“Even a talented man like him cannot frustrate advice that has not yet been given.”
“Then what has he done?”
“A short time ago, an official announcement left the palace, carrying the initial response to the audacious request of the former commissioner of Ephraim. Guess what city will be playing host to the coronation ceremony of the widest man alive?”
Our obvious impatience gave Hadad much pleasure and made him draw out his words with intentional slowness. “Not Jerusalem, not Hebron, not Bethlehem, not even the lovely city of priests Beth Shemesh.”
“Please, Hadad,” I begged. “Take pity on us!”
“The coronation ceremony will be held in the city of…”
He was enjoying every minute.
“Shechem!”
We stared at him wordlessly.
“I admit that I was still somewhat suspicious of Ithiel,” Hadad continued. “You know what it’s like—it isn’t easy to get rid of old habits. But now I’m sure he’s on our side. Only a dirty mind like his could come up with a crazy idea like this.”
I shook my head doubtfully. “I suspect your information is erroneous. Even Rehoboam is not so stupid and drunk with power as to dare hold his coronation ceremony in the central city of Ephraim.”
“What does Ithiel like to say?” Hadad laughed. “‘Oh, but he is.’”
Sixteen
The messengers left Jerusalem urgently, and two days later the information had reached all the heralds in the land. But in spite of all the efforts, promises, and threats, the people of Israel preferred to stay in their homes rather than participate in the coronation ceremony in Shechem. Our messengers relished describing to us the heartwarming desolation of Mount Gerizim, which stood devoid of people. The only sign that an important event was scheduled to take place there was the many containers of water scattered around the foot of the mountain.
“Very good,” said Hadad, rubbing his hands together. “Not that I don’t trust your people, but knowing that the audience will be from Ephraim makes me feel most calm.”
“I’ve heard that huge crowds flocked to Solomon’s funeral.”
“Of course,” said Hadad. “They wanted to confirm that he was dead with their own eyes.”
I didn’t want to spoil Hadad’s mood, but I did share my worries honestly with Elisheba. What scared me most was the possibility that things would get out of my control. It was enough for one person in the audience to draw a knife, and the king’s soldiers were liable take the opportunity to attack everyone in crowd with swords or even bows and arrows. Hadad marveled once again that there had never before been such a nonviolent overthrow of a ruler, but I knew that at the moment of truth my clean rebellion could very well abruptly become a bloodbath.
On the morning of the ceremony, I went to Shechem to meet the elders who had been staying there since our return from Jerusalem. I instructed them to arrive early at Mount Gerizim so that they would have time to speak with the few members of their tribes who did come and make sure that they all disarmed themselves. The rumor of my arrival spread quickly, and before long many people had crowded around me, having flocked to Shechem from all over Ephraim, as well as from the land of Benjamin, to accompany me and protect me.
When I arrived at Mount Gerizim, I found it much more crowded than I’d expected. Armed soldiers were standing everywhere, and their polished swords gleamed in the sun, filling me with dread. I wasn’t able to wipe away the horrifying images of what might take place after Rehoboam insulted the people with the words Ithiel had put in his mouth. On the other hand, I also harbored the opposite fear, that Ithiel might not have managed to frustrate the elders’ advice and that Rehoboam was about to announce a reduction of the tax burden and deliver a soft, pleasant speech that would make him the next king of Israel.
The heralds announced the arrival of the crown prince, Rehoboam son of Solomon. The trumpets blew loudly, and the stony-faced crowd watched the royal procession climbing up the mountain. I had to admit, it was a spectacular sight. At the head of the procession rode horsemen decked out in magnificent uniforms; behind it, pretty girls in colorful silk dresses were dancing and singing; and in the middle was Rehoboam, sitting in an open chariot of gold, being pulled by six teams of horses, and he was waving his hand in all directions, a large smile spread across his face. On one side of him sat an older woman—his mother, I gathered, Naamah the Ammonite—and on his other side, I could see a beautiful young woman.
