Return to Me (17 page)

His grandmother was awake and sitting outside in their courtyard when Zechariah hobbled home. She covered her mouth in shock when she saw him. “Zaki! What happened?”

“He fell,” Yael said. “We were climbing on some rocks, and they shifted and—”

“Don’t,” he said, silencing her. Saba came out of the house as Safta was looking him over, examining the cuts on his lip and his head, the bruises on his arms.

“I’ll get some water and bandages,” Safta said.

“What happened?” Saba asked.

“I know you’re going to be angry with me,” Zechariah said, “and you have every right to be. I shouldn’t have gone there, and I’ll never, ever do it again.”

Safta returned before he could finish explaining, and she
made him sit down on the low stone wall. She fussed over him, washing the blood off his face, holding a compress against the gash on his forehead. “Can you move your arms and legs?” she asked. “Are any bones broken?”

“I don’t think so.” His eye was swelling shut, but he could still see the tears in his grandmother’s eyes as she worked. When she finished, she helped him lift his torn robe over his head. His grandfather stood watching with a sad expression, waiting for Zechariah to finish explaining.

“Yael and I went down to the valley for a walk,” he said. “A gang of boys from the village attacked us. . . . They attacked me, I should say. Yael is fine.”

“One of the boys was Leyla’s brother,” Yael added. “He wouldn’t let them touch me. And he told the others to stop hitting Zaki.”

Zechariah looked up at his grandfather, waiting for the scolding that was certain to come. Instead, Saba beckoned to him and said, “Come. It’s time for prayers.”

“He can’t go like this!” Safta said. “He’s hurt. He needs to lie down!”

“And my kippah and fringes are gone,” he said, reaching up to feel his bare head. It required a great effort not to cry.

“I have a kippah you may borrow,” Saba said.

“Iddo, no!” Safta said. “Can’t you see that he’s injured?”

“You can wear your old robe until Safta repairs that one. Go get changed, Zechariah. We don’t want to be late for prayers.”

“How can you be so cruel?” Safta said. She threw Zaki’s tattered robe on the ground and strode across their courtyard, hurrying through the opening where the gate would be. She kept going, walking faster and faster, weaving between the half-finished houses in their neighborhood until Zaki lost sight of her.

Saba didn’t call to her or chase after her. “Change your clothes,” he said. “Quickly.”

Every movement caused him pain as Zechariah ducked inside his room and put on one of his old robes. He couldn’t stand upright as they walked uphill to the house of assembly. The pain in his belly and ribs made him feel nauseated again. “I’m so sorry, Saba,” he mumbled. “I never should have gone down there.” The Day of Atonement when he would have to confess his sins was still a few weeks away, but he knew that his guilt would easily last until then.

“I planned to start teaching you how to blow the shofar tomorrow, remember?” Saba asked. “Now we’ll have to wait until your lip is no longer swollen.”

Zechariah walked with his head lowered, wiping the tears that slipped down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” he said again.

“Yes. I can see that you’re sorry. And the Holy One sees it, too. But true repentance
,
true
teshuvah
, means that we turn around and walk in a different direction from now on.”

“I know, Saba. And I will.”

His grandfather halted for a moment and said, “Let me ask you something. Do you believe that the Almighty One called you to follow Him? To return to Jerusalem and become a man of God?”

“Yes . . . I believe it.”

“You know that following God means all or nothing, don’t you? A man of God does the right thing whether it’s popular with the rest of the crowd or not. He speaks the truth and isn’t afraid to challenge others when they’re doing wrong. Men of God don’t look for power or riches or man’s approval but for God’s approval. Each day in a hundred different ways you must choose all over again whether you still want to follow Him or not.”

“Yes, Saba . . . I understand.” And that meant he couldn’t listen to Yael or anyone else who enticed him to do wrong. He should have nothing more to do with her.

But that was impossible. They’d been friends forever, and he loved her . . . and he needed to find a way to win her back to God before he lost her forever. Because if the other men in their community ever discovered what Yael was doing, they would stone her to death.

