The sun was hovering over the
waters as Jeriah made his way home.
Casting myriads of orange and purple hues on the shimmering coastal
water of the Mediterranean, the sunsets of Joppa were a spectacular site. The
clamor and bellows of dockhands began to fade with time as the workers all left
their posts at one of the many docks on the water and began the daily travels
home to be with their families. It was the end of another sweltering day, and
Jeriah rubbed the life back into his sore, rough hands. He had the grizzled
hands of a working man with scars and ridges that told stories of day after day
of unloading crates and shipments of wheat and barley. The toned muscles that snaked down his tan arms came from days of
hard work and heavy lifting and made his 6’3” figure look even more
threatening. A statue of him would fit right alongside a Greek god.
Jeriah
squinted out over the sea one last time as he turned inland down towards the
market district of Joppa. His pace quickened as he saw shopkeepers packing up
their wares and closing down wooden stalls before heading inside for the
evening. The recent riots between several of the Jews and non-Jews were
becoming more frequent and violent and an unfamiliar tension had settled over
the city. The merchants felt the effects of the violence and had been packing
up and going home earlier in the afternoon to escape the dangers lurking in the
streets at night. Jeriah hurried up to one of the bread stalls that hadn’t
completely closed down and picked up two of the elongated loaves.
“2 drachma. You’re
lucky, I was just starting to close down,” the shopkeeper held out his hand to
accept the coins.
“Thank you much.
My family is thankful. Have a safe evening,” Jeriah took out two drachma from
his small pouch of coins and dropped them into the merchant’s hand. The two
loaves had lost the fresh scent of bread from sitting outside all day and felt
stale. His son and wife would be grateful anyway.
Jeriah hurried
through the rest of the small gathering of merchants and continued down a side
street towards his home. A small group of men having a hushed discussion caught
his eye, but as Jeriah neared, the conversation drifted into silence. He
shifted the bread into his left hand, freeing his right hand in case he needed
to show the small knife attached to his left hip. The group of men, clearly
non-Jewish in dress, eyed him with contempt as he passed and Jeriah heard the
discussion resume as he rounded the corner and opened the door to his modest
home.
“Abba!”
Jeriah’s son Armon squealed with delight when his father walked through the
door. Jeriah tussled his son’s curly brown hair and bent down to kiss the boy
who was now wrapped around his leg in embrace. Abigail, Jeriah’s wife, glided
smoothly up to her husband and sidled up to his right side, embracing him and
pecking his cheek.
“My
husband, the bread-bearer,” she quipped as she grabbed the loaves out of his
hands. She felt the rough texture of the stale bread and looked quizzically at
Jeriah. “These were baked this morning.
Have the riots been scaring the bakers away early?”
“Yes,
everyone’s nervous about the violence. I barely made it to the shops before it
was too late. I’m sure there have been robberies that have forced the bakers to
close their ovens earlier and stay inside.”
A
mixture of concern and fear flashed across Abigail’s beautiful face. Maybe the
tension was worse than she imagined. News of the Maccabean rebellion reached
Joppa within the past month, and Jews had suddenly become targets of
aggression. She trusted Yahweh’s protection over the family, but even good
people like Job faced oppression and she couldn’t help but worry about the
violence reaching their home.
“Daddy,
I’m hungry. Can we eat now?” Armon’s smile took over his tiny face as he stared
up at his father. Jeriah laughed as he scooped his son up and carried him over
to the mat on the floor. He set the boy down before returning his wife’s kiss
and reclining at table.
“Armon,
can you say the prayer, please?”
The
four-year old clasped his hands together and squeezed his eyes shut as he
began, “Yahweh is God. Yahweh alone…”
*****
Jeriah’s
eyes shot open as he awoke to screaming. He bolted upright in bed and looked
out the window towards the street. Fire raged out of the house down the street
as people frantically ran towards the docks.
“Jeriah?
What’s going on?” Abigail wrapped herself in her shawl and picked up Armon, who
was still fast asleep, before joining her husband by his side.
