Chapter Forty

Judah

My brothers rode out at midday, visiting the villages of Judea and spreading the word about the coming attack. Our warriors, Simon and I decided, would assemble not at the wilderness camp, but at Mizpah, the spot where Samuel had gathered the children of Israel to prepare for battle with the Philistines. Samuel had the people fast and pray before the confrontation. When the Philistines arrived to attack, the voice of Adonai thundered from heaven and sent the Philistines into such panic that our forefathers easily defeated them.

Johanan had suggested that we meet in Jerusalem, but I knew we could not. The city still lay in ruins, with its walls down and its Temple desecrated and forlorn. To make matters worse, Jewish Hellenes and Gentiles held the citadel, the strong tower Apollonius had erected near the ruined Temple. We would not prepare for battle beneath their prying eyes.

So we would do what our forefathers had done. We would follow Samuel’s example and strictly observe every divine ordinance HaShem had made known in the prophet’s day.

Two days later, we met our kinsmen and fellow worshipers in the cool morning air outside Mizpah. By my command the men had been arranged as in the days of Moses: with captains of thousands, of hundreds, of fifties, and squads of ten. Following Moses’s example, we dismissed the newly married men, the vinedressers, and the timid and unwilling.

I wanted no naysayers in our company.

When the last of the dismissed men had gone, those of us who remained put on rough sackcloth and covered our heads with ashes. Together we lamented the sins of our nation and begged HaShem for His help. We named our wrongdoings and asked for mercy and compassion. We prayed for hours, in community and in smaller groups, until strength flowed through our veins and our hearts beat in unified, bold rhythms.

Then men from my father’s Levite family brought out the sacred garments of the priesthood, along with our tithes and the firstfruits of the harvest—offerings that would ordinarily have been deposited at the Temple. One of the Levites raised his hands and lifted his voice to heaven: “What shall we do with these? Where shall we take them? Your sanctuary is trampled down and profaned, and your priests mourn in humiliation. And behold, the Gentiles are assembled against us, coming to destroy us. You know what they plot against us. How will we be able to withstand them, if you do not help us?”

The hot air shivered into bits as the sound of the shofar reminded us that HaShem was Judge over all and He would grant us the victory.

A priest from my father’s tribe brought out a copy of the sacred Torah, a scroll Gentiles had desecrated with ribald paintings of Greek gods. The sight of such blasphemy was enough to stir my men to action. Their faces flushed as they sprang to their feet, and I stood along with them.

“The enemy is a day’s journey from us, so we must be ready. Do not listen to those who speak of numbers, of military might, and impossible odds,” I called to the assembly. “Our God will go forth to fight for us. In the past, with Moses and Joshua and Samuel and David, it was Adonai our God who fought on our behalf. He allotted land between the Jordan and the Great Sea to us for an eternal inheritance. Adonai our God will thrust the enemy out ahead of us and drive them out of our sight, so we will possess the land, as Adonai our God promised.”

Insects whirred from the desert trees as I paused to gather my thoughts.

“So be very firm about keeping and doing everything written in the book of the Torah of Moses and not turning aside from it, either to the right or to the left. Then we will not become like those nations around us. Do not even mention the name of their gods, let alone have people swear by them, serve them, or worship them; but cling to Adonai as you have done to this day. This is why no one has prevailed against us and why one of us has chased a thousand—it is because Adonai our God has fought on our behalf, as He said He would.”

Murmurs of agreement rose around me, a ceaseless hum of cooperation.

“Therefore take great care to love Adonai our God. Prepare your heart for battle tomorrow morning, and prepare your sword for action. And do not forsake the Law of the Lord.”

Our meeting ended, not with a roar but with broken whispers and heartfelt cries as thousands of men lifted their voices and begged Adonai to bless His people and heal our land.

Alerted by reports that the enemy had already camped outside Emmaus, I did not let my men settle at Mizpah, but immediately led them on the long march to Emmaus. We walked silently and steadily as the sun lowered, moving quickly as we followed a little-known southern road that was rife with opportunities to turn an ankle or fall into a ravine. The journey would have taken an average traveler a full day, yet we covered the distance in a few hours, then slowed our pace. After moving through a narrow pass, we finally reached the bare hill country around Emmaus where we could see the camp of the Seleucid army. We bedded down in the brush to sleep for a few hours, watching the glow of the enemy’s campfires.

The next morning we rose under a cloak of darkness and girded ourselves with determination. My captains reported their readiness, and I offered a last word of encouragement. “Strap on your weapons and be valiant,” I told them. “Be strong to fight these Gentiles who have assembled to destroy us and our sanctuary. It is better for us to die in battle than to see the continued misfortunes of our people and our Temple.”

“Do you really—” Jonathan’s voice wavered—“do you really think we can do this?”

