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- [00:00]
Narrator
Previously on the Chosen People.
- [00:03]
King Ahab
You don't understand, Jezebel. I wanted it. I offered him a better vineyard. I offered him money. I was generous. But Naboths won't sell. He said it was his family's inheritance. Some nonsense about Yahweh's law.
- [00:25]
Narrator
Then don't ask him. Just take it. Who's to stop you? And at the center of the elders was Naboth, the owner of the vineyard Ahab so desperately coveted. The elders had called him there to stand trial.
- [00:43]
King Ahab
What? No. No.
- [00:45]
Narrator
This.
- [00:46]
King Ahab
This is false. I've done nothing of the sort.
- [00:50]
Narrator
The first stone was thrown, and it struck Naboth's shoulder, knocking him off balance. The second hit his ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs. Then came the third. Then the fourth. Then came the dogs. They lapped at the blood, indifferent to the weight of the moment, indifferent to the crime that had been committed.
- [01:13]
King Ahab
First murder, then theft. What's next? Aha. Will you steal a cripple's crutch? Snatch a widow's last coin? Maybe ransack an orphanage while you're at it? Enough. Thus says the Lord God of heaven and earth, the God of the nation you claim to rule in the very spot where the dogs licked up Naboth's blood. They will lap up your blood. Yes, your slayer.
- [01:47]
Yael Eckstein
This is an I Heart podcast.
- [01:52]
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- [03:01]
Yael Eckstein
Shalom, my friends. From here in the holy land of Israel, I'm Yael Eckstein with 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.org Lets begin.
- [03:51]
Narrator
AHAB still heard the dogs. The prophecy had been years ago, spoken in that ragged voice. Elijah's voice. A voice that never seemed to be in a hurry. And yet it ran like a thread through Ahab's nightmares in between the wine soaked feasts and the hours he spent staring at the walls of his palace, half drunk and half praying to a God he didn't really believe in.
- [04:20]
King Ahab
Thus says the Lord, God of Heaven and Earth, the God of the nation you claim to rule in the very spot where the dogs licked up Naboth's blood. They will lack your blood, yes, your slave.
- [04:36]
Narrator
Sometimes in the dark hours of the night, Ahab thought he could hear them, just faintly. A slithering sound, a slow wet lapping somewhere in the corridors, somewhere behind the walls. He'd had a servant beaten to death once for bringing dogs into the palace. There had been no dogs, but the sound had still not gone away. But there were distractions. For the king of Israel, the great hall was an offense to subtlety. A hundred gold laden sycophants wrapped in robes the color of crushed pomegranates and saffron, swayed and applauded as the prophets, Ahab's prophets, performed their revelations. It was a spectacle, a theater of divinity staged for a God who wasn't there. Jehoshaphat, King of Judah, sat among the velvet and the grandeur, his posture stiff. Jehoshaphat was a man of war. He was a descendant of David, after all. The men in Ahab's halls had never seen such a specimen. Across the room, Zedekiah, the self proclaimed chief of the prophets, lifted a pair of iron goats horns over his head. His wild voice filled the hall with a guttural roar.
- [06:01]
King Ahab
Thus says Yahweh, with these you shall go the Armenians until they are utterly destroyed. Victory is yours, O King. The gods have declared it king.
- [06:21]
Narrator
Jehoshaphat exhaled through his nose, resisting the urge to rub his temples. He had tolerated much from Ahab, his theatrics, his excess, his endless parade of bootlicking prophets. But this. This was embarrassing. A court full of sycophants hollering nonsense, waving iron horns like madmen it was a farce. And thanks to his son's marriage to Ahab's daughter, he was technically chained to this disaster of a king by family. A decision he regretted with every passing moment. He straightened in his seat, voice cutting through the noise like a blade slipped between ribs.
- [07:07]
King Ahab
Are these truly the Lord's prophets? Is there not one more? A prophet who shows perhaps a bit more devotion to the God of Israel? There is one man. Micaiah, son of Imla. But I hate him. Hate him. He never prophesies good concerning me. Only evil. You know, Ahab, my father once told me, a king who only listens to yes men will soon hear nothing but war drums and wailing widows. Fine. Bring him.
