by Mesu Andrews
The council members applauded; some stood. I bowed in recognition, wishing Hezi would simply move on with whatever was on today’s agenda.
As the applause died, Hezi nodded to Eliakim, the palace administrator, who searched through a pile of scrolls to find our first item of business for the day. Our childhood friend wasn’t as organized as Shebna, but Eliakim had made Hezekiah’s palace an edifice of hospitality, where the petitioners from Judah felt heard and foreign delegates were welcomed.
Finally, finding the scroll he sought, Eliakim delivered it to Hezi’s hand. “We received it from one of our Assyrian spies, who arrived at the Horse Gate just before dawn.”
Hezi broke the seal and began reading, his brows drawn down in severe lines. He set it aside without letting me read it. I tried to tamp down my annoyance—without success. Again, my husband stood to speak, and I found myself staring at his back. “Assyria’s King Sargon is dead.” Rumblings fluttered through the council as Hezi continued. “The report says he was murdered in his palace, but as yet the assassin is unknown.”
“Hail to the assassin!” shouted Commander Jokim.
“Yes!” Hezi led the council in celebration, but what was there to celebrate?
“Will there be a struggle for power,” I asked, “or will his son, General Sennacherib, be king?” Only Hezi heard my question amid the rejoicing.
“Come now, Zibah.” He offered me his hand. “We must rejoice over even one dead Assyrian.”
I ignored his proffered hand. “You’re being ridiculous.” My words broke into the joy like a dissonant chord in a Levitical psalm. The room fell silent again.
Hezi chuckled in the awkward moment, returning his attention to the council instead of discussing my concerns. “The scroll says Assyrian messengers were sent to inform General Sennacherib, who was fighting on the frontier. He’ll assume Assyria’s throne in Nineveh, which means his early reign will be consumed with putting down another rebellion in Babylon—and, of course, retribution for his abba’s death.” Hezi stepped off the dais and approached the gallery of advisors, leaving me alone on the platform. “Now is the time, men. While Sennacherib is distracted, we join Egypt to assert independence and discontinue tribute payments to Assyria.”
“No!” I shouted, my heart in my throat. “Sennacherib has a reputation more ruthless than any general before him. He’s a military genius and will look to expand Assyria’s borders.” I descended the dais to join my husband at the advisors’ gallery. “If you give Sennacherib a reason to march against Egypt, he’ll gladly destroy Judah as his army marches through!” My voice broke. “Please, Hezi, don’t do this. Please!” I began to tremble.
Hezi’s neck and face bloomed crimson, and I thought he’d shout at me. Then I saw that he avoided the silent advisors’ stares. My husband wasn’t angry. He was embarrassed.
Humiliated, I covered my face. Backing toward the dais, I stumbled on the steps. Hezi tried to steady me, but I pushed him away. “You can’t stop paying them. Assyria will come. They’ll come…” I finally sagged into his embrace, giving myself over to the emotions I couldn’t control. “I’ll never give you a son if Assyria takes you from me. We’ll never have a son, Hezi. Never.”
My husband lifted me like a child into his arms, and I buried my face against his shoulder. I couldn’t stop trembling. What was wrong with me?
I heard Hezi address our guards as we passed from the hall to our chamber. Hezi lowered me to our bed and knelt beside me. Waiting. He let my tears ebb before trying to speak. “I love you, Zibah, with all my heart, but you will not attend another council meeting until I can trust you to control your emotions.”
The rebuke stung. “My emotions did not cloud my judgment of Assyrian reprisal. If you stop tribute payments, Sennacherib will punish Judah.”
“That may be your opinion,” he said, anger rising, “but it’s only one opinion among many advisors. You cannot dissolve into hysterics in my courtroom!”
His shouting rattled me. I shut my eyes and squeezed my hands together, trying to stop their shaking. “Please, Hezi. I can’t bear your shouting.”
“Zibah…” He sighed and joined me on the bed, taking me into his arms. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think you need more rest.”
