~~/*\~~ Takarut ~~/*\~~
Takarut was dying. Time had caught up with almost all of his generation. By the time the nation crossed into the Promised Land, they would be all gone. Despite himself, he was glad to know his time had finally come. By Egyptian standards, he’d done nothing to prepare for the otherworld. By Hebrew standards…
Father in heaven, He prayed. One way or another, I’ll find out for sure what the next world is like. I am sorry for all my sins in life. In death, I’m just sorry to see my family cry.
Emet was nearly trembling with the moment. “I love you, father.”
“I love you, son.” Takarut rasped, shifting in his bedroll. “I told you once that our most important duty, as parents, is to provide memories for our children to learn from.” He looked sheepish. “Right now, I can’t call anything to mind.”
“Me neither.” Emet admitted. “But they’re there. They always will be.”
(Author’s Note: The Insight Book, on the subject of ‘Israel’ says: ‘Jehovah, therefore, determined that for this general lack of faith all those more than 20 years old who had come out of Egypt, with few exceptions, would die there in the wilderness.’
Sixty years is young for a full lifespan. Moses lived to 120. Caleb, for his faithful report, lived until he was eighty, entering the Promised Land.
These were exceptions, however. Scripturally, twenty was the age where an Israelite could be considered for military service, or could speak for himself before the authorities.
Deuteronomy 1:34 and Numbers 14:29 agree that Jehovah had decreed that the whole Generation were to stay in the Wilderness for forty years, until they died out. So it can be assumed that everyone who was ‘of age’ when they refused to enter the Promised Land were to ‘age out’, if not killed by some other means, when the 40 years had ended. While sixty may be on the young side for death by old age, the fact that there were exceptions by Divine decree suggests that God was active in the people’s lifespans.
For purposes of this story, all my main characters from previous books, such as Takarut and Leahe, were in their early to mid-twenties when leaving Egypt. Thus, they would not have made it into the Promised Land. How they died is open to interpretation. Would God have forced them to die of old age at Sixty? In this case, the Bible is not specific on how, only on how long.)
The two of them spoke for several minutes, when there was a rustling at the tent flap. Leahe came in, taking in the two of them with a long look. Her face was expressionless, accepting this was happening. She’d had plenty of time to get used to the idea.
Father and son kept talking for a time, and Takarut finally looked to his wife, seeing the tear forming in her eye. “Son, would you give us a few minutes?”
Emet knew this was goodbye, and hugged his father tightly.
“We’ll see each other again, son.” Takarut promised.
Leahe gave her son’s hand a squeeze as he passed, promising to come and find him later. He shut the tent flap behind him, leaving the two of them alone.
She had no idea what to say first, somehow certain that this would be their last conversation. Takarut piped up first. “I’m sorry to leave you.” He said softly. “I’m grateful that I never have to lose my wife and kid; but I hate that you’ll have to grieve.”
Not for very much longer. Leahe thought, but didn’t say it out loud.
“Are you going to be okay?” Takarut asked, smothering his omnipresent cough.
Leahe sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I feel… old.” She admitted. “A lot older than I should. For all the… sameness, of the wilderness, it’s still an easy life compared to my time in Egypt. Almost nobody died of old age back there.” She gestured at her face, wryly. “Doesn’t seem fair, but time is a privilege denied to many.”
Takarut scoffed. “It wasn’t luck that we made it to old age. There were all sorts of things that could have brought judgement on us. We kept the faith.”
“We did.” Leahe nodded. “Most of the time.”
Takarut squeezed her hand. “When are you going to let that go?
“I remember the day we took the vote.” Leahe said quietly. “About entering the Promised Land, or turning back? I remember, I said: ‘It’s not like our opinions would make a difference anyway’.” She bent to kiss her husband’s hair, feeling the weakness in his frame. “I realized, soon after… It might not have made a difference to the outcome, but it would have made all the difference to us.”
Takarut coughed, dragged in a breath. “It’s not the life I would have wished to give you, my love. But it was easier to live through, with the one person I love more than anything.”
Takarut’s cough had been growing worse so slowly, Leahe wasn’t sure when she transitioned from caring for him in his illness to consoling him for having to live with it, to saying goodbye; but it was happening. She bent down and kissed his face all over. “I was worried you wouldn’t want to stay with me once we reached the Promised Land. A one-armed girl who was the last member of her family, where others had dozens of brothers and uncles, ready to run their own piece of land?” She almost laughed. “In a way, the wilderness was a blessing. Neither of us would starve, no matter how much Manna we could collect with three hands between us.”
He almost chuckled, before breaking down coughing again. “Back in Egypt, the Otherworld is the focus of all our efforts. Everything we do is about preparing for the ‘next life’, but we always had to take it on faith that there would be one, because the only way to get there was to die.” He looked at the Tent Wall, where there was a slight glow from the Pillar of Fire outside, shining over the camp. “One thing I could never doubt was the reality of Jehovah’s power. And if I can see proof of that every day, wherever I am, then surely we can believe in His promise too. To Abraham? That all the families of the grou-” He broke down coughing again.
She shushed him. “I certainly hope so.” Leahe whispered. “Sha'al seems to think so.” She smiled, thinking about it. “A return to Eden. Where nobody is hungry, where there is no end to life. No war, no violence… And us.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “God taking us all back, all our sins forgotten. This whole road ending with eternal life. An eternity that isn’t decided by how many riches you have in this world, how many servants get buried with you for the next world. A world where everyone, even the exiles like us, could live forever in a wonderful, beautiful paradise…”
She had been waxing on poetically about the possibilities, and somewhere in the middle, realized that he wasn’t coughing anymore. She didn't want to look. She knew what she’d see.
He’s gone. Leahe thought, tears forming. And I won’t be that far behind him. The Promised Land is close, and my son is coming to the right age. I can count down my lifetime in the years my son has lived.
~~/*\~~
Moses looked up as Emet came in. He rose immediately, and came over, hugging the younger man tightly. They broke the hug, and Moses led the younger man over to his father’s usual spot, where the Scrolls were waiting.
“My father considered this the most important task that we ever took on.” Emet said quietly.
“When your father was in Egypt, he was one of the Scribes.” Moses nodded. “He had to change the ‘official record’, here and there. Just to make sure history remembered things ‘correctly’. Your father considered it his part of the ‘holy cause’ to make sure there was an accurate record. Not one that reflected well on us, not one that was more acceptable to future generations. Just the truth.”
“Well. Our nation is one generation old, but looking at the Record that you’re keeping, I don’t think anyone could accuse us of rewriting history to be more flattering to our people.”
“No.” Moses admitted.
Emet rubbed his eyes. “Has… has your opinion changed? Of the nation?”
“I will admit this generation has become a litany of rebellion and punishments…” Moses sighed. “But I was warned that would be the case. I told Jehovah that if He wiped out Israel after the Golden Calf, then Pharoah and his court would be laughing at Him for a hundred years. That’s still true now. For the sake of His Name, Jehovah will preserve us alive, and live up to His end of the Covenant. The only way Israel gets what is promised, is if we live up to our end in return. If we had any doubts after the Calf, we can be sure now: The current generation isn’t going to get there.” He shook his head. “I understand we don’t have an easy life out here, but how is that different from the lives we escaped? If our people can’t find a better reason to rebel than boredom, then we never should have left Egypt. The Slavers would always have found something for us to do.”
Emet had no idea what to say. He was in too much turmoil of his own. Finally, he said it. “Maybe… maybe boredom isn’t it, exactly. Maybe the last true act of a slave is to go down raging, instead of waiting to die when someone else decides it.”
