Faith of My Fathers by Lynn Austin

raised him after King Hezekiah died. I think I must have failed somehow, to—”
    “Don’t lay his guilt on yourself, Eliakim. You raised Manasseh faithfully, according to God’s Law. But once he became an adult it was up to him to choose whether or not he would follow God’s teaching. He alone is responsible for his actions.”
    Eliakim nodded, then realized that Isaiah couldn’t possibly see him. He groped in the darkness toward Isaiah’s voice and sank to the cell floor to sit beside him.
    “I’m so worried about my family. Jerusha . . . my children. There wasn’t any warning. I didn’t have a chance to make sure they were safe. If Manasseh would kill Abba, then . . .”
    “Have you committed your family to God? Have you placed them in His hands?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then leave them there. Don’t take the burden on your own shoulders again. No matter what happens, they are safe in Him.”
    Eliakim closed his eyes, fighting his tears. “Joshua is only twentytwo. He has an entire lifetime ahead of him. Lately he’s been halfcrazy in love with Amasai’s daughter.” Eliakim managed a small smile, remembering Joshua’s mournful yearning. “I know we’re not supposed to play favorites with our children, but Joshua is very special to me. He died in my arms when he was a baby . . . and I breathed my own life into him. He was a miracle baby, born while the Assyrian army surrounded Jerusalem. He has always been so bright and quick, so sincere about following God’s Law, so eager to live righteously. Ever since he was a child he wanted to work for the king—to follow in my footsteps. I had no idea that following my path would lead him here.”
    “Eliakim, your son isn’t here in prison with us. If King Manasseh had arrested him, don’t you think that he would be?”
    The thought comforted Eliakim for the moment. “Are we really going to die tomorrow?” he asked.
    “As the psalmist has written, ‘All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.’ If this is our time, Eliakim, Yahweh is ready to receive us.”
    “The king must have gone crazy, accusing you of cursing Hezekiah. Where did he get such an insane notion? Is Hezekiah’s son really capable of . . . of torturing you to death?”
    “We’ll learn the answer tomorrow.”
    Eliakim ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Are you afraid to die, Rabbi?”
    Isaiah let out a long sigh. “Yes, I fear the pain of death—but not death itself.”
    Eliakim leaned his head against the stone wall. “Am I wrong to pray that Manasseh won’t go through with this?”
    “No, I’m praying the same thing.”
    “I’ve known Manasseh since he was a baby. I rejoiced with his father and mother when he was born. I watched him grow and mature. How can he accuse me of conspiring against him? I’ve worked my entire life to build this nation so that he would have something to inherit. I don’t deserve this, and neither do you.”
    “Do you hate him?” Isaiah asked.
    “I . . . I hate what he’s doing to us.”
    “Can you forgive him, Eliakim?”
    “I—”
    “No, don’t answer right away. Search your heart first.” Isaiah laid his hand on Eliakim’s arm. “King Manasseh brutally murdered your father. He twisted our words and our motives so he could falsely accuse us and condemn us to death. Tomorrow morning he will execute us. Do you wish for revenge? Do you want to see Manasseh pay for what he has done to us and to your father?”
    “God, help me,” Eliakim whispered. “Yes.”
    “Yes,” Isaiah echoed. “Yes, so do I.” For a moment neither of them spoke and a deep silence filled the underground cell.
    “But we must forgive him,” Isaiah said at last. “‘The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.’ As His chosen people, we bear His image. We, too, must forgive.”
    “How, Rabbi?”
    “We must not wish for vengeance. ‘Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?’