I recover from the chills that run down my neck and ask Hadad why the people of Shechem are waiting in the town rather than on Mount Gerizim. He glances at me with a teary look in his eyes and lifts up his face to the mountains. “These aren’t the locals. The crowds have filled Mount Gerizim, reached all the way to Mount Ebal, and are overflowing throughout the entire area. Even the great valley to the east is filled to capacity.”
“Six hundred thousand,” Ahijah whispers loudly. “Just like at Mount Sinai.”
I float dreamily up to the mountaintop, and I hear the raging babble of voices all at once become the clear sound of harps playing a thrilling melody, to which six hundred thousand souls add their sound, singing together as one:
You love righteousness and hate wickedness;
Therefore God, your God, has set you above your companions
By anointing you with the oil of joy.
You are the most excellent of men
And your lips have been anointed with grace,
Since God has blessed you forever.
And all of a sudden, in the middle of the song, as I stand upon the stage facing the people, a hard rain begins to pour down on us. Mother opens her mouth to the sky and gulps down the raindrops, her face beaming. But the other members of my family look around in despair.
“All is lost,” Hadad mumbles. “They’ll all be running away from here in a moment.”
But the crowd does not run to seek shelter. Instead, they raise their arms up to the sky and scream joyously. The rain lasts quite a few minutes, and they go on frolicking the whole time in the winter’s first rainfall, which drenches their hair and their beards and their clothes, and which turns the earth into puddles of mud.
And when the rain is over, just as suddenly as it began, and tiny rays of sun peek out shyly through the clouds to caress the wet people, I realize that the speech I’ve prepared will not be spoken—not here, not now—and that a different speech will be given instead, one that I didn’t even know existed until a moment ago. And immediately, with a nod of my head, I signal the heralds who are standing at attention at the sides of the stage, and the crowd quiets down, waiting expectantly to hear what I have to say.
“My brothers, my loved ones, people of Israel,” I say, my voice growing stronger from moment to moment. “This blessed first rainfall, which has just now poured down upon us, reminds me of another first rainfall long in the past, one that poured down upon Zeredah thirty-three years ago, on the fifteenth day of the eighth month, on the precise day that the tribe of Ephraim celebrates its Festival of Rain. I was an eight-and-a-half-year-old boy back then, and I will never forget that first rainfall as long as I live.”
I wait for the many heralds scattered all around to have a chance to repeat what I have said, and I glance quickly at Mother. Her face turns pale in fear, and I give her a reassuring smile, as if signaling her not to worry, and go on with my speech.
“Girls in green dresses danced on the muddy ground, women brought out sweet fruit and fresh pastries, and we all sang and danced and rejoiced and thanked our God for bringing that year’s first rainfall on the very day of our festival.”
I am quiet for a moment and turn to face Mount Ebal. “And then,” my voice grows louder, “at the height of the festivities, a company of soldiers burst into Zeredah.”
Even from where I am standing, I can hear the crowd stop breathing. The people are standing completely still before me, crowded and attentive, frozen in a stony hush, as if they are not living people at all, but rather lifeless statues.
“They tore the tablecloths off the tables, trampled our food and wine with their horses’ hooves, and threatened to severely punish whoever dared to participate in the festivities.”
A ghostly hush envelops me, the utter silence of a crowd holding its collective breath.
“My brothers, my loved ones, my people, on this day, thirty-three years after that company of soldiers ruined the Festival of Rain in Zeredah, I hereby proclaim the restoration of the ancient festivals of all the tribes of Israel. God loves the holidays of all of us: the rain festival of Ephraim, the fire festival of Manasseh, the dairy festival of Benjamin, the sun festival of Dan, the rainbow festival of Naphtali, the shearing festival of Simeon, the fertility festival of Reuben, the fish festival of Zebulun, the oil festival of Asher, the moon festival of Issachar, and the wine festival of Gad. And God also loves the ingathering festival of Judah, just as He loves the holidays of every other tribe—no less, but also no more. We will all continue to celebrate the Festival of Freedom, the Festival of Harvest, and the Festival of Booths, the three major holidays of Israel, while each tribe will celebrate its own holidays separately, as our ancestors did before us. These separate holidays do not harm our unity as a nation.”
My voice is swallowed up by the great roar that rises from the people standing before me, and after a few seconds, when the herald’s calls have reached all the surrounding areas, one thunderous roar erupts from the city of Shechem, from Mount Ebal, and from the great valley. Long minutes pass before I am able to speak again.
