Previously on the Chosen People.

I am Cyrus, King of Persia, King of Babylon, ruler of the four quarters of the Earth.

The Lord, the God of the heavens, has given me all the kingdoms of the earth, and has appointed me to build him a house at Jerusalem in Judah.

Any of his people among you, may his God be with you, and may he go to Jerusalem in Judah and build the house of the Lord, the God of Israel, the God who is in Jerusalem.

Let every survivor wherever he resides be assisted by the men of that region with silver, gold, goods, and livestock, along with a free will offering for the House of God in Jerusalem.

He said, we can go back and rebuild it.

We can go home.

Yes, can you believe it.

We'll finally see Jerusalem.

With that, men gathered their tools, women packed their woven baskets.

Elders dusted off family scrolls and whispered prayers of gratitude they hadn't thought would ever come.

Children ran through alleyways, wide eyed, over hearing talk of a city they'd only ever heard of in stories.

Jerusalem, Sallo, my friends, from here in the Holy Land of Israel.

I'm ya l Exstein with the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews and welcome to the Chosen People.

Each day we'll hear a dramatic story inspired by the Bible, stories filled with timeless lessons of faith, love, and the meaning of life.

Through Israel's story, we will find this truth that we are all chosen for something great.

So take a moment today to follow the podcast.

If you're feeling extra grateful for these stories, we would love it if you left us a review.

I read every single one of them, and if you're interested in hearing more about the prophetic, life saving work of the Fellowship, you can visit IFCJ dot Org.

Let's begin.

They arrived in silence.

There were no trumpets, no grand procession, only the sound of sandals scraping against dry earth and the wind coursing through broken stone walls in the hills of Judah.

The hope of Zion, struck down by the might of Babylon, now hung in the air, once more quiet and uncertain.

It lingered, ready to be taken up once more.

As the exile stood on the very hills their elders had spoken of with tears in their eyes.

Jerusalem here it was at long last.

But the city that crowned these hills, spanning Mount Zion to the south and Mount Mariah to the east, was not what they imagined at all.

There were no golden gates.

There were no shining white stone palaces or grand halls, just scorched earth and shattered stone.

The city that once topped the mountains of Judah now lay like a slain beast, pitiful, exposed and broken.

The walls that once stood proud and impenetrable were now jagged teeth against the sky, caved in and crumbling.

Gates that had once welcomed nations with splendor were nothing but blackened timber and ash.

The homes were no better, hollowed out shells overtaken by weeds, roofs caved in, and pottery shards half buried in dirt, like bones in a shallow, forgotten grave.

The Temple mount, once the dwelling place of the most High, stood in ghostly quiet.

Its courtyards were covered in ash and debris.

The altar was gone, desecrated long ago, leaving behind a scorched imprint in the dust where fire had once burned for the Lord, where Solomon's wealth had once shone cavernous corridors and halls remained anything of value.

All the gold, silver and bronze had long been pillaged and plundered, and everywhere the echo of the memories of what had been.

Jeshua the Priest stood still, his breath caught in his chest.

Sir Rubabelle beside him, said nothing for a long while.

The people behind the murmured prayers and wept quietly.

Some collapsed to their knees.

Some looked away, unable to reconcile the stories they'd heard with the ruin before them.

This was the inheritance they had waited a lifetime to reclaim, and yet there they were, and they had returned at last, just as the prophet Isaiah had foretold.

The words seemed to be on everyone's minds, but it was Jeshua who whispered them aloud into the eerie silence that hung over the ravaged ruins and peaks.

They will rebuild the ancient rumors.

They will restore the former devastations.

They will renew the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations.

Sir uber Bell entered the ruins of the temple mount.

First, he ran his fingers along a cracked, soot stained stone at the edge of what had once been the temple courtyard.

He turned and looked over the ragged group of exiles, tired, hungry, overwhelmed, but relieved to be home at last, to the land of Promise.

With a sigh infused with heavy, complicated emotions, Sir uber Bell looked to Joshua.

Joshua nodded, and Sir uber Bell spoke, not with triumph, but with quiet, resolute hope.

This is where we begin.

When they began to rebuild, they did not begin with walls, nor the homes, nor the towers or palaces.

They began with fire, with sacrifice, with worship.

Bring the rams, the goats, the sheefs, without blemish.

We begin and end.

Each day with the extension offering.

