You’ll see, Hanania-Broch told King Zedekiah, in another two years the Babylonian yoke will be broken, and then, at the right moment, you’ll be able to show your portfolio to Pharaoh’s ambassador. And, believe me, he’ll show up—Pharaoh always comes back in the end—always, always. Babylon, Assyria, Media, Elam, Sumer, Akkad—kingdoms come and kingdoms go, but Egypt is eternal, like Jerusalem, as it is written, Egypt and Jerusalem for ever and ever. We’re not like those fly-by-night kingdoms up north, okay? Be nice to Pharaoh and Pharaoh will be nice to you—that’s only common sense, am I wrong?
So, like, what are the action items here, what practical steps do we take? asked King Zedekiah. And the prophet said, First of all, you can be sure that you’re not alone, that other kingdoms also know what you now know—the kingdoms of Tyre and Sidon, for example, and Moab and Ammon and Edom. If I have found favor in your eyes, my king, you might invite these kingdoms around for a modest buffet lunch, and also make sure to invite an Egyptian observer. I think Koniyahu ben Elnathan, His Majesty’s minister of the armed forces, has a pretty good command of Egyptian—no surprise, since his wife is … Well, maybe my king could put a helicopter at his disposal, so that he could head over to Egypt by the end of the day? Anyway, over lunch, we can all conduct a wholly academic-philosophical discussion about what might happen on the day after Babylonian rule ends in one of her satellite kingdoms. Did you know, the Babylonians call all our cities and kingdoms Hatti? It sounds like someone spitting, which is apropos, since from their point of view we’re all inferiors, nobodies whose sole purpose is to pay them taxes and provide them with olive oil. But we’re a bit more than that—isn’t that so, my king? And Zedekiah chuckled: Yes, a bit.
Several days later, in the rabbinate, the King of Edom and the King of Moab and the King of Ammon and the King of Tyre and the King of Sidon and the King of Judah sat and ate sandwiches and drank wine and waited for the interpreter to arrive. The King of Tyre talked with the King of Sidon, but didn’t understand a word spoken by the rest of the kings, while the King of Moab just about managed to make himself understood to the King of Judah, and the King of Ammon spoke to the King of Judah with practically no difficulty at all, and the King of Edom communicated mainly via gestures with the Kings of Tyre and Sidon, and only the Moabite was able to speak fluently with the Ammonite, or would have done so if not for the deep enmity between the two. Anyway, everyone somehow spoke to everyone, having to restrain their laughter, since all their languages were just cognate enough to sound on the verge of correctness without quite being right, which meant that everyone sounded a bit stupid to everyone else, and it would have been better, needless to say, given the matter at hand, to have sought out the assistance of an experienced interpreter who could have taken in the various Canaanite dialects and translated them into a form conducive to a serious political discussion.
What’s with the interpreter? the King of Tyre asked the King of Sidon. They were relatives, in effect, shackled one to the other by numerous hubristic and incestuous ties, cousins who split their spheres of influence along the Phoenician shoreline. We don’t need any translator, the Sidonite answered, but these guys here … and he pointed his chin at the Ammonite and Moabite, sitting on opposite sides of the table, and it seemed that at any given moment one would leap on the other with a drawn dagger in hand. Zedekiah glanced at his old Assyrian watch. The watch had been ticking a lot of late; that is, it was always ticking, of course, as watches do, but all of a sudden Zedekiah had become painfully aware of this ticking, and it was driving him nuts, particularly in the middle of the night, when things were at their most silent. He had gone to the palace’s watchmaker and told him, Fix it up, it’s ticking. And the watchmaker, feeling his oats on that day, said, Sure, a watch ticks; it’s not broken, Sire; it’s just how watches are made, they’re made to tick. And Zedekiah shouted, So cancel its ticking, watchmaker! And the watchmaker said, That’s impossible. And Zedekiah roared: I’ll cut you into pieces! Don’t be fresh with me! And, brazen, the watchmaker peered up at the king through his loupe and said, It would be like extinguishing the sun; you can’t separate a watch from its tick. And Zedekiah said, I couldn’t care less, I couldn’t care less. And the watchmaker at last removed the lens from his eye with a shaking hand.
Zedekiah’s greatest fear was, of course, that the Babylonians would hear of the summit, for such a gathering in itself would smell of sedition even before the first word was voiced. Half hidden in the shadows, on a bench, poking at a fruit salad with a toothpick, sat the Egyptian observer, holding in one hand an unofficial proposal from Pharaoh. Beside him sat his personal interpreter, who translated only into Egyptian.
