Return to Me (26 page)

Dinah looked up through her tears and saw the old woman standing in the doorway. “I’m leaving now,” she said. “And I’m taking this baby with me.”

“She will only die.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Yael and Mattaniah met Dinah outside in the street. She refused to go back inside the house. No one spoke as they followed the road up through the valley, up to Jerusalem, the baby whimpering softly in Dinah’s arms. The sun was just dawning and the light reflected off the buildings, gilding the stones and making the destroyed city shine like gold.

“Were they really going to let the baby die?” Yael asked when they finally reached the top of the hill. Dinah could only nod. “How are we going to feed her without Raisa?”

“Hanan’s wife is still nursing her son. I’m sure she’ll be happy to be the baby’s wet nurse.”

“I can’t believe they would have let her die,” Yael murmured.

“I know.” And Dinah realized in that moment that Shoshanna’s death wasn’t Iddo’s fault, nor had God taken her life. The Samaritans had killed her, just as they would have killed this child. There was a difference between her people and the Samaritans and Babylonians, between their gods and her God—the God of Abraham. Iddo had been trying to tell her this all along, even when they’d lived in Babylon. She looked down at the tiny baby and understood for the first time why they had to leave Babylon and return to the Promised Land.

“We’ll name her
Hodaya
,” Dinah said.
God be praised.

Iddo looked relieved when they all returned home safely—and shocked when he saw Dinah carrying a baby. “They were going to let her die,” she told him. “I couldn’t let her die.” Tikvah offered to feed Hodaya, as Dinah hoped she would. She laid the baby in Tikvah’s arms, then looked around for Yael. She found her standing all alone on the eastern side of their courtyard, gazing out at the sunrise above the Mount of Olives. Dinah had rarely seen Yael so quiet and subdued, as if she had been the mother who’d labored all those long hours instead of Raisa. Was she tired from being awake all night? Shocked after witnessing a birth for the first time? Dinah moved up beside her and slid her arm around Yael’s waist.

“Thank you for helping me tonight. I’m not sure I could have saved either one of them without your help.” Yael nodded but didn’t reply. “What’s wrong, Yael? Why so quiet?”

“I don’t understand it,” she said. “According to the stars, Raisa and her baby were both supposed to die. I read them myself.”

Dinah saw the damage she had done by asking Yael to consult the stars for her. She never should have encouraged her belief in astrology. “God is more powerful than the stars, Yael. He’s the one who gets to decide such things.”

“What about Shoshanna? Did God want her to die?”

“No. God didn’t decide to kill her, the Samaritans did. Just like they decided to kill this baby. They don’t see the preciousness of life the way we do, or the way our God does. Maybe it’s because they believe that their fate is in the hands of capricious gods and indifferent stars, and so they’ve become indifferent, too.” She paused, wondering how to say what she was thinking. “Yael . . . I’m not going to ask you to consult the stars for me ever again. I don’t believe in their power. I hope . . . I hope you’ll see the truth one day, too.” Dinah waited, wondering if she would respond. When she finally did, her words surprised Dinah.

“May I help you deliver babies again the next time? It was so . . . amazing.”

“I hope it didn’t frighten you. Most deliveries aren’t as difficult as Raisa’s was.”

“I was afraid she was going to die—and I like Raisa. But I liked helping you, too. I think I’d like to be a midwife someday.”

Dinah gave Yael a squeeze before letting go. “I would be happy to train you. You were a great help to me tonight. And now, maybe you should sleep for a few hours. We’ve both been up all night.”

“May I hold Hodaya for a few minutes, first?”

Dinah watched Yael take the baby from Tikvah, surprised by how gentle she was. Iddo came to stand beside Dinah, watching Yael, too. “Did they reject the child because of her foot?” he asked.

“Yes. Her father rejected her, and so the women left her to die.”

“But she’ll thrive in your hands, Dinah, and she’ll grow to live up to her name.”

