Make me able to restore your city, Lord, just like Rephaiah’s eight sons.
3
After morning prayer, Adah filled her satchel with ram skin pouches she had washed, dried, and sniffed to make sure no scents lingered. She layered her bag, thickest skins on the bottom, lightest on the top, and hurried toward the outskirts of the city. She did not want to join in public conversations about the governor, for she had promised to keep the reason for his journey a secret. Try as she might to push it to the farthest regions of her mind, the enormity of the task of rebuilding a battered wall haunted her thoughts. How could ruins be resurrected? To keep her mind and mouth from dwelling on Nehemiah’s plan, she spent the morning searching for bark, leaves, and rare flowers. Lack of rain hindered her efforts.
On her return home, the stream of travelers stalled outside of the Fish Gate. What was causing this delay on the road? Did fishermen arrive from Joppa with their catch? Her lack of height allowed her to slip ahead of the carts and the curious.
A cluster of men took up a sizeable portion of the path. She recognized one of the route-blockers by his indigo and scarlet robe. The robe he wore to greet Nehemiah.
Gershom flapped his arms like a vulture readying for flight. His finger-jabbing scold lashed out at a few landowners. Othniel’s father received the brunt of the attack. Othniel hung back with his brothers. Gatherers pushed her friend closer to Gershom’s tirade.
“It is a sin to steal from those in authority.” Gershom’s hand shot heavenward while his voice carried to the next town.
Adah’s heart plummeted to her knees. She wedged herself beside a woman with a wide basket on her shoulder so that she would not be seen. Her father did not rule this part of the city and her presence could add kindling to Gershom’s rage.
Othniel’s father wrung his hands and then held them up as if he were in bondage. “I have given you a down payment. That is all I can give. Without rain I have no grapes or olives to sell.”
Farmers echoed their agreement and roused several passers-by to join in their protest.
Gershom stomped his foot. Clouds of dust floated upward. Did he not see the hopelessness of the drought?
“And what do I tell my father Rephaiah?” Gershom’s tone mocked his tenant. “He has been gracious to you for months.”
A landowner gestured to the onlookers. “What can we do if the land is empty?”
Weight rested on Adah’s shoulder. Had the woman at her side repositioned her basket? The tapping of fingers sent Adah whirling around. Othniel’s face was inches from her own. His expression did not hold any of the playfulness she remembered.
Othniel took her hand and turned her eastward toward the next gate. “You should carry on.”
“The people’s concerns are my concerns. I want to listen.” Adah clutched her tunic and willed her heart to steady. She glanced at the basket-carrying woman a few feet away. When had she shifted? If she honored Othniel’s request and left, slipping in and out among the crowd could bring her to Gershom’s attention.
She gazed into Othniel’s almond-colored eyes and willed hope to spark in them again. Why didn’t hard work bring him any gain? If only this were a time for small talk or bantering. She cupped a hand over her forehead so she could see all of his features. His expression remained steadfast. “Besides, the road is blocked ahead.”
Gershom clapped his hands to quiet the raucous. “Work harder,” he shouted. “The governor’s purse cannot be light of taxes.”
Disapproval clamored through the crowd.
Othniel surveyed the road and the people. Was he searching for a route out of the masses? He wrung his hands as if he feared a confrontation with Gershom. “You should not witness this anger. I do not want you to worry.” He tried to muster a smile as he beheld her face. “My father has a plan to pay his debts to the governor.”
“I know your family is trustworthy.” Her praise made Othniel stand a bit taller as if sacks of grain had slid from his back. “Your fields are ready for the next rainfall.” Please make it soon, Lord.
Oh, how she wished she could tell Othniel about why the governor had come to Jerusalem. The truth tingled on her tongue, but she had promised to keep Nehemiah’s reason a secret. A simple assurance to ease Othniel’s burden would not be a betrayal. On tip toe, she said, “Do not fear, the governor’s visit is not about money.”
Othniel rubbed his jaw and regarded her as though she had spoken in a foreign tongue. “Then why did he come?”
