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- [00:00]
A
Previously on the Chosen People. 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.
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B
Yahweh, if you're truly there, please say something.
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A
Anything.
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B
I will not pray to Molech or BAAL or Ashtaroth.
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A
I seek you. Please help me to find you. My king.
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C
We have found something.
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A
Something hidden deep beneath the ruins of the Temple of Solomon. The room stilled, breathless. And then, in the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The words landed like stones, each syllable striking deeper. He Then finally, Josiah raised his gaze to Hilkiah, his voice raw, scraping against his throat like the edge of a blade.
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D
Find me a prophet.
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B
This is an iHeart podcast.
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D
On Fox One. You can stream your favorite news, sports and entertainment live all in one app. It's raw and unfiltered.
- [01:28]
A
This is the best thing ever.
- [01:30]
D
Watch breaking news as it breaks. Breaking. Tonight we're following two major stories. Catch history in the making. Debate drama.
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A
Touchdown.
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D
It's all here, baby. Fox one, we live for lies. Streaming now.
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E
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 let's begin.
- [02:41]
B
You can make a difference in someone's life, including your own, with a job in home care. These jobs offer flexible schedules, health care, retirement options and free training. They also provide paid time off and opportunities for overtime. Visit oregonhomecarejobs.com to learn more and apply. That's oregonhomecarejobs.com.
- [03:12]
A
Josiah couldn't sleep. His dreams were filled with serpents, floods, bloody rivers and fire. He had been up all night, the scroll open before him, hands gripping its edges like it might vanish if he let go. He had read it until the words blurred, but he could still see it when he closed his eyes. He had read of Yahweh's faithfulness, his mercy, his wrath. He had read of covenants made and broken, of a Love so fierce it burned through mountains, split seas, brought plagues, cast down kings. He had read the story of his people, traced their failures like scars across the parchment, and somewhere in those words he had begun to understand not just the judgment, but the love behind it, the love that they had betrayed. The chamber was dark when she arrived. The torches burned low, their embers licking at the shadows, illuminating Hilkiah, Shaphan, and the few others who had come with him. They stood at a distance, unsure if they should be here at all. Josiah stood as Huldah entered. She did not bow. She was not the kind of woman who bent before kings. She walked with slow certainty, the confidence of someone who had nothing to prove. She was wrapped in plain robes, unadorned, her graying hair falling loose around her shoulders. Her eyes, dark, sharp, unrelenting, studied him like she was peeling back his skin to see what was underneath. She stopped a few paces away, crossed her arms, and let the silence settle before speaking.
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You sent for a prophet?
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Josiah straightened, exhaustion heavy in his bones, the scroll still clenched in his hands.
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Tell me what the Lord says.
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Halda's head tilted slightly, a flicker of something, pity, amusement. It was hard to tell.
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C
Do you think you're the first king to kneel in fear? Many men have sought the Lord's will, then rejected it moments later, like a man who sees his reflection and then forgets what he looks like.
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I. I understand. But I find that I do not forget things easily, no matter how hard I try.
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The prophetess smirked at that, then sighed.
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This is what the Lord look, I am going to bring disaster on this place and its inhabitants. Every curse written in the book that the King of Judah has read. Because they have forsaken me and burned incense to other gods, provoking me with the idols their hands have made. My anger will be poured out on this place and will not be quenched.
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A
A long silence stretched between them. Finally, she exhaled, and when she spoke again, her voice was lower and colder, the weight of inevitability pressing down with every word.
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C
It is too late, Josiah. The judgment is sealed.
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Something inside King Josiah recoiled. His jaw tightened, his grip on the scroll, turning his knuckles white.
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D
No. No, that cannot be. I've read the law. I.
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C
You think one righteous man can erase the sins of a thousand?
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Her words landed heavy, knocking the breath from his chest. She did not say it with cruelty. She did not need to. Truth did the wounding for her.
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The Lord has been patient. He has sent prophets. He has sent warnings. Your fathers refused to listen. Your grandfathers did not Listen. Judah has spilled innocent blood into the streets, has bowed to gods that do not speak, do not see, do not care. You have made offerings to stone and fire. And you wonder why the heavens have turned sick.
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Silent, Josiah breathed hard, his pulse roaring in his ears. He shook his head, eyes burning.
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I have served the Lord since he first called me.
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And how do you know he has called you?
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The question hung between them. Josiah's lips parted, but the answer felt too complicated to be spoken plainly, so he said it differently.
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I swear to you, I've heard the echoes of a voice, like a dream, but can't remember. Something I've known ever since I was a boy. Like a word on the tip of my tongue.
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Yes. That word is Yahweh.
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Josiah's breath hitched. She stepped closer, lowering her voice, her gaze pinning him like a nail through wood.
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C
Do you think he does not grieve, Josiah? Do you think he does not love?
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Josiah's throat tightened.
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This judgment is not the rage of a tyrant. It is the heartbreak of a father whose children have thrown themselves into danger. You call it wrath. But what is wrath if not love? Betrayed if not justice for the oppressed, for the children who screamed as they burned?