T
he stench hit Iddo before he and Zechariah reached the house of assembly for morning prayers. They both covered their mouths and noses with the sleeves of their robes. “What’s that terrible smell, Saba?” Zechariah’s face was mottled with purplish bruises, and the cuts on his lip and eye were still healing from the attack three days ago.

“Something dead. But what is it doing so close to the sacred temple area?” Iddo hurried toward the ritual baths, where a group of his fellow priests stood talking, their faces shielded, as well.

“Vandals dumped rotting animal carcasses into the
mikveh
last night,” one of the men told him. “We just finished repairing and refilling it, and now it will have to be drained and purified before we can use it for our ordination.”

“Another delay,” Iddo said, his jaw clenched. Anger, along with the stink, nearly suffocated him. He could barely breathe.

“We sent for volunteers who aren’t priests to clean it out.” But the nauseating smell contaminated the nearby house of assembly as well, invading the half-finished building like an invisible enemy and making everyone’s eyes water. Their prayers and the yeshiva classes would have to be cancelled for the day.

“Can I go to work with you, instead?” Zechariah asked.

“You haven’t been back to the temple mount since we first arrived, have you?” The boy shook his head. Iddo knew that Zechariah’s decisions to attend the festival and to explore the tombs were symptoms of a restlessness that needed to be satisfied. “All right. Come on, son. Let’s hope the air is fresher up there.”

They climbed the stairs to the temple mount together and thankfully the stench wasn’t as strong higher up where a fresh breeze blew. Iddo paused to let Zechariah see the progress they’d made in the past few months. The site resembled a beehive of activity with hired workers lifting and moving stones. “We’ve finally cleared away the place where the bronze altar once stood,” Iddo said. “And we’ll build the new altar on the same foundations. When it’s finished, it will measure thirty feet square and be fifteen feet high with a ramp leading to the top.”

“Will it be ready in time for the Feast of Trumpets?”

“I pray that it will be, but the feast is barely a week away. We should have begun much sooner, but we allowed enemy opposition to delay us. Now we’re running out of time.”

“Have they started rebuilding the temple, Saba?”

“Not yet. We haven’t even cleared away the rubble or the trees and scrub bushes. It’s a much bigger job than we ever imagined.” Iddo closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the façade of Solomon’s temple adorned with gold; the tall bronze pillars that supported the portico; the huge Bronze Sea, fifteen feet across, where the priests would wash in living water. Looking around now, a ferocious sense of urgency gripped him. They had to complete the task God had given them. The sabotaged mikveh was the latest reminder that the Holy One’s enemies didn’t want them to succeed.

“If that’s going to be the new altar,” Zechariah said, interrupting his thoughts, “what’s that other platform for?” He pointed
to a stone structure near the eastern edge of the temple mount, not far from the stairs.

“That’s for the musicians. When the month of Tishri begins, we’ll sound the silver trumpets for the first time to announce the Feast of Trumpets.”

Zechariah looked at him and smiled. “Everyone in the City of David will be able to hear you, Saba. They’ll probably hear you down in the valley, too, and in all the local villages.”

“Yes, that’s what we’re hoping.” He rested his hand on Zaki’s shoulder for a moment, aware that not too long ago he would have rested his hand on his head. The boy was taller than his grandmother now, nearly as tall as Iddo.

They made their way across the recently cleared plaza where the worshipers would soon stand. Every morning Iddo and his fellow priests met where Solomon’s porch once stood to discuss the day’s tasks with Jeshua the high priest. The chief priests and Levites used to hold meetings there before the destruction, and Iddo remembered it as an open portico supported by pillars. Of course the roof was gone, and shattered sections of carved pillars and columns lay strewn across the weedy ground. He and Zechariah sat with the others on the remnants of broken pillars.

“We must concentrate on finishing the altar in time for the fall feasts,” Jeshua began. He looked weary and worried, as if required to carry one of the huge pillars on his back.

“Won’t the altar have to be sanctified?” someone asked. “Will there be enough time for that?”

“Yes, it must be made holy before it can be used to atone for sin. But I assure you that we’ll be ready for the sacrifices on the Day of Atonement if we have to work day and night to do it. This is the beginning of our service to the Holy One. It’s what we came here to do. After the feast, the daily morning and evening sacrifices will continue from now on. The altar fire will never be allowed to go out again.”

