The Tower of the Flock, Part 1

Eliezer’s Story

 

Squinting in the late afternoon sun, I wiped my brow and surveyed our work.

The crazy intense, sleep deprived spring was well behind us. The last ewe had delivered the last lamb. We’d had a lovely, lazy summer letting the sheep graze the lush hill country. I’d been glad to get away from town for a few months. But harvest had come and gone, and we’d brought the sheep to the fields to eat what the gleaners left behind.  That morning, Uncle Asa sent me to the watchtower on the edge of town to ready it for the next lambing season.

Ignoring my aching back and grumbling stomach, I grinned at what we’d accomplished. My little brother Tobiah and I  spent all day scrubbing and sweeping to get it ready for the next time we needed to look after an injured sheep or tend a pregnant ewe.  The stone manger practically sparkled, and the tower walls had been scrubbed free of moss and debris.  I was confident Uncle Asa would find nothing to complain about when he came to check my work.

“Let’s get out of here, Tobiah. I’m beat. Once you’ve folded that last cloth, we can head back to the flock.  I’m starving.”

He mumbled something under his breath and threw the last white linen strip on the stack.  He had worked beside me all day, scowling and sulking the whole time.  I hadn’t investigated his sullen attitude yet, but the walk down to the field would give me time to sort out his sour mood.

I picked up the swaddling cloth and swatted him with it. “Fold it like I showed you, and then we’re out of here.  Once you’ve filled your belly with fresh bread and cheese, maybe you’ll find a smile tucked somewhere under that grimace.”

Whining, he folded the cloth and set it on the stack with exaggerated care. Had I been that grumbly at eight years old? Possibly, but I hadn’t had the nerve to show it. I answered to my uncle, not just an older brother. When I tousled Tobiah’s curly brown hair, he slapped my hand away.

I placed a firm hand around his neck, resisting the urge to tighten my grip. “Okay, buddy, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been out of sorts all day.”

He kicked a pebble, sending it skittering toward the firepit. His chin trembled. He set his lips in a tight line, a vain attempt to hold back a sob. “I don’t want to be a shepherd, Eliezer. Everyone thinks shepherds are stupid and dirty. Simeon told me he won’t be my friend anymore because he’s going to Jerusalem, and when he grows up, he’s going to be a Temple guard. And Temple guards are too important to have shepherds for friends.” He crossed his arms over his little chest and hunched his shoulders. “His dad said shepherds can’t be trusted.”

His upper lip disappeared under the lower one, and big, fat tears slipped down the side of his nose.

I huffed in disgust. “Well, that just shows Simeon’s ignorance, Tobiah. I’m sorry he said that.  He’ doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You know we aren’t just any shepherds, don’t you?  Because we tend no ordinary sheep.”  My chest expanded with pride. “Who tended these fields before us?

Tobiah groaned again and rolled his eyes. “King David. I know. But that was a long time ago.  What difference does it make that David watched sheep? We call him King David, not Shepherd David.”

“These sheep are special. Only lambs from our flock are good enough for Passover.  The High Priest himself comes to choose the lamb sacrificed for the people. And he depends upon our skill to make sure the lambs are perfect. You’ll see – it’s quite a show when he comes to get the lamb. It is both a great honor and a great responsibility to maintain our flocks in accordance with the Torah. Have you never wondered why it’s adults, not children, who are in charge of these flocks? We are trained by the rabbis to certify these lambs as suitable for sacrifice. When our ewes are ready to give birth, we bring them here to Migdal Eder, the tower of the flock, so we can watch over the lambs from the moment they’re born. That’s why we keep it clean and ready.” I picked up the cloth on the top of the stack. “Birth is not an easy process, you know, and the lambs come out kicking and thrashing. We must wrap them tightly in the swaddling cloths you washed, dried, and folded today so they don’t injure themselves – they must be without spot or blemish. This cloth may be the one that swaddles the lamb the High Priest chooses for the sacrifice.”

Tobiah shrugged his hunched shoulders. We walked in silence down to the field where our companions tended the sheep. The setting sun turned the sky brilliant shades of orange, pink, and purple, but Tobiah didn’t seem to notice. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him.

To be continued . . .

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