Return to Me (11 page)

“This is where the palace once stood,” the high priest replied. “Sheshbazzar and Zerubbabel were looking through the rubble and found an underground storehouse. We’ve decided to use it as a treasury to store the temple vessels and other supplies. Can you come back and help us, Iddo? We’ll need you to record the transfer of all the silver and gold from the Persian guards.”

“Yes, of course I will.”

Saba and the other chief priests assembled outside the palace, then made their way to the stairs that led to the top of the mount. The ascent was harder than Zechariah had anticipated, the steps broken and slanted and clogged with stones, but he arrived on top at last, winded from the steep climb. On the wide, flat plateau that had once been the threshing floor of Aranau the Jebusite before it became the temple mount, barely a square foot of land could be found that wasn’t covered with debris and weeds. The tumbled building stones were too huge to climb over, so Saba and the other men could only walk forward a short distance. Scrub trees and scraggly cedars and thorn bushes grew among the rocks.

“This can’t be right,” Saba said. “How could the temple mount have trees growing on it? I don’t remember seeing trees.”

“Nearly fifty years have passed since the temple was destroyed,” his friend Joel reminded him. “Fifty years is plenty of time for saplings to sprout between the ruptured paving stones and grow into trees.”

Zechariah tugged his grandfather’s sleeve to get his attention.
“Saba, isn’t this the place where Abraham offered to sacrifice Isaac before there was a temple?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Well, there must have been trees when Abraham was here. And bushes, too. Didn’t he find a ram caught by his horns in a thicket?”

“Ah, yes. You’re right.” Saba smiled as he rested his hand on Zaki’s shoulder. “You’re a very clever boy. And you remember your Torah, that’s good.”

“At least there’s no shortage of building stones in Jerusalem,” Joel said. “But it’s going to take a trememdous amount of work to clear this plateau.”

“Our first task is to find the site where the bronze altar stood,” Saba said. “It’s where Abraham’s sacrifice also took place. Once we rebuild the altar, we can offer the daily sacrifices again.”

“I think we’ll have to wait until the Samaritans simmer down before we rebuild anything,” Joel said.

Saba turned on him. “No, Joel! We dare not wait a single day! If we want God’s guidance and help, we must ask for our sins to be forgiven through the sacrifices.” He strode off to work with the other priests, moving stones to make way for the altar. Zechariah had plenty of time to think as he helped pull weeds from between the cracks and clear away some of the smaller rocks. He wondered when the Almighty One would speak to him again and tell him what he was supposed to do next. The God of Abraham had won the tug-of-war between Zechariah’s father and grandfather, proving that He was real by providing a second exodus from slavery. But the threat from their enemies that Zechariah had witnessed this morning and the enormous amount of rubble piled in front of him made him question his role in the Almighty One’s plan.

Late that afternoon, they retraced their steps to their campsite in the valley, hot, weary, and thirsty from the day’s work. Apart from a few mounds of gathered brush and some shifted stones,
the temple mount looked little different from before. “Our job is going to be really hard, isn’t it, Saba?”

“The Almighty One brought us back to our land, but we still have to do our part to conquer it, just like our ancestors did under Joshua. Our task is to build His temple, and the Holy One’s enemies will do everything they can to try to stop us.”

“Like they did this morning?”

Saba nodded. “Each obstacle we face is like an ancient Canaanite king who needs to be defeated, or a walled city like Jericho that we need to tear down. You and I and the others have already conquered the first strongholds by choosing to leave the comfort of Babylon and the pull of family ties and by turning our backs on its paganism.”

Zechariah remembered Yael’s entanglement with sorcery and looked away. The guilt of her secrets felt like his own. They soon reached the ruined Water Gate and headed down the ramp toward their camp.

“Will we let all these obstacles stop us?” Saba continued. “Or allow the hard work of rebuilding to discourage us?”

“No, Saba.” He smiled as he imagined himself as part of Judah’s army, going into battle, defeating their enemies. Or commanding teams of oxen as they hauled building stones into place for God’s temple. “What’s my job going to be from now on, Saba?”

