Elisha & The Shunammite

00:00:00 Speaker 1: Previously on the Chosen People. Tell me, Elisha, what would you have of me before I go? 00:00:09 Speaker 2: If I'm going to survive in this calling, this path, please grant me a double portion of your spirit. 00:00:18 Speaker 1: The sky split open, A whirlwind of fire spiraled down from the heavens. 00:00:25 Speaker 3: Father, Father, don't leave me. 00:00:30 Speaker 1: The spirit of Elijah rests on a picture. 00:00:34 Speaker 2: It was the Lord who parted the waters, not I. He is the archer. I am just the arrow. 00:00:40 Speaker 1: There was work to do. Elisha walked on, but he knew he did not walk alone. 00:00:54 Speaker 4: She never asked for a blessing. She built a room and found herself witnessing resermere Shelloh, my friends, from here in the holy land of Israel. I'm l extein with international Fellowship of Christians and Jews, and welcome to the Chosen People. Some stories in the Hebrew Bible feel like thunder from Ountsinai. Others they slip in quietly, no fanfare, no kings or armies, just a table, a lamp, a prophet, and a room built with love. Today we meet an unnamed woman from the town of shu Nim. She shows up in just a few verses, and yet her hospitality, well it changes everything. In this dramatized retelling, we've given her and her husband names to help us look deeper into their lives. But let's not forget the Bible leaves them anonymous. And maybe that's the point, because sometimes the most sacred work happens in obscurity, and sometimes the biggest miracles begin in the quiet spaces of ordinary faith. 00:02:00 Speaker 1: The House of Noariah and Miriam was in many ways the heart of Shoonam. It wasn't the largest house in town, though, but still it was the house that people gravitated toward. The house where weary travelers found a meal without having to ask, where the poor found a warm place to sit in the winter, where the children of the streets found laughter, lessons, and love when the world had otherwise ignored them. Miriam, the lady of the house, was gifted in hospitality, not for the sake of display or self importance, but for the sheer joy of welcoming others. Her favorite place was at a table, surrounded by friends, watching the weight of life's struggles slip off their shoulders as they ate and drank and spoke of things both deep and silly. Noriah, her husband, was a man with sawdust in his beard and callouses on his hands. He was respected in Schunham for his skill. No one built sturdier homes, but he was beloved for his heart. He had never once refused to build a home for a family in need, even when it meant dipping into his own earnings to make it happen. And when they weren't feeding the hungry or housing the needy, they were gathering the town's orphans in their courtyard, telling them stories of Adam and Moses and Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The children would sit wide eyed, hanging on to every word, never fully realizing that part of the reason Miriam and Mariah did this, besides their own goodness, was because they had no children of their own. It was in this home, at this table, that Elisha often found refuge, and tonight was no different. The warm glow of oil lamps flee against the walls, casting golden light over the wooden table, which was set with roasted lamb, fresh bread, and a fragrant lentil stew. The air was rich with the scent of spice and smoke, laughter mingling with the sound of plates being passed and wine being poured. Elisha sat at the table, his simple robes worn from travel, His ever present air of quiet intensity softened in the presence of these two. Across from him sat Gahesei, his long term servant, who, unlike his master, appreciated a well made garment and had the expression of a man who fully intended to enjoy every bite of the meal before him. At the head of the table, Narayah leaned back in his chair, eyeing the prophet with a wry grin. 00:04:53 Speaker 5: I tell you, Prabhat, you carry the scent of the road dust sweat, perhaps a of doggie. 00:05:02 Speaker 2: Ah, the perfume of Yahweh's messengers. Perhaps one day he'll see fit to annoint me with something finer, sanderwood maybe, or crushed mer. 00:05:13 Speaker 3: Perhaps one day he'll see fit you give you a proper roof over your head. 00:05:18 Speaker 6: That's not a bad idea, you know. 00:05:20 Speaker 1: Elisha glanced up as Miriam poured more wine into his cup. You passed through shoot him. 00:05:26 Speaker 6: Often enough, a man should have a place to rest. 00:05:30 Speaker 5: Season hounded me about it for weeks. Provt wants me to build you a room. 00:05:36 Speaker 1: Elisha raised a brow, setting his cup down. 00:05:40 Speaker 6: A room, a proper one, a place to sleep when you pass through a bad. 00:05:46 Speaker 1: Lamp or table. 00:05:48 Speaker 5: It'll be simple. That's thirty. 