by Lynn Austin
“Now that the weighing is finished,” Ezra said afterward, “it’s time to consecrate all you Levites for the task God has given you.” Rebbe Ezra made Reuben sink to his knees along with the others and remove his kippah as the rebbe anointed each of their heads with oil. Ezra finished the ceremony with a prayer, asking God to guard and protect each man as they offered themselves to do His work. Reuben rose to his feet again when the prayer ended.
“Stand proud, gentlemen,” Ezra said. “You, as well as these articles, are now consecrated to the Lord. The silver and gold are a freewill offering to the Lord, the God of your fathers. It belongs to Him. Guard these treasures carefully until you weigh them out in the chambers of the House of the Lord in Jerusalem and turn them over to the priests and Levites there. The Lord has entrusted you with His work.”
Reuben didn’t feel proud as he returned to the campsite with Rebbe Ezra. The fast had ended, but he had no appetite. “Is something wrong, Reuben?” Ezra asked as he watched him push food around on his plate.
“I’m just not very hungry.” He excused himself and went to sit alone on the same little rise overlooking the canal. Ezra came looking for him as soon as the meal ended.
He sat beside Reuben in the sandy grass for several minutes without speaking, gazing down at the dark ribbon of the canal. “I know you’re an intelligent young man, Reuben,” he finally said. “You must have a lot of questions you would like to ask. So I want you to know our faith in the Almighty One allows for questions—and even doubts. That’s how students learn in the yeshiva, remember? The best students are the ones who aren’t afraid to ask questions.”
Reuben picked up a small stone, tossing it from one hand to the other as he tried to gather his thoughts. “You said today you knew God had answered your prayers. You keep talking about God as if you know Him personally, as if you’ve seen Him and you know He’s real.”
“In a way, I do know Him. God gave us His Torah so we can learn all about Him. Anyone who reads it will get to know Him.”
“How do you know the Torah isn’t made up?”
“Ah! A very good question.” Ezra grew animated as he shifted to face Reuben, gesturing broadly as he talked. “Let me explain it this way. If you or I or any other man was going to sit down and make up a book that supposedly came from God, a book filled with wisdom and stories and laws from this made-up god, what kinds of things would we put in this book? First of all, we would fill it with heroes to emulate, right? Men and women who never doubted or did things God didn’t like, and who showed us how to truly live. But what do we find in the Torah? Imperfect people. Adam and Eve, who had everything we could ever dream of in Paradise, disobeyed God and were driven out. Our revered patriarch, Abraham, told lies and sometimes doubted God. He fathered Ishmael because he didn’t trust God to keep His promises. Moses, our great liberator, tried to play God and killed a man. He argued with God and even told Him, ‘No!’ He doubted and feared and disobeyed. You must have learned all these stories, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I studied to become a Son of the Commandments.”
“Be honest then: Would you include such people and all their faults in a book that was supposedly from God if you had the opportunity to edit out these unflattering details?”
“I guess not.” Another memory of his father sprouted to life, unbidden. Abba had loved these tales of their ancestors. He had joyfully recounted the story of the exodus from slavery every year at Passover. “This is our past, Reuben. We learn about God from these stories of our past.”
“So, Reuben,” Ezra continued. “Let’s look at what the Torah promises about our people’s future. All wonderful things, right? Hardly! In the third book of Moses, God says, ‘I will scatter you among the nations and will draw out my sword and pursue you. Your land will be laid waste, and your cities will lie in ruins.’”
“You have the Torah memorized?” Reuben asked in astonishment.
“Much of it, yes,” he replied, as if it was nothing at all. “Now, think about it, Reuben. This is exactly what happened to our people. You and I know firsthand this came true because we are among those who’ve been scattered to faraway places. In the fifth book of Moses it says the same thing: ‘You will be uprooted from the land . . . then the Lord will scatter you among all nations, from one end of the earth to the other.’ No man in his right mind would put such predictions in a holy book. Who would follow it if they knew these things were going to happen to them? And it gets worse. You and I also lived through our enemies’ attempt to wipe us from the face of the earth fifteen years ago, right?”
“They killed my father.”
Ezra nodded. “God also predicted we would be hated wherever we were scattered. In the fifth book of Moses it says there will be no rest for our feet, no matter where we go. ‘You will live in constant suspense, filled with dread both night and day, never sure of your life.’ And He says, ‘You who were as numerous as the stars in the sky will be left but few in number, because—’”
“Wait. Why should we follow a God who lets all these terrible things happen to us?”
“Good question. And the rest of that verse gives us the answer. God allowed it ‘because you did not obey the Lord your God.’ But here’s the really good part, Reuben. The Holy One also promises that our people will endure, generation after generation, and that He will always be our God. He told Abraham, ‘I will establish my covenant as an everlasting covenant’—that means forever—‘between me and you and your descendants after you for the generations to come, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you.’ Only the Almighty One would dare to make such a prediction because it’s so unlikely to come true. Where are all the other peoples and nations of the past? Where are their gods? The Assyrians are gone. So are the Canaanites and Hittites and Jebusites. Yet against all odds, in spite of being scattered and hated, we, the sons of Abraham, have endured.”