Iddo would accept this child as his own, love her. Dinah had never doubted for a moment that he would. She took his arm and pulled him outside the courtyard where they could talk alone. “Iddo . . .” she began. She was afraid to look up at him, afraid to face him, but she knew she had to. Her throat swelled with emotion as she spoke. “Iddo, I know you saw Joel embracing me, but I want you to know that we never committed adultery . . . not in a physical way.” He closed his eyes for a moment and she saw his relief, his pain. “But I was still wrong to be with him, to turn to him for comfort instead of to you. And Joel and I were both wrong to blame you for what happened to Shoshanna. Can you ever forgive me?”

“I already have.”

“And . . . and can God ever forgive me?”

“That’s why we have an altar and daily sacrifices, so we’ll have a way to come to the Holy One and ask for forgiveness. That’s why our word for sacrifice also means to come near—to have a close relationship with someone. It’s a lesson I’m just beginning to learn.” Again, she saw lines of pain creasing his eyes and knew how very much she had hurt him.

“Iddo, I’m so sorry. Will you show me what I need to do to make things right? And . . . and will you make the offering for me?”

“I’ll be the priest on duty in two days.”

When that morning came, Dinah stood in the women’s courtyard and watched Iddo take his place in front of the altar, his hair and beard as white as the turban and robe he wore. A scarlet sash was tied around his waist, and like the other priests, he worked barefooted. The daily morning sacrifice was a lamb, and Dinah watched Iddo expertly slit the animal’s throat, watched the life, the blood, drain out of it. So much blood. She realized how close the two were—life and death. And knew she had come close to throwing something priceless away, just as the Samaritans had with Raisa’s child.

Two priests assisted Iddo as he quickly removed the lamb’s skin and inner parts.

Afterward, he walked up the ramp to the top of the altar and laid the offering on the fire. A cry of joy went up from the assembled men as smoke and fire ascended toward heaven. Dinah closed her eyes and wept as she prayed for forgiveness.

Iddo returned home much later than she did, after he’d completed his duties and changed out of his priestly robes. He came to where Dinah was kneeling, tending the fire, and crouched beside her, staring at the ground. She saw tiny crimson flecks of blood on his forehead that he had missed when he’d washed after the sacrifice.

“Has God forgiven me?” she asked.

“Yes. We’re both free to start all over again.”

This was the Holy One’s way, substituting a life for a life, with priests like Iddo acting as His servants. There had been no sacrifices for forgiveness in Babylon.

“And you, Iddo? Can you forgive me?” She needed to hear him say it again to believe it was really true. She saw tears spring to his eyes.

“Of course, Dinah. I love you.”

“And I love you,” she whispered. She wanted to say she was sorry over and over again, to hold him, kiss him, but she feared that she had forfeited the right.

Iddo cleared his throat. “I was talking to some of the other men today, and I found out that we can take the main road north to Samaria and Damascus, then make our way to Babylon by joining up with local caravans each leg of the way. It might mean staying in one town for a few days while we wait for a trader who has room for us. But the road from Damascus to Babylon is a major trade route, so we’ll get there eventually.” He looked up as if to see if she was listening before continuing. “I have the names of reliable merchants and traders who can be trusted. Our return journey may take longer than three months, but we’ll get there. Before winter, certainly.”

Dinah thought of little Hodaya’s birth and of the many births she had witnessed over the years. When mothers like Raisa struggled in pain, especially during the last hours of labor when the exhaustion and agony were unbearable, many of them wanted to give up. She always urged them to persevere because the most difficult and painful times were in the last moments just before birth. What if their struggles here in Jerusalem were the same? What if their tiny nation was just moments from being reborn? She and her people couldn’t turn back now. They couldn’t go back to the gods of Babylon. Not when the sacrifices were finally being offered again. Not when men like Iddo had
just begun to serve the Almighty One in worship. Not before the temple was rebuilt and God could dwell among them again. If she returned to Babylon, she would soon make her family into idols all over again. She would find her joy and purpose in them instead of in God.

