It wasn't just the non-Jews, the "heathen," who were struggling in those days. Even among the Jewish people, there were those deeply immersed in sin. And among them, two figures stood out for their wickedness: Ahab and Zedekiah, both false prophets.
The story, as told in Legends of the Jews, centers around a truly scandalous episode involving Nebuchadnezzar's daughter. Ahab, posing as a divine messenger, approached the princess and instructed her to "yield" to Zedekiah. Zedekiah, in turn, delivered the same message, only substituting Ahab's name.
Now, even though Nebuchadnezzar was no saint – Ginzberg's Legends tells us he was known for some pretty depraved behavior, even forcing captive kings into degrading situations (a miracle was even needed to protect the pious of Judah!) – he wasn't oblivious to the moral code of the Jewish people. He knew that the God of Israel detested immorality.
So, the princess, rightfully suspicious, told her father everything. Nebuchadnezzar, disturbed by these claims of divine commands, turned to Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah – the three companions of Daniel, known for their unwavering faith. He questioned them, asking if such a message could truly originate from God. Their response was emphatic: absolutely not.
Ahab and Zedekiah, however, refused to retract their statements. Nebuchadnezzar, in a move that seems almost theatrical, decided to subject them to the same fiery test he had prepared for Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. He even offered them a chance to choose a third person, a pious individual, to share their fate. Perhaps thinking they could game the system, Ahab and Zedekiah requested Joshua, who would later become the high priest, hoping his merits would save them all.
But their plan backfired. Joshua emerged from the furnace unharmed, but his garments were singed. Ahab and Zedekiah? They were consumed by the flames.
Why the singed garments? Joshua explained it as being due to his direct exposure to the flames, but the real reason, as we are told, was that he had to atone for the sins of his sons, who had married women unworthy of their lineage. According to this telling, his near-death experience was a consequence of his sons' misdeeds. He escaped death, but only after the fire had purged him, in a way, of their transgressions.
This story, found in Legends of the Jews, isn't just a thrilling tale of fire and brimstone. It's a reminder that even those who claim to speak for the divine can be corrupted, and that even the most pious among us can be touched by the consequences of others' actions. It leaves us pondering: What price do we pay, not just for our own sins, but for the sins of those connected to us? And what does it truly mean to be a vessel of divine truth?