by Lynn Austin
“We’ll go with him, of course,” Sayfah replied. Amina’s stomach rolled over at her words. “It’s a miracle we finally found him.”
“But I don’t want to live with him!”
“We have to. We’re betraying Mama and Papa by living with their enemies. The Jews are the ones who murdered them.”
“Uncle Abdel hates me because of my leg. Did you see the way he looked at me today? Just like Papa used to. He didn’t even know my name. And remember how Papa used to tell me I was worthless? The Jews never treat me that way.”
“The Jews aren’t family, Amina. Of course we have to go home. How can you even think about staying here?”
“Please! I don’t want to go back there!” How could Amina make her sister understand the terror that strangled her at the thought of living with their uncle? “Don’t you remember how Abba used to beat us? How we lived in fear of making a mistake and angering him every day of our lives?”
“You’re exaggerating. If he beat us it was because we deserved it.”
“Nobody beats us in Hodaya’s house. Don’t you see the difference?”
“The difference is that we don’t belong here, Amina. I should have died with Mama and the others, but I didn’t. Now my place is with Uncle Abdel. And so is yours.”
“No, please! I don’t want to leave Hodaya! Please!” She began to sob. “Please don’t make me go with him, Sayfah. You can go if you want to, but please let me stay with her.”
“We’re sisters and we belong together, with our own family.”
“Sayfah, please—”
“Stop begging! I’m the oldest, and you have to do what I say.”
“I’ll die if you make me go back with him!”
“And I feel like I’m dying here with the Jews. I still can’t forgive myself for leaving Mama and the others and running away. This is my chance to make it up to them, don’t you see?”
“Sayfah, our parents left me behind, all alone, in our house that night. They never wanted me because I’m crippled. But Hodaya loves me, and I love her. You can go with Uncle Abdel if you want, but please let me stay with Hodaya. Please!”
“We can’t separate now after everything we’ve been through. Our family has been shattered into pieces already. This is the right thing to do, Amina. We’re going home with our uncle.”
Amina lay awake all night, tossing on her mat and praying to Hodaya’s God, promising to serve Him for the rest of her life if only He would save her. I finally found someone who loves me, Lord. Please don’t make me leave Hodaya! I don’t care if Abdel is our uncle, he doesn’t worship you. And I want to worship you!
Amina couldn’t eat anything the next day and didn’t sleep on the second night, either. Sayfah packed her bag early in the morning as if eager to leave, and she made Amina pack hers, too. When Jacob said it was time to return to meet their uncle, Amina began to cry. “You poor, sweet girl,” Hodaya said, holding her tightly. “Here, take my hand, and I’ll walk there with you.” They set out together in a drizzling rain. The dreary streets glistened, and the wet building stones turned the color of ripe wheat as if the city wept along with her.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Amina sobbed as they walked. “But Sayfah says I can’t stay.” Would she ever be allowed to come to the golden city of Jerusalem again or worship at the temple?
“Be brave,” Hodaya whispered. “Ask the Holy One to make you strong.”
Much too soon, they reached the market square, which wasn’t very busy on this gray, dreary day. Amina’s uncle stood in front of his booth with his arms folded, as if he’d been watching for them. He stepped in front of them as they approached. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he said before Jacob could speak. “Since you say you’ve grown attached to my nieces, I’ll take Sayfah and let you keep the crippled one.”
Amina felt a jolt of shock at the cruel rejection—and yet salvation! She felt Hodaya’s arm around her shoulder, drawing her close.
“Give me the money that’s due me when she’s old enough to marry, and you can keep her.”
Amina began to weep, knowing she didn’t have money to buy her freedom, knowing Jacob had never wanted her. Time seemed to stand still as the two men stared at each other. Then Amina watched in amazement as Jacob unfastened the pouch from his belt and handed Uncle Abdel some coins. “Will this compensate you for your loss?” he asked, his tone scornful. Abdel closed his fist around the coins and nodded. “I’ll pay your bride price, too, Sayfah,” Jacob said, turning to her. “Are you sure you want to go with him?”