“Your job is to study the Torah.”

“What?” Zechariah halted. He must have misunderstood. “But . . . but that’s what I did back in Babylon. I want to be a soldier and learn how to fight. And I want to help rebuild the temple.”

“The way we conquer our enemies is by obeying God’s Word. When Joshua obeyed, the walls of Jericho fell down. But how can we obey if we don’t know what God’s Word says? That’s your job, Zechariah—to learn what it says.”

Zechariah couldn’t believe it. He would spend his days in this new land studying the Torah? Not learning how to use a sword or how to build, but studying? He couldn’t disguise his disappointment as they started walking again. So far, his return to Jerusalem wasn’t at all like he had imagined.

T
he screams startled Yael awake. She sat up, clutching her blanket, her heart pounding. Should she run? Hide? Had the Samaritans attacked? The terrifying cries came from the tent right beside hers—from Zaki’s grandfather. Abba leaped out of bed to go see what was wrong, and so did everyone around them, it seemed. Yael heard the mumble of voices as Iddo reassured everyone that he was fine and sent them back to their beds.

“He had a nightmare,” Abba said when he returned a few minutes later. “Go back to sleep, Yael.” He lay down again.

It seemed like a long time passed before Yael’s heart stopped pounding. Her skin still had a funny, tingling feeling from being frightened half to death, as if ants were crawling all over her. As the camp settled down again, she could hear Iddo and Dinah talking softly. “All the way here, three long months of traveling and I never had a single nightmare,” Iddo said. “I’m so ashamed . . . I-I don’t understand it.”

“There’s no reason to feel ashamed. This is where your real nightmare happened. I’m sure the others realize that.”

“I thought the dreams were gone for good.”

“Maybe this will be the last one now that you’ve returned and faced what happened in the past.”

“Or maybe God is punishing me with these nightmares because of all the mistakes I’ve made.”

“Go to sleep, Iddo.”

“I can’t. I may as well get up.”

Yael heard shuffling as he left his tent. She couldn’t fall asleep, either, and she lay on her back, staring at the dark tent hovering above her head. One edge of the animal-skin covering was attached to their cart, the other to poles, with the excess hide hanging down to form sides that reached to the ground. Abba slept close to the cart, but Yael liked to sleep near the open side of the tent. She inched over to it, trying not to make too much noise, dragging her blanket with her for warmth. Maybe if she lifted the covering she would be able to see the stars.

The hide had the strong odor of animals and stank nearly as bad as the donkey that had pulled their cart. She managed to lift a flap of the heavy skin and look up at a small patch of star-flecked sky and the brilliant full moon that illuminated the roofs of the other huddled tents. Parthia had taught Yael about the phases of the moon and said that people could be “moonstruck” or even become “lunatics” during a full moon. Was that what had happened to Zaki’s grandfather? He didn’t believe in the moon goddess and refused to worship her, so maybe the nightmare was her punishment. Yael wondered when Iddo’s birthday was. If the moon was rising in his star sign, that could cause even more trouble. Or maybe the dream was a warning to him. Parthia said the gods spoke through dreams.

Yael inched a little farther outside the tent. How beautiful the stars looked tonight! She knew how to read some of their mysteries and secrets, but she longed to know all of them.
“The heavenly bodies and celestial events all have powerful effects on what happens to us on earth,”
Parthia had said. And all of that
information could be found on the star charts she had given her. Using pictures and symbols, the charts showed the lunar months and the sign of the zodiac that was dominant each month. Before Abba had decided to move to Jerusalem, Parthia had taught Yael how to locate the signs of the zodiac in the night sky. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the soft tinkling of Parthia’s jewelry, the sweet smell of her incense.

“Once you learn to read the charts,”
Parthia said,
“you can warn people of trouble ahead or advise them of the best times to pursue love or financial success.”

