by Angela Hunt
“Adonai, blessed be your name,” I prayed, lifting my gaze to the balmy blue sky above. “Your holy prophet Joshua wrote that there has never been a day like that before or since, when Adonai listened to the voice of a man. Like Joshua, I am fighting on Israel’s behalf, and I beg you to fight for me, for us, your people. That day you sent a hailstorm to destroy the armies of the five kings who came against Israel, and today I would ask you to send whatever you like to rid the land of our enemies.”
When I lowered my eyes, Simon and Jonathan stood beside me, and neither of them looked confident. “How do you expect the few of us to fight against that multitude?” Jonathan pointed to the advancing army with a trembling arm. “All day we have fasted according to your command and we have no strength. We are weak enough now; how weak will we be by the time they reach the summit?”
I noted the despair on their faces, then strode past them toward the men awaiting my orders.
“Men of Israel,” I called, my voice echoing in the rocky valley, “know this—our force is considerably smaller than the one marching toward us. Yet it is not the size of the army that matters, but the strength of our God. Today we fight for the Law of HaShem, our lives, and our people. Just as Adonai gave victory to Joshua when he told the sun and moon to remain in their places, HaShem will give you the strength you need to defeat the enemy. Do not think about your weariness when the hour of victory is within reach. Do not speak of defeat when our God is willing to fight for us! He himself will crush them before us, so do not be afraid of them. We are standing where giants have stood, and we will hold the high ground until the last of our enemies is either dead or on his way back to Syria! Never doubt it!”
Instead of cheering—because the sound might have given away our position—the men waved their weapons and looked at me with confidence shining in their eyes.
“Remain in your positions until you hear the signal,” I told the assembly with their spears, slingshots, swords, and arrows. “Then we will leap out of our hiding places and chase the enemy out of this holy land!”
Hundreds of weapons glittered in the sunlight as I turned and smiled at my brothers. “Return to your companies,” I told them, “and encourage your men as we wait for the enemy to approach. This day will be ours.”
From my crouched position behind a boulder at the top of the ridge, I eased back on my heels to relieve my cramping legs. Across the worn footpath I caught Eleazar’s eye and nodded. He grinned, then gripped his sword and settled back on the rocks, as at ease as a child with a new toy. The other men of our army were hidden among the many grasses, boulders, and ledges of Beth-horon.
The sounds of the approaching army changed as they came closer. At first we heard only a sound like thunder, but now we could hear stamping feet, the occasional whinny of a horse, and the thunderous grumble of the catapult’s wooden wheels. The sounds echoed in the space surrounding the narrow mountain pass, clearly announcing the enemy’s advance.
Too bad they had brought their war machines over such a great distance. When Adonai strengthened us, as I knew He would, they would have to leave their machines in the dust.
When at last I heard the jangling of the horses’ bridles, I stood and peered over the rocks, then I whistled. Johanan blew the shofar, and the warriors of Israel leapt from their hiding places and descended on the enemy, brandishing their weapons and attacking the hapless invaders who found themselves trapped between the steep ravines.
The surprised Seleucids scrambled away, fleeing with far more energy than they had advanced. Those closest to me sprinted down the mountain, trampling their fellows, and those at the rear released their war machines and ran as the wheeled weapons slid backward and mowed down men who could not get away from their crushing weight.
I watched from my elevated post with pleased surprise. The Seleucids in the rear were fleeing even though not a single Jew had reached them. A wave of enemy soldiers swept toward the horizon, stirring up dust as it receded. Our blockade of the narrow passage had forced the enemy army to retreat, and the terrible blast of the shofar had set off a panic I had never before seen and probably never will again. Only a few of Seron’s soldiers lingered long enough to exchange blows with our men, and those who did were so terrified they did not fight well.
What had panicked them so? Had HaShem magnified the sound of the shofar until it shattered their hearing? Had He made his protective angels visible to the Gentiles who came against us? I could not tell, but clearly something had terrified the king’s men.
We chased the fleeing enemy down the mountain and into the broad plains that had belonged to the Amorites when Joshua stood on this mountain and bade the sun to linger. The Seleucid general had underestimated our strength, our cunning, and our God. Indeed, we were not many, but we knew the land God had given to our people.
Our horsemen chased the surviving warriors out of Israel while the rest of us gathered weapons and armor from those who did not escape.
“They’ll stay gone,” one of my men remarked, but I shook my head.
“Maybe not forever,” I said, “but they’ll think twice before approaching Jerusalem by this route.”
When Johanan and Simon approached, I withdrew Philander’s scroll from my belt and held it up. “We might not be celebrating if this had not arrived.” I clapped Simon on the shoulder. “We will have to write and thank him for his kindness.”
A line appeared between Simon’s brows. “I’ll have to write in some sort of code—we can’t have a letter falling into the wrong hands.”
“I know you’ll think of something.” Then, in front of my brothers and a host of my fellow warriors, I lifted my arms to the heavens and spun in a slow circle. “All praise to you, YHVH Tzvaot, the Lord of Hosts, who sent angel armies to confound and chase our enemies. Glory is yours forevermore!”
