Josiah & The Hidden Scroll

00:00:00 Speaker 1: Previously on the Chosen People, Jerusalem was lesser city, a more a wound wrapped in stone. And now they watched again, waiting to see if the next chapter was salvation or siege. 00:00:15 Speaker 2: Don't let hen Kaiah lie to you. What makes you think your God is any different? Save us Lord from us. 00:00:23 Speaker 3: Not for commonly, but so that all the kingdoms of the earth may know you alone are your way. 00:00:31 Speaker 4: This is what the Lord says. 00:00:36 Speaker 2: You will not see one arrow fly over this wall, not one. 00:00:41 Speaker 1: And on that night, in the quiet, the Angel of the Lord entered the camp. Jerusalem survived not because it was strong, but because God is. 00:01:04 Speaker 5: Sallo. 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. 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. 00:01:54 Speaker 1: The Valley of Hinnom stretched out beneath the night sky, a ghastly carved into the earth, swollen with fire and agony. Great flames clawed skyward, their flickering tongues lighting up the darkness like torches of hell itself. Smoke twisted thickly through the air, bitter with the scent of burning flesh and acrid incense that choked every breath. Drums beat incessantly, their rhythm heavy, oppressive, primal, almost hypnotic. Amidst the chaos, stood Josiah, just five years old, trembling. His tiny hand was engulfed by the rough, gem encrusted grasp of his father, King Amon. The heat pressed against Josiah's skin, blistering, suffocating, so intense his eyes watered from fear and sheer physical pain. It was Josiah's first time at the ceremony, an occasion Amon had proudly insisted his young heir witness, but pride was the furthest emotion from the boy's heart as he gazed around, eyes wide with horror. A circle of priests raised their voices in a dark chant, their faces hidden beneath masks, shaped into the grotesque visage of Molch, with empty eyes that glittered cruelly in the firelight. 00:03:32 Speaker 2: Breath on your lovely sleepful ones. Cast off your weakness. 00:03:37 Speaker 4: Love, fly home. These are weaknesses. 00:03:42 Speaker 3: It is Molac who makes you strong. 00:03:45 Speaker 2: Let your seed fuel Molac's endless hunger. 00:03:51 Speaker 1: A shriek split through the chanting, piercing terrified, A mother's cries sliced through the drums. Josiah flinched, gripping his father's hand tighter, but Amon remained as unmoving a stone, his gaze cold and unfeeling. Young Josiah beheld a mother, face twisted with agony, fighting desperately as priests tore her child from her arms. Josiah recognized the woman. She was the wife of a palace guard. She locked eyes with Josiah, desperate, pleading, begging him silently for help. He could not give. Her gaze seared into his soul as she wailed, collapsing too the dust, fingers clawing uselessly at empty air. 00:04:42 Speaker 3: Do not read, my dear Moloch is glorified by this delicious the gods to ban blood, the gods to man's sacrifice. 00:04:55 Speaker 1: Josiah watched as the priest raised the struggling infant aloft. The child wailed, tiny limbs thrashing against a grip that offered no mercy. Father King Amon did not respond, His eyes remained fixed on the massive fire pit, hollow and devoid of empathy. The priest stepped forward, his voice growing feverish, and he raised the child high. 00:05:24 Speaker 3: Behold, Molech, accept this pr flesh, console, devour, and grandaus favor. 00:05:33 Speaker 1: Aimon dropped to his knees, yanking Josiah down beside him, the sudden force jarring the boy's bones. Before he could protest, his father shoved a bowl of smoldering incense into his trembling hands. The heat licked at his skin, the acrid smoke curling into his nostrils, stinging his eyes, coiling down his throat like a living thing. Razziah's little chest heaved, desperate for clean air, but all he could smell was the earthy incense and the smell of charring flesh. The priest lifted the infant higher, his crimson drenched robes, catching the fire's violent glow. The child's shrieks pierced through the night, thin, reedy, desperate. The mother's screams didn't cease. She fought against the priests who held her back, her nails, raking through dirt to get closer to her baby. Josiah caught the wild, helpless gleam of her eyes through the firelight. The drums pounded, the chance rose, the fire swallowed the sky, its tongues writhing hungrily waiting. Then the priest moved. The child tumbled from his grasp in a perfect practiced arcs, flailing, mouth open in a scream that would never be finished. The flames caught him mid air. What happened after was horror, horror that lasted moments but seemed to stretch on for powers. The wailing did not stop immediately. It should have, It should have been instant, but it wasn't. It stretched, merging with