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Josiah & The Hidden Scroll · The Chosen People

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Speaker 1: Previously on The Chosen People Jerusalem was less a city
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Speaker 1: and more a wound wrapped in stone. And now they
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Speaker 1: watched again, waiting to see if the next chapter was
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Speaker 1: salvation or siege.
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Speaker 2: Don't let Hezekiah lie to you! What makes you think
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Speaker 2: your god is any different?
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Speaker 3: Save us, Lord.
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Speaker 2: Not for us, not for our name. But so that
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Speaker 2: all the kingdoms of the earth may.
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Speaker 4: Know You alone are Yahweh.
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Speaker 3: This is what the Lord says.
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Speaker 4: You will not see one arrow fly over this wall,
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Speaker 4: not one.
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Speaker 1: And on that night, in the quiet, the angel of
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Speaker 1: the Lord entered the camp. Jerusalem survived, not because it
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Speaker 1: was strong, but because.
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Speaker 2: God is strong.
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Speaker 1: The valley of Hinnom stretched out beneath the night sky,
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Speaker 1: a ghastly wound carved into the earth, swollen with fire
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Speaker 1: and agony. Great flames clawed skyward, their flickering tongues lighting
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Speaker 1: up the darkness like torches of hell itself. Smoke twisted
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Speaker 1: thickly through the air, bitter with the scent of burning
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Speaker 1: flesh and acrid incense that choked every breath. Drums beat incessantly,
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Speaker 1: their rhythm heavy, oppressive, primal, almost hypnotic. Amidst the chaos
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Speaker 1: stood Josiah, just five years old, trembling. His tiny hand
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Speaker 1: was engulfed by the rough, gem-encrusted grasp of his father,
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Speaker 1: King Amon. The heat pressed against Josiah's skin, blistering, suffocating,
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Speaker 1: so intense his eyes watered from fear and sheer physical pain.
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Speaker 1: It was Josiah's first time at the ceremony, an occasion
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Speaker 1: Amon had proudly insisted his young heir witness take. But
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Speaker 1: pride was the furthest emotion from the boy's heart as
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Speaker 1: he gazed around, eyes wide with horror. A circle of
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Speaker 1: priests raised their voices in a dark chant, their faces
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Speaker 1: hidden beneath masks, shaped into the grotesque visage of Moloch,
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Speaker 1: with empty eyes that glittered cruelly in the firelight.
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Speaker 5: Bring forth your offerings, faithful ones.
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Speaker 2: Cast off your weakness, love.
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Speaker 3: Family, home, these are weaknesses.
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Speaker 2: It is Molech who makes you strong.
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Speaker 4: Let your seed fuel Molech's endless hunger.
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Speaker 1: A shriek split through the chanting, piercing, terrified. A mother's
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Speaker 1: cry sliced through the drums. Josiah flinched, gripping his father's
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Speaker 1: hand tighter. But Amon remained as unmoving as stone, his
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Speaker 1: gaze cold and unfeeling. Young Josiah beheld a mother, face
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Speaker 1: twisted with agony, fighting desperately as priests tore her child
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Speaker 1: from her arms. Josiah recognized the woman. She was the
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Speaker 1: wife of a palace guard. She locked eyes with Josiah, desperate, pleading,
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Speaker 1: begging him silently for help he could not give. Her
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Speaker 1: gaze seared into his soul as she wailed, collapsing to
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Speaker 1: the dust, fingers clawing uselessly at empty air.
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Speaker 4: Do not weep, my dear.
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Speaker 2: Moloch is glorified by this delicious offering. The gods demand blood!
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Speaker 4: The gods demand sacrifice!
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Speaker 1: Josiah watched as the priest raised the struggling infant aloft.
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Speaker 1: The child wailed, tiny limbs thrashing against a grip that
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Speaker 1: offered no mercy.
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Speaker 3: Father.
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Speaker 1: King Amon did not respond. His eyes remained fixed on
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Speaker 1: the massive fire pit, hollow and devoid of empathy. The
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Speaker 1: priest stepped forward, his voice growing feverish, and he raised
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Speaker 1: the child high.
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Speaker 2: Behold, Molech! Accept this pure flesh! Consume, devour, and grant
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Speaker 2: us favor!
