Return to Me (28 page)

“Why can’t I learn to fight while we’re waiting? We could make weapons and—”

“This is the Almighty One’s battle, not ours. Your job is to study the Torah.”

“What? . . . No!” This wasn’t what Zechariah wanted to hear.

“We’ve decided to reopen the yeshiva tomorrow since Governor Rehum assures us that there’s no need for guards as long as we obey the king’s edict.” Again Zechariah tried to leave, but his grandfather stopped him. “If you really want to fight for God, then find out what He is saying to us. Study His Word and learn about God’s faithfulness in the past so you’ll have the faith to trust Him now. Help me speak His truth to those who have no faith. Help me convince them that the temple must be rebuilt no matter who tries to stop us. Can you do that, son?”

Zechariah nodded. He may have to wait, but he wouldn’t have to like it.

You showed favor to your land, O Lord;

you restored the fortunes of Jacob.

You forgave the iniquity of your people . . .

Restore us again, O God our Savior,

and put away your displeasure toward us.

Will you be angry with us forever?

P
SALM
85:1, 4–5

T
EN
Y
EARS
L
ATER

T
here was so much to learn. Zechariah stood on the temple mount with his class of future priests, watching an older priest named Jakin demonstrate how to prepare a ram for the burnt offering. Jakin gripped the animal in a firm hold, subduing it, and tilted the animal’s head, exposing its neck. “It’s very important to place the knife in the proper position. The animal must not suffer unnecessarily.”

Zechariah now spent part of each day in the yeshiva studying the Torah and the history of his people and the writings of Israel’s prophets, and the remainder of his time on the temple mount receiving hands-on instruction from the older priests.

“Put the tip of the knife here and draw it back . . . like this.”

His mind wandered as Jakin showed how to collect the sacrificial blood in a bowl. Beyond the altar, the temple ruins and the abandoned construction site looked the same as on the night Zechariah had snuck up here with Yael ten years ago, searching for God’s presence. She had gazed up at the stars that night, pointing to them, because there was no temple to look to for meaning in life.

“When the blood has been drained and set aside, we . . .”

Everything was still in place. The crane stood ready to lift the building blocks onto the temple’s new foundation, although the ropes had begun to rot. So had the piles of rain-soaked timber. Weeds and scrub brush had slowly crept back over the site, knee-high around the new foundation they had laid.

“Zechariah? Are you paying attention?”

“Yes, sir . . . I’m sorry.”

Zechariah had to learn how to slaughter the sacrifices, how to skin the animals and remove their entrails, how to prepare the meat and the fat for the offerings. He had to know the differences between daily offerings, burnt offerings, fellowship offerings, and guilt offerings. Then there were the intricacies of the annual feasts to learn and the special rituals required for each one. And because Zechariah descended from a family of priestly musicians, he also had to learn the proper trumpet calls for the New Moon festivals, the yearly feasts, and most important of all, for the annual Feast of Trumpets. After his ordination in a few years, the rhythm of his ministry at God’s altar would determine the shape of his days and years for the remainder of his life.

He glanced over at the ruins again, wondering if he could find the place where he had sat with Yael and prayed. He had told her that the temple was like a map, a way to find God’s presence. But there was no temple, no map, and he feared that his lifelong friend was walking deeper into darkness with each passing year. And she was just one of the many people in Judah who needed to find their way back to God.

“Zechariah . . .” Jakin was staring at him, and so were all the others. “Would you stay behind for a moment, please? The rest of you are dismissed.”

Zechariah could feel the heat from the great altar several yards away as he waited for Jakin to speak. “What’s wrong, son? You’re one of our best students. You have a brilliant mind
for Torah study. But lately you’ve been distracted. Are we losing you like the others?”

“No, sir. You’re not losing me.” Three of Zechariah’s fellow Torah students had recently quit, and in the past few months he’d heard of two more Jewish families who had decided to return to Babylon.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong, then?”

He was about to say that he didn’t know. But when he pictured Yael sitting among the huge, abandoned building stones, he suddenly realized what was wrong. “I’m fed up with all of this!” He swung his arms in a wide circle to take in the entire temple mount. “The more I learn what the Torah says the more frustrated I get because no one seems to believe any of it. They’re just words on a page.”

Jakin’s shoulders stiffened. “Of course we believe it.”