“I do.” I lifted my gaze to heaven. “May His will be done here today.”

What Adonai did—how He preserved us—surprised even me.

I later learned what our enemy had done the day before. While my men and I prayed for HaShem’s deliverance, a Gentile scout from the Jerusalem citadel spotted us and hurried to Gorgias, the Seleucid commander, with news of our gathering at Mizpah. Gorgias, hoping to attack us while we slept, took five thousand of his best men and followed the scout over the northern road to Mizpah. Though we traveled on two different roads, at some point we passed in the night, each army unaware of the other. When Gorgias entered Mizpah at sunrise and found it deserted, he laughed and told his captains we were cowards who had fled at their approach.

Yet at that same hour, I stood outside the Gentile camp with my army of three thousand. The Seleucid camp appeared strong and well fortified. I knew thousands of armored and highly trained soldiers slept within its perimeter, and most of my men were armed with javelins, pitchforks, and slingshots.

I climbed onto a boulder to address them. “My brothers”—I couldn’t stop a smile from stealing over my face—“the hour has come. As you look upon the enemy, do not fear their numbers or be afraid when they charge. Remember how our fathers were saved at the Red Sea, when Pharaoh and his forces pursued them. So let us cry to heaven, to see whether He will favor us, remember His covenant with our fathers, and crush the army before us today. Then all the Gentiles will know there is One who redeems and saves Israel.”

I would have laughed if I had known that we were looking at the remnant of the Gentile army, a sleepy force that was still abed. As the trumpeters blew their horns, our warriors fell on the Seleucids in their tents, attacking them exactly as the Gentiles had planned to attack us. Though the Seleucids were quick to strap on swords and grab their shields, they were no match for us.

Most of them fled as we fired their tents. My men followed, breathlessly chasing the enemy through the wilderness. Some Seleucids ran as far as the fortress of Gezer. Others fled to Jamnia and Ashdod, a day’s journey from the battlefield. Those who did not run were slain by the sword.

Yet we had not struck the first blow when I realized something was missing from the scene—horses. The Seleucids always used mounted soldiers, and I spotted only a few mules in the camp. Gorgias’s mounted fighters were missing.

The shock of discovery hit me like a blow. Since Gorgias and his army were somewhere in the hills, they were certain to see the smoke from burning tents and supplies. The general would realize that he had left his camp as an appetizer for our army, so he would rush back to defend the remnant.

We had to be ready for them.

I told the lookouts to blow the trumpets and recall our men. When most of them had returned, I gathered them around me.

“We are not finished,” I warned. “Be not greedy of the spoils, as the real battle still looms before us. Gorgias and his five thousand are coming. When they arrive, stand against them and fight, and afterward we will seize the plunder boldly.”

I ordered my captains to position their men in lines around the perimeter of the camp, to stand with weapons ready and eyes on the surrounding hills. Within an hour we saw enemy soldiers emerging from the mountain paths.

But Adonai had already won the battle for us. At the sight of our men standing before their burning tents and fallen comrades, panic overcame the Seleucids. They ran back into the hills even more quickly than they had arrived.

When at last the hills went silent and still, we looked around the ruined camp. Philander had spoken truthfully when he mentioned that merchants would be traveling with the soldiers. At least a dozen traders had been in the camp we attacked, and they had fled at the first sign of trouble, leaving all their valuable goods behind.

“Was this an army?” Eleazar asked, his arms filled with bolts of blue silk and Tyrian purple. “It looks more like a marketplace.”

I nodded grimly, remembering that the traders had come to add the people of Israel to their list of goods. How appropriate that Adonai should reward us with the treasures of those who wanted to sell us into slavery.

On our return to Mizpah, we sang hymns and lifted praises to heaven, for HaShem was good and His mercy endured forever.

War became our business, our daily work, and our lives. Though I granted leave to small groups so they could tend their crops and check on their families, I could not forget Philander’s warning of three generals who were advancing toward us. We had defeated the first at Emmaus, but two others were on their way.

I moved our camp to a watershed near Jerusalem, an area of high ground from which all the roads to our capital were visible. The next general with his eye on the holy city might come from any direction, but we would see him before he arrived.

I did not think the next attack would come from the west—we had already defeated one army on that approach. Over the next few days, my scouts at the northern and western lookouts remained silent, but scouts from the south soon appeared in camp, their eyes wide and their reports urgent. General Lysias had entered Judea, they reported, and his army was at least sixty thousand strong—swelled, apparently, by levies raised on his march and the stragglers who fled from Seron’s and Gorgias’s armies. Considering the fate of those two generals, Lysias had skirted the western passes leading to Jerusalem and was advancing toward the southern ascent where travel was easier.

I was not surprised by his decision; I might have done the same thing.

