Wings of Refuge (7 page)

As soon as she heard Mark’s voice, Abby slammed down the receiver.

CHAPTER 3

NETANYA, ISRAEL—1999

A
bby awoke the next morning to the soft, distant sigh of waves breaking against the beach. She pulled open the curtains to a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean, the water silvery in the early light.

“Beautiful . . .” she whispered to the empty room.

One of the things she missed the most was having someone beside her to share the sunrise. She and Mark were both early risers, and dawn had been their favorite time of day—especially during the summer months on their family camping trips when they would dress in thick flannel shirts and sip strong coffee together outside the tent, watching the forest nudge itself awake.

She turned from the window. Getting dressed this morning would be simple, her only option Ramona Voss’s sunflowered clothes. Abby’s reflection in the mirror embarrassed her, especially when she recalled Ari Bazak’s blunt analysis.

“I do look terrible,” she said aloud. She tried on Ari’s blue shirt over the top, tying the shirttails around her waist and rolling up both sets of sleeves. It looked a little better, but since she didn’t want to encourage Ari’s friendship, it seemed overly presumptuous to continue wearing his shirt. She took it off again.

Breakfast wouldn’t be served for another half hour, so Abby settled back on the bed with her Bible and the small book of devotions her daughter had given her for the trip. Abby hadn’t realized how far she had drifted from God until her marriage sank and she discovered she was without a life-boat. Now it seemed like a long journey back to shore, but she opened the devotional, entitled
God of Refuge
, and began to read.

After skimming through the introduction, she reached for her Bible to look up the first Scripture reference. She remembered how reverently Benjamin Rosen had held the small black book as he had paged through it, comparing it to his own. She quickly blinked away her tears and turned to the book of James.
Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything
.

Abby slammed her Bible shut. Consider it joy to suffer the betrayal and loss of her husband? She almost decided against reading the devotional, but then she recalled Hannah’s words from the night before:
“I also had to suffer pain and loss before I found rest in Christ.”
Drawing courage from her new friend, Abby opened the book and continued reading.

Twenty minutes later, she had just finished praying the printed prayer, asking God to use her trials to draw her closer to Him, when someone knocked on her door. The moment she opened it, Ari Bazak thrust a shopping bag into her arms.

“Here. I thought you could use some decent clothes.”

Abby didn’t know how to respond. His manner was gruff, as if he was forced to perform this act of charity against his will.

“Um . . . thank you. Where did—?”

“You are closer in size to my wife than to Dr. Voss’s wife.”

“Please tell her thank you for me.”

“Sure.”

He returned to his own room before Abby could finish. What a strange man! She doubted if she would ever understand him, but at least she would feel more comfortable around him now that she knew he was safely married.

Abby took the bag inside and dumped the contents on her bed. There was a sheath dress of pale yellow linen, white slacks with a lightweight navy blazer, several pairs of shorts with knit tops or blouses to match, and even a bathing suit that looked brand-new. Ari’s wife was also a size ten—and she had excellent taste in clothes. These were nicer than the clothes Abby had brought from home. Feeling lighthearted, she changed into one of the blouses and a pair of shorts, then took the elevator downstairs to breakfast.

An hour later Abby was seated on the tour bus, listening to the excited chatter of the other dig participants as they rode to the first lecture stop: King Herod’s seaport capital of Cae-sarea Maritima. She noticed that everyone sat in pairs except her: husbands with wives, students with roommates, a few student couples snuggling and holding hands. Abby felt a wave of loneliness, which she tried to push aside by fiddling with her camera. She knew she was still weepy and emotional from yesterday’s ordeal. How long would it take her to get over the shock of Mr. Rosen’s death? And how long until it no longer hurt to be reminded of Mark?

As the bus parked, she glimpsed the sea again, sparkling in the distance beyond a cluster of ruined buildings. Hannah and Ari were already waiting for the group beside his car, and Abby felt pleased to see Hannah, as if they were old friends, already linked by yesterday’s violent tragedy. She quickly climbed off the bus and hurried over to where Hannah stood studying a map Ari had spread out on the hood of his car. Hannah’s gestures were so graceful, the way she carried herself in her long caftan so elegant, that once again Abby thought she resembled a celestial being or a figure from a dream. The contrast was especially great as she stood beside Ari, who was as ruggedly solid as a bronze statue.

