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Narrator
Previously on the Chosen People. I have a message for Jehu. A message from the Lord. But it's for your ears only. You are to destroy the house of Ahab, your master.
Jehu
You will bring vengeance for the blood of the prophets and the servants of.
Narrator
The Lord shed by Jezebel's hand.
Jehu
Ready my chariot. It's time for Judgment Day.
Narrator
Jehu had never felt more alive. Today was the day of atonement. Blood would flow like the Nile River.
Yael Eckstein
Flee.
Jehu
Flee for your lives. Get us out of here. This. This is madness.
Narrator
The King of Judah toppled from his chariot, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.
Jehu
Now it's time to cut the head off the snake Jezebel.
Narrator
Then, unceremonious Jehu walked away and stepped onto his chariot. He gripped the reins and drove forward, directly over Jezebel's body. Over and over. My Lord, has the will of the Lord been fulfilled?
Jehu
Have we finished what was commanded of us?
Narrator
Jehu turned to him with a smile that was equal parts zeal and madness, his voice steady as though the question itself were laughably naive.
Jehu
Finished. Oh, no. No. No. No. No. For the family of Ahab. Judgment. Judgment Day. It's just. It's just begun.
Yael Eckstein
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Jehu
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Narrator
The sun was bleeding itself out across the western sky, turning the hills to rust and the clouds to bruises. The horses pulled hard, their flanks foamed and streaked with dust and red. Jehu stood tall in the chariot, one hand on the reins, the other clenched around a jawbone he hadn't realized he was still holding. The grin on his face had not moved in hours, frozen somewhere between euphoria and exorcism. Behind him, the wind tore his cloak like it wanted him naked before God. And then a man caught Jehu's eye. He was off the roadside trail, where the stones gave way to a grove of terebinths. It was Jehonadab, the holy man, bent in prayer, still cloaked, serene. He looked like he belonged to another age, or at least another kind of story, the kind where people people are holy and stay that way. He knelt in the dirt with quiet confidence. He didn't hear the chariot at first. He didn't smell the iron or the horses or the war God grinning behind them. But then came the voice.
Jehu
You there, holy man.
Narrator
Jehonadab turned, startled. His brow was furrowed, eyes adjusted to the spectacle. There, framed in sunset and madness, stood Jehu, bare chested, splattered in blood, wheels still dripping with Jezebel. The wind howled as if trying to drag him down into Sheol.
Jehu
Are you Jehonadab, son of Recab, devout among men, voice in the wilderness, camel hair in a world of silk? Ah, yes, that would be me. Good, good. Come, climb up, brother. You shall be the Aaron to my Moses. Let us thunder like Sinai together. Come ride with Jehu, your new king.
Narrator
Jehonadab stood, dusting off his robe in a daze. He had heard the rumors of Jehu. The man was like a holy ghost, wrenched into the wrong story, blinking at the sudden invitation into a war wagon. But there was something electric in Jehu's voice, some terrible magnetism, the kind of calling that makes your bones rattle even as your conscience runs screaming.
Jehu
Yes, I have heard that you seek to bring order to the land. My heart is with you and with the Lord. Excellent, then. Up, up, men of God. Let us fire prophets ride together. Let the zeal of Yahweh scorch the earth.
Narrator
The chariot groaned as Jehonadab climbed on board. The ride lurched forward, wheels screaming, hooves pounding the dust like war drums. For a moment the monk looked exhilarated, eyes wide as the plains tore Past them, the wind catching in his beard like banners of old.
Jehu
You see it, don't you? The rot. The stench of Ahab's legacy choking the land. His son suckling idolatry from the cracked breast of Jezebel's ghost. And we, brother, we are the axe laid at the root of the tree. Yes. Yes. Righteousness must reign. The Lord must be feared again. Oh, he shall, my friend. He shall. Come. Now is the time for revolution. Ride beside me. Witness what it means to cleanse a kingdom.
Narrator
Jehonadab said nothing, but the grip he held on the chariot rail tightened until his knuckles went white. They arrived in Jezreel just as the town was exhaling its dusk prayers. Word had already spread of Jehu's slaughter. The gates did not need opening. They had been flung wide the day before, and no one had dared shut them since. Jehu addressed the crowd like a prophet. The people gathered, nervous, whispering. Wide eyed. Jehu looked like a hero of old, but he was truly terrifying.
Jehu
People of Israel, look upon me and know the Lord has kept his promise. The house of Ahab is falling like a dung heap set ablaze. But a question remains.