Yael glanced over at Abba. He had rolled onto his side, facing away from her, and she could tell by his soft snoring that he had fallen asleep. She sat up, the tent roof skimming the top of her head, and reached for her bag, the one she had packed to take to Parthia’s house when she’d run away to live with her. Good thing Abba hadn’t looked inside it or taken it away from her when he’d dragged her here. Yael pulled the bag close and quietly rummaged inside until she found the charts. Then she felt around for something else—the little stone figurine of the moon goddess that Parthia had given her. It was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, and it felt comforting, somehow, when she gripped the smooth, polished stone figure in her fist.
“Hold it tightly whenever you are afraid or in danger,”
Parthia had told her.
“And someday when you’re giving birth to a child of your own, she will protect you.”
Yael studied the little naked figurine in the dim light, then tucked it back inside the bag. It would have to stay hidden for now.

She inched toward the opening again, carrying the star charts. She lifted the tent flap to stick her head out, then pulled the moonstone amulet from beneath her dress. The smooth white stone looked as radiant and luminous as the real moon. She wished she could wear it on the outside of her clothing, but she was afraid that Iddo or Zechariah would see it and ask
questions. Safta Dinah had noticed it once when Yael was bathing but Yael had lied and said that the necklace had been a gift from her mother.

The scroll made a crinkling sound as she unrolled it. Yael glanced at Abba again. He was still asleep. He probably wouldn’t care what she did—after all, he had consulted Parthia and other Babylonian seers when Mama was sick. But now that he had moved back to Jerusalem, maybe he didn’t believe in them anymore. Yael couldn’t take that chance
.

She looked down at the open chart, hoping that the moon would give enough light to read it. But the light was still too dim, the tiny figures on the scroll too small, even when she held the parchment close to her eyes or tilted it toward the moon’s light. It was the month of Ab, which meant that the constellation of the lion was dominant in the sky. She heard movement in the next tent, but before she could hide the charts again, Zaki poked his head out from beneath the flap.

“Yael? . . . What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Nothing.” The scrolls rustled like dry leaves as she quickly rolled them up again. Zaki moved toward her on his hands and knees.

“Are you doing sorcery or something?”

“No—I’m just looking at the stars, that’s all.”

“What are the scrolls for?”

She sighed, wondering if she could trust him. “They help me figure out what the stars are saying.”

He moved closer and lowered his voice even more. “If they catch you doing those things here, you know what the punishment will be? Death! The Torah says to stone a sorceress to death!”

Her heart beat a little faster. Was he telling the truth? “You can’t tell anyone, Zaki. You promised.” She shoved the charts into her bag again and pushed it beneath the tent flap.

“You have to get rid of those scrolls before someone catches you.”

“No, I don’t. They’re mine. I need them.” She would never be able to explain how much she longed for guidance in this strange new place. Ever since Mama died, her life had felt so uncertain, like being tossed around in the back of a runaway cart with nothing solid to hang on to. The stars remained the same no matter where she traveled. “Good night, Zaki.”

Yael ducked beneath her tent and lay down again, but she was still too restless to sleep. When she heard Zaki settle down in his tent, she lifted the flap and poked her head out one more time to look up. A falling star streaked across the sky and she made a wish on it, wishing for a new friend now that Zaki was so bossy.

The most important star, the one that all of the others circled around, shone brightly above her. Parthia had taught her how to find it by looking at the constellation that resembled a huge dipping gourd. The morning star was an important one, too, but it hadn’t risen above the horizon yet—or else the mountains across the valley blocked it from sight. The longer Yael looked at the sky, the more stars began to appear, as if they’d been hiding behind their mother’s skirts like shy children. Soon the heavens were white with them. How beautiful they were, holding secrets she longed to discover.

At last her eyes grew tired, and she rolled back inside the tent and tucked her moonstone amulet inside her tunic again. She would have to find a way to grab a few moments to herself during the day so she could study the charts without being seen. Then she could find the constellations more easily at night. Someday she would know all of the stars’ secrets.

Wrapped in her blanket, Yael finally drifted off to sleep.

I
ddo didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, his mind racing back and forth like a weaver’s shuttle between the ghosts of his past that haunted the ruins of Jerusalem and excitement for a future he never dreamed he would see. The nightmare left him badly shaken. Why had the dreams started again after so many months without one?