00:05:51 Speaker 2: That is more than generous. I could never ask that of you. 00:05:57 Speaker 5: Ask who said anything about asking? My wife has made up her mind. Once Miriam makes up her mind. Oh, there's no resisting. I think nothing of it. I'll ever done in two weeks. Easy. 00:06:12 Speaker 1: Miriam smirked, but said nothing, simply sipping her wine. 00:06:18 Speaker 3: Yes, master, why fought it? We could use a place to sleep. It doesn't smell like camel. 00:06:24 Speaker 1: Elisha exhaled, shaking his head, but a rare, genuine smile flickered at the corner of his lips. Then I accept Thank you. Miriam's eyes shone as she placed a hand over her husband's. The conversation moved on, and soon the room was filled again with laughter and stories. Miriam has always steered the conversation, asking about the places Elisha had been, the people he had met. She poured wine, cut bread, refilled bowls, making sure no one wanted for anything. Nariah meanwhile leaned back in his chair, his presence steady, listening more than speaking, his enjoyment of the meal evident in the way he savored every bite. Then, at a pause in the conversation, Miriam's tone shifted. 00:07:18 Speaker 6: There's been talking the market, a story actually of a widow, something about oil. They say you told her to gather all the jars she could find that the word filled them to the brim, enough to pay her debts and save her sons from the creditors. 00:07:34 Speaker 4: Is it true? 00:07:36 Speaker 3: I told him it was madness, my lady. He was sitting the poor woman up for disappointment. 00:07:42 Speaker 2: You did, yes, and yet here we are. 00:07:46 Speaker 3: The jars were filled, the widow was saved, and I. 00:07:51 Speaker 1: Looked like a fool. Narah let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. The Lord provides, yes. 00:08:01 Speaker 3: Yes, it's quite inconvenient from our skepticism. 00:08:05 Speaker 1: Elisha reached for his cup, his voice casual. 00:08:09 Speaker 2: Since we're discussing provision, Tell me. 00:08:12 Speaker 1: How have things been for you? Both the couple exchanged a glance, a small one, barely noticeable, but enough for Elisha to catch. Oh, we are well, Elisha waited. The silence stretched, the weight of unspoken words filling the space between them. Noriah cleared his throat, looking down at his plate. Ah, we. 00:08:39 Speaker 5: We have long prayed for a child. 00:08:44 Speaker 1: It was the first true crack in their composure, Miriam normally so poised, so in control, that her fingers tightened just slightly around the stem of her cup. 00:08:56 Speaker 6: It is the only thing we laugh. 00:09:00 Speaker 2: We shall pray together. 00:09:02 Speaker 1: The tension in the room shifted. Neariah nodded his jaw tight, Miriam swallowed something raw in her expression, and Gahesei, ever the practical one, simply leaned back in his chair, watching his master with something that might have been skepticism or something deeper. Faith. Perhaps was a slow thing to grow, but even slow things in time bear fruit. Several weeks had passed and the room Nariah built for Elisha had already become something of a sanctuary. It was nothing extravagant, Miriam wouldn't allow it, but it was well crafted, sturdy, with smooth beams and a door that fit perfectly in its frame, the mark of a master builder. The small table and chair sat by the window, and the oil lamp softly in the evening air. There was a bed, simple, but far better than the ground Elisha had grown accustomed to. Tonight, Elisha sat on that bed, absent mindedly, rolling a small stone between his fingers, lost in thought. Geheze, standing near the table, poured himself a cup of water, watching his master with an expression that could have either been amusement or frustration. You're thinking again, Elisha glanced up, smirking. You disapprove. 00:10:36 Speaker 3: Only because I know what follows. You get that look in your eyes, the same one your ed when you decided to leave a perfectly good farm and a perfectly wealthy family to go live in the wilderness with Elijah. 00:10:50 Speaker 1: Elisha chuckled softly. He set the stone down, stretching his legs out in front of him. 00:10:57 Speaker 2: You think too much like my father, gehese. 00:11:00 Speaker 1: Eye leaned against the table, crossing his arms. 00:11:04 Speaker 2: Your father was a practical man, yes, he was. 00:11:08 Speaker 1: A pause. Elisha picked up the stone again, turning it over in his hands, feeling the weight of it. 00:11:17 Speaker 3: You know your father, he thought I was wasting my time looking after you thought you were foolish for leaving. 00:11:26 Speaker 1: Elisha's smirk faltered slightly. 00:11:29 Speaker 2: Hm, I remember when you were a boy. 00:11:33 Speaker 3: You want me so badly to run off, to follow every wind, chase, every whisper. Your father, he thought, if he kept you working, kept you grounded, you forget about all that. You learn to be satisfied with a life. 00:11:49 Speaker 1: Giving you Elisha turned the stone over again, staring at it. But you didn't believe that. 00:11:58 Speaker 3: I'm embedded than the fight evitable. I just try to keep you alive long enough to get there. 