names of friends and neighbors crowded her mind. In an incomprehensible babble a torrent of names burst from her lips. The names of her family were mixed up in the flow. Slowly the stream of names grew calmer, the torrent ebbed. She only mentioned a few names now, until at last she breathed only one name into the silence: “Mother . . . Mother . . . Mother.”
* * *
Meshullam thought he had heard somebody call his name. He forced himself awake and opened his eyes, staring into the blackness of the night. He listened carefully, but could hear only the breathing of his cousins and his little brother Shimei beside him. But yes, now he heard a voice calling somewhere far away. It was faint and no, it was not his name it was calling. Maybe it was a soldier on the walls, keeping watch during the night. It must have just been a dream.
But now he was awake and couldn’t get back to sleep again. Meshullam turned around and bumped into his cousin Michael on his right. Michael only grunted in his sleep and hardly moved. Meshullam turned back again. He drew his knees up to his body and turned to his other side. Why couldn’t he sleep? Carefully he got up and went to the door of the tiny room. Here in Jerusalem they were living in the small house of a family that had moved down from Samaria several years ago. There wasn’t much space. The house was as crowded as the rest of the city. The family of his uncle Nahshon lived in this house too and, of course, Grandfather.
Meshullam had not gotten used to the big city. Everything was so cramped, so close together, so crowded. It was worse than usual now. Thousands had fled to Jerusalem from the countryside. And now the Assyrians were outside the city, besieging the gates. Nobody could go in or out. Their life was bounded by the walls of the city, their movements enclosed by its gates. Meshullam longed to walk through fields again, to wander through orchards and hurry through scrub and forest. But he knew they could not have remained at home. It was too dangerous.
He wondered what was happening there now. Had the Assyrians already taken Moresheth-Gath? Had they destroyed the houses, torn down the walls, felled the fruit trees and olive groves? Had the Assyrians swept across the country and taken the towns and cities? Tonight he could not help but think of the cities that were under siege in the west, the people that hid behind walls that were not as well fortified as those of Jerusalem. Would they be able to hold out? If not, what would happen to them in the hands of the Assyrians? Reports of their cruelty had travelled ahead of the army. Could the people expect any mercy?
In the dark Meshullam uttered a short prayer: “LORD God, do not forsake your people, spare your wrath, be merciful.”
He stood still, then quietly returned to his place between his cousin and his brother. Sleep did not come quickly. This night, he had no peace.
* * *
House walls collapsed behind her as she ran through empty streets. Somewhere Rivkah could hear Kaleb bark. She tried to get to him, but was not sure which way to go. Where was he? Suddenly Bath-Shua was beside her, pressing her hand. “You must leave this city now. Run, my daughter, run!”
Rivkah wanted to ask her something but Bath-Shua was gone. Instead her hand held onto a burning post. She drew it back and started to run. Then she heard them behind her: the Assyrians! They were following her. She tried to run faster. But her feet seemed like stones. She could hardly move them. In agony and fear she cried out. They were closing in on her. Rivkah turned to confront her pursuers. The faceless form of a soldier thrust a metal blade into her stomach. She gasped with pain.
In shock Rivkah woke from her dream. Her whole body was hurting and her head ached. She got up slowly. Shivering with cold she drew her moist clothes tighter around her. She must have cried herself to sleep last night.
Now it was light. In the east the first rays of the sun crept over the hills. She fingered her Isis amulet. It gave her strength. She got up slowly. Hesitantly, Rivkah took a few steps: away from the conquered city and towards the sun. Her steps became firmer. She became aware of her dry throat. Her stomach felt empty. In search of food and water she walked on.
When Rivkah came to the top of another low hill she could see the rocks of a small stream in the shallow below. In the hope that she would find water she scampered down. To her disappointment the stream bed was dry. But Rivkah did not give up that easily. Clambering upstream she searched between the rocks and did indeed find a pool of stale water. She knelt down on the rocks beside the pool. Cupping her hands she brought the water to her mouth, drinking hastily.
Her thirst quenched, she continued up the stream. She walked slowly, not really having an aim. Yes, she was hungry, but where on earth could she get something to eat?
The sun stood high in the sky by now and was beating down on her. Rivkah sat down. She felt sick. Her stomach was churning. Lying down in the dry grass she just wanted to close her eyes and sleep. But scenes from the previous day’s disaster crowded her mind. The memory overwhelmed her. That wouldn’t do! She got up again, willing herself to do something—anything.
She walked on, further uphill. It was some time later when Rivkah—out of the corner of her eye—suddenly noticed a strange movement. She thought she had seen somebody. But no, she must have imagined it. Surveying the surroundings she couldn’t make out any trace of another being. Still nervous, she continued on.
“Hey, little girl, what are you doing here?”
The voice startled Rivkah. Frightened she wheeled around, her heart pounding. A man stepped from behind a bush. Rivkah stared at him.
He studied her. Then he nodded. “So, where are you going?”
“I . . . don’t know.” Rivkah couldn’t think of an answer.
“You don’t know. See, see. And where are you from?”
Rivkah was silent. She just looked at him. An unkempt beard surrounded his face. The head covering was wound over his ears and hair. He wore coarse, woolen work-clothes just reaching over his knees. A simple rope served as a belt. The sandals he wore seemed to consist more of patches than any original leather. The man came closer.
“Come on girl, speak to me. I just heard you talk plain Hebrew. Can’t be too difficult. Where do you come from?”
Rivkah looked at his eyes. They seemed kind. There was no anger, no cunning or malice in them. In fact, he looked anything but dangerous. Rivkah decided to trust him.
“From Lachish,” she managed to say.
“From Lachish? Isn’t the city surrounded by the Assyrians?”
Rivkah nodded.
“How did you get out then?”
“Through the breach in the city wall.”
“The breach in the city wall? What do you mean?”
“The one the Assyrians made,” she answered.
“They’ve entered the city then?”
“I fled from the burning city.”
“So the great city of Lachish has fallen?”
“Yes,” Rivkah confirmed quietly.
“Oh Lachish, your walls were thought to be impenetrable,
your gates were meant to repel any attack,
your steep slopes were told to
