On This Foundation

by Lynn Austin

  “The Torah forbids laymen like me to enter the temple. I won’t transgress the law, even to save my life.”

  “It’s permissible to violate the Torah in order to save a life. Please, Governor. I urge you to hurry! Do you want to die?”

  Nehemiah couldn’t deny the panic he felt. His heart pounded wildly and fear tightened his chest. But Shemaiah’s plan seemed wrong. “Wouldn’t you also be violating the Torah if you went inside with me? Your life isn’t in danger.”

  “No . . . but . . .” He didn’t have an answer to that.

  He was a false prophet, Nehemiah realized. No true prophet would ever urge someone to disobey the law. A true prophet would encourage him to place his life in God’s hands and have faith in His power. Nehemiah stepped back from the gate. “God didn’t send you. You’re prophesying against me because Tobiah and Sanballat hired you.”

  Shemaiah had trouble meeting his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. God warned me that you’re in danger. His sanctuary is the only safe place for you.”

  “No,” Nehemiah said, growing more certain now. “No, you were hired to intimidate me so I’d commit a sin by doing this. You want to discredit me by enticing me to violate the Torah.”

  “You’re making a big mistake, Governor Nehemiah. God did tell me to warn you. Don’t ignore His message. Your life is in danger.”

  “It’s probably true that my life is in danger. But God speaks to us through His Torah, and He doesn’t contradict Himself. He is able to rescue me from my enemies, if He chooses, and I won’t have to violate the Torah to do it.”

  “Listen to me, I beg you.” Shemaiah’s voice became more high-pitched as he grew frantic. Perhaps Tobiah and the others would pay him only if he succeeded. “The people need you to lead them, Governor. They’re hoping you’ll restore David’s throne and the kingdom of Judah.”

  “If God truly intends for me to be king, He’ll protect me the way He protected David from King Saul. David never disobeyed the Torah to save his life. And he refused to murder Saul, even when he had two chances to do it, because the Torah forbade it. I’m not going to do this cowardly thing, Shemaiah. I’m going to trust God.”

  He turned and walked home without looking back. Even with guards by his side, Nehemiah felt afraid and badly shaken—whether from the temptation he had narrowly avoided or from the raw fear Shemaiah had instilled in him, he didn’t know. Perhaps both. He strode through the dark streets with heightened senses, alert to every sound, scanning the shadows for movement.

  When he reached home, Nehemiah and his guards carefully inspected each room and hallway and courtyard before entering them. His brothers were still awake and wanted to hear what Shemaiah had to say. “He was a false prophet, probably hired by Sanballat and Tobiah to scare me into violating the Torah,” he told them. “If I had entered the holy sanctuary as he was urging me to do, I would have forfeited my right to govern. When Judah’s kings disobeyed the Torah, their sin led the entire nation into exile.”

  “Why did he want you to enter the sanctuary?” Ephraim asked.

  “He said my life was in danger and that my enemies were coming to kill me tonight.”

  “Do you believe that’s true?” Hanani asked.

  “Even if it is, I’m not going to hide inside the temple.”

  “We’ll stay awake with you and stand guard,” Ephraim offered.

  “Thank you, but no. You should guard your families. I’m choosing to trust God.” Nehemiah went into his bedchamber alone and closed the door. The room felt stuffy with all the window shutters bolted, but he felt safer that way. Should he remain awake all night? Would he even be able to sleep if he did lie down? The only way to dispel his terrible fear, Nehemiah realized, was to pray.

  Whether he lived or died, his life was in God’s hands as it had been ever since he was a child. Yes, evil existed, but God was in control. Nehemiah stood in front of his window, facing the temple, and closed his eyes as he lifted his hands in prayer. Remember Tobiah and Sanballat, O my God, because of what they have done; remember Shemaiah, and the rest of the people who have been trying to intimidate me. Strengthen my hands, O Lord, so I can complete the work you’ve given me to do.

  When he finished praying, Nehemiah felt at peace. God had brought him here to build the wall, and He would keep him safe until it was finished. Nehemiah lay down in his bed and slept through the night.