“No, you don’t. The prophets Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and even Daniel the Righteous One all told us that God wanted us to come back and rebuild the temple—but we stopped building. If we truly believed these men spoke God’s word—if we believed in a God of power and miracles—there would be a temple standing over there instead of rubble.”

“That’s not fair. Our leaders have been trying to get the king’s edict reversed, but there have been setbacks. The Persian courts—”

“I know all about how our enemies in the Persian courts have sabotaged our requests. I’ve heard all the announcements about political intrigues and palace insiders in the Persian government working against us—the schemes and plots and important messages that were intercepted and stolen. Meanwhile, our work on the temple has been abandoned for ten years. Ten years!”

“Stop shouting, Zechariah. This is a sacred place.”

He drew a breath to calm himself, inhaling the aroma of roasting meat. When work on the temple had first halted, Zechariah
had worried that he’d be forced to wait for a year—an outrageously long time. No one, including his grandfather, had ever imagined that ten years would pass.

“We’ve waited long enough,” Zechariah said. “Do we believe the Torah or don’t we? Moses said not to look at our enemies and tremble in fear but to remember what the Almighty One did to Pharoah and his armies. We’re supposed to remember His miraculous signs and wonders and God’s mighty hand.”

“The exodus from Egypt was a special time when—”

“See? Even you don’t believe it.”

“That’s not true! I resent that!”

“I’ve heard Jeshua and some of the other priests saying that a restored altar is enough for now—”

“And it is, Zechariah. It has been.”

“You can’t tell me that God asked us to leave Babylon and travel all this way just to build an altar. If so, He played a cruel joke on us. The Almighty One promised to dwell among us and be our God, but how can He dwell here without a temple? If we really heard from Him all those years ago, then we need to finish what we came here to do.”

“We had no choice. The Persian authorities ordered us to stop building.”

“What about the words that we pray every morning: ‘Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.’ We have it memorized, but we don’t believe it.”

Jakin took a step back. “This is so unlike you, Zechariah. You need to talk to the high priest. Your anger and your . . . your accusations are unbecoming to a candidate for the priesthood.”

“You’re right. I’ll do that. Right now.”

Zechariah strode across the courtyard and down the stairs, knowing he would find Jeshua in the house of assembly this time of day. He felt a growing sense of urgency with each step
he took, as if they were all inside a burning building, yet no one would listen to him and stop the flames. He wanted to shout at everyone, even the high priest. At the same time, he was angry enough to simply walk away and let them all perish in the fire.

The house of assembly was empty, the students dismissed for the day, but he heard Jeshua’s voice coming from the room that he used to meet privately with people. Zechariah stood aside, waiting for him to finish. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop but their voices were raised, and he realized that the high priest was talking to his son, Eliezer.

“I want your blessing, Abba. Why won’t you give it to me?”

“I can’t give it to you if you marry a foreign woman. You and your brothers are the next generation of priests. You’ll be the Holy One’s intermediaries after my generation is gone. But only if you remain pure.”

“What difference does it make whom I marry? All we’re doing is performing empty rituals. It’s not real worship. If God isn’t interested in what we’re doing or answering our endless prayers, why not marry whomever I want?”

“A child from a foreign wife can never worship with us. Your sons can never be priests.”

“It doesn’t matter, Abba! We’re just pretending to be priests for a God who doesn’t even care about us. I want to find a little happiness for once in my life. I’m tired of all your laws and rules—there’s no use at all in following them.”

Zechariah hurried away, embarrassed for hearing as much as he had. If Eliezer had drifted away from the Almighty One just like Yael and so many others had, it was too late to sound the alarm. Flames already engulfed the building.

Zechariah’s anger had a chance to cool as he walked home, replaced by sadness. When he entered his courtyard, his grandmother and the other women bustled around, finishing the preparations for the evening meal. He hardly knew where to stand so
he wouldn’t be in their way. The simple rooms that he had helped build when they’d first arrived had doubled and then tripled in size. More rooms had been added for Besai and his wife, Rachel, and their growing family, for Tikvah and her children, and for Yael and Hodaya. As the years passed, they had plastered over the building stones, inside and out; added a sturdy roof with steps up to the top, like they’d had in Babylon. They had expanded the outdoor courtyard where they lived and worked to include a larger hearth, an oven, and two more cisterns to capture rainwater.

“Where’s Yael?” he asked Hodaya. The girl was a constant shadow at Yael’s side and looked lost without her.

“She’s visiting her friend in the village. They’re having a festival.”