“Iddo,” she said softly. “Iddo, we’re not going back to Babylon.”

He looked at her in disbelief. “What?”

She touched his cheek, stroked his white beard. “I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here and serve our God.”

Y
ael sat in the courtyard in a patch of morning sunlight, rocking Hodaya in her arms. This tiny baby who had entered the world so dramatically two weeks ago had shaken Yael’s world. She felt a fierce protectiveness and love for Hodaya that she’d never experienced before. Safta Dinah and Iddo had taken Hodaya to the mikveh and adopted her as their own daughter, but Yael loved her as much as they did.

“There, now . . . go to sleep, little one,” she soothed, shifting Hodaya from her arms to her shoulder, patting her warm, narrow back.

“You’re very good with that baby,” Zaki said. “You always get her to sleep when nobody else can.” He was about to leave for guard duty but she gestured for him to sit down on the low wall beside her for a moment.

“I watched her come into the world. It was so amazing. . . .” The memory still brought tears to Yael’s eyes.

“Safta said that the Samaritans were going to kill her?”

“It’s true. I was there.” She hugged Hodaya a little tighter. “They told Raisa that her baby was dead, and they put Hodaya outside in a basket to suffocate.”

“Because she was born with a crooked foot?”

Yael nodded and kissed her dark hair. “I don’t know how anyone could kill a defenseless baby.”

“Pagan people do it all the time, Yael. They sacrifice their children in the fire to idols. When our people began doing it, too—and even our kings did it—the Holy One punished us and sent us into exile.”

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been there,” Yael said. “I would have thought Safta was making it up.”

“I never wanted to believe those stories in the Torah, either. How could people do such terrible things? But the stories aren’t made up. And these Samaritans are our neighbors.”

Hodaya’s eyes were closed. She was asleep. Yael should lay her down and help Safta with the work, but she loved holding her, loved feeling the baby’s warmth and life. “Hodaya has the same father as my friend Leyla,” she said. “Yet Leyla didn’t fight for her sister’s life. I keep hoping it was because she didn’t know about it. She was asleep when Hodaya was born. But Leyla’s grandmother knew. She was the one who tried to suffocate her. I don’t think I can ever face her again.”

“Is that why you don’t go to visit Leyla anymore?”

“No . . . I don’t know . . . I mean, Leyla isn’t cruel and she could never kill anyone, but she just accepts the way her people do things—like her father marrying a girl as young as Raisa. Leyla doesn’t know any better.”

“But we do. We know better. I’m starting to see why our people could never partner with the Samaritans to build the temple.”

Yael didn’t care about the temple. She simply was trying to understand her friend’s family, people she cared for. “Leyla has been sickly ever since she was a child, but they didn’t throw her away. Why was this baby different?”

“Maybe because Hodaya’s defect is visible?” Zaki replied with a shrug. “I don’t know, but Saba is always saying that we’re
different from the Gentiles. That we have the Torah to teach us right from wrong. And the Torah says that life is precious, every life, because we’re made in God’s image. Does your moon goddess say that you’re made in her image?”

“Don’t start preaching to me, Zaki.”

“I’m worried about you, Yael. You need to worship the Almighty One, not the stars.”

Yael no longer had her star charts. She had left them at Leyla’s house the night Hodaya was born. She had felt lost without them at first, and longed to use them to look into Hodaya’s future. She knew the day and hour of her birth and wished she knew which heavenly bodies had influence over her. And yet she didn’t want to know. Part of her wasn’t sure she still believed in the stars.

Yael heard footsteps and looked up, surprised to see Abba hurrying through the gate. He had just left for his farm a short while ago and now he was back. “Did you forget something, Abba?” she asked.

He shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. “Leyla’s brother just came to see me. His sister is sick and he asked you to come.”

Yael shot to her feet, waking the baby. “Don’t go,” Zaki said, grabbing her arm. “Please.”

“I have to. Leyla is still my friend. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her and I didn’t go to see her.” She carried the baby inside and gave her to Safta, explaining where she was going.

