by Lynn Austin
“We knew opposition was coming the moment we ordered supplies and timber,” Saba said. “The new governor was certain to hear about it—and here he is.”
“Nothing is done in secret,” Zechariah said. “The question is, will Prince Zerubbabel stand strong, considering all that he and his family could lose? Will he believe the Almighty One’s promise that his ancestor, King David, will always have an heir on the throne?”
“The eye of our God is watching over us,” Saba whispered.
Tattenai stepped forward, addressing Zerubbabel. “Are you the official in charge?”
“Yes, I’m Zerubbabel, Governor of Judea and Jerusalem.”
“I was recently made aware that a large-scale construction project was taking place here. Since I hadn’t been informed of any building permits being issued, I decided to come and see for myself.” Tattenai gestured to the sprawling site, the piles of materials. “This is no ordinary structure you’re building.”
“That’s right. We’re rebuilding the temple that King Solomon built here many years ago. A temple to the one true God, whom we serve.”
“I see. Well, on behalf of Emperor Darius, I demand to know who authorized you to rebuild this temple and restore this structure?”
“The God of heaven and earth did. We’re His servants.”
“God did?” Tattenai asked, his tone scornful. The two men stood face-to-face, as if neither was willing to give an inch or acknowledge the other’s superiority. They reminded Zechariah of two dogs circling each other, hackles raised, waiting for the other to either pounce or yield in submission.
“Our fathers angered the God of heaven,” Prince Zerubbabel continued, “and so He handed them over to King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, who destroyed this temple and deported our people. However, King Cyrus issued a decree in the first year of his reign permitting us to rebuild this house of God. He even gave us the gold and silver treasures that Nebuchadnezzar had taken from God’s temple and entrusted them to my predecessor, Sheshbazzar. Cyrus appointed him governor, and told him to return the articles to Jerusalem and rebuild the temple on its site. So Sheshbazzar obeyed and laid the foundations of the house of God. From that day to the present it has been under construction but isn’t yet finished.”
“King Cyrus is dead. Darius is king now.”
“So we’ve heard.”
“You need authorization from King Darius.” When the prince didn’t reply, Tattenai said, “I’ll need the names of all the men who are constructing this building.”
“My name is Zerubbabel. Shall I spell it for your secretary?”
“And my name is Iddo.” Zechariah’s grandfather stepped forward. “I’m overseeing construction and recording the costs and expenditures.”
“I’m Jeshua, son of Jehozadak, high priest of the Almighty One.” More and more men stepped forward, priests and laborers alike, telling the Samaritan secretary their names. Others too far back in the crowd to approach began shouting out their names, as well.
Tattenai held up his hands, clearly frustrated. “Wait. Don’t all talk at once. My secretary can’t record all these names.”
“He’s going to need many hours and dozens of scrolls to record all of our names,” Zerubbabel said. “More than forty-two thousand of us returned to our land from Babylon, and we’re building this temple together, as one man.”
Tanttenai gestured to his secretary to stop. He locked gazes with Zerubbabel, his forehead creased with a frown. “My men will inspect the project now, as part of my report.”
“They will have to do it from a distance,” Jeshua said. “This is a holy site.”
Zechariah saw Tattenai’s chest heave with anger. He seemed reluctant to object, reluctant to tread on holy ground. “I’ll be sending a report to King Darius immediately,” he finally said. “You’ll receive a copy of it, as well, Governor Zerubbabel. In the meantime, all construction must halt until you receive official authorization.”
Zerubbabel shook his head. “With all due respect, Governor Tattenai, we intend to continue working. We already have authorization from King Cyrus and from our God. We must obey Him.”
“Well done,” Iddo whispered as Tattenai stalked away with his retinue.
“I had no idea our prince was so courageous,” Zechariah said. “He just took an enormous risk.”
“I know. If his actions are interpreted as a rebellion against the Persian emperor, he and his family will be hauled back to Persia in chains and executed as traitors.”
“And so will you, Saba . . . And yet you don’t seem at all afraid,” he added with a grin.
“The eye of our God is watching over us.”
The show was over, and the people prepared to leave for a second time. But the prophet Haggai surprised everyone when he stepped forward once again. “The Lord Almighty spoke to me again and said, ‘Tell Zerubbabel governor of Judah that I will shake the heavens and the earth. I will overturn royal thrones and shatter the power of the foreign kingdoms. I will overthrow chariots and their drivers; horses and their riders will fall, each by the sword of his brother.’ And because of your courage and your willingness to obey God, the Lord Almighty declares, ‘I will take you, my servant Zerubbabel, son of Shealtiel, and I will make you like my signet ring, for I have chosen you,’ declares the Lord Almighty.”
“Praise God,” Zechariah whispered. “The Almighty One has reversed His curse!”
“Is that what Haggai’s prophecy means?” Iddo asked.
“Yes. I’ve been reading the prophecies of Jeremiah, and the Holy One told our last king, Jehoiachin, that even if he was a signet ring on God’s right hand He would still pull him off and hand him over to his enemies. God said Jehoiachin would be recorded as childless and none of his descendants would sit on the throne of David.”