He stifled a groan, remembering the pagan festival he’d attended ten years ago. Yael would eat forbidden things, watch the men worship on the high places, and be drawn even further away from the Holy One. She was already lost to him.

“Zaki! There you are,” Safta said, pulling him aside. “Your grandfather is upset. Please, go see if you can talk to him.”

“Where is he?”

She gestured to the roof. “Up there. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Zechariah would have known something was wrong with Saba even if his grandmother hadn’t told him. Saba stood near the parapet on the eastern side of the roof, looking out at the darkening sky above the Mount of Olives, the worry lines etched deeply into his face. “What’s wrong, Saba?”

“The Almighty One is testing us—and we’re failing the test.”

Zechariah had heard this refrain for ten years now. “Is there some new test I’m not aware of?” he asked.

“I may as well tell you. You’ll hear about it soon enough. The high priest’s son, Eliezer, has decided to marry a local woman. He was one of my Torah students back in Babylon. I’ve tried to change his mind, but he won’t listen to me.”

“I know. I overheard Eliezer talking to his father. He wouldn’t listen to Jeshua, either.”

“I’ve begged him to consider what he’s doing to the priesthood—and to our people. We’re such a tiny remnant as it is, and we’ll disappear entirely if we intermarry with Gentiles. We only have four priestly family lines left, and we’ll need every eligible man to serve once the temple is finished.”

If it ever is finished
. Zechariah didn’t have the heart to say the words out loud and discourage Saba even further. The sky clouded over again, adding to the darkness and gloom. “Did Eliezer say when he wants to get married?” Zechariah asked.

Before Saba could reply, Safta joined them, breathless from climbing the stairs. “I came to tell you that dinner is ready. . . . And who did you say is getting married?”

“The high priest’s son, Eliezer. He—”

“That’s wonderful! Do I know the bride, Iddo?”

“No. She isn’t one of our women. She’s a Samaritan.”

“Oh. No wonder you’re upset.” She turned to Zechariah as if desperate for him to do something about it. When he didn’t, she resorted to one of her own familiar refrains. “Speaking of marriage, don’t you think it’s time for Zaki to find a good wife? He’s already older than we were when we married.”

Zaki wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I’m waiting to meet a wife who is as perfect as you, Safta. I haven’t found one yet.”

“Why do you resist all my efforts?” she asked. “There are so many lovely young women in our community.”

“And yet the high priest’s son went looking outside our community,” Saba said gloomily.

Safta gave him a worried glance before turning back to Zechariah. “Don’t you want to get married and have children, Zaki? A good priest should be married, you know. You’ll be ordained in just a few more years.”

Several of the women Safta had found for him had been attractive, but none as beautiful as Yael. They shared a lifelong friendship and countless memories—but he could never marry her. A priest of God could never marry a sorceress. He couldn’t explain this to his grandmother, especially with Saba feeling so discouraged, so he decided to make light of the subject. “When you find me someone as beautiful as you are, Safta, then I’ll marry her.”

She frowned at him. “There are other qualities to consider besides beauty. ‘Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting—’”

“‘—but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.’ I know what the proverb says, Safta. But can you find me a woman who can cook as well as the women in our house? I’m used to good food, you know.”

“Why can’t you take me seriously, Zaki?”

“Why pick on me? What about Yael? She’s well past the age that most girls marry.”

“I know. Can’t you help me with her, Zaki? Invite some of the young men you know to come home and meet her. Or invite this Eliezer, the high priest’s son, to meet her. If he saw how beautiful she is, he wouldn’t be looking at foreign women.”

“It’s too late,” Saba said, shaking his head. “Eliezer is determined to marry the Samaritan.”

Zechariah had raised the topic of Yael to deflect attention from himself, and now he was sorry. He searched for a way out. “We all love Yael, Safta, but we also know that she’s too independent to settle down and be a good wife. You see how she flits from our house to Mattaniah’s house in the valley and then to her friend Leyla’s house. Can you picture her staying home and cooking for a husband and children all day? Hodaya is only ten years old, and she’s already a better cook than Yael.”

“I know,” Safta said with a sigh. “I suppose it’s my fault for not controlling her when she was young.”

“How can you control the wind?” Zechariah asked. “When she finally decides to settle down, believe me, Safta, the men will line up to marry her.” But he recognized the jealous longing in his heart whenever he thought about Yael with another man. And as he went downstairs to dinner, he worried that Yael sat inside that burning building at this very moment. And it was probably too late to save her.