The entire sacrifice would be consumed on the fire of the odds of the burn's offering.

The fragrant a woman would be pleasing to the Lord, represent of constant, diligent devotion, dependence on him.

The people eagerly obeyed Jeshua, their high priest, as they re established the altar of burnt offering on the temple mount.

The roar and fire like the steadfast North Star that lights the way home in a vast cosmos of desolation.

The worship was modest and plain compared to the years of abundance and extravagance that had been built up in the days of the Tabernacle and the First Temple.

But it was not the grandeur of Solomon's temple they sought to replicate.

It was the covenant it represented.

In the same spirit, they also kept the Feast of Tabernacles, just as it was written, a reminder that the Lord had once led their ancestors through the wilderness by cloud and flame, and now generations later they were still wandering and seeking a place of permanence.

But hope was rekindled with each fire lit in the altar, a flame in the ruins where the people of Israel could draw near to their God.

Zoruba Bel began work on the foundation of the temple.

It took time to organize workers among the Levit priests, preparing plans and securing cedar logs from the forests of Lebanon, just as Solomon had done centuries before.

Had last in the second month of the second year, seventy years after the first Exile, the foundation was ready to be laid.

The Levites took their place, just as their ancestors did in the days of David, when the ark had been brought to Jerusalem.

Trumpets were raised and symbols clashed.

The people shouted, danced, and rejoiced.

The raucous of their joyous music sounded like thunder rolled through the ruins of Jerusalem.

Sir ruber Belt stepped forward, and he addressed the first wave of returned exiles, the men and women of the remnant of the Southern Kingdom, the tribes of Judah, Benjamin, and the Levites.

Let this be the foundation, not just a storm, but a faith.

We are just the beginning.

We have hoped our brothers and sisters still in exile will return to us here, for as the songs of our ancestors proclaimed, for He is good, his faithful love to Israel in yours forever.

But in the midst of the joy, there was also sorrow.

The elders mourned at the sight of the plain foundation of the temple and the smeared and faded stone walls of the city surrounding it.

They were the ones who had seen Solomon's temple with their own eyes.

They remembered its golden courts, its towering walls, and its glory.

It is not as its was.

Though the Persian King Cyrus has authorized us to bring cedars from Lebanon and material from far away lands as before, it is not the same.

It never will be a good.

The complaints at the gathering shook Sir Roubavel's confidence.

He had not seen Jerusalem in its glory days.

He had never seen Jerusalem at all.

But the sound of joy and sorrow rose together all the same, and together they became a holy noise.

There was grief for what had been lost, and then hope for what might still come.

Laughter and looping mingled in the air.

Days turned to weeks, and we turned to months.

So rouber Bell stood in the shadow of it all, watching the fruition of his labor.

He watched as some abandoned the project altogether, they went off to build houses of their own.

He had answered the people's call, yet he was weighed down by the expectations of a nation.

His heart sank with each Jew who lost heart or fell under the spell of discouragement and slunk off, abandoning the rebuilding of the temple, And at the edges of their construction site.

He spied the.

Eyes of their enemies waiting, lurking, readying themselves to strike and chip away further at their resolve, eager to snuff out the faint sparks of their rekindled flames.

But the fire on the altar still burned, small, steady, stubborn, as hope.

Their enemies would be a problem for tomorrow.

But no work of God goes unchallenged.

Not every exile had returned, Many Jews still remained scattered in distant lands.

Not every fear had vanished, and not every tear had dried.

But the altar was built, the foundation was laid, and worship had begun again.

Word quickly spread throughout the territory that the exiles had come home, and soon the surrounding peoples, the descendants of the northern tribes of Israel, came forward with honeyed words and smiling faces.

They had lived in the land since Israel's fall, or returned from exiles of their own.

Though they had once descended from the sons of Jacob, many generations had passed, and they were now strangers to God's covenant people.

Long ago, they had intermarried with the pagans of the land and turned to foreign gods, abandoning the Lord who had called their ancestors.

And yet now they approached pretending kinship.

Let us build with you.

We seek your God too.

We were brought here like you.

We worship him as well.

The man represented just one of the many groups feigning such friendship with the Jews.

But Sir Rubabel and Jeshua were not so easily ensnared by their lies.

They knew that they would not abandon their false gods.

They would simply add worship of Yahweh to the worship of their gods.

