new biblefic, for fanfic100
Title: And None Was Left But the Tribe of Judah Alone
Author: Frostfire
Rating: PG
Words: 995
Prompt: 025--Strangers

Thanks to thecomfychair for on-the-spot beta-ing!

Note: In 738 B.C., King Menahem of Israel submitted to the Assyrian Empire by voluntarily paying tribute to the emperor, Tiglath-Pileser III. Menahem remained loyal to his death, and was succeeded by his son, Pekahiah, who ruled for only two years before being assassinated and replaced by his captain, Pekah, who was supported by an anti-Assyrian faction. Israel then entered an on-again, off-again war with Assyria, which ended with its destruction and transformation into the Assyrian province of Samaria in 720 B.C.

He's never had such an odd assignment as this, before.

He bows to the wisdom of the Great King in all things, of course, but he's beginning to doubt his suitability, here in this odd tiny country-of-the-Omrides, Israel. Such strange customs. Such fanciful background. Such bizarre fascination with their brothers-to-the-south, Judah. He has yet to understand what the precise relationship is, beyond the brief history given to him, that they once were one country, and now are two.

And their gods—well.

He has gone out on the streets, pretending to be from Tyre—Absar the young merchant, visiting on behalf of his father—or Damascus—Jeiel the noble’s son, who wants to see new places—asking priests how they worship in this land. The court is useless; all they will say is, “Hail to the Great King of Assyria, son of Assur, the God of all.”

Obedient, yes, and he certainly approves of the sentiment, but quite uninformative.

On the streets, he gets—well, he certainly gets more answers.

“I am a priest of Ba’al,” says one. “Don’t ask me about the Judahite God. Go there, to Amnon down the street.”

“Yahweh is a god of miracles,” says Amnon. “He created the world and all those in it. He rules over all gods; the power of Ba’al and Marduk are as nothing before him. Turn your face to Yahweh. Sacrifice a fine bull to him, and perhaps he will not strike you down with all Israel and Judah. The day is nigh. The enemy comes!”

Priestly rhetoric. Israel breeds prophets and fanatics, it seems, and none of them know to hold their tongues. He makes a note to advise someone to advise someone to advise someone to advise the Great King to stay out of Israel. Executions are a messy business.

A third priest is more radical still. “Only one God,” he says.

“Only one?” Absar the Tyrian merchant is a guileless and naïve persona; he raises his eyebrows high. “I have never heard such a thing in my life.”

“You have been hidden from the truth, preached to falsely, given idols of wood and stone. Yahweh is the one God, the only God. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob-who-was-called-Israel is above us, all around us, and needs no idols, no vessels of clay and tawdry jewels, nothing but the worship and obedience of his people, the Israelites.” The priest frowns thunderously through his beard.

He has to wonder what Assur thinks of this. Have Yahweh and Assur met in the heavens, had meals or discussions, fought battles?

Absar turns thoughtful. “But may others not worship him, if his chosen people is Israel alone? If he is the one God, surely he does not turn away all the world-his-creation. May I worship Yahweh despite my father’s Tyrian house?”

“Yahweh welcomes all worshippers,” says the priest. “But you must obey his law, keep yourself from uncleanly acts, act in accordance with his wishes, or he will surely strike you dead.”

Odd, he thinks, Yahweh’s laws are unknown to me, and yet I remain unstricken.

Absar the Tyrian thanks the priest, and after a small hesitation, gives him money. One God. Such a religion needs donations, or it will surely wither away and die.

The Judah mystery becomes clear during a fascinating hour spent in the marketplace, listening to an ancient woman telling the story of Abraham father of nations, of his son Isaac and his son Jacob-who-is-called-Israel, and all of his sons, among whom are such recognizable names as Ephraim, Levi, and Judah.

He gives the woman a handful of shekels, and leaves with his mind full of strange Israelite history. Two days later, he returns, and listens attentively as she tells him the story of Moses and the Israelites in Egypt.

All of Canaan, given to them by Yahweh. How…intriguing.

She calls him a nice young man and tells him to return for the story of David. He gives her more money and looks forward to the next meeting all through his interminable audience with the king, who is both mad and boring, an unfortunate coincidence. He much prefers the kingdom to the man.

He nearly laughs in delight at the story of David. A shepherd boy, given power by Yahweh to slay a giant and ascend the throne of Israel. How lovely. And his son, wise beyond age and rich beyond dreams. He does not wonder why, with so powerful a god and such great men as kings, Israel separated itself from the dynasty of David; for now, at least, he will not insult the story.

Later, when his pleasure and amusement have faded, he seeks out another storyteller, whose accent is not quite so southern as the ancient woman’s, and hears of the terrible tyrants David and Solomon, and the hero Jeroboam, who saved Israel from an eternity of heavy taxes and forced labor.

People and their folk heroes. No land can subsist without them. Even in Nineveh they have their ancient figures-larger-than-life, but Israel…Israel is unique.

He goes home from the day of storytelling, wondering how to use this new information, wondering which of the court believes what and who will admit to doing so.

But that night he is roused from the bed—“The king has been assassinated, and Pekah the traitor has been put on the throne!”—and has no more time for stories.

~~~

Later, though, after all has been tried and failed, and he knows that Israel has angered the Great King beyond measure, he prepares for suicide and thinks that it is sad, that this place with its legends and its God and its people with their odd conviction that they are chosen, chosen above all—that this place, Israel, will be leveled to the ground.

It is sad, he thinks. I would have liked to have visited Judah, someday. Perhaps the sister to the south will survive. Perhaps someday the Israelites will rise again.

end