  He woke up rested the next morning and went up to the temple with his brothers for the morning sacrifice. Afterward, as they were getting ready to descend the stairs, Hanani stopped him and pointed to the western horizon. “Nehemiah, look!”

  A jolt of alarm quickened his heart. Was it enemy soldiers? Should he find a trumpeter and sound the alarm?

  “Clouds, Nehemiah!” Hanani said, nudging him. “Those are storm clouds on the horizon, coming from the Great Sea. This is the season for the early rains—and they’re coming!”

  Nehemiah was speechless. He gazed at the distant splotch of gray that marred the vast expanse of blue sky, unable to move until Ephraim nudged him again. “We’d better finish that last gate before we all get soaked.”

  They hurried down through the city to the very bottom of the ridge, to the Dung Gate, Malkijah’s gate, the last one to be completed. It took all morning for the first door to be lifted and maneuvered into place. Nehemiah stood inside the wall with his brothers and Malkijah, watching as the workers hung it on its hinges. The workers swung it open and closed a few times, testing the massive iron hinges, then prepared to repeat the process with the second door. By noon, clouds covered the entire sky, lowering over Jerusalem like a gray blanket. A damp wind had begun to blow, and Nehemiah saw rain slanting from the clouds on the distant hills.

  By the time the second door was hung, the rain fell steadily. No one bothered to take shelter. Nehemiah heard children laughing nearby as they splashed in the puddles and lifted their faces to catch raindrops on their tongues. He felt like laughing with them. The wall was finished and the workmen could return home to plow their fields, the earth now softened by the rain. He watched as the second door swung slowly closed to meet the first one. A great cheer went up as the iron bars lowered into place as they would every night from now on. After standing in ruins for nearly a century and a half, Jerusalem’s wall and gates were finished.

  All around him, people were cheering—and getting soaked. Rain plastered Nehemiah’s hair to his head and rolled down his face. His clothes were as wet as if he had jumped into a river. He didn’t care. The ruined city was no longer a disgrace. The God of Israel was glorified.

  “What day is it today?” he asked Hanani.

  His brother thought for a moment. “The twenty-fifth day of Elul.”

  They had completed the wall in fifty-two days. A miracle! Less than six months had passed since King Artaxerxes had granted Nehemiah’s request. Only two months had passed since he’d arrived in Jerusalem. And in five more days it would be Rosh Hashanah, the start of a new year.

  “When our enemies hear about this,” Nehemiah said, “all the surrounding nations will be afraid and lose their self-confidence. They’ll know that this work was accomplished with the help of our powerful God.”

  “And the nobles’ conspiracy?” Malkijah asked him quietly.

  “They can no longer deny that the hand of God is upon me. Perhaps once they realize that, they’ll fear Him, as well.”

  Nehemiah resolved to no longer live in fear. His guards could return to their homes. It didn’t matter if he died now that his work was done. And clearly, the Almighty One was with him. It was time to go home and get out of the rain. Dry off. Change his clothes.

  “Governor Nehemiah,” a voice called to him as he started walking up the hill toward his residence. “What’s next?” The question had come from the crowd of people who continued to follow him nearly everywhere he went.

  “Rosh Hashanah is next,” he replied. “The beginning of a new year. We’ll celebrate the fall feasts, an
d after that we’ll dedicate the new wall.” He wished he knew for certain what would come after that.

  “Are the prophets right? Are you going to be our king?”

  It was a question he continued to wrestle with. After working day and night these past few months, it was only natural to feel at a loss now that his all-consuming task of building the wall was complete. Would God give him another job to do to make use of his energy and leadership skills?

  “A king in Judah . . . A king in Judah,” the crowd began to chant.

  Nehemiah didn’t reply as he continued up the hill. Maybe his work wasn’t finished after all. He knew he would have the full support of the people as their king and could continue to defeat Judah’s enemies with the Almighty One’s help. After organizing the work on the wall, it would be a simple matter to organize and train an army. He could start with the brave volunteers who’d waited in ambush with him to surprise their attackers. With an army and a walled city and a crown, he might be able to win his nation’s freedom from the Persians.