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There was a long silence. Josiah felt his own heartbeat in his ears, the weight of everything crashing down upon him, the understanding slicing him open. His kingdom was doomed, but Yahweh had not stopped loving them. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, his resolve hardening into something fierce.
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Then I will burn their gods before they burn my people.
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Halda exhaled, almost smiling. Not approval, not quite, but something close to understanding. She turned, already walking toward the door.
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Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, regarding the words you have heard. Because your heart was tender and you humbled yourself before God when you heard what he spoke against this place and its people. And because you humbled yourself before me and tore your clothes and wept before me. I have heard you, declares the Lord. Behold, I will gather you to your fathers, and you will be gathered to your grave in peace. Your eyes will not see all the disaster I will bring on this place and on its inhabitants.
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She did not look back. Josiah stood in the flickering torchlight, breath heavy, fists clenched, staring at the shadows on the stone. He knew what he had to do. The fire raged, not like before, not as an altar. The fire wasn't built for a hungry, false God, demanding children, screams. It was an inferno of reckoning, cleansing. The valley of Hinnom now burned with righteous fury. The drums of war pounded, a steady, relentless heartbeat Beneath the cacophony of cracking stone and splintering idols, soldiers roared as they heaved the obscene leering statues of Molech into the blaze. The golden effigy, the one with its arms outstretched, its metal hands where infants had once been placed before being devoured by flames, toppled like a decayed tree, it was sent crashing into the pit with an unholy shriek as fire consumed it. Josiah stood before it all, face carved from iron. His torn robes whipped in the wind. His eyes, dark, hollow, seething, did not blink as the flames licked higher, devouring the past. He had stood here once before when he was a child, powerless, forced to watch infants set ablaze for Molech. Never again. A priest of Molech staggered forward from the crowd, half mad, soot streaked, eyes wild with defiance. He raised trembling hands, voice raw with desperation. What is the meaning of this? You dare defile our sacred grounds? Josiah turns slowly. A movement from the wind uncovered something at his feet. White, brittle, fragile bones. Tiny, hollow boned remains. The bones of the children. His breath caught. For a moment the fire was behind him again. For a moment. He was five years old, staring up at the flame lit faces of his father's priests. The smell of burning flesh in his nostrils. His father's hand firm around his tiny wrist, holding him there, forcing him to watch. Josiah's fist clenched. He moved. Before he knew he had moved, a single hand shot out and wrapped around the priest's throat. The man gurgled, hands clawing uselessly at Josiah's grip. The king pulled him toward the fire pit, the flames reflecting in his hollowed out eyes. But your father.
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I have no father but the Lord.
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And with that, he let go. The priest tumbled screaming into the pit. The flames swallowed him whole. Josiah did not look away. Behind him, his soldiers lifted the corpses of the false priests and cast them after their master. Their ashes mingled with those of the children they had slain. The fire belonged to the Lord Now. Josiah rode through the ruins of Bethel, his horse's hooves kicking up dust. The altar of Jeroboam stood there, still old, cracked, and yet somehow still defiant. Centuries ago, a nameless prophet had stood before this altar and cried out that one day a king from the house of David would tear it down. That a son of David would burn the bones of its false priests upon it. Josiah dismounted. His men watched as he approached the crumbling altar, stepping over shattered idols and remnants of forgotten gods. He placed a hand on the stone. It was warm beneath his palm, as if it had absorbed the sins of those who worshipped here. Josiah turned to his men and nodded. Once the soldiers dragged sacks of human bones, remains of the very priests who had offered sacrifices here generations ago. One by one, they were emptied onto the altar. Josiah did not flinch as he watched them burn. Then, just as he turned to leave, his eyes caught something. A lone tomb, untouched by the destruction. He frowned.
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D
Who is buried here?
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A soldier stepped forward, hesitant. A prophet, my king. The one who foretold your coming. They say he spoke of you by name long before you were even born. Josiah hesitated. The weight of prophecy, of time itself, pressed down on him. The man who had spoken of this day had been dead for centuries, and yet his words had found him. For a long moment, Josiah said nothing.
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Then leave it untouched.
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And with that, he turned and walked away, the fires of Bethel burning in his wake. The temple glowed under torchlight, full of the sound of solemn singing. The Passover had returned. For the first time in generations, the people gathered not in pretense, but in reverence. There were no golden calves, no incense to baal, no groves to Asherah. There was only the Lord and Josiah standing before the altar, quiet, focused, older than his years. The blood of lambs pooled around the altar stones. The smoke of roasting meat curled upward like prayer. The people ate, but not in celebration, in remembrance.
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D
We do not feast tonight to escape death. We feast because we have delayed it for a moment.
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He raised the cup, not with triumph, but with trembling hands.
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May this blood cover more than it did then.
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They drank, and heaven stayed silent. The next morning, a messenger rode hard from the north. He arrived at the palace to find Josiah his advisors, and Hulda, the prophetess, at his side.