“Another
riot. This one looks fairly bad, we need to go.”
“What?
Go where? What are you talking about?” Abigail searched her husband’s face with
a fear she had never known. She told herself the riots wouldn’t escalate to
this, but she knew it was only a matter of time.
“Your
family in Lydda. We need to leave Joppa and go to Lydda because it’s too
dangerous here and Lydda will be much safer. Grab what you need for a few days
of travel. We need to leave now.”
Frantic, Abigail
silently set Armon back down and began hurrying around the house trying to
think clearly enough to pack what their family would need. A scream from
outside shattered her thinking and she lost her concentration as tears silently
filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She ran around the small two-room
house throwing things together and whispering prayers of deliverance and safety
to Yahweh, who she was convinced had forgotten them. Armon had awoken to the
scream and was sobbing as he ran to his mother’s legs and wrapped himself in
the folds of her garment for protection.
“Momma, what’s
happening?” His tear-stained face peeked out underneath her robe as she firmly
pushed him aside and rushed past him.
“We’re leaving,
baby. Get your blanket and your toy camel daddy carved for you.” Armon was
scared to go back into the other room, but the sternness of Abigail’s voice
told him it was better not to disobey.
“Abigail, now!”
Jeriah had brought the donkey from the stable down the road and it stood
outside the door braying and stamping in fright at the sight of the orange
flames consuming the neighbor’s door. Jeriah ran into his house to grab his
wife and son, but was suddenly shoved from behind and sprawled on the floor.
Abigail screamed and ran to protect her son.
Jeriah rolled over
and saw a brute of a man standing over him, raising a club ready to strike. His
legs instantly shot out like a spring and thudded into the man’s chest knocking
him backwards through the door and spilling him onto the street.
“Grab the donkey
and go, I’ll be right behind you!” Jeriah yelled to Abigail who clutched a
screaming Armon on one hip and traveling gear in a sack over her other shoulder.
Jeriah ran outside and pounced on his attacker. He swung his elbow into the
man’s chest knocking the wind out of him and dragged the man over to the door
where Abigail had just untied the donkey. The rope that had once tied the beast of
burden had been haphazardly forgotten on the ground and Jeriah, seeing his
opportunity, grabbed the rope and looped it through the window and back out the
door before tying it around the dazed man’s hands.
“I’ll
kill you, Jew!” The man spat vehemently into Jeriah’s face as Jeriah finished
his knot and stood to catch up to his terrified wife and son. As he ran down
the street away from the docks and towards the desert he heard the man’s
murderous threats.
“I’ll
kill you, scum! I’ll kill you!”
*****
Jeriah
and Abigail walked in silence as they left Joppa behind. They had made it two
miles from the city before they finally slowed to a relaxed pace and let the
donkey rest. Armon, who was sitting on the donkey along with the family’s
belongings, was exhausted from crying and had been rocked to sleep by the donkey’s
gentle plodding in the sand. The stars filled the night sky as the moon cast
their long, skinny shadows faintly across the tan landscape.
Abigail
was too shocked to speak and she walked alongside the donkey staring numbly
straight ahead. All she had known of her life with Jeriah had been left behind
and destroyed in the blink of an eye. The memories, the places, the names, and the
faces—all of them—were gone. She glanced over to her husband who stared silently
up at the night sky. He hadn’t said a word since they left the outskirts of the
city.
Jeriah
was pensive as he looked up at the night sky. His life was shattered and a new
life would have to be formed in Lydda with Abigail’s parents. Unanswered questions
swirled around his head. Even if his questions had answers he wasn’t sure he
wanted to hear them. What new life was waiting for them in Lydda? He sent
silent prayers up to the heavens hoping they would reach the ears of a God he
thought had disappeared.
Yahweh, where are you? Where’s your promised
Messiah? Have you forgotten your people? Send us your peace, Lord. Send us your
peace.
Little
did he know that 160 years later a Savior would be born in Bethlehem that would
forever change the course of human history.
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