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CHAPTER 17 Free at Last
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"Where are they taking us?" asked a white-haired man in his late fifties as he shuffled along in chains with a large group of captives. "To Ramah," returned his nearest companion. "I heard one of the guards say last night that they'll keep us there for a few days before they send us on to Babylon." "Good," sighed the first man as he arched his back to relieve some of his pain. "Ramah's not far. We should reach it by sunset." They moved along in silence for some time before he spoke again. "I'm a little old to travel to Babylon on foot. I hope they don't hurry us along too fast." "Me too," returned his companion, as he looked intently at his new friend. "Say, aren't you Jeremiah, the prophet?" 'Yes." "Of course. I've heard you preach dozens of times. I always thought you were senile, or maybe even crazy." He laughed, but then sobered. "I guess you were telling the truth." "Its not too late to trust in Yahweh," encouraged Jeremiah. "You need Him now, more than ever before." "I-I guess you're right." He scratched his head and wiped a tear from his cheek as he hung his head. "May Yahweh have mercy upon me and grant me pardon." Jeremiah smiled as they marched into the gathering twilight—thousands of prisoners shackled together by their necks, walking as carefully as possible so that the neck collars wouldn't chafe the skin more than necessary. The caravan reached Ramah, and slowed to a halt. Armed men inspected each prisoners chain, gave him or her a few morsels of food, a cupful of water, and orders to sleep beside the road.
"We captured Jerusalem a month ago," said Nebuchadnezzar to Nebuzaradan, the captain of his bodyguard. The king sat on his portable throne in Riblah. "But many people still live in the ruins. I'm worried about that city. Those pesky Jews could rebuild it and rebel once more. They're capable of that." He sat staring at the distant hills, but his imagination created scenes of scheming Jews, rebuilding their cankerous nation. "I don't like it at all," he sighed aloud. "Can I do anything to be of service?" offered the captain. The two men discussed various solutions for several hours before the king decided on a plan, and called in a scribe to record it. He gave detailed instructions on what should be done with the people still living in the ruins, how to dismantle the city, when to transport the captives held in Ramah, and many other important items. Nebuzaradan took these orders, mustered several thousand soldiers, and embarked, marching the distance in only ten days. At Jerusalem, the captain found the situation much as Nebuchadnezzar had feared: except for the breaches made by the battering rams, the mounds, and extensive minor damage, the city stood virtually intact. "A well-organized warlord could rebuild Jerusalem in a matter of weeks," the captain commented to one of his orderlies. The Babylonians went to work, killing anyone who resisted them and rounding up everyone else for the march to Ramah, and later to Babylon. Then they carefully removed every item of value and dismantled the city: They pried apart the stone walls and buildings, set fire to the wooden ones, and piled brush against the massive cedar gates of the temple, burning them to ashes. The air waves became saturated with the cursing of the soldiers and the thick, black smoke of the burning city. When Nebuzaradan's men finished their work, nothing of value remained where Jerusalem had once stood. A traveler would have had difficulty finding shelter from the rain. The glorious temple of Solomon lay in heaps of rubble. The scarlet palace built by Jehoiakim at such extravagant expense in money and human lives had become a pile of gray-white powder. Jerusalem was dead.
"My men have treated the prisoners well," the chief guard assured him as they toured the camp. "Only a few have died since they left Jerusalem, and those were in very poor shape when they arrived here. "Then why so few?" demanded the captain. "Jerusalem must have held a hundred thousand people." "Few survived the siege," replied the warden. "You ought to know that. Half of the people died of starvation or disease before the end, and our soldiers must have killed nearly half of the survivors during the final battle." "Yes, I guess there's nothing we can do about it now." Nebuzaradan dismissed the matter. "Do you have any prisoners well enough to march?" "Of course," returned the guard. "I'll have my men form a marching party to leave at dawn." "Good," returned the captain. "I'd like to get this finished up as soon as possible." He shrugged his shoulders and changed the subject. "I have special instructions concerning one of your prisoners, if he is still alive." "Which one, sir?" "The prophet—" Nebuzaradan glanced at a scroll he carried to make sure of the name. "Jeremiah. Nebuchadnezzar has granted this man his freedom." "Is that so?" answered the warden. "He's helped to calm the fearful and keep them in order. I'll be sorry to lose him." "You might not lose him." "How's that?" The guard looked puzzled. "He has permission to live in Babylon if he likes." "Well, let's see what he wants to do." The warden turned to an aide and said, "Fetch Jeremiah for me." The aide was gone only a few minutes before he returned with a tall, thin man who had kind but piercing eyes framed by white hair and beard. "Are you Jeremiah?" asked Nebuzaradan. "Yes, sir." "The Great King, King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon," the captain spoke slowly and used the correct protocol for speaking of the king in the presence of a conquered slave, "is pleased to grant you your freedom." Nebuzaradan thought he had never seen a face so radiant with peace, yet this man had spent two years in prison—caged by his own people because he had tried to save them from this tragedy. What a man! thought the captain. If he had been king instead of Zedekiah, his people would still inhabit their city. "You are no longer a prisoner," he continued. "Thank you, sir," answered Jeremiah with a courteous bow. "But why should I be treated so kindly? I am but a poor slave." "More like a hero, I'd say," interrupted the captain. "The Great King, King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, knows how you urged Zedekiah to remain loyal and all the indignities you suffered because of your efforts. If all Jews had served Yahweh like you and Daniel do, this whole sad affair would never have happened." "I've only done my duty for God and country, sir. I ask no favors." "But you shall have them." The captain paused to read from his scroll. "The Great King, King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, commands me to set you free. You may go with me to Babylon, where I will supply you with a house of your own and plenty of food and clothing for the rest of your life. Or, if you choose, you may stay here in Judah. I don't advise that, because the country lies waste, and few houses still stand. But you may stay if you wish." He paused for a moment to consider that alternative. "If you do decide to stay," he continued, "perhaps you should stay with Governor Gedaliah in Mizpah." "You are kind indeed, sir." Jeremiah bowed. "But I would prefer to stay in Mizpah. I knew Gedaliah's father, Ahikam, and I feel safe in his hands." "Very well, then." Nebuzaradan handed Jeremiah a small sack filled with heavy objects. "This gift from the Great King, King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, contains enough money to supply your needs for many months to come. Can I serve you in any other way?" "Yes, sir, if it please you, sir." Jeremiah bowed again. "I have two friends among the captives. I beg of you that they might accompany me." "Who are they?" "Baruch, my scribe, and Ebed-Melech, Zedekiah's eunuch." "Ah yes, the man who saved your life." Nebuzaradan turned to the guard. "Do you have these men?" "Yes sir." The guard frowned. "They, too, are model prisoners, sir. You are taking the ones who help keep the rowdies quiet." "Never mind," growled the captain. "You have enough men to handle the 'rowdies as you call them. Now get Baruch and Ebed-Melech for me." Jeremiah embraced his friends when they arrived, and every eye filled with tears. Even hardened Nebuzaradan felt touched by the tender scene. "I will also give these men money for the journey," said the captain. "May Yahweh, your God, continue to bless you as He has in the past." "And may Yahweh bless you and his majesty, King Nebuchadnezzar," returned Jeremiah.
The three men strolled down the road toward Mizpah, only two miles northwest, as they shared with each other the experiences of the past month. At the top of a hill they turned for a last look at the prison camp. They stared for several minutes, each lost in his thoughts. Finally Jeremiah broke the stillness. "Thanks be to Yahweh." He turned toward Mizpah. "We're free at last." |