked.

  He decided he would have to trust them. “I want to take a closer look at Jerusalem’s walls. Or what’s left of them, that is. I plan to ride in a circuit around the outside of the city.” Surprisingly, none of them questioned him further and all three volunteered to come.

  “The Valley Gate is the easiest one to ride through, my lord, if you want to begin there,” Jehohanan said.

  “Very well.” They left the city through the shadowy hole where the Valley Gate once stood, and Nehemiah guessed by examining the ruins that it had once been a wide, casemate gate with chambers for the guards and probably a lookout tower on top. They passed through it in single file, the wide roadway blocked by huge, fallen stones, and emerged outside the city in the central valley that ran along the western side of the Jerusalem ridge.

  Ahead, on the hill to the west of the city, lay the section his brother called the Mishneh, demolished by the Babylonian army and never rebuilt. Nehemiah could see that the huge area had once been enclosed by walls, forming a semicircle around the now-ruined houses, and that it had been joined to the walls that surrounded the City of David. There would be no point in rebuilding the Mishneh’s walls since no one lived there. Too bad, since double walls provided a formidable defense, a double barrier of protection on Jerusalem’s vulnerable western side.

  Nehemiah gazed up at the full moon as his mule plodded forward. No walls would ever be strong enough to save his people without the Holy One on their side. Even if Nehemiah did everything in his power to ensure his people’s physical safety, his efforts would be worthless unless they remained faithful to God. Repentance and restoration must go hand in hand.

  Outside the gate, Nehemiah decided to direct his mount along the wall toward the south, moving slowly enough for the three men to follow him. He passed a long stretch of ruined wall, sloping downhill, that had no openings for gates. Insects whirred in the dusty night, then fell silent at the sound of footsteps. The dry air made the hairs on Nehemiah’s arms stand on end. He saw trampled earth and the remains of campfires in the place where his Persian escort had camped before returning to Susa. “What is the reservoir in this valley called?” he asked.

  “The King’s Pool, my lord. It’s at the very southern tip of the city. You can probably get a better glimpse of it in a minute.”

  Nehemiah saw the enormity of the task ahead of him. Not only were the collapsed walls ineffective, but the jumble of toppled stones formed a massive blockade, making it impossible for him to get near the base of the walls on his mule. It would require a great deal of effort for a building crew to wade through the boulders. And it would be a very dangerous place to work once they began shifting the fallen blocks. Yet a determined enemy could scramble right over the debris and enter the city.

  Nehemiah rode on toward the bottom of the slope, where the waters of the King’s Pool sparkled like stars in the moonlight. He halted again when he reached another gaping hole, marking the place where a gate once stood. The rubble covered an immense area, and he saw that the wall surrounding the Mishneh once joined the walls of David’s city here.

  “That was called the Dung Gate,” one of the men told him. His voice sounded unnaturally loud as it broke the vast stillness of the night.

  “And is that the Hinnom Valley, down there?” Nehemiah asked.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The place where people sacrificed their children to Molech. No wonder the Almighty One allowed this city to be destroyed. Nehemiah spurred the mule forward.

  He had wanted to see if the walls could be repaired and reinforced or if they were so badly demolished that he would need to start over. Now, as he took a closer look, it encouraged him to see that the foundations were in good shape in most places. He would be able to build on top of them. Some sections would need only to be shored up and reinforced. Other sections, which stood at half their original height, could possibly be repaired. But in many places the wall was so broken down that the mule could have stepped right over it if the path hadn’t been strewn with crumbled blocks of burnt stone. He would need to completely rebuild those sections from the ground up. And he would need to replace all of the gates. Not one of them remained, the timbers burned by fire in the great destruction of Jerusalem.

  Nehemiah rounded the southernmost tip of the city and moved up the Gihon Valley toward the Fountain Gate. The dark outline of the ridge known as the Mount of Olives stood across
the valley to the east. But he didn’t get far, his way blocked by so much debris that his mount didn’t have enough room to get through. The animal balked, refusing to clamber over the tumbled piles of stones. Nehemiah dismounted and continued on foot, climbing over the debris to examine the wall, aware of the danger of vipers and scorpions hidden in the crevices. Halfway up the valley he halted, too exhausted to proceed any further, and gazed at the long stretch of fallen wall in the moonlight. “Why so much rubble?” he wondered aloud.