I was quiet. Thinking. The midwife said my body was tired. The physician said another pregnancy could kill me. Perhaps I needed to get out of the palace and breathe fresh air. “I want to see Abba and Ima.” I hadn’t seen them since the miscarriage, and my heart ached for someone familiar yet outside my daily existence.
Hezi kissed my forehead. “All right, but don’t stay too long, and please rest when you return.”
I watched him leave our chamber and felt relieved. I was tired of disappointing him. Sometimes, I wished to be alone without another soul to take care of or to care for me.
Yaira was with the harem maids this morning, so I called for Amram to escort me. Before midday, we arrived at my parents’ home and found the courtyard deserted. Odd. By now Dinah and Leah should be preparing the table. Abba was normally reading outside, and Ima weaving or spinning.
Amram nudged me aside. “Let me go in first.” He walked slowly, hand on his sword, and I followed. He turned and motioned for me to wait in the courtyard. He entered the house, and I watched him walk past Abba’s study and down the hall toward the kitchen, my heart pounding. He straightened, relaxed, and began talking quietly with someone I couldn’t see. He motioned me inside.
I heard only men’s voices and entered the kitchen, where Abba and my brother Jashub sat on cushions beside the table. Neither looked like they’d slept for days. “What’s wrong? Where’s Ima?”
Jashub’s eyes were red and swollen. “She and the others are tending to Hallel.” He buried his face in his hands, and Abba looked up to explain.
“Hallel has been laboring nearly three days with their fourth child.” He shook his head, silently saying what every woman knew. No one survived three days of labor.
I wanted to run. What was this duty called birth with which every woman had been cursed by Eve’s sin? Why must we bear a child like a grunting beast in the field? Or release our babies’ souls before their bodies were formed? I pressed my fists to my eyes, staunching tears that came too often.
Abba’s arms enfolded me, and I leaned into his embrace. “Go back to the palace, Daughter. You need not be here. Jashub’s children are well cared for, and we’ll send word when…” He hugged me tighter. “We’ll send word. Go home.”
I couldn’t speak. I could only nod and push him away. Then I fled, running as I’d done when Ima scolded me as a child. Amram kept pace. He didn’t scold but merely jogged alongside, sheltering me from curious stares. Up the palace stairs, through the courts, and down the king’s hall I ran. The chamber guards opened the doors as I approached, and I fell into Hezi’s arms, sobbing, panting, pleading.
“No more, Hezi. No more.”
He stroked my hair gently, but he was angry with my guard. “Amram, what happened?”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but the queen wished to visit her parents. When we arrived, we found that Jashub’s wife…” He hesitated.
“Hallel’s dying, Hezi.” Speaking the words burned the truth into my spirit. I stilled in my husband’s arms.
“Thank you, Amram. You may go.” He held me without moving, barely breathing. “What do you mean, ‘Hallel’s dying’?”
I wiped my face with my head covering and looked into his eyes. “Hallel has been laboring three days with their fourth child. Neither mother nor child live after three days of labor, Hezi.”
His expression softened. “You don’t know that for certain, Zibah.”
“What?” I choked out a humorless laugh. “So, I know nothing about Assyria or pregnant women?” I pushed him away. “Just say it, Hezi. I’m a burden to you, worthless.”
“You are Hephzibah, delight of the Lord, and Zibah, my del—”
“No! Don’t call me Hephzibah.” I began
trembling. “My name is Ishma. I am desolation, Hezi. I am desolation.”
He slid onto the couch and held his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do to help you, Hephzibah.”
I didn’t know what to do either. I stood staring at a good man, who I continued to hurt. Where could I go to escape—for both our sakes? I couldn’t go back to Abba’s, and I didn’t want to call for Yaira. Feeling like a bird without a nest, I walked to the balcony. Perhaps there I could breathe.
The scent of almond blossoms met me on the breeze. Spring. A time for war. What was this war inside me? Everyone said “rest,” but my body had recovered. It was my heart and mind that felt exhausted. How does one rest a mind or strengthen the heart? My doves would be returning soon, but I felt little interest even in them.
