Chapter Twenty-Seven

Judah

Johanan, Simon, and Jonathan rode ahead of us, leaving Eleazar and me to take a wagon with the women back to the Gophna Hills.

“Do you think anyone will be left in camp?” Eleazar shot me a sidelong glance. “After all, we’ve been gone a full week.”

I stared at the mules’ hindquarters and shifted the reins to my other hand. Did I want the camp to remain full? Or would it be better if we returned to the wilderness and found the camp deserted?

“It will be as God wills,” I said, giving my younger brother a grim smile. “If He wants us to fight, we will have an army. If not . . .” I shrugged. “If we find ourselves alone, perhaps we should go to Egypt and raise our families there.”

“You could never do that—not after Father appointed you commander of the army.”

I shook my head. “I did not ask for that honor.”

“But Father knew you would make a great commander. That’s why he chose you.”

“Father did not know me very well. He saw my size, and to him, big meant strong. Fierce.”

“Are you not fierce? Have you not defended your brothers, including me, countless times?”

“Defending is not attacking. I am happy to defend my loved ones. But what Father asked us to do, going into villages and killing our brothers—”

“They were apostate! They were spreading blasphemies like a contagion!”

“They were sleeping peacefully when we hauled them out to be executed. I could obey Father because the Lord commands me to honor him. Now that he is gone . . .” I looked up and saw Leah’s tear-streaked face in the empty air before me. “If the camp is deserted, I will not be disappointed.”

“But if God commands you to fight—”

“If HaShem commands me I will obey, but have you heard Him speak of late? Have you been visited by a prophet who shared a word from Adonai?” I stared at Eleazar, my eyes probing his, then I lowered my gaze. “Neither have I. If I lead men to fight, I will be doing it on the strength of Father’s conviction.”

“I think,” Eleazar said, speaking in the tone of a man carefully choosing his words, “you can no longer consider the renegade Jews your brothers. They have turned their backs on Adonai, so you are acting defensively when you strike them. You are defending Adonai. You are defending your devout brothers against those who would turn their hearts away from HaShem and toward false gods.”

I tilted my head, considering Eleazar’s advice. His reasoning made sense, and I could almost hear Father speaking through his words.

We rounded a bend and approached the Gophna Hills. I searched the rocks, looking for signs of activity, knowing my heart would rejoice if I saw nothing but empty space. But within a few moments I saw two women who shaded their eyes as we approached, then released joyous shouts and ran into the caves.

“We have been recognized,” Eleazar said.

“Yes.”

I reined in the mules, then hopped down from the wagon, stretching my legs before helping the women climb down. I did not have to look across the plain to know our camp still teemed with men—they would not have gone home without their women and children.

We still had an army.

We still had a cause.

And we still had Adonai to lead us.

My heart steeled itself to the task ahead.

We were still a good distance away from the camp when I heard a shout of recognition. We had steadily stirred up dust on our approach, and now men hurried toward us, many of them with weapons in hand.

“See that, brother?” Eleazar asked. “They are eager to fight under you.”

I closed my eyes, not ready to be reminded of the heavy burden Father had placed on my shoulders.

How was I supposed to lead in a time when HaShem no longer spoke to His prophets? When he taught us, Father often spoke of Adonai’s silence. For generations, the Lord spoke directly to His prophets, kings, and followers. He listened when they prayed, and answered with words and signs, some of them too wondrous to be believed unless HaShem had brought them to pass. The visible Shekinah glory had led the Israelites through the wilderness and filled the Temple when Solomon prayed his prayer of dedication, but it disappeared when the people began to worship idols.

The Shekinah had not returned.

Now I was supposed to lead—without Adonai’s visible presence, without a prophet to tell me what HaShem wanted, and without my father. I had only my instincts, my brothers, and a wife who seemed to abhor bloodshed . . . and me, as long as I carried a sword.

“Judah! Judah! Judah!”

My eyes opened as the men chanted my name. They had lined the path, and their eager faces shone up at me as they raised their weapons in a salute. They had already placed their trust in me, and I could not let them down.

Adonai, hear me. Lead me to do your will.

I was not as learned as my father, as pious or as zealous. But I could be faithful, so until HaShem stopped me, I would do what I had been asked to do.

Eleazar and I climbed out of the wagon and stood before the crowd. I raised my hands and told them to disperse, but they would not.

“I think,” Eleazar shouted in my ear, “they want you to speak to them.”

I frowned. “And say what?”

“Encourage them. They have waited a week for your return; now they are ready for action.”

I blew out a breath, then climbed back into the wagon and stood on the driver’s seat. I held up my hands, and this time the men quieted.

“Men of Israel,” I said, looking around, “thank you for remaining true to the charge you accepted under my father. We have buried him in his family tomb, and we have hurried back here to be with you. The work is not finished, but we will continue. For the sake of Adonai and His people, we will gird on our breastplates and pick up our swords. We will search for the invaders who have turned the hearts of Israel to foreign gods, and we will strike them where they stand.”

Voices erupted in a mighty roar as the men pumped their weapons in the air.

“As for the children of Israel whose hearts have hardened against Adonai,” I went on, my throat tightening, “like Joshua who went before us, we will defend Adonai and purify this land so its inhabitants may remain true and holy before their God.”

Another cheer rose from the crowd. With nothing further to say, I looked for Simon and gestured for him to stand beside me in the wagon. When he joined me, I saw that his eyes were wet, either with enthusiasm or sentiment.

“Speak to them,” I yelled above the shouting. “Father would want you to say something.”

For a moment Simon floundered, and then he lifted his hand and waited until the men grew quiet. “I am not the warrior Judah is,” he began, “but I am a son of Mattathias. If you have any problems, if your wives or children have trouble in the camp, bring those concerns to me. I will administrate justly before Adonai and all Israel, and I will do my best to honor your sacrifice for this cause.”

Cheers wrapped around us like water around a rock as eager hands helped me and Simon from the wagon. We were enthusiastically escorted to our tents where bread and cheese and dried meats waited. We ate our fill with Johanan, Eleazar, and Jonathan, then we stretched out, eager to refresh our bodies for the struggle ahead.

But as I drifted off to sleep, I thought of my wife and wondered what she was thinking as she lay on her pallet.

As for me, I had put my hand to the plow and there was no turning back.