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Speaker 1: Amon dropped to his knees, yanking Josiah down beside him,
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Speaker 1: the sudden force jarring the boy's bones. Before he could protest,
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Speaker 1: his father shoved a bowl of smoldering incense into his
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Speaker 1: trembling hands. The heat licked at his skin, the acrid
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Speaker 1: smoke curling into his nostrils, stinging his eyes, coiling down
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Speaker 1: his throat like a living thing. Josiah's little chest heaved,
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Speaker 1: desperate for clean air, but all he could smell was
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Speaker 1: the earthy incense and the smell of charring flesh. The
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Speaker 1: priest lifted the infant higher, his crimson-drenched robes catching the
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Speaker 1: fire's violent glow. The child's shrieks pierced through the night, thin, reedy, desperate.
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Speaker 1: The mother's screams didn't cease. She fought against the priests
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Speaker 1: who held her back, her nails raking through dirt to
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Speaker 1: get closer to her baby. Josiah caught the wild, helpless
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Speaker 1: gleam of her eyes through the firelight. The drums pounded.
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Speaker 1: The chants rose. The fire swallowed the sky, its tongues
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Speaker 1: writhing hungrily, waiting. Then the priest moved. The child tumbled
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Speaker 1: from his grasp in a perfect practiced arc, arms flailing,
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Speaker 1: mouth open in a scream that would never be finished.
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Speaker 1: The flames caught him midair. What happened after was horror.
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Speaker 1: horror that lasted moments but seemed to stretch on for hours.
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Speaker 1: The wailing did not stop immediately.
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Speaker 2: It should have. It should have been instant.
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Speaker 1: But it wasn't. It stretched, merging with the mother's howls,
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Speaker 1: with the crowd's frenzied chanting, with the pounding of the drums,
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Speaker 1: until the entire valley of Hinnom became a single unholy
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Speaker 1: symphony of agony. A hymn. to Moloch. Josiah's stomach lurched,
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Speaker 1: his knees buckled beneath him. He tried to tear his
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Speaker 1: gaze away, tried to silence the sound, but it was everywhere.
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Speaker 1: Inside his head, inside his ribs, inside his very soul.
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Speaker 1: He turned to his father, King Amon. He searched his
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Speaker 1: father's face for any ounce of regret, a sign that something,
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Speaker 1: Anything in the man before him could still be human,
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Speaker 1: but there was nothing. Amon, king of Judah, descendant of David,
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Speaker 1: watched the sacrifice with cold, glassy detachment. The flickering flames
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Speaker 1: reflected in his pupils, casting a golden glow across his
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Speaker 1: expressionless face. Josiah's voice, small but certain, tore through the darkness.
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Speaker 3: Listen. This is wrong. Wrong? No, my son.
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Speaker 2: This is worship.
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Speaker 1: Josiah stared into the flames. For a horrifying instant, as
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Speaker 1: the flames devoured the child, Josiah swore he saw the
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Speaker 1: idol's monstrous eyes gleam, its lips twist into a cruel smile.
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Speaker 1: Josiah knew, deep in his heart... that he would never
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Speaker 1: forget this night, nor forgive the darkness that had birthed him.
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Speaker 1: The royal chambers were dim and hot, scented heavily by
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Speaker 1: incense and something darker, something bitter, like betrayal itself had
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Speaker 1: a smell. Josiah said, Eight years old and wide-eyed, stood
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Speaker 1: stiffly beside the deathbed of King Aemon, his father. The poison,
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Speaker 1: delivered by some unknown hand, was an open secret.
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Speaker 3: It's done. Nothing more we can do.
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Speaker 1: Aemon reached weakly, fingers grabbing at Josiah's hand like a
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Speaker 1: drowning man clutching driftwood.
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Speaker 3: Josiah....
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Speaker 2: Closer, son.
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Speaker 1: Josiah leaned in, afraid and obedient.
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Speaker 3: Power is fear. Fear is strength. Let them tremble. Or
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Speaker 3: they'll do this to you.
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Speaker 1: His father's grip slackened and his eyes drifted into a
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Speaker 1: place Josiah couldn't follow. Josiah, now king of Judah at
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Speaker 1: a mere age of eight, stood frozen. Josiah felt ridiculously
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Speaker 1: small on the throne, the crown heavy, his feet dangling.
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Speaker 1: barely scraping the cold stone floor. Noblemen circled like vultures,
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Speaker 1: their faces masked with false smiles, voice dripping with patronizing sweetness.
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Speaker 5: Your Majesty, it is customary for the council to handle
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Speaker 5: the complex affairs of the state. Perhaps you'd like some
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Speaker 5: toys sent to your chambers instead?
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Speaker 1: A ripple of suppressed laughter filled the throne room. Josiah
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Speaker 1: raised his eyes slowly, something fierce and unnerving flickering behind them.
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Speaker 1: Perhaps you'd prefer chains around your wrists for treason. A
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Speaker 1: hush fell on the crowd of advisors. Josiah's voice, quiet
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Speaker 1: and firm.
