by Lynn Austin
“What’s the reason for this decree?” someone shouted. “What did we do wrong?”
Rebbe Nathan wiped his eyes. “No explanation is given.”
“We don’t have enemies here in Babylon,” another man said. “They wouldn’t kill us here, in this city, would they?”
“The order allows our assassins to plunder our goods,” Nathan said. “Even those men who don’t hate us will join in the killing to take everything we have—homes, businesses . . .”
“And since this decree comes from King Xerxes himself,” the Babylonian sorcerer added, “many in his kingdom will rush to obey it in order to win his favor. You’ve been declared the king’s enemies.”
“We have to flee!” one of the elders said. “We have to get our families out of Babylon now!”
Ezra had the same thought. He needed to race back to his study and pack all the priceless Torah scrolls, the historical accounts, wisdom literature, the scrolls of the prophets, and take them someplace safe.
“There’s no place to go,” Nathan said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “The executions will take place simultaneously throughout the empire. In every province.”
“Oh, God of Abraham . . .” Ezra covered his mouth. He leaned against his sturdy brother, sick with horror. Panic and fear swelled like thunderclouds throughout the hall.
“What are we going to do?” someone moaned.
“Our wives . . . our children . . . we can’t let them die!”
“God of Abraham, why is this happening?” Wails of grief filled the hall.
“Why not just kill us now, if that’s what they want?” Jude shouted above the weeping. “Is it part of the torture to make us wait eleven months so we have to watch the angel of death slowly approach?”
Nathan held up his hands again to silence the commotion. He turned to the Babylonian sorcerer. “Please, can you help us get an audience with the government officials here in Babylon? Maybe if we begged them for mercy—”
“They’ll never agree to speak with you,” he replied, shaking his head. “They fear King Xerxes and his chief administrator, Haman, too much. In fact, I’m risking trouble myself by coming here and associating with you. I need to go.” He tried to step down from the bimah, but Nathan stopped him.
“Wait. Who is this Haman?”
“He sits at King Xerxes’ right hand, second in power only to the king.”
“Do you know his full name or anything about him? Would he show us mercy?”
“I don’t know. . . . Maybe his full name is there in the decree, somewhere,” he said, gesturing to the scroll. “Look for yourself. I have to leave.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do to stop this? Do you know anyone who would give us refuge or a place to hide? We’ll travel anywhere, no matter how distant.”
“If I knew I would tell you. I don’t want to see this happen, either. I came for Rebbe Daniel’s sake, but I really must go now. I never meant to stay this long.” Nathan helped him step down from the platform, and the crowd parted to let him through as he hurried away.
“How can this be?” Ezra tugged his hair and beard, the pain a reminder that this was real and not a nightmare. How could every Jew in the empire be under a death sentence, without hope, without an escape? The God of Abraham would never do this to them. They’d suffered destruction and exile before, but God promised through His prophets that a remnant would survive, that His covenant would endure. Were the prophets wrong?
Ezra looked up and saw Nathan perusing the king’s decree, murmuring the words aloud as he read it. The crowd hushed to listen. “There’s no other way to interpret it,” Nathan said. “The decree is final, signed and sealed with King Xerxes’ authority . . . and witnessed by Haman son of Hammedatha, the Agagite.”
Ezra moaned. “Oh no. There’s our reason.”
“Does that name mean something to you?” Jude asked. Ezra could only nod, overwhelmed by the truth of who this powerful enemy was. “Tell all of us, Ezra,” Jude said, pushing him toward the front. “Listen, everyone! My brother has information. Let him speak!”
“You know this man Haman?” Nathan asked.
“No, I’m only a scholar. I’ve never traveled beyond this city.” Ezra climbed the bimah, his steps heavy. “But I know the Torah and the history of our people, and believe me, the man behind this murderous decree—this Haman the Agagite—is our enemy.”
“Tell us what you know.”