- [07:53]
Narrator
Micaiah was exactly where one would expect a prophet of God to be. In Ahab's kingdom prison. The messenger arrived in a rush, the cell door swinging open, dust swirling in the dim light.
- [08:08]
King Ahab
Micaiah, please listen to me.
- [08:11]
Micaiah
Mission begun.
- [08:14]
Narrator
All the other prophets have spoken favorably to the king.
- [08:17]
King Ahab
You should do the same.
- [08:19]
Micaiah
No. Should I?
- [08:21]
Narrator
Do you want to die in this cell?
- [08:24]
King Ahab
Do you want to make this harder than it has to be?
- [08:28]
Micaiah
Whatever the Lord says, I will speak.
- [08:33]
Narrator
The messenger exhaled sharply, muttered a curse under his breath, and gestured for Micaiah to follow. The hall was a painting. Gold, silk, wine, dark reds, and prophets swaying in divine ecstasy. Micaiah stepped inside, still dust covered from captivity, his presence like a crack in the grand illusion. He took his time looking around. His gaze landed on Zedekiah and the iron horns still perched atop his head. Micaiah snorted. Ahab, draped in gold and shadow, watched him from his throne, a goblet in hand, his knuckles tight around the stem.
- [09:19]
King Ahab
Well, well, well. If it isn't my dear friend Micaiah, the light of my life, the joy of my court. Truly, my day would be incomplete without your delightful presence. Tell me, prophet, shall we go to war at Ramoth Gilead, or shall we refrain?
- [09:45]
Micaiah
What a difficult question, my king. What could possibly be the right answer? Oh, I'm getting a prophetic word. Go up and triumphal King Yahweh will absolutely deliver you into your hands. Guaranteed. Nothing to worry about. I'd stand. Take my reputation on it.
- [10:18]
King Ahab
Huzzah. Praise Ahab. Praise the lor. Shut up, you idiots. He's obviously mocking us. Unless you want to rot in that cell forever, you tell me what our God actually says.
- [10:39]
Narrator
There it was, the moment Micaiah had been waiting for. There was a peculiar kind of joy in watching Ahab, a man so committed to his own delusions demand honesty. It was like watching a drunk beg for water, but slap it away the moment it touched his lips. Micaiah offered him a slow, knowing smile, the kind that suggested he had been planning this exact moment for years.
- [11:08]
Micaiah
Oh, the truth. You wound me, O king. Here I thought you preferred the comfort of well rehearsed lies.
- [11:20]
Narrator
He made a grand, exaggerated gesture, as if parting the very veil between heaven and earth.
- [11:27]
Micaiah
Very well. Hear ye, hear ye. I saw all Israel scattered on the mountains like sheep with no shepherd. And lo, Yahweh himself did speak, saying, these have no master. Let them return to their homes in peace.
- [11:44]
Narrator
A breathless pause. The weight of it settled into the room, thick and suffocating. The words sank into Ahab's gut like stones thrown into deep water.
- [11:57]
King Ahab
What did I tell you, Jehoshaphat? His proclamations are never good, always evil. Yes, Ahab, what a terrible injustice. The prophet of Yahweh refusing to lie to you. How do you bear such suffering?
- [12:14]
Micaiah
I saw the Lord seated upon his throne, and all the hosts of heaven, the spiritual beings, stood before him, one to his right, one to his left. And the Lord said, who will entice Ahab that he might go up and fall at Ramoth? Gilead?
- [12:34]
Narrator
He let the words linger, glancing at Ahab, who now gripped his goblet so tightly it threatened to shatter.
