Chapter Thirty-Six

Judah

The letter arrived on a cool day not long after the latter rains. From the window I saw Morit accept something from a man on horseback, then she came running into the house. She looked around the circle of my brothers and then handed the scroll to me.

I broke the seal, unfurled it, and stared at the unfamiliar writing. I had never been the best reader, so I gave the message to Johanan, who frowned at it for a moment, then gaped at me like a man who had just been knocked over by a charging sheep. “Do you know someone in Antioch?”

“What?”

He consulted the scroll again. “Someone called Philander?”

The name stirred vague memories of a dark night, a horse, and an inn. “Yes! He is a scribe in the king’s court. I met him on the road outside Jerusalem.”

Johanan chuffed. “Your friend the scribe has sent you a letter.”

“What does it say?”

Johanan read the document, then looked around the table. “In short, Antiochus has learned of Apollonius’s defeat. In retaliation, he has dispatched Seron, his chief general, with a contingent of soldiers. Antiochus gave the general a single charge: ‘Annihilate this party of resisters, then stamp out the Jewish religion. We will cleanse the land of Jehovah and his worshipers and put new people in their place, allowing them to colonize the land and divide it by lots.’”

I slammed my fist to the table. “Time to gather the men.”

Jonathan stood. “I’ll blow the shofar and light a signal fire.”

I leaned toward Simon and Johanan. “Let us beg HaShem to grant us victory, so we can send our own message to the king—a living God reigns in Isra’el, and He will defend His people!”

Simon met my eyes and dipped his chin in a sober nod. “Let us hope the men have not grown soft while they were at home.”

Under Seron’s command, Antiochus’s army marched southward through Samaria, over the plain of Sharon, and began the ascent to Jerusalem, treading where millions of my people had walked before. They took the main road from Lydda and passed by Modein, then moved toward Beth-horon, a settlement that could only be approached by a long, narrow ridge flanked by deep ravines.

By the time Seron entered Judea, the army of Israel had reassembled at the wilderness camp. Not all of our men had made it back, but we would not have time to wait for them. As soon as our lookouts spotted Seron’s army, we would move out.

The women who came with us—Leah surprised me by coming along—sheltered in the caves while we men spent our time in prayer. Johanan insisted that our time would be better spent in drills, but I differed. Time spent in prayer was never wasted.

My captains and I had determined that although we could not stop Seron’s army from entering Judea, we could not allow them to reach Jerusalem where our people were still trying to rebuild. We would cut them off at Beth-horon, a barren area most of us knew as well as we knew our mothers’ faces. From Beth-horon’s high ridge we could look out and see Modein. Behind us we could see Gibeon, and to the southwest, the small town of Aijalon.

When scouts blasted into camp with their warning, I led the army of Israel—only a handful of men, it seemed to me—to Beth-horon. Standing on the ridge, I exulted in the kinship I felt with the forefathers who had stood in the same spot. Somewhere near here, Joshua had begged Adonai to grant him a miracle: “Sun, stand motionless over Gibeon! Moon, you too, over the Aijalon Valley!” So the sun stood still and the moon stayed put until Israel had taken vengeance on their enemies.

Now I was asking for a similar miracle: that HaShem would look down and give a handful of His people the strength to drive the enemy away. From the ridge we could see them approaching—row after row of marching warriors, a seemingly endless spectacle that stretched from Modein to the far horizon.

“Adonai, blessed be your name,” I prayed, lifting my gaze to the balmy blue sky above. “Your holy prophet Joshua wrote that there has never been a day like that before or since, when Adonai listened to the voice of a man. Like Joshua, I am fighting on Israel’s behalf, and I beg you to fight for me, for us, your people. That day you sent a hailstorm to destroy the armies of the five kings who came against Israel, and today I would ask you to send whatever you like to rid the land of our enemies.”

When I lowered my eyes, Simon and Jonathan stood beside me, and neither of them looked confident. “How do you expect the few of us to fight against that multitude?” Jonathan pointed to the advancing army with a trembling arm. “All day we have fasted according to your command and we have no strength. We are weak enough now; how weak will we be by the time they reach the summit?”

I noted the despair on their faces, then strode past them toward the men awaiting my orders.

“Men of Israel,” I called, my voice echoing in the rocky valley, “know this—our force is considerably smaller than the one marching toward us. Yet it is not the size of the army that matters, but the strength of our God. Today we fight for the Law of HaShem, our lives, and our people. Just as Adonai gave victory to Joshua when he told the sun and moon to remain in their places, HaShem will give you the strength you need to defeat the enemy. Do not think about your weariness when the hour of victory is within reach. Do not speak of defeat when our God is willing to fight for us! He himself will crush them before us, so do not be afraid of them. We are standing where giants have stood, and we will hold the high ground until the last of our enemies is either dead or on his way back to Syria! Never doubt it!”

Instead of cheering—because the sound might have given away our position—the men waved their weapons and looked at me with confidence shining in their eyes.

“Remain in your positions until you hear the signal,” I told the assembly with their spears, slingshots, swords, and arrows. “Then we will leap out of our hiding places and chase the enemy out of this holy land!”

Hundreds of weapons glittered in the sunlight as I turned and smiled at my brothers. “Return to your companies,” I told them, “and encourage your men as we wait for the enemy to approach. This day will be ours.”

From my crouched position behind a boulder at the top of the ridge, I eased back on my heels to relieve my cramping legs. Across the worn footpath I caught Eleazar’s eye and nodded. He grinned, then gripped his sword and settled back on the rocks, as at ease as a child with a new toy. The other men of our army were hidden among the many grasses, boulders, and ledges of Beth-horon.

