On This Foundation Read Online Free Page B

temple courtyard. It dragged gray storm clouds with it, and she felt the first sprinkles of rain. They needed rain. In fact, her nation was praying for the winter rains to pour from the heavens in steady sheets, soaking the cracked earth and bringing it back to life. But as quickly as the spitting raindrops started, they stopped again, proving as worthless as the song’s promise.
    The evening sacrifice at the temple was nearly over. Chana looked forward to returning home again and warming her wind-burned cheeks, rubbing life back into her icy toes and fingers. She watched the priest remove a coal from the altar fire and carry it into the sanctuary. He would use it to light the incenseon the golden altar that stood before God’s throne room. As the fragrant aroma ascended to heaven, the priest would offer prayers for her people. It was the moment for Chana to offer her prayers, too—but for what? Hadn’t she prayed for nearly a year for her heart to heal so she could feel something besides endless grief? She glanced at her younger sisters, Yudit and Sarah, standing beside her with their heads bowed. Yudit’s lips moved as she silently prayed. Chana wondered what she prayed for. Was it for her?
    Another blast of wind rocked Chana, plastering her long robe to her legs. She had covered her wavy black hair with a shawl in case it rained, and she reached up to grab it before the wind whisked it away. At last the sacrifice ended. She huddled close to her sisters as they waited for their father to rejoin them. “I love that song that the choir just sang, don’t you, Chana?” Yudit asked through chattering teeth.
    Chana nodded, guilt-stricken for having pouted the entire time instead of participating in worship. She knew the folly of being angry with the Almighty One. Bitterness was a poison that had the power to destroy her. But on cold, gray days like this one, when the clouds hung over Jerusalem’s mountaintops like a smothering blanket, her grief threatened to smother her, as well. After Yitzhak died, she continued coming to the temple to worship God, clinging to a slender thread of faith. Some days, especially during the annual festivals, the bond that connected her to the Almighty One seemed as thick and strong as an anchor rope. But most days the thread seemed gossamer thin, a spider’s tendril. No matter how she felt, Chana remained determined to hold on to the Holy One and not let go, even when it seemed He had let go of her.
    Minutes passed as she watched the departing worshipers leave the temple courtyards. At last, Abba bustled up to them, his plump cheeks as round and red as pomegranates. “There you are, my beauties! What a lovely sight you are on such a dreary day.”
    Sarah stood on her toes to kiss him, then linked her arm through his. “We knew you’d be cold, so we made soup to help you warm up. And we baked bread, too. I hope it’s still warm.” Sarah was Chana’s youngest sister, with hair as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing. Thick lashes rimmed her wide, brown eyes, giving her the innocent look of a child much younger than her seventeen years. She and Chana resembled each other the most.
    â€œWonderful!” Abba said. “I do believe I can smell it from here.”
    â€œNo, you can’t, Abba,” Sarah said, laughing.
    They crossed the open courtyard toward the western side of the temple mount, and as another gust slammed into her, Chana feared they would all be blown off the mountaintop in the wind. She wrapped her arm around Yudit’s waist, huddling close as they walked. Yudit was nineteen and the independent sister, the one who didn’t care if her curly brown hair frizzed around her face like a lion’s mane or her fingernails were ragged and broken from moving stones and digging in the dusty earth to plant rosemary and sagebushes in front of their house. Not that herbs or anything else could grow without