Stories of the Prophets (Before the Exile). Isaac Landman
power, and Judah to a poor, little thistle to be tramped upon!
Jeroboam II was indeed a son of his father. Joash humbled Judah, Israel's enemy on the south; Jeroboam humbled Syria, Israel's enemy on the north.
Not satisfied with the fall of Damascus, however, Jeroboam pushed right ahead and captured Lodebar and Karnaim, which he turned over to Assur-dan, king of Assyria.
The fact is that Jeroboam had to do this. It was his end of a bargain made with Assur-dan. It was agreed between the two that the Assyrians would keep their hands off during the war between Israel and Syria.
As a reward for Assur-dan's non-interference, Jeroboam undertook to capture these two cities and turn them over to the Syrians to become part of his empire.
Having fulfilled his agreement, Jeroboam continued his victorious march further north, and never stopped until he had laid low the pride of Hamath, the prosperous city on the river Orontes.
Jeroboam II, thus had the great distinction of restoring the boundaries of the Kingdom of Israel to the proportions of the empire of David and Solomon, "from the entrance of Hamath unto the sea of Arabah," which is the Dead Sea.
Wonderful was the reception prepared for the king and his victorious army on their return to Samaria. More people had come to the city to join in the welcoming demonstration than had pilgrimed to Jerusalem on the Passover, in the days before the division of the kingdom.
The northern walls were massed with people, and the gates were decorated with flowers. Priests and elders, dressed in spotless white and led by the high priest, Amaziah, himself, awaited Jeroboam and his generals just outside of the city and preceded them to the gates. Such an acclamation of joy as greeted the king upon his entrance through the gates had never been heard in Samaria.
Passing through a triumphal arch of stone and marble, the procession was met by hundreds of maidens and children, clothed in linen and gold, who led the way, singing and strewing flowers in the path of the heroes.
A turn in the street led to the market-place. Here had been built a great triumphal arch of ivory and gold, beyond which was an altar, specially erected for the occasion.
Passing through the arch, Amaziah and Jeroboam mounted the steps that led to the altar. All the rest remained below. When the priest and the king faced the people the singing and the shouting ceased. With due ceremony, and according to the rites, the king brought a thanks-offering to God for his victories and his safe return. When Amaziah placed the sacrifice upon the altar a deep hush fell over the great assembly.
Slowly the smoke of the sacrifice rose to heaven, and the multitude of people, like one man, fell on their knees and worshiped.
Jeroboam was deeply moved. Solemnly he raised his right hand, and, from the depths of his grateful heart, he said:
"Peace to the house of Israel!"
Like the rumble of a mighty wave rolling toward the shore came the response from the sea of worshiping people:
"To the house of Israel, peace!"
For one whole week after Jeroboam's triumphant entry into the capital, Samaria was a place of feasting and rejoicing. When, by command of the king, the celebration came to an end and the people began to return to their homes, each one, on leaving the city's gates, repeated to himself the now answered prayer of over a century:
"Peace to the house of Israel!
To the house of Israel, peace!"
CHAPTER II.
In the Days of Prosperity.
It was market day in Samaria.
Great throngs of people crowded all the streets. They jostled each other good naturedly, traded, bargained, renewed acquaintanceship, spoke of their home towns and expressed the hope of meeting again.
The market place itself, where the many bazaars displayed wonderful merchandise from many cities and many lands, was an especially lively place. It was gay with life and color. Gilded chariots and ivory-bedecked litters passed to and fro. Heralds announced particularly important personages and escorts and cleared a way for them with whip or spear. Military men and merchant princes, with many followers, often scattered the smaller merchants and petty traders in their path through the market. Many were caught under the wheels of the vehicles of the rich when they did not get out of the way quickly enough. Others were purposely thrust aside by the wealthy aristocrats simply to show their disdain.
It was a typical Samarian market day—crowds and noise; buying and selling; idle rich and drudging poor; haughty military grandees, in their resplendent attires, and cowed, miserable beggars in their rags; color and laughter at the bazaars, and tears and sorrow at the auction block just across the way—always crowds and always noise.
The auctioneer was shouting above the general din the good points of a man who had just been placed on the block.
"To be sold till the Jubilee Year," he cried. "How much am I bid?"
A clerk read the court's decree that this man was to be sold for debt. It was signed by the judges, who sat in the East Gate of Samaria. The document was a cold, formal statement. It did not take into account the reason why this man, in the full vigor of manhood, had fallen into debt. His creditors had pushed the poor fellow hard for their money. He could not pay. He pleaded with the judges that the sickness of his wife and children had reduced him to direst need, but it was without avail. He could not pay his debts and must work them off as a slave for seven years; that was the decree of the court. After seven years he would be a free man again. Cases like this were very common.
The keen eye of the auctioneer noted a man at the far edge of the platform who had made several attempts as if to bid during the sale. He was a middle-aged man, tall and thin, but wiry. His face was bronzed from exposure to sun and wind. He wore a long woolen mantel that completely covered him, even to the sandals on his feet.
"How much am I bid?" The auctioneer spoke the question directly to this country yokel, while he winked at the crowd in front of him. He thought that the fellow who came to the market clad in such clothes, instead of his Sabbath best, had little money with him to buy a slave, and less use for one. So he spoke the question again to the "farmer," expecting an answer that would make the crowd laugh and put them in good humor.
The country yokel again made as if to speak but changed his mind and backed away, facing the auctioneer.
He had hardly backed three paces when he bumped into some one. He was pushed violently forward, and, before he could recover, winced under a stinging crack from a whip.
He turned quickly and faced two brutish looking men, swearing at his awkwardness and cursing his impudence for being in the way.
The "farmer" could have given a good account of himself in a square fight with these men, but he knew better than to start a fight with them. They were the foreguards to a splendid pleasure outfit—the outfit of a very rich Samarian merchant. A fight meant arrest and punishment at the hands of Samarian judges, whether he was in the right or not. The rich of Samaria had the judges under their thumbs. A stranger or a poor man, in fact, anyone who had no influence in Samaria, stood little chance of getting justice.
So the farmer cleared the way. Standing aside, he watched the chariot drawn by four Egyptian steeds, surrounded by guards, slaves and hangers-on, make its way through the crowded market place, paying no attention to the rights and privileges of any one. The wealthy merchant in the chariot held his head up proudly. He greeted only the prosperous looking; upon the curious crowds and small merchants, he looked down with contempt.
The merchant whose attendants had so grossly insulted the "farmer" drew up before a great palace. Rich carpets were spread from the chariot to the steps of the mansion. The rich man's followers bowed low as he passed up the steps and through the door