We celebrated in the camp that night. Sounds of music and laughter filled the air while our men devoured the meat, bread, and lentils our women had baked with hope in their hearts. A huge bonfire blazed at the center of our gathering, fueled by the enemy catapults we had dismantled. Johanan asked if we ought to keep them, but our form of fighting relied on subtlety, and those gigantic, creaking machines were anything but subtle. “And,” I added as another thought occurred, “did those machines not turn on their makers? What use have we for instruments like that?”
I rejoiced because we had suffered only minor injuries, and most of those injuries had occurred when the terrified Seleucids injured our fighters in their haste to escape.
I nodded at Abner, who had his arm in a sling, and his brother Gideon, whose leg was bandaged. “What happened to you two?”
Abner flushed. “Fell on a rock and broke my arm as I gave chase. But my wife has wrapped it.”
I grinned. “I hope she’s given you wine for the pain.”
“Enough for me and my brother here. His story is even more embarrassing than mine.”
I looked at Gideon, who leaned heavily on his brother’s shoulder. “Did you fall, too?”
“Horse stepped on me,” he said. “One of those big stallions, in a terrible hurry to get away. Nearly broke the bone.”
“But you’re walking.”
“Barely. Mostly the leg is black and blue.”
As they hobbled away, Leah approached. She said nothing until I sank to a blanket and motioned for her to sit next to me. “Your men,” she said as she sat at my side, “celebrate as enthusiastically as they train.”
“True enough.” I smiled. “They eat as enthusiastically, too. You women have done a fine job of feeding them.”
She lowered her gaze, her long lashes hiding her eyes. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking—not that I had ever been any good at determining what women had on their minds.
“Is this the end, then?” she finally asked, her eyes rising to meet mine. “Will I have a husband again? Are we ready to go back to Modein?”
I held up my hand. “I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I think we wil
l be able to go home, but we must always be prepared to fight. We have won a battle, but I do not think we have won the war.”
She drew a quick breath and exhaled slowly as she watched the merrymakers. I couldn’t read her thoughts, but I could tell she wasn’t happy with my answer.
“I did not plan to be a soldier,” I told her. “This is not something I would ordinarily want to do. But HaShem has called me to this task, and He has blessed my efforts. I will not—I cannot—quit until my task is finished.”
I bent to examine her face, and her brown eyes came up to me wet.
“Did you want to say something else?” I asked.
She remained silent for a moment, then gave me a look that was neither angry nor loving.
“One thing,” she said, her voice flat. “I was not certain, so I waited to be sure. We are going to have a baby.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Leah
In a much-appreciated display of gentleness, Judah placed me on his white stallion and let me ride back to Modein. I had hoped he would walk beside me so we could talk, but instead he wandered from family to family, checking on his men, congratulating them on their bravery, and reminding them that the praise for the victory belonged to HaShem alone.
From my seat atop that magnificent beast I watched my husband and thought that Judah would make a very good king. The man I married was many things—stubborn, gentle, tough, and pious—but he was not ambitious. Yet his virtues were surely what a king needed. The world had too many grasping, ambitious, greedy kings, and Judah had none of those qualities.
Furthermore, he had promised he would stop fighting when the war was over, and I had decided to believe him. I was not happy being a warrior’s wife, but he would not always be a warrior. He would soon be a father, and that fact alone ought to keep him home where he belonged.
In truth, I had wanted to conceive a child in the hope that it would change Judah, but the reality had changed me. I could no longer see myself without a husband, wandering from village to village with my mother. I had to think of the baby now, and a baby needed a home, a father, and an extended family.
I pressed my palm to my belly where my hope resided. Morit had told me that men often changed once their infants arrived. Her Simon, she said, had become more thoughtful and more careful, and I would be happy to see those changes in Judah. I would be thrilled if he hesitated before going out to practice archery or stone-slinging. My heart would melt if he wanted to stay home and play with his baby or spend time with his wife.
I did not worry about the coming birth. Though I knew women who had died while giving life to their babies, I came from sturdy stock and had never felt stronger. I had not experienced a single day of sickness since the child’s conception and had in fact found it difficult to believe I carried a child until Morit assured me that three months without bleeding meant I was either pregnant or quite sick indeed.
I counted the remaining months on my fingers. In six months, more or less, I would bear my child, and Judah would become the husband I really wanted.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Judah
With grateful hearts Leah and I went back to Modein and wiped the dust from the furnishings in our little house. We settled into a routine, and while Leah made cheese and prepared for the coming child, I plowed the hard ground to ready it for planting.
Yet as much as I wanted to focus on my responsibilities at home, my eyes kept drifting toward the northern horizon, where Antiochus had to be fuming at the news of Seron’s defeat. He would soon respond . . . but how?
Unless Philander sent another message, I had no way of knowing. That Gentile had been Adonai’s gift to us. Every night I asked HaShem to bless the scribe, and to remind him that should he ever need one, he had a friend in Israel. I did not dare write Philander for fear of risking his life, so I sent an anonymous gift with a traveling merchant—a cheese so large two men were needed to carry it.