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Speaker 5: I'm your king. You speak to me with respect, but
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Speaker 5: not at all.
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Speaker 1: The nobles exchanged wary glances, recalculating hastily. suddenly unsure of
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Speaker 1: the math they'd done earlier. Later that night, Josiah sat alone,
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Speaker 1: crown discarded on the bed beside him. The room felt huge, oppressive,
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Speaker 1: filled with whispers of expectation he wasn't sure how to meet.
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Speaker 1: A soft knock broke his spiraling thoughts.
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Speaker 2: Yes?
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Speaker 1: The door creaked open hesitantly. revealing his maidservant, Hannah. She
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Speaker 1: was a gentle woman, young but wise. She carried a
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Speaker 1: comforting calm into the room with her.
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Speaker 2: You haven't slept, my king.
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Speaker 4: No, I can't.
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Speaker 1: He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her everything.
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Speaker 1: He wanted to tell her about his nightmares, the weight
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Speaker 1: pressing on his chest, the way the crown felt too big,
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Speaker 1: too heavy. The way the king's chambers smelled like his father,
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Speaker 1: and that made him tense. But he didn't say any
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Speaker 1: of it. Who could possibly understand what it meant to
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Speaker 1: be thrust into kingship at eight years old? To wake
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Speaker 1: up one day not just an orphan, but a ruler,
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Speaker 1: surrounded by men who smiled like jackals and whispered behind
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Speaker 1: their hands. His father's voice echoed in his skull. Never
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Speaker 1: show weakness. Fear is strength. Power is fear. So Josiah
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Speaker 1: swallowed it down, forcing his spine straight. Hannah watched him carefully,
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Speaker 1: a child forced to wear a crown before he had
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Speaker 1: even lost all his baby teeth, and no one had
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Speaker 1: ever told him it was okay to be afraid. She
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Speaker 1: knelt slightly, lowering herself just enough so that she wasn't
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Speaker 1: speaking to a king.
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Speaker 2: But to a boy. Whenever I'm frightened, I like a
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Speaker 2: good story. My mother used to tell me about a
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Speaker 2: god named Yahweh.
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Speaker 1: Josiah hesitated, curiosity slowly piercing through the fog of weariness.
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Speaker 1: He looked up at her, hope flickering weakly in his eyes.
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Speaker 5: Who's Yahweh?
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Speaker 1: Hannah smiled, but there was a sadness to it. She
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Speaker 1: didn't know much. No one did anymore. The old stories
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Speaker 1: had been buried beneath idols and politics, pushed so far
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Speaker 1: into the shadows that only fragments remained. But she did
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Speaker 1: know one.
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Speaker 4: Once, there was a man named Moses who stood before
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Speaker 4: the Red Sea.
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Speaker 1: Josiah leaned forward, something in his heart suddenly awake in
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Speaker 1: a new and fragile way. Eight years had passed. Josiah,
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Speaker 1: now a young man, knelt alone in a patch of moonlight,
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Speaker 1: murmuring halting prayers to a god who remained silent. Yet
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Speaker 1: the silence felt oddly full, dense with presence, a comforting
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Speaker 1: tension pulling gently at his chest.
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Speaker 5: Yahweh, if you're truly there, please say something.
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Speaker 3: Anything.
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Speaker 1: No audible response.
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Speaker 5: I will not pray to Moloch or Baal or Ashtaroth.
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Speaker 5: I seek you. Please, help me to find you.
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Speaker 1: But he felt something. Some quiet weight pressing gently on
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Speaker 1: his heart like a hand on his shoulder. A sudden
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Speaker 1: knock interrupted this spiritual tension.
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Speaker 3: Apologies, my king. The priests prepare a Moloch offering tomorrow.
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Speaker 2: I thought you should know.
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Speaker 1: Josiah felt his chest tighten. Memories of flames, screams, smoke,
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Speaker 1: the idol's pitiless bronze face all rushed back. No matter
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Speaker 1: how many times the priests performed this dark ritual, Josiah
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Speaker 1: never stopped hating it. Anger surged through him, pure and uncalculated.
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Speaker 1: He seized a golden Moloch statue from a table beside
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Speaker 1: him and, without thinking, hurled it violently against the wall.
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Speaker 1: The idol shattered brilliantly, shards scattering like sharp stars across
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Speaker 1: the floor. He breathed heavily, fists clenched, trembling, certain of
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Speaker 1: his rage but uncertain what it meant, how far he
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Speaker 1: could take it, how far he'd have to go. Two
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Speaker 1: years had passed. Josiah, 18 now, had become something else entirely.