- [12:43]
Micaiah
Oh, but don't worry, my king. There was some discussion, a few ideas tossed around. One suggested this, another suggested that. But then a spirit came forward, full, certain, and this particular spirit said, I will entice him, my lord. So Yahweh asked, by what means? And the spirit, oh, my dear king, the spirit smiled and said, I will go and be a lying spirit in the mouths of all Ahab's prophets. And Yahweh said, very good. You will succeed in enticing him. Go and do it so. Now, behold. Look around you. Think, Ahab. There's a reason all these fools only tell you what you want to hear. The Lord has put a lying spirit in the mouths of all these prophets of yours. Yahweh has demonstrated.
- [13:50]
Narrator
The silence that followed was the kind that settled in the bones, the kind that wrapped around the lungs and squeezed. Ahab's face twitched, but before he could speak, Zedekiah stormed forward, his ornate robes billowing like a child playing dress up in a king's closet. His fury was immediate, personal, a man who had just realized he was the punchline of a joke he hadn't understood. His hand cracked across Micaiah's cheek, the slap reverberating through the chamber like a gavel striking doom.
- [14:27]
King Ahab
Insolent whelp. Tell me, which way did the spirit of Yahweh go when he left me to speak to you?
- [14:36]
Narrator
The prophets gasped. The courtiers flinched. The guards stiffened. Micaiah smiled a slow, knowing, infuriating smile. He turned his head back to Zedekiah, rubbing his jaw as though trying to decide whether the slap was worth responding to.
- [14:54]
Micaiah
Oh, you'll find out one day soon, when you're hiding in your chambers like a soiled little child weeping for your mother.
- [15:07]
Narrator
For a fraction of a second Zedekiah stood frozen, as if the very breath in his lungs had turned to lead, his face twisted, rage, fear, denial, all warring behind his eyes. He wanted to laugh, to strike Maia again, to prove this was nonsense, but the words hung there, a rotten thing in the air. Suddenly Ahab was on his feet, screaming orders, clinging to control like a man drowning in his own power.
- [15:40]
King Ahab
Gods, seize him. Take him back to rot in his cell. Feed him nothing but bread and water until I return in victory.
- [15:53]
Narrator
Micaiah tilted his head, gaze flickering toward the throne as if considering something. And then, softly, with the patience of a man who already knew how this story would end, he if you return.
- [16:09]
Micaiah
In victory, God has not spoken through me. Mark my words. The only one who will be victorious in this story is Yahweh, not you.
- [16:22]
Narrator
Ahab's left eye twitched as if something inside him was about to break. He did not speak. He simply pointed to the door with a trembling finger. The guards grabbed Micaiah's arms, violently hauling him toward the door. But the prophet did not resist. He did not struggle. He did not beg or plead. He just turned his head back toward Ahab and smiled. Ahab wanted to scream. He wanted to vomit. But he just stared, eyes twitching. And somewhere beneath the guard's footsteps, beneath the incense, beneath the wine and the gold and the desperation, Ahab could hear it again, the slow, wet sound of dogs lapping at the ground. The battlefield stretched wide and barren under the weight of a brutal sun. The air was thick with heat, the kind that made armor unbearable, made every breath feel like sucking in dust and copper into your lungs. In the distance, the war horns blared low and guttural, the kind of sound that sent something primal crawling up the spine. Soldiers shifted uneasily, sweat trickling down the backs of their necks, waiting for the moment when waiting would end and dying would be begin. Ahab stood at the center of it all, wrapped in the heavy, sickly stench of fate closing in he was not stupid. He knew. He had known since the moment Micaiah had spoken, maybe even before, that the words of Elijah had never left him, always somewhere in the back of his mind, gnawing, whispering, in the very spot.
- [18:19]
King Ahab
When the dogs licked up Naboth's blood. They will lap up your blood.
- [18:24]
Narrator
He had tried to forget. He had drowned them in wine, in power, in the bodies of women who would never be Jezebel. But no amount of conquest or cruelty had changed the truth. God was against him. The ground beneath his feet was already a grave. But Ahab was not the kind of man to go quietly. He was the son of the great Omri, king of Israel. He would not be made a spectacle. He would not be an easy prophecy. He turned to Jehoshaphat, who sat astride his horse in his royal robes, draped in the colors of Judah, looking every bit the king Ahab had failed to be.
