Leah
So you are going back to your wilderness camp, even though you have chased the enemy from Judea.”
My husband looked at me as though I were a strong-willed child. “I have explained this—the enemy is returning and we have no time to spare. We’re not going to the wilderness camp; we’re going to meet at Mizpah, which is closer.”
“So you’re saying good-bye to your pregnant wife, knowing that enemy soldiers will soon be in the area.”
Judah’s answering smile held a touch of sadness. “Trust me, wife. Better that I leave you for a little while than to be caught unaware by the Seleucids.”
He picked up his bundle and went outside, striding boldly across the village square. I followed, noticing that Johanan, Simon, Eleazar, and Jonathan were also leaving their homes. Each of the married sons was saying good-bye to his wife while Jonathan said his farewells to Rosana.
I didn’t care that I was the only woman shouting at her departing soldier. “What will I do if something happens to you?” I yelled, watching Judah tie his bundle to the back of his saddle. “If you leave, next year I might be raising a fatherless child.”
“HaShem has promised to be a father to the fatherless,” Judah called. He patted the stallion’s rump, checked the girth strap, stepped back and turned to me. “You know I must go. I am sorry for leaving you, but this is the way it must be. But you will have my mother and your mother, and all your sisters-in-law for help and company.”
My lower lip edged forward in a pout as I crossed my arms. Part of me felt ashamed for resorting to such theatrics, but what was I supposed to do? I had tried reasoning with my husband. I had wept, I had begged, I had conceived a child in an effort to turn him from war. None of those things had worked, so why not throw a temper tantrum?
“Leah.” Judah drew me close, pinning my folded arms to his chest and leaving me helpless. “Know that I would not leave you without comfort. And know that I will be asking HaShem to keep you safe and protected by angel armies.”
He kissed me on the forehead, then bent and gently pressed his lips to the growing mound at my belly. The unexpected gesture disarmed me and made me forget how angry I had made up my mind to be.
My anger cooled as the brothers mounted their horses and cantered away from Modein, Judah in the lead. The other women walked over, and Morit kept her arm around my waist until the men had disappeared from our sight.
“Come to my house,” Rosana said as we prepared to go back to our homes. “Let me prepare you a cup of honey water.”
I followed because I was too emotionally spent to rebel. While Rosana drew water from her pitcher, I sat on a stool and moodily watched my mother, who slept on a cot by the window.
“She naps a lot,” Rosana said, following my gaze. “I think she sleeps to escape her memories.”
The remark surprised me, and I said as much as I accepted the cup.
Rosana sank into a chair across from me. “Our minds are always working,” she said simply. “We can think about the past, dream of the future, or worry about the present. We can work out a problem, argue with ourselves, or pray . . . I wish I had thought to pray more often. Seems to me that prayer is the best way to spend one’s time.”
I sipped the sweet water, then frowned. “Judah said he and his men plan to pray before the battle. But Mother once told me that she had prayed for years, and HaShem never answered her prayers.”
“HaShem always answers, but not always in the way we want Him to. Perhaps your mother received an answer—”
“She didn’t like?” I felt the corner of my mouth twist. “I pray for Judah to be kept safe, but I know he may die. And if that is HaShem’s answer to my prayers, I won’t like it. My child will need a father. I need a husband.”
“And Israel needs a champion.” Rosana shifted and leaned toward me. “Tell me more about your mother. She has lived with me for months now, but she never talks about her past. I still don’t know much about her.”
“She suffered greatly at the hands of my father.” I glanced at Mother’s face to make sure she was still sleeping. “When I was younger, I found it hard to respect her because sometimes she seemed to purposefully attract Father’s anger.”
Rosana lifted a brow. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “Once, when I was late from the market, Mother didn’t have dinner ready when Father came home. He was furious with her, but instead of explaining that I’d been late from the marketplace, Mother smiled, which made Father even angrier. He demanded to know why she was smiling, and when she didn’t answer, he struck her. Every time he hit her, she smiled again, and again, until he threw her against the wall and she passed out.”
I glanced at my mother again, my heart welling with familiar sensations and old memories. “I thought she was stupid for behaving the way she did. At times I thought her the greatest coward in Jerusalem because she would never stand up to him. I promised myself that I would never let my husband treat me like that.”
I shifted my gaze to Rosana, expecting her to applaud my strength of will. Instead, I saw that her face had grown pale, and tears shone on her cheeks. “My darling girl,” she said softly, “I am not surprised you didn’t understand, because children rarely do. But as a woman who has raised children of my own, I know what your mother was doing. Far from being a coward, she may have been the bravest woman in Jerusalem.”
“I still think she was foolish.”
“No, Leah. She did not tell your father that you were late from the market because he would have turned his anger on you. She smiled after each blow because she was happy to bear the pain that would have been yours. Tell me—did your father ever beat you?”
I blinked. “No. Well—once or twice. When I was a little girl. But Mother snatched me away from him.”
Rosana nodded, her eyes brimming with tenderness and sympathy.
I winced as truth crashed into my awareness like a boulder thundering down a mountain. All the times I thought Mother was weak and cowardly, I was wrong. She had always been there to protect me, remaining at home to be with me, standing between me and Father, allowing Father to eat first so that we didn’t give him a chance to rail at us over meals. She had sacrificed her heart and body for me, absorbing blows he would have delivered to me, breaking her bones instead of mine, scarring her flesh—
A sob rose in my throat. I tried to clamp my mouth over it, but out it came, followed by a steady flood of scalding tears.
Rosana was by my side in an instant. “Do you not see, love? This is what Judah is doing. He is bearing the blows for Israel, for you and your child. Out of love and duty he is sacrificing himself so that future generations will never find themselves bound by Seleucid chains.”
Her words made me cry harder, and her arm tightened around my shoulder. When my sobs slowed, she squeezed me again, handed me a bit of linen to wipe my face, and nodded toward my mother. “Go to her,” she said. “When she wakes, thank her for everything she did for you. And if she asks why you are saying this, tell her the truth—you stand at the door of motherhood, and you will soon be doing the same things for your child.”
I threw my arms around Rosana and thanked her . . . for opening my eyes.