Ezra needed a moment to catch his breath. “Agag was the king of the Amalekites—a tribe of people who descended from Esau’s grandson, Amalek. If Haman calls himself the Agagite, then he must be from their royal family. He’s their king—and now he’s in a position of power over the entire Persian Empire. Of course he would want to use that authority to destroy us.” Ezra had to pause again, horror-struck by what he was saying.
“The Amalekites have long been the enemies of our people. They attacked our ancestors as soon as we escaped from Egypt with Moses. They didn’t care that we were unarmed or that we traveled with women and children.”
“Cowards!” someone shouted from the crowd.
“That’s exactly right,” Ezra said. “The Almighty One commanded our first king, Saul, to completely destroy all the Amalekites. When Saul disobeyed, his kingship was taken away and given to David. We’ve been at war with the Amalekites throughout our history. These descendants of Esau believe that if they destroy all of the descendants of Jacob, they’ll inherit the covenant blessings from God that rightfully belong to us.”
“Do we have to sit by and accept this?” Jude asked. “Why not arm ourselves and fight back?”
Nathan bowed his head for a moment before looking up again. “The King will use the Persian army to enforce this decree. Even if we tried to fight, we couldn’t possibly win. When the thirteenth day of Adar comes . . .” He couldn’t finish. He leaned against Ezra as if about to collapse, weeping.
“Get a bench!” Ezra shouted. “He needs to sit down.” The men passed one up to the platform, and Ezra helped the elderly rebbe sit on it. “Are you all right?” he asked. Nathan didn’t reply. He continued to weep, his body bent double, his head in his hands.
“Isn’t there anyone in the government who can help us?” one of the elders asked. Ezra realized that the man was addressing him. Everyone was looking to him to take Nathan’s place.
“None that I know of,” he replied. “Daniel the Righteous One was an advisor to the king when he was alive, but we no longer have an advocate in Babylon or Susa or anywhere else. Even if we did, the king sealed the decree, and the laws of the Medes and Persians can never be changed.”
Sounds of mourning filled the hall again. “I refuse to accept this death sentence!” Jude shouted above the cries. “There must be something we can do besides sit around waiting to die!”
“We can fast and pray,” Ezra said. “We can wrestle with God the way Jacob did at the Jabbok River as he prepared to face Esau.” He spoke the correct words, giving the response that a man of faith would offer, but in that moment, Ezra’s faith was so shaken, his heart and mind so engulfed by the rising river of hopelessness, that he didn’t know how God could possibly save them. They were all sentenced to death.
“Do you think this is God’s punishment?” someone asked. “Is it because our fathers remained here instead of returning to Jerusalem with Prince Zerubbabel?”
“It can’t be,” Jude said before Ezra could reply. “Isn’t Jerusalem under the same death sentence we are? Every Jew in the kingdom will be annihilated!”
“We need to pray,” Ezra repeated.
“What good will that do?” Jude asked.
Ezra couldn’t answer Jude’s question, nor did he want to argue with him in front of the entire community. “I need to go back to my study and—”
“Ezra! For once in your life, put away your scrolls and join the real world!” Jude said. “Do you think you’ll be allowed to go on studying while the rest of us are slaughtered?”
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sp; “My scrolls may not help, but neither will shouting,” he replied. “There’s nothing any of us can do for now, except pray. Maybe God will tell us why this is happening or show us a way out. In the meantime, someone needs to take Nathan home. . . . We all need to go home.” Ezra stepped down from the platform, desperate to reach the nearest door. He couldn’t stay here a moment longer, listening to questions he couldn’t answer, defending a God he didn’t understand. The fear in the hall had become paralyzing, and he needed to escape it while he still could walk.
But when Ezra reached his study and sank onto his stool, he could only stare in stunned disbelief at the Torah scroll lying open where he’d left it. “How can this be?” he asked aloud. “God of Abraham, how can you let our enemy triumph this way? How have we angered you?” In spite of all Ezra’s knowledge and learning and his ability to interpret the finest details of the law, the Almighty One seemed unknowable at that moment. Ezra lowered his head to the table, resting his forehead on his folded his arms. “‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning?’”