  “There used to be supporting terraces on this eastern side because of the steepness of the slope,” Jehohanan replied. “But the terraces collapsed in the fire.”

  “And storms and rain and time did the rest of the damage, I suppose.” The crumbled terraces had avalanched down the slope, cutting off Nehemiah’s route. It would be even more challenging to reclaim the boulders and rebuild here than on the city’s western side. From the top of the temple mount, Nehemiah had seen the steep cliffs on this eastern side of the ridge. Along with the deep Gihon Valley, they once formed a natural defense against the enemy. But no longer. His enemies could scale the cliffs by climbing up the slope of fallen rocks.

  He returned to where they had tethered the mule, and his men helped him into the saddle. Nehemiah tugged the reins to turn the mule around. “Let’s retrace our steps,” he told the men. When they reached the Valley Gate once again, Nehemiah rode past it toward the north, ascending the slope toward the temple mount. He counted at least four more gates in this section of the city below the temple, the place where the main roads from the Mediterranean Coast, Samaria, and Damascus all converged. He identified the location of the gates by the gaps in the ruined walls and the remains of crumbled towers. Once again, he had to halt when the path became too littered with rubble for the mule to proceed. The fact that he could see the temple’s rooftop in the moonlight made him angry. The fortifications around Jerusalem should include fortified walls around the holy temple.

  Finally, Nehemiah turned back and re-entered Jerusalem through the Valley Gate. It had taken several hours to complete their journey and his men looked weary. They helped him slide off the mule, and he walked with them to return it to its owner. Afterward, they stood together in the moonlit street outside Ephraim’s house.

  “I haven’t told any of the priests or nobles or officials what I came here to do,” he said. “And I’m counting on the three of you to keep this confidential until I announce it. . . . But I intend to rebuild Jerusalem’s walls.” He saw surprise and disbelief, and maybe even doubt on their faces.

  “It will be a monumental task, my lord,” Jehohanan said. “It will take years—”

  “No, it won’t. It can’t take years. We don’t have years to spare. We need to rebuild quickly before our enemies try to stop us.”

  “Do you really think it can be done?” Jehohanan asked.

  “Yes. And it will be done—God helping us. Good night, gentlemen.”

  Nehemiah lay in bed later that night, trying to sleep, and the enormity of the task did seem overwhelming. Every time he closed his eyes he envisioned avalanches of tumbling stones, stones that weighed so much a man couldn’t lift them, stones that could shift and pin a man beneath their impossible weight. In spite of the assurances he’d given his aides, his midnight survey had discouraged him.

  But Nehemiah’s anger outweighed his discouragement. Anger at seeing Jerusalem in such a state. Anger that the ruins disgraced God’s reputation, making Him seem powerless to defend His people. Yes, the task seemed impossible. But Nehemiah served a God of the impossible.

  He climbed out of bed again and stood at the window that faced the temple mount. It wasn’t visible from here, even in the moonlight, but Nehemiah closed his eyes and lifted his hands in prayer.

  “Lord, you made a way for me to approach the king with my petition. You gave me favor in his sight. Help me now, I pray. Help me rebuild this wall and make your city and your people and your holy temple safe from our enemies. May Jerusalem’s wall stand as a monument to your immeasurable grace.”

  Chapter

  14

  JERUSALEM

  Chana dreaded changing into her good linen robe. The fabric would be scratchy, and her skin already itched with sweat. At least she didn’t have to light a fire and cook a meal tonight. The sun was finally setting after a day that had been oppressively hot, and the evening promised little relief. They would need to hurry on their journey to Malkijah’s estate in Beth Hakkerem, making the most of the fading daylight before darkness fell and travel became dangerous. Thankfully, Malkijah would provide a cart and animals and several trusted servants for the journey. After dinner, Chana and her family would spend the night as his guests.

  She turned to her sisters, who looked boneless from the heat, lounging in the scant shade of their courtyard roof. “I feel like I’m melting,” Yudit said.

  “Well, come on. It’s time to get washed and change our clothes. Malkijah’s servants will be here soon, and so will Abba. We need to be ready to go. Have you decided what you’re going to pack?” Neither of her sisters moved. They exchanged glances as if sharing a secret. “What are you waiting for? Come on, we need to get dressed.”

