Daughter of Lachish. Tim Frank
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bellowed in front of the carts, the donkeys snorted as they were hurried along, the sheep called to their young as flocks were herded together. The goats bleated in protest. The excited shouts of children mixed with the determined commands of men, the crying of babies with the calming words of women and the busy hisses of girls herding the animals.
Meshullam dragged the donkey behind him and made sure he kept his younger brother Shimei in sight. Mother would be furious if anything happened to her baby. Shimei was a good brother, really, but Meshullam thought that Mother spoiled him too much. She always fussed over him.
Now he ran off again!
“Hey! Shimei, come back here!”
Shimei reluctantly came back from behind the bush where he seemed to have discovered something.
“Why?” he asked.
Meshullam didn’t give an answer, just looked at Shimei and said, “Come along.”
Shimei trotted beside the donkey for a while. Soon he had his hands on the load, fiddling with the ropes. The animal turned its head in protest.
“Leave it!” Meshullam yelled.
“Why?” Shimei grabbed hold of a bag and hung onto it, swinging his legs under the donkey. With a sudden jerk the load shifted, Shimei let go and fell hard on his bottom. The donkey stopped. Luckily the load had not fallen off. But Shimei started crying.
“I told you to stop it,” Meshullam snapped.
Shimei only cried louder. Some of the older men that passed them looked at Shimei in disapproval.
“Be quiet!” Meshullam told Shimei.
Shimei did reduce his volume somewhat but continued crying. Meshullam busied himself securing the load again. There were also jars on the donkey’s back. What if they had fallen and broken?
Shimei finally calmed down and they were ready to join the drawn-out group again when they saw Mother and the girls coming. Shimei ran towards her, seeking comfort from her. She set down the bundle she carried, took him up in her arms and embraced him.
“What is it Shimei? What has happened?”
Shimei just buried his face in her dress and put his arms around her neck.
“He thought it was funny to hang from the donkey and drag the load down. When it shifted he fell and hit his bottom. That’s why he’s crying,” Meshullam told her.
“But Shimei! Don’t you know you shouldn’t do that?” she scolded him gently. She hugged him again tightly and set him down. Picking up her bundle she told him to go with Meshullam again.
“We’re walking a long way today, Shimei. Just stay with Meshullam.”
Somewhat unwillingly Shimei went to Meshullam and walked along behind him. At least for a while he was quiet.
* * *
Rivkah let her eyes rest on the horizon for a moment. Across the hills the city of Mareshah was clearly visible. The mound rose prominently among the dark-green belt of olive groves surrounding the city. In a land dried out by the summer heat, the trees provided a stark contrast to the brown fields and pasture around them. The whitewashed houses of Mareshah stood out in this landscape. Rivkah had taken the street outside the citadel yard today to walk to the well. Under her arm she carried the empty jar. She always enjoyed this view over the hill country. The rolling hills, wide open spaces and then this city on a mound that looked nearly symmetrical. She knew the place wasn’t as large as Lachish, not as well-fortified. Most people here didn’t speak well of Mareshah at all. It was considered a cultural backwater, a “peasant hole.” Still, it looked pretty from the distance.
Rivkah wondered whether they were harvesting their olives this year. Or did the Assyrians combing the countryside prevent it? At least the olive trees were still standing. Around Lachish the Assyrians had chopped down the trees and destroyed all the orchards. Maybe the same disaster would yet strike Mareshah.
As Rivkah walked further down the street, the city wall and nearby houses blocked the view over the landscape. Pushing any musings about Assyrians or neighboring cities out of her mind she quickened her step. Not far to the well now. She noticed a few other women ahead of her on their way to get water. She followed them down the steps to the northeast corner of the city. A tower guarded this section of the city wall. The well was in its basement.
* * *
Rivkah placed the water jar on her head. She had listened long enough to the chatter of the women at the well. Everyone talked about the siege these days. Some thought that they would be able to hold out, that help would arrive from Jerusalem or from Egypt. Others believed that they were all doomed to die, that the Assyrians would conquer the city. One woman even thought that this was the calamity foretold by the prophets. Rivkah shuddered. Was there no hope?
She did not like this war. Nothing was the same anymore. All the life had gone out of the city. The little shops along the main road were all closed. In the past she had stopped and looked at the jewelry. How she had longed to get one of those bangles. She had watched the potter shape the clay on the wheel. Back then, the little shops and street vendors had been eager to sell their food. The farmers had brought their produce to the market. The fresh milk had tasted so good. And the fruit! Now, they just lived on a meager ration of twenty shekels of grain per person per day. A few lentils and a small, bony piece of meat each week provided the only variety. She was starving.
Few people were out on the street. They did not linger, afraid of being exposed to enemy fire. To the right the citadel’s walls rose high above the city’s humble houses. When Rivkah passed the gates she could see the activity in the citadel. It was the command centre in the defense effort. From the citadel the commander issued orders. From here soldiers were dispatched to the fighting. Here the garrison was stationed. Provisions and weapons were stored here.
The townspeople had to come here for their daily rations. Even though the commander discouraged people from congregating at the citadel, a few milled around the gate. They were anxious to get food to provide for their families. They came to get some comfort in this place. Here they felt some safety. Nobody greeted Rivkah. They seemed too absorbed in their own misery.
As Rivkah walked on down the main street, she suddenly noticed a little boy staring at her. He was standing at the side of the road, pressed against a house wall, looking up with big dark eyes. She wasn’t sure what she read in his face. Fear? Surprise? Or was it a guilty conscience? He seemed somewhat disorientated and unsure. Just as Rivkah was about to ask him what he was doing all alone on the street and where did he live, a young woman came running down the road. When she saw the boy she clapped her hands in relief and shouted, “Here you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Yotam. What are you doing here?”
The boy’s eyes left Rivkah and he looked at his mother. He pulled up his shoulders, uncertain how to respond. But then a smile crossed his face. The woman scooped him up and carried him in her arms. He let it happen and then snuggled against her as he wrapped his thin arms around her neck. The woman turned and hurried back down the road. Over her shoulder the boy looked at Rivkah again. In his eyes there was no longer any hint of fear.
Rivkah didn’t know whether the woman had even looked at her. She must be one of the refugees from the countryside. Many villagers had sought refuge in the heavily fortified city of Lachish as they heard about the advance of the Assyrian army. The people were poor and did not wear any nice clothing or jewelry. They had had to leave most of their meager possessions behind when they abandoned their houses.
With their arrival, the emergency stores of the city had to last for even more people, but they were a welcome addition to the defense effort. And they did work hard, always willing to help where needed. The houses had become even more crowded accommodating them. Of course, people got annoyed and tempers sometimes flared. But they coped. They had to. After all this was war. Their only hope was in a joint effort to resist the enemy until help arrived, whether from heaven or from earth.
Rivkah’s father was busy at work. He did not fight on the walls. He supported