“Yes. I’m sure,” she said, and for once she didn’t whisper.
Amina broke free from Hodaya and ran to Sayfah, hugging her tightly, wondering if she would ever see her sister again. She couldn’t stop her tears, which were a mixture of sorrow at their separation and joy at her salvation.
“Where is your village?” Jacob asked Amina’s uncle. “Where are you taking Sayfah?”
“It’s just across the valley there,” Abdel said. “At the foot of the mountain.”
“And you know where we live in Bethlehem,” Jacob told Sayfah. “You’ll always be welcome if you ever want to come back and visit us.”
It was time to part. Amina released her sister and limped back to Hodaya’s side, taking her hand again. In spite of all the pain she felt in this moment, a tiny flame of joy warmed her heart. The Almighty One, Hodaya’s God, had answered her prayer. He had rescued her.
Her God.
Chapter
30
BABYLON
Devorah was in labor. Ezra heard her crying out in pain as he paced his courtyard with Asher, and he suffered along with her. “Why is it taking so long?” he asked. “I wish I could do something to help.”
“Hey, this is nothing!” Asher said. “My wife had our first child on the Thirteenth of Adar, remember? We were fighting for our lives when she went through this. I not only was concerned for Miriam, I was worried sick that the enemy would break through any minute and slaughter all of us.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure it was much worse for you. It’s just that . . . what if I lose her? Women die in childbirth, you know. I don’t know what I would do without Devorah.” He had married her only a year ago, and already he could barely remember what his life had been like before or how it had felt to be alone, unable to come home to Devorah’s smile, her loving arms. How had he lived without the softness and sweetness of Devorah lying beside him at night, without her gentle words as she smoothed his hair and beard or rested her hand on his shoulder? He had never imagined such contentment—but did she still think of Jude? Was she closing her eyes and pretending Ezra was him?
He heard another scream and wanted to break down the door and help her. He was glad he’d sent Abigail and Michal to stay with Miriam so they wouldn’t have to hear their mother suffering. “I went so many years without a wife,” he said, “and I used to be envious of you and Jude. I never imagined it would be so . . . so . . .” He tugged his beard as he searched in vain for the words to describe the fear and worry and distress he was experiencing. Would he have taken Jude’s advice to join the real world if he’d known how costly it would be? He had experienced much less drama and emotion, much less risk in the world of his studies and scrolls—yet Ezra knew the happiness he shared with Devorah was worth it. Devorah—his wife. “Do you think she’s okay?” he asked Asher.
“Listen to yourself. You sound like a man in love.”
“Is this what love feels like?”
“Yes. And I’d be very surprised if you didn’t love her after all the things she’s done for you.”
But did Devorah love him?
Finally—finally—the terrible screams stopped and Ezra heard the fragile cry of a baby. “Oh, thank God,” he murmured. “I need to sit down.” Asher laughed as Ezra sank down on his niece’s stool. The newborn was still wailing loudly when one of the women came out to find him. “You have a son, Rebbe Ezra. Mazel tov.”
He sprang to
his feet. “Is Devorah all right?”
“She seems to be.”
“May I see her?”
“It’s not a good time right now.” The woman went back inside.
“What did she mean, Asher? She seems to be all right? Don’t they know?”
“Just be patient. They’ll call for you when they’re finished.”
“But you’ve been through this twice now. What do you think she meant? Why is it taking so long?”
“Ezra. Did you hear what she said? You have a son! Mazel tov!” Asher grabbed him in a bear hug.
Yes, he had heard. And he’d thought of Jude. “He isn’t my son, you know,” Ezra said, smiling for the first time. “He’s Jude’s son. God rewarded Devorah for obeying the law and marrying me.” He was beginning to relax when Devorah cried out again. “She’s still in pain, Asher! Something must be wrong!”
