Jerusalem's Hope (37 page)

Was the final question something written by Isaiah? Emet wondered. Or had Zadok's own thoughts crept into the open?

Whichever it was, with those words the old man halted abruptly. He stared into the fire while Avel, Emet, and Ha-or Tov exchanged puzzled frowns. The story of Abraham and Isaac was a good one, Emet thought, about trusting the Almighty. Why did Zadok act so morose?

“Get up, then,” Zadok ordered at last as he himself stood. Red Dog alertly jumped to his feet, while the boys were slower to unfold their cramped limbs. “Time to make the rounds of the flock.”

This was a night of too little sleep for Avel, Emet, and Ha-or Tov. Their watch over the flock completed, Zadok led the boys back to the house in Beth-lehem.

Early tomorrow, after chores, they would head to Jerusalem.

But for now, one Passover duty remained before they could go to bed. Special preparations for the Feast of Unleavened Bread had already begun at sunset. Throughout Israel households were searched and cleaned of all traces of leaven as a symbol of clearing away the secret sins of the heart.

“It is,” Zadok explained soberly, “like sweeping out from our souls even small fragments of sin. Like a tiny fragment of yeast in flour makes a lump of dough swell up, even a pinch of sin can take over a man's life. And if y' search, you'll find yeast and sin in the most unexpected places. So tonight, with all of Israel, let's clean our house and our hearts. Sweep away blame and anger at others. Remove all self-deceptions so we'll have a new start.”

In the home of Zadok, the ritual began after midnight. The old man lit a candle and commanded the threesome to sit in utter silence as he conducted the first search and spoke this blessing: “Blessed are You, our God, King of the Universe, who has sanctified us by your commandments, and commanded us to remove all leaven.”

First, he took up the obvious sources of yeast. Two loaves of bread, and a handful of crusts were dropped into a cloth sack. Then he swept the floor and gathered crumbs of bread from the table. With a feather he dusted the ledge of the windowsill and the corners until, at last, a significant pile of crumbs lay heaped on the floor.

He searched the entire house by candlelight three times. At the conclusion he faced Jerusalem and intoned, “All the leaven that is in my possession, that which I have seen and that which I have not seen, be it as null, be it accounted as the dust of the earth.”

Avel could hardly keep his eyes open as Zadok finished the ceremony.

“In the morning,” Zadok told them, “which is nearer than we wish to think about, we'll carry this leaven to Yerushalayim. There we will deliver the last of the sheep to the Temple and at the signal from the priests we'll burn this leaven. For seven days we'll eat unleavened bread as our fathers did when the Lord brought them out of bondage from Egypt. After the putting away of the old things, lads, we'll be prepared to stand boldly before the council of seventy elders and give account of what we know about what transpired here. Are y' ready?”

The thin reedy snoring of Emet replied. He was fast asleep, resting heavily on Avel's arm.

Zadok softened and scooped up the boy in his arms. “I suppose I'm overly verbose. It's been awhile since I had three little boys under this roof at Passover. There now.” Zadok smoothed back a lock of Emet's hair and kissed his brow. “Poor lamb. And who could blame y' for dozing off? What a day. What a terrible long day it's been.” Zadok carried Emet to the pallet and summoned the others to come along. It was time, he said. Past time to sleep.

Ha-or Tov was out before Zadok finished his sentence.

Zadok studied Avel. “And one left. You hate to give it up, don't you, boy?”

Avel nodded. “It's just . . . I never spent Passover in a real house before. Never saw a real father search with the candle. I don't want to miss anything.”

Zadok smiled gently at this revelation. “A father, you say?”

“What happened to your boys?”

“Ah. A long story, that. Not for telling tonight.”

“When?”

Zadok mussed Avel's hair, indicating that the conversation was at an end. “I'll tell you all about it . . . when Messiah comes. How's that? Now, morning will be here soon enough,” Zadok warned Avel. “And it'll likely be another long day for us.”

“We'll be ready,” Avel whispered hoarsely. And then he too promptly drifted off to sleep.

VEKOAH

M
orning broke over the Valley of the Sheepfold after the long night of grief, explanation, and cleansing.

Lev did not come to the lambing barn, so it was left to Avel, Emet, and Ha-or Tov to clean the pens and feed and water the ewes. A painful duty. Avel took over the care of Old Girl and her babies so Emet wouldn't have to look at the vacant space left by the death of the one he loved best.

Emet was sent to draw water from the well.

The ewe who had lost her lamb through Zadok's choice had not stopped mourning. Although Zadok had left her with one remaining twin, the ewe paced and bleated pitifully and would not be comforted.

Old Girl stood calmly as the triplet babies nursed. Bear's fleece cap lay discarded in the straw. The ewe nudged it with her nose as if to inquire where the black sheep had gotten off to.

Avel scooped it up and thrust it into the pocket of his tunic.

He loaded the barrow with old straw and wheeled it out toward the light. Emerging, he saw that Emet stood stock-still beside the well. Avel shielded his eyes and stared off across the pastures.