Moses didn’t answer that directly. “You have never felt the whip, my friend. You’ve never been a slave. With luck, that will make all the difference, for the future of our nation. One way or another, Israel will enter the Promised Land. One way or another, the Great Promise will be fulfilled. One way or another, the sons of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob will become as many as the stars at night.” He clasped Emet’s hand. “You’re going to be hurting for a while. But the blessings always outweigh the pains.”
“Are you sure?” Emet wavered, a feeling more than a little helpless.
“One thing I know for sure is that Jehovah is not so… stiff-necked as men. I know that, because Jehovah defended my wife. My own sister had doubts about me, because my wife wasn’t an Israelite. God took action then. He defended my family, as His servants.”
Emet looked down. “It didn’t go unnoticed that you took special action to include my father, himself an Egyptian Scribe.” He winced. “I see people looking sideways at me, and my mother. They know I’m half Egyptian, even if I’ve never seen Egypt. My friends don’t care. We all grew up together. It wasn’t until I grew up and saw my mother’s friends going silent whenever my father walked past…” He shook his head. “Thank you, for making my father feel welcome before God.”
“Your friends don’t care about a lot of the hatreds that our people had for your father’s people. Because they are a generation removed, and a lifetime away from those experiences.” Moses sighed. “I hope it makes all the difference, going forward.”
“Sir, there are rumors that you will not be coming with us.” Emet said softly. “Into the Promised Land.”
“No.” The old man nodded, unconcerned. “For good reason.” He paused. “In fact, we have to add that to the record too.”
Emet picked up his stylus. “It doesn’t seem right. You, of all people, should be the first one to enter our new homeland.”
“I am not afraid.” Moses said gently. “A new life, a new nation? A whole new world is best given to the young. I have done my part in the story of our people, and soon I will rest. The story itself will go on; and that is sufficient.”
Emet hesitated. “My mother told me the story of Abraham being called to sacrifice Isaac. God didn’t make him go through with it, but she seemed to think Isaac was a willing participant, expecting to be brought to life.”
“A resurrection into a new world is a promise worth a million times more than even the Promised Land.” Moses agreed. “I admit, I know less about it than I would like to, but that’s true of many things. With God, there’s always new answers to seek. There will be to time indefinite.” He stretched out his limbs with a grunt. “Besides. I haven’t exactly been bored.” He gestured at the scrolls behind him. “Your father was right, when he said that keeping a record, good and bad, was more important than anything else we do here. If there’s one thing this exile has taught me, it’s that we owe our descendants far more than we ever owe to our ancestors. I’d like to make one last check of the copy you made, and then add new developments to the Records.”
“Yes, my lord.” Emet said immediately, rising from his seat and heading over to the chest. “Which one would you like to start with? The Law? The Census? Perhaps the story of Job?”
“You liked that one, didn’t you?” Moses smiled.
“I’m grateful to know that trials of faithful men lead to rewards.” Emet admitted. “Even if we can’t see them yet.”
“Mm. I enjoy the story too. ‘You will call, and I will answer you’.” Moses agreed, quoting some of the words he’d transcribed himself. “But for now, I’d like to start with Genesis.”
Emet nodded, collecting two scrolls. One from Moses’ writing, and one from his father’s copies. Moses had spent years carefully recording the things that Jehovah had told him. Things that he had relayed to his people. Takarut had insisted that Moses allow him to make a copy, word for word, and Moses agreed. They’d had plenty of time to work on it. He paused, looking back. “What did you mean? We ‘owe’ our children?”
Moses looked up from his own scroll. “What has your father told you about Egypt’s views on death?”
Emet blinked. “He said that everything in Egypt is geared towards status for the otherworld. Our years in life are short, but death is eternal. So living with the afterlife in mind is…”
“To be a follower of Jehovah is to worship a God of life.” Moses said firmly. “Creation, forgiveness, food, water, love. All things that Jehovah offers freely are vital to a happy, long-lasting life. And we have to remember that, for the same reason that Egypt values their death rites so highly: This isn’t the end of the story. Not even for me. The Promised Land is still ahead. My generation has to carry the consequences of our sin. But you, your family? Our children will live free for their lifetimes. So will their children. And their children, until the coming of the Lord. What happens after that, I cannot even guess.”
“If Job was right, we won’t have to guess. We’ll be there.” Emet offered.
“We all will. Your father. My sister. Aaron.” Moses said, unrolling the scroll, both of them blinking back emotion. “Would you mind reading? I’ll follow along, make sure it’s all there correctly.”
Emet nodded, and started reading. “In the beginning, God created the heavens, and the Earth.”
There was nothing to do, but study… and wait.
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
Oskar had been welcomed back eagerly when he was tossed back into the barracks. Matheo was there, welcoming him with a big smile. Oskar tried to smile back, but he was just too exhausted.
The others brought him some offerings. Small bits of hard, stale bread. Half an apple core. The little food they’d been able to keep hidden. Oskar ate hungrily, but couldn’t stop apologizing. He knew the price of food in the camp.
Matheo shushed his apologies. “This is how we get through this, brother. We take care of each other.” He gave the others a look, and they all turned away, giving them the illusion of privacy. Matheo lowered his voice. “How do you feel?”
“Oddly enough, I feel good.” Oskar admitted. “There was a moment, when I thought I would surely go mad or die in that box. And I prayed. I prayed non-stop. After only a few minutes, I was just saying ‘please, God, please’, over and over again.” Oskar whispered, pouring it all out. “I honestly don’t know how long I went on like that.” He actually smiled. “I remember, before all this, doing that once. I was afraid that I was annoying God, droning on like a whiny child. In here, I don’t seem to worry about that as much.”
“I remember once, my father thought we should pray for our daily bread, but only needed to do so once a day.” Matheo agreed. “In here, I figure that if we pray for strength and courage? If it only lasts thirty seconds, then we need to pray every thirty seconds in turn.”
Oskar laughed. “This… feeling came over me, like I was floating. I felt calm again, Matheo. I can’t remember ever feeling so calm.”
“You did it, Brother.” Matheo said warmly. “You came through the crucible. You found the peace that Stephen had, even as they stoned him. The courage of Daniel in the lion’s pit. The Peace of God.”
“It was wonderful.” Oskar murmured, falling asleep again. There was a time he’d hated his cot. After the Box, it was a luxury. Thank you, Jehovah; for all that I have. Thank you for this comfortable cot to sleep in. Thank you for Matheo to talk to. Thank you for the good things I have to say. Thank you for all the good things I have memories of. Thank you for all the good things that are yet to come.
~~/*\~~
Even if his spirit had become unbreakable, the same couldn’t be said for his muscles, and Oskar couldn’t even walk straight for a while. In a labor camp, an inability to walk would be a death sentence, but there were others to help him hide his infirmities for the time being.
There had been new prisoners added while he was locked up in solitary. Matheo introduced Brother Carl the next morning, when Oskar had woken up. Carl had been free until only a day or two before, and he had more up to date news for the other prisoners than anything they’d heard so far.
The war was still in full swing, and nobody was clear on who was winning. The German press never gave the straight facts about losses or defeats. But the news was clear on who was fighting, at least; and it looked like the Nazi’s were outnumbered.
The other prisoners had questions about the war. The Witnesses were more interested in how their brothers were doing.
“There are still Conventions being held in other countries. They’ve been smuggling in reports and summaries from outside.” Carl reported to the brothers. To avoid getting caught, he had to tell the tale a dozen times, in small groups.
“The Society is speaking out about the Treatment of Witnesses in Nazi hands.” Carl reported. “Word has gotten out about the mistreatment people are going through in places like this. Places worse than this. Witnesses are facing imprisonment in other countries, too. For refusing military service, for refusing patriotic displays.” He shrugged. “Nationalism in wartime is a huge matter.”