Ezra paused to give Reuben time to absorb everything he was saying. The sun’s glow had faded in the west. The first stars had begun to appear. “God’s tiny beacons,” Abba had called them, “to light our way through the darkness.”
“Yes, God predicted we would be scattered and hated,” Ezra continued. “But He also promised we would return to our land. The Torah says, ‘When you and your children return to the Lord your God and obey Him with all your heart and with all your soul . . . then the Lord your God will restore your fortunes and have compassion on you and gather you again from all the nations where He scattered you.’ And you and I are part of this caravan right now, Reuben, returning to our land, because the Holy One promised we would be an eternal nation in His sight. What do you think are the odds of this coming true after we’ve been scattered and hated for so many generations?”
And outnumbered. Reuben recalled how outnumbered they’d been on the Thirteenth of Adar, and yet they’d been victorious. “It does seem unlikely,” he conceded.
“So who wrote the Torah, Reuben—God or man? If we conclude that any man setting out to make up a religion would never write such a book, and that the odds are slim we would endure as a nation in spite of such terrible predictions of our future, then we have to conclude God is the One who wrote it.” Ezra leaned closer, meeting Reuben’s gaze. “And if the Almighty One Himself, Creator of heaven and earth, wrote it, wouldn’t we be wise to study it and live by it? That’s what we’re going to Jerusalem to do. To rebuild our nation according to His law. To be keepers of His covenant.”
Reuben was nearly convinced—and yet he didn’t want to be. He’d chosen his own path, and his mind was made up. “Does the Torah explain why my father had to die?” he asked. “And why his shop was stolen from me?”
Ezra tugged on his beard for a moment. “The Torah insists God has a plan—for us and for His world. Sometimes we can’t see what that plan is until all the events have played out in their entirety. It’s like trying to predict the end of a story before the tale is finished. And for us, ‘the end’ might not come for many mo
re years. I asked the same question about why my brother Jude had to die. I still don’t know all the reasons, but I’m beginning to see how his death might fit into God’s plan.”
“How? What do you mean?”
“Well, for instance, after Jude died, the law commanded me to marry his widow. I had been so wrapped up in my studies I hadn’t thought about marrying. Maybe I never would have. But I obeyed the law and married Devorah, and we had twin sons and three daughters. That unexpected gift and the enormous love I feel for my children gives me a glimpse of the love God has for us, and it propelled me to want a different life for them than living in Babylon. My children belonged home, in the Promised Land. So I traveled to the capitol of Persia and spoke to the king. He issued his decree, and now we’re on our way home. Would all this have happened if Jude had lived? Would we be on our way out of exile and back to Jerusalem this very minute? I don’t know. Because he did die—and here we are.”
A memory came to Reuben of the day he’d stood beside his father in the blacksmith shop, scared and angry about the death sentence decreed for their people. Abba had tears in his eyes as he’d told Reuben they needed to trust in God’s goodness even when they couldn’t see it. “We show our faith in God when we keep moving forward even when our prayers aren’t being answered. It’s the highest form of praise to keep believing God is good even when it doesn’t seem that way.” And then Abba had bent over his anvil and continued to work as if to confirm his trust.
“Maybe it’s too soon to see all the reasons why your father died,” Ezra said, “and how they’re all going to work together into something good. We’re not to the end of your story yet. But I believe God wanted you to come with us. You were chosen by Him to make this journey. Your father said he would be the first one in line to come if God ever made a way. So ask yourself why you did decide to come—and then ask yourself if your reasons had anything to do with the loss of your father.”
Reuben looked away. They had everything to do with losing Abba. His true reason for coming was to help his friends steal the caravan’s gold. And he never would’ve joined the gang or become a thief in the first place if his father had lived.
“How long have you been living apart from the Torah?” Ezra asked.
“Since Abba died. Fifteen years ago.”
“And how has your life been since then? Are you content with it? Has it been blessed?”
Reuben thought of the pouch filled with gold he’d left behind for his mother. It had been worthless to him. He thought of his dreams, all unfulfilled, and how his only friends were a gang of Babylonian thieves. He could never go home again after this robbery. Instead, he would return to the dark, damp hideout with them to drink wine for the rest of his life. The empty place in his heart would probably never be filled.
When he didn’t reply, Ezra stood and said, “Why not give the God of your forefathers a chance? Serve Him. Live by His Torah. Apart from Him we’re doomed to live our lives in darkness that’s even blacker than this night.”
Chapter
42
NEAR THE AHAVA CANAL
Stars filled the sky when Reuben heard the first rustlings of movement inside the tents. Rebbe Ezra announced last night that the caravan would break camp at dawn and begin the journey to Jerusalem. Reuben hadn’t slept well on the hard, rocky ground. His bed was out in the open behind Rebbe Ezra’s tent, and his blanket offered scant protection from the chilly spring night. He’d awakened every hour, it seemed, Rebbe Ezra’s words rolling around in his mind like pebbles in a bucket. Had God really written the Torah? Was Reuben doomed to live in darkness if he didn’t obey it? And if God had a reason for allowing Abba to die, was it so Reuben could move to the Promised Land?