“Good morning,” Abby said.

Hannah looked up, and for the space of a heartbeat, her face wore an odd expression, as if something about Abby’s appearance had startled her. It quickly disappeared, replaced by her warm smile.

“Abby! You look well rested this morning.” But before they could speak further, Dr. Voss interrupted them, charging off the bus like an angry bull. He was dripping with perspiration once again.

“We need to talk, Hannah . . .
alone.”

“Of course, Ted.” Hannah finished folding the map and handed it to Ari. “Would you please take everyone through the Crusader ruins for me, Ari, and get the lecture started? I’ll meet up with you in the amphitheater.”

Ari appeared startled and a little annoyed. “But I . . .”

“Please, Ari?” Hannah begged.

Ari glanced at Dr. Voss, then called to the milling group, “This way, please. Everyone follow me.” He set off at a brisk pace, and Abby hurried with the rest of the group to keep up with his long-legged stride.

“I wonder why Dr. Voss is so angry,” one of the students said as she walked beside Abby.

“Well, I think his nose is a little out of joint,” Abby replied.

Ari whirled around, frowning. “His nose is
what?”

Abby laughed, guessing at the picture in Ari’s mind. “Sorry, it’s just a stupid expression. Dr. Voss didn’t know you had joined the dig, Ari, until I mentioned your name yesterday. He didn’t seem pleased that you were . . . invading his territory.” When Ari didn’t respond, Abby tried making light of it. “You know, Dr. Voss also thinks you’re dead.”

“Dead!”

“Yeah, he said he heard a rumor that Ari Bazak, the young hotshot archaeologist, had died a few years ago. It must have been a terrible shock for him to see your ghost.” She grinned, but Ari didn’t. “I’ve noticed that Dr. Voss is just a
wee
bit ab-sentminded,” she said. “He’s the one who booked me on a flight that didn’t exist, remember?”

Ari gave Abby a curious look before bringing the group to a halt inside a ruined building. He began addressing the students without further comment. While he may not have been much of a conversationalist, Abby saw right away that he was a gifted teacher. His descriptions brought history to life, and even the travel-weary college students paid rapt attention.

Abby decided that reading about the Crusades in textbooks couldn’t compare with standing beneath their vaulted archways or looking out from their battlements. She wandered through the one-thousand-year-old ruins with a sense of awe, reminding herself that this was only the first day of her month-long tour. Then Ari guided them through the remains of Caesarea, explaining how King Herod’s engineers had created the seaport city more than two thousand years ago. Two thousand years! Abby couldn’t comprehend it. The oldest artifacts she had seen in America were only centuries old, not millennia.

“As a ruler, Herod was a brutal tyrant,” Ari explained to the group. “But as a master planner and builder, he was a daring genius. Israel didn’t have a natural harbor, so he created one here in Caesarea. But his most famous achievement was the complete rebuilding of the Temple in Jerusalem.”

“Is he the same Herod who was king when Jesus was born?” one of the students asked.

Ari nodded. “Herod was called a king, but he was actually under the authority of Rome.”

Abby snapped several photographs of the Herodian ruins, then followed everyone inside the restored Roman amphitheater and took a seat on the stone bleachers, warmed by the Mediterranean sun. The theater faced the sea, and Abby felt the gentle breeze on her face as she awaited the lecture. Hannah seemed to have soothed Dr. Voss’s temper. They were laughing as the group took seats in front of them. Hannah’s laughter had a joyous, musical sound that reminded Abby of children at play.

“Welcome to the Promised Land,” Hannah began, “the land God chose for His people. We’re sitting beside an ancient travel route—the
Via Maris
, or Way of the Sea, at the crossroads of three continents—Europe, Africa, and Asia. Unfortunately, the route was also a convenient pathway for invading empires. Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Greece, Rome . . . all of these armies marched across the land of Israel. Now, why do you suppose God would put His chosen people at a crossroads? Why not a place that was more isolated—maybe an island, like Cyprus? Wouldn’t it have been easier for the Israelites to keep God’s covenant if they lived apart from the other nations? Why expose them to the temptations of pagan religions and cultures?”