Oskar burst out laughing hysterically, though he didn’t have the energy to keep it up for long. He saw the other prisoners, who weren’t Witnesses turn to scowl at him, and he settled. “‘Hated of all nations for his name’s sake’, indeed.”
“The work is not under ban, however, and Conventions are still being held. I only got to keep the summary of their program for a little while, but it seems that the Society has declared, publically, that the Nazi’s have proven themselves to be enemies of God.” Carl said seriously. “Every empire that has attacked God’s faithful servants has come to ruin eventually. Been that way since Bible Times. But apparently, there’s scriptural evidence that says which way this war is going to turn out.” Carl paused for breath, hurrying through the report like he was afraid he would forget it. “Judge Rutherford gave another stinging attack on the world’s Religions for siding with governments. Especially the Germans.”
One of the other prisoners scowled. He’d heard that mentioned before. Every church was a recruiting post now.
“Now, here’s the really exciting part.” Carl told them eagerly. “There’s a new President of the Society. His name is Nathan H Knorr. He gave the keynote talk at the Convention called: ‘Peace, can it last?’”
“Oh! I know the answer to that one!” One of the brothers commented lightly, and everyone laughed.
“The talk was based on the Prophecy at Revelation 17:8.”
“Does anyone remember that one?” Matheo asked quickly. “It’s not on any of the pages we’ve got in here.”
Silence.
“Shameful.” Matheo commented jokingly. “Oskar, I thought you were going to memorize the entire Bible.”
“I was getting to it.” Oskar quipped back.
“Brother Knorr said that the prophecy talks about the League of Nations, using the metaphor of a multi-headed beast.” Carl said, squinting his eyes shut to help him remember the message. “The League is effectively shut down, but apparently that passage in Revelation says it will rise again. Given that the League started at the end of the last war, with all the winners forming it; it would stand to reason it would happen that way again.”
Josef’s voice was scornful. “You guys are pinning your hopes for survival on two sentences, written thousands of years ago, and you can’t even remember how the verse went.”
“Oh, it gets better. The Conventioneers were told to prepare for ‘growth’ in the congregation, in response to the Global Preaching Work.” Carl told them, as though that answered everything.
Oskar and Matheo looked at each other swiftly.
“What?” Josef asked, despite himself. “What’s the significance of that?”
Matheo answered him, and the rest of the Brothers. “If the Nazi’s win this war, then it’s highly unlikely that a Global Preaching Work will result in a great influx of new believers. They haven’t been able to stop us, but they’ve definitely made it harder. If they rule the world, they’ll make it impossible.”
Josef’s head tilted. “You figure that means they’re going to lose?”
Matheo nodded. “If a period of peace is yet to come before this world is brought to its conclusion, then it means there is a point where the war ends. Somehow, I don’t think that’s on the cards if Germany wins in Europe. They’ll keep going.”
“Which means that biblically, the war will end, with Nazi defeat.” Oskar summed up, turning to Carl. “Any ideas on when?”
“Not really. But how is that different from any other day?” Carl sighed. “The War is raging, but it isn’t stopping the work. Thousands are being taught, though in secret. The Nazi’s haven’t been able to stop our meetings, our preaching, or our studies.” He gestured around. “There are horror stories about some far worse Camps than this. They say that people are being executed by the thousands, every day.”
“It’s true.” Oskar put in, looking around the brothers. “I never told you, but the Gestapo man who had me working in his house? I heard some horror stories from sources I trust. Stories about overheard conversations with soldiers and Generals.”
Matheo scowled. “Monstrous men, doing monstrous things.” He gestured in the general direction of the guard house. “Do you think these soldiers know?”
“The soldiers are smart enough not to ask.” Carl drawled. “The Gestapo is their problem too.”
“And they have one disadvantage that we don’t have.” Oskar said with the serenity he’d gained in solitary. “They’ve pinned all their hopes to a lunatic. If the War is certain to go badly for them, as the Society apparently thinks is foretold, then they’ll surely spend their lives locked up somewhere like this.”
Carl actually laughed. The other prisoners scowled at their gathering again. Laughter was not heard in the Camp. To be joyful in the face of relentless suffering was something they’d tried at first… but hunger had made it impossible to maintain for most of them.
“And you should know…” He whispered to Oskar, glancing around. “Flora was the one who smuggled the Convention report to me.”
Oskar jerked like he’d been struck. “Have you seen her?”
“Not for weeks, but she’s our ‘runner’ for news. The family they posted her with monitors her time closely, so she can’t attend meetings, even discreetly. But she still passes messages for us while running errands.” He smiled for Oskar. “She’s okay, and still holding on. More than that, I don't know.” He spread his hands wide. “We don’t really have solid info on where each brother is locked up. If I’d known I’d be seeing you so soon, I’d have asked if she had a message for you.”
“She’s alive, and she hasn’t given up. What more is there to say?” Oskar murmured, feeling a weight lifted off his heart. It had been there so long that he hadn’t even noticed until it was gone. “Thank you, my brother.”
Then the Guards burst in, demanding everyone line up for a work detail.
~~/*\~~
Matheo observed Oskar for much of their next work shift. He was so… energized. Nobody had excess energy anymore. But when the older ones broke down, Oskar carried their loads. When the Guards started handing out extra work to ‘make examples’ of the others, he did the work for them.
Jehovah, our Sovereign Lord… He prayed incessantly. Oskar has come through the firey furnace. The crucible has left him a strong, faithful survivor. His strength, like all of ours, comes from You. Thank You for providing us endurance for another day.
Jehovah God, I also want to talk about Josef. He isn’t a brother, but he’s here for the same reason we all are. Hatred from the leadership is all encompassing for the Jewish race. They were Your covenant people. I wonder if Satan still hates them for that, or if any convenient minority would do.
Josef has come to the conclusion that You don’t care. He feels that You have abandoned humanity to its own hideous devices. We know that it’s not true. You are always with us, or we’d have surely given up, just as he has.
Speaking of giving up, please give strength and encouragement to Georg. The weight of this place is starting to make him wire-happy. There’s only so much a man can take under his own power, and the war machine is grinding us all down. Please don’t let him break. He needs Your grace.
~~/*\~~
There were more prayers every day, every hour.
The work was long. Even the guards didn’t bother to rush them any more. They knew only what newly arrived prisoners told them of the outside world, but it felt like the country beyond the wire was eating itself, rationing everything, hoarding the rest. Words were spoken in whispers. There was no talk of easy victory from the soldiers anymore; but the propaganda they shared was getting more determined, to the point of sounding crazy.
“They know they’re not going to win.” Oskar said when speaking to the group that night. “Not in any way that will feel like victory, at least. Their certainty of overwhelming success has passed. Like the last war, it’s all a slugging match now. We heard years ago that the Society has already reviewed the prophecies of this time and have ruled that Peace is coming. We don’t know when, but we don’t need to.”
“Don’t we?” Josef murmured.
“No, we don’t. Because we know how it will end.” Oskar said with certainty. “When this started, we had to show our neutrality. At this point, I think we can tell that it’s more than just a difference of political philosophy now. Every facet of Satan’s nature, and his view of humanity, is being shown here in this camp; let alone across the Reich.”
There was a murmur of agreement at that from the brothers.
“But this is good news for us too.” Oskar added. “Because it proves something about these thugs who torment us, and their masters. They have declared war, not only on the world, but on Jehovah God as well. And those who go to war with Jehovah always lose.” He looked to Josef. “You know this too, my brother.”
Josef said nothing for a long moment. “If there is a God, then He owes me an apology.” He said finally.
“If there is a God, then He’s providing us with our every breath.” Matheo put in. “That was true before the war, so it’s even more true now.”
“How can you possibly still think that?” Josef rasped, lowering his head down to the cot, though if it was to rest his head or because he was done listening, nobody knew.