“Ah, yes. I remember.”
“But now the Holy One has made Zerubbabel His signet ring. It’s His pledge that someday the Messiah will come, a descendant of King David. An heir will once again sit on his throne.”
“What a day this has been,” Saba said with a sigh. “But now I have work to do. Do you have time to help me, Zaki?”
“Give me a job to do, Saba. I’m ready.”
Chapter
41
It was one of those rare, peaceful moments for Yael when dinner simmered on the hearth and both of her daughters napped. She sat down to rest in her room as well, nursing her son and thinking about her husband. Ever since prophesying, Zechariah had become a man of standing in their community, a man everyone looked up to. Yael was proud to be his wife but also a little awed by him. Imagine, the God of heaven and earth speaking through her husband!
She was still marveling over it when she heard a knock on her door. A moment later, Hodaya peeked inside. “Can I ask you something, Yael? I’m not disturbing you, am I?”
“Not at all. Come sit beside me. I have plenty of time to talk while this little glutton fills his belly.” Hodaya limped into the room and sat down on a cushion beside Yael, propping her crutch against the wall. She paused for such a long time that Yael finally asked, “What is it, Hodaya? What’s wrong?”
“I want to know who I am,” she said, her pretty face creased with determination. “I want to know who my parents are and how I came to live here with all of you.”
Yael closed her eyes for a moment, searching for an escape. She and Safta Dinah had become experts over the years at changing the subject and avoiding Hodaya’s questions by assuring her that she was dearly loved and part of this family now. But judging by Hodaya’s determined look, she wasn’t going to be content with vague assurances this time. “Why are you asking, Hodaya? Haven’t we told you countless times how much we love you? That you belong to us?”
“Yes, but this time I need to know the truth. It’s important.”
“Can you tell me why?” Yael asked, still stalling.
Hodaya met Yael’s gaze, her beautiful dark eyes shining. “Because I’m in love with Aaron son of Besai.
And he loves me.”
Yael’s mouth fell open as she stared at Hodaya. How had the tiny baby she and Safta carried home from the Samaritan village grown up so quickly? Sixteen years old already, and in love with Besai and Rachel’s son, Aaron, who was eighteen. He lived near Bethlehem now and worked with his father as a shepherd, but Hodaya had known him all her life. They had grown up together and now saw each other during holidays and celebrations. Yael had noticed their tender glances and shy conversations, but she wasn’t prepared to have Hodaya fall in love and marry and move to a home of her own.
“Aaron thinks I’m pretty,” Hodaya said when Yael didn’t reply. “He doesn’t even care about . . . you know . . . my crooked foot.”
“You are pretty. And none of us cares about your foot. Every one of us has things about us that aren’t perfect—it’s just that yours is a little more noticeable than ours.”
“I don’t look like any of you,” Hodaya said.
“What difference does that make?” Yael said with a shrug. “My daughters don’t look like me either, and—”
“That’s not what I mean! I know who I do look like, and I want to know the truth!”
“Who do you think you look like?” Yael waited, dread making her skin prickle.
“Remember that night when Iddo was stabbed? I saw the man who did it. The man who died. I saw his face when he was lying on the ground, before they covered him up. I peeked out of my room—and he looked like me! His hair looked just like mine!”
Yael floundered for words.
“Am I related to him? Am I a Samaritan, too?”
“None of that matters,” she managed to say. “Why are you so concerned about who you look like?”
“Because the man who died was Rafi, the man you wanted to marry, wasn’t he? But they wouldn’t let you marry him because he wasn’t Jewish. If I’m related to him . . . if I’m not Jewish . . . then they won’t let Aaron marry me, either.”
“Oh, Hodaya . . . of course you’re Jewish. Iddo and Dinah adopted you. They took you to the mikveh and made you ours. Of course Aaron can marry you.”
“The Almighty One won’t accept me if I’m not Jewish.”
“Hodaya, you worship in the Jewish Court of Women with us all the time. You know God accepts you.”
“Aaron told me that the Samaritans aren’t allowed to worship with us. He said that was why they made us stop building the temple. And why they’re trying to stop us again. I heard all about it, Yael.”
“Listen, we’ll ask Zaki about it when he comes home, but I guarantee that he’ll say you’re allowed to worship with us and that the Almighty One accepts you.” She hoped that would end the matter and put a stop to these questions, but Hodaya gave a huff of frustration.
“I want to know the truth about my parents and why I was adopted. I have a right to know, and so does Aaron. Why won’t you tell me?”
Hodaya had raised her voice, and the baby stirred. Yael propped him against her shoulder and rubbed his back to soothe him to sleep. “We never wanted to tell you because we were afraid you would be hurt. And none of us ever wants to hurt you.”
Hodaya struggled to her feet. “Then I’ll find out the truth some other way if you won’t tell me. Aaron and I will walk down to that Samaritan village and ask them why I look like Rafi.”
“No, Hodaya! Don’t ever do that! You and Aaron need to stay far away from that village. Sit down again, please. . . . I’ll tell you the truth.” Hodaya sank down on the cushion again.