At breakfast, his hands still shook, and he nearly spilled the bowl of roasted grain as he reached to take it from Dinah. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked, steadying it for him. “Your face is as white as your beard. The circles under your eyes look like bruises.”

“Thank you for that fine description. Now I have no need of a mirror.”

“Iddo, no one will mind if you stay here and rest today. You’ve barely slept for two nights and—”

“You don’t need to remind me or anyone else about my nightmares.” Wasn’t it bad enough that he had awakened half the campsite with his screaming last night? Why remind everyone of his weakness as they sat together, eating?

Dinah passed him the basket of figs next, watching him closely. “Will you promise not to work so hard in the hot sun today?”

He didn’t reply. How could he promise such a thing when the Holy One had given him a job to do?

“May I go with you again today?” Zechariah asked.

“I’m sorry, Zaki, but I promised the other priests that I would help catalogue the temple treasures, and it will take us all day. Stay here and help Safta.” He ate a few more bites of food, aware of everyone’s scrutiny, then decided to leave.

Iddo hated the way his legs trembled as he climbed up the path to the city. Thankfully, he would sit all day as he recorded the treasures, making sure that everything on the long list of silver and gold items had arrived safely from Babylon.

“Prince Sheshbazzar has called for a meeting first,” the others told him when he arrived at the treasury. “He wants to make an announcement.”

The prince got right to the point as soon as everyone had assembled. “After time to reflect on recent events, I’ve decided that we need to build houses for ourselves and our families right away. Our work on the altar will have to wait a little longer.”

“Wait,” Iddo interrupted. “Build houses? Shouldn’t rebuilding the temple be our top priority? Isn’t that what the Holy One brought us back here to do?”

“Yes, and it still is a priority, Iddo. But the anger and hostility we saw in the Samaritan mob the other day is a serious concern. They see us as invaders, and there have already been some attacks. Some livestock has disappeared from our caravan during the night, and we fear these attacks will escalate. We’re too vulnerable living in tents. We need to build houses, and I believe the safest place is up here on the ridge, in what used to be the old City of David.” Sheshbazzar wasn’t finished, but Iddo interrupted him again.

“The Almighty One didn’t set us free so we could live comfortable lives in stone houses. We were comfortable and safe in Babylon.”

“Yes, but I feel it’s important to stake our claim to Jerusalem by building a permanent settlement here and—”

“We can stake our claim—and the Almighty One’s claim—by rebuilding His temple.”

“And we will do that, Iddo. This delay is only temporary. Once we’re all out of the valley, we will return to our projects on the temple mount.” Sheshbazzar was losing patience with him, but Iddo didn’t care. He had to convince him and the others that this decision was a mistake.

“Listen,” Iddo said, “if our enemies are a threat, then restoring the daily sacrifices becomes even more urgent. Without the sacrifices, what right do we have to petition the Almighty One for protection?”

Sheshbazzar stroked his white beard, his face stern. “I’m sorry, Iddo, but I didn’t call this meeting to discuss the issue. I called it to announce that I’m suspending our work on the temple mount to give everyone time to move out of the Kidron Valley and into permanent homes. I ask for your patience.”

“Let’s hope the Almighty One will be patient.” Iddo felt helpless. Sheshbazzar was a royal prince and the official governor of the new territory of Judah. His decision was final.

When the meeting ended, Iddo went to work tallying the temple treasures, taking all morning and part of the afternoon to account for every article. As he was rolling up the finished scrolls, the high priest drew him aside. “Can you stay and work a little longer? The leaders of some of our wealthier families have come forward to give freewill offerings to help rebuild God’s house,” he said. “We could use your help recording those donations.”