the mother's howls, with the crowd's frenzied chanting, with the pounding of the drums, until the entire valley of Hinnon became a single, unholy symphony of agony, a hymn to Moloch. Josiah's stomach lurched, his knees buckled beneath him. He tried to tear his gaze away, tried to silence the sound, but it was everywhere, inside his head, inside his ribs, inside his very soul. To his father, King Amen. He searched his father's face for any ounce of regret, a sign that something, anything in the man before him, could still be human. But there was nothing. Aimon, king of Judah, descendant of David, watched the sacrifice with cold, glassy detachment. The flickering flames reflected in his pupils, casting a golden glow across his expressionless face. Josiah's voice, small but certain, tore through the darkness. 00:08:36 Speaker 4: Yes, this wrong, Rah, No much, This is worship. 00:08:47 Speaker 1: Josiah stared into the flames for a horrifying instant. As the flames devoured the child, Josiah swore he saw the idol's monstrous eyes gleam, its lips twist into a cruel smile. Josiah knew deep in his heart that he would never forget this night, nor forgive the darkness that had birthed him. The royal chambers were dim and hot, scented heavily by incense, and something darker, something bitter like betrayal itself had a smell. Josiah, eight years old and wide eyed, stood stiffly beside the deathbed of King Amon, his father. The poison delivered by some unknown hand was an open secret. 00:09:44 Speaker 4: It's done nothing more we can do. 00:09:48 Speaker 1: Aimon reached weakly, fingers grabbing at Josiah's hand like a drowning man clutching driftwood. 00:09:58 Speaker 4: Just come closer, son. 00:10:05 Speaker 1: Josiah leaned in, afraid and obedient. 00:10:09 Speaker 4: How is fear? Fear is strength? 00:10:23 Speaker 3: Let let them tram a. 00:10:31 Speaker 4: Or they'll do this to you. 00:10:44 Speaker 1: His father's grip slackened, and his eyes drifted into a place Josiah couldn't follow. Josiah, now King of Judah, at a mere age of eight, stood frozen. Josiah felt ridiculously small on the throne, the crown heavy, his feet dangling, barely scraping the cold stone floor. Noblemen circled like vultures, their faces masked with false smiles, voice dripping with patronizing sweetness. 00:11:20 Speaker 6: Your majesty, it is customary for the council to handle the complex affairs of the state. Perhaps you'd like some toys sent to your chambers instead. 00:11:32 Speaker 1: A ripple of suppressed laughter filled the throne room. Josiah raised his eyes slowly, something fierce and unnerving flickering behind them. 00:11:42 Speaker 7: Perhaps you would prefer chains around your wrists for treason. 00:11:46 Speaker 1: A hush fell on the crowd of advisers. Josiah's voice, quiet and firm. 00:11:53 Speaker 7: I'm your king. You speak to me with respect, for not at all. 00:12:00 Speaker 1: The nobles exchanged wary glances, recalculating hastily, suddenly unsure of the math they'd done earlier. Later that night, Josiah sat alone, crowned, discarded, on the bed beside him. The room felt huge, oppressive, filled with whispers of expectation. He wasn't sure how to meet. A soft knock broke his spiraling thoughts. 00:12:29 Speaker 2: Yes. 00:12:30 Speaker 1: The door creaked open, hesitantly, revealing his maid servant, Hannah. She was a gentlewoman, young but wise. She carried a comforting calm into the room with her. 00:12:43 Speaker 3: You haven't slept, my king, Ah, No, I can't. 00:12:48 Speaker 1: He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to tell her about his nightmares, the weight pressing on his chest, the way the crown felt too big, too heavy, the way the king's chambers smelled like his father, and that made him tense, but he didn't say any of it. Who could possibly understand what it meant to be thrust into kingship at eight years old, to wake up one day not just an orphan, but a ruler, surrounded by men who smiled like jackals and whispered behind their hands. His father's voice echoed in his skull, Never show weakness. Fear is strength, power is fear. So Josiah swallowed it down, forcing his spine straight. Hannah watched him carefully, her child, forced to wear a crown before he had even lost all his baby teeth, and no one had ever told him it was okay to be afraid. She knelt slightly, lowering herself just enough so that she wasn't speaking to a king but to a boy. 00:14:03 Speaker 4: Whenever I'm frightened, I like a good story. 00:14:07 Speaker 5: My mother used to tell me about a god named Yawi. 00:14:11 Speaker 1: Josiah hesitated, curiosity, slowly piercing through the fog of weariness. He looked up at her, hope flickering weakly in his eyes. 00:14:22 Speaker 7: Who's yaoah? 