Solomon put an army of men to work—one hundred and eighty thousand of them. They worked for seven years. And in that wide, sunny courtyard on the eastern slope of the city’s easternmost hill, stone and timber were fitted together, and a building began to grow into the shape of the vision that burned in Solomon’s mind. In the city taken by his father, David, and dedicated to God, in Jerusalem, a huge temple arose. Of cedar was it made, and fir, and hewn stone. Roof and wall and pillars were covered with gold leaf, pure gold beaten thin as leaves. The temple stood on its hill in Jerusalem, a pillar of golden fire in the sunlight, dazzling the eyes of all who looked upon it.
Solomon decided to make the dedication of this temple the largest, most impressive, most joyous occasion that the world had ever seen. He sent messengers throughout the land and summoned the tribes to assemble in Jerusalem. In that vast throng stood, also, the kings of earth or their ambassadors—from Tyre, Sidon, from Egypt, Persia, Sheba, and Edom. There, before that multitude, Solomon faced the altar and stretched his arms to heaven and prayed to God to enter His house and bless His people. He did not speak loudly, but his voice was like music, and everyone heard every word, even those standing on the farthest hill. And those listening felt that they were hearing not the words of king or priest but the whispered aspirations of their own hearts magnified to an eternal pledge. And the congregation wept, but the tears were of joy.
“Blessed be the Lord, who has given rest unto His people, Israel, according to all that He promised. May the Lord our God be with us as He was with our fathers, and not forsake us. May He incline our hearts to Him so that we walk in His ways and keep His commandments, that all the people of earth may know that the Lord is our God and there is none else.”
Then, upon his signal, the priests bore in the ark of the covenant, that ancient box holding the two tablets of stone upon which Moses had engraved the words God spoke to him on Mount Horeb. The priests brought the ark into the sanctuary under the wings of stone cherubs. And it is said that when the ark was laid in that place, the stone cherubim stretched their stone wings, covering the ark.
The torches went out. The candles blew out. There was darkness in the temple, and no man spoke. For they knew that God had entered His house and stood there in a cloud so that He might not blind them with His radiance. Standing there in that thick darkness, Solomon heard a voice: “This is a rich and gorgeous house you have built for me. But you know that my real dwelling place is in man’s heart. And, in time to come, if the children of Israel turn from my way, then this strong house will be cast down; it will be torn apart stone from stone, and passersby will hiss at the place where once it stood But, O Solomon, I have heard your prayer and supplication. And I have hallowed this house that you have built, and my name shall be here forever, and my eyes and heart be here perpetually.”
The darkness departed. All was bright again. And the people feasted and rejoiced.
Like his father, David, Solomon reigned for forty years. He became the most powerful king in the world, and Israel the strongest nation. Nevertheless, as happens to many kings, Solomon lost his wisdom before he lost his power. In his old age, when his wits were befuddled, he allowed some of his young concubines to tempt him into the worship of Ashteroth. He raised strange altars, and dedicated them with orgies.
Whereupon the spirit of God departed from him; he sickened and died. And, after his death, ten tribes of Israel revolted against his son and the kingdom was divided—never again to be united.
THE PROPHETS
AFTER SOLOMON, WHEN ISRAEL was divided and both thrones were occupied by a series of weak and wicked kings, moral authority passed to those angry old men who came to be known as the prophets.
Who were these prophets? They were men who in some way had tapped that vein of intellectual and moral energy that they called the holy spirit, and through private vision had gained access to God’s moods and intentions. Their courage was so total that they did not even think of themselves as courageous. They thought of themselves simply as God’s messengers, and, after coming away from that gigantic presence, everyone else, including kings and queens, seemed very small indeed.
It was not only kings they outraged. They preached against lawlessness and sinfulness wherever they found it, and they found it everywhere. The mob hated them as much as the courtiers did; they were often stoned in the streets. Nevertheless, they persisted, warning the people of Israel that an angry and disappointed God would return them to the exile and slavery from which He had taken them, and embroidering their predictions with hideous detail of the disasters to come. That their dire prophecies proved totally accurate did not make them more popular.