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From Pharaoh Nechel of Egypt to the King of Judah.
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Josiah stood as Shaphan unrolled the scroll. His brow furrowed as the foreign words were translated. Lord Neco of Egypt declares. What quarrel is there, King of Judah, between you and me? I do not come against you today, but against the house with which I am at war. God has commanded me to hurry. Stop opposing God who is with me, or he will destroy you. The room fell into stunned silence. Josiah's jaw tensed, his eyes narrowed.
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God speaks through Pharaohs now. No, God speaks through his word.
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He speaks the truth. Josiah.
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Josiah turned, wounded already.
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He is Pharaoh, a butcher, a godless tyrant.
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And yet the Lord has used worse as his sword. Babylon, Assyria, Egypt.
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Josiah turned away.
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He desecrated our land, our children, our women. I read the scrolls. I saw what they did.
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Vengeance is not your calling. Restoration is. Stay out of this war.
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If I die, let it be doing Something.
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The battlefield was loud, which made Josiah's silence all the louder. Horses screamed, chariots thundered. Bronze clashed against bone. But in the hollowed out space behind Josiah's eyes, there was only static. A low, droning ache of doubt and memory tangled together. He rode through the chaos, wearing no crown. His armor was plain, borrowed, his face shadowed beneath a war hood, as if anonymity could save him from prophecy. The Egyptian banners rippled like fire down the hills. Judah's lines held for now, but Josiah wasn't watching. He gripped the reins, knuckles white, eyes glassy, gaze not on the war, but on the war within.
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I wanted to do the right thing. I wanted to burn the idols, tear down the groves, keep the blood from our streets. I thought if I obeyed the scroll, he would relent. But I disobeyed the voice of the prophet. I ignored Huldah. I ignored Neco. Did I bail him?
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He blinked, eyes suddenly full of sun. A soldier passed him, yelling orders. Another fell, screaming. The earth trembled beneath hooves. Josiah barely heard it.
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Maybe. Maybe I wasn't meant to save Judah. Maybe I was only meant to delay the fire. A breath, a pause before the end.
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A
And then it happened. No trumpet, no flash, no divine sign. Just the cold, stupid reality of war. An archer, Egyptian, probably not even aiming, let fly. The arrow soared, unnoticed until it buried itself in the king's side. Josiah gasped. His spine arched. His hand flew to the shaft protruding from his ribs. Blood pulsed hot and sudden. The world snapped back into sound, deafening, blinding, real. His horse bucked. He slid from the saddle. The ground hit like stone. Josiah lay gasping, staring at the sky, so blue, so empty. A young soldier rushed to him. No one else noticed. The war was still happening. But here, small clearing between chaos, eternity had slowed to a crawl. The boy knelt, trying to press rags against the wound.
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My king, hold on. Please hold on.
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Josiah coughed, blood threading from the corner of his mouth. His hand reached up lightly, gently grasping the soldier's wrist.
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Who are you, son of.
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The boy swallowed, trembling. No one, My king. Hide. I'm an orphan. Josiah smiled. Not wide, not triumphant, but soft, like memory.
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I was once an orphan, too.
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His fingers squeezed the boy's hand.
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But I found a new father.
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At that. The younger soldier wept openly now, holding the king's hair in his lap, blood soaking through his tunic. Josiah looked toward the sky again, and this time he wasn't afraid. He began to speak, voice cracking, slowing, reverent.
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The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want my king. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters he restores my soul.
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Blood foamed in his throat. His voice was barely a breath now.
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Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.
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Another pause, a long one. The soldier thought he was gone. Then, faintly for my father is with me. He exhaled a slow, final breath. And then silence. The war raged on, but in that quiet corner of Megiddo, the last good king lay still. And somewhere beyond the veil of eternity, the good shepherd stood waiting for his lamb to come home. Josiah was buried with full honour. The streets wept. The priests tore their robes. The singers composed laments that were sung for generations. And Hulda, now veiled in mourning, stood by his tomb. She traced her hand along the street stone, closed her eyes, and spoke not to the crowd but to history.
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He tried with all his heart, but no man can save Judah. Not yet.
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She looked up toward the horizon, toward the future.
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One day another king will come, not with sword but with speech. He will not burn the idols. He will burn in their place. The fire will fall on him instead, and he will declare it to be good.
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The wind picked up. Somewhere far off, a child cried, and deep beneath the ground the bones of the last good king rested in peace. But his fire still burned.
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You can make a difference in someone's life, including your own, with a job in home care. These jobs offer flexible schedules, health care, retirement options, and free training. They also provide paid time off and opportunities for overtime. Visit oregonhomecarejobs.com to learn more and apply that's oregonhomecare jobs.com.
- [25:52]
E
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.
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Amen. You can listen to the Chosen People.
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F
With Yael Eckstein ad free by downloading and subscribing to the prey.com app today. This pray.com production is only made possible by our dedicated team of creative talents. Steve Cattina, Max Bard, Zach Shellavager 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.
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B
This is an iHeart podcast.