Read Online Word Fulfilled, The by Bruce Judisch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bruce Judisch
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betray too much enthusiasm for the thought of returning to Nineveh. To the girl.
Hiram set aside his blade. “Something has changed in you.”
A nerve twitched in Jamin’s cheek. “Changed?”
“It was apparent to us shortly after you first arrived that you were not pleased to be here. We cannot offer the amenities of your father’s house in Aššûr. We perceived you were anxious to return home.”
Jamin could feel his cheeks flush. “I’m sorry if I came across as—”
“There’s no need to apologize.” Hiram’s eyes creased behind the kindly smile Jamin had come to love. “No offense was taken. Your aunt and I knew before you arrived that a young man accustomed to the comforts of a city such as Aššûr would likely become restless in the poor quarter of a lesser city. Nineveh was great once, and she is on the rise again, but she cannot compete with Aššûr for comfort . . . or opportunity.”
Hiram’s emphasis on the last word did not escape Jamin’s notice. A seed of alarm took root in the back of his head. He waged a hurried debate with himself whether to pursue his uncle’s thought, or let it lie. The argument to pursue won.
“Opportunity?” He fought to keep his voice even.
Hiram chuckled. “Come now. You’re a healthy young man. In the last message from your father, he voiced some concern over your resistance to marriage, despite arrangements they attempted. I told him your time would come.” The elder man cocked his head. “Has it?”
The question brought a wave of heat to Jamin’s forehead. “What do you mean?”
His uncle’s smile softened the condescension in his sigh. “I mean that your impatience to return has not only waned but has been replaced by a notion to remain—and now return within the year. Our fortunes have not changed; neither have yours. There must be something that interests you—someone who interests you?—in Nineveh to cause such a change of heart. Am I far wrong?”
Jamin searched for the right words. “Uncle, it is true I come from a more . . . an easier life in my father’s house. But here in Nineveh there is something I see that I don’t see at home.”
Hiram rested his arms on the finished mat. Jamin laid aside his trimming blade.
“There is a sense of community, of family, here that is lacking in the Jewish life of Aššûr. You have so little—” Jamin tripped over his words.
A gentle laugh from his uncle dissipated his embarrassment. “I understand what you’re saying, Jamin. It’s all right.”
Jamin stumbled back into his explanation. “I mean, to the world it would seem that you have so little. Your home, while comfortable, is not one an ambitious man would aspire to have. Tomorrow’s dinner is assured only by today’s sale of a mat or a basket in a fickle marketplace. A season of poor weather, an illness, the Idiqlat overflowing its banks, a blight—any of these things could wipe out your means of earning a living with little warning.”
Hiram nodded. “This is all true. We entrust our survival to Adonai .”
“You live on the edge of starvation, yet you freely give of what you do have to those who—how did you put it?—are ‘less fortunate’ than yourself.” Jamin shook his head. “I see nothing of this in the Jewish community in Aššûr. Of course, everyone tithes to the fund for the Temple in Jerusalem. All give alms to the poor, but only from their excess. The first priority is for one to provide for his present comfort, then to bolster his savings to ensure continued comfort. Only then do they look beyond their own households. I wonder what would happen if hard times fell upon Aššûr. Would the Jewish community pull together, or would it fragment, while each sought relief for himself before he considered his brother?”
“And this is what draws you to Nineveh?” Hiram set his mat aside.
“I do like this, what I see. It is very . . . attractive.” Jamin fell silent.
His uncle’s voice dropped to a
Hiram set aside his blade. “Something has changed in you.”
A nerve twitched in Jamin’s cheek. “Changed?”
“It was apparent to us shortly after you first arrived that you were not pleased to be here. We cannot offer the amenities of your father’s house in Aššûr. We perceived you were anxious to return home.”
Jamin could feel his cheeks flush. “I’m sorry if I came across as—”
“There’s no need to apologize.” Hiram’s eyes creased behind the kindly smile Jamin had come to love. “No offense was taken. Your aunt and I knew before you arrived that a young man accustomed to the comforts of a city such as Aššûr would likely become restless in the poor quarter of a lesser city. Nineveh was great once, and she is on the rise again, but she cannot compete with Aššûr for comfort . . . or opportunity.”
Hiram’s emphasis on the last word did not escape Jamin’s notice. A seed of alarm took root in the back of his head. He waged a hurried debate with himself whether to pursue his uncle’s thought, or let it lie. The argument to pursue won.
“Opportunity?” He fought to keep his voice even.
Hiram chuckled. “Come now. You’re a healthy young man. In the last message from your father, he voiced some concern over your resistance to marriage, despite arrangements they attempted. I told him your time would come.” The elder man cocked his head. “Has it?”
The question brought a wave of heat to Jamin’s forehead. “What do you mean?”
His uncle’s smile softened the condescension in his sigh. “I mean that your impatience to return has not only waned but has been replaced by a notion to remain—and now return within the year. Our fortunes have not changed; neither have yours. There must be something that interests you—someone who interests you?—in Nineveh to cause such a change of heart. Am I far wrong?”
Jamin searched for the right words. “Uncle, it is true I come from a more . . . an easier life in my father’s house. But here in Nineveh there is something I see that I don’t see at home.”
Hiram rested his arms on the finished mat. Jamin laid aside his trimming blade.
“There is a sense of community, of family, here that is lacking in the Jewish life of Aššûr. You have so little—” Jamin tripped over his words.
A gentle laugh from his uncle dissipated his embarrassment. “I understand what you’re saying, Jamin. It’s all right.”
Jamin stumbled back into his explanation. “I mean, to the world it would seem that you have so little. Your home, while comfortable, is not one an ambitious man would aspire to have. Tomorrow’s dinner is assured only by today’s sale of a mat or a basket in a fickle marketplace. A season of poor weather, an illness, the Idiqlat overflowing its banks, a blight—any of these things could wipe out your means of earning a living with little warning.”
Hiram nodded. “This is all true. We entrust our survival to Adonai .”
“You live on the edge of starvation, yet you freely give of what you do have to those who—how did you put it?—are ‘less fortunate’ than yourself.” Jamin shook his head. “I see nothing of this in the Jewish community in Aššûr. Of course, everyone tithes to the fund for the Temple in Jerusalem. All give alms to the poor, but only from their excess. The first priority is for one to provide for his present comfort, then to bolster his savings to ensure continued comfort. Only then do they look beyond their own households. I wonder what would happen if hard times fell upon Aššûr. Would the Jewish community pull together, or would it fragment, while each sought relief for himself before he considered his brother?”
“And this is what draws you to Nineveh?” Hiram set his mat aside.
“I do like this, what I see. It is very . . . attractive.” Jamin fell silent.
His uncle’s voice dropped to a
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