00:12:04 Speaker 1: They sat in silence for a moment, the wait of years resting between them. Then Elisha exhaled, shaking his head. 00:12:14 Speaker 2: Miriam and Nourah, they've given us so much and they have I wish there was something I could do for them. 00:12:24 Speaker 1: Geheze I let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. 00:12:28 Speaker 3: Oh, I don't know, master, what could possibly be given to the most generous people in Shinnham. They have wealth, then respect, they lack for nothing, well, almost nothing. 00:12:43 Speaker 1: Elisha's brow furrowed. 00:12:46 Speaker 3: What do you mean, child, it's the only thing they don't have. You remember when they told us at dinner weeks ago. They've prayed for years, but some things, it seems even God chooses not to give. 00:13:05 Speaker 1: Elisha's expression changed, his eyes brightened. He sat up straighter. 00:13:11 Speaker 2: That's it. 00:13:13 Speaker 1: Elisha lowered his head, her breath a pause, His lips moved silent brief Then slowly he lifted his face again, and he smiled, a small, knowing smile, the kind gaheze I had seen before, the kind that meant Yahweh had spoken. Elisha rose to his feet, his movement steady, assured. 00:13:40 Speaker 2: Come, Gahazi, we have a message to deliver. 00:13:45 Speaker 1: Miriam was kneading bread when they found her. The smell of flower and honey lingered in the air, and Noriah sat near by, carving something into a block of wood, a small horse, perhaps, though unfinished. When she saw Elijhah and Gaheze approaching, she wiped her hands on her apron, tilting her head curiously. 00:14:08 Speaker 6: Prophet, what brings you out so late? 00:14:11 Speaker 1: My friends? 00:14:12 Speaker 2: The Lord has heard your prayers. 00:14:15 Speaker 1: Nearah glanced up Miriam's hands stilled. 00:14:19 Speaker 2: By this time next year, you will hold a child in your arms. 00:14:25 Speaker 1: The words hung in the air, trembling with weight. Miriam stared at him for the first time in all their knowing of her. She looked unsure. 00:14:37 Speaker 6: Please, Elijah, don't give me false soap. 00:14:41 Speaker 2: I only speak what Yahweh has given me to say. 00:14:44 Speaker 1: Her breath a moment then Miriam swallowed hard, nodding behind her. Noriah exhaled, setting down his carving. His hand found hers. They said nothing else for the fir time in a long time. Their prayers no longer felt like they were drifting into an empty sky. The years passed, the prophecy had come true. Miriam and Noriah had borne a son, a beautiful boy, the light of his parents' lives. Asa, named for healing, for restoration, for hope renewed. He grew up beneath Nariah's strong hands, learning how to hold a chisel, how to shape wood. He spent his mornings in Miriam's kitchen, sneaking bits of bread dough when he thought she wasn't looking. He had his father's laugh and his mother's eyes. Elijah saw him often. He was always running, always moving, always laughing. Miriam was never seen without him, her hand on his back, ruffling his hair, kissing his forehead. And Narah, the man who had spent his life building homes for others, had finally felt he was building something of his own. The day had started like any other. The sun was high, Aesa was running through the fields, his small feet kicking up dust, his laughter bright as he chased after the workers. Noariah, standing near the frame of a new house, turned at the sound of it, shaking his head with fondness. Then up on my head, here it was small at first, a hand pressed to his temple, a slight wobble in his step. Then he staggered, then he fell. By the time Nariah reached him, he was barely conscious. 00:16:46 Speaker 5: As Sir, as Sir, look at me, the. 00:16:49 Speaker 1: Boy whimpered Noariah lifted him, cradling him in his arms, and strode toward the house, his voice calling for Miriam. Before he even reached the door. Inside, she took him, holding him against her, whispering prayers, rocking him as if she could will the life back into him. For hours. She sat there, for hours, she begged, But as the sun reached its peak, Ace's small chest rose one final time and did not rise again. Silence. The boy was gone Nearah stood still, unmoving, his hands clenched so tightly they shook. Then without a word, he turned and left the room. Miriam didn't see where he went, didn't see him collapse outside, pressing his fists to his eyes, shoulders shaking with silent, broken sobs. She only knew what she had to do. Carefully, reverently, she carried their son's body to Elisha's room. She laid him on the prophet's bed, Then she turned towards her husband, wiping the tears from her face. 00:18:06 Speaker 6: Send word for Elijah. 