00:14:23 Speaker 1: Anna smiled, but there was a sadness to it. She didn't know much. No one did any more. The old stories had been buried beneath idols, and politics pushed so far into the shadows that only fragments remained. But she did know one. 00:14:43 Speaker 3: Once there was a man named Moses who stood before the red sea. 00:14:49 Speaker 1: Josiah leaned forward, something in his heart, suddenly awake in a new and fragile way. Eight years had passed. Josiah, now a young man, knelt alone in a patch of moonlight, murmuring halting prayers to a god who remained silent. Yet the silence felt oddly full, dense with presence, her comforting tension pulling gently at his chest. 00:15:22 Speaker 7: Yahweh, if you're truly there, please say something anything. 00:15:28 Speaker 1: No audible response. 00:15:30 Speaker 7: I will not pray to Moloch or ball or Ashtarah. I seek you, Please help me to find you. 00:15:40 Speaker 1: But he felt something, some quiet weight, pressing gently on his heart, like a hand on his shoulder. A sudden knock interrupted this spiritual tension. 00:15:52 Speaker 4: Apologies, my king. 00:15:54 Speaker 1: The priests prepare a mullak offering tomorrow. I thought you should know, Josiah. His chest tighten, Memories of flames, screams, smoke, the idol's pitiless bronze face, all rushed back. No matter how many times the priests performed this dark ritual, Josiah never stopped hating it. Anger surged through him, pure and uncalculated. He seized a golden monarch statue from a table beside him, and without thinking, hurled it violently against the wall. The idol shattered brilliantly, shards scattering like sharp stars across the floor. He breathed heavily, fists clenched, trembling, certain of his rage, but uncertain what it meant, how far he could take it, how far he'd have to go. Two years had passed. Josiah eighteen now had become something else entirely, yes, stronger, certainly, But more importantly, he carried himself with the solemn gravity of someone who had tasted truth and found it worth chasing. His advisers had learned caution around him. His youth had ceased to be a weakness, becoming instead a blade, sharp and unpredictable. Now seated upon the throne, Josiah leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the crown perched lightly atop his brow, watching Hilkiah, the High Priest, enter the hall Hilkiah was no priest of Molek, no follower of bar or servant of Ashtreth. He belonged to an older order nearly forgotten. Hilkiah was a Levite. Much of their order had been exterminated, yet Hilkiah remained faithfully tending to the spiritual wounds the royal house. He moved toward Josiah with uncertain steps. Clutched carefully in his trembling hands was an ancient scroll, darkened with age, waited heavily by forgotten words. 00:18:15 Speaker 6: My King, we have found something, something hidden deep beneath the ruins of the Temple of Solomon. 00:18:24 Speaker 1: Josiah's heartbeat quickened, but he steadied, his voice, masking anticipation beneath careful control show me chaffened. The scribes stepped forward, reverently, accepting the scroll from Hilkiah. His aged fingers trembled as he unrolled it, the sound of ancient parchment crackling like a whisper from the grave. The nobles and priests leaned in, some with intrigue, others with suspicion, but all drawn into the silent gravity of what was about to be spoken. Chaffon cleared his throat. The room stilled, breathless, and then. 00:19:07 Speaker 2: In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. 00:19:14 Speaker 1: The words struck the air like lightning, a single spark, small at first but electric, A name nearly forgotten, now breathing again. The silence in the throne room deepened, thickened, as if the very stones were listening. Josiah inhaled sharply, something in his chest pulling taut Chaffin read on slowly, at first, reverent, careful, each word. A stone laid upon a forgotten path, and. 00:19:50 Speaker 2: From dust deformed man, breathing into him life and placing him in Eden. 00:19:59 Speaker 1: Here it dies. 00:20:01 Speaker 2: A garden of folding prisons. 00:20:04 Speaker 1: The story began in a garden where man was molded from dust and given breath by the hand of the Almighty. It is a paradise of communion, of wholeness. 