by Lynn Austin
The knowledge of what Hephzibah had done would always remind Jerusha of her own pain and loss, and she didn’t want to be reminded. But Hephzibah was manipulating Jerusha’s emotions, trying to drive her away, and she resented it.
“The Assyrians raped me,” she said angrily. “I had their child, a little girl. But they took her away from me before she was even a day old, and they sacrificed her to their gods. I’m weeping for her!”
“Then go home and weep for her there. I don’t need your friendship.”
What God had asked Jerusha to do was too hard. Hephzibah would have to find forgiveness through someone else. Jerusha stood and walked to the door. But before it closed behind her, she heard Hephzibah say, “You won’t ever come back.”
On the long walk home, Jerusha’s ragged emotions had a chance to knit themselves together. She had handled the visit poorly, allowing Hephzibah to manipulate her instead of taking the lead. By the time Jerusha reached home, she knew that Hephzibah’s final challenge meant that she must return to see her again, even though she didn’t know where she would find the courage to do it. She entered her front door deep in thought and hung up her shawl. When Eliakim walked into the hallway carrying little Jerimoth on his shoulders, he startled her.
“Eliakim! You’re home early—what’s wrong?”
He slid Jerimoth down to the floor, then spread his palms in the air and smiled. “You always ask that! Does it take a tragedy to bring me home early once in a while?”
He looked so handsome with his boyish grin and tousled hair that her heart swelled with love. She thought of how Hephzibah had lost her husband’s love, how she would never see him or hold him close again, and she rushed into Eliakim’s arms, clinging to him.
“Remind me to come home early more often!” he said, laughing. But as he bent to kiss her, he noticed her tears. “Jerusha? You’re crying! What’s wrong?”
“I-I love you so much!”
“Is that such a sad state of affairs? Am I that difficult to live with?”
“If you ever stopped loving me—I don’t know how I could live.”
“You know that could never happen,” he said, holding her tightly. “Why would you even think such a thing?”
“Because sometimes it does happen.”
He held her away from him and studied her troubled face; then he gave little Jerimoth, who was clinging to his leg, a playful swat. “Go see where all the servants are, son. Ask one of them to give you a date cake. Your mama and I need to talk.”
Jerusha watched him toddle off and silently thanked God for blessing her with children. Again she thought of Hephzibah, who had no children, no husband, and she couldn’t stop her tears.
“Jerusha, you’re crying again. What’s wrong?” Eliakim brushed away her tears with his fingertips.
“Oh, Eliakim! I’m so thankful for all that I have. I went to see Hephzibah today, and she—”
“You what?” Eliakim’s smile suddenly vanished.
“I went to see Hephzibah—”
“Not King Hezekiah’s wife?” The shock on Eliakim’s face surprised her.
“Well, yes . . . I—”
Eliakim grabbed her by the shoulders. All the color had drained from his face. “Jerusha! You didn’t!”
“Yes, Eliakim, I went—”
“But why?” he shouted. “Why would you do such a stupid thing?”
His reaction stunned her. For a moment Jerusha couldn’t think, couldn’t remember exactly why she had decided to visit Hephzibah. Nor could she understand why her husband was so upset with her.
“I-I felt sorry for her. She was once so kind to me, and I thought she needed a friend, that’s all.”
“That’s all? God of Abraham! Didn’t you stop to think about me?” Eliakim had never shouted at Jerusha before, and the sound made her knees shake.
“But it has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me! Jerusha, think! I’m the king’s secretary of state. Hephzibah betrayed him. No, it was worse than that; she nearly killed him! And now my wife is befriending her? Making social calls? My wife?”
“I-I didn’t think . . .”
“No, you certainly didn’t! Jerusha, please. You can’t ever go back there again, do you understand?”
“But she’s all alone. I was only trying to—”
“She’s supposed to be alone. She’s been banished. She’s in exile. According to the Law, she should have been stoned to death.”
“Hephzibah’s punishment is worse than stoning. Listen, Eliakim—I didn’t go to pay her a social visit. I went to help her find God’s forgiveness.”