“You can’t go back there, Yael!” Dinah said.

“I need to face them. And I need to see Leyla.” She turned away before anyone else tried to stop her and told her father she was ready. He took another long swig of water, and they left.

A mixture of emotions swirled inside Yael as she hurried down to the valley. Anger at Zabad and his village, at their heartlessness. Dread at the thought of facing Leyla’s grandmother. But
mostly fear for her friend who was ill enough to ask her to come. The moon hovered above the mountain, reminding her of Zaki’s haunting question:
“Does your moon goddess say that you’re made in her image?”

Abba walked with Yael as far as the village entrance, and Rafi brought her the rest of the way to the house. All of her misgivings vanished as she knelt beside Leyla’s bed and her friend looked up at her and smiled. “I was afraid you weren’t my friend anymore.”

“Of course I am. We’re best friends.”

“Why did you stop coming?”

So. Leyla didn’t know about the baby. She wasn’t to blame for her family’s cruelty. “It was hard to get away. . . .” Yael said vaguely. “There’s trouble between our people and yours.”

“The last time I saw you was the night that Raisa nearly died. It was so sad that her baby died, wasn’t it?”

Yael couldn’t reply. The memory of the child’s warmth and softness, her sweet smell, was still fresh. She longed to tell Leyla that her baby sister was alive, but she didn’t dare. Instead, she changed the subject, and they talked as they always had until Leyla grew tired and drifted to sleep. Yael touched Leyla’s burning forehead, gazed at her pale, blue-white skin, and wished she could pour some of her own life and vitality into her friend.

She heard someone come into the room. Leyla’s grandmother. Yael’s anger sprang to life. She looked away, refusing to face her, hoping she would leave. “I can see that Leyla already is better now that you’re here,” the old woman said. She fussed around the bed for a few minutes, plumping pillows and tucking covers before asking, “Are you hungry, Yael? Would you like something to eat?”

She shook her head, determined not to speak to her. But her rage finally got the best of her and she said, “Aren’t you even going to ask about Raisa’s baby?”

“I already know about her,” she replied, unruffled. “She died at birth. It was very unfortunate.”

“She didn’t die! She’s alive and thriving. Her name is Hodaya.”

“Raisa mourned for her daughter, of course,” she continued in a soft, sad voice. “We all did. Now Raisa is asking the moon goddess for another child. Raisa is strong and well again, thanks to your friend. We will always be grateful to her—and to you for bringing her here.”

“Hodaya is a beautiful, healthy baby,” Yael said stubbornly, “with dark hair and the most amazing brown eyes—” Tears choked her words. She couldn’t finish. Leyla’s grandmother turned away, and Yael hoped she would leave. Instead, she opened a little chest at the foot of Leyla’s bed and took something out. Yael’s star charts.

“These are yours, Yael. You left them here the last time you came.”

Yael crossed her arms, refusing to reach for them. “They’re worthless,” she said. “They predicted that Raisa and her baby would both die. You and I read their stars together that night.”

The old woman smiled. “My dear child, sometimes the stars show only what might happen if we fail to intervene. I offered sacrifices that night on Raisa’s behalf once you showed us which heavenly bodies needed to be influenced. That’s why she lived. Why are you upset over an answer to prayer?”

Yael stared at her. Could that be true? She knew the gods could be influenced, but Yael had never seen it happen so dramatically. Mother and child had both lived. If the people back in Babylon had this much faith, maybe Mama would have lived, too.

“I would be very grateful if you would look at Leyla’s stars with me now,” the old woman continued. “As you can see, she is very ill. I believe I know which powers are holding her in bed, but I would like your opinion.” She held the scrolls out to Yael.
“And there are others in the village who are waiting for you, too. We have missed our seer these past few weeks.”

Yael couldn’t let Leyla die any more than she could have let Hodaya die. Zaki was right; every life was precious. She took the scrolls from the old woman and carried them to the window where the light was better, then slowly unrolled them.