BABYLON
Devorah’s stomach rumbled with hunger. How much longer would she have to wait to eat? Evening prayers were becoming longer and longer, and so were the practice drills that followed. The yard of Jude’s pottery works now sported targets so the archers could hone their skills, as well as straw-filled dummies for the swordsmen. Jude channeled his worry and fear into action, and even Ezra was learning to fight. Devorah had no such release, and her helplessness frustrated her. Having no control over her life had long been her worst fear. She couldn’t even take walks with the girls like she used to do, or visit the clay pits to watch Jude work. She could pray, of course, but that didn’t satisfy her need to do something.
Jude worried for her safety, but what was she supposed to do with her fear for him? He could be killed. Asher’s wife wept over the possibility of losing her husband every time Devorah saw her. “Aren’t you worried for Jude?” Miriam had asked just this morning.
“Of course I am,” she’d replied. “But I have to be courageous for my daughters. Instead of crying, I pray for Jude’s safety.”
“I have nightmares that Asher dies. I don’t know what I would do without him. I know we’re no longer under a death sentence, but that doesn’t guarantee that we’ll all live.”
Devorah pushed thoughts like that from her mind. “Hasn’t God already heard our prayers? He took an impossible situation and provided a way for us to fight back. We have to keep trusting Him.”
“I wish I had your faith,” Miriam said.
“You can start by praying instead of worrying. And pray for poor Ezra. He’s going to fight, too, can you believe it? We should be worried for him. He isn’t as strong as Jude and Asher. And Ezra doesn’t have the temperament it takes to fight like our husbands do.” But for all of Devorah’s efforts, Miriam’s fear remained unchanged.
The sky was growing dark. The men couldn’t practice in the dark, could they? Devorah fed Abigail and Michal their supper and put them to bed. Afterward, she shifted the pots of food around on the hearth—too close to the fire and the food would stick to the pot and burn, too far from the embers and it would grow cold. Either way, it would serve the men right for taking so long.
Devorah’s life had changed so drastically in only a few short months. Would it settle down again after the thirteenth of Adar, and return to the way it had been? She hoped so. But after a trial of faith like this one, she would never view life the same or take her family for granted. For now, the hardest thing to live with was the uncertainty. No one knew if their enemies would still attack them or how strong their forces would be. Or how well her own people could fight back. As Miriam had said, they might not face execution, but there was no guarantee of survival, either.
At last she heard Jude’s deep voice echoing through the narrow lanes as he neared home. “There you are! At last,” she said as he walked through the gate. She longed to greet him with a hug in spite of the sweat that ran down his face and soaked the front of his tunic, but Ezra was with him, and she and Jude had agreed to refrain from showing affection in front of him.
The rug was already spread for their meal. Devorah put the food in the middle of it while the men washed. They were still talking about swords and arrows as they sat down, but they paused long enough for Ezra to recite the blessing over the bread. They continued their conversation the moment they said amen. “Did I tell you, Jude, that the Persian governor has offered to let us confer with his experienced military officials?” Ezra asked. “They’ll help us draw up plans for our defense.”
“Are they going to help us fight, too?” Devorah asked.
Ezra looked at her as if surprised she was there, much less listening to their conversation. “They aren’t willing to go that far,” he replied before quickly looking away. She found it unnerving that he rarely addressed her directly and avoided looking at her whenever possible. She had asked Jude about it once, and he’d explained the Torah’s prohibition against lusting after another man’s wife.
“But I’m his sister-in-law, for goodness’ sakes,” she had said. “He lives here with us.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jude had replied. “As far as Ezra is concerned, every commandment and precept and decree and law should be taken literally.”
Devorah knew she should remain quiet now and let the men talk, but she had a sudden thought. “Excuse me, but how do you know that these Persian military officials are our friends?”
Jude held out his bowl for her to fill. “What do you mean, love?”
“Just because the Persian governor favors us doesn’t mean his army officers do. They could purposely give us bad advice. Or pretend to be allies and then share our battle plans with our enemies.”
“She’s right, you know,” Jude said. He suppressed a grin as he elbowed his brother.
“Besides,” Devorah continued, “the Scriptures are full of battles that our people fought under the Almighty One’s direction. Can’t those accounts act as a guide instead of us relying on Gentile Persian generals? Didn’t the Almighty One tell Joshua how to fight the battle of Jericho?”
Ezra laid down his bread. “I haven’t given the governor my answer yet. But you’ve given me something to think about.”
“We’ll have to call you ‘General Devorah’ from now on,” Jude teased.
She frowned at him, thinking it wasn’t funny. “Why not put our trust in God, not men?’ she continued. “Especially when we don’t know these Babylonians very well.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your thoughts,” Ezra said. Was he grateful or was he dismissing her? The brothers talked of other things while they ate, but the subject of fighting came up again after the meal when Ezra winced in pain as he massaged his shoulder.
“How are you getting along with that sword?” Jude asked.
“My arm aches. I’m using muscles I’ve never used before. At least you’re used to lifting heavy pots. The heaviest thing I lift is a Torah scroll. And look at these. . . .” Ezra held out his palm to show an oozing set of blisters.
“I have some balm that will help,” Devorah said. She rose to fetch it, still listening to their conversation.
“You know, our enemies may not be any better at fighting than we are,” Jude said.
“Let’s hope not. I never imagined I’d have to wield a sword in battle, did you, Jude?”
“Never.”
Devorah gave the little pot of salve to Ezra to rub on his palm. “I’m glad we don’t have a son who has to fight,” she said as she cleared away the bowls. “I don’t think I could bear it. It’s hard enough to send my husband to war.”
Jude reached for her arm and pulled her down on the carpet beside him. “When this is finally over, maybe the Almighty One will give us a son. You know I love our daughters, but they’ll grow up and move to their husbands’ homes someday. But a son? A son can work alongside me and inherit my business. Sons are a blessing from the Almighty One.”
“What if your son doesn’t want to be a potter?” Ezra asked. His tone was lighthearted, and he wore a crooked smile. “What if he wants to study Torah with his uncle? What then?”
Devorah looked at him in surprise. Her serious brother-in-law rarely smiled. Jude laughed out loud. “Listen, if you want a son to study Torah with you, get married and have one of your own. My firstborn son will be a potter like his father.”
Ezra scratched his beard, his expression wistful. “You know, I just might look for a wife when this is all over. One of the Holy One’s first commands was to be fruitful and multiply.”
Jude laughed again. “You hear that, Devorah? On the fourteenth day of Adar you can help my brother find a wife. You won’t be sorry, Ezra. Don’t the writings say that a good wife is a gift from God? It’s about time you accepted His gift.”
Devorah smiled as she listened to the men. They had given her hope. The fighting would last for a day, but after that? . . . After that, life and love and joy would return.