Song of Redemption

by Lynn Austin

  He slowly rose to his feet and looked at the row he had just tended, then groped over his shoulder for the flowing end of the keffiyeh he wore in a loose turban around his head, wiping the sweat from his face and neck. His tanned face was as deeply furrowed as his fields, scarred by years of plowing and planting, waiting and worrying.

  Jerimoth looked up from his work, carefully studying the rutted road where it disappeared over the horizon, constantly alert for the ominous dust cloud, listening for the rumble of hooves that would signal the start of another Assyrian raid. But the road lay quiet and still, disturbed only by a gentle breeze that stirred up a funnel of dust and by the fluttering blackbirds as they scratched in the dirt for insects.

  Jerimoth's square stone house stood on the highest rise of his land, shaded by two date palm trees that had been there for as long as he could remember. He had been born in that house, beneath those trees, as his father had been before him. He watched his wife, Hodesh, descend the stairs from the flat rooftop, carrying a dried bundle of flax to the covered patio where she and their daughter worked. Little Maacah wrestled with the heavy loom, determined to master this new skill she had been forced to learn. Her arms and legs were as thin as the shuttle that she labored to pass back and forth between the threads of the loom. She should be playing with straw dolls, Jerimoth thought, combing the flax for their make-believe hair, yet now she'd been forced to grow up in order to take over Jerusha's chores.

  The thought of Jerusha brought a stab of pain to Jerimoth's heart, reopening a wound that had never healed. He fingered the scar on his forehead and shuddered at the memory of her heart-rending screams. He would never be able to accept her loss or erase the agony from his heart. They had found the bodies of Saul's daughters, Serah and Tirza. Jerimoth had helped his brother dig their graves in the soft brown earth, and as painful as the task had been, it had helped Saul accept their deaths and finally understand that he would never see his girls again. But Jerusha? Not knowing her fate-and imagining the worst-tormented Jerimoth. He would never know if her life had ended violently or if she still lived somewhere, suffering unspeakable horrors. Jerimoth shuddered and wiped his face again with the end of his keffiyeh. Please don't make her suffer, he silently pleaded. Please don't hurt myjerusha-my happy little bird.

  He was about to return to his labors when he spotted a small puff of dust on the southern horizon, moving up the road from the village of Dabbasheth. "Hodesh! Maacah!" he shouted. "Get into the house!"

  Hodesh dropped her bundle of flax and grabbed Maacah by the hand, pulling the startled child behind her as she raced across the patio and into the house. Jerimoth had prepared an empty cistern beneath the floor, hewn from the bedrock. He would hide his wife and daughter there the next time there was another Assyrian raid. They were all he had left now, and he was determined to protect them from this enemy that was ruthlessly consuming everything he had ever loved.

  He sprinted up to the house, lifted the heavy stone lid, and helped them climb in. Then he fitted the lid into place where it blended with the other flagstones on the floor of his house. Once the woven rug was laid over the hiding place, Jerimoth went to the door and peered down the road again. He saw now that the dust cloud was too small to be a division of Assyrian soldiers, and he felt foolish when he realized that they would sweep down from the north when they came, not from the south. But he decided to keep his family hidden just the same. He busied himself in the sticky shade of his winepress as the dust cloud sped closer.

  The horse's hooves pounded on the hard-packed dirt road in rhythm with Jerimoth's heart, and he shot a quick glance in that direction. The lone rider was a soldier but definitely not an Assyrian-and not from Jerimoth's nation of Israel, either. The rider slowed as he approached the row of cedars that guarded the borders of Jerimoth's land, then dismounted near his well. As Jerimoth walked cautiously toward him, the stranger greeted him in Hebrew.

  "Shalom! May I refresh my horse at your well?" His face wore a mask of perspiration and dust, finely etched with lines of fatigue. His horse panted in the heat.

  "You're from Judah?" Jerimoth asked when he recognized the emblem of the King of Judah emblazoned on the horse's banner.

  "Yes, I've come from Jerusalem with a message from King Hezekiah. I just delivered it to the elders of Dabbasheth, and I'm on my way to the next town."

  Jerimoth wondered if the armies of Judah were coming to help his nation fight the Assyrians. He decided to probe for more information. "You've come all the way to Israel? With a message?"