And soon there ensued a discussion on the division of the spoils—meaning the division of the entire Middle East—on the day after Babylon fell. The Tyrians and the Sidonites opened with their humble demand to receive the entire coastal belt up to Gaza, including Gaza itself. We’ll manage between ourselves, they said, but the sea needs to be ours, it’s obvious. And the Moabite rose to his feet and slammed his fist down on the table and said: With all due respect, the two of them are already sitting on some nice beachfront property up there in the north; it’s about time the Moabites got access to the sea, too. We’re shut away in a hole beyond the river while you guys get to bathe every morning and surf the waves. No way, it’s not going to happen. Moab will march to the sea, he shouted. Otherwise, I have no reason to take part in this revolt and sacrifice any of my mighty men. And the King of Ammon, Balis, who’d never dreamed of reaching the distant sea, who would never in a million years have thought of making such a demand, said: You took the words out of my mouth, Moab. After all, we Ammonites have been demanding as much since time immemorial—yes, a corridor to the sea, a seaport for the sons of Ammon. We demand that Judah scale down its borders a bit. If it’s a pact, then let it be a pact all the way, or at least all the way to the shore. It’s out of the question that only some members of the pact should hit the jackpot and not others. Likewise, the Moabite cut in, we demand the territory that we’re entitled to in the south—namely, in Edom, which was unlawfully taken from us. Wadi Zered should be Moabite on both banks. Without that concession there’s nothing to talk about—I’m getting up and leaving. And the Edomite took out a map and a wooden ruler and drew a straight red line between the cities of Zoar, Arad, Eshtamoa, Dvir, and Lachish. This is what I’d like to get, he said. It’s really not much—it’s the least we could possibly ask for.
And Zedekiah’s eyes darted around the room as he said, Lots of demands, lots of claims. In fact, he himself wanted to lay claim to the Sea of Galilee, but he wasn’t sure who was in control there these days. Okay, let’s sit at the negotiating table and see what we can do. We’ll see to it that everyone leaves happy, that everyone will both get a little something and give up a little something, as is only fair. Let’s spread the map open, let’s all get out our rulers and pencils. All things considered, it’s a big region, and there’s room for everyone, right? Everyone wants a little elbow room, and everyone wants the sea, too. I understand perfectly—why should our partners beyond the Jordan be disadvantaged, why should their portion be diminished, why shouldn’t they have a bit of open sea, to sail on and watch the sun set over? And someone said, And what about the Amalekites? And Zedekiah rose and said, Leave the Amalekites to me! Everyone politely applauded.
Then there was a loud noise from outside, as though a carriage was rattling by, and a man dressed in black entered the rabbinate restaurant. Finally, the interpreter! everyone thought. And they would have jumped right back into their negotiations if it weren’t for the fact that the man was wearing on his shoulders and his neck the harness and poles of a plowing bull or horse. Are you the interpreter? Zedekiah asked. If so, what’s with the getup? Are you here to plow or to translate? Because, look, if you’ve come to plow, this isn’t the right field, okay? Everything’s already pretty deeply plowed in here, he said. Then the King of Judah recognized the man in black,
though he was greatly changed. He was considerably thinner, and had grown a long beard, and looked to have aged some twenty years, and his head was shaved, and the inside of his right forearm was tattooed with three words, Zedekiah noticed, to his utter astonishment: LAND, LAND, LAND. The man stepped into the center of the room, dragging noisily after him the shaft and wooden poles of a beast of the fields. The Sidonian asked, What’s this? And the King of Tyre took in the display and said, cannily, I reckon he wants to say something about the enslavement of animals, or maybe about slavery in general, and maybe he wants to tell us that it’s high time we free ourselves from the yoke of Babylon…?
But Jeremiah answered him in his own language, On the contrary, and then added another On the contrary in every dialect being spoken in the room. He turned to each attendee and addressed him in his own language—including the Egyptian, who was watching all this with gloomy curiosity. And Jeremiah said, You must not listen to your prophets, your diviners, your dreamers, your soothsayers, or your sorcerers, who are saying to you, You shall not serve the King of Babylon. For they are prophesying a lie to you, with the result that you will be removed far from your land, I will drive you out, and you will perish. But any nation that will bring its neck under the yoke of the King of Babylon and serve him, I will leave on its own land, says the Lord, to till it and live there. Bring your necks, bring your necks under the yoke of the King of Babylon, and serve him and his people, and live, Jeremiah said, and as rapidly translated for every member of his audience, though he was staring fixedly at Zedekiah all along: Serve the King of Babylon and live. Why should this city become a desolation?
Next to the Egyptian emissary sat his personal interpreter, and this man explained at great length what had been said. The Egyptian interpreter then stood up, the Egyptian emissary nodding in approval, and approached Jeremiah, removing the pole shafts from his neck, and, without saying a word, raised them up and broke them in half on his bent knee. In such a manner will I break the yoke of Nebuchadnezzar the King of Babylon in two years’ time, the translator said. Enough, now, this story’s over and done with. No more theatrics, Jeremiah—we know you of old.