“Yes, tell us daughter of Shallum, why is the governor here?” Gershom’s question invaded her private conversation.
Adah and Othniel rounded on Gershom. Landowners and a host of strangers stared at her as if waiting for the chief priest to read the Law. Her cheeks flamed. Had the sun come to rest above her head covering?
Remember your position. She glanced at Othniel. Feet planted, hands on hips, he reminded her of a pillar. She swung her shoulders back and matched Othniel’s authoritative stance. Surveying the faces beholding her as a vision, she smiled, not with false hope, but as a neighbor who truly heard their pleas, and as a woman who would uphold a vow.
“You mistake me for the governor’s confidant. I cannot tell you why he is in our city. You went out to greet him. Did he not reveal his purpose?” Selah! She had not broken her word to Nehemiah. “You will have to wait upon the assembly.”
“Assembly?” Gershom held her gaze captive. “What assembly? The governor has not called for a gathering.”
That’s right. Nehemiah hadn’t called an assembly. Not yet. She licked her lips but her tongue withered like a dried reed.
“It is customary, is it not?” A sideways glance begged Othniel to support her cause.
“The governor should address all of our needs.” Othniel waved his hands inciting the people to grumble their discontent.
Gershom yelled at the crowd to quiet. When he turned his attention to her, his face held no patience. He glared at her like a warrior ready to strike. “You are hiding something, or else you came to stir up trouble in my district?”
Before Othniel could challenge Gershom’s accusations, she held her arm in front of her friend and kept him penned at her side.
She cleared her throat so her words would carry to everyone who cared to listen. “I have been gathering herbs so I can make perfume and sell it for the poor. Now that I have been detained by your roadside court, the sun is too high for a longer journey.” She swiped her tongue over her teeth and prayed for a drop of saliva. “I am no one’s advisor, and certainly not the governor’s. Shalom.”
The hammering of her heart made it difficult to draw her next breath. Nehemiah, call your assembly soon. If only the governor knew how much of a burden his secret had become. This bestowing of a confidence had Gershom suspicious, not only of her standing, but of his own.
With a nod toward Othniel, she strode toward the city.
“Of course she runs. She has no authority here.” Gershom’s insult carried. “And Shallum is too feeble to stroll past the gate.”
Adah halted. A flash of fury, hot as a newly stoked furnace, streaked through her veins. She rounded on Gershom. Her arm shot out like a whip with one finger pointed at his upturned nose. She stomped closer to her foe as travelers drew back from her flailing robe and satchel. “Woe to anyone who casts doubt on my father.” Her chastisement rose above the rumblings of the people. “So be it if he prefers to do business in private and not like an ox trader in the streets.”
A roar of agreement deafened Gershom’s response.
Flinging the fringe of her head covering over her shoulder, she turned toward home and dodged around a wide-eyed Othniel, escaping Gershom’s roadside court before the crowd became unruly. After traveling a short distance from the gathering, she ran, and clutched her necklace to her nose, hoping the aroma of sandalwood calmed her trembling hands. The sour stench from her damp palms betrayed her unease at challenging Gershom publicly, but she could not allow her father’s rule to
be called into question.
When she was almost at the end of the straight street near her home, she slowed and spotted a neighbor struggling with a water jar. A sash hanging from the woman’s shoulder bulged over the woman’s pregnant belly.
“Beulah, I will assist you.” Adah rushed to the expectant mother’s side. “Where is your daughter to carry your jug?”
The woman beheld her with scarlet streaked eyes. “My daughter lives in Hebron now.”
“Did she marry?” Adah was unaware of a betrothal, but with her care of her own mother it may have gone unnoticed.
Beulah shook her head. “She is a servant in the household of a man who is kin to my husband.”
“For how long?” Adah’s chest tightened. Water sloshed from the jug she carried. Precious droplets wet her hand.