The great names that have come down to us are Elijah, Elisha, Isaiah, Jonah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel. Perhaps the most remarkable of these men was Elijah.
Elijah
After Solomon died the kingdom passed to his eldest son, Rehoboam, who inherited his father’s wealth but not his wisdom. He laid heavy burdens upon his people, and oppressed them. Rebellion flared. Rehoboam marched against the rebels, but, being as weak in warfare as he was arrogant in civil affairs, was driven from the field. He lost the larger part of his kingdom, retaining only the territory of Judah and Benjamin, including Jerusalem, and this became the kingdom of Judah. The land held by the other ten tribes—a much larger territory—was known as Israel. Thus Israel, which had grown mighty under David and mightier under Solomon, was rent in two, and was not to become whole again until three thousand years had passed.
After the kingdom was divided, three generations of wicked kings ruled over Israel. Then came the wickedest of all, a man named Ahab. But even more evil than this evil king was his wife, Jezebel. She was the daughter of Ethbaal, king of the Sidonians, a country where the stone idol, Baal, was worshipped with horrid rites. And when Jezebel came to Israel, she brought Baal with her. She easily persuaded Ahab. He liked the idea of human sacrifice and temple orgies and gave her a free hand in religious matters. From Sidon and from other lands to the north and east of Israel she imported four hundred and fifty priests of Baal and four hundred priestesses of Ashteroth.
The priests of Baal built idols of stone and worshipped them with murderous ceremonies. On feast days they went among the prisoners and slaves and selected men and women—picking those in the prime of life, and without blemish—bound them with ropes, and laid them on the stone altar before the stone idol. Then, with stone knives, they cut their throats, howling prayers to Baal as blood ran into the trenches of the altar.
Ashteroth also enjoyed the savor of blood, but, with more delicate taste, she preferred blood warmed by caress. She was the moon goddess, mistress of harvest. On the night of the first spring planting, each priestess led out a youth selected for his strength and beauty. In one hand she held a pruning knife, with the other she clasped the lad and led him into the field in the blaze of the rising moon. She peeled his tunic off, then cast off her own robes. Naked in the moonlight, the woman embraced the lad and drew him to earth. Still embracing him, she stabbed him with many wounds, and his blood ran into the furrows of the plowed field. All this was to please Ashteroth so that she would grant fat crops.
Thus was Israel, land of the covenant, land favored by the living God, infected by alien cults, and her holy places profaned.
The priests of Israel went raging to Ahab and demanded that those who served Baal and Ashteroth be driven from the land. Ahab sat on his throne and listened to them. He said: “My queen, Jezebel, handles these matters. Go to the walled courtyard. She will receive you there, and, in her wisdom, deal with your complaints.”
They went into the walled courtyard, all but fifty, whom the king’s steward, Obadiah, led by a secret way out of the palace. One hundred of the priests of Israel, pious and learned old men, went into the courtyard. There was Jezebel on a litter held on the shoulders of four tall slaves. There also were the queen’s guard, picked warriors who served Jezebel. She raised her arm; her bracelets flashed in t
he sunlight. Her men drew their swords, fell upon the priests of Israel, and hacked them to pieces. Only those smuggled out by Obadiah escaped.
Now no one dared raise a voice against the rites of Baal and the orgies of Ashteroth.
Yet one man dared. He dwelt in the flinty corner of Judah called Gilead, and his name was Elijah. He went to the palace, forced his way into the throne room, stood before Ahab, and cried out: “As the Lord lives, there shall not be dew or rain upon this land until I give the word!”
Ahab stared, astonished. Wielding death, he was feared like death; no man or woman in Israel—except Jezebel—dared look him in the face. And here was this uncouth old man with tangled hair and beard standing before the throne, threatening him. He tried to speak but the words were strangled in his throat. And by the time Ahab was able to roar “Seize him!” Elijah was gone. The king sent his guard to search every house in the city, but the old man had vanished.