As I tended the goats and worked the fields, I studied every rider who passed our village and met every traveler who stopped at our well. Some came only to drink or enjoy a meal at one of our homes, while others came to visit relatives and share news from Jerusalem or other settlements.
I was horrified to discover that people were coming to Modein to see me. “I never thought I’d meet the Hammerhead,” one man said as he pumped my hand with enthusiasm. “The story of how you chased the Seleucids down the mountain has spread throughout Israel. And I have to see the silver sword you use in battle.”
“It’s not silver,” I muttered, flushing. “It’s iron.”
My words did nothing to cool his eagerness.
One afternoon a stranger in fine clothing stopped by the well and proceeded to water his stallion. At first I thought he might be another Israelite in search of the Hammerhead, but the horse was too fine for a Jewish settler. While my brothers gathered around to admire the beast, the rider sought me out.
“Are you the one they call Judah Maccabaeus?”
Cautiously I nodded.
The stranger smiled. “I have something, and I was instructed to place it in your hands and no one else’s.” The man handed me a heavy parchment wrapped with cord and sealed with wax.
When I did not immediately break it open, the stranger lifted a brow. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
“Later.” I took a Greek coin from my belt and gave it to him. “That is for you—and please tell the sender, blessed be he, that we will always be in his debt.”
The man thanked me and turned away, then halted. “By the way,” he said, smiling over his shoulder, “my friend Philander says I am to thank you for the very large and most delicious cheese.”
I found Simon in his house, where he sat on a bench bouncing young Judas on his knee. Morit was grinding grain at the table, and wee Johanan, the firstborn, lay asleep beneath the bench, his head pillowed on his hands.
I gestured to the child. “Does he always sleep on the floor?”
“When he’s tired, he’ll sleep anywhere.” Simon grinned and offered me the baby. “Take a turn, will you? My knee is aching.”
Flustered, I handed him the parchment, then took the infant. “I’m sure it’s news from Philander. Will you read it?”
The relaxed expression vanished from Simon’s face as he accepted the scroll. “You could read it yourself, you know,” he said, breaking the seal.
“I might miss something important. I’ll feel better if you read it.”
Simon removed the cord and unfurled a sheaf of parchments.
“‘Greetings to my friends in Judea, particularly Judah, Simon, Johanan, Eleazar, and Jonathan,’” he read. “‘May this letter find you in peace and health, and may your God continue to hold you in the palm of His hand.’”
Simon looked at me over the top of the page. “Your friend lives a dangerous life. What if someone had stolen this letter from the messenger? Our names are here.”
I shrugged. “Who in the king’s court knows our names? Read on.”
“He certainly had a great deal of faith in his courier. Anyone would know these are Hebrew names. Surely someone might wonder why a Seleucid scribe is writing a group of Hebrews.”
I shrugged. “Philander is a cautious sort. Please.”
Simon lowered his head and continued. “‘News of your happy event has reached the king’s court. I’m sure you can imagine how he received the report. He sorrows over the loss of glory he should have won, and he is especially sorrowful over the loss of Judean taxes. In the past few weeks, however, he has turned his attention to the temple at Parthia, which he plans to visit in the hope of refilling his treasury.’”
“He’s going to rob that temple as surely as he robbed ours. I almost feel sorry for the Parthians.”
Simon glared. “If you don’t stop interrupting, you can read this letter yourself.”
I pressed my lips together.
“‘The king,’” Simon continued, “‘is busy preparing to travel. He h
as appointed Lysias, one of his generals, as guardian of his son and heir, and he has charged three generals with the task of subduing Judea. I have recently written requests for the royal treasury to feed and maintain forty thousand foot soldiers and seven thousand horses, all bound for Judea. Those figures are indisputable. As they march south, they hope to pick up additional fighters from Syria and the Philistine lands.’”
My blood chilled. Would those three generals bring their huge armies from three different directions? Our army was not large enough to station defenders in three different locations. And how would we know from which direction they would come?
Simon slowed, his voice becoming more thoughtful. “‘So certain are these generals of success that they are allowing merchants to follow the military caravans,’” he read. “‘The merchants have been provided with gold and silver to feed the Hebrew slaves they hope to acquire, and wagonloads of fetters to place on the slaves’ limbs.’”
Morit stopped grinding and stepped forward, her eyes huge. “They mean to make slaves of us? We will never be slaves, not again!”
“Do not worry, love,” Simon told her. He jerked his head toward the baby in my arms. “As long as I live and breathe, my sons will never wear chains.”
He skimmed the remaining pages. “The rest is largely ceremonial, but he does mention that he has a son who reminds him of you. Oh, and here he says the first army will march south along the plain of Sharon and camp near Emmaus. They were making preparations as he wrote.”
“We have no time to waste.” I tugged on my beard as my thoughts churned. So much to do! We would regroup in the wilderness, send scouts to look for the approaching armies, and plan our strategy. The Seleucids probably hoped to corral us like wild animals, and if we faced pressure from the Samaritans in the north and the Seleucids in the south, we could be trapped—but not with HaShem on our side.