An Echo in the Darkness(86)

He clenched his teeth. There were any number of ways he could protect Rapha from the Valerians.

But that wasn’t the real problem.

How was he going to protect Hadassah from herself?





17

Ezra Barjachin threw his hands into the air in frustration. Why must his wife go to pieces now when he needed her to stand firmly beside him? “I know he’s a Roman! You don’t have to tell me!”

“If you knew, why did you bring him into our house? Why have you done this terrible thing to us?” Jehosheba wailed. “Everyone knows! They saw you enter the gates of the city. They watched you bring that man up the street and into our house. I can feel their hot eyes boring through the walls. They will not let you enter the synagogue after this!”

“What would you have had me do, Jehosheba? Leave him in the wadi to die?”

“Yes! It’s no less than a Roman deserves! Have you forgotten Joseph? Have you forgotten the others who died in Jerusalem? Have you forgotten the thousands carried off into slavery to Gentile dogs like him?”

“I’ve forgotten nothing!” He turned away in futility. “Your daughter wouldn’t let me leave him.”

“My daughter? So you lay the blame at my door even when I wasn’t there. She’s your daughter, her head always in the clouds. You should both come down to earth! You take our daughter to arrange a marriage for her and what happens? You come back and tell me your brother threw you out and said he never wants to see you again! And to make matters worse, you find a Roman along the road and drag him home with you!”

“I tried to leave him at the inn, but Meggido wouldn’t accept him. I even offered to pay.”

She burst into tears. “What will the neighbors say?”

Taphatha stood listening on the steps to the roof, where she and her father had carried the Roman. She had remained until he slept. The long, painful ordeal of the journey to Jericho had been very difficult on him. She was thankful it was over. She was thankful he was alive.

She was also thankful he could not hear what her mother was saying.

The only sound now was her mother weeping. She came down the last steps. Her father looked at her, distraught and helpless, and shook his head in frustration.

Taphatha went and knelt before her mother. “Mama, the neighbors will say Father remembered the Scriptures. God desires mercy, not sacrifice.”

Jehosheba raised her head slowly, her cheeks streaked with tears. She looked into her daughter’s face and wondered at her. How had Taphatha come to possess such a beautiful, sweet spirit?

It couldn’t have come through me, Jehosheba thought ruefully, for she knew well that she was rebellious and doubting. Nor could it have come through Ezra, who was enmeshed in a constant struggle against circumstances. Jehosheba’s lips tightened—circumstances he often brought upon himself.

She cupped Taphatha’s cheek and shook her head sadly. “They won’t remember that at all. They’ll remember Jerusalem. They’ll remember Joseph. They’ll remember Masada. And because they remember, they will turn their backs on us because we have given shelter to a Roman, a Gentile, and thereby defiled our home.”

“Then we will remind them of what God says, Mama. Have mercy. You mustn’t worry so much about what others say. Fear God. It is the Lord we must please.”

Jehosheba smiled bleakly. “We will remind them,” she said, doubting it would do any good. Besides, what choice had they now? The damage was done.

Taphatha kissed her cheek. “I’ll fetch some water.”

Ezra watched her take up the large earthen jar and go out the door into the sunlight. She slipped her feet into her sandals and, balancing the jar on her head, started down the street. He went to the open door and leaned against the frame, watching Taphatha. “Sometimes I think God has called our daughter to bear witness to him.”

“That’s hardly comforting when you consider what happens to prophets.”

Her words struck him and he closed his eyes, resting his head on the doorframe, near the mezuzoth. He knew the words contained in the small rectangular stone cases by heart. He could recite each of the Ten Commandments and the Holy Scriptures, all written so carefully on parchment so that they could be stored in the mezuzoth, fastened to the doorframe of his house. He believed those Scriptures and promises with all his heart . . . and yet a few words from this woman could pierce him with a strangling doubt. Had he endangered his daughter by helping the Roman? Had he endangered them all?

Help me, Lord God . . . , he prayed as he turned and looked back at his wife. Raising his hand, he kissed it and laid it over a mezuzah before coming back inside. “I couldn’t just leave him to die, Jehosheba. God forgive me. I did think about it.”