- [19:11]
King Ahab
You should wear your robes into battle. Let them see their king. And what will you wear? Something less conspicuous.
- [19:22]
Narrator
Jehoshaphat did not like this. He did not like much about today, about the way Ahab moved, like a man trying to cheat death. But what could he say? He knew Ahab was a dead man, whether he wore his crown or not. The battle began. Swiftly the armies clashed. It was confusion and steel, cries of agony and the wet sounds of men breaking open for the soldiers. The world shrank down to what was right in front of you, what was trying to kill you, what you had to kill first. There was no threat thinking, no strategy, just the raw violence of the moment. Ahab moved through the carnage like a man with something to prove. He fought harder than he had in years, maybe harder than he ever had. Maybe, he thought, if he could make it through this battle, if he could turn the tide, if he could be the hero just this once. Maybe the weight of everything, the ruin of his reign, the mockery of his marriage, the weakness of his legacy, could be rewritten in blood. But it was almost convincing. Until the arrow. It was not an act of skill. It was not the hand of a great warrior, some noble assassin taking fate into his own hands. No. It was some nameless Aramean soldier pulling back his bow, loosing an arrow into the sky. Sky without aim, without reason, without expectation. The arrow arced high, silent and swift, an instrument of judgment, an afterthought in the chaos. And then, almost impossibly, it found its home right between the plates of Ahab's armor. For a moment, Ahab did not move. He did not even register It. Then a slow, creeping fire spread through his chest. And he knew. He knew before he even looked down.
- [21:43]
King Ahab
No.
- [21:44]
Narrator
His breath caught. His hand trembled as he reached for the shaft protruding from his ribs. It was deep. Too deep. He could feel the warmth already, the blood spilling out, filling his armor like a cup being poured out.
- [22:03]
King Ahab
No.
- [22:04]
Narrator
No. No.
- [22:04]
King Ahab
No.
- [22:06]
Narrator
The chariot rocked as he sagged against its frame. His servant turned, horror creeping into his eyes.
- [22:14]
King Ahab
My king, we must get you out. Oh, hold the line, my lord. Indeed, we must hold the line.
- [22:23]
Narrator
The battle raged on, and Ahab, the dead man, still standing, stayed in his chariot. The arrow lodged in his body like a final act of defiance. The pain became everything. It hollowed him out. It took his vision and turned the edges black. But he gripped the side of his chariot, forcing himself upright. He would not fall. Not yet. Hour by hour, the blood pooled at his feet, thick and warm, sloshing with every movement of the chariot. He could smell it, Taste it. His men fought. His kingdom bled. And Ahab? Ahab. He sat in the ruin of himself, staring at the sky, feeling the slow pull of the end. At sunset, the weight was too much. His fingers slipped from the frame, his body crumpling forward.
- [23:26]
King Ahab
It won't be long now before the dogs come.