“Hope. Survival is built on hope. And our hope is built on faith.” Matheo said, speaking to the whole group. “We’ve learned pretty much every kind of hunger a person can endure. But there’s one way to feed ourselves without anything from the outside.” He tapped at his chest. “In here.” He said seriously. “Romans 5 says: ‘And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope: And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us’.” He looked to Georg. “When you became a Witness, when you first learned the Truth… did it give you hope?”
“It did.” Georg admitted. “It gave me a hope of seeing my father again, in Paradise. It gave me hope that my sins could be forgiven. That my life wasn’t in vain.”
“And after a few years in this nightmare, have any of those scriptures suddenly changed?”
“No, I guess not.” Georg admitted, voice thin.
Oskar raised a hand. At Matheo’s nod, he spoke. “I know how it is, feeling outnumbered by… everything.” Oskar admitted. “We all know that feeling now. But we all wound up in here because of our hopes for the future. That hasn’t changed. Every new experience adds to it. Every bad experience is more proof of what Paradise will be. Every good experience is a reward from the One that created it all. Remembering that is how you build your hope.”
Matheo grinned, murmuring a prayer of his own while Oskar talked.
“The other way to build hope and endurance is through adversity. And I dare say we’re experts at that.”
Everyone actually chuckled.
“So I want to remind everyone to keep another hope alive: The War isn’t normal.” Oskar said seriously. “Sooner or later, by the grace of God, we’re going to get out of here. If it means we die here, even that can’t keep us away from God’s promises of Paradise.” He let himself take a breath. “I know, that seems a grim way to hope, but it means we can’t actually be on the losing side of this war. Because if we die, we live again.”
“And if we live, then it means we’ve won.” Matheo took over. “And what happens then?”
This set off a murmur. Thinking about life outside the Camp had been a desperate straw to cling to. Imagining normal life? That was swiftly becoming impossible.
“Have you ever skipped a meeting because you were tired?” Matheo asked them. “I didn’t know what ‘tired’ was until a week in here, and yet nobody has slept through a study session since I arrived at this camp.” He let that sink in. “I remember I used to find the preaching work stressful, because I feared what someone would say when I preached to them. After this, will you ever be convinced that you cannot face a harsh word at a door?”
His words set off a series of looks between the Witnesses. After only a month inside, the lives they had were fading into ancient memory. After years, it felt all but impossible that there was a world before the Camp, let alone after.
“Sooner or later, those gates will open, and we will leave this darkness.” Matheo said seriously. “History will remember the survivors. Certainly the Brothers will. Every single Witness is in here because we said ‘Yes’ to God when it was difficult, and ‘No’ to men when it was impossible. Our brothers will remember that. Certainly God will. Maybe even the history books will know what we endured for.”
“Amen.” Oskar put in.
There was a long, gentle silence.
“I had a dream last night that it happened.” Oskar confessed, his voice becoming softer, more personal. “I dreamed that the war was over, and the gates had opened, and my daughter was waiting for me.” He had tears in his eyes. “It’s not a dream. It is a hope. A promise, even. A Promise from God that the days of our suffering are finite, but the days of joy are infinite. Even if that day is not here yet, they’re all coming.” He pointed towards the front gate. “How will you feel when those Gates open? When I woke up from that dream, I felt like an Angel. Like an honest-to-heaven angel. And when the day comes, we’ll be right to feel that way. Because we faced the harshest test since Job. Ask yourself: If Job had known his suffering was a test of his integrity, would he have signed that piece of paper to make it stop?”
There was a murmur at that, too. The story of Job was very much on everyone’s mind.
“We have something Job didn’t have: A clear understanding of why we’re going through this, and the certain knowledge that it’s going to stop.” Oskar summed up. “We’ve personally experienced the help that God gives, the endurance that comes from hope. Feed that hope. It’s the only hunger we can sate by ourselves. Dream every day of the Paradise that is coming, and find new blessings to look forward to. I promise, we’ll always find new ones.”
~~/*\~~
The war had been going for years by now. Time mattered little on the ‘inside’. People had been shuffled in from other camps. People had died, worked or starved to death.
Josef was still there, but it was clear he had given up. A lot of the prisoners had. He still listened while Oskar and Matheo spoke, but he hadn’t said anything in weeks. Oskar wasn’t sure if he was completely broken, or if he was just rationing his energy.
Everyone did that now. The Nazi policy of deliberately working prisoners to death had proven effective. Now and then, the ‘civilian’ population had seen them making their way through a street, or on a worksite. Some people had recoiled in horror. One or two had thrown up at the sight of the skeletal prisoners shuffling past. Most of them turned deliberately away, not looking in their direction.
Oskar bore them no malice. As much as he wanted someone to do something and stand up for them, he knew the risk they would be taking. Under the Nazi’s, the difference between a civilian and a prisoner like them was one wrong word. Hatred kept you warm, but it left you hollowed out and used up. There was enough hunger in the world without feeding on poison.
The Camp moved, now and then; to follow the work. When they started digging trenches, Matheo noted something that gave them all hope: It looked like they were building barricades. Defensive lines. Something that wouldn’t have been needed if the invasion force was far away.
“I think they’re losing this war.” Matheo said to Oskar one night. “Which is what we expected, I know. I gave the talk myself. But it’s interesting watching prophecy play out. We can read a verse and say: ‘This is what it means for the future’, but that takes minutes. War takes years. There’s a point where you wonder if it could really happen because you read it that way.”
“I had the same thought after most studies about ‘the last days’.” Oskar commented. “What Jesus’ apostles consider an apocalyptic horror story, we consider a weekday.” He lowered his voice. “Now, onto new business. We have to get some wine and bread for the next memorial.”
Matheo nodded. “The guard who smuggled it in for us last year has been rotated to the Russian Front. I wouldn’t want to try my luck with Konstantin watching.”
“I guess it was too much to hope that he’d be sent to the front.” Oskar commented lightly.
~~/*\~~
Jonas was one of the newest Witnesses added to the Camp. He’d stayed ahead of arrest for a long time, until the draft board had finally turned their attention to him. He’d brought the most recent news from outside. The Germans had been driven back by the Russians, broken by the weather. Even with the propaganda working full time, all hope of an easy victory was long gone, and the general public outside their cage was feeling despair set in, as their leaders demanded more than they had to give.
Inside the Camp, the Witnesses were less afraid, and more exhausted every day.
“Fear is a funny thing.” Oskar explained to Jonas. “There’s a point where you get so used to it that you can’t even feel it anymore. The hard part is outlasting everything else. If we could have one day where we were fed enough that we could sleep through the night, we’d be living like kings.”
Jonas snorted. “You’ve been here a lot longer than I have. Trust me, nobody gets full rations outside the camp anymore. I think the reason you’re fed so little is because the guards are hungry too.”
“The guards aren’t the problem.” Oskar told him. “One or two are really dangerous, but the rest are almost impressed by Witnesses. They were expecting us to break by now, begging for mercy. They don’t know what to do with us when we hold it together.” He gestured at the Guards walking the patrol. “Finding the guards we can ‘tame’ is no different than finding someone to preach to. Look for the ones who look away during the beatings. The ones who say ‘I have been ordered to do this’ when they start handing out punishments or announcements.”
“Even if you can win them over, it’s not like they can let you out.”
“No, but they’re sometimes willing to mail letters, or smuggle in a little red wine for Memorial night.” Oskar told him. “Politics is national. Survival is personal. Down here at this level? Everything is personal. We’re alive because our faith is personal, between us and God, one to one. Our refusal to surrender is personal. Just us and each other. The guards? It’s personal for them, too. Figuring out how much service they can give to people they’re terrified of. None of them can advance like a regular soldier with this on their file, or they might talk to people about what they’ve seen. Terrified underlings can’t show initiative.”