“God loves all the tribes and wishes to live in all of our lands, not only in the land of a single tribe. Build temples for our God, people of Israel! God wants our temples. Build them to your hearts’ desire, but remember: our God does not wish to dwell in houses of cedar covered in gold, but in simple, modest temples, just like the Tabernacle that the Israelites built for Him in the wilderness. God likes His priests humble, too. Not every firstborn is fit to be a priest. Appoint to His service only the humble and modest boys who, despite being firstborns, have hearts that are not proud and eyes that are not haughty. The Levites and the descendants of Aaron the Priest will instruct our firstborns in the work of the temples, and they will perform the holy service alongside them, just as Moses commanded us in his Torah. The different tribes will place their own symbols in the doorways of the temples they build in their own lands, for God loves the symbols of all of the tribes of Israel: the calf of Ephraim, the wild ox of Manasseh, the wolf of Benjamin, the ship of Zebulun, the snake of Dan, the olive tree of Asher, the sun and moon of Issachar, the troop of Gad, the doe of Naphtali, the mandrake of Reuben, and the wall of Simeon. And God also loves the lion of Judah, just as he loves the symbols of the other tribes—no less, but also no more.”
Laughter starts to erupt in front of the stage, rolls down Mount Gerizim, goes on to the city of Shechem and through the valley, and rises in rapid waves up Mount Ebal. Six hundred thousand people are laughing all around me in a great din. I want to join in their laughter, but a detailed picture of my beloved brother from Judah suddenly appears before my eyes, and I am choking back my tears.
“I am directing this call from the top of Mount Gerizim to the mountains of Judah,” I say, my voice cracking. “My brothers, my loved ones, people of Judah, do not split off from us. Return to us, and we will be one people and one kingdom together, just as God promised our patriarchs. Let us all renew the covenant of the Torah that was made on our behalf by Moses in the wilderness and by Joshua in Shechem. Let us reestablish the united Kingdom of Israel, founded on our behalf by King Saul.”
The roar of the crowd allows me to weep without being heard. Only Elisheba and Mother notice that I am crying. Their cheeks are shaking along with me.
A moment later, the roar turns into a song, and the enormous crowd sways in place to the sounds of drums and cymbals, as if it is being buffeted by the waves of the sea:
He was king over Jeshurun,
When the leaders of the people assembled,
Along with the tribes of Israel.
The law that Moses gave us,
The possession of the assembly of Jacob.
Joshua made a covenant for the people,
And there at Shechem he reaffirmed for them decrees and laws.
When the singing ends, I manage to steady my voice and conclude my speech with an oath:
“My brothers, my loved ones, people of Israel, God rede
emed us from the house of bondage in Egypt so that we could be free. This day is the day of our exodus from slavery to freedom. I proclaim liberty throughout the land, and I swear to preserve your freedom and to lead you with devotion and with love.”
Ahijah the Shilonite steps up to the stage and stands behind me. The crowd watches in silence. Two soldiers follow him to the stage and hand him a copper tray that carries a vial of oil and a crown of gold. I kneel down and close my eyes.
The gentle fingers of the prophet anoint my forehead with the oil and lay the crown upon my head. I hear his call from behind me, “Long live Jeroboam, King—”
But right away, before the heralds can repeat the words, I lift up my face to him and stop him mid-sentence. Startled, he brings his head close to me, and I whisper the words directly into his ear. He shakes his head from side to side, and I nod up and down. Then he shakes again and I nod again, twice and three times, until I become angry and say to him in a commanding voice, “That’s an order!”
He sighs and rephrases his call of coronation. The heralds standing near the stage say nothing for a long moment, and then hesitantly, as if internalizing the strange name, they scream out the call to the heralds positioned far away. The call rolls along, spreading in all directions, but the crowd does not repeat it. Complete silence prevails all around. The entire world is a deafening hush.
And then, all at once, a naked, wordless growl slices through the air, followed by six hundred thousand throats erupting all together in one great cry, which rises up, spreads out, and covers the skies of the land:
“Long live Jeroboam son of Nebat, King of Israel!”
About the Author
Yochi Brandes was born in Israel in 1959 to a family of Hassidic rabbis. With degrees in both Biblical studies and Judaic studies, she has been a prominent and sought-after lecturer on the Bible and on Jewish cultural topics for many years. One of Israel’s bestselling writers, she is the author of seven historical novels and two nonfiction books, all centered on Jewish ideas, history, and culture. She has been awarded the Book Publishers Association’s Platinum Book Prizes for all her novels, including The Secret Book of Kings. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
The Soldier
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
The Princess
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
The King
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE SECRET BOOK OF KINGS. Copyright © 2008 by Yochi Brandes. English translation copyright © 2016 by Yardenne Greenspan. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Kerri Resnick
Cover photographs: woman in robe © Tim Robinson/Arcangel Images; woman’s head © Ilina Simeonova/Trevillion Images; Jerusalem painting © Selous, Henry Courtney/Bridgeman Images; blue background © Eugene Ivanov/Shutterstock
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-07698-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-8889-0 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466888890
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
Originally published in 2008 in Israel by Kinneret Zmora-Bitan Divar Publishing House, Ltd., under the title Kings III.
First U.S. Edition: August 2016
The Secret Book of Kings: A Novel Page 45