00:18:10 Speaker 1: Elisha had come as soon as he heard the messenger arrived, breathless, dust caked to his feet, his words tumbling out between gasps. Aesa has died. Miriam had laid him in Elisha's room. She and Mariah waited in silence grief, a black leaden weight over their house. Elisha and Gahezei had left immediately, no hesitation, no wasted words. The journey to Shunam was a blur of sun scorched roads and pounding hearts. Gaheese ran ahead, the urgency pressing on him, while Elishah walked with the slow, deliberate steps of a man carrying something unseen but unbearably heavy. He had heard a story like this once when he was younger, during his first year as Elijah's apprentice. His master had told him about a woman in Zaraphath, a widow whose son had died in her arms. 00:19:10 Speaker 3: I lay the lad on the lad, I stretched myself forward him. 00:19:16 Speaker 1: And cried out to the Lord, and he answered. Elisha had listened, fascinated now as he stepped into the quiet, heavy air of Nariah and Miriam's home. The echoes of that tale rang in his mind, but they felt distant, like something that had happened in another world to another man. This was now, this was real. Elisha entered first. The small room, so carefully built, so freely given, felt different now. The light from the single window was pale, muted, The air was thick with silence, and there on the pro if its bed lay Asa small, still gone. Miriam stood near the door, her arms wrapped around herself, as if trying to hold in everything that threatened to spill out. Noriah stood beside her, his hands clenched at his sides, the grief barely held at bay beneath the tension in his jaw. Elisha barely had time to turn toward them before Miriam's voice cut through the silence, raw and shaking. Why did you come, Elisha froze. Her eyes were red, rimmed, wild with grief. She took a step forward, her breath unsteady. 00:20:43 Speaker 6: I told you not to give me false hope. 00:20:46 Speaker 2: I told you I didn't ask for a son. I didn't ask for any of it. 00:20:51 Speaker 6: I would rather have been barren forever than feel miss Why Why would God do this? 00:20:59 Speaker 2: Why would give only to. 00:21:01 Speaker 1: Take her voice cracked. Elisha let the words hit him, let the weight of them settle. He could have rebuked her, he could have told her to have faith, but what did words mean in the face of this? Instead, he stepped forward, slowly, gently, and he placed his hand over hers. I don't know, Miriam inhaled, sharply, as if bracing for a second blow. 00:21:32 Speaker 2: I don't know why God does what he does. I don't know why he allows grief to take root what joy once bloomed. 00:21:39 Speaker 1: Her breath hitched. 00:21:41 Speaker 2: But I do know that he sees you, He sees this. 00:21:46 Speaker 1: His hand, warm and firm, stayed over hers. 00:21:50 Speaker 2: And I know he's not done yet. 00:21:53 Speaker 1: Miriam's lips trembled. Her body, once taught with rage, sagged. The fight in her was slipping away, not because she no longer felt it, but because she had no more strength to wield it. Elishah squeezed her hand once before stepping past her toward the boy. Elisha reached the bed and placed a hand on ASA's forehead. This was a moment where faith had to be more than words, a moment where trust had to be something lived. Elisha exhaled, and then he did as Elijah had done. He stretched himself over the boy, hands to hands, eyes to eyes, mouth to mouth. A prayer tore from his lips, rough, raw, desperate. 00:22:46 Speaker 2: Lord, let his life return nothing. 00:22:51 Speaker 1: He tried again, yahweh, hear me. The boy's body remained still. Elisha sat back, exhaling sharply, his heart pounding. He closed his eyes. This wasn't working. He had done what Elijah had done, and yet his mind flickered back to something Elijah had said once. 00:23:14 Speaker 3: It isn't the words, Elasha, it isn't the method, It is the one wolves. 00:23:23 Speaker 1: Elijah exhaled, and he leaned down again, not as a man mimicking another, but as a man surrendering to something far greater than himself. He prayed, and this time it wasn't desperate, it was trust. Then a shudder, a gasp Ace's body convulsed beneath him, and suddenly he was coughing, breath spilling back into his lungs like water bursting through a crack dam. His eyes shot open, wide, confused, alive, Elisha pulled back, breathing hard, his own chest rising and falling with disbelief and awe. Elisha turned eyes, locking with Miriam's for a long moment, she didn't move. Then she let out a sound, something between a sob and a laugh, and suddenly she was across the room, her arms wrapping around Asa, pulling him close, her hands tangling in his hair, her tears hot against his skin. Elisha stood back, watching his hard pounding, his body light. This, this was Jahue's work, This was grace. Miriam, still holding her son, turned her tears streaked face toward him. Her lips parted, but no words came. Elisha only nodded and departed. 