  "Yes, and I'll be returning to Jerusalem through the tribal lands of Manasseh and Issachar. King Hezekiah's invitation will be spread from Beersheba to Dan."

  Jerimoth lowered the rope into the well and hoisted a bucketful to the top. He emptied it into a stone watering trough, licked smooth by generations of animals, and allowed the lathered horse to quench its thirst before passing a drinking gourd to the stranger. The soldier drank his fill, then splashed water over his dusty face. When his thirst was relieved, the stranger looked around and gestured toward Jerimoth's charred land.

  "Did the Assyrians do this?"

  Jerimoth nodded.

  "That's a shame. We've heard that they sometimes raid farms along the borders"

  "We've suffered terribly at their hands these past months," Jerimoth said. "Sometimes I think Yahweh must have forgotten us to make us suffer so."

  The soldier grew attentive. "You believe in Yahweh?"

  Jerimoth hesitated. It wasn't wise to admit to a stranger which god you worshiped, but the words had already slipped out. "Yes, I believe in Him."

  "Then you'll be interested in King Hezekiah's message." He pulled a scroll from the folds of his tunic and gave it to Jerimoth to read while his horse finished drinking.

  People of Israel, return to the God of Abraham that he may return to you who have escaped from the Assyrians. Do not be like your fathers and brothers, who were unfaithful to the Lord, so that he made them an object of horror, as you see. Come to the sanctuary, which God has consecrated forever. Serve the Lord your God, so that his fierce anger will turn away from you. If you return to the Lord, then your children will be shown compassion by their captors and will come back to this land... .

  There was more, but tears blurred Jerimoth's vision and he couldn't read it. The scroll trembled in his hand. During all the years that he had farmed his land, raising his crops and his children, he had never gone to Jerusalem to acknowledge Yahweh with offerings of thanksgiving. Jerimoth had forgotten God until his life had begun to crumble. Now, in anger and despair, he cried out to the silent heavens, wondering why Yahweh had forsaken him. He held the answer in his hands-and also hope.

  "Do you think you'll go, then?" the soldier asked.

  Jerimoth looked up, lost in thought. "What did you say?"

  "Will you be going to Jerusalem for Passover?"

  Jerimoth wiped his eyes and finished reading the scroll.

  For the Lord your God is gracious and compassionate. He will not turn his face from you if you return to him. Come, let us celebrate the Feast of Passover together on the fourteenth day of the second month in Jerusalem.

  "I've never celebrated the Feast of Passover," Jerimoth told the soldier.

  "None of us have. It hasn't been celebrated in Judah since before King Ahaz's reign. But King Hezekiah has been making a lot of changes. Now he's going to celebrate the feast days, beginning with Passover. Not too many people in your country seem interested, though. The elders of Dabbasheth wouldn't even give my horse any water."

  Jerimoth quickly reread the amazing words, memorizing them: If you return to the Lord, then your children will be shoum compassion by their captors and will come back to this land.

  "Yes," Jerimoth said as he handed back the scroll. "Yes, I'm going to Jerusalem for Passover."

  "Good. Thanks for the water." The courier mounted his horse and Jerimoth watched him ride up the dusty road to the north. When the rider finally disappeared o
ver the horizon, Jerimoth hurried up to the house and kicked the rug aside to open the cistern. Hodesh heaved a sigh of relief as she climbed out. She fussed over Maacah, brushing bits of plaster from her clothes and hair, and several minutes passed before she noticed the tears streaming down Jerimoth's face.

  "What's wrong?" She scanned the vineyard and olive grove, then turned back to Jerimoth. "What happened? Who was it?"

  "We're going to Jerusalem for Passover," he said.

  Hodesh put her hand to his cheek, tenderly brushing the tears from his beard. "What are you talking about, Jerimoth?"

  "If we return to Yahweh, He will bring our Jerusha home to us again.