  The chanting crowd followed him all the way to his residence. “A king in Judah . . . A king in Judah!”

  And Nehemiah realized how badly he wanted it to be true.

  Part III

  Extol the LORD, O Jerusalem;

  praise your God, O Zion,

  for he strengthens the bars of your gates

  and blesses your people within you.

  PSALM 147:12–13

  Chapter

  52

  JERUSALEM

  Chana thought of Yitzhak as Sarah and Yudit helped her dress for her wedding. She could barely picture Yitzhak’s face anymore or recall the sound of his voice or his laughter, the memories eroded by time. She had prepared the garment she now wore for a marriage that had never taken place. Chana had been blindly, joyously in love with Yitzhak, and she knew she didn’t feel that same love for Malkijah. “Would you be willing to settle for contentment? For companionship?” Malkijah had once asked her. She had replied, “Yes, I believe I could find contentment here with you.” And as she’d gotten to know him these past months, she had even more reason now to believe they would be happy together.

  “You look beautiful,” Sarah told her. Chana gazed at her reflection in the bronze mirror and saw a woman whose happiness on her wedding day had indeed made her beautiful.

  “It’s a pity we have to cover you up with this veil,” Yudit teased as she placed it on Chana’s head.

  “Wait! Don’t cover her up yet,” Abba said, hobbling into the room with his cane. “I want to see my beautiful daughter one last time before she leaves our nest to become Malkijah’s wife.” He kissed both of her cheeks, and they hugged each other tightly. Chana didn’t want to cry, but she remembered how she’d wondered if Abba would live to see this day. She saw tears in his eyes, too. “I know Malkijah isn’t your first choice for a husband—” he began.

  “But he’ll be a very good one,” she quickly finished, not wanting to be reminded of Yitzhak again. “I’m happy with your choice, Abba.”

  “There’s just one thing,” he said, lowering his voice. “I wish your mother were here to talk to you about . . . about what to expect . . .”

  Chana laughed and laid her palms on his pale, round cheeks, now flushed with embarrassment. “Don’t worry, Abba. The women in your district have filled in for Mama with all the advice I’ll ever need.”

  “Good. Good . . . Shall we go out to the courtyard? Are you ready?”

  Chana nodded, and they walked outside together to the vine-covered chair where she would wait for her bridegroom. Friends and relatives filled their courtyard, waiting with her for Malkijah’s procession to arrive.

  “The rain stopped just in time,” Yudit said, lifting her palms to the sky. “I didn’t want to pray for it to clear up since we need rain so badly, but the Holy One is smiling down on you, Chana.”

  She gazed at the western sky above the wall she had helped rebuild and saw the clouds slowly parting around the setting sun. The evening promised to be clear and dry. “Maybe our wedding feast will be lit with moonlight,” she said.

  They had decided to get married in Malkijah’s Jerusalem home instead of his estate in Beth Hakkerem out of consideration for her father, who still tired easily. And perhaps it was better to be married in a different home than the one where Malkijah had wed his first wife. Chana also thought it best to keep Aaron away from the estate for a while longer. She wondered how he and Josef felt about their father’s marriage, how they would adjust to having her in their home. These thoughts weren’t supposed to occupy her on her wedding day, but they did.

  Before long, Chana heard the joyful music of Malkijah’s procession as it made its way down the Street of the Bakers, growing louder, closer. Her heart raced in time to the music as the people around her clapped and sang with the musicians. Malkijah arrived dressed like a prince, smiling and handsome as he came through the gate. She wondered for a moment if he was thinking about his first wife, Rebecca—remembering her the way Chana had thought of Yitzhak. It didn’t matter if he did. It was good to recall the people they’d loved. But as Abba once said, she needed to live in the present—and trust the Holy One for her future.

  Malkijah stopped in front of her and lifted her veil, making Chana smile at this traditional reminder of their ancestor Jacob. He hadn’t taken a close look at his bride and had been deceived into marrying Leah instead of his beloved Rachel. Malkijah took Chana’s hands and helped her to her feet. The music became even livelier and more joyful as they paraded up the hill together to his home. It seemed as though everyone in Jerusalem had come out to watch the procession, clapping and singing with the musicians, small children skipping ahead of them along the path.