- [23:31]
Narrator
His servant did not answer. He could not bear to. And as the chariot rolled through the battlefield, the blood of King Ahab dripped down into the earth. The battlefield had no use for kings. It consumed men without preference. The wind whispered through the broken bodies, lifting the dust, carrying the scent of old blood and new decay. Ahab's body was just another among them now. He had spent his life clothed in gold, but now there was no throne, no kingdom, no Jezebel to whisper in his ear. There was only the cold weight of his corpse, sagging where it lay. The soldiers worked in silence, their hands moving with the detached precision of men accustomed to handling the dead. The captain, a man who had followed Ahab into every war since he was a boy, knelt beside the body, fingers grimy with dust and dried blood as he unfastened the last buckle of the king's armor. It was a cursed thing now, tainted by prophecy and failure. A cadet, younger, less hardened, hesitated as they lifted the lifeless weight. They heaved his body into the cart, limbs loose, his fingers stained dark with the blood he had choked on. He was still warm when they started the journey back to Samaria. The cart creaked as it rolled through the entrance of the palace, the wheels rattling over uneven stone. The soldiers avoided eye contact with the courtiers who had come to Watch. They did not carry a king home. They carried a warning. The chariot stood near the washing pool, streaked with the blood that had poured from his wounds, sticky and congealed in the heat. A servant, young and new to the palace swallowed hard and stepped forward, carrying a bucket of water. His hands trembled as he lifted it, tilting it over the chariot's side, letting the water slosh and swirl over the wood, turning the dust to mud, sending thick red streams trailing toward the gutters. The blood found the cracks in the stone and flowed outward, curling in rivulets until it reached the open ground where the wild dogs waited. There had always been dogs in Samaria. They lived on the scraps of the city, scavengers picking at whatever had been left behind. Tonight they found something fresh. The servant looked away as the first one lowered its head, its mouth pressing into the blood, lapping it up, the sound wet and slow. More came slipping from the alleyways, creeping closer, tongues flicking against the stone. It was just as Elijah had said. From a high window, Jezebel watched. She had not wept. She had not torn her robes or covered herself in sackcloth. She had not even left her chambers when the news came. She had known before the first horse rode through the city gates. Ahab had always been easy to predict. That was the greatest of his many flaws. He was not like her. He wanted too much, needed too much. Now he was dead. Her fingers traced the carved stone of the balcony railing, her nails clicking softly as she leaned forward, gazing down at the stairs. Spectacle. A servant, young and stupid, hesitated behind her, wringing his hands, eyes flicking between the window and the queen's face.
- [27:44]
Micaiah
My lady, do you grieve?
- [27:49]
Narrator
Jezebel turned her head slowly. Her lips curled, but it was not a smile. I suppose I mourn him as one would a lost sandal. Less sorrowful, more perturbed that now I.
- [28:03]
Jezebel
Have to find a new one.
- [28:05]
Narrator
The servant flinched. Jezebel turned back to the window, watching as the last of the blood washed away, as the dogs finished their meal, and as the city swallowed its dead king without ceremony. Ahab was never made for war, or for ruling. Or for me. The wind tugged at her hair, dark strands slipping across her cheek. She breathed in, tasting the air heavy with the scent of dust and prophecy, of filth and judgment.
- [28:41]
King Ahab
My lady, what shall we do?
- [28:45]
Narrator
Jezebel exhaled, slow and measured. We shall wait. For what? Jezebel let her fingers rest against the railing one last time before stepping away. Below, the dogs licked their muzzles clean, and somewhere, unseen but undeniable, the words of Elijah still echoed the dogs will fell.
- [29:18]
Yael Eckstein
If your faith has been kindled by this podcast and it has affected your life, we'd love it if you left a 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 6. 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.
- [30:00]
Narrator
Amen.
- [30:02]
Jezebel
You can listen to the Chosen People with Yael Eckstein ad free by downloading and subscribing to ThePray.com app today. This prey.com production is only made possible by our dedicated team of creative talents. Steve Cattina, Max Bard, Zach Schellewager and Ben Gammon are the executive producers of the Chosen People with Yael Eckstein. Edited by Alberto Avila. Narrated by Paul Coltofianu. Characters are voiced by Jonathan Cotton, Aaron Salvato, Sarah Seltz, Mike Reagan, Stephen Ringwald, Sylvia zaradoc, Thomas Copeland Jr. Rosanna Pilcher and Mitch Lashinsky and the opening prayer is voiced by John Moore. Music by Andrew Morgan Smith. Written by Aaron Salvato, Bree Rosalie and Chris Baig. Special thanks to Bishop Paul Lanier, Robin Van Etten, Caleb Burrows, Jocelyn Fuller, Rabbi Edward Abramson and the team at International Fellowship of Christians and Jews. You can hear more prey.com productions on the prey.com app available on the Apple App Store and Google Play Store. If you enjoyed the Chosen People with Yael Eckstein, please rate and leave a review.
- [31:15]
Yael Eckstein
This is an iHeart podcast.