“She doesn’t deserve forgiveness!”
Jerusha had never seen Eliakim so angry, and she barely recognized him. His gentle brown eyes were no longer warm but filled with hatred. He spoke each word with such barely controlled fury that his handsome face looked rigid and cold.
“Jerusha, I was there the night King Hezekiah discovered his wife worshiping an idol. I will never forget how he suffered! His skin was burned off! It hung on his leg in shreds, and he was ready to pass out from the pain when I found him. But the pain in his soul—God of Abraham—I will never forget it as long as I live! His physical suffering was nothing compared to the anguish of his soul. She deceived him. She made a mockery of his God. She doesn’t deserve forgiveness!”
“None of us do, Eliakim. Not one of us. You know my past better than anyone. But God forgave me. I don’t deserve all of this,” she said, making a sweeping gesture with her arms. “My sins are just as great as Hephzibah’s, and if she deserves to be stoned to death, then so do I.”
For a moment he couldn’t reply. Then his features softened, and the gentleness returned to his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You’re right; we’ve all sinned.” He took her hand in both of his and squeezed it tenderly. “But Hephzibah will have to be reconciled with God some other way. You can’t become involved with her. You won’t.”
If Jerusha wanted an excuse for staying away from Hephzibah, Eliakim had provided one. Yet she couldn’t shake the conviction that she had to return. “What if God asks me to go back?” she asked him.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“This wasn’t my idea, Eliakim. I felt the same way you did about her. But this morning when I went to the Temple and I saw the king standing there all alone, God reminded me of my own past, and I knew that this was something I had to do.”
Instantly Eliakim grew angry again. “And suppose King Hezekiah hears about it? Don’t you understand what a difficult situation you’re placing me in? How will it look to him? He hates Hephzibah! He has every right to hate her!”
“How can the king go to the Temple and stand before God with hatred in his heart?”
“That’s none of my business, and it’s none of yours, either.”
“If you’re his friend, it should be your business.”
Again, she saw Eliakim’s face turn white as the coldness and hatred crept back into his eyes. “When I took office, I swore an oath of allegiance and loyalty to the king. I can’t have you compromising my integrity by socializing with his idolatrous wife! Stay away from her!”
Jerusha recalled Hephzibah’s parting words and knew that regardless of what Eliakim said, she had to return one more time. She had to explain that God could forgive any sin, even one as shocking as Hephzibah’s.
“All right,” she said softly. “I’ll go to her tomorrow and tell her why I can’t come anymore, and—”
“No, Jerusha, you won’t! You won’t ever go back there again!”
“Will you help me write a letter to her so I can explain why—”
“No!”
“But I need to tell her—”
“Aren’t you listening to me? Didn’t you understand a word I’ve said?”
“But, she’ll think—”
“I don’t care what she thinks! I’m worried about what the king will think!” He was shouting again, and the
baby awoke from her nap and began to cry. “You’d better make up your mind which you care about more, Jerusha—Hephzibah’s feelings or mine!” He pushed past her and stormed out the front door, slamming it behind him.
Late that night Eliakim still hadn’t returned home. Jerusha lay in bed in the dark unable to sleep, her mind turning endlessly as she grappled with her dilemma. She wanted to obey Eliakim and promise not to see Hephzibah again, but she couldn’t shake the conviction that God wanted her to return. If she disobeyed her husband, she would have to deceive him, just like Hephzibah had deceived her husband. But what if she lost Eliakim’s love forever?
As she tossed in bed, she finally heard the front door open. She slipped into her robe and slowly went downstairs, afraid to face her husband. He was sitting on the bench removing his sandals, but he sprang to his feet when he saw her.
“Eliakim, I’m sorry—” she began, but he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.
“I was afraid to come home,” he said. “I was ashamed of the way I treated you, Jerusha. I should have asked you not to go back there instead of shouting at you. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t realize that visiting Hephzibah would reflect on you.”