Asher sighed as if exasperated. He pushed Ezra toward the gate, away from the house. “Come on, you need to go for a walk or something. Maybe you’ll feel better if we go to the house of assembly and pray.”
“No. I’m staying right here. She might need me.” He ran his hands through his hair, knocking his kippah to the ground, then bent to pick it up again. “I couldn’t bear to lose her, Asher. You’re right. I do love her. She listens to me talk when I know I must be boring her. And she really seems to enjoy discussing the Torah with me. She knows so much about it. In fact, she’s brighter than some of my students. And sometimes when I’m so tired from answering questions and solving problems and deciding cases all day, she knows just how to lift me out of my slump and encourage me. She’s a real woman of faith. I never imagined we would grow so close—after all, she married me out of duty. But it’s such a joy to come home to her every evening and receive her affection.” He looked up at Asher, who grinned and shook his head as if amused. “What? What did I say?”
“I’m going to give you a word of advice, Ezra. When this is over, tell her. Tell Devorah what you just told me.”
The baby, who had been quiet for several minutes, suddenly began to wail again. “Something’s wrong with the baby!” Ezra said in a panic. “We need to pray!” He sank down on the stool again, burying his head in his lap as he pleaded with the Almighty One for his wife and newborn son. If only God would give him a chance, he would take Asher’s advice. He would tell Devorah that he loved her. He would be a husband to her the way God was a husband to Israel. “Please,” he begged. “Please . . .”
After what seemed like hours, the door to the house opened again. Ezra leaped to his feet as one of the women came out. “Devorah is asking to see you.”
Dread engulfed him. The words sounded so ominous, as if his wife was about to die and needed to speak with him one last time. He hurried into their room, fearing the worst. Devorah lay on their mat looking exhausted but beautiful, her long, dark hair damp and tangled around her face. She held their new son in the crook of her arm . . . but . . . Ezra thought he must be seeing things. She had an infant in each of her arms. Where had the second child come from? He opened his mouth to ask, but nothing came out.
“Twins,” she said, smiling. “Identical sons.” She looked radiant. Ezra knelt down beside her, longing to hold her, kiss her. Thank her. But her arms were full with two tiny, fragile babies. Were all newborns so small? “He is the firstborn,” she said, nodding toward the boy closest to Ezra. The baby had a piece of yarn tied around his wrist.
“That means he’s Jude’s son,” Ezra said, stroking the child’s dark hair.
“And this is your firstborn son,” she said, indicating the other one.
“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, wiping his eyes. “My son! Did the Almighty One feel this much joy when He created mankind?”
Devorah smiled. “Yes, I think He must have.”
Ezra knew as he gazed at his wife and infant sons that he would do anything for them—even lay down his life for them. But the knowledge that his family was trapped here in Babylon, surrounded by pagan enemies, made it difficult to catch his breath for a moment. He had to find a way out, a way to take them home to Jerusalem.
“What’s wrong?” Devorah asked. “Your face just went pale.”
“Nothing . . . I’m—I’m overwhelmed with joy.” He wouldn’t share his fear with her and overshadow their happiness. “God gave you a double blessing, Devorah. You obeyed God’s law and married me, and look how He has blessed you! And Jude, too!”
“And He has blessed you, Ezra.”
The thought astounded him. “Yes! Yes, He has! We must redeem both boys as firstborn sons, as the Torah commands.”
“I would like to name our older son Judah—if you agree.”
“Of course. I would like that.” He bent to kiss Devorah’s forehead. “You know I’m not good with words, but I realized something this afternoon while I was waiting. . . . I don’t know when it happened, but I’ve stopped thinking of you as Jude’s wife. You’re my wife now. My wife, and a truly remarkable woman in every respect. I’m a better man because of you. I’ve grown to care for you, Devorah. I know I’ll never take Jude’s place—”
“Stop,” she said softly. “I’ll always think about Jude and love him. And I’ll remember him every time I look at his daughters. But Jude would want me to be happy with you. And I am.”
“You are? . . . With—with me . . . ?”