“Five years.” Beulah’s words stuttered as she blew out a breath. “They have food and unmarried sons. If she is a hard worker, perhaps one of the sons will offer marriage. With the coins they gave us we can pay our taxes for now.”
How could this be? Beulah and her husband lived under her father’s oversight. They resided in the district of Shallum, not of Rephaiah. “Did you tell my father of your hardship?”
“He lowered what we owed.” Beulah rested her satchel on the threshold of her home. “But it is costly to feed so many.” She rubbed her mid-section. “Soon we will have one more.”
Adah placed the water jar in front of Beulah’s door. She grasped her neighbor’s hands and before she could give a reassuring squeeze, the woman clutched her tightly as if verifying Adah was made of flesh and bone.
Breathing became difficult, but Adah embraced her neighbor. “I am sorry your daughter had to leave. I will pray for her well-being.”
Beulah softened her grip. “I know you will. I can trust you.” She shuffled into her home forgoing any backward glance or farewell.
The pressure mounting behind Adah’s eyes pulsed through her face. What was the point of rebuilding Jerusalem’s wall if the residents of the city were being sold into servitude elsewhere?
When Adah reached their cooking courtyard, Judith sauntered from the doorway of their home and greeted her in the street.
“We have received our allotment from the governor. Come and see.” Judith’s lips glistened as she nibbled a honey cake. “Oh, and he has called an assembly for tomorrow at noon.”
Toda raba. Only a few more hours to keep Nehemiah’s secret.
Guilt seized Adah’s stomach as she watched Judith’s tongue savor the nectar stuck to her mouth. She and Judith did not have to struggle to feed their young like Beulah. The governor’s provisions kept the household of Shallum from misery and hardship. If only there were enough bags of grain to feed the entire city. Enough rain to grow crops.
But if the people of Jerusalem were faithful and rebuilt the wall at Nehemiah’s command, would God’s favor rest upon His people again? Would He shower blessings on them? On every single one?
Adah wrapped an arm around her sister. A waft of cinnamon greeted her senses. “We must take our place front and center at this assembly. I want to hear everything the governor has to say.”
4
A mass of people, city dwellers, and curious travelers, gathered outside the temple courtyard steps to hear the governor speak. Adah gripped her mother’s left arm and led her to the side of the stairs where a two-story dwelling of a temple servant shared its shade with a token few. Judith came along on their right, politely elbowing neighbors who did not take heed of who walked in their midst. Men pushed in closer to the footholds of stone where Nehemiah would make his charge to rebuild the wall.
“Where is the governor standing?” her mother asked.
“On the top step. The rulers, officials, and priests are behind him. Except for Rephaiah who is nearer to the governor.” His billowing robe and tall turban nearly blocked the view of the others.
Her mother swayed as if a musician played the lyre. “What is Nehemiah wearing?”
Adah described the indigo robe with gold embroidery and blue ribbing. Elaborate garments rarely graced the streets of Jerusalem except those worn by nobles and rulers. Most people mended their threadbare tunics so they could feed their families or pay a debt with coin instead of children.
The chief priest raised his hand and began to recite the Shema.
Joining the prayers of the crowd, Adah echoed, “Hear O’ Israel. The Lord is our God. The Lord alone. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might.”
Did she? Still love God with all her heart? She glanced at her mother’s face tilted toward the sun, her spirit taking flight. How could her mother be at peace with God when He had denied her healing? Why had the petitions for a restoration of her sight been ignored?
“My people.” The governor flung his arms wide as if to embrace the crowd.
Nehemiah’s greeting turned her attention back to the temple steps. As a child, she listened to the priests sing praises to God for the opportunity to rebuild this place of worship. Sand-colored stone, precisely placed, towered over the landscape of the city. Columns lined the temple building rising from its foundation toward the heavens. Adah prayed Nehemiah’s arrival was a balm from God to soothe the hardships of drought and conquests.