“Please, Jerusha. Do you understand now why you can’t go back?” He held her away from him and searched her face. She hoped he wouldn’t make her promise. She wasn’t sure she could do it.
“Yes, but—”
“Then we won’t mention it again.”
But as she clung to Eliakim, Jerusha knew she had to return once more to explain everything to Hephzibah. She whispered a silent prayer that her husband would never find out.
14
For the second time in a matter of months, foreign envoys paraded into Hezekiah’s throne room and bowed before him, this time from Egypt. But as he extended his scepter to Pharaoh Shabako’s representatives, Hezekiah experienced none of the elation and excitement of the Babylonians’ visit. Isaiah’s rebuke had transformed the Babylonian treaty from one of his greatest successes into a reminder of his sin. He had succumbed to the same temptation as his ancestor King Uzziah: pride.
“Your Majesty, King Hezekiah, I bring gifts and greetings from Pharaoh Shabako, founder of the twenty-fifth dynasty of Egypt. He has asked me to extend the hand of friendship to you on his behalf.”
“He is very generous. What is his petition?”
“Pharaoh knows that we have a mutual enemy in Emperor Sennacherib of Assyria. He has heard of your defense treaty with Babylon. Our nation has signed a similar treaty with the kings of Philistia and Tyre, pledging our mutual military support against the Assyrians. Pharaoh invites you to sign, as well. Why not join with us?”
Indeed, why not? Hezekiah wasn’t allied with Assyria. Why not ally himself with her enemies? And Egypt was one of the three major world powers. Still, he couldn’t help wondering if he truly had a choice. What would happen to his nation if he refused Pharaoh’s request?
“And what does Pharaoh Shabako expect of my nation in return for this treaty?”
“Only that you will remain an enemy of Assyria. Then we will form a solid block of resistance to halt their southward advance.”
“I’m sure Pharaoh knows my nation guards his northern border. Assyria would have to attack me before he could get to Egypt. What does Pharaoh offer me in return for guarding the door to his country?”
“Pharaoh pledges that his army will come to your aid if you or any of our other allies are attacked. We also offer you the opportunity to purchase horses and chariots to bolster your armed forces.”
Hezekiah glanced at General Jonadab, aware of the general’s eagerness to acquire a cavalry and chariots. The unnamed heaviness that had settled over Hezekiah after Isaiah’s rebuke refused to lift, and he felt old and tired.
“You will be my guests here at the palace while I consider Pharaoh Shabako’s generous offer,” he finally said. “Please join me for a banquet tonight in his honor. I will give Pharaoh my answer tomorrow.”
The Egyptians’ confident faces told Hezekiah that they already expected him to join the alliance. He had nothing to lose and an important ally to gain. Why, then, did he feel such a nagging uneasiness?
After the servants had escorted the Egyptians to their quarters, Hezekiah turned to Shebna. “You’re the obvious choice to go as my envoy, Shebna. And I imagine General Jonadab will want to accompany you to negotiate for those chariots and horses.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. It is an incredible opportunity to—”
Eliakim came out of his seat. “Wait a minute. You can’t do this. You can’t sign a treaty with Egypt.”
“What’s wrong, Eliakim?”
“Your Majesty, in the first year of your reign you said you would make all your decisions in keeping with the laws of the Torah, didn’t you?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, in the fifth Book of Moses it says, ‘The king . . . must not acquire great numbers of horses for himself or make the people return to Egypt to get more of them.’”
Hezekiah shifted in his seat. He knew that verse. It came right before the one that said, “He must not take many wives.” Zechariah said the first verse forbade alliances with Egypt. But Zechariah also said the next one forbade marriage to more than one wife—and that misinterpretation had not only kept Hezekiah from having an heir, it had nearly cost him his life. He felt angry suddenly, and he didn’t want to hear these passages of Scripture misused anymore. He was weary of them.
“I know what it says, Eliakim. But it doesn’t apply in this situation. We’re not returning to Egypt as slaves. We’re making a purchase, that’s all. A business transaction.”