The door opened. He looked up, expecting to see his brother, but it was one of his Torah students, a young man named Shimon. “Rebbe Ezra, I don’t understand—”
“Neither do I!” His words came out harsher than he intended, but he wanted to be left alone. Instead, Shimon took a step closer.
“Rebbe, you said God’s punishment and exile ended when our people were allowed to return and rebuild the temple, but this decree—”
“This decree came from Gentiles, Shimon, not God.”
“But the Almighty One allowed it, didn’t He?”
Ezra didn’t reply. He propped his elbows on the table and covered his face, hoping Shimon would leave.
“Why do the Gentiles hate us, Rebbe?”
“Because we follow God,” he said, his hands muffling his reply. “Men who worship false gods want to wipe out all remembrance of the one true God and His moral laws, and so they attack us, the keepers of His Torah.”
The stool scraped across the stone floor as Shimon sat down across from him. Ezra lowered his hands, resisting the urge to shout at him to go away.
“Rebbe, this decree reminds me of Pharaoh’s order to throw our baby boys into the Nile. I know the Holy One spared one of those babies, Moses, but many more must have died. I asked you once why the Holy One allowed it, why He didn’t save all of the babies, and you said He allowed it for a time because it served His greater purpose. You said God wanted to show the Egyptians His power, and rescue all of us.” Ezra watched Shimon through his tears, unable to recall ever saying those words. “Could this decree be part of some greater plan, Rebbe? Do you think the Almighty One wants to show His power to the Persians the way He did to the Egyptians?”
Ezra couldn’t reply. Maybe he would arrive at a place of understanding someday, but not today. Today he was too shaken, his mind too numb to do anything but cry out in grief. He didn’t want to die—not this way, not at the hands of the Amalekites, not after striving so hard all his life to study and obey God’s law.
At last he found his voice. “Go home to your family, Shimon. They surely need all the comfort you can offer. I’m going to do the same.” He pulled himself to his feet and wrapped the scroll in its covering. Shimon rose to help him, but Ezra waved him away. “I can finish. Go home. There won’t be any classes today.”
When he had put everything away, Ezra returned home to his room in Jude’s house. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, but Jude’s wife, Devorah, stopped him in their courtyard before he could slip past her. He saw fear in her dark eyes and knew Jude must have told her about their death sentence.
“What’s going to happen to us?” she asked. “If we fast and pray to the Holy One, He’ll surely save us, won’t He?”
Ezra glanced at his two small nieces, babbling as they shared a bowl of dates, and his brother’s words from earlier that morning pierced his heart: “For once in your life, put away your scrolls and join the real world!” The king’s edict wasn’t another Torah passage to wrestle with and interpret but a decree that affected flesh-and-blood people. His people.
“Tell me, Ezra, please! You know the Almighty One better than the rest of us—”
“No, Devorah. I don’t. You know Him as well as I do. Maybe better because you have children. You understand the need to discipline them when they do wrong, but you also understand mercy. I’ve watched you pull your girls into your arms and love them after you’ve punished them. I may know God’s law and the history of our people, but I don’t think I truly understand His mercy. And right now, we need to plead for His mercy.”
The door from the inner rooms opened and Jude came out. He stared at Ezra as if surprised to see him. “You came home?”
“I’ve put away my scrolls. I’m joining what you call the real world. Tell me what you want me to do. How can I help?”
“We’re going to need a new leader. Nathan is . . . well, you saw how upset he was. He fell to pieces after you left.”
“You expect me to take his place?”
“You have more wisdom than the rest of us put together. And that’s what we need right now—wisdom and . . . and guidance.”
“I’m a scholar, not a leader.”
“I know! I know! An expert on the God of Abraham and His Torah!” Jude’s temper, always volatile under pressure, threatened to explode. “Tell us why this is happening. Why God is doing this to us, and what we can do about it. Give us answers!”
“I don’t think—”
Jude stepped closer. “You asked me how you can help, and I’m telling you. We need a strong leader, a man of faith. Our faith has been shattered by this decree.”