The sounds of the approaching army changed as they came closer. At first we heard only a sound like thunder, but now we could hear stamping feet, the occasional whinny of a horse, and the thunderous grumble of the catapult’s wooden wheels. The sounds echoed in the space surrounding the narrow mountain pass, clearly announcing the enemy’s advance.

Too bad they had brought their war machines over such a great distance. When Adonai strengthened us, as I knew He would, they would have to leave their machines in the dust.

When at last I heard the jangling of the horses’ bridles, I stood and peered over the rocks, then I whistled. Johanan blew the shofar, and the warriors of Israel leapt from their hiding places and descended on the enemy, brandishing their weapons and attacking the hapless invaders who found themselves trapped between the steep ravines.

The surprised Seleucids scrambled away, fleeing with far more energy than they had advanced. Those closest to me sprinted down the mountain, trampling their fellows, and those at the rear released their war machines and ran as the wheeled weapons slid backward and mowed down men who could not get away from their crushing weight.

I watched from my elevated post with pleased surprise. The Seleucids in the rear were fleeing even though not a single Jew had reached them. A wave of enemy soldiers swept toward the horizon, stirring up dust as it receded. Our blockade of the narrow passage had forced the enemy army to retreat, and the terrible blast of the shofar had set off a panic I had never before seen and probably never will again. Only a few of Seron’s soldiers lingered long enough to exchange blows with our men, and those who did were so terrified they did not fight well.

What had panicked them so? Had HaShem magnified the sound of the shofar until it shattered their hearing? Had He made his protective angels visible to the Gentiles who came against us? I could not tell, but clearly something had terrified the king’s men.

We chased the fleeing enemy down the mountain and into the broad plains that had belonged to the Amorites when Joshua stood on this mountain and bade the sun to linger. The Seleucid general had underestimated our strength, our cunning, and our God. Indeed, we were not many, but we knew the land God had given to our people.

Our horsemen chased the surviving warriors out of Israel while the rest of us gathered weapons and armor from those who did not escape.

“They’ll stay gone,” one of my men remarked, but I shook my head.

“Maybe not forever,” I said, “but they’ll think twice before approaching Jerusalem by this route.”

When Johanan and Simon approached, I withdrew Philander’s scroll from my belt and held it up. “We might not be celebrating if this had not arrived.” I clapped Simon on the shoulder. “We will have to write and thank him for his kindness.”

A line appeared between Simon’s brows. “I’ll have to write in some sort of code—we can’t have a letter falling into the wrong hands.”

“I know you’ll think of something.” Then, in front of my brothers and a host of my fellow warriors, I lifted my arms to the heavens and spun in a slow circle. “All praise to you, YHVH Tzvaot, the Lord of Hosts, who sent angel armies to confound and chase our enemies. Glory is yours forevermore!”

We celebrated in the camp that night. Sounds of music and laughter filled the air while our men devoured the meat, bread, and lentils our women had baked with hope in their hearts. A huge bonfire blazed at the center of our gathering, fueled by the enemy catapults we had dismantled. Johanan asked if we ought to keep them, but our form of fighting relied on subtlety, and those gigantic, creaking machines were anything but subtle. “And,” I added as another thought occurred, “did those machines not turn on their makers? What use have we for instruments like that?”

I rejoiced because we had suffered only minor injuries, and most of those injuries had occurred when the terrified Seleucids injured our fighters in their haste to escape.

I nodded at Abner, who had his arm in a sling, and his brother Gideon, whose leg was bandaged. “What happened to you two?”

Abner flushed. “Fell on a rock and broke my arm as I gave chase. But my wife has wrapped it.”

I grinned. “I hope she’s given you wine for the pain.”

“Enough for me and my brother here. His story is even more embarrassing than mine.”

I looked at Gideon, who leaned heavily on his brother’s shoulder. “Did you fall, too?”

“Horse stepped on me,” he said. “One of those big stallions, in a terrible hurry to get away. Nearly broke the bone.”

“But you’re walking.”

“Barely. Mostly the leg is black and blue.”

As they hobbled away, Leah approached. She said nothing until I sank to a blanket and motioned for her to sit next to me. “Your men,” she said as she sat at my side, “celebrate as enthusiastically as they train.”

“True enough.” I smiled. “They eat as enthusiastically, too. You women have done a fine job of feeding them.”

She lowered her gaze, her long lashes hiding her eyes. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking—not that I had ever been any good at determining what women had on their minds.

“Is this the end, then?” she finally asked, her eyes rising to meet mine. “Will I have a husband again? Are we ready to go back to Modein?”

I held up my hand. “I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I think we will be able to go home, but we must always be prepared to fight. We have won a battle, but I do not think we have won the war.”

She drew a quick breath and exhaled slowly as she watched the merrymakers. I couldn’t read her thoughts, but I could tell she wasn’t happy with my answer.

“I did not plan to be a soldier,” I told her. “This is not something I would ordinarily want to do. But HaShem has called me to this task, and He has blessed my efforts. I will not—I cannot—quit until my task is finished.”

I bent to examine her face, and her brown eyes came up to me wet.

“Did you want to say something else?” I asked.

She remained silent for a moment, then gave me a look that was neither angry nor loving.

“One thing,” she said, her voice flat. “I was not certain, so I waited to be sure. We are going to have a baby.”