Eliakim kept his voice controlled. “No, Your Majesty, it’s more than that. You’ll be making a terrible mistake if you sign an alliance with Egypt. And I strongly oppose the purchase of Egyptian horses and chariots for the same reason that I opposed the alliance with Babylon.”
“We all remember your foolish opposition,” Shebna interrupted, “but these alliances will greatly increase our national security. You, your family, this entire city will be safer because of these treaties.”
“No. The Torah says, ‘Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain.’ We need to put our trust in God, as we did the last time Assyria threatened us.”
Hezekiah remembered the Assyrian invasion of Israel and Yahweh’s protection of Judah as if it had happened to someone else, not to him. It seemed a lifetime ago . . . before he’d lost Hephzibah . . . before he’d heard Isaiah’s rebuke. Right now, God’s help seemed far away, Egypt’s help much closer and more certain.
“Listen,” Eliakim continued, “alliances offer false security. It won’t matter to the Assyrians how many nations oppose them. The greater the opposition, the greater the challenge for them. The Assyrians thrive on challenges! They’ll pick our allies off one by one, so swiftly they’ll never have time to come to each other’s defense. Don’t you see what a trap we’re falling into? Isaiah warned us not to get involved in the Ashdod rebellion several years ago, and we were wise to listen to him. When Assyria took revenge on them, we were spared. Besides, when have the Egyptians or the Philistines ever come to our aid before? Read the history books. They want this alliance for themselves. It’s a trap. They’ll use us to absorb Assyria’s wrath and save themselves. Don’t fall for their lies, Your Majesty. God is our Protector and Ally. We don’t need anyone else!”
“We cannot stay neutral,” Shebna said. “Look at a map if you do not believe it. We are already in the middle of it all. When war comes, it will be worldwide. The Assyrian Empire is crumbling, and it is time to grab our rightful share of it.”
“Shebna’s right,” Hezekiah said reluctantly. “It’s too late to decide if we want to get involved; we’re already involved whether we like it or not.”
His first decision to befriend Babylon had started a chain reaction that he couldn’t stop. He felt trapped, as if he was no longer maki
ng sovereign decisions but was having them forced on him. He supposed it was the price he had to pay for having allies.
As he’d listened to the two men arguing, Hezekiah’s uneasiness had grown to a deep anxiety that he couldn’t quite place. He trusted Shebna’s wisdom; he was a man of exceptional abilities who understood current events and international politics. But Hezekiah also trusted Eliakim’s judgment, even when he disagreed with him. Hezekiah knew he had made a mistake with the Babylonians, and Isaiah’s rebuke had shaken his confidence in himself and in his ability to make decisions. He could no longer figure out how to strike a compromise between his two advisors’ differing opinions. One of them must be wrong—and one of them right. Hezekiah had decided to side with Shebna. He hoped he had made the right choice.
Eliakim returned to his office feeling very troubled and unable to concentrate on his work. The king had just made a serious mistake. How could he convince him to change his mind before it was too late?
Hezekiah seemed different since his illness. He still worshiped God, still followed all the rituals, but his zeal for the Lord had withered. Earlier in his reign he would have consulted Yahweh before making such an important decision as this, but ever since the Babylonians had come, Hezekiah seemed afraid to seek God for answers the way he used to. And Eliakim didn’t know what to do about it.
When a shadow fell across his worktable, he looked up. Shebna stood in his doorway. Eliakim returned Shebna’s gaze, waiting. He felt at a disadvantage sitting, so he slowly stood. Neither of them would look away. Finally Shebna spoke.
“It is obvious that you do not support King Hezekiah’s policies and decisions anymore.”
It was a true statement, and Eliakim felt no need to defend himself. He nodded slightly.
Anger flared in Shebna’s eyes at Eliakim’s refusal to be drawn into an argument. “It is time for you to step down and make room for a secretary of state who supports the king.”
Eliakim’s heart pumped faster, making it difficult to stay calm. “Has King Hezekiah asked for my resignation, or is this your idea?”