“His beloved wife, Maakah daughter of Absalom,” one of the Shiloh gang members whispered in disgust. “I wonder what his grandfather would have said.”
“He’s already got dozens of wives,” someone else commented, “and he isn’t even king yet.”
“A pathetic collection,” added a third. “Nothing like his father’s.”
His words took me back to the comparison that Rehoboam was about to make between himself and his father, and I started to have cold feet at the thought of what was about to take place.
The open golden chariot pulled up right beside me, and the members of Rehoboam’s family slowly got down from it and took the stage. They were followed by two soldiers who held between them a shiny tray that carried a vial of oil. The prophet Shemaiah, the last to arrive, took the oil from them and held it up high. Instead of cheering with joy, the crowd booed, but the ruckus died down the moment Rehoboam stepped out of the chariot and began climbing the steps to the stage. I looked over at the many ministers standing across from me and noticed Adoram staring back. It was impossible not to recognize that familiar narrowing of the eyes.
The trumpets sounded again, and this time they were joined by a long, ear-splitting blast from seven rams’ horns. Rehoboam stopped in the center of the stage, facing the crowd. I assumed that he was about to speak, but instead he immediately got down on his knees, supported on either side by the two soldiers, and before I started moving, the prophet Shemaiah was already standing behind his back. I burst onto the stage at the very last second. The crowd gasped in surprise, but a moment later cries of joy began to ring out from all directions. I raised my hand in a signal that they should quiet down, and I looked down at Rehoboam and said in a forceful tone, “Rehoboam son of Solomon, a week ago I came to Jerusalem with the elders of all the tribes and gave you our demand. You cannot rule over us before we receive your answer.”
He got up onto his feet, spread them apart, and put his hands on his hips with a flourish, asking derisively, “What is your request?”
I turned to face the people, and then after a few seconds I turned back to him, speaking the words slowly and emphatically, “Your father put a heavy yoke on us, but now lighten the harsh labor and the heavy yoke he put on us, and we will serve you.”
Rehoboam took a deep breath and let it out with a quiet whistle through his pursed lips. Then he straightened his back, placed his hand on his loins, and called out:
“My little finger shall be thicker than my father’s loins.
“My father made your yoke heavy,
“And I will add to your yoke.
“My father also chastised you with whips,
“But I will chastise you with scorpions.”
Naamah the Ammonite raced toward the chief herald, who was standing agape at the foot of the stage, but before she got to him, Rehoboam called angrily, “Repeat what I said!” The herald looked around helplessly and said nothing. “Repeat what I said!” Rehoboam yelled. “That’s an order!”
“‘My little finger…,’” the herald mumbled, but he couldn’t go on.
Rehoboam approached him and loomed over him at the edge of the stage. “My little finger shall be thicker than my father’s loins,” he said.
“‘My little finger shall be thicker than my father’s loins,’” the herald repeated in a strangled voice.
“‘My little finger shall be thicker than my father’s loins,’” the other heralds, who were scattered across the mountain, repeated one after the other.
&nbs
p; “My father made your yoke heavy, and I will add to your yoke,” said Rehoboam.
“‘My father made your yoke heavy, and I will add to your yoke,’” the heralds called.
“My father also chastised you with whips, but I will chastise you with scorpions,” said Rehoboam.
“‘My father also chastised you with whips, but I will chastise you with scorpions,’” the heralds called.
* * *
The audience listened to all this in silence. Their restrained reaction disappointed me but also, in an odd sort of way, calmed me. I understood that our plan had failed. Apparently, the statements we’d put in Rehoboam’s mouth weren’t as insulting and outrageous as we’d thought. In another moment, the prophet would anoint his forehead with the oil and crown him the next king of Israel.
Suddenly a terrible, bloodcurdling roar tore through the sky. In the blink of an eye, the once silent crowd had turned into a herd of wild animals and was now storming the stage with clenched fists, screams of rage, and faces twisted with hate. “We have no share in David!” they screamed. “And no part in Jesse’s son! Every man to his tent, Israel!”
