Previously on the Chosen People.

And though the city's walls still lay in ruin, the hearts of the people had begun to stand tall again.

Another return was still to come, another rebuilding still awaited near Mayah.

Why does your face look so troubled?

If it pleases the King, and if your servant has found favor in your sight, send me to Juda, to the city of my ancestors, so that I may rebuild it.

Let it be done.

Oh that you ask shall be provided.

The walls a rock, The gates are burned, But our God is faithful.

Shall oh, my friends from here in the holy Land of Israel.

I'm ya l Extein 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.

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Let's begin.

The journey to Jerusalem had taken many days.

Nehemiah road near the front of the caravan, a quiet fire burning in his chest.

Behind him, mules and wagons groaned beneath the weight of timber, stones and supplies.

Persian soldiers rode alongside, eyes scanning the terrain, hands always close to the hilts of their swords.

But their presence was not just for protection.

It was a declaration.

For everyone who saw Neemiah's envoy knew he came with the authority of King Arthur Xerxes, and he came not as a refugee, but as a man of God with a mission to accomplish.

They crested the final ridge just before twilight.

Neemiah pulled at the bridle in his hands, his eyes widened with both awe and devastation.

Jerusalem, once called the city of the Great King, now lay bare like bones beneath the evening sky.

It looked nothing like the grand city he had envisioned from the stories of his childhood.

What lay before him was the ghost of a city, broken walls, sprawled like fallen soldiers.

Shattered stones plunged into the ground like gravestones.

Gates, once fierce with iron and cedar, were nothing more than blackened heaps.

The city breathed, yes, but barely, and as the fading sun kissed the ruins with golden rays, Ne'emiyah could feel the weight of what lay ahead, but he didn't speak, not yet, not until he saw it.

All that night, the caravan settled outside the city gates.

Ne'emiah rustled under his blanket.

He quietly sat up and began to strap his sandals.

He tapped the shoulder of the man next to him as his companion stirred.

Ne'amiyah pressed a finger to his lips.

It's time whip the others, but in sure no one else hears.

The man rubbed his eyes sleepily before silently readying himself.

Nehemiah did the same to a few others, before slipping away into the night.

With the few trusted men, he said nothing regarding the details of his plans, but the others showed no signs of contempt for Nehemiah's secrecy.

The moon hung high and full, casting pale light across the valley.

The quiet clop of hoofs echoed off shattered stone as they began their midnight ride.

Nehemiah guided his donkey past the valley gate, weaving through shadows.

The others lingered a few yards behind.

Nehemiah quietly took note of everything he saw.

Overhead were charred remains of what had once been mighty beams.

They passed the Dragon's Spring, its waters muddied and neglected all around, Traces of life lay hidden beneath the desolation.

They moved toward the dung gate, where piles of rubble blocked the path.

Neemiah dismounted his boots, crunching against rock and dash.

He stepped over broken bricks.

As he walked, he ran his hand along the soot covered surface of scorched stone.

With each breath, his nostrils filled with the scent of stale smoke.

Not a word passed between them, only the wind, the occasional braying of restless animals, and the soft breathing of the men who waited in anticipation for Nehemiah to speak.

Nonetheless, they would have to wait.

Nehemiah goaded his donkey to carry on.

From the dungate.

They circled to the fountain Gate and the King's Pool.

The destruction was so severe that even the the animals could not pass.

Nehemiah climbed over the debris alone, the hem of his cloak catching on jagged edges.

He looked up at the sky.

You see, Lord, you see it.

All this city bears your name.

Restore her for your glory.

He returned to his men, eyes sharper now, shoulders squared with conviction.

They finished the circuit along the eastern wall, looping past the sheep Gate and back to the Valley Gate.

By the time the sun rose near Mayah had seen enough.

A few days later, a gathering took place within the city.

Not for festivals, feasts, or celebrations, as the city had hosted for generations before.

No, this was a gathering looking for something fast superior restoration near Mayah stood beside a broken war.

The breeze stirred his cloak as he looked out over farmers, smiths, priests, and merchants all had come.

Their eyes were sunken with fatigue, but deep in their souls like a hunger, a hunger for purpose, for dignity, for hope.

Elders, leaders, tradesmen, and officials lay aside their differences, and leaned in as one to hear the governors speak.

Word of his inspection had spread, and now the people were waiting.

With the help of a few others Nearmyah stepped atop a broken section of war, which now appeared to be no more than a pile of rubble.

Though his platform spoke of disarray, his voice was clear and resolute.

You see the trouble we are in Jerusalem lies in ruins and its game.

It's our burned with fire.

Come, let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem, so that we may no longer suffer disgrace.

He looked at their weary faces.

Some were skeptical, others unsure, Yet some seemed to stir with cautious hope.

The hand of my God has been amon me.

The King himself has granted me favor.

I come with his letters, with timber from his forests, and with soldiers for our defense.

For this this will not be done by kings and edicts alone.

It will be done by you, by us, side by side.

Nehemiah could see lingering hesitancy.