  “We’re not coming with you, Chana,” Yudit said. “We’re staying home.”

  Chana thought it was a joke. “No, you’re not. We already accepted Malkijah’s invitation. He’s expecting us.”

  “Actually, he’s only expecting you and Abba to come.”

  Chana walked to where they sat and stood over them, looking down at them, waiting for them to start laughing at the surprise on her face. But neither sister smiled. “If this is your idea of a joke, it isn’t funny. We don’t have time to fool around like this.”

  “It’s true, Chana,” Yudit said. “Sarah and I are staying home so Malkijah won’t have to be attentive to so many people. You’ll have more time to get to know him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t stay home all alone.”

  “We won’t be alone. Abba made arrangements for us. This was his idea.”

  “Just go and have a nice time,” Sarah added.

  Chana felt knocked off balance. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” But she already knew the answer. She never would have agreed to go alone and be the focus of Malkijah’s attention if they had told her. It was too much like courting, and she still wasn’t sure that she wanted to court Malkijah or anyone else. Now it was too late to back out. She needed to take her own advice and hurry to get ready. She fought the urge to stomp her foot like a child. “I’m furious with both of you,” she said as she strode into her room.

  Her first trip to Beth Hakkerem was not getting off to a very good start. She yanked off her clothes and tossed them onto the floor. Splashed water on her face. Wiggled into her itchy linen robe. Dragged a comb through her hair. It wasn’t until she saw her angry face reflected in the mirror that she pulled herself together. Grief over Itzhak’s death was one thing; self-pity was an entirely different emotion, an ugly emotion. And she was dangerously close to drowning in it. She pulled her head above its dangerous waters just in time, drawing a deep breath and releasing it in a sigh as she heard Abba arrive home. A few minutes later, Malkijah’s servants arrived.

  Several times on the nearly hour-long journey, Chana had been about to scold her father and let him know just how angry she was for pushing her into this dinner in the first place, then arranging for her to have Malkijah’s undivided attention. But in the end, she remained silent. Abba loved her. He wanted only what was best for her, and he truly believed that Malkijah might be her last chance at happiness. They reached his home just as the light began to fade in the western sky, and what she could see of the estate in the twilight looked magnificent. Neatly terraced vineyards covered the surrounding hills. From the top of the rise where his huge stone house perched, she could see rolling farmland and distant valleys. Malkijah greeted them at the gate and took them on a quick tour of his winery. He showed them his barns and
storehouses and animals, and the beautiful guest rooms where she and her father would spend the night. The pride he took in everything he owned was written all over his face, and Chana thought he’d never looked quite so handsome.

  “I hope you will relax and enjoy yourselves this evening,” he said. “My servants have prepared a feast for you.”

  It was indeed a feast. They dined in a lovely outdoor courtyard beneath a vine-covered trellis, and the air seemed cooler in the hilly district of Beth Hakkerem than it had in Chana’s stuffy house in Jerusalem. Malkijah’s two sons, Aaron and Josef, joined them for dinner, and Chana was relieved to see that they were older than she’d imagined—perhaps sixteen and seventeen. She needn’t worry about trying to mother them if she did decide to marry Malkijah. They were well past the age of needing a mother.

  Malkijah’s home was the loveliest she’d ever visited; the meal, the most extravagant she’d ever eaten. Food fit for a king. Yet even as she sat at Malkijah’s table, waited on by his attentive servants, eating his delicacies, she determined not to let his wealth dazzle her. The promise of great riches seemed empty without love. A thought occurred to her as she took in her luxurious surroundings, and she spoke it out loud. “It’s hard to believe that such wealth still exists when the drought has gone on for so long.”

  “Chana’s right. How do you manage it?” Abba asked.

  “I’m fortunate to have enough manpower to keep my vineyards and gardens watered. There are several springs on my property and a small pond I can draw from.”

  “You’re also fortunate,” Chana said, “to have watchtowers in your vineyards and a wall surrounding your home. And servants to stand guard.” Malkijah and his sons wouldn’t be murdered in the night as they tried to defend their property the way Yitzhak had been.

  “I recognize the need for vigilance,” he said. “There are Gentile settlements all around us. I’d never forgive myself if one of my sons or my servants was injured on my estate. Their safety is very important to me.”