I peered over the edge of our balcony at the people milling about in the streets. They were blissfully unaware of my brother’s dying wife and the terrifying new king of Assyria. Would my life have been better had I been raised in Bethlehem? Yaira said my life would have purpose. Queen of Judah—what was my purpose if I couldn’t produce an heir?
“Zibah, come away from the edge.” Hezi stood at the archway, hand outstretched. “Come to me, my love. Please.” His face twisted in grief, a sorrow I’d never seen mar that handsome face.
I stepped closer to him, proving my intention to live and not die. “You must take another wife, Hezi.” He tried to protest, but I pressed two fingers against his lips. “No, my love. It’s time. Rizpah and I have been talking about it for months.” I tried to sound brave. “She always knew your abba loved Abijah most. I’ll always be your Abijah, but my womb is incapable of carrying a child. The midwife told us two pregnancies ago, but we refused to believe it.” I shook my head, unable to stem the tears. “How many more children must precede us into paradise before we listen?”
He wiped my cheeks with the belt of his robe and then kissed me tenderly. “We’ll take precautions for a while. We’ll use the midwife’s herbs and won’t let you conceive again until you’re stronger.”
“No, Hezi. No.” I straightened my shoulders. “Jashub’s wife carried her child to term, and today, he’ll lose them both. Even if I were to reach birthing, my age makes a first delivery very dangerous.” Fear raced through me at the thought. I’d never voiced it before, but now I was even more convinced. “You’re thirty-five, Hezi. Still young enough to build a household of children. You must consider the line of succession. King David’s promise.”
“It is Yahweh who will keep His promise to David, Zibah. My focus is to love my wife and build a strong nation—which I’m doing.” He stepped toward the balcony’s edge and swept his hand across the landscape. “Judah is prospering as it did in the days of Solomon. Yahweh has blessed every decision so far, Zibah. We must keep trusting Him.”
“Judah is prospering, Hezi, but not me. Can’t you see? I’m not prospering.”
Hezi looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time in months. His features changed, and he drew me into his arms, silent.
Fear coiled around my heart, certain he was working out the details of a second wedding. What girl would he choose? Someone I knew? She would most likely be half my age. Kings chose women as young as fourteen for subsequent wives. I squeezed my eyes shut. Yahweh, give me strength. Wisdom.
Hezi laid his cheek on my head. “You will move back to the harem.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. I mustn’t cry, mustn’t cry. “When will you take your new wife?”
He nudged me away and braced my shoulders, his features stern. “Enough. No more talk about a new wife. I’ve given my word that I will take only one wife as did Uzziah and Jotham. I want you to move back to the harem for a time of rest.” He held my gaze. “You must rediscover your name, Hephzibah. I believe only Yahweh can heal your inner wounds.” He pulled me back into his arms and held me. “You’ll know when it’s time to return to our chamber.”
For nearly a year, I sequestered myself in a quiet chamber at the farthest corner of the palace’s second floor. My spirit revived in the stillness, while the midwife’s herbs and Yaira’s aloe rubs strengthened my body. Yaira slept in an adjoining chamber but often delivered my meals and left. Even Abijah and Rizpah limited their visits to once a day, and Hezi shooed them out when he arrived for our evening visits.
Today, Yaira had gone with the widows and their maids to walk in the gardens. They had invited me to join their ranks—as they always did—but I had gracefully declined. As I often did. I sat at my writing table with the balcony doors open, a gentle breeze carrying the tune of a mourning dove. Another spring had come to bring new life, and I felt its refreshing to the core of my being. Thank You, Yahweh, for the changing of the seasons.
Facing the open balcony, I read the last of Abba’s scrolls. I’d begun reading them as a distraction, but they quickly became my life and breath. I scoured every prophecy and copied each one. Then I tried to give the prophecies some semblance of order, not necessarily chronologically according to the time they were received or delivered, but in an order that presented the picture of Yahweh’s faithfulness amid His people’s rebellion, for that was Israel’s story. Judah’s story. My story.