Jonas nodded slightly, learning. “The news only says what they’re told, but there are rumors that the war is going badly for them. This can only go so long, even if we don’t know when.”
“I know.” Oskar nodded. “But I’m more worried about the day before that.” As if the thought had brought him to mind, Oskar turned, following a chill up his spine. Konstantin was behind them. He’d heard Oskar’s comment.
~~/*\~~
Matheo noticed that Oskar was taking on a lot of the work that the elderly ones were assigned. Nobody else really cared, but he was almost certainly keeping them alive. Anyone who couldn’t work was left to starve.
Oskar was exhausted at the end of the workday. They nearly had to carry him back to the truck. Watching the roads, they saw people walking the roads, heading away from the towns. They saw columns of military trucks rolling in formation. Barbed wire was going up behind them.
Oskar and Matheo traded a look. The War was coming their way, it seemed.
Matheo leaned closer to Jonas and Oskar, quietly. “Can ye not discern the signs of the times?” He was shifting into prayer without really noticing. “Usually we take that to mean the Last Days in general. Praise be to God that we saw the signs of the times and knew what they meant for us.”
~~/*\~~
The truck made it back to the camp, and everyone slid down to the mud, beginning the trudge back to the barracks.
Oskar was walking slowly, at the end of his strength, when a hand clamped on his shoulder. “Not you, Prisoner.” Konstantin said with his usual cruel grin. “There’s something we have to talk about first.”
Konstantin had put each of them through his particular attention so many times that Oskar wasn’t even scared of it anymore. He stopped, waiting for whatever was coming.
Konstantin stood in front of Oskar, raising a hand in salute deliberately. “Heil Hitler.” He said elaborately.
This again? Oskar almost laughed. I thought you’d gotten bored with this one.
“Salute.” Konstantin told him evenly, knowing his answer.
“No, sir.” Oskar said back, just as straightforward. Unconsciously, he was already getting loose, ready to take a blow to the face.
“Well then.” Konstantin said with a smile. “I’ll wait.”
Oskar blinked. “What?”
And sure enough, Konstantin stood there, unmoving. Barely blinking. Five minutes. Ten. His posture didn’t slouch, his expression never shifted. He didn’t seem aware of time passing at all.
And then the rain started. A cold, steady rain.
~~/*\~~
The rain wasn’t that heavy, but it was unending. The cold seeped into his skin after only a few minutes. His clothes were waterlogged completely, and had never been particularly warm or comfortable. The cold set in deeper as the sun went down.
Konstantin didn’t move, waiting for Oskar to salute before releasing him. Other officers had brought the guard an umbrella. Then a large, warm overcoat as the sun went down. Then a mug of hot coffee, and a sandwich. He looked so comfortable that Oskar wept without shame. He wondered if Konstantin could even tell with the rain pouring down his face.
Hours passed. Oskar wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep the cold out, just a little, body shaking uncontrollably. He squeezed his jaw shut hard to keep his teeth from chattering. “H-h-how y-ou g-g-g-oing? You ready t-t-t-to give up yet?”
Konstantin actually laughed. “Ahh, you’re one of a kind, Prisoner. It’s getting to the point where I can’t even tell you apart, but… you impress me, just a little.” His breath steamed. “You know, if your God demands you to put yourself through this, one wonders if He deserves your worship.”
“Any t-t-time you want t-t-t-to show m-me the mercy that-t God won’t, say the word.” Oskar returned.
Konstantin inclined his head, conceding that. “I heard what you said earlier. About the War going badly for my side?” He sipped his coffee, enjoying the warmth. “Rest assured, that if our enemies ever did get this close? The last order would probably be to kill you all before they get here.”
Another chill rocked through him. One that had nothing to do with the rain.
“It’s true.” Konstantin assured him, as though they were talking about sports. “Once we win this war, nobody will even wonder about you. And if, by some chance, the Front gets anywhere near here? We’re not about to leave so many…” He stopped himself. “I was about to say: ‘So many Witnesses’.”
“No, I guess not.” Oskar nodded, neck twitching compulsively as his muscles spasmed, yet again. “But P-Prisoners have been rotated out of here. Someone knows your face. Knows what y-you do to people in here.”
“We can take care of them in time, too.” Konstantin wasn’t concerned. “There aren’t that many of you left, Prisoner.” He yawned. “And if you think my people will lose their nerve? I certainly won’t.”
Oskar said nothing for a moment. “I believe you.” He said, and the shiver was suddenly gone from his voice. “I believe you.”
They said nothing more, but Oskar started praying. Father, he’s telling the truth. He will kill us all the second he realises nobody will punish him for it. Because he likes it. That uniform isn’t forcing him to be cruel to people who can’t fight back. It’s giving him permission. He’ll kill all of us, and it’ll be the most fun he’s ever had. He won’t wait for the order if the War comes here.
“I can wait here all night.” Konstantin reminded him. “And when I get bored with watching you shake, I can either shoot you, or assign someone to stand out here in my place while I go and sleep in a nice warm bed. Or… you could… lift your hand. Say two words.”
Oskar didn’t answer him, still in prayer. Jehovah God, please, save your people from this man. Matheo always said You would never let us be pushed past the breaking point. I believe that, now more than ever. Because I’ve seen You giving strength to each of us. The other prisoners have given up, but none of our people have. Well, almost none. I see them praying for strength, and then they just… keep standing. You’re keeping us alive, and feeding our hope, every day, every minute.
Thunder rumbled overhead. Konstantin spared the sky a glance. Night had long since fallen, and it was hard to tell how heavy the clouds were. But he didn’t seem overly concerned. “On the other hand, I am getting bored.” Konstantin sighed, and he drew his sidearm.
Jehovah God, please protect the others from this monster!
Konstantin lifted the gun and pointed it at him. “You know what I want to hear. I’m going to count to three.”
Please, protect Your people!
“One.”
Please God, protect my daughter, after I’m gone.
“Two.”
…please…
Oskar felt the cold suddenly go far away, along with the feeling of rain. He had the vaguest sense of darkness…
~~/*\~~ Emet ~~/*\~~
Emet went back to his mother’s side. She looked… so tired. He sat beside her. “The battle is over.”
She almost smirked, as though he’d said something terribly ironic. He knew what she was thinking. There was a general feeling of inevitability. As though there was always going to be one punishment after another. As though the joyful freedom promised to them was a mirage they’d never catch.
Emet knew the time was coming. He knew the forty year sentence was ending. And he knew his mother was on the wrong side of it. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’m ready to be without you, mother.”
“I said the same about my own father. And yours, come to that.” She murmured, eyes still closed. “You’re never ready. But you find your way. We don’t have another option.”
Emet thought about that for a minute. “Maybe we do.” He said finally. “You were relieved that I left the Moabite women before being led into anything bad. What you didn’t know was why. I was talking with one of those women. A Priestess. She sang Jehovah’s praises.”
“I heard that a few of them tried that tactic.” His mother said, eyes still closed. “Speaking of Jehovah as a God to be admired, just like their own.”
“She was full of questions.” Emet admitted. “Where did we get food, where did we get water, what about the animals, what about our clothes, what about medical care, what about this, and what about that. The answers were always the same. We still see miracles every day. Impossible wonders, every day. Where does that fire and smoke come from? I make a fire to cook our food on, and can barely keep it fed long enough. What does the Fire of Jehovah use for fuel? Where did those snakes come from? How were you healed? Where did the bread come from?” He smiled. “Answering those questions to the Moabite Priestess strengthened my faith more than anything else in the years of this wandering. The others fell for the trap of something new. It made me see what we already had.”