“King Artaxerxes is a gracious sovereign,” Nehemiah continued. “Our king listened to my concerns regarding Jerusalem, the birthplace of my fathers. My sorrow brought compassion from our sovereign, not wrath.” One step. Two steps. Three. The governor paced back and forth. “I have come to set a great task before you. A task blessed not only by the king, but by our God. Shall rodents nest in the rubble-strewn wall of the City of David? Shall we allow this disgrace to continue?”
“No.” A battle cry rose above the gathering from every street, alley, and crevice.
“Then rebuild this city with me.” Palms open, Nehemiah stretched his arms in the direction of the wall. “Our people rebuilt this temple. We can raise the gates and the wall of Jerusalem. We must be strong and courageous and do God’s work. He will not forsake us.”
Mutterings grew louder over the gathering until they became a stifled roar.
A man near the stairs called out, “Where are the king’s armies? His supplies? Our purses are light.”
Nehemiah stared at each section of the crowd with a thin-lipped scowl and with an intensity Adah envisioned of Moses as he held his staff over the Red Sea to part the waters.
“The king has given us lumber for the gates. The rock rests on our soil. Workers are what we need most.” The governor stomped his sandaled foot. “We do not need Arabs or Persians to reconstruct this city. The sons and daughters of Jacob can restore the wall. Are you with me? Will Jerusalem rise once more? Or will we leave her in disgrace?”
Adah wanted to join in the jubilant affirmation. Truly, she did. She knew the stories and songs of David slaying his tens of thousands, of his son Solomon imparting wisdom to the whole world, but how was the household of an elderly ruler, his blind wife, and two unmarried daughters, going to restore Jerusalem?
“Will this not lead to war?” a woman asked behind them.
Would it? If this truly was the will of God, who could stand against His people?
Her mother must have heard the question, for her eyes shut and fluttered as if she were caught in a sand storm.
Adah turned toward the gossiping women. “We must plan for the years ahead. Jerusalem needs a wall to be victorious when a challenge comes. And with the king’s blessing on Nehemiah, who would dare wage war on us?”
The naysayer nodded and hastened away.
Returning her attention to her family, Adah smoothed some wayward strands of raven-colored hair from her mother’s face. “Father will know what needs to be done to assist the governor.”
“At least we are not laborers,” Judith said. “We can cook for those who build.”
“Cook?” Adah slumped. Was that all Nehemiah needed from her? When he spoke of
God’s provision that night surely he meant more than food? She had agreed to do whatever the governor asked. Was God finally bestowing a blessing on her city? And if He was, how could she stand idle while others labored? Her stomach cramped, sending an undulating pain across her midsection. Have I not more to give than warm bread or scented oil?
A priest rose from his seat in front of the courtyard wall. He clapped and stomped to the edge of the stairs drawing attention to his actions.
“The Levites will repair the Sheep Gate. We will lead our people in toil as in prayer.”
And what of Shallum’s family? Did her father not oversee half a district? Was her family not as devoted to God?
A merchant named Hassenaah danced on the lowest step. Arms raised, he swayed side to side in a glorious show of support. “My sons and I will restore the glory of the Fish Gate.”
The governor stepped forward and held up his hand to cease the cry of volunteers. He ushered a scribe forward and seated him at a long table on the landing above the stairs. While Nehemiah unfurled parchment, the scribe tested his ink and quill on cloth.
Returning to a position in front of the priests, Nehemiah spoke in a booming voice. “The courage of our people will not be forgotten. On this day, we will record the sacrifice and workmanship of all our families for future generations.”
The governor acknowledged the people with a continual bob of his head. His gaze beheld each area of the crowd until it rested on her section, her family, and finally on her. Did he remember her promise?
Hassenaah darted to be first in line for the record, but a priest scooted in front of him. Rephaiah motioned for his sons to come forward in haste.
Why should Rephaiah be remembered and not her father? His son Gershom showed no compassion for the poor. Was her father not as devoted to leading the people as any other official? Should his name be banished from the annals because he had no son?
A few women brushed past as they left the assembly. The scent of muted jasmine caught Adah’s attention.
Jerusalem Rising Page 3