00:25:01 Speaker 4: What a difficult and beautiful Bible story. We added names Miriam ner yah Asah, but the Hebrew Bible doesn't give them any. It only calls her the woman of Shunim. And yet she stands among giants. She speaks little, but her actions thunder. She opens her home to the prophet, not with spectacle, not for status, just quiet, persistent hospitality, and through that kindness something stirs. The Prophet sees her, God sees her, and then the child, a child she never asked for, a child she never dared to hope for. And then grief, that unbearable, breath stealing grief. It's the kind of pain that makes you want to unpray your prayers. And yet she doesn't collapse. She acts. She walks into her heartbreak and lays it on the altar of the prophet's bed. Why doesn't the text give this woman a name? She feeds the prophet, she builds him a sanctuary. She carries her son's body up the stairs with the strength forged in silence. Shouldn't she get more than the woman of Shunim? Maybe that's the key. Throughout our time studying the Bible, we've met many unnamed figures who carried the story of Israel forward. Think of Pharaoh's daughter, or the widow Elijah meets in Zarah Fith, or the mother in Exodus who places her baby in the Nile. No names, just faith. This woman of Shunim doesn't plead, doesn't rage, doesn't panic. She lays the boy in the prophet's room and says, I will go to the man of God. And when Elijah stretches himself over the child, we're reminded of First King seventeen. There Elijah, face to face with death, cries out to God for breath to return. But where Elijah pleads, Elijah trusts. He prays yes, slowly, deliberately. He knows that the miracle can't be forced. He knows the miracle has to be received. And that's something I think our people understand. We've waded through exile, We've clung to prayers that took generations to bloom. We know what it means to trust a God who doesn't answer on schedule, and to hope that healing will come even when we no longer have the strength to ask. This story also teaches us something that God expects from his chosen people. The Bible notes that the Shunamite woman extended great hospitality to Alicia, and even created a special room for him in her home for him to use when he passed by. According to Jewish tradition, one of the greatest good deeds of all is that of showing hospitality to guests. Our sages suggest that because of her hospitality, the Shunamite woman received God's reward of a son in her old age, as was prophesied and announced by Alicia, But then the son died. Apparently, this woman's merit for hospitality was so great that she deserved the second miracle of Alicia's revival of her son. Both of these miracles emphasize to the woman in the story and to us the miracle of life, which we so often don't appreciate. And both of these miracles, the birth of a child in old age and the bringing back of that child to life, emphasized us the extreme importance of hospitality to guests and to strangers. This hospitality is a hallmark of the Chosen People, initiated by our founding father Abraham, who excelled at being hospitable. In fact, tradition teaches that Abraham's tent was open on all four sides so that guests coming from any direction could enter. May we all take this call to show hospit batality to heart. I may we all, as God's chosen people, merit his reward when we do. There's a quiet echo in this passage that refuses to fade. Even with the names we assign. The figures stay veiled, half lit. They don't crown kings or split seas. They don't compose psalms or command soldiers, and yet they reveal God. What this woman does, inviting Alisia under her roof, carving out space, with no ulterior motive, no transaction in mind. It's he said, it's steadfast, loving kindness, not a plea for a child, not a bid for favor, just sacred hospitality. She makes room, and Heaven notices. God sees the room. God sees her for the baron, for the overlooked, for anyone who has quietly made room while the world kept walking. Know this, you are not invisible. The God who meets prophets and upper rooms meets you too. So what do we do with this story? Maybe we ask have I made space for God in my life, not because I want something from him, but simply because I know he's worth welcoming. Have I offered him a room at table of lamp? Or maybe you are in the part of the story where the child has died, the promise has broken, and all you have left is grief. If that's you, let me say, carry your grief to God. Like the woman from Shunam. You don't need perfect words, you don't need a plan. You just need to bring the ache to the place where you once met God. He sees you and hears you. He is there with you. 00:30:45 Speaker 1: You can listen to the Chosen People with the Isle Eckstein Ad free by downloading and subscribing to the pray dot Com app today. This Prey dot Com production is only made possible by our dedicated team of Creed Native 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 Gotten, Aaron Salvado, Sarah Seltz, Mike Reagan, Stephen Ringwold, Sylvia Zaradoc, Thomas Copeland Junior, Rosanna Pilcher, and Mitch Lshinsky, 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, kayleb Burrows, Jocelyn Fuller, Rabbi Edward Abramson, and the team at International Fellowship of Christians and Jews. You can hear more Prey dot com productions on the Prey dot com app, available on the Apple App Store and Google Play Store. If you enjoyed The Chosen People with Yile Eckstein, please rate and leave a review