The twelve tribes of Israel were already down to a mere remnant of what they were Judah, Benjamin and the levitical priesthood, and they could not afford to make yet another mistake in trusting foreigners and allowing them to lead the people astray.

Sir rube Bell drew back his shoulders and loudly spoke the true before the elders and other leaders, who were gathered to hear the pleas of their visitors.

No, you do not worship the Lord as we do.

This house is not yours to build.

We were appointed by degree of the King, and by the command of our God.

The smiles faded.

Careful Jews, we were once brothers.

You know.

The King may have given you permission to return here to build up your precious temple, but we are all still under the yoke of Persia.

The threat left a pit in zerube Bel's stomach, and once the foreigners finally left, Jeshua turned to him with fear in his eyes.

I do not think those were idle threats.

Do you think they will write to the Persians and slander us, telling lies about what is happening here in Jerusalem?

So ruba Bel gritted his teeth, but the pit in his stomach remained.

I think that's exactly what they're doing.

We should double the guards around the construction site as well.

I don't think hens will be their only weapon, and I do not think stripes will be their only soldiers.

So rube Bell's instincts proved to be correct.

Their enemies flattery quickly turned to fury.

They did not leave the foothills of Judah.

They threatened and intimidated the remaining workers of the temple.

They tried everything in their power to prevent the rebuilding of the temple, and then they worked in the shadows.

They hired counselors, bribed officials, spread lies, twisted truth, sent letters dripping with accusation and fear.

The pressure mounted over the years until it intensified to its fever pitge.

The elders, workers and priests alike could finally take it no longer.

There is no, oh, little rouble.

They are still exiles.

This is no home.

But the altar still burns, the covenant still stands.

We must press on.

Joshua looked around wildly among the ranks of priests for support, before finally settling on Zaruba Bell.

With a heavy sigh.

Zeruba Bell silently shook his head.

He had seen this inevitability coming for years now.

He had done the best he could, leading the frightened, scattered people, but their fear was too great.

I'm sorry to sure.

We cannot lead the people to not want to be there.

Rhaps one day there'll be a leader who could unite them, the voice they will listen to.

But unfortunately we are know the.

Boys, and so the builders laid down their tools.

The songs of praise quieted, the cedar logs stagged for the rest of the temple gathered dust.

Hands, once calloused from lifting stone, now returned to tilling soil.

Hope grew cold, and years passed, but the altar of burnt offering still stood, and the fire still burned, tended by the faithful Jeshua and the reluctant, disheartened Zeruba Bell and a handful of faithfuls.

But the temple waited, unbuilt and unfinished.

Zeruba Bell stood many nights at the edge of the mount, gazing at the unfinished foundation and waiting materials.

Jeshua still offered prayers that the people would remember their worship.

He hoped beyond hope that a voice, a prophet of the Lord, would come and inspire the people in a way that he and Zoro Bevel could not.

But he prayed that a word would stir them again and the work would once again rise from the ruins.

But for now, the fire on the altar still burned, waiting for that day.

If your faith has been kindled by this podcast and it has affected your life, we'd love it if you left her review.

We read them, and me personally I cherish them.

As you venture forth boldly and faithfully.

I leave you with the biblical blessing from numbers six IV hashem vischmerechra Yeah Heir, hashempanavele yesa hachempanavele.

Shalon.

May the Lord bless you and keep you.

May the Lord make his face shine upon you.

May he be gracious to you.

Made the Lord turn his face towards you and give you peace.

Amen.

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This prey dog comproduction is only made possible by our dedicated team of creative talents.

Steve Gattina, Max Bard, Zach Shellabarger and Ben Gammon are the executive producers of the Chosen People with Yile Eckstein, Edited by Alberto Avilla, narrated by Paul Coltofianu.

Characters are voiced by Jonathan Cotten, Aaron Salvato, Sarah Seltz, Mike Reagan, Stephen Ringwold, Sylvia Zaradoc, Thomas Copeland, Junior, Rosanna Pilcher, and Mitch Leshinsky, and the opening prayer is voiced by John Moore.

Music by Andrew Morgan Smith, written by Aaron Salvato, bre Rosalie and Chris Baig.

Special thanks to Bishop Paulinier, Robin van Ettin, Caleb Burroughs, Jocelyn Fuller, Rabbi Edward Abramson, and the team at International Fellowship of Christians and Jews.

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