00:20:18 Speaker 2: But the serpent came, adding whispering, doubt, twisting truth, until paradise was shattered, and man hid himself from God. 00:20:29 Speaker 1: The fall, the exile, the breaking of everything meant to be whole. Josiah's hand curled into a fist, his fingernails biting into his palm. The words did not stop. They moved like a tide, sweeping forward, carrying him through ages long buried beneath idle worship and royal decrees. Josiah listened intently, the story of Cain's jealousy, the first blood spilled on cursed ground, the story of Noah and the floodwaters rising in judgment. He heard the name Abraham, and the story of God's promise. Josiah's breath became shallow, the world of the throne room shrinking as the words pulled him deeper deeper. Chaffon read about the Covenant of Isaac, then Jacob and his sons. Then came the story of Egypt, Chains and the call of Moses. The story pressed forward, relentless, like a storm gathering on the horizon. Israel rebelled over and over, a cycle of faithfulness and failure, devotion and betrayal, splintered kingdoms, war, betrayal. Prophets crying out warning, pleading, turned back, turned back, but they did not listen. Josiah felt his chest tighten. Chaffon's voice lowered, steady, yet edged with sorrow. The final warning rang through the throne room like a death knew. 00:22:12 Speaker 4: Might beware, Oh Israel, lest your hearts. 00:22:16 Speaker 3: Turn away unless you forget the Lord, your god, nor if you forsake the Covenant, if you chase after other gods, I declare this day, you shall surely perish. 00:22:32 Speaker 1: Scattered, lost, destroyed, The words landed like stones, each syllable striking deeper, heavier. The throne room was silent, no murmurs, no shifting feet, only the quiet weight of conviction, settling like dust on every soul present. Josiah sat frozen. He had not realized his hands were trembling until he saw the faint quiver in his fingertips. It was all here, written before his birth, before his father's birth, before his great grandfather's wicked reign, a warning unheeded, a prophecy ignored. Suddenly Josiah's breath hitched, his vision blurred as something deep inside him broke. The words of the scroll faded into the distance, drowned beneath a rising tide of memory, of fire, of drums. His chest tightened, his hands clenched against the throne's arms. His body knew before his minded. Suddenly he was a child again. Suddenly he was back back at the Valley of Hinnom. Visions of horror, flooded his mind. The mother wailing, the baby screaming, his father smiling, the fire raging, writhing, licking at the sky like something alive, something aware, The priests, faceless behind their masks, lifting their arms, their voices curling into the night like black smoke, praising, calling, demanding. The smell God, the smell, thick and sweet and rancid, flesh and incense burned together, indistinguishable. The crowd swayed, the drums pounded, and the child, the child, the child, the child lifted high like an offering limbs, flailing, voice, shrill, too small to fight, and his father Amon, holding Josiah's tiny face in his hands, forcing him to watch. This is worship, he had said, his voice, even his eyes alight with the reflection of flames. And then the throw, the fall, the fire swallowing, the screen, stretching, twisting, morphing into something else, morphing into a vision of a serpent. Josiah felt it, felt it again here now, in this moment, as if the fire had never gone out. His stomach lurched, his body trembled, his hands clenched into fists so tight his nails bit through skin. He was shaking, gasping, drowning in heat, in smoke, in the weight of a crime too vast to comprehend. His voice cracked from his throat, raw and anguished, the words ripped from his ribs, we are. 00:25:58 Speaker 7: Undone, betrayed him. 00:26:01 Speaker 1: Josiah rose suddenly, the legs of the throne scraping against the stone floor, his breath hitched in his throat, his hands shaking at his sides. A raw, guttural sound clawed its way up from his ribs, a grief too deep for words. He grabbed the fine fabric of his royal robes, his fingers digging into the cloth, and then, with a single violent motion, he tore them apart. The sound of it was nothing compared to the screams that had never stopped ringing in his ears. Gasps echoed through the chamber, but Josiah barely heard them. The scenes ripped a physical reflection of the break within him, the fracture of his heart under the weight of truth. He stood there, trembling, his chest, rising and falling in ragged breaths. His eye is burning with unshed tears. The silence stretched long and unbearable. Then finally Josiah raised his gaze to Hilkiah, his voice rare, scraping against his throat like the edge of a blade. 00:27:19 Speaker 8: Fine prophet, 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 Hashema ele y sa hashemple. 00:27:58 Speaker 2: Shaloon. 00:27:59 Speaker 5: May the Lord Bla 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. 00:28:10 Speaker 1: Amen. You can listen to the Chosen People with Isle Eckstein ad free by downloading and subscribing to the prey dot com app today. This preydog comproduction is only made possible by our dedicated team of creative talents. Steve Katina, Max Bard, Zach Shellabager 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 Cotton, 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, pre wrote and Chris Baige. 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.