She nodded, smiling. “When I decided to talk to the elders about your work, I was surprised to realize that more than anything else, I wanted to make you happy.”
“You have, Devorah! Tell me your heart’s desire, and it’s yours.”
She sighed, looking exhausted. “The strength to raise our two sons, for now. . . . And then . . . a long life by your side.”
Chapter
31
BABYLON
Ezra watched the setting sun at the close of the Sabbath day from the rooftop of his home and felt more than his usual sadness at the end of this day of rest. The darkness that slowly approached from the eastern horizon bringing heavy clouds would soon extinguish whatever light the moon and stars offered tonight. The clouds seemed prophetic, mirroring the heaviness that hovered over his soul when he prayed for the people he loved.
His family gathered around him—his wife, Devorah; his adopted daughters, Abigail and Michal, now lovely young women in their teens; his twin sons, Judah and Shallum; and the three younger daughters born to him and Devorah. Ezra kindled the havdalah light and recited the prayers that ended the Sabbath and ushered in a new week. The tradition helped draw a clear line between Sabbath time, consecrated to God, and ordinary days—a dividing line between the holy and the common. God chose His people to be a holy nation, a light to the Gentiles, but the ever-darkening sky that crept toward Babylon seemed an ominous picture of the increasing darkness that threatened to extinguish God’s light.
“Amen,” he said at the end of his prayer, and Ezra heard one of his children sigh as if relieved the long Sabbath day of rest had finally ended. All seven children scrambled to their feet, eager to return to activities forbidden on the Sabbath. “Judah and Shallum, please wait here with me,” Ezra said. “You girls may go downstairs and help your mother.”
He motioned for the boys to sit down again and noticed Shallum glancing up at the clouds.
The cool wind rustling across the rooftop threatened rain, blowing the clouds toward them. Ezra usually enjoyed studying Torah with his sons on Sabbath afternoons, but he hadn’t studied with them today, too grieved by the report he’d received about them just before Shabbat began. The twins stared down at the clay roof tiles, not at him, knowing what was coming. “Look at me, please,” Ezra said. They looked up, their black hair, brown eyes, and twin faces so identical that only family members could tell them apart. Eleven years of experience had taught Ezra the twins’ individual mannerisms and quirks. They would be Sons of the Commandments at the end of this year, responsible for their own souls before God. The thought made Ezra shudder.
“Did you think you could skip your lessons at the yeshiva and I wouldn’t hear about it?” he asked now. “Why weren’t you in school on the eve of Shabbat?”
“We weren’t prepared for our lesson, so we went for a walk,” Judah said. He was older by a few minutes and usually took the lead.
“We didn’t plan it,” Shallum added, as if to soften the news. “We saw a ship down by the canal and went to watch it being unloaded.”
Ezra saw Judah nudge his brother, and they exchanged a quick look—Judah signaling Shallum to be quiet, as if they were hiding something else. “Tell me the truth,” Ezra said quietly. “Did you also walk into the city? Into Babylon?”
“Yes, Abba.” They answered together, as they so often did. Ezra used to find it amusing that they thought alike and said things simultaneously, but not today. One of them, acting alone, never would have summoned the courage to skip class, let alone wander among the pagan Babylonians. But together they were fearless. He thought of how the Holy One had confused the world’s languages at the Tower of Babel, saying, “If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them.”
“We knew you would be angry, Abba,” Shallum said.
“And yet you chose to go anyway?” They wouldn’t meet his gaze. “You’re right, I am angry.” And along with his anger he felt fear—fear for his sons’ spiritual well-being as well as their physical safety. “The Babylonians are our enemies. Did you stop to think it could be dangerous to wander among the Gentiles? They hate us. They tried to annihilate us barely two years before you were born. They will do it again if they get the chance. Not only that, but I’m the leader of our Jewish community. I stand before the governor as the Minister of Jewish Affairs in Babylon. Did it occur to you that you could be a target for our enemies because you’re my sons?”