The totals were staggering. Iddo counted sixty-one thousand drachmas of gold and five thousand minas of silver—all worth hundreds of years of wages. The patrons had also contributed one hundred linen garments for the priests to wear. Iddo laid
aside his scrolls for a moment to examine the beautiful clothing, running his hand over the luxurious fabric. There were turbans of fine linen, headbands, and undergarments of finely twisted linen. Sashes of blue, purple, and scarlet yarn, exquisitely embroidered. As a slave in Babylon, he had never worn garments of such fine quality, but one day he would wear these. “The treasures we catalogued today need to be put to use to serve God,” he told Jeshua, “not locked in a storehouse. These garments need to be worn.”

“And they will, Iddo. In time. Can you come with me, please, so I can show you one more thing?” The high priest lit a small oil lamp and led Iddo into the windowless treasury. He set down the lamp inside and picked up a slender object about four feet long wrapped in a linen cloth. He carefully unwound the wrapping to reveal a straight, slender tube with a flared end, made from hammered silver. He handed it to Iddo. “According to our temple records, the men in your family once played these silver trumpets.”

“Yes, I remember . . .” As Iddo ran his fingers over the cool, smooth metal, tracing the instrument’s flared bell, he recalled standing in the temple courtyard as a boy, listening to the penetrating trumpet call that sounded from the pinnacle. His father had been the one blowing it.

“These trumpets will announce the appointed feasts and New Moon festivals and will be an important part of our worship. The Torah says that the sound of the trumpet shall be a memorial for us before our God. We need you and your sons to carry on the tradition of your forefathers.”

Iddo handed back the instrument. “I-I’m sorry . . . but I don’t know how to blow it. I was too young when . . . when the end came.”

“I understand,” Jeshua said, wrapping the linen cloth around the trumpet again. “I’ve asked around and unfortunately, none
of the other priests remember how to play it, either. Even so, I would like you to take a shofar home to practice on. Someone needs to learn how to play it again.” He picked up one of the long, curved ram’s horns that were lying with the trumpets and handed it to Iddo. “Maybe by the time the Feast of Trumpets comes in a few months, you’ll be ready.”

Iddo carried the ram’s horn down to his campsite in the valley when the workday ended. It didn’t weigh much, but it felt heavy in his hands, weighted with responsibility. “Is that a shofar?” Zechariah asked as he ran out to meet him. “What’s it for, Saba?”

“Yes, it’s a shofar. The high priest asked me to learn how to play it, so I can blow the silver trumpets the way our forefathers once did. You’ll play the trumpets one day, too.”

“May I hold it?” Iddo handed it to Zechariah and watched him turn the horn over and over in his hands, studying it carefully before looking up at Iddo again. “You never told me that our ancestors played the shofar.”

“I had forgotten all about it until today. Do you remember where the tradition of the ram’s horn comes from?”

“Um . . . from when Abraham offered to sacrifice Isaac on Mount Moriah?”

“Very good. But don’t make your answer sound like a question next time. Now tell me, what does the sound of the shofar remind us of?”

Zechariah thought for a moment. “God’s salvation?” Iddo frowned, and Zaki quickly changed his reply from a question to a statement. “It reminds us of our salvation.”

“Very good. In faith, Abraham told his son that God himself would provide the lamb for the sacrifice. And the ram that took Isaac’s place and saved him was captured by its horn—like this one.”

“Will you play it for me, Saba?” he asked.

“I don’t remember how.” He lifted the small end to his mouth and blew air into it but nothing came out except a sound like the wind. “I will have to learn how,” Iddo said. But who would teach him?

That night another nightmare catapulted Iddo from his bed. He’d been so weary after two sleepless nights that he had fallen into an exhausted sleep only to be jolted out of it in terror. Once again, his screams awakened his neighbors, who came running. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assured all of them. “I’m sorry for disturbing you again.”

Iddo put on his outer robe and went outside his makeshift tent to sit on the broken block of stone that served as their table. He gazed across the valley at the Mount of Olives, afraid to close his eyes again. He would be barred from the priesthood if his nightmares were seen as a mental defect.

A moment later, Dinah came out to sit beside him. “I’m sorry for waking you,” he told her. “Please go back to bed.” Instead, she nudged him to move over so she could sit beside him.

“Maybe if you talked about your dreams you would get past them, back to the good memories of when you lived here.”

“I can’t talk about them.”