A few seconds went by before I understood what was happening, and then, without any planning or forethought, I ran toward Rehoboam, placing myself between him and the crowd. I don’t know how I wasn’t injured, but I suppose the people recognized me in time.
“Do not shed blood!” I shouted. “No one is to be killed today!”
I led Rehoboam to the chariot, protecting him with my body. He tried to get on, but his knees buckled, and I had to support him with both my hands. The people watched me with pursed lips, wordlessly clearing a path for me. I ran alongside the chariot down the mountainside until I was sure we were out of harm’s way. As I climbed back up, I heard up above me the ominous sounds of a cascade of stones. I quickened my stride, going as fast as I could, and I prayed that it was still possible to prevent the worst.
At the top of the mountain I saw an overturned, shattered chariot with no horses, and on top of it lay the body of a man, drenched in blood, his head and arms on the ground and his feet stuck between the steps, as though he had been trying to jump for his life. The sight was so revolting that I could barely stop myself from throwing up.
I regained control of myself and took a closer look at the body. I couldn’t recognize the mangled face, but I recognized the clothing right away.
It was Adoram.
* * *
When I returned home that night and recounted the events of the day to Elisheba and Hadad, I kept going back to that terrible moment when I stood over Adoram’s battered body and realized that my prayer had not been answered.
“No one before you has ever managed to overthrow a king with only one casualty,” Elisheba consoled me.
“And not just any casualty,” Hadad added, “but the most deserving casualty. You have to admit, there isn’t a better casualty than him.”
“I was hoping there would be no casualties at all,” I said.
Hadad patted me on the shoulder and repeated his words of encouragement once more: “The worst is behind us.”
And I believed him.
Seventeen
The message reached Hadad two days before my coronation ceremony. Our house was quite festive by then. Miriam was trying on her new silk dress, which had been made especially for the occasion. She spun around dizzily, trying to make the hem fly up, while Bilhah clapped with pleasure and Elisheba muttered to herself that the dress looked too fancy. In the other room, Benaiah was having a loud argument with Nadab and Abijah about the size of the crowd that could be expected to attend the ceremony. The boys thought that only the tribes of Rachel would make the effort to travel to Mount Gerizim twice in ten days, while the other tribes, especially the tribes of Leah, would stay in their own lands and give me their allegiance only after my reign was secure. But Benaiah argued vehemently that he was absolutely certain the elders would keep their promises and bring with them respectable delegations from all the tribes of Israel.
I sat in my room, trying not to listen to what was going on around me and instead focusing on the speech I was supposed to give before I was anointed. There were so many things I wanted to tell my people, and I was having trouble deciding what to focus on and what to leave out. It was clear to me that the subject of the taxes would be at the center of my speech, but what about the freeing of Edom and Aram? Was it a good idea to talk about the high price that the nation of Israel had been forced to pay in order to hold on to the countries David had conquered? Hadad had composed a good slogan for me—“Aram for the Arameans, Ammon for the Ammonites, Edom for the Edomites, and the Land of Israel for the Hebrews”—but perhaps that was best saved for another opportunity?
I began putting together a gentler slogan. The words were already on the tip of my tongue when I suddenly heard a piercing scream outside. I was momentarily startled, but when everything became quiet again, I figured that it must have been just some small matter and tried to get back to the line of thinking that had been cut off. Then, before I could even reconstruct a single word, Hadad burst into my room. I glanced at him quickly and felt my heart turn to stone.
“Ithiel,” he said.
“No,” I whispered. A moment later, I began begging, “No! No! No!”
“Rehoboam took revenge upon him for his misleading advice,” choked Hadad. “He hanged his body on—”
“No!” I cried. “I don’t want to hear it.”
