That night, as they usually did during the six hot and dry months of the year, Seth and his family ate their evening meal in the courtyard. It was cooler and brighter outside. Seth liked it; he could stretch out a bit more. He didn’t even mind helping his mother lay out the round reed mat upon which they put the dishes of food.

Tonight there was baked fish and fresh bread. To Seth, the smell was better than any perfume. It would only fill his nostrils, though. The food itself, cooked with dill and garlic and onion, would also fill his stomach.

After the hot food, there were split, juicy melons to share. The sticky juice would run down his face and arms, and he would sprint down to the cool lake to wash it off. When he was younger, he liked playing in the dirt after eating a good melon. The dirt would stick to him in patterns and streaks. Then he and David and Joshua would chase after the smaller children until they screamed.

Seth looked at the spread and smiled. This was his favorite meal. I wonder if Mother made this on purpose for me?

When everything was ready, they all lay on their left sides. As required, Seth fingered the fringe at the bottom of his tunic to help him remember God’s commandments while his father prayed: “Thanks be to Him, the Lord our God, who has given us bread from the earth.”

“Amen,” the family said together.

Many times Seth didn’t feel close to this God. Yet when he prayed and let the knotted tassel that stood for the commandments of the Lord run through his fingers, he was again amazed that this powerful, almighty God had chosen the Israelites to be His people. Why would God choose them to give His law to? Why would He choose them to show His mighty power in battle after battle? It made Seth feel special and important. At these moments, nothing else mattered but God.

Tonight the moment of closeness flew as soon as he opened his eyes. Since his parents weren’t looking, Talitha threw him a smirk. He knew exactly what it meant. She thought he was going to get into trouble for whatever she’d told their mother earlier.

But this time her sassy look didn’t make him want to jump up and put his hands around her throat and shake some sense into her. This time when she smirked, he didn’t feel like his fist might smack her a good one. This time he had a secret of his own. He hoped his return smile was more of a sneer. I’m going to build a wall. So how do you like that one, my pesky sister?

His sister tried her aggravating look several more times, but his return smiles confused her. Soon she looked uncomfortable.

Good, thought Seth.

Next came evening prayers and discussion, which Seth usually loved. It was a time when he had his father practically to himself. He could ask stupid questions, and his friends wouldn’t laugh —only Talitha would. He could ask smart questions, and his friends wouldn’t think he was showing off. He could listen to the wisdom of the proverbs of King Solomon. He could give his ideas about the Messiah —who he might be and when he might come.

At those times Seth would try to imitate the gentle way his father moved his smooth, clean hands. Seth was proud of his father’s hands. Because they weren’t singed brown by the sun or hardened by manual labor, it meant his father was someone special, a respected elder in the community. Whenever he and his father walked through the village, and especially when they journeyed to towns farther away, Seth wanted to bring attention to his father’s hands so everyone would know how special he was.

But even though Seth looked forward to conversations with his father, he couldn’t seem to concentrate tonight.

“Esau gave up what?” Seth’s father asked him.

“His birthright,” Seth answered flatly.

“What was more important?” His father stroked his beard many times with his fine hands. Seth knew this meant he was getting frustrated.

“Food,” Seth said.

“Seth,” his father asked, “where are your questions? Where are your well-thought-out answers? The story of Jacob and Esau reminds us that God’s laws are higher than our ways. We must learn how placing the wrong things above the right things —even for a few moments —can hurt us for the rest of our lives.”

Seth nodded. But he wasn’t really paying attention.

His father ran his fingers through his curls, which were as thick as Seth’s. Seth knew this meant he was about to be dismissed.

“Seth,” his father said in his quiet tone, “if you cannot participate, perhaps it would be best for you to get along to bed.”

It was intended as punishment, but Seth was glad for it. He could lie on his bed and dream of the wall he would build. “Yes, Father,” he said.

He jumped up and moved from the courtyard toward the bedroom —a room just large enough for him and his sister to sleep in. With a thin wall in between, he thought. Passing Talitha on the way, he couldn’t miss the twist of her mouth and the light of pleasure in her eyes —as if she’d won some unspoken game.