Narrator
He paced before them, arms spread wide, his voice now lower, teasing, as though he were savoring a secret.
Jehu
What shall be done with the remnants? The sons of that cursed house. Seventy of them, crawling through Sumeria like maggots in a dying ox.
Narrator
Gasps, murmurs. Jehonadab tensed beside him, brows tightening.
Jehu
Shall we burn them alive? Toss their mothers to the jackals? Shall we salt their fields and teach their children the taste of ashes? Or perhaps a letter. A firm, godly letter, my king.
Narrator
Jehu turned, eyes twinkling. He clapped the monk on the back so hard it nearly knocked the wind from him.
Jehu
Yes, a letter. Yes, a scroll dipped in wisdom and sealed with dread. Let us begin with that.
Narrator
The message arrived by courier before dusk. Jehu stood beneath the gate where Jezebel had painted her face and cracked her skull. The same gate. The crowd gathered again, drawn like moths to prophecy. Or maybe just to blood.
Jehu
Let's see what they wrote. Dearest Lord James, we are your servants. We will do all you ask. We will not crown another king. You do whatever is good in your eyes.
Narrator
He let the scroll fall. It landed in the dust like something rotten.
Jehu
Spineless worms. That sounds like surrender, Jehu. A victory without blood. Peace. There is no victory without blood. This sounds like men who wait to see which way the sword swings before they kneel. They serve me today, but they served Ahab yesterday.
Narrator
He turned. A smile crept across his face. It didn't reach his eyes.
Jehu
I shall send them a stronger letter.
Narrator
It was dawn, Quiet. The wind rustled the gates of Jezreel. The people had returned, not because they were told, but because they sensed something was coming. Jehu stood once again beneath that cursed gate, his eyes on the road. And then they arrived. A line of men, silent. Dust covered their arms, strained beneath the weight of wicker baskets. They did not speak. They placed them gently in a heap at the gate. Seventy baskets, and then silence until Jehu gave the nod. The cloths were pulled back. Heads. 70 heads. The sons of Ahab row upon row of blank stares and congealed blood. Mouths frozen, mid scream, eyes vacant, staring up at the same sky their father once defiled. The crowd recoiled. A child wailed. A merchant vomited. Jehonadab could not speak. He could not breathe. His lips moved, but no sound came. Jehu only nodded, slowly, satisfied.
Jehu
You. You told them to do this? I told them what I'd do to them if they didn't.
Narrator
He stepped forward, lifted one of the heads by the hair, and turned to the crowd.
Jehu
Let all who pass through this gate remember this is what obedience looks like. You. You didn't have to do it this way. No, I didn't. That's what makes it obedience.
Narrator
He turned to the people, arms raised again.
Jehu
People of Israel, see how God fulfills his word. Not one prophecy falls to the ground. The house of Ahab is no more.
Yael Eckstein
Look.
Jehu
The sons of rebellion lie in silence.
Narrator
He pointed to the heads as if they were trophies instead of butchered royals.
Jehu
Let all who live under heaven know to defy Yahweh is to be forgotten. And to follow him. To follow him is to ride with me.
Narrator
The crowd cheered, but it was a hesitant cheer, sharpened by fear. Jehonadab stood still beside the chariot, and for the first time since climbing aboard, he did not answer when Jehu called him brother. By the time the sun rose again, the blood had dried on the city gates of Jezreel. Flies swarmed the heads. Jehu wiped the sleep from his eyes with the same unwashed hand that had held his sword the night before and turned towards Samaria. There were still embers smouldering in Ahab's dynasty, and he meant to stomp out every last one with the heel of divine wrath. The road to Samaria was long, straight, and blessedly empty. Until it wasn't. Jehu and his men arrived in Beth Eked, the binding house. It was an old shepherd stop turned ghost town. After the Wars. Jehu slowed the chariot there, letting the dust settle just enough to reveal the figures walking up the road toward them. Dozens of drunken nobles stumbled through the town. Jehonadab sat up straighter and squinted.
Jehu
What's this now? Pilgrims? Perhaps a caravan of worshippers returning from sacrifice?
Narrator
The crowd neared. The tallest among them waved with the ease of a man unaware he's about to enter a completely different genre of story.
Jehu
Shalom, travelers. Fine morning, hey? We're heading to Jezreel. Gathering the royal house. Uncles, cousins, sons of Ahaziah. A feast awaits.
Narrator
Jehu's face lit up like God had just handed him a wrapped gift.
