The Prophet: Amos Read Free

understand, but he knew better than to ask more questions now. His father let go of him. As he straightened, Amos saw Heled scowling at him. He motioned to Amos’s father.
    “I must speak with Heled. Wait here.”
    Amos watched them. Heled did all the talking, and his father kept his eyes downcast and nodded and nodded.
    Ahiam grabbed Amos and spun him around. “Father told you not to stare, didn’t he? Go get feed for the lambs.”
    Amos ran to do his brother’s bidding.
    When he came back, his father took him aside. “Remember, priests are servants of the Lord, Amos. They see imperfection where we do not and their decisions are law. If you question their judgment, they will say you question God Himself. They would bar you from the synagogue and Temple. And then what would happen? No one would have anything to do with you. You would become an outcast with no way to make a living. You would have to sell yourself into slavery.”
    Amos hung his head and blinked back tears.
    His father squeezed his shoulder. “I know you don’t understand what’s happening here.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t. But you must trust me, Amos. Say nothing about the lambs, good or bad. And don’t watch what Heled does. It bothers him. The priests are very powerful and must be treated with great respect. We are only hirelings paid to tend the Temple flocks. That’s all. Perhaps someday we will have sheep of our own and be free again. . . .”
    After that day, Amos had begun to observe everything that went on around the folds of Tekoa, in Jerusalem, and around the Temple.
    Discolorations on a lamb would disappear under the care of his brothers.
    “We’re miracle workers!” Ahiam laughed, but when Amos surreptitiously examined one, he found the wool stiff with white stuff that rubbed off on his fingers.
    “Father will have your hide,” Amos told Bani.
    Ahiam overheard and knocked him on his backside. “Father knows, you little runt.”
    The next time Joram came, Amos realized the priest’s servant deliberately chose weaker lambs. As soon as Amos found his father alone, he reported what he had observed.
    His father gazed out over the fields. “One lamb is much like any other.”
    “But that’s not true, Father. You’ve told me yourself how every lamb is different, and—”
    “We’ll talk about it later, Amos. We have too much work to do right now.”
    But later never came, and every time Amos went with his father to Jerusalem, he was afraid God would do something horrible when one of those blemished lambs was offered as a sacrifice.
    “What’s wrong with your brother?” Heled scowled as he spoke to Ahiam.
    “Nothing. Nothing is wrong with him. He’s just quiet, that’s all.”
    “Quiet . . . and all eyes and ears.”
    Ahiam slapped Amos hard on the back. When he gripped Amos, his fingers dug in deep and shook him as he grinned down, eyes black. “He’s not used to city life yet.”
    “Get him used to it!” Heled walked away and then called back over his shoulder. “Or keep him away from Jerusalem altogether.”
    Ahiam glowered at him. “Make yourself useful. Add feed to the bins if you have to hang around here. Do something other than watch .”
    Amos worked in silence, head down, afraid. He kept to himself and kept busy for the rest of the day. He said so little, his family grew concerned when they gathered for the Passover meal.
    “What’s wrong, little brother? Aren’t you feeling well?”
    “He’s upset about the lambs,” Ahiam said grimly. “You’d better tell him, Father.”
    “Not yet.”
    “Why not? He’s old enough to understand.” Ahiam’s expression was grim. “I think he’s figured out most of it on his own.”
    “Later.”
    Amos wasn’t hungry. He felt like an outcast, and fought tears. But he had to know, and so he asked again. “Why does Joram take the weak lambs and leave the good ones?”
    His father bowed his head.
    Chin jutting, Ahiam answered. “Why slaughter a