Yael wondered if she should send for Safta Dinah, if maybe they should tell Hodaya the truth together. Safta had long worried that this day would come. “Let me get Safta, first—” she began, but Hodaya interrupted her.
“No. I want you to tell me.”
Where to start? Yael took a moment to decide, praying for the right words. “Remember my good friend Leyla? The Samaritan girl I used to visit all the time? You’re her half sister. You both have the same father. That means that Rafi, the man I wanted to marry, was your half brother. That’s why you noticed a resemblance. I loved both of them, Hodaya. They were good friends of mine for many years until Leyla died and everything went wrong with Rafi.”
“Who is my mother? Did she die, too?”
It would be less hurtful to say yes, that she had died giving birth, but it would be a lie. And Yael knew that lies always ended in grief. “Your mother’s name is Raisa, and she nearly died giving birth to you. Both of you would have certainly died if Safta Dinah hadn’t gone to the village that night to help. Your mother was very young when she married your father—younger than you are right now. Too young to be giving birth. You were her first child.”
“Did she give me away because of my foot?”
Yael realized the truth for the first time. “No. Your mother didn’t give you away at all. In fact, she loved you and asked to hold you. But Leyla’s grandmother—who is no relation to you—believed that you were too weak to live. She told your mother that you had died to spare her the pain of loving you and then losing you. No one expected either you or Raisa to live.”
“What about my father?”
Yael sighed. “His name is Zabad, and he’s the village leader. He’s mostly Jewish, a descendant of the people who stayed here in the land when everyone else was carried off to Babylon.”
“But my mother is a Samaritan?”
“I presume so, but I don’t really know. I never asked her.” Again, Yael hoped this would be the end of Hodaya’s questions. It wasn’t.
“Why did my father let you take me?”
Yael sighed again. “He wanted a son.”
“And I was a girl—with a crooked foot?”
Yael nodded and laid the baby down on the bed. She took Hodaya’s hands in hers. “Everyone thought you would die that night. But Safta Dinah said she would make sure you lived if it was the last thing she ever did. And so we brought you home. . . . I was there when you were born, Hodaya. Watching you come into the world was the most amazing experience I’d ever had. I fell in love with you that instant. We all fell in love with you.” Tears sprang to Yael’s eyes. “And now, if we have to give you away again, I can’t imagine a more wonderful, worthy man to give you to than Aaron son of Besai.”
Chapter
42
From his foreman’s shelter on the temple mount, Iddo watched a team of workers raise a huge building block with the crane, the ropes creaking and groaning beneath the strain. It twisted in the air for a moment before the men steadied it and lowered it into place on the wall of the sanctuary. The satisfaction Iddo felt was as enormous as the block. Across the valley on the Mount of Olives, clouds of white almond blossoms sprouted on the trees, announcing that winter would soon yield to spring. The days would grow warmer and longer, providing more hours of daylight in which Iddo and his teams could work. Fields of barley and flax ripened in the distant fields thanks to the plentiful winter rains, signaling God’s grace and goodness, His pleasure in their obedience.
Iddo was about to turn back to his lists of supplies and expenditures when he saw Zechariah striding across the courtyard toward him. “If you’re coming to inspect our progress,” Iddo said, smiling, “we just laid another stone in place.” He pointed to where the workers maneuvered the limestone block.
Zaki shook his head, his expression serious. “That’s not why I’m here. Prince Zerubbabel received a dispatch from Samaria this morning. It’s a copy of the letter Governor Tattenai sent to the Persian emperor about us. I thought you might want to come with me and hear what it says.”
Iddo slowly rose to his feet. “Tattenai certainly didn’t waste any time sending his report, did he?”
“No. As the proverb says of evildoers, ‘their feet rush into sin.’” Zaki took Iddo’s arm as they walked across the plaza, then descended the stairs from the mount. It frustrated Iddo to have grown so frail and in need of an arm to cling to for balance. He could accomplish so much more if he were as young and fit as his grandson.
“I’m sure it will take a few months for Tattenai’s message to get to the emperor,” Zaki said as they paused at the bottom of the steps to rest. “Then a few more months to receive his reply. How much progress do you think we can make during that time?”
Iddo wasn’t optimistic. “Even if it takes a year to hear back from the Persians, that still won’t give us enough time to finish. My best guess is that it will take three or four years to complete the entire temple.”
They walked the short distance to the throne room in the governor’s residence where Zerubbabel conducted business. The high priest and most of the chief priests and elders had crowded into the long, narrow hall already. Zechariah found a place for them to stand alongside one of the support pillars. “In the end, it won’t matter what Tattenai’s letter contains,” Iddo said. “I’m going to continue building no matter what.”
Zerubbabel stood to quiet the men. “As you’ve heard, this morning I received a copy of the letter that Governor Tattanai sent to King Darius. When I finish reading it to you, we can consider what our response, if any, should be.” The prince unrolled the letter and began to read.
“To King Darius:
Cordial Greetings.
The king should know that we went to the district of Judah, to the temple of the great God. The people are building it with large stones and placing timbers in the walls. The work is being carried on with diligence and is making rapid progress under their direction.”
Iddo leaned close to whisper to Zechariah. “I consider that a high compliment.”