I transferred my men to the high ground at the southernmost point, where we waited for signs of the dust cloud that would arise from the movements of such a large force.

As I waited, I often sat in my tent and thought of Leah. She had not been happy when my brothers and I left Modein, but I hoped she had been heartened by news of our first victory. I knew she had to be worried about giving birth, but she had both of our mothers and my sisters-in-law to help, so she would not be alone. But some things could not be foreseen, and sometimes trouble descended for no apparent reason. Would my wife be alive when I returned? And if so, would she forgive me for not being with her during her time of travail?

Most important, would she ever be happy with me again? Her sweetness had evaporated when we went to war, and her gentle and kind spirit had not returned. Whenever I spoke of the struggle she turned away; when I went out to drill with other men, she painted on an agonized expression that did not fade until the next day—and only then if no one reminded her of the army of Israel.

I couldn’t understand why she so adamantly opposed our struggle. She had explained her hatred of her father’s violence, but I was not her father and I had never struck her. So from where had her dislike sprung? And why had HaShem allowed me to marry a woman who hated what He had called me to do? I thought of Job’s wife, who had been a thorn in his side when the Lord allowed him to suffer a grievous reversal of fortune. Hosea’s wife had been a torment, not a helper, and even Eve, mother of all mankind, had dealt Adam a serious blow.

Why would the Creator of the universe give men wives who proved to be their undoing? Was life not hard enough?

I was about to put the question to Simon when a shout distracted me. I thrust my head out of my tent in time to see men pointing toward the southern horizon.

Dust. The Seleucids were on their way.

They were so far in the distance we could see nothing clearly, but I knew how quickly they advanced and how many were coming. They were marching over the plain of Epah, where the Philistines had challenged Saul and David. They would be hot and thirsty after this journey, and their scouts would tell them about the spring under the rocky escarpment near Beth-zur. That site would appeal to them, and from that settlement the Seleucids could simply continue marching northeast and within a few hours they would be in Jerusalem.

I covered my head and lifted my hands in prayer: “Blessed art thou, O Savior of Israel, who did crush the attack of the mighty warrior by the hand of your servant David, and did give the camp of the Philistines into the hands of Jonathan, the son of Saul, and the man who carried his armor. So hem in this army by the hand of your people Israel, and let them be ashamed of their troops and their cavalry. Fill them with cowardice, melt the boldness of their strength, and let them tremble in their destruction. Strike them down with the sword of those who love you and let all who know your name praise you with hymns.”

When I had finished praying, I turned and looked at the captains around me. “Brothers, gather your men. We are marching to Beth-zur, and we will be singing hymns on the way. We will meet a few thousand thirsty Gentiles at the spring, but we will not let them drink.”

The captains cheered, then stalked away to alert their companies.

As we marched to Beth-zur, I realized that I no longer led a small band of warriors. Our victories at Beth-horon and Emmaus had given the people such confidence that our ranks had swelled to over ten thousand. Our people had finally begun to understand that HaShem was the only real God, and He loved Israel. With Him as our leader, who could stand against us?

I looked at the rugged hills we had just left and thought of David, the young shepherd who had killed Goliath on the plain we were approaching. We were ten thousand and the Seleucids were sixty thousand, plus cavalry, but we had the strength of HaShem. We might appear as David to a mighty Goliath, yet we were not afraid.

Just before we reached Beth-zur, I halted the men and sent the archers to the front. “The enemy has been marching toward the spring as we marched to them,” I reminded my captains. “They are tired and desperate for water. So fight with all your might and do not give ground. We are all that stands between these Gentiles and the holy city.”

The army of Israel rose to the challenge. We could barely see the distant army when we reached the spring. We watered our men and animals, then we advanced and resolutely approached the invaders. When we were close enough to see individuals in the enemy vanguard, our archers released a rain of arrows, which took out the men in the Gentile’s front line and terrified the remainder. They did not flee as they had in the past, but launched a desperate attack that our men quickly repelled.

When the battlefield cleared, we counted over five thousand dead Seleucids, Assyrians, and Samaritans. My own men—bloodied and bruised, but victorious, thanks be to HaShem—picked through the spoils, each man taking a fair share of horses and treasure, food and fine garments.

A feeling of deep peace and satisfaction settled over me as I watched my men reap their reward. We had defeated a governor’s militia, a general’s force, and a king’s army. Antiochus, wherever he was, could no longer think of us as rebellious vassals. We were Isra’el, we were supported by the hand of our God, and we would defend our Law—the code that governed our nation—even at the cost of our lives.

Our people would no longer be the king’s to torture and destroy.

I turned to my captains, who looked at me with expectant, sweat-stained faces. “Men,” I said, a joyous tremor filling my voice, “our enemies are vanquished. Let us go up to Jerusalem and cleanse the sanctuary of our God.”