  I0'

  VISITING HEPHZIBAH EVERY EVENING was becoming a habit that King Hezekiah thoroughly enjoyed. She lavished him with attention as he shared the events of his day with her, and she helped him unwind from the pressures of his reign. She seemed to know exactly what to say to cheer him, to encourage him, to comfort him. Hephzibah's beauty and quick wit far surpassed any of his concubines' charms, and Hezekiah shared a companionship and an intimacy with her that he had never experienced before. He was beginning to understand what Zechariah meant when he said that God gave a wife for more than physical pleasure. And Hephzibah was beautiful. Just watching her or listening to her sing was a pleasure Hezekiah looked forward to more each day. No matter how busy his day, Hephzibah had become his addiction. And so, only a few days before the first Passover celebration, he made his way to her chambers with anticipation and the now-familiar longing to hold her in his arms.

  "You look so tired, my lord," she said as she led him to the couch.

  "I am tired. But there's so much to do-so many preparations to make." He sank down among the pillows, but his overworked mind couldn't stop planning and calculating.

  "You need to relax. You look much too serious tonight."

  He was struck once again by how tiny and delicate she was, like a beautiful, fragile dish. He wished he could forget everything else and stay here with Hephzibah, but there was too much to do before the feast.

  "I can't relax yet," he told her. "Not until everything is ready. In a few days this city will be bursting with pilgrims-at least I hope it will "

  He wondered how far his reforms would spread, how responsive the people would be to all his changes. He rose from the couch again, unable to relax, talking as he walked restlessly around the room.

  "One minute I'm wondering where we'll put everyone, and the next minute I'm doubting if anyone will bother to show up. If their idolatry is too deeply rooted ..."

  "They'll come," she soothed as she followed him around the room. "Why wouldn't they come?"

  "Well, it's been so long since Passover was celebrated. Do you have any idea what it means to the people?"

  Hephzibah stood on tiptoe and planted her hands on his shoulders, then gently pushed him down onto the couch again. "No. What does it mean? Will you explain it to me, my lord?" Her hands remained on his shoulders, gently kneading his tense muscles, and he could feel the strain start to ease.

  "Umm. That feels good. Don't stop" She seemed to know what he needed even before he asked. He smiled in spite of himself. "Where was l?"

  "You were going to tell me what Passover means."

  "Unun. Passover ... It's a celebration of freedom, Hephzibahthe anniversary of our nation's deliverance from slavery. God heard our cries of suffering and freed us from serving the Egyptians so we could serve Him. The men of Judah work hard all year in order to make a living, but when Passover comes, they can lay aside their work for eight days and rest and feast and thank God"

  "And how will they feast for eight days if our nation is so poor?" The charming way she cocked her head to one side when she asked a question amused him.

  "Good question, my dear lady," he said, smiling. "That's why I've been so busy. I'm opening the royal storehouses and donating animals from my own flocks and herds. I want to make sure that everyone who comes, rich or poor, will have eight days to relax and feast and celebrate Yahweh's goodness."

  "Since you're providing the food, it seems to me they should celebrate their king's goodness instead."

  "No, I'm not the Messiah:' he said with a sigh. "I may be able to feed the people for a week, but the rest of the year we're still slaves to the Assyrians. They demand more and more tribute every year and-"

  "Shh . . ." Hephzibah stopped massaging and put her fingers over his lips. "You have all day to worry about such things. Now it's time to forget about them."

  He pulled her onto the couch beside him. "You're right. Help me forget." Her warm skin was soft and fragrant as he kissed her neck. She laughed softly.

  "What's so funny?" Hezekiah asked.

  "Your beard is tickling me" She tugged on it playfully, and Hezekiah laughed, too.

  "Ah, Hephzibah-you're so good for me. Your laughter, your love ... they're just what I need." He held her close and realized for the first time how very precious she had become to him in the past months.

  "This is the best part of my day," Hephzibah murmured, "being with you. But our time together is always too short."

  "And I'm afraid it will be even shorter tonight. I can only stay a few minutes."

  "Oh no."

  "I'm sorry. But there's too much work to do."

  "Can't your servants and officials do some of it? Do you have to do everything yourself?"

  "I'm still not sure who I can trust and who's waiting for a chance to stab me in the back. Remember Uriah?" he asked, poking her back gently with his forefinger. "I'm making a lot of changes in a very short time and probably a lot of enemies, too. People resist change. Besides, my father's government was so corrupt that the only way I can be sure things are done right is to do them myself."