Jehu
A family reunion, you say? That's splendid. I bring gifts for the house of Ahijah.
Narrator
The men laughed and clapped each other on their backs. Jehu stepped off the chariot, stretched his arms like he was about to give a toast, then with the grace of a dancer, pulled his sword in one smooth motion. Jehu decapitated the man with a single swipe. The man's head fell to the ground with a sickening thud as blood gushed from his neck like a fountain. For a moment, there was only silence. One of the younger men opened his mouth to scream, but Jehu's dagger flew before the sound came, lodging itself in the man's eye. The others scattered like a herd of startled cows, stumbling about. Jehu vaulted back onto his chariot, grabbed his bow, and let off three arrows in quick succession. One through an eye, one through a mouth mid scream, and one that went clean through two men trying to run away, skewering them like figs on a spit. Jehonadab stared, horrified as Jehu spun the horses in a circle, driving straight into the fleeing crowd and leaping off mid turn to slam a hatchet into the skull of a man trying to climb a tree. The well ran red before the last body hit the earth. Jehu's loyal soldiers were quick to join the fray, and within moments, the entire company of would be partygoers was slain.
Jehu
42. That was 42 people. Aijah had quite the family tree. I just pruned it. They were unarmed. They weren't even fighting you. It's all the same to me. They fought with their bloodlines. Same as Ahab, same as Jezebel. The axe is laid to the root, brother. The axe does not ask the tree if it's ready. It simply strikes.
Narrator
Jehonadab opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. He was learning. Slowly, tragically, Samaria was the final stage. Jehu rode in slowly. The people Lined the streets, afraid to cheer too afraid not to. The banners of Ahab still hung limp from the palace walls. Jehu barely looked at them. Then the purge began. It was less a massacre and more a ballet of horror. Jehu moved like a man possessed. His bow sweet sang with every drawstring, arrows streaking into eyes, throats, hearts. He kicked in the door of a royal merchant's home and beheaded three sons with one swing before turning to the father and asking if he'd ever dined at Ahab's table. He had, Jehu's sword replied. He caught a fleeing steward by the collar and dragged him so screaming into the street, tossing him through a window and following with a spear through the man's gut as he landed. Blood painted the walls of the city like murals. A man cried out, but I only sold sandals to his cousins. Jehu didn't answer. He just severed the man's feet with his axe and kept walking. By the end of the day, smoke rose from half the buildings in Samaria. The gutters overflowed with crimson, and somewhere in the smoke, Jehu stood, smiling, breathing hard, arms slick with gore, his eyes glittering like broken glass.
Jehu
You were supposed to cleanse the land. You've salted it. I did what Elijah couldn't. I finished the story.
Narrator
This isn't holiness.
Jehu
This is madness. Madness? No.
Narrator
This is.
Jehu
Judgment.
Narrator
And with that, Jehu dismounted his chariot and stormed into the inner courts of the palace. More carnage awaited him. Jehonadab realized at that moment, Jehu was possessed by something other than righteous fury. The gates of the temple swung open with all the ceremony of a royal wedding, trumpets blaring, banners fluttering, sun gleaming down on polished stones scrubbed clean of the last regime's blood. Jehu had orchestrated it all with theatrical flair, a messianic charlatan playing prophet, priest, and king in the same bloodstained robe. Word had spread fast. Israel's new king had converted. Not only converted, but reformed. Jehu was throwing a festival for baal, a grand one, bigger than Ahab's, more zealous, more devout. And the people came in droves. They came in robes and jewels, with sacrifices and flutes, incense and symbols. Baal's priests arrived first, strutting like roosters. Then the devotees, the temple dancers, the money changers, the priests of lesser idols. They packed into the temple like sheep crowding a pen, singing their praises to baal, to Molech, to Asherah, to every rusted God who'd ever whispered false power into the wind. Jehu played his part to perfection. He stood at the front and danced before the altar. The crowd went wild. Priests threw flower petals. Women screamed their delight. Jehonadab watched from the shadows, stomach churning.
Jehu
My beautiful Baalites, what a day. What a gathering. What a temple full of glory. You look like a holy wildfire dragon rest in silk. And why have we gathered? To honor the God of gods, the storm singer, the bull rider, the seed giver. Baal. Yes, baal, Whose voice is thunder and whose breath brings rain. Am I right? Ahab served baal. Oh yes. But only as a servant serves a feast he cannot taste. I. I am a lover of baal. I worship him with fire in my lungs and dancing in my bones. Balance. Who blesses the fertile wombs? Who sends crops in, give or take a season? Ball, whose temple was filled with beauty, incense, music and the occasional child sacrifice. But tradition. Am I right? Tradition.
