Jonah did not return home.He wandered aimlessly as the town awoke around him. The voices of the merchants,
the bleating of the cattle, and the rhythmic clang of doors opening reached him from
afar, as if he no longer belonged there. His mind was far away, trapped in a single
word that throbbed like a war drum.
Nineveh.
She tried to pray, but found no words. She tried to convince herself that she had
misunderstood, that perhaps the message wasn't so literal, that God would change his
mind. But deep down, she knew the truth: the call had been clear, and so had his rejection.
He stopped beside a stone wall and pressed his forehead against it. The cold of the rock failed to
extinguish the fire that coursed through his blood.
Nineveh wasn't just a name on maps. It was an inherited memory, a story told so
many times it had become personal. Since childhood, I had heard it spoken of as
one speaks of a monster: with fear and rage. The Assyrians didn't just conquer; they
humiliated. They didn't just defeat; they destroyed even hope.
He remembered his father, Amitai, sitting by the fire, recounting what he had seen in
his youth. Cities razed. Men impaled on gates. Mothers weeping for sons who would
never return.
"Don't forget who they are," he told her. "Don't forget what they did."
Jonah had not forgotten. Never.
Therefore, the idea of delivering a divine warning to them was unbearable to him. To warn
was to give an opportunity. And they, in his heart, deserved none.
He continued walking until the bustle of the village was behind him. The path
descended gently toward the fields, and far beyond, in the distance, lay the road
that led to Joppa, the port. Jonah stopped, realizing where his steps were taking
him.
She hadn't made the decision yet, but her body already seemed to know it.
"I won't go," he said softly, as if someone could hear him. "I will not be an instrument of their
forgiveness."
The wind blew harder, raising dust from the road. Jonah interpreted the
silence as an answer he didn't want to hear.He returned home only to take what he needed. He explained nothing. He left no
messages. He didn't want goodbyes or questions that might weaken his resolve. Every
object he kept—a cloak, a waterskin, a few coins—was confirmation of his escape.
When he came out, the sun was already high.
The road to Joppa was long, but Jonah walked it with a determined stride. As he walked, a
silent struggle raged within him. Part of his heart screamed that he was making a mistake.
Another part, darker and stronger, told him that fleeing was the right thing to do.
"God is merciful," he murmured. "He always has been. That's why I can't go."
It was a bitter truth. Jonah knew God's character all too well. He knew that if
Nineveh listened, if it repented, God would forgive. And that possibility filled him
with an indignation he could neither justify nor extinguish.
As evening fell, the walls of Joppa appeared before him. The scent of the sea
enveloped him before he even saw it: salt, damp wood, old nets. The port was
bustling with life. Sailors shouted orders, loaded cargo, and haggled over
prices. Boats of all sizes bobbed gently, like patient animals.
Jonah stood gazing at the sea.
He had never liked it. He respected it, but he didn't trust it. It was too vast, too unpredictable.
Even so, that day it seemed like a promise: the sea separated. The sea took him away. The sea
could carry him so far that not even God would find him… or so he wanted to believe.
— Are you looking for a ticket?
The voice startled him. A man with a thick beard and tired eyes was watching him from
the gangplank of a merchant ship.
— To Tarshish — Jonah answered without hesitation.
The sailor raised an eyebrow.
— Far away. Very far away.
— That's what I want.
The man let out a short, humorless laugh."The sea makes no promises," he said. "It only collects its price."
Jonah paid without arguing. He climbed aboard with a strange feeling, as if each step took him not
only further from his homeland, but from something deeper. The ship creaked under his weight, as if
in protest.
While the sailors worked, Jonah sat to one side, gazing at the horizon. The sun was
beginning to sink into the sea, painting the sky red and purple. It was a beautiful
sunset, almost cruel in its stillness.
"I have escaped," he thought. "I have chosen."
But deep within his being, one question refused to be silenced: Can one
flee from the One who made the sea?
When the ship sailed, Jonah did not look back.
He didn't see the coastline shrink or his homeland slowly disappear into the distance. He
closed his eyes and let the rocking of the ship lull him to sleep. For the first time since
morning, silence enveloped him once more.
He believed that God had remained silent.
I didn't know that silence was just the beginning