“Is there any chance that the vandals who desecrated our mikveh will be caught and punished?” a voice called out.

“That’s probably impossible,” Jeshua said, shaking his head. “Nor can we be certain that there won’t be more acts like it. I’m posting guards on the mount day and night to make sure no one desecrates the new altar.”

“I thought when the local villagers invited us to their festival they were making peace with us. What happened?”

The high priest lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness, then let them drop. “I don’t know what happened.”

“It was a ruse,” Iddo said. “They let us think we were at peace so we’d lower our guard. And it worked. Now we have to start all over again with the mikveh.”

“I’d like to think such an act couldn’t happen again,” Jeshua said, “but the walls around the city and the temple mount have too many breaches. And we have only 139 gatekeepers who must be divided into shifts. They can’t possibly guard the hundreds of places where vandals could sneak in. And you know all too well that there are no city gates to close. We must post more guards from now on, so I’ll need everyone to volunteer for a shift.”

“I can’t possibly spare any of the men under my supervision,” Joel said. “They still need more training before they’re ready to slay the sacrifices correctly. And we’re all exhausted. Every priest has been assigned at least two jobs already.”

“What about your musicians, Iddo?”

“I have 128 temple musicians,” Iddo said. “Most of them are already doing more than one job, but I’ll ask for volunteers.”

“We could ask the yeshiva students to help us,” one of the priests said, gesturing to Zechariah.

Iddo jumped in before anyone else could. “It’s much more important for our young men to study. Weren’t our ancestors punished because they didn’t know the Torah or follow it?”

“But the students are eager to help,” the other priest insisted.
“We should let our young men be part of this. We won’t ask them to do anything as dangerous as standing watch in the night. Besides, they’ll have all winter to resume their studies.”

“I disagree,” Iddo said firmly. “We would be sending the wrong message. There is nothing more important than knowing the Torah. Besides, if these vandals are anything like the gang that attacked my grandson . . .” He didn’t finish.

“I heard about that incident,” Jeshua said. “It was near one of the local villages, wasn’t it? You have recovered, I hope?” he asked Zechariah.

“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”

No broken bones, thankfully. That’s what had frightened Iddo the most. Any lasting damage such as a limp or a broken arm that failed to heal straight would have made Zechariah a cripple and ineligible to be a priest.

“Have you received justice from those who were responsible?” Jeshua asked.

Iddo shook his head. “The only witness was Mattaniah’s daughter, and the Samaritans would never accept the testimony of such a young girl.”

“We need the yeshiva students’ help,” the other priest argued. “These acts of terrorism emphasize the importance of celebrating the feast on time and starting the schedule of daily sacrifices. God’s enemies will do anything to try to stop us.”

The high priest looked from Iddo to the other priest, as if trying to make up his mind. “I’m sorry, Iddo,” he finally decided, “but we need the students’ help. We’ll only recruit young men like your grandson who have come of age.”

The decision upset Iddo. He could tell that Zechariah and some of the others were losing interest in their studies, and taking them out of the classroom now would only fuel that disinterest. But the decision had been made, and Jeshua was moving on to the next topic.

“We won’t give in to fear,” he said. “There’s work to be done, and we’ll divide it among the four divisions of priests. This altar must be finished in time for our national day of repentance.”

“What about building the storehouses?” someone asked. “The Jewish families who returned with us and settled in hometowns such as Tekoa and Bethlehem will be coming to Jerusalem with their offerings. We need a place to store the tithes that belong to us and to the Levites.”

“Wait,” another priest interrupted. “We have to build pens for the sacrificial animals first. We’ll be sacrificing a goodly number of animals throughout the eight days of the festival—bulls and rams and lambs. We need pens for these animals and—”

“And the men who’ll perform these sacrifices need to be fully trained,” Joel added.

“And there’s another reason why we must be finished on time,” Iddo said. “The feast includes a ceremony to pray for rain. The early rains should begin next month, and we need the Holy One’s blessing.”