Narrator
More laughter. Laughter, applause. One of the priests clapped a little too hard, not yet noticing the poison in the punch.
Jehu
Baal, who never asked too much. Just your loyalty, your worship, your sons, your daughters, your everything.
Narrator
The crowd murmured in agreement, still nodding, but with less enthusiasm now.
Jehu
And in return, what did he give? Rain. Sometimes victory on occasion. Cattle that didn't miscarry. If you begged, if you bowed, if you bled.
Narrator
The laughter began to falter, confusion stirring just beneath the surface. Jehu tilted his head.
Jehu
Poor, poor Ball.
Narrator
He.
Jehu
He needs so, so much, doesn't he? Blood. Applause. Affirmation. Like a God sized child throwing a tantrum. If you forgot to light the candle just, just right. Oh, so close. Oh.
Narrator
Nervous laughter Now a few began glancing at each other. Jehonadab's eyes widened.
Jehu
Oh, how generous we had to be, baal. How often we reminded him we loved him. Lest he sulk in his storm clouds and withhold the rain again. That's why we let children bleed on his altars, right? That's why we tossed women into the fire. Because ball comes first. Ball knows best.
Narrator
The room stiffened.
Jehu
Ball. Ball does nothing but take.
Narrator
He took one step forward. The torches dimmed.
Jehu
But the Lord God of Israel, Yahweh, he gives.
Narrator
Stillness. A ripple of dread passed through the temple.
Jehu
He does not hunger. He does not pout. He does not dance for your attention. He does not beg. He does not barter. He is not entertained by your flutes. He is not fooled by your chants. He is not amused by your harlots. The Lord is a giver. And today he will give. And today he gives judgment.
Narrator
Jehu's guards shut the doors. The people screamed and hands pounded against sealed exits. The Crowd surged like cattle sensing the slaughterhouse, and Jehu drew his blade. He leapt from the altar like a lion, unchained, his shadow cast like a dagger across the stone.
Jehu
This is your feast, Phites. Drink deeply. The wine is blood. The bread is judgment.
Narrator
It was not a battle. It was slaughter. He cut one priest down through the shoulder, spun, drove his elbow into another's nose, flung a dagger across the crowd, into the throat of a dancer, then shoved a pillar over to crush three as they fled. His men followed in screaming waves, blades flashing, blood spraying like perfume offered to a God who no longer accepted their kind of worship.
Jehu
This is the feast of baal. Eat your fill, O dots of idolatry. It is a festival of fire and truth.
Narrator
He grabbed a priest trying to crawl under a bench and dragged him into the open by his ankle.
Jehu
Where is your God now? Asleep in his tomb, attending to the needs of his bowels.
Narrator
Or perhaps the sword swung, his head fell.
Jehu
Perhaps BAAL never existed at all except in the minds of selfish and self gratifying men.
Narrator
The temple of BAAL burned like a sacrifice, the smoke curling into a sky that refused to weep. Jehu sat on a broken throne nearby. His sword rested beside him like a satisfied hound. Jehonadab, shaking, stepped over a corpse and approached slowly, as if the wrong movement might trigger another spree. And then he stopped.
Jehu
What are you doing?
Narrator
There he was, the King of Israel, squatting, tunic pulled up proudly, relieving himself atop the shattered remains of Baal's altar.
Jehu
Mark this, Jehon Dab. This temple is no longer for worship.
Narrator
He stood, wiped himself with the hem of a BAAL priest's robe, and tossed it aside from this.
Jehu
Stay forth. Let all Israel know the temple of BAAL is a latrine, a house of waste, an altar to dung.
Narrator
And so it was. Jehonadab turned away, his soul torn between awe and horror. Somewhere deep inside him, a voice whispered, he's gone too far. But louder still was another voice, deeper and darker, that whispered back, no, he's just getting started. And outside, the fire burned on. Years had passed. The fire was gone. The sword sheathed, the heads buried or rotted into the earth. Jehu's reign limped toward its end, not with trumpets, but with bureaucracy. Golden calves still stood in Bethel and Dan, polished like heirlooms. No one remembered the origin of he had done evil in the sight of Yahweh, and everyone knew it. Time had not broken. Jehu just hollowed him. His throne still stood in Samaria, surrounded by the very idols he once burned cities to erase. The golden calves of Jeroboam gleamed in the high places. The revolution was over. The rot returned and Jehu sat in a stone courtyard that stank of old oil and older regret. The son no longer bowed to him. That's when Jehonadab returned. Thinner now, wrinkled yes, but unbroken. He stood like a column in the ruins.