She paused, studying the faces in her audience, then smiled when her gaze settled on Abby. “I believe it was because God knew that many trials would help His people grow in their faith. They would learn to depend on Him and discover that He is trustworthy.”

Abby recalled her morning devotions.
The testing of your faith develops perseverance . . . so that you may be mature
. . . . She stopped taking notes and listened carefully instead.

“God sent His promised Messiah to a land and a people in crisis. In 63
B.C
. the nation lost its freedom to one of those invading empires—Rome. But even before Pompeii’s armies swept through the land, the Jewish religious traditions had been contaminated by the pull of pagan Greek culture. The Jews felt their world crashing in on them, and the way of life they had always known was gravely threatened.”

Against her will, Abby recalled the night she had discovered Mark’s affair, the night twenty-two years of marriage came to an end, shattering her life.

“How would God’s people react to this crisis?” Hannah continued. “Would they strike back at their enemies in revenge? Learn to live with them? Or would they pull away, living separate lives from their invaders?”

Abby knew that she had bounced among all three of these reactions during the past few months, becoming bruised and battered in the process.

“These were three of the reactions in Jesus’ day,” Hannah said. “The Zealots chose to fight against the Romans, the Sad-ducees to compromise with them, and the Pharisees to withdraw from them. All three groups eagerly awaited the promised Messiah. They hoped He would rescue them from a life that had grown intolerable. All three groups had expectations of what His coming would mean.

“And then, on a star-filled night during King Herod’s reign, Jesus the Messiah was born.” Hannah smiled as her eyes met Abby’s again. “He offered a solution to the crisis in their lives. But in spite of all the words that the prophets had spoken, the answer Jesus offered was not what any of them wanted—or expected.”

Abby looked away from Hannah’s penetrating gaze, squinting in the glare of sun on water. She wanted her own pain to end, her frightening anger to be extinguished. She wanted the solution to her own crisis to be made clear to her so she could begin all over again—and get on with the rest of her life.

But what if Jesus’ solution wasn’t the answer she wanted—or expected?

“How long have you been a Christian, Hannah?” Abby asked later that afternoon as they drove to their hotel in Galilee. The group had spent a long day visiting several historic sites, including an ancient Roman aqueduct outside of Caesarea. As they were leaving their last stop of the day, Hannah had surprised Abby by offering her a ride in Ari’s car. Weighing the pros and cons of sitting alone in the safety of the tour bus or risking Ari’s driving again, Abby had decided the risk was well worth the opportunity to talk with Hannah.

“Let’s see . . . I’ve been a Messianic believer for about five years now,” Hannah replied. She turned to face Abby in the backseat. “My daughter, Rachel, became a believer first. And I have to tell you that I was quite upset when she told me about her faith. When a Jew hears the word
Christian
, we immediately think of the Crusades and the Spanish Inquisition and all the other horrors committed in the name of Christ. We’ve quite forgotten the fact that Jesus was Jewish, as were all of His disciples, the apostle Paul, and most of the earliest Christians.”

“I would have guessed it was much longer than five years,” Abby said. “I’ve been a so-called Christian all my life, but your faith seems so much stronger, more real than mine.”

Hannah fingered the ancient coin she wore on a chain around her neck. “The central belief of the Jewish faith is that God is working to redeem mankind. Once I saw that Jesus already brought about that promised redemption—
my
redemption—my faith was completed, not altered.”

Abby glimpsed Ari’s face in the rearview mirror and saw by his frown that Hannah’s words made him uncomfortable. Judging by his angry comments in Caesarea about the atrocities committed by the Crusaders, she guessed that he didn’t share Hannah’s beliefs. He had been silent during their drive, but now he interrupted Hannah to ask her a question in Hebrew. She answered him in the same language. Their discussion grew more and more heated, until Hannah ended it with a shake of her head and a gesture of finality.