“Iddo, we’ve been married nearly forty years, and I’ve never asked you to tell me about your nightmares or what those terrible memories were. But I’m asking you now, for your own good.” When he didn’t reply, Dinah placed her hand on his cheek and made him turn to face her. “If you tell me what your dreams are about, maybe they’ll stop.”

He hesitated. What if he told her the truth? Would she despise him? It was a risk he had to take. The dreams had to stop. He needed to sleep. He needed to wear that linen robe and embroidered sash to serve as a priest. He looked over his shoulder at the shofar, lying where he’d placed it just inside his tent last night. It was his family’s job to play it.

“What’s the earliest thing you can remember?” Dinah prompted.

“My earliest memories are in Anathoth, the village in the mountains where my family lived. I remember how green it was, and how the wind rustled as it blew through the trees. I used to listen to the birds singing at dawn every morning.” He couldn’t recall any birdsong in Babylon.

“Is the village far from here?”

“No, only a few miles. We would walk from there to Jerusalem in about an hour’s time. My father used to carry me on his shoulders until I got too old to be carried. Then he carried my brother.”

“You never told me you had a brother. What’s his name?”

Iddo had never told anyone. He hadn’t wanted to think about his brother or remember his last moments with him. “His name was Jacob,” he said after a long pause. “He was two years younger than me. My father said it was my job to watch over him, to help take care of him. . . .” He bent forward, holding his stomach as the ache of regret gnawed at him.

Dinah rested her hand on his back, rubbing gently. “What else do you remember?”

He waited for the dull pain to ease before sitting up again. “We moved from Anathoth into the city when the Babylonian soldiers invaded our land for the final time. Everyone did. No one dared to stay outside the walls. And once we were safely inside Jerusalem, we remained there for two and a half years while the city was under siege. We had nothing left to eat in the end. I remember how thin my brother became, how his bones seemed to poke through his skin. I suppose I looked the same, but I didn’t think about it at the time. . . . My mother had grown very thin, too, except for her stomach. She gave birth to another baby the final year of the siege but he was stillborn. How could he live when my mother gave all of her food to my brother and me? It was my fault—”

“No, Iddo. You know that you would do the very same thing for our children. Any parent would.” He gave a small shrug, admitting the truth of her words. “Tell me about your father,” she continued.

“I used to hear him crying at night after he thought we were asleep. His own father had been captured during the second exile along with a group of priests that included Rebbe Ezekiel. My father kept weeping and saying, ‘We were wrong . . . we were wrong . . . and now my family will pay the price.’ I didn’t understand what he had done wrong. Even now I’m not sure.”

When he paused, Dinah squeezed his hand. “And then . . . ?”

Iddo looked up at the sky. It was a lighter shade of black above the mountain across from them. The stars were gradually fading, and morning would soon dawn. “And then the end came,” he said. “The Babylonian soldiers broke through the walls and flooded the streets. My father told us to stay hidden inside the house while he and the other chief priests went up to defend the temple. We tried to hide, my mother and Jacob and me, along with dozens of other people who crowded together in the house. It had once been a beautiful home with polished stone floors and plastered walls, much finer than our tiny home in Anathoth. But several families lived there with us—women and children and old people. I don’t even know who they all were. But after the Babylonians broke through the walls, all we could do was cower there together, hoping they wouldn’t find us.”

Iddo realized that his shoulders had slumped forward again as if he was trying to hide, trying to make himself small so he wouldn’t be seen. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “A long time passed,” he finally said. “Jacob and I huddled close to my mother, her arms around us. I put my fingers in my ears to shut out the sounds from the streets outside, screams and cries and shouts. Then thick black smoke began leaking past the shuttered windows and doors and into the tiny room where we hid.
We tried so hard to be quiet, but the smoke grew thicker and thicker until we coughed and choked on it. Then part of the roof collapsed in flames, right in front of us. Our house was on fire and we had to get out! We had to run!”

Iddo stopped. He didn’t want to remember any more, but Dinah gave his hand a firm squeeze, encouraging him to continue.