Judah
We gathered in the fortress tower to share a meager meal and determine our next move.
“Don’t fret, brother.” Simon dropped into the empty chair at my side and grinned. “Have you forgotten the story of the widow’s stores of oil and flour? She fed Elisha every day, and her supplies did not diminish until the famine was over.”
I blew out a breath, not willing to argue with my brother. He had a point, but this was not a famine, and we had no prophet with us. What we did have were hundreds of hungry people, including children, wounded men, more than a dozen priests, and the residents of Beth-zur who had come to us for protection.
Our scant stores would not last the day. Though we had been rationing the bread, oil, and dried meat carefully, the women informed me that we were down to the last handfuls of grain. Tomorrow we would have nothing left but water and whatever we could obtain from the families who kept goats and chickens within the city walls.
I sat in Father’s place at the head of the table and glumly considered the family members who were not with us. Johanan and Neta were present, and for once Johanan’s wife did not complain about the skimpy ration before her. Simon sat at my right hand, as well he should, while Morit hovered over him, refilling his cup and reassuring him with occasional caresses of his shoulder. Jonathan sat at the opposite end of the table, occasionally reaching out to tousle the hair of Morit’s little boys.
Try though I might, I couldn’t help staring at the space we had left empty—the spot Eleazar should have filled. Ona worked with Leah, refilling our cups with water and making small talk to lift our spirits. Eleazar’s widow worked with her usual energy, but her eyes were red and her chin had a tendency to quiver. From the corner of my eye I saw Leah slip her arm around Ona’s waist, then she gave the woman a piece of bread, quietly suggesting that she eat something.
I caught Simon’s gaze and saw understanding in his eyes. He missed Eleazar, too, but he didn’t have to feel responsible for our brother’s death. I had encouraged Eleazar to attack that beast, and the burning rock of guilt in my gut wasn’t going anywhere.
I closed my eyes, my heart aching. I had imagined myself HaShem’s choice to lead Israel, but what good had I done Israel lately? We were hours away from losing our Temple, our holy city, and our freedom to worship HaShem. My efforts this time had accomplished nothing of lasting value.
Our morning conversation had not been encouraging. Jonathan asked about chickens—did we know how to increase egg production?—and Johanan reported on the number of men guarding the sanctuary. The number was even smaller than it had been yesterday, but I was not surprised.
“He was the first of us to die,” Simon said suddenly, looking at the place where Eleazar should have been sitting. “And yet he was the bravest.”
“He was trying to kill the king,” I added.
“He was attempting to show our men that elephants are not indestructible,” Simon said. “He accomplished that. Now we know where to strike—and we know to get out of the way before they fall.”
Jonathan stared into the candle flame. “He won a perpetual name for himself. He will always be remembered.”
“But he should be here. And it’s my fault he’s not.” I looked away and pressed my lips together. Thinking about Eleazar always brought a boulder to my throat, and I didn’t want my brothers to see weakness in me.
Simon shook his head. “Our lives are in HaShem’s hands. This struggle may require all our lives before it is done.”
I lifted my head. “Then I will pray I am the next to die. Because I cannot stand the thought of losing another brother.”
I turned at the sound of scuffling outside. The guard at the door spoke sharply to someone, then thrust his head into the room. “He says it’s urgent.”
A young man stepped in, his eyes wide.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Emissaries from the enemy are approaching the Fish Gate,” he said, his voice quaking. “What shall we do?”
I looked at Simon and lifted a brow. “Do you think they’ll offer to surrender?”
Simon’s smile deepened into laugher. “One can always hope, but I have to say it’s not likely. But we should at least go down and see what they want.”
“I know what they want,” I answered. “If Lysias wants to avenge his former king, he wants us dead. If not everyone in Jerusalem, then at least the sons of Mattathias.”
Simon shrugged. “He showed mercy to the people at Beth-zur. Perhaps he will show the same mercy to the people of Jerusalem.”
I glanced at Leah, who had halted in place with a basket in her arms. She was staring at the messenger and probably sharing my thoughts. The sons of Mattathias had reached the end. Perhaps we all had.
If this was to be our last day on earth, I prayed silently, then let it be only the men who must die.
“Leah.” I steeled my voice. “Take the other women and the children to one of the rooms upstairs. Go now, please.”
A ripple of despair moved across her face, but she did not argue. “Come,” she told the other women, setting her basket on the table as she reached for the children. “I think we will go to the very highest room. Would you like to count all the stairs? Perhaps we can look out the window while we are up there.”
When the women and children had gone, I stood and turned toward the doorway. “Brothers, we have guests. Let us greet them as warriors of Israel.”