“Thank God.” Leahe murmured. “I hope… I hope you go on to enjoy your life, my dearest. I hope you get the happiness that your father and I never…” She yawned, shallow and weak. “I hope you get a life. A real life…” Her breath was running short, but she wasn’t gasping. “I hope God still loves me, even when… if…”
Emet suddenly understood what was happening, and went over to hold her hand. “Mother?” He whispered, worried.
“...there’s so much, we could have given you…” She rasped. “...so much that we took from you, before you were even born…”
“Shh.” He shushed her as her eyes closed. “It’s okay. You gave me life. What comes next will make it worth living. What comes next for you…”
She couldn’t hear him anymore.
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
Oskar woke up, feeling fire run through his skin, his limbs. Everything was pain and heat. The last thing he knew, he’d been hoping for the tiniest bit of warmth, but this wasn’t it. It was thick, cloying, and suffocating. He started to toss and thrash.
A cold cloth was put against his head. “Shh.” A familiar voice said. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”
“Matheo?” He rasped. “Not dead?”
“Not dead.” Matheo confirmed.
“Ugh.” Oskar grunted. “What happened?”
“Konstantin had you at gunpoint. We were all praying for a miracle to save you when he started counting. You passed out just as he got to ‘three’, and landed on his shoes.” Matheo said lightly. “Apparently, killing you wasn’t any fun when you weren’t awake.”
“...thirsty.”
“The cold got to you. You have a fever. You’ve been delirious for two days. We’ve been feeding you sips of water, and trying to get some medicine. The Camp is on lockdown right now.” Matheo said. “Things are a little chaotic today. You missed the really interesting part.”
“Oh, really?” Oskar rasped. Seemed interesting enough for me.
“This morning during Roll Call, we couldn’t move you. We went out to report it, but the Commander was already out there, trying to get his car to work.”
“...what?” Oskar blinked.
“The Commander was called back to town for a meeting, but his staff car suddenly stopped working. Konstantin was trying to make it work. Another man brought a jack to lift the car up. He had the hood up, and was tinkering with the engine…” Matheo shook his head in disbelief. “And then, with all of us watching, the carjack slipped. The staff car dropped, so did the hood; and Konstantin was slammed face-first into the engine, which suddenly roared to life again.”
Oskar blinked, his eyes wide open; suddenly wide awake. “What? Konstantin is dead?!”
“They had to scoop him out of the engine block with garden tools.” Matheo said. “I’m ashamed to say I’m happy about it. If the war had gone bad enough for their side, I truly believe he’d have killed us all before letting us out, or leaving us behind.”
Oskar burst out laughing. He broke down coughing almost instantly. “Well. Mysterious ways indeed.”
Matheo grinned. “I had the same thought.”
Oskar shook his head, suddenly shifting out of coherence. “They used to look… so much bigger than I was.”
His voice had been so thin and raspy that only Matheo heard him. He leaned closer. “What do you mean?”
But Oskar was unconscious again.
~~/*\~~
The Prisoners were glad to hear that the most savage of their tormentors had been taken out. Oskar wasn’t the only one wondering if it was divine retribution for what he’d inflicted on them all. For certain, nobody, including his own unit, was shedding a tear for him.
Oskar made an effort to stop coughing, afraid of spreading his illness to the whole camp. He may have survived a night in the rain, but it was clear that the damage was done. The other prisoners had tried to get him some medicine, but the guards had given none. After a few days, Matheo realized it was because they had none to offer their own men, let alone prisoners.
~~/*\~~
Oskar was drifting in and out of delirium, the fever taking its toll. Matheo sat with him more than anyone else.
“I’m worried about Flora.” Oskar rasped, during one of his lucid moments.
“I know. But I think we’re coming towards the end of this, and-”
“Not that.” Oskar coughed. “If she’s alive, what will she be when this ends? If all this… ugliness is broken, and taken away from the world; what will remain? We can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. If we go out of our way to forget these trials, then surely someone will try again. But if we remember, how can we ever be free of it?”
“Healing isn’t forgetting.” Matheo offered.
“I dreamed last night. I dreamed we were at a meeting.” Oskar said softly. “It was my first time reading from the Bible in front of others. My first talk, so I was nervous. I remember practising it so many times, I still know it by heart.”
“Yeah?” Matheo smiled. “What was the reading?”
“Psalm 78. ‘For their heart was not right with him, neither were they stedfast in his covenant. But he, being full of compassion, forgave their iniquity, and destroyed them not: yea, many a time turned he his anger away, and did not stir up all his wrath. For he remembered that they were but flesh; a wind that passeth away, and cometh not again. How oft did they provoke him in the wilderness, and grieve him in the desert! Yea, they turned back and tempted God, and limited the Holy One of Israel. They remembered not his hand, nor the day when he delivered them from the enemy’.”
Matheo mopped his brow. “You’re worried about Flora turning out that way?”
“I have no idea what she’s had to do to survive this long. I have no idea where she is now. Who they put her with. How they might have twisted her head around. What if she-” He broke down coughing again.
“We of all people know what faith can heal in a person, Oskar.” Matheo promised him. “We of all people know that the evil men do can be overcome with good.”
“Can it? Because pretty much the entire first half of the Bible is basically flipping a coin between God’s own people turning against Him, then back to Him, then against Him. What happened to make them so… mercurial?” Oskar coughed. “They started out as slaves, Matheo. They came into their new world with scars and nightmares of abuse and terror-” He coughed again. “-and they decided they didn’t want their Promised Land. What if-” He broke down into hard, wracking coughs again. His eyes unfocused, and he suddenly seemed to be looking at something else. “Where’s the salt?”
Matheo blinked. “What?”
“I put salt on the apples, and now I need…” He tried to stand up, fell down again, let out a scared cry, eyes wide at something only he could see.
Matheo sighed, feeling his friend slip back into the delirium. He pushed Oskar back into bed, and held him there until the sick man fell asleep again.
“Jehovah God,” Matheo prayed aloud. “He’s not wrong. You saved Your own people, showed Your presence in their camp every day, and they still gave up, stopped believing, turned away from You. You have any idea what I’d give to have a pillar of fire over this Barracks every night, just to know You’re there? Oskar is afraid that the scars of this time will live forever, burned into our hearts beyond even Your power to make right. I hate to think he might be onto something. I know I’ve seen things I never imagined possible. Evil things. Oskar is scared that his daughter will never be the hopeful, faithful girl he raised to love You.”
Josef sat up. “We will not hide them from their children, shewing to the generation to come the praises of the Lord, and his strength, and his wonderful works that he hath done. For he established a testimony in Jacob, and appointed a law in Israel, which he commanded our fathers, that they should make them known to their children: That the generation to come might know them, even the children which should be born; who should arise and declare them to their children: That they might set their hope in God, and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments’.” He spoke almost listlessly, dryly reciting something he’d learned by rote. “In Ancient Hebrew or Modern King James, the lesson is the same.”
“Teaching.” Matheo nodded. “You think the ‘Exodus Generation’ taught their kids to distrust authority? Including Jehovah’s?”
“I wonder if that particular generation had anything to teach their kids other than fear of power, and constant deprivation. Sooner or later I’ll have to tell the next generation about this part of my life.” Josef murmured. “If man is the only ‘authority’, then what hope is there for our children? And if God is the only ‘good’ authority that can rule the world, then where is He? Look at what following His commands has brought you to.”
Matheo shivered. “I wonder if the people in Moses day said the same?”
Josef ignored that. “I’ve heard some of your lessons, you know. I remember that part you talked about in the Gospel. Jesus said this world would end with ‘Great Tribulation’ that the world has never seen before?” He scowled. “If it’s worse than this, then God must be too.”