The season of rains came, but no rain fell. No clouds covered the face of the sun, which knelt low, parching the earth, drinking up the rivers. The priests of Baal prayed for rain. The women who served Ashteroth, mother of harvests, prayed to her for rain. But no rain fell. No dew fell. The rivers dried; the brooks and streams dried. People began to starve.
Ahab called his captains together, and said; “Lo, the old man came here and cursed us with drought. He vowed that no rain would fall until he gave the word. Now we must find him. We must search every corner of the land, go into every house, every sheepfold, every cave. We must search wood and slope and the desert places. We must find this man. Then I shall torture him until he utters the word that brings rain.”
Elijah was wandering in the waste places. He did not dare go to his home in Gilead because he knew that the king’s men were searching for him. He was weak from hunger and thirst, but he did not dare go to any house to ask food, for Ahab’s men were all about—and he knew that they were searching for him more desperately than ever.
“What shall I do, O Lord?” he said.
A voice spoke out of the burning sky: “Leave this place. Journey eastward to Jordan, and hide yourself near the brook, Cherith.”
Hiding by day and traveling by night, Elijah walked eastward and crossed into Jordan. The river had dried up, and he was able to cross the riverbed on foot. But the brook, Cherith, still held a trickle of water. Elijah hid in a stand of trees near the brook, and drank of the brook. But he was faint with hunger. The sky blackened. He thought he was swooning, but it was a flock of ravens. They settled near him. He saw that each black bird carried food in its beak. As he watched, wondering, a bird alit on his shoulder and put food into his mouth. It was lamb’s meat, roasted and savory. Another raven came and sat on his shoulder and put food in his mouth. It was bread. And so the ravens fed him until he was satisfied. Then they flew away. But they returned twice a day, bearing bread and meat. Twice a day the birds came and brought him food enough to restore his strength. And he drank of the brook and thanked God for His mercy.
Still no rain fell. Each day the brook dwindled. Finally, there was only a handful of mud. Elijah squeezed the water out of this; then there was no more water. The ravens came with food, but he could not eat it because he was too thirsty. “What shall I do, O Lord?” he said.
Again a voice spoke out of the sky: “Arise! Go to Zarephath in Sidon, over the border in Jezebel’s own country. You will find a widow there and she will harbor you.”
Elijah journeyed toward the border of Ahab’s kingdom and finally crossed into Sidon. A few huts still clung to this place, where once copper had been mined and smelted. But the drought had stretched into Sidon, and no one had strength to work the mine, and the little village was almost empty. He approached the village at dusk, and saw a woman gathering sticks. He went to her and said: “Fetch me, I pray, a little water that I may drink.”
She looked at him silently, then turned and walked away. He called after her, “Bring me, also, I pray, a morsel of bread, that I may eat.”
She turned then and said: “I have no bread. We are starving here. All I have is a handful of flour in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse. Now I am going home to make a fire with these two sticks and make a last small loaf of bread for myself and my son. We shall eat it, then wait for death.”
“Fear not,” said Elijah. “Take your two sticks and go home and build your fire, and bake your loaf. Do not eat of that loaf or feed your son, but bring it to me. Then go home and make another loaf for yourself and your son.”
“But I have meal enough and oil enough for only one small loaf,” said the woman.
“Woman,” said Elijah, “widow woman, listen to the word of the Lord, which He has spoken to me. The barrel of meal shall not go empty nor shall the cruse of oil run dry. You shall have flour in your barrel and oil in your jar until the day that the Lord sends rain to the earth again.”
She said nothing more, but left. Elijah waited. Dusk deepened; it was night. She came back, bearing a newly baked loaf of bread, and silently put it into his hand. He devoured the bread. She looked at him and wept.
“You do not believe me, do you?” said Elijah. “Go back to your house now and put your hand in the barrel and you will find flour. And you will find oil in the cruse. Go home and start baking. I shall go with you and share what the Lord provides.”
For many months, then, Elijah dwelt with the widow and her small son. He slept in the loft and came down for his meals. And the barrel of flour filled itself each time it was empty, and the jar of oil never ran dry.