“We must explain all these needs to every able-bodied man in the community,” Jeshua said. “Ask for additional volunteers and recruit the yeshiva students. One last thing before you start: I’m pleased to report that the workers have moved enough debris for us to see where the temple foundations once were. Unfortunately, we won’t have a chance to begin laying the new foundation until next spring when—”

“What?” Iddo interrupted. “Why not?”

“We have to wait until after the winter rains end.”

“Why? Why can’t we work through the winter?”

“The ground will be too muddy for one thing, and the hired laborers will never agree to work in the rain and the cold.”

“How can we expect the Holy One to protect us from our enemies if we aren’t doing what He sent us here to do?”

“The delay can’t be helped, Iddo. We’ll start rebuilding the temple next spring. That’s all for today. We have work to do.”

Iddo’s temper simmered all day. As much as he enjoyed his grandson’s company, he knew it was a mistake to keep the young men from their studies. It was also a mistake to delay the rebuilding during the winter months, but he was helpless to change things.

His mood hadn’t improved by the time he arrived home that evening, and he could tell right away that Dinah was still angry with him. She knelt alone in their courtyard, mashing chickpeas into a smooth paste, but didn’t greet him or even lift her head as Iddo came through the gate. He watched her for a moment, remembering how she had stormed away from him the day that Zechariah had been injured, furious with him for not coddling him, refusing to understand that the boy needed to face the consequences of his actions. She had remained angry with him ever since. The crack in their once-strong marriage seemed to widen every day. They used to be so close, two people who were truly one. Iddo had no idea how to repair the widening rift.

“You used to sing while you worked,” he said quietly. “I’ve noticed that you don’t sing anymore.” Iddo moved into the courtyard and sat down on the low wall, facing her. She continued working without looking up. “What are you thinking about, Dinah? You look so sad.”

“I miss our family.”

“I miss them, too.”

She finally lifted her chin and he saw reproach in her eyes. “It doesn’t seem that way. You never talk about our children and grandchildren. You don’t seem to notice how different our Sabbath meals are without them. It’s as if . . . as if they never existed for you.”

“Of course I notice the difference. But don’t you understand how important this work is? We’re rebuilding this temple for
their sakes and for future generations so that the Almighty One will dwell in our midst again.”

She huffed and bent over her work again, the grinding stone crushing harder, moving faster. Iddo lost his patience. “Don’t you see that anything we put in place of God or that keeps us from serving Him with all our heart and strength is an idol? Even if it’s our own children and grandchildren?”

He saw by her reaction that he had said the wrong thing. She slammed down the bowl and pestle, spilling some of the food onto the ground, and rose to her feet. “Your heart has turned to stone, Iddo.” He tried to catch her arm so he could hold her, but she twisted away. “Leave me alone!” She fled into their tiny house, and if they’d had a door, she would have slammed it in his face.

He would celebrate the Day of Atonement soon. Worshipers were supposed to examine themselves and search their hearts for all the ways that they had sinned—sins against God and against other people. It was a time for repairing relationships, but Iddo had no idea where to begin with his own wife.

He walked the short distance to where Shoshanna and Joel lived and found them sitting in their outdoor courtyard. “May I please speak with you, Shoshanna?” he asked. “It’s about Dinah.”

Iddo couldn’t talk to another man’s wife alone, so Joel would have to hear this, too. Since Dinah could have married Joel instead of him, it embarrassed Iddo to admit that she was unhappy. But he had to do something to make her happy again besides taking her back to Babylon. Iddo would never do that.

“Yes, of course,” Shoshanna replied. “Won’t you sit down?”

Iddo shook his head. He fingered the fringes on his robe as he spoke. “I know you spend a lot of time with Dinah, and I wondered if you’ve noticed a change in her.”

“Yes . . . I’ve noticed.”

“She seems . . . despondent . . . and I don’t know how to cheer her up.”

He saw compassion in Shoshanna’s eyes as she looked at him. “Dinah was a leader among the women in Babylon, dearly loved and respected. I know I’m biased because I’m her cousin, but she was strong and wise and everyone admired her. She loved her work as a midwife, and all of the young mothers depended on her. But she has nothing to do here. She barely leaves her house, barely speaks. She doesn’t even join our conversations at the spring.”