Matheo gave him a look. “Then I guess that’s Oskar’s answer. Because the whole point of ‘Paradise’ is that God will make everything right. Every loss, every grief, every moment of suffering, repaid a hundredfold in joy. I’ll grant that it’s harder for people who have suffered institutional abuse to trust authority, but not impossible. So if there’s some evil that God can’t put right or heal, then it means humans have more power over the world than Him, and Jehovah isn’t a God worth worshipping. So I guess the question is: Do we trust that God can fix anything humans can do, or don’t we?” He spread his hands wide. “That’s what faith is.”
~~/*\~~
A few days later, they started missing work shifts. They worked every day, with rare exceptions, but suddenly they weren’t being put to work. A few days after that, two of the guards didn’t show up for their duty shifts. The Commander stopped making announcements, and was rarely seen outside his office.
The general prisoner population was almost willing to be hopeful. In the middle of the night, they heard the faintest sound of artillery.
“One way or another, I think we’re leaving soon.” Matheo murmured to Oskar.
Close enough to overhear, Josef spoke wryly. “You’ve never really been in here, sir. Not like the rest of us.” Josef lowered his voice so that Oskar couldn’t overhear. “How’s he doing?”
Matheo looked back to Oskar. “The fever has sapped the last of his strength. I’m honestly not sure he’s aware of us anymore. We’ve been trying to care for him, but there’s not a lot we can do with what we’ve got. In one way, we’re lucky that the Guards don’t seem to care anymore. There’s no work to do… But the damage is done, I fear.” He sighed again. “The Spirit, of course, is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
Josef nodded, saddened but unmoved. What was one more death? “When I came to this camp, I had five people I knew personally, all thrown in here with me. I’m the only one still alive. They refilled the barracks with more of my people, and they died too. I don’t know why I’m still alive, and they’re not.”
“Faith doesn’t mean there’s no such thing as random chance.” Matheo said stoically. “Chance rolls the dice with us all.” He sighed. “I’m more than a decade older than Oskar. He has a daughter. If I could take his place right now, I would. But no, I don’t feel like I’m ‘chosen’ to survive any more than him. The reason why is obvious.”
Josef knew what it was too. “He’s sick because he hasn’t eaten a proper meal in months, and a sadistic guard decided to keep him out in the rain, as punishment for helping the older ones with their work.” He shook his head. “Caring for your elderly ones is a fine quality, but it shouldn’t be a death sentence.” He scowled at Matheo. “I don’t see God in any of this.”
“God had no hand in building this camp, Josef. Nor did He have any hand in starving us, or mistreating us.”
“I went to Hebrew school. I was told the power of prayer. In my life, from the moment my mom got sick to the moment I was thrown in here, God’s answer has always been ‘no’.” He looked around. “How many people are in camps like this? How many people are praying? God’s not listening.”
Matheo looked sideways at Josef. “Would it surprise you to learn that I never prayed for our freedom?”
Josef blinked. “Why not?”
“Same reason I never prayed to be a millionaire.” Matheo smiled. “You heard us talking about how this war is the fulfilment of prophecy, as is what comes next? God will end this war, and decide our fates in His own good time, and His own good way. The same can be said of all suffering, war, hunger, sickness and death. The time when all that will be undone is decided already.”
Josef scoffed, despite himself. “What do you pray for then?”
“Endurance.” Matheo said simply. “Patience. Calmness of heart. Compassion for my enemies, and love for my brothers. Hope for the future. Strength to refuse their offer.”
Josef scowled. “None of us got that offer, you know. ‘Sign here and go free’.”
“I can understand why you’d hate us for that.”
“I don’t.” Josef said quietly. “I used to. But looking back, I’m amazed.” He looked back at Oskar, who was rocking in his sleep, eyes dancing under his eyelids. “You know, whenever your people knocked at my door, I turned them away. I had my own religion, after all.”
Matheo nodded, unsurprised.
“If you’re right, and life goes back to some kind of sanity… You’ll just pick up and start knocking on doors again, won’t you?”
“However I can, for as long as I can.” Matheo nodded.
Josef rubbed his nose. “I promise. I won’t ignore you anymore. I can’t say I’ll ever agree, and certainly I’ll never believe in God again. But I’ll always make time for your people.”
Matheo smiled and the two clasped their hands together tightly, forging the bond between prisoners.
As if to challenge the moment, the door opened, and a guard came in. He looked… worried. Usually the guards came boiling in like a swarm; full of power and wrath. Now the guard looked… so small, like his uniform didn’t really fit him properly. He was scared of something.
Matheo smiled suddenly, understanding. Why yes, Oskar. They did seem to be bigger when we first got here.
The guard stayed at the door, and addressed everyone. “Spread the word to all prisoners. The Camp is being moved. There’s no longer any necessary work for you to do in this area, and we are removing you to a better location. The trucks will arrive in a few hours.”
And then he ducked out again, apparently in a hurry.
Matheo looked back at Oskar. The other Witnesses did the same. As thin and sick as he was, Oskar was still the largest of them, and nobody had much strength left. Oskar wasn’t even lucid.
“I’ll help you move him.” Josef put in. “He’d do it for me.”
~~/*\~~
Matheo decided to take a nap until the trucks came. He woke up the next morning. He saw the dawn’s light shining in through the open barracks door and felt a momentary confusion. I slept all night?
Standing at the doorway, Lenz saw his movement, and waved him over. “They’re leaving.”
“Leaving?” Matheo repeated, coming over to join him. They spoke softly, letting the others sleep. “I thought they were bringing in trucks to move us.”
“They said the trucks would be here last night.” Lenz nodded. “They never came.”
“So they’re leaving without us?”
“They’re leaving without each other.” Lenz nodded, gesturing towards the Commander’s Office. “Two of the tower guards prised up the machine guns from their mounts, put them over their shoulders, and took off.” He smothered a smile. “The Commander removed the swastika from his town car, ran into his office, and came back out in civvies. He dove into his car, kicked out his driver, and then drove right outta here, full speed.”
“You’re kidding!” Matheo laughed. “You should have woken me. I would have paid money to see that.”
“His driver looked completely helpless, and the last of the staff has been screaming at each other loud enough that we can hear every word from the Box.” He grinned. “It’s the first time I was eager to go over there.”
“What are they arguing about?” Matheo asked, rapt.
“Well, in between all the cuss words, they’re trying to figure out if they should run for it, or stay and surrender to whoever gets here first.” Lenz shook his head. “They’ve pretty much given up on their own people getting here at all. It’s either the Americans, the British, the Russians, or some scout troop who took a really bad turn.” He gestured over at the discarded Nazi flag, still in the mud. “More likely they’ll run. If they surrender now, it means admitting they’ve been working people to death in this camp for most of the war.”
“I hope the invasion gets here soon, or we’ll starve before rescue.” Matheo commented. “I’m pretty sure they won’t be leaving any food for us.” He shook his head immediately. “What am I saying? If God hasn’t let us starve during the whole war, I can’t believe He’d forget us now.”
~~/*\~~
Oskar’s fever had broken, but he was still asleep. Josef sat with him, with nothing else to do. He was the last of the Jewish Prisoners still alive in the Camp. He’d heard the horror stories of what had happened to people like him all across the Axis powers. After watching people he knew fade into nothing one by one, he wasn’t sure if he felt lucky, or cursed.
There was a feeling of finality; as though everything was ending. Josef spoke quietly to Oskar, who was still. “You know something? After a few months in here… I couldn’t remember what my house looked like. Sounds crazy, but I just… forgot about it. Now, I can hear the shelling over the horizon, and I think I’m lucky. I doubt anything of our homes will be left once the war has flattened everything. If your people are right, and there’s a new world coming… I guess I’ll have to get used to leaving my old life behind, huh?”
“Planes!” Someone shouted from outside. “I see planes! They aren’t German! I think they’re American.”
