Sample Chapter

 

The Maccabee Kids

By Neil Heilpern

 

Chapter 2 – Stopped by the Bully Soldiers

 

            “We better hurry home,” said Avraham. “We only have two hours left before Shabbat begins and Imma needs our help with the bread and honey cakes.”

            They stepped up their pace, imagining the kitchen and their mother’s marathon cooking experience to prepare all the meals for the Sabbath. Doing any work was forbidden from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday, the period of Shabbat. It was a time to take the mind off everyday matters and reflect on God’s loving Presence. If people worked all the time, without a break, they wouldn’t have time to think of the Holy One who created everything and helps them deal with life.

            Each time the children’s feet hit the ground, dust flew up from the street’s cobblestones, which didn’t seem to have any real pattern. They walked as fast as they could without spilling any water. Avraham liked to count the houses they passed. It was his way of measuring how much closer they were to getting home.

            Tziporah noticed how some of her neighbors put colorful, potted plants outside their doors or on window sills. These seemed to brighten up their world, which was often drab and sad.

            The town’s houses used to have pretty pastel colors, but the presence of the Syrian soldiers made everyone unhappy and people just didn’t feel like cleaning their outside walls any more.

            The sun was getting lower, shining long spears of light between the houses. First, the children would be in shadow, then light, then shadow and light again as they walked from one house to another. They liked when the sun’s rays hit their faces.

            The street started up a small hill towards their home and their steps became shorter as the water buckets felt heavier. They stopped in front of Yitzhak’s house to place their loads on the ground for a moment while they got better grips on the handles.

            Picking up his bucket, Tziporah’s brother said, “We’re almost home. I think dinner will be . . .”

            Avraham froze!

            His heart seemed to skip a beat.

            The wide patch of sunlit ground just beyond the nearby building was now covered by an odd-shaped shadow that seemed to be moving in their direction. He stared as the one shadow became three distinct shadows. The loud footsteps and deep, scorning laughter were almost upon them. The children looked into each other’s eyes, brows scrunching together as if to signal they were both aware of trouble approaching.

            The powerful Syrian soldiers rounded the corner, spotted the two water bearers, and noticed Tziporah and Avraham arching their heads up to look at them. In a moment of silence, the enemies stared at each other. Then, one of the soldiers pointed to the youngsters and laughed.

            “Look! A couple of water buckets with little feet.”

            The other soldiers joined in the laughter.

            Another looked back and forth from Avraham to Tziporah and back to Avraham again. He started a sneer on his face and spoke gruffly.

            “Rushing home to sing your stupid Jewish songs? Watch out. We might pay you a surprise visit.”

            He grabbed the hilt of his sword and rattled it slightly, just to watch the children recoil in fear. The Syrian seemed to enjoy creating fear in others.

            The tallest soldier smiled out of one corner of his mouth. The other side of the mouth was quite rigid as he waited for their response.

            “We’re just getting water for our family,” said a slightly defiant Avraham.

            “I’ll bet even soldiers like you did things for your mothers back in your own land when you were young,” said a determined Tziporah.

            The tall soldier cocked his head to the side and down, remembering his parents and feeling a little homesick. Yet, he kept a mean face towards the children, so they wouldn’t see his soft side.

            “Well, get home quickly,” he said. “And make sure you follow all our rules or you’ll be sorry.”

            Although they were tired from carrying the heavy water buckets, Avraham and Tziporah seemed to easily quicken their pace. The pale pink house was never a more welcome site.

            Avraham looked up at the doorpost and saw the mezuzah covering, touching it with two fingers and kissing his fingertips to make sure he stayed connected to the prayer inside the little container. He remembered the Passover story and how every Jewish home in Egypt once put lamb’s blood on their doorposts so the Angel of Death would pass over their home to spare the children of that time from a certain death.

            He looked forward to Passover and the retelling of the Jews’ freedom from slavery. “If only we could be free from these bully soldiers,” he thought as the two entered their home.

 

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