Glancing back, he watched as his sister sat on the mat he’d just vacated. “Father,” she said, her voice filled with eagerness and wonder. “What do you think really happened at the Tower of Babel? Did families get to stay together?”

Talitha was thrilled to have Father all to herself. Tonight Seth didn’t care.

Entering the bedroom, he dropped to his lightly padded mat and lay on his back. He put his hands behind his neck and stared at the ceiling, not even trying to sleep. It was time to plan his wall.

He rolled over and lifted a few flagstones from the floor. He drew the outline of the wall in the dirt. He could see in his mind the digging he and his friends would do: They would laugh, and Joshua would get messy mixing the clay and water, and they would probably end up in a clay fight. David would drip with sweat, lifting heavy stones. They would work hard like real men.

It would be the best day.

Later, when Talitha tiptoed into the room, he pretended to be asleep. He was still awake when she fell asleep. Listening to his sister’s slow, easy breathing reminded him that soon he wouldn’t hear that anymore. He wouldn’t have to remember that his sister was in the room. He could stare at the wall and pretend.

Life was going to be sweet.

The next day in school, Seth kept yawning. His hands kept smacking together as if they had a life of their own. He’d get frustrated with them and sit on them. But that didn’t seem to help. Soon they’d be doing something else they shouldn’t.

His father, a very patient man, glanced at him occasionally, his eyes willing Seth to sit still and pay attention. But it seemed impossible. When Seth’s arms weren’t twining around each other, his toe drew invisible designs on the cobblestone floor.

Seth looked around at the class, twenty-three boys of all ages, as his father asked a question. “What was Joseph accused of doing?”

Several hands shot up. Seth bit his lip and watched his toe. He knew the answer. He’d answered this one before. But his mind was filled with walls. Walls of Jericho. Walls for the Egyptians. Walls of water. Now if Joseph had built a wall instead of . . . instead of . . . Why can’t I think of what it was he did?

“What was the result of his actions?” his father asked.

Seth stared at the raised hands around him. Who had answered the last question? What was the answer? He licked his dry lips. We need a water break, Father, he thought. That made him think about how much water they’d need to make the clay and dirt just right for building . . .

He looked over at David and Joshua, who also squirmed in their seats. He’d already told them about the wall. He looked at his father, who stroked his beard, and wondered whether the man would soon run his fingers through his hair and throw Seth and his friends out of synagogue school for the day.

That might not be such a bad thing, Seth thought. Then he sighed. If they left, the schoolwork would be difficult to make up.

Seth put on his best serious look. He drew his eyebrows together. He cupped his chin in his hand. He nodded when his father said something really important. But soon he discovered he was thinking about the height of the wall. Should they make it all in one day? Or would they have to let some of it dry before they began again? In the dark room, it would take longer to dry . . .

Hands went up and down around him. Voices spoke, brief moments of noise altering his thoughts.

“Joseph could have been stoned if the Law had already been in place,” one student offered. Stones. The best stones are along the shore just beyond where the boats rest.

“Joseph never got a chance to prove he didn’t do it,” someone said behind him. We all need a chance. A chance to dig. Joshua will want to dig the most. David will just get mad if he doesn’t get a chance.

His father’s voice ran smoothly, like a stream without rocks. Seth let it wash over him without penetrating his thoughts. The only thing that pulled him back was hearing his name.

“Seth? How long was Joseph in prison?”

Seth’s mouth went dry. He’d been caught.

Thinking fast, he decided that if he said some number confidently, it would at least look as though he’d been listening. “Six and one-half years.”

Seth’s father shook his head while the other boys snickered. “Please pay attention,” his father said.

Seth sighed. He had to obey. He was the only boy in class who’d have to deal with the results late into the night if he didn’t.

His father moved toward him and then stood right in front of Seth. He peered at Seth again, his eyes boring right into his son’s. The man stroked his beard, looking like a giant even though he wasn’t very tall. Seth gulped, waiting for the fingers to go through the curls. Nervously he ran his fingers through his own hair.

Finally his father broke into a smile. He bent down and said softly, “Pay attention.”

Seth nodded. He squirmed in his seat. It won’t be long now.