WHOOSH!
The wind swept about me, thrashing its finger in my face. Rain was coming. In Israel, the wet season was upon us. Seeing the storm clouds moving in, I began trudging wearily toward the house. As I gazed back at the crops, I sighed at how much work remained to be done when the rain stopped. But, I reminded myself, I ought to be thankful that I lived in my native country, when so many before me had lived in exile.
Just then, a figure burst through the gate at the end of the field, and came running straight in my direction.
“Judas!” the man yelled, clearly angered by something. “Go and gather your brothers together, and don’t tarry!”
My father, a priest, was vehement in tone, and whenever he got like this, it was wise not to question his authority. Quickly I turned to fetch my brothers, John, Simon, Eleazar, and Jonathan. Like any other boys, my brothers had their share of quarrels. As the middle child, somehow I always landed being the mediator. Once again, this proved true.
~
The news my father had for us was not happy. Israel had been commanded, under Antiochus Epiphanus, to conform to the culture of the pagans. We were to worship as the heathens, dress as the heathens – essentially, we were to be heathen. Moreover, my father, Matthathias, as a respected priest in Israel, was expected to be among the first to comply with this official order. Yet, being the godly patriarch he was, father wouldn’t go along with the heathens and certainly would not lead the people into sin. This burden was heavy, and caused us to lose ourselves to grief for many days. But, at last, we realized this could continue no longer. My father’s intention was to be a man of God, and each of us knew he would stay in God’s will.
With renewed vigor, our family marched along the way to Jerusalem, ready to greet the officials with a clear refutation.
~
“You wish to do what?”
The Seleucid general was clearly in disbelief, but my father remained calm.
“Must I live to see these days?”
Appalled at this show of disrespect toward the government, the soldier took a step closer to us. We, in fear, closed ourselves in tighter to one another.
“I will have no one in this land who does not obey the command of his own authorities!”
The s hissed through the man’s gritted teeth, giving him an aura of penetrating villainy, and a strong presence of regime throughout his enormous bulk. I felt a shiver run down my spine in full acknowledgement of the evil before me. Almost at once, our family exchanged glances, realizing the danger in which we placed ourselves.
“It is a small matter,” continued the man, “to alter your manner of worship.”
“Perhaps to you it is,” replied my father in his rather notorious vehemence, “but I see it not as you do. Indeed, if you change my practice in worship, you will take away my God whom I love. And if you do so, you shall have me exchange all my other daily practices for your own. No, this is no small matter. If this succeeds, may God be my deliverer!”
A cheer rose up behind me. Gladdened that someone was on our side, I turned.
My heart dropped. The cheer was not for my father’s courage in going before the government – no, it was far from that. A young man, a man I had played with in my childhood, a man from a god-fearing, honorable family, had chosen to side with the general.
Bowing down before an idol of the gentiles, my friend threw himself prostrate and began to pray, “Oh Zeus, most high and blessed above all the gods, the son of Kronos, husband to Hera, and father of Athena, Apollo, Dionysus, and the rest of the most beautiful divinities in Olympus: may your name be great forever.”
Disgusted, my father was filled with fury, as were the rest of my family and those few others who were faithful to Yahweh. Enraged at the denial of the Jewish people toward their God, and all they once held dear, it was apparent that my father was moved to wrath, tensing every muscle in his body. In this heat, my father erupted and began to slay all those worshippers who had left the Hebrew faith for pagan idolatry. Furiously, he swept through the crowd gathered in this square of Jerusalem, trampling those thrown prostrate before the graven images of the gods of the Greek-speaking peoples, tearing down these corrupt statues, and ending the lives of those who sought to defend this rebellion against the one true God. Catastrophe marked the scene in Jerusalem, and all were distraught. Still, my father Mattathias had one purpose: to serve the living God by fulfilling his holy call to lead the people of Israel n righteousness.
~
That day proved to be just the beginning of many great struggles between those Jews faithful to God, and those unfaithful. It was not long before my father took our family away to the hills, to be preserved against the pagan influences and harsh persecution we experienced in the city. Since then, we have remained here, a growing number of others joining us. My father’s wish is that someday Israel may be restored to her full glory, for the Lord has promised this to us. It seems more and more clear, however, that perhaps I am the one the Lord would have go before Israel while she waits, and renew her strength to endure. How I will do so, I know not, but one thing I do know: that this man Antiochus is wicked, and does not follow the true and living God.
I am afraid I must take leave of my writing, and tend to the fields. The work never ends around here, since we are so few in number. But, before I go, I must take one last look over the ridge where I sit. Ah, yes, over there, just in view near the horizon, is my hometown. If I blur my eyes, I can almost see the fields, and feel the wind whipping around my face. The rainy season is back in Israel; and maybe, just maybe – Yahweh’s cleansing rain will heal my people soon.