One night the little boy fell sick. By morning he burned with fever. The breath caught in his throat; he gasped for air. The woman screamed at Elijah, “Why have you come here, you man of a dread god? Do you remind your god of my sins? Why does he slay my son?”
“Give me your son,” said Elijah.
He lifted the boy off the bed, slung him over his shoulder, and climbed the ladder into his loft. He laid the strangling child on his own bed, and cried, “O Lord, my God, have you brought evil upon the widow? Are you killing her son?”
The boy’s face was blue. He did not seem to be breathing at all. A chill wind blew. Elijah touched the boy’s face; it was ice cold. He covered the boy with his own body to warm him, crying, “O Lord, my God, I pray you, let this child’s soul come back into his body!”
Three times Elijah cried out. He heard a whimpering beneath him, and raised himself. Color had returned to the boy’s face. A pulse throbbed in the thin throat. Elijah touched him with his great veiny hand. The boy was warm again, but not feverish. And as he stroked the boy’s face, the mouth opened and the chest stirred. The child breathed again.
“Thank you, God,” said Elijah. He lifted the child and climbed down the ladder and gave him into his mother’s arms. “See,” he said. “Your son lives.”
The woman cradled the child in her arms, and rocked him, sobbing with joy.
“Now, by this,” she said to Elijah, “I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is the truth itself.”
For two years Elijah dwelt with the widow. All this time, no rain fell, no crops grew. People died of thirst; they starved to death. But in the widow’s house there was always food and drink. Then, in the third year, the word of the Lord came to Elijah, saying, “Go to Ahab, and I will send rain upon the earth.”
Elijah said farewell to the widow and departed. He passed through Samaria on his way to Ahab’s palace. And he grieved as he saw the dry rivers and the parched earth, the skeletons of cattle and of men.
Now, shortly before this, Ahab had called his steward, Obadiah, to him and said: “Go out of the city and search for grass. Go to all the fountains of water and all the brooks, and look for a fountain that still springs and a brook that still runs. Take men and go. I will take men and search in another direction. For we must find grass, or all our cattle and horses will die.”
And, as Obadiah rode through Samaria, he saw an old man clad in a tattered robe. H
e carried a staff; his hair and his beard were white and tangled, and his eyes smoldered in their deep sockets. Obadiah bowed to the ground and said; “Are you my lord Elijah?”
“I am,” said Elijah. “Go say to the king, ‘Behold, Elijah is here.’ ”
“This message means my death,” said Obadiah. “Do you not know that Ahab has sent men to seek you throughout Israel and Judah and all the nations whose borders touch ours? He has ransacked the earth for you, so that he may take you and torture you into saying the word that will bring rain again.”
“Then he should be happy to know that I am here,” said Elijah. “Go tell him.”
“And if I go to tell him,” said Obadiah, “and if the spirit of the Lord should carry you here or there while I am on my way? If I tell Ahab that you have come, and we cannot find you, then he will slay me. It is not just. I have feared the Lord all my life. Have you not heard of my deed? When Jezebel slew the prophets of Israel, it was I who saved fifty of them—led them out of the palace by a secret way and took them to a cave and fed them. It was I, Obadiah, who did this. Now you say go tell the king that you have come back. It is my death. The king will draw his sword and slay me where I stand.”
Elijah said: “As the Lord of hosts lives, and as I stand before him, I will show myself to the king this day, and you shall be spared.”
Obadiah hurried off and informed Ahab that Elijah had returned, and Ahab went to meet him. Elijah waited for the king. He saw a whirl of dust and horsemen coming. Ahab reined up and dismounted and stood before Elijah. His men sat their horses, drawn swords glittering in their hands.
Ahab said: “Are you he who troubles Israel, who stops the rain and blights the crops, causing men and cattle to die?”
“I do not trouble Israel,” said Elijah. “I have been sent to trouble you and your father’s house because you have forsaken the commandments of the Lord and have followed Baal.”
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