But it is all for not if we do not turn our eyes towards the heavens and center our hearts on the Lord, or it will be his myne that lives his people from the ashes.

His voice was both encouraging and exhortative, a blessing and a warning.

Turned to God, and surely they would find favor, but forsake him and in return only find more ruin.

A hush fell among the people.

Then slowly it began, a murmur, a nod, hushed whispers began to grow louder and louder, until a great cheer erupted.

Nehemiah scanned the crowd before turning his eyes upward.

His eyes shot as tears glistened in the sunlight, tears of hope and heard.

But as the former grew, he knew the latter would be healed.

In time, Momentum took hold, like wind catching sail.

Within days, the city came alive with a kind of holy fervor.

Men who had once labored in vineyards turned their strength towards the carving of stones, while others who had once traded linens in the market now hoisted beams one upon another.

They worked relentlessly, shoulder to shoulder, as rock cracked and wood splintered haphazardly.

In time, they would refine their temporary crafts.

They would sweat, their hands would callous, and their limbs would grow weary.

Their own blood would seep into the very foundations of Israel's wars.

But no effort was poured out in vain, for God's people were rising.

The work began at the sheep Gate.

Eliashib, the High Priest, rose with his fellow priests and laid the first beams.

Those nearby paused from their work to watch this monumental moment.

The road ahead was daunting, but for now they would meditate on gratitude for the Lord's mercy.

With beams in place, massive doors were hoisted up as they thundered into place.

The priests consecrated the gate not just with tools but with prayer.

Factions formed as men from each tribe and family began work on a different section of the war.

Gates would be raised as the means built sections to join them.

The side spoke of more than the rebuilding of a wall or the intersection of its gates.

It spoke of the rebuilding of a people and their unification under the Lord.

Timber creaked, dust billowed, and hammers ran as hearts were filled with gladness, mines renewed with resilience, and joy radiated throughout Israel.

Yet not all found an alacrity for the great work set before them.

Between the men smearing watar atop newly placed stones and those carrying beams across aching banks stood a band of nobles from torcoha amidst the hustle and bustle that surrounded them, they remained unmoved.

Arms crossed near Mayah's brow dripped into the dust below.

As he raised a hammer high above his head, he swung it down with force.

As his companion returned with more materials.

The nobles won't help.

He made no attempt to hide his frustration.

Then let them watch and let the stones rise without whip nea.

Mayah spoke softly yet resolutely, his eyes steadfast on the work before him.

He wondered if it was his responsibility to change the noble's minds, but there was plenty of work to be done without mediating for those who showed no concern for God's plan to raise Jerusalem back up.

He shook the thoughts from his mind and pressed on.

Nehemiah could feel his companion roll his eyes, but ignored it.

Years in the king's cord had only strengthened his ability to move on from uncomfortable situations, even with obstacles like obstinate nobles were carried on by way of faithful hearts and devoted hands, from the valley gate to the dungate, from the fountain gate to the Tower of the hundred, Jerusalem echoed with the sound of restoration.

Nehemiah moved among them, not as a governor lording over the workers, but as one of them.

He had promised the work would be done shoulder to shoulder, and every part of him was committed to fulfilling his word.

He lifted beams, offered water, and spoke words of encouragement as he passed through try vibes and tradesmen.

He did his best to remember every name.

Morale was a necessity they could spare to overlook.

What you build today will stand long after we are gone.

You are a blessing to our people, Ezra.

The wall grew not perfectly, not quickly, but steadily, like a heartbeat.

Beyond the hills, three men watched with narrowing eyes.

San Balad, a Horrnite, was the first to speak, what do.

They think they're doing?

Rebuilding?

This dump into a fortress.

If even a fox lept on that wall, it would crumble.

Tobias sneered at san Balad, but their mockery was tinged with unease.

It's not the war that concerns me, it's their unity.

Unity makes people dangerous.

Gueishan's words were nearly inaudible, as though worried he would speak his worries into existence.

These men couldn't deny that Nehemiah had sparked something tremendous, something that could not be silenced by ridicule.

In her fallen state, a broken city was remembering how to stand not by the power or might of human hands, but through hope in an everlasting God.

Day by day, this hope would fan the flames of resilience and restoration from every gate, every tower, every rising stone.

The sound of hammers sang through the air like a chorus of defiance.

Jerusalem was rising.

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

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 ivare Hashem vishmerecher Yeah Heir hashempanave ileha vencher Ye sa hashempanave Lechra Salon.

May the Lord bless you and keep you.

May the Lord make his face shine upon you.

May he be gracious to you.

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

Amen.

You can listen to The Chosen People with Isle Exstein add free by downloading and subscribing to the pray dot Com app today.

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

Steve Katina, Max Bard, Zach Shellavaga and Ben Gammon are the executive producers of the Chosen People with Yaile Exstein, edited by Alberto Avilla, narrated by Paul Characters are voiced by Jonathan Cotton, Aaron Salvado, Sarah Seltz, Mike Reagan, Stephen Ringwald, 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 Salvado, bre Rosalie and Chris Baig.

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

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