“And what makes you think mine hasn’t?” Ezra raised his voice for the first time. Jude’s two small daughters froze in place, clutching their bowls as if the loud voices had frightened them. Devorah bent to lift the baby, then prodded the older child to her feet, leading her inside.
“Pray about it,” Jude said. “Study your scrolls. Find out what we’ve done to deserve this. Then, if you still refuse to lead us, pray that the Almighty One will send someone who will.”
“I can do that,” Ezra said quietly. “I can pray. And I can see what the law and the prophets have to say.” He would start today. And he wouldn’t stop searching the Scriptures until he found the reason for the decree—and the solution. But to become the leader of his people in Rebbe Nathan’s place? Ezra couldn’t promise such a thing.
Chapter
2
BABYLON
Devorah was still awake when Jude finally came to bed. As tired as she was from her day’s work, the bewildering news wouldn’t allow her to sleep. Her mind fluttered about like the dove that Noah had released from the ark, searching in vain for a place to land. She floundered about through stories from her ancestors’ past, seeking a way to understand what the Almighty One was doing. And what He might do next.
“Do you want me to light the lamp for you?” she asked as she watched Jude strip off his tunic.
“No. It might wake the girls.” He finished undressing but didn’t lie down beside her. Even without the light, Devorah saw the expression of bafflement and fear on his face, the same expression she imagined on their ancestors’ faces when they reached the shore of the Red Sea and heard Pharaoh’s chariots thundering behind them. In the four years she and Jude had been married, Devorah had never seen her strong, dauntless husband so pale and overwhelmed. The moment he’d walked into their courtyard today in the middle of the afternoon, she’d known something terrible had happened.
“What’s wrong?” she had asked, abandoning her dough in the kneading trough. “Is it one of your brothers? Is someone hurt?” She could think of no other reason for him to be home so early or in such a state of shock.
“The Persian king has sentenced all of our people to death. Men, women, and children. We’re all going to die.”
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sp; “What? . . . No . . .” She had tried to embrace him, but he held her back, as if too tense to accept comfort. “But why, Jude? What’s the reason for it?” He shook his head, unable to speak, then fled inside their house, refusing to say more. She had cornered her brother-in-law, Ezra, the moment he came home, hours earlier than usual. Ezra knew more about the Almighty One than anyone in Babylon, but he’d also been in shock, unable to offer assurance that God was in control.
Now she waited for Jude to lie down beside her, but he couldn’t stop pacing, as if desperate to do something to change their situation. Devorah rose from their pallet and went into his arms, resting her head on his broad, solid chest. “I want to know the truth, Jude. Tell me everything about this death sentence and what we can do about it. Don’t shelter me.” He was a bear of a man, a giant alongside her tiny frame. Tonight he held her as if she might break, as if afraid to cling to her with the full force of his emotions. He stroked her dark hair, the color of the midnight sky, he always said.
“It’s my job to shelter you,” he said. “Men are supposed to protect their wives in situations like this.”
She released him, looking up at him in the dark, fighting the urge to shout at him. “I don’t want to be sheltered! I told you before we were married that I’m not like other women, content to live in ignorance of what’s going on, letting my husband do everything and decide everything. I told you that I wanted more from our marriage than to simply cook your food and have your children—and you agreed, Jude. You agreed that I would be your partner as well as your wife. You promised you’d never hide anything from me—”
He put his fingers over her lips, stopping her, glancing at their children sleeping nearby. “You know why I agreed, Devorah? Because you captivated me. I was as helpless as Samson with his head shorn. You were right; you weren’t like other women. You were an ‘old’ woman of twenty, for one thing.”
She couldn’t help punching his arm at the familiar tease. Jude was trying to distract her, and it made her furious. “That’s because I was waiting for a man who would agree to my terms. And you did. You can’t go back on your promise now. And don’t change the subject. I’m not a child, like Abigail, who you can distract. Tell me what you know about this decree.”