Though I had not openly rebelled with pagan worship, I had set up my own unseen idols, allowing my pursuit of a home and peace to steal my attention from the One Source who could truly give me both. Abba’s words—Yahweh’s words—had refocused my heart and mind on the eternal. I’d learned that the absolute peace I yearned for could only be found in my eternal home, but as I immersed myself in Yahweh’s words, the tender peace of His presence made this life bearable.
I didn’t just copy Abba’s words; I found a rhythm and arranged them by context, according to history and setting. Abba’s calling in Yahweh’s great throne room added depth to his prophecies and provided a foundation for his obedience when he was called to obey impossible commands. Next came the woes and blessings for many nations on earth, including Israel and Judah. Somehow, they didn’t seem so frightening when the light of eternity brightened their meaning.
Most intriguing to me, of course, was the captive remnant and the anointed Son of David. I saw now that Yaira and I and the other captives with us were not the faithful remnant returned to a New Jerusalem, and Hezi—as Abba said—was not the anointed King. But couldn’t we each be a foreshadowing? Couldn’t the promises meant for the future be accessible in the present when we served the Eternal?
As I looked at all the scrolls, I felt a gaping hole. The question of Assyria’s future lingered like the verse of a song yet unsung. They would invade Judah, but when? God would destroy them for harming His people, but what army could stop Assyria’s ever-growing power?
“Mmm,” my husband whispered, nuzzling the back of my neck.
My arms prickly with gooseflesh, I turned into his embrace. “You finished with court early today.”
“It’s too lovely a day to be separated from my wife.” He glanced at the scrolls sprawled on my table. “Almost done?”
“I’m on the last one.” I picked up the scroll to show him my latest copying. “I know it seems that all you hear is prophecies of gloom from Abba, but there is also blessing in store in the New Jerusalem, Hezi. Listen, ‘Never again will there be in it an infant who lives but a few days, or an old man who does not live out his years.’ ” My voice broke, but my smile remained.
He tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Do you know when the New Jerusalem will come?”
I chuckled. “No idea.” We laughed together. It felt good to laugh.
My husband took the scroll from my hand and placed it on the table. He cradled my hands, kissed them, and then held them between us. “Your eyes are clear, Hephzibah—delight of the Lord. Has Yahweh healed you inside and out?”
My heart skipped a beat. “I don’t know if Yahweh will give us a child in this life, Hezi.”
“That’s not what I asked.” His smile never faded. “Are you ready to come back to m
e?” Hope glistened in his eyes.
I’d been considering the question for days. “To your chamber, yes, but do you want me in your courtroom?”
He kissed my hand again. “Let’s talk about that.” He led me to the balcony, allowing my question to drift on the breeze. “I want you to fulfill Yahweh’s purpose for you, Zibah, but I cannot let you repeat what happened on your last day in court.”
I focused on the courtyard below us, feeling the sting of his rebuke. If I was to reenter his world, I must toughen my hide and sharpen my mind. “I was emotional in the way I expressed my opinion that day. And for that I’m deeply sorry.” I turned to face him. “However, my dissent with your decision was correct, Hezi. I still believe stopping tribute payments to Assyria is wrong. For that, I won’t apologize.” I felt no imminent tears. No quivering inside. Thank You, Yahweh.
Hezi pressed a finger to his lips, deep in thought, and then turned a pointed gaze at me. “Can you offer your opinions in court without emotion, the way you’ve done just now?”
I lifted an eyebrow and smiled. “Can you?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re ready for court, but are my advisors ready for you?”
PART 4
After all that Hezekiah had so faithfully done, Sennacherib king of Assyria came and invaded Judah. He laid siege to the fortified cities, thinking to conquer them for himself.
2 Chronicles 32:1
48
In the fourteenth year of King Hezekiah’s reign, Sennacherib king of Assyria attacked all the fortified cities of Judah and captured them.
—2 Kings 18:13
Since Zibah had returned from her harem retreat three years ago, she’d insisted on tending to Hezi’s morning ministrations. Normally chattering like a bird, she asked about the upcoming day in court and if there was to be a council meeting and then told him about her friends and the widows’ antics. While chatting, she combed his hair, trimmed his beard, and oftentimes chose his robe for court.