Lev was coming back. Dirty and disheveled, with his usual cocky swagger reduced to the trudge of a man who walked with the weight of sorrow on his back.

Avel dumped the straw and joined Emet at the well. He withdrew the lamb's cap and pressed it into Emet's hand. The child gazed at it a moment, then pressed it to his cheek. His eyes moistened and he murmured, “Poor Lev.”

“Yes,” Avel agreed. Even in pardon the load would be heavy on his soul. How could it not be?

At that instant Lev raised his eyes to Emet. The head bowed again and the pace did not alter. On and on he came up the hill to where the boys waited for him.

As he came near it was evident that he had been weeping. Eyes were red and swollen. His thick lips trembled. He raised his arm in greeting and let it fall again. And then he came to Emet. His shadow covered the boy. He shook his head, trying to speak. Again his head wagged from side to side. He groaned and fell to his knees before Emet. He reached out to touch Bear's cap with his finger. He began to weep openly.

“Sorry! So sorry! So . . .”

“Ah, Lev!” Emet cried, embracing him. “Lev!”

There followed a time when man and boy hugged and sobbed together as Avel stood apart and watched an incomprehensible change in the two.

At last Lev sat back on his heels. He wiped Emet's tears away with the scrap of fleece and then his own. “Stump,” Lev whispered. “I know what he meant to y'.”

“Yes,” Emet concurred.

“Today is the day of preparation for the Passover. I'd like to wear his covering as a sign of redemption. The blood of the lamb upon the door-post of my heart. As it was that first Passover in Egypt. I've been thinking on it all night, y' see? They would've crucified me, and rightly so, for I'm guilty of shedding another man's blood. But would y' tie this fleece round my neck then as reminder to all who see it that the lamb was killed and the life of old Zadok stands as a payment if any more blood is spilled? And will y' forgive me, boy, for the unkindness I lavished on y'? For y' didn't deserve my spite!”

“Gladly.” Emet placed his hand on Lev's brow in a wordless benediction, a bond of forgiveness and peace between them. And then, knowing well enough how to tie, he tied the leather laces which had held the fleece on Bear and slipped the collar over Lev's bowed head.

There was one thing more to do.

Lev sniffed and wiped his red nose with the back of his hand. “Blue Eye's still down there. A fine, wise dog, he was. Come now, boys. We've a duty. Fetch me a spade. Call Ha-or Tov. We'll go together to the field where he lies. I'll bury him.”

Zadok covered Avel, Emet, and Ha-or Tov with his tallith and faced in the direction of Jerusalem. He began to recite the words of Isaiah:

 

 

Zadok recited these hopeful words on every occasion before he set out to travel to Jerusalem. But, Avel thought, as he observed Zadok's somber demeanor, the chief herdsman didn't sound too hopeful that he would see this promise fulfilled.

Something had changed in Zadok's thinking between yesterday and today. He determined he would not stay in the Holy City overnight for the Paschal feast.

What troubled him?

The question rippled through Beth-lehem. Had the old shepherd ever before spent the first night of the Holy Week outside Jerusalem?

Perhaps in the distant past, but not in the living memory of anyone at Migdal Eder. For thirty years Zadok and his wife had driven the last of the lambs through the Sheep Gate and then remained in the city until the conclusion of the feast.

Perhaps this year, since the old woman's passing, Zadok wanted to change the routine?

Whatever the reason, Avel was glad for it. The boy thought about bar Abba, Asher, Kittim, and the curved blade of Dan's knife. The rebels were surely in the city of the Temple of the Most High, preparing to make their own sacrifice of human blood today. Avel did not want to be on hand if and when things broke loose!

Zadok left orders that he and the boys would return to Beth-lehem for their Passover
seder.
No other shepherd in the company was invited to the meal. Everything, he declared, must be properly prepared, the table set with five places and ready for them.

Zadok and his three young apprentices drove the last seventy-two lambs toward King David's capital. These sheep were the finest of the flock, reserved and hand-fattened for the feasts of Israel's ruling council and the family of the high priest.

With Jehu dead and Lev stained in the blood of another, some said it was natural Zadok had chosen the boys to go with him. Others eyed them enviously as they departed.

Red Dog managed the herd easily, circling and bumping the heels of any stragglers. It was an effortless journey up the highway toward the Holy City. The distant buildings of the Temple, high atop Mount Moriah, glistening in the sun like a snowcapped peak.

They marched in grim silence, listening to the hissing of revolution on the lips of the travelers around them.

Concern for what lay ahead clouded the face of Zadok and spilled over into the minds of the boys.

At last Emet clasped Zadok's sleeve and gave a tug. “Why is the whole world coming to Yerushalayim, sir?”

“To remember the Passover, as the Lord commanded us to remember for all generations.”

“Remember what?”

There was irony in Zadok's reply. “That we are the children of the Lord's covenant with Abraham and Isra'el. We are the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. We are free men.”