  The courtyard of Malkijah’s home had been transformed. “It’s so beautiful,” she murmured. “Like Gan Eden.” A canopy stood in the middle of it, decorated with vines and palm branches. Linen cloths covered the tables, spread with a banquet of food prepared for their wedding feast. Malkijah opened jars of his famous wine so guests could toast the new bride and groom. Chana stood with Malkijah beneath the canopy and vowed to be his wife for as long as they both lived.

  Afterward, the feast began, with music and laughter and plentiful food beneath the starlit sky. Chana couldn’t imagine a more perfect celebration or a more perfect evening shared with her family and friends. Even Governor Nehemiah had come at their request, looking content and relaxed for once. The only shadow on the festivities came when Chana glimpsed Aaron watching from the doorway. She’d face challenges in the months and years to come. But she and Malkijah would get through the hard times together, God helping them.

  Very late in the evening, Malkijah took Chana’s hand and led her into the bridal chamber. He took her into his arms and pulled her close, looking into her eyes for a long moment before bending to kiss her. As his lips met hers for the first time, Chana felt the strangest, most wonderful sensation—as if her insides were melting. “What are you thinking about, my beautiful bride?” he asked when their lips parted again.

  She smiled up at him. “I was thinking how wonderful that kiss felt. . . . And how much I wished you would kiss me again.”

  Malkijah granted her wish.

  Chapter

  53

  JERUSALEM

  Nehemiah rarely left his residence on Shabbat to go anywhere except the temple. But now that the wall and gates were finished, his brother Ephraim had moved his family back to their modest home at the southern end of the city. He’d invited Nehemiah to share the noon meal with him, and they were walking down the Street of the Bakers together after the Sabbath morning sacrifice when they were halted by a caravan of merchants entering through the Valley Gate. A string of donkeys blocked the road, swaying beneath huge loads, carrying jars of wine and baskets of grapes and figs. Unbelievably, a second caravan followed right behind it, the pungent odor betraying its cargo of fresh fish.

  “What’s going on?” Nehemiah asked in astonishment
. “They’re bringing all this into Jerusalem on the Sabbath?”

  “They’re heathens,” Ephraim said with a shrug. “They don’t observe a day of rest.”

  “I need to do something about this.” Nehemiah spotted the lead driver, more nicely dressed than the others, and called, “Stop! You, there—stop right where you are!” The ponderous caravan drew to a halt in the middle of the street. “I’m Nehemiah ben Hacaliah, governor of the province of Judah. Who are you? Where are you coming from?”

  “These goods are from Tyre, but the merchants who sell them to the people of Judah live here in Jerusalem.”

  “If your merchants live here, they should know that every seventh day is a Sabbath day of rest when all work must stop. You cannot bring your goods into Jerusalem or sell them on the Sabbath.”

  The man took a stubborn stance, arms crossed. “This is news to me. The officials who governed this province before you never stopped us. In fact, Judah’s nobility has a vested interest in our trade being successful.”

  “Not anymore. This practice must stop. There will be no more buying or selling on the Sabbath day—starting today.”

  “That’s absurd! Even your fellow Jews don’t follow such a law. Go out to some of their villages and see for yourself. The men of Judah tread their winepresses seven days a week and harvest their grain and olive crops, too. They’ll be clamoring to buy my fish today as soon as we set up our booths in the marketplace.”

  “No, they won’t. Not today. Turn your animals around and go right back out through that gate.” Nehemiah planted himself squarely in front of the lead pack animal, blocking the way into the city.

  “What are we supposed to do outside the gate? We have fresh fish to sell.”

  “You’ll have to wait until the sun sets and the Sabbath day ends. And if your cargo spoils, you’ll learn a valuable lesson for next time.” When the driver glared at him, not moving, Nehemiah grabbed the donkey’s bridle and started turning the animal himself.