I have no memory of what happened next, but within an hour, maybe more, I found myself prostrate on the floor, my cheeks scratched and my forehead bleeding.
“O my brother, Ithiel!” I called out. “My brother, my brother Ithiel! If only I had died instead of you—O Ithiel, my brother, my brother!”
The joy in our house turned into grief. My family and friends tiptoed around, crying along with me in their hearts but at the same time trying to gather their strength so that they could comfort me. But I wouldn’t be comforted. I cradled my face in my hands and cried ceaselessly. “O my brother, Ithiel, my brother, my brother, Ithiel!”
My keening continued through the evening, the night, and the next morning, and it hadn’t stopped even by noon. I don’t know what would have happened if Elisheba hadn’t gotten me up out of my mourning by force. No one other than her dared to defy me, not even Hadad, who’d been the one who taught me how to overcome any kind of pain.
“Get up, wash yourself, and eat some bread!” she said. “You need to be at your best when you appear before the nation tomorrow.”
I looked up at her, appalled. “Do you still believe I’ll be king?”
Her look of shock made me whisper the words I didn’t dare speak out loud: “I am not worthy of being king of Israel. I killed my best friend.”
She became terribly upset and began to cry. “Don’t talk that way!”
“It’s the truth. If I hadn’t saved Rehoboam, Ithiel would be alive now.”
I left her there sobbing and ran outside to the thicket. My eyes were puffy, and my vision was blurred. It took me a few moments to realize I was standing before Ahijah the Shilonite. I tried to get away from him, but he was faster than me and gripped my arm.
“A king must have the ability to overcome his grief,” he said. “Your emotions are no longer yours alone. They belong to the entire people.”
That was too much. The wild predator of my youth burst out of me all at once. I yanked my arm out of his hand sharply and shoved him back into one of the trees. I attacked him, shaking his shoulders savagely and screaming with all my might, “Ithiel is dead because of you! You prophesied that he wouldn’t succeed in his attempt to join the tribe of Judah to my kingdom. God killed him just so that your prophecy could come true!”
The warmth radiated off of him into my skin. I tried to hate him, but I couldn’t.
“Ithiel was God’s messenger,” Ahijah said softly. “He frustrated the elders’ advice and paved the way for your coronation.”
“Then why did God kill him?” I cried. “Why does God kill His messengers?”
Ahijah shrugged and sighed deeply. “‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.’”
The rage that was pent up inside me didn’t abate, but now it was focused solely on the One who did not bother to explain His motives even to His prophets. “And now what?” I went on shouting. “Now there’s no one left to prevent a war of brother against brother between Judah and Israel. Is that what God wants?”
“No,” Ahijah said confidently. “God won’t allow his sons to fight one another.”
Along with my burst of bitter laughter, I was choking back tears. “In that case, go to Rehoboam and tell him that God forbids him from going to war against the tribes that have left him. I’m sure he will give you his wholehearted attention, especially in light of the fact that you are my prophet.”
“The word of God will reach Rehoboam through the prophet Shemaiah.”
“And what if Shemaiah actually encourages him to go to war?”
“Shemaiah is my student.”
“That’s impossible. He is from the tribe of Judah.”
“I train students of prophecy from all the tribes of Israel. Shemaiah will obey me and will tell Rehoboam whatever words I put in his mouth.”
The stabbing pain in my heart was unbearable. “Tell God to find another king to lead His people.”
“He has chosen you.”
I breathed deeply and whispered, “I cannot become king. I’m guilty of the death of Ithiel son of Adonijah.”
Ahijah closed his eyes and was silent for many long minutes. “You made the same mistake King Saul made,” he said at last. “He was too merciful. That was his one weakness. He wasn’t willing to hurt the people who undermined his reign, and he didn’t stop the vicious people who stole the crown from him in time. His compassion brought disaster upon the people of Israel. Because of his compassion, they lost a king in whom even his most bitter rivals could find no fault.”
The Secret Book of Kings Page 43