Jeremiah looked at the broken shafts. And Zedekiah, too, looked on, amazed, for it now became clear that this Egyptian interpreter was none other than Hanania the prophet, who’d visited him recently. And Jeremiah asked the Egyptian interpreter, Who are you? And the interpreter, instead of answering, spread out two enormous wings, and the wings filled the entire hall, and all the kings fell on their faces, saying, He’s got an angel, he’s got an angel. And the angel gathered its wings and sat down to sip the foam from his beer. And more food and beer were served, and Zedekiah said, Bravo, we finally have a clear sign; the strength of the yoke, which was of hard wood, was tested. And the king’s dog was waiting under the table the whole while.
Jeremiah left the restaurant. He felt as if the bones of his hands and the bones of his feet had just been crushed. Ah, the shame of it. He walked down the street, sat on the iron bars of the safety railings at the bottom of Agron Street, and buried his face in his hands. He realized that his part in events had just ended, that not only the yoke had been broken but his prophecy as well. But isn’t that only right and proper? It’s the updated prophecy, Jeremiah, he told himself; a new prophet has risen, and you didn’t even know. You’ve been fired without notice. Yes, it happens sometimes in large companies. They sent you a clear sign; an old man breaks the same wooden poles that you were commanded to prepare. All in all, it’s about as impressive as water from a rock. And he thought, The ways are hidden, and who knows whether the golden calf wasn’t the true God for Israel? Maybe the whole story should have begun with the calf. How can we know? There’s always some uncertainty when you’re talking to God; one can always be mistaken in interpreting divine speech. God’s words have to be translated into the language of human beings, and who knows what gets lost in translation. Even if you hear the prophecy clearly and directly from the mouth of God, you’re only human, and misunderstanding is a daily occurrence among our kind. As you are well aware.
A woman sat down next to him, and he recognized her as the complainant, who hadn’t been taken into exile, like all the rest of the indigent crazies. And she told him: It doesn’t matter. The wooden poles were broken only to forge iron bars in place of them! For thus says the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel: I have put an iron yoke on the neck of all these nations so that they may serve King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, and they shall indeed serve him. Jeremiah pretended he hadn’t heard her and got up to make a break for it, but she was already taking the iron safety railings apart, somehow, and he stopped and watched her until she approached him and fixed the bars on his shoulders as a weighty harness. And she told him: We’re only dray horses, Jeremiah. We can’t just run away from the carriages we pull behind us. And he started walking up the street with difficulty, accompanied by the clanging of the poles he was dragging over the asphalt—for the second time that day—back to the head of Agron Street, where he again entered the rabbinate restaurant, covered in sweat, shuddering.
The international conference was in full swing: maps were spread out, and the Egyptian was speaking, and the angel translating, talking of Nebuchadnezzar’s surrender. When Jeremiah again entered the room, an hour after his first yoke had been broken, now bearing the iron poles on his neck, hors d’oeuvres were being served, before the main course. From the doorway, Jeremiah suddenly recognized Broch, and heard that they were calling him Hanania for some reason. He told him, Listen, Hanania, and Broch rose to his feet and stared at him in disbelief. Jeremiah continued: The Lord has not sent you, and you made these people trust in a lie. Therefore, thus says the Lord: I am going to send you off the face of the earth. Within this year you will be dead. And Hanania looked apologetically at all the kings and went up to Jeremiah a second time in anger and made to break the iron shafts; he took with him the broken wooden pole from Jeremiah’s first round, wielding it like a club, and he spread his wings. And the kings screamed: Ahh, the wrath of Hanania! Ahh, the wrath of the angel of loathing! But Jeremiah slipped behind Broch’s back and, thrusting his hand out, yanked off the contraption to which the wings were attached, and he bent the wings and tore the white paper feathers. You can buy this sort of junk in a costume store, you morons! he screamed at the kings. And the Egyptian emissary looked at his translator and rushed out to send a fax to his superiors, and Jeremiah stooped under the black-and-white striped iron poles on his shoulders and patted the head of Tukulti, who was still sitting under the table.
That very day, Broch faxed a letter to Nebuchadnezzar, via a Babylonian colleague, a fellow critic, saying that a revolt against Babylon was brewing in Judah, adding: By the way, the King of Judah has a dog, a talking canine. Keep an eye on the large dog, Broch said, not only on the small dog of the House of David. And the King of Babylon certainly took notice. Jeremiah, too, sent a fax to Babylon, the following day, to the remaining elders among the exiles, and to the priests, the prophets, and all the people whom Nebuchadnezzar had taken into exile. He thought of his parents, from whom he hadn’t heard a word, and he said, It doesn’t matter; they’ll understand that the letter is directed to them as well. And Jeremiah wrote to the exiled in Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. For thus says the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel: Do not let the prophets and the diviners who are among you deceive you, and do not listen to the dreams that they dream, for it is a lie that they are prophesying to you in my name; I did not send them, says the Lord. For thus says the Lord: Only when Babylon’s seventy years are completed will I visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. F
or surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.
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