Josef lurched, wanting to run out to look, but he didn’t have the energy. He looked at Oskar, who hadn’t moved. He was asleep. His breathing was shallow.
I’ve seen so many people die in their sleep here. Josef thought. Should I wake him? Would that make it worse?
“It’s circling! The plane is circling! They’ve seen us!” Matheo shouted from outside. “They’ve seen the camp! They found us!”
The others outside were cheering, whooping and hollering, seeing the possibility of rescue coming at last.
~~/*\~~ Emet ~~/*\~~
Sha'al came over as Emet collected the Manna for his breakfast. “Moses is asking for you.”
Emet nodded and left his gathering bowl where it sat, following Sha'al. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you on becoming one of the Chieftains.”
“Thank you. I admit, it’s changed things.” Sha'al confessed. “There’s a certain level of ‘distance’ that comes with the job. Several people who barely spoke to me now want to be my friends. Several others who were always so relaxed about joking around now choose their words carefully.”
“How’s the wife taking it?”
“She’s getting the same thing, but she’s taking it in stride. You know Kitra. She’s unflappable.”
“Well, you didn’t marry each other for the money.” Emet drawled.
Sha'al chuckled, then looked at him sideways. “Why is it you never married, Emet?”
He rolled his eyes. “Your impression of my mother gets better with each passing week, now that she’s gone.”
“No, I’m serious. We’re coming to the end of this whole ‘stay’ in the Wilderness. Everyone expects that when the Tribes reach the Promised Land, our own borders will be divided up by Tribe. Here in the Camp, that’s just a question of where you pitch a tent; but in another few months? Family is going to decide everything. Where you live, who you live with, what you do with your land.”
“My mother had this exact conversation with my father, more than once.” Emet explained. “My father was Egyptian. My mother was the last of her family line, because her own mother died in childbirth, and her father was slain after the Golden Calf.”
Sha'al understood where he was going with this. “Our fathers are gone, Emet. Anyone who cared about those things, those old… shames? They’re long gone. Our own generation has its own shameful acts of disobedience. Nobody cares if you’re half Egyptian. There’s hardly anyone left who remembers Egypt firsthand.”
“I know.” Emet said quickly. “But when I was small, I remember my mother admitting to my father that she didn’t want more children.” He gestured around. “Look around. I’m told that Hebrew families were famous for… well, being numerous.”
Sha'al grinned for half a heartbeat. “Not much else to do out here.”
Emet almost smiled in response. “Right. But my mother got pregnant with me before they reached the border... Once the forty year exile began, she made every effort to avoid having kids. And now I have no siblings, no parents, and no family of my own.” He glanced at his friend. “It’s a little scary to think that if she’d known what would happen first, she never would have had me. Having more children was cruel in her mind.”
“She loved you.”
“With all her heart.” Emet nodded. “But when she realized her time was coming… She was relieved. She was grateful to know that she wasn’t going to outlive me. And until we enter the Promised Land… how do we know, and I mean really know for certain that we won’t have to spend another generation out here?”
“That’s why you never married?” Sha'al was surprised. “Because you didn’t want to risk it?”
“I was talking with Kitra the other day. No small number of our generation are more worried about entering the Promised Land than we are about staying here.” Emet admitted. “We’re not farmers, Sha'al. How do we take over good growing land? I’ve never seen a harvest. I only know the word from my father's lessons.” Emet spread his hands wide, somehow unable to stop himself. “And what else? Repairing clothes? I’ve never used a needle and thread. Nothing I've worn in my life has ever worn out. Where do we get oil for lanterns? And how many do we use? That pillar of fire has lit our tents at night since before I was born. And what happens to the Tent? I’ll be living under stone? Is that really what houses are built of?”
Sha'al almost smiled. Though he was young, his expression was stoic, and he walked with the same bent posture that his father always had. Most of Israel did, unaware that they were copying their parents. “I know it’s our entire life, but it’s not normal. This? All this? It’s not a normal life. When we get to where this Camp is going, that’s when our life starts. You know the one part of life that we’ll still have? Our families. Our children. Each other. That’s the one constant God has always put in front of us. No matter where we lived, or under what circumstances, the future was always built around our offspring.”
By this time, they had arrived at Moses’ tent. “Well, fine. I look forward to it.” Emet wrapped the conversation up. “But I admit, I have no idea where to start. I’ve never learned any of the skills my own sons would need in their lives. Who starts their life at forty years old?”
“I did.” Moses said as they entered his tent. It was clear he’d overheard some of that. “I lived for forty years, raised in Pharaoh's Court. Then I fled to the wilderness myself, and we won’t talk about the reasons why; since you already know that sorry part of my story.” He smiled. “But once I was out there, I shed all the traces of what I had grown up with. I learned to care for sheep, and I married my wife… Forty more years of that, and God decided I was ready for a task that would be my whole world.” He smiled. “Joshua is ready. I’ve spent years working on only three things: These scrolls, managing the Camp, and training my replacement. Joshua will lead a whole generation of people who have been waiting for their life to get started. Take my word for it: Real Life begins when you start serving the One who created life. That can happen at any age.” He gave Emet a look. “Even after death.”
Emet twitched. “I-I hope so.”
Sha'al had made his way over to the other side of the tent and collected a scroll. He’d found a specific one. “Your father scribed this. I recognize his handwriting.” He held it out to Emet, who took it automatically, eyes scanning over the familiar words. “‘All the families of the ground will certainly bless themselves by means of you’.”
(Author’s Note: The 7/1 1989 Watchtower Article: ‘Why You Should Know the Truth About Abraham’ meditates on this quote from Genesis 12:3.
The Article says: “That is a staggering promise, and Abraham heard it uttered on at least two other occasions. In order to fulfill it, God will even resurrect from the dead representatives of families that have died out’.”
This strongly suggests that Abraham knew there would be a Resurrection. Job clearly knew, so it would stand to reason that those who came after them both would.)
“Your father always loved that verse.” Moses said gently to Emet. “He first knew Jehovah from the Ten Plagues. After the Exile began, he was terrified that he’d made the wrong choice. When we talked about God’s covenants with His people? He pored over that one for ages. He asked me about the wording four times.”
Emet’s head tilted. “I have no memory of that.”
“You were pretty small at the time.” Moses nodded. “‘All the families of the ground’. ‘All’ is a pretty big promise. ‘Of the ground’ is important too. All families beyond Abraham’s own. All that were made from dust, all that had returned to dust. The Covenant with Abraham is a vow that all peoples will one day look to Jehovah for that blessing. The Great Promise isn’t just for your mother’s side of the family, Emet.”
“You think it applies to us too? All of us? Even after… everything?”
“I do.” Moses said serenely. “It’s why I fear no lost time. Servants of Jah have all the time they could ever need.” He rolled the scroll shut. “Your father agreed. The idea that Jehovah would tear apart death itself to give all of us yet another chance, in a place where nobody would ever get sick, ever grow old, ever be in danger… He saw that as ultimate proof that Jah was a Loving God.”
Emet sniffed, emotional. “It’ll be a… pretty great day.”
Moses nodded. “I have spent forty years in full-time service to my God. I have outlived all my friends, and most of my family. I can define my life in three almost equal thirds. The time spent in Egypt, the time spent in Midian, and the time spent with my people.” He stretched, groaning. “My time is almost done. And I’ll admit, there’s still so much I don’t understand. But one day, I will.” He ran a hand over the scrolls. The product of years of work, finally completed. “Emet, when I die, Joshua will have to take over this part, keeping the history of our people.” He gave Emet a look. “When he does, he will likely need the services of a talented Scribe. I intend to mention your name to him.”
Emet smirked. “Yes, my lord. Thank you.”
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