Abba. Reuben’s thoughts always returned to Abba. He would’ve been so proud yesterday to see Reuben consecrated as a Levite. But Abba wasn’t here. And Reuben didn’t want to be here, either. Today would be his last day with the caravan. Tonight he would escape with enough gold to live on for the rest of his life. He still had no idea what he would do with it.
Rebbe Ezra’s wife and daughters were kindling a fire and fixing breakfast when Reuben rose. The rebbe and his sons had removed some of their possessions from the tent to load onto the cart. “Need help with that?” Reuben asked.
“Oh, good. You’re awake,” Ezra said. “If you wouldn’t mind, Reuben, could you help the other Levites load the gold onto the camels this morning? It might take a while, so I’ll tell Devorah to save you some breakfast.”
Reuben agreed, grateful for any excuse to get away from the rebbe and his disturbing lectures. The bags of gold were heavy, but Reuben was one of the strongest workers. His gang of friends would be lucky if they could carry two bags apiece, especially Bear with his bad arm. The camel drivers prodded each ornery animal to kneel while a load was placed on its back, then drove it to its feet again, the camels bellowing and protesting. Strung together by ropes into a long line, the camels waited to begin the journey. By the time the Levites finished their work, the entire caravan was preparing to leave. Reuben hurried back to Ezra’s camp for the promised food.
“I enjoyed our discussion last night,” Ezra said as Reuben gulped his breakfast. “You’re welcome to travel with my sons and me today if you have any more questions you’d like to ask.”
The last thing Reuben wanted was to raise more disturbing questions to interrupt his sleep—and his concentration. He needed to be alert for what he and the others planned after midnight. “Thank you, Rebbe, but I think I should stay close to the camel train and the gold today.”
“Yes, of course.”
The caravan followed the Euphrates River all day, and the steadily falling rain turned the road—trampled by thousands of feet, loaded wagons, and pack animals—into a quagmire. The mud splattered Reuben’s legs and the hem of his tunic and clung heavily to his sandals. All day while they traveled, Reuben tried to make sense of Rebbe Ezra’s words. Was the Almighty One real or wasn’t He? Reuben knew He was. Abba had believed in Him, and besides, the world revealed too much evidence of a Creator to believe otherwise. The kippah he now wore on his head reminded him he lived beneath the gaze of an all-knowing God. But was His Torah true with all of its laws and rules—like not stealing? “Apart from Him we’ll live in darkness,” Ezra had insisted. Reuben remembered sneaking around Casiphia’s dark streets, feeling empty, even with a bag of gold tied to his belt. Would more gold really fill that emptiness? “Why not give the God of your forefathers a chance?” Reuben pushed all these thoughts aside and kept walking. He was committed to his task tonight. And he certainly didn’t belong here with the other men and women in this caravan. There was nothing for him in Jerusalem.
Unused to so much walking, Reuben’s legs were weary by the end of the long, first day, his feet aching. When the caravan finally camped for the night, he helped pitch the tent to house the treasures, making careful note of the landmarks surrounding it so his friends could find it in the dark. He felt jumpy and on edge as he ate the evening meal with Rebbe Ezra and his family, twitching at every little sound, barely tasting his food as he gulped it down. He finished quickly, then made an excuse to leave again, walking to the northeastern edge of the camp where he’d agreed to contact his friends. He waited in a drizzling rain for Digger’s signal. Just like before, he followed the sound and met up with his gang a short distance away. They greeted him jovially, but he cut them off, impatient to give them instructions and leave again.
“Listen, they know the caravan is being followed,” he began. “You’re not being very careful.”
Bear waved away his concerns. “It won’t matter after tonight. Did you find out where the treasure is? And how much there is?”
“They have tons of silver and gold. I watched them weigh it yesterday. And I can tell you exactly where it is because I helped them unload it tonight. But they also have more guards now. Armed guards.”
“You’re one of them, right? You can get us in and help us load u
p?”
“That’s the plan. But you’ll need to be quiet and quick. Grab a couple of bags each and get out of there. I can’t distract the other guards forever.”
“Listen, Reuben, that plan isn’t going to work now. We’re going to need a longer distraction. You have to buy us more time.”
“Why?”
They looked at each other—guiltily, Reuben thought. “We recruited a few others to help us out—”
“What? No!”
“This is the biggest haul we’ll ever have a chance to make—tons of gold, you said. We need to take advantage of it.”
“No! You weren’t supposed to recruit anyone else. It’s supposed to be just the five of us.”
“Look, not only can we carry more gold this way, but the Jews have thousands of men traveling in that caravan, don’t they? What if we have to fight our way out? We need more help.”
Reuben took a step back, holding up his hands. “I never agreed to this.”
“Well, we decided to make a slight change in your plans. And you weren’t around to consult with us.”
“How many others? And where are they now?”
“Out there,” Bear said, gesturing vaguely to the darkness beyond their camp. “Don’t worry about how many. They’re all well-armed.”
Reuben felt sick. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Send them back home. Tell them you changed your mind. It’s risky enough to sneak the four of you in and out with sacks of gold. Stealing any more than that is going to be impossible. I don’t want anyone on either side to get hurt.”