Jehu
I was told you were dead. Turns out it was just wishful thinking. I came to see what's left of the man I once rode beside.
Narrator
Jehonadab looked around him and released a sigh. Jehu had become the very thing he saw swore to destroy.
Jehu
You didn't serve the Lord, Jehu.
Narrator
Not really.
Jehu
You served your rage. You heard the call of heaven and used to feed the fire in your own gut. You wore his name like a blade, but it was your own thirst you were quenching. You were supposed to be the Lord's instrument, but it turns out you were just a man who loved love. The sound of his own sword.
Narrator
Jehu said nothing because there was nothing left to say. Jehonadab turned and walked away. Jehu didn't call him back. He reigned for 28 years in Samaria. He tore down Baal and bowed to a golden lie because seal without obedience. This isn't faith, it's ego wearing the robes of righteousness. The sun kept setting and the king sat alone with nothing but idols for company and the echo of a voice that once called him Brother.
Yael Eckstein
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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.
Narrator
Amen. You can listen to the Chosen People with Yao Eckstein ad free by downloading and subscribing to the pray.com app today. This pray.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 Leschinsky 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 Pray.com productions on the Pray.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.
Yael Eckstein
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Jehu
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Narrator
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Jehu
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Narrator
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Jehu
You heard it before. Many times. Water is life. But do you know that almost half of the homes on the Navajo reservation do not have clean running water? With your support, Saint Bonaventure Indian Mission and School is ready to give water to Navajo families. So we invite you to help provide this precious gift of life to those in need. Contrary to many average Americans, Navajo families survive on just 10 gallons of water per day. You can help support St. Bonaventure's water delivery program by going to St. Bonaventure mission.org this is an iHeart podcast.
Host: Yael Eckstein, International Fellowship of Christians and Jews
Narrator and Dramatic Cast
Produced by Pray.com
This riveting episode of The Chosen People podcast, “Jehu: The Butcher King,” immerses listeners in the tumultuous biblical story of Jehu, charged by God to obliterate the house of Ahab and wipe out idolatry in Israel. Crafted with rich, dramatic narration and raw, poetic dialogue, the episode grapples with the line between righteous zeal and blood-soaked fanaticism, questioning the cost of divine justice when wielded by a flawed human instrument. Listeners are drawn from Jehu’s ascent and bloody purges, through the psychological toll on his unlikely companion Jehonadab, to the legacy of violence and hollow triumph that defines Jehu’s reign.
Jehu: "Ready my chariot. It's time for Judgment Day." (00:21)
Narrator: "Blood would flow like the Nile River." (00:25)
Jehu: "Come, climb up, brother. You shall be the Aaron to my Moses. Let us thunder like Sinai together. Come ride with Jehu, your new king." (08:15)
Jehu: "Let all who pass through this gate remember this is what obedience looks like." (15:51)
Jehu: "The axe is laid to the root, brother. The axe does not ask the tree if it's ready. It simply strikes." (20:43)
Jehu: "Baal, who never asked too much. Just your loyalty, your worship, your sons, your daughters, your everything." (27:27)
Jehu: "But the Lord God of Israel, Yahweh, he gives. ... The Lord is a giver. And today he will give. And today he gives judgment." (29:34, 29:53)
Jehu: "From this day forth, let all Israel know the temple of Baal is a latrine, a house of waste, an altar to dung." (33:27)
Jehonadab: "You didn't serve the Lord, Jehu. Not really. You served your rage. ... You were supposed to be the Lord's instrument, but it turns out you were just a man who loved... the sound of his own sword." (35:39–36:06)
Narrator: "Zeal without obedience. This isn't faith, it's ego wearing the robes of righteousness." (36:06)
Jehu: The Butcher King stands as a dramatic, haunting meditation on the risks of zealotry, the ambiguity of “divine” violence, and the ultimate fate of those who wield God’s judgment as a cover for personal vendetta. Through powerful dialogue and a nuanced portrayal of Jehu and Jehonadab, the episode cautions listeners against mistaking wrath for righteousness, illustrating that the true test of faith is humble obedience, not conquest.