  "You're scowling again, my lord." She gently smoothed his fore head with her fingers. "You're not supposed to talk about all your problems-remember?"

  "And you're supposed to help me forget my problems-remember?"

  "Then I guess I'd better do my job." She took his face in her hands and kissed him--driving Passover far from Hezekiah's mind.

  Jerimoth sighed and tugged on his beard as he surveyed his vineyard one last time. "I guess everything will be all right until we get back."

  "It'll be fine," Hodesh said. "Come on" She looked impatient as she stood waiting beside the cart with Maacah. Jerimoth walked around the loaded wagon again, examining the wheels, the paired yoke of oxen, the harness fittings. He made certain that the new spring lamb he had chosen from his flock was tied securely to the load, then turned to the young man he had hired to watch over his land while he was away.

  "You'll remember everything I told you?" he asked. "You'll remember to watch for my daughter Jerusha? She'll be coming home soon, you know"

  "I'll watch for her, sir."

  Jerimoth sighed again, and with a final, worried glance at his farm, he set off with his wife and daughter on the pilgrimage to Jerusalem for Passover. A seed of hope had been planted in his heart, and Jerimoth had nurtured it, clinging to King Hezekiah's promise that the Assyrians would release Jerusha if he returned to Yahweh. Jerimoth and his family traveled south toward Dabbasheth, skirting the village and its painful memories, then passed through the towns of Cabul and Rimmon. Soon the road turned east, and they journeyed over the rolling hills to Migdal on the sparkling Sea of Galilee.

  Jerimoth found a caravan of other pilgrims who were headed to Jerusalem, and he joined them for the remainder of the trip, following the lush plains along the banks of the Jordan River. They reached the oasis of Jericho on the fourth day, feeling tired and irritable, their throats parched from the choking dust. The swaying palms of Jericho offered welcome shade, and even the bitter blue waters of the nearby Dead Sea looked inviting. After a night's rest they began the final leg of their journey, following the rugged mountain road up to Jerusalem. They climbed steadily upward, passing dry stream beds and deep mountain gorges, until their legs ached and it seemed as if they had clim
bed to the skies. Late in the afternoon, as the caravan paused to water the animals, Jerimoth scanned the horizon and caught his first glimpse of Jerusalem.

  "Look, Hodesh!" he suddenly shouted. "There it is!" He could faintly discern the gold-colored walls of the Holy City as he squinted into the distance, nestled among the green-and-brown hills. He even caught the glint of the Temple's golden roof, perched on the highest hill. This glimpse of their destination seemed to give all the tired travelers the extra encouragement they needed to finish their climb, and they continued on, reaching the gates of Jerusalem an hour before sundown. As soon as the sun set, the eve of Passover would begin.

  The caravan disbanded as soon as it entered the city, and each family went in search of friends or relatives to stay with. It was only after he reached Jerusalem that Jerimoth realized he had no place to stay during the festival. The crowded city seemed huge and strange to him, the walls confining, and he missed the open fields and broad skies of home. He wandered through the unfriendly streets, tired and disoriented, searching for a room in an inn until it was almost dark. But pilgrims crammed every available space, and all the rooms were taken. He felt desperate as he saw his daughter sitting on top of the cart looking pale and frightened. His wife was close to tears.

  "What are we doing here, Jerimoth?" Hodesh asked. "We don't even know anyone."

  "We'll be fine, Hodesh. One of the innkeepers said to try the caravansary in the market square. It means sleeping out in the open, but it's the best we can do"

  Hodesh glanced anxiously at Maacah. "Is it safe? Won't there be foreign caravan drivers there?"

  "We'll go and see," he said wearily. "I don't know what else to do. Besides, we need some things from the market, don't we? Come on."

  When they reached the square, Jerimoth sent Hodesh to barter for food while he searched for an empty place to park his cart for the night. But as he listened to the caravan drivers settling into their places and heard their crude jokes and vulgar language, he realized that the caravansary was no place for his wife and daughter to sleep. He didn't know what to do. He wandered farther down the street, where the shops were more elegant and well-kept, looking for an empty doorway to shelter them. When Jerimoth heard jovial laughter drifting from a nearby booth, he was drawn toward the sound.