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Speaker 2: Taller, yes.
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Speaker 1: Stronger, certainly. But more importantly, he carried himself with the
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Speaker 1: solemn gravity of someone who had tasted truth and found
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Speaker 1: it worth chasing. His advisors had learned caution around him,
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Speaker 1: His youth had ceased to be a weakness, becoming instead
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Speaker 1: a blade, sharp and unpredictable. Now seated upon the throne,
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Speaker 1: Josiah leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the crown perched
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Speaker 1: lightly atop his brow, watching Hilkiah, the high priest, enter
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Speaker 1: the hall. Hilkiah was no priest of Molech, no follower
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Speaker 1: of Baal or servant of Ashtoreth. He belonged to an
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Speaker 1: older order, nearly forgotten. Hilkiah was a Levite. Much of
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Speaker 1: their order had been exterminated, yet Hilkiah remained, faithfully tending
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Speaker 1: to the spiritual wounds of the royal house. He moved
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Speaker 1: toward Josiah with uncertain steps. Clutched carefully in his trembling
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Speaker 1: hands was an ancient scroll, darkened with age, weighted heavily
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Speaker 1: by forgotten words.
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Speaker 5: My king, we have found something, something hidden deep beneath
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Speaker 5: the ruins of the Temple of Solomon.
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Speaker 1: Josiah's heartbeat quickened, but he steadied his voice, masking anticipation
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Speaker 1: beneath careful control.
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Speaker 4: Show me.
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Speaker 1: Shaphan the scribe stepped forward, reverently accepting the scroll from Hilkiah.
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Speaker 1: His aged fingers trembled as he unrolled it. the sound
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Speaker 1: of ancient parchment crackling like a whisper from the grave.
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Speaker 1: The nobles and priests leaned in, some with intrigue, others
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Speaker 1: with suspicion, but all drawn into the silent gravity of
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Speaker 1: what was about to be spoken. Shaphan cleared his throat,
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Speaker 1: the room stilled, breathless, and then.
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Speaker 2: In the beginning, God created the heavens... and the earth.
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Speaker 1: The words struck the air like lightning. A single spark,
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Speaker 1: small at first, but electric. A name nearly forgotten, now
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Speaker 1: breathing again. The silence in the throne room deepened, thickened,
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Speaker 1: as if the very stones were listening. Josiah inhaled sharply,
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Speaker 1: something in his chest pulling taut. Chaffin read on, Slowly
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Speaker 1: at first, reverent, careful, each word a stone laid upon
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Speaker 1: a forgotten path.
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Speaker 2: And from dust he formed man, breathing into him life
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Speaker 2: and placing him in Eden, a paradise of peace, a
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Speaker 2: garden of holy presence.
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Speaker 1: The story began in a garden. where man was molded
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Speaker 1: from dust and given breath by the hand of the Almighty.
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Speaker 1: It is a paradise of communion, of wholeness.
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Speaker 2: But the serpent came, cutting, whispering doubt, twisting truth, until
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Speaker 2: paradise was shattered, and man hid himself from God.
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Speaker 1: The fall, the exile, the breaking of everything meant to
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Speaker 1: be whole, Josiah's hand curled into a fist, his finger knotted.
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Speaker 1: biting into his palm. The words did not stop. They
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Speaker 1: moved like a tide, sweeping forward, carrying him through ages
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Speaker 1: long buried beneath idol worship and royal decrees. Josiah listened intently.
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Speaker 1: The story of Cain's jealousy... The first blood spilled on
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Speaker 1: cursed ground. The story of Noah and the floodwaters rising
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Speaker 1: in judgment. He heard the name Abraham and the story
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Speaker 1: of God's promise. Josiah's breath became shallow, the world of
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Speaker 1: the throne room shrinking as the words pulled him deeper, deeper.
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Speaker 1: Shaphan read about the covenant of Isaac, then Jacob and
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Speaker 1: his sons. Then came the story of Egypt, chains, and
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Speaker 1: the call of Moses. The story pressed forward relentless, like
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Speaker 1: a storm gathering on the horizon. Israel rebelled over and over,
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Speaker 1: a cycle of faithfulness and failure, devotion and betrayal. Splintered kingdoms, war, betrayal.
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Speaker 1: Prophets crying out, warning, pleading, turn back, turn back. But
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Speaker 1: they did not listen. Josiah felt his chest tighten. Shaphan's
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Speaker 1: voice lowered, steady, yet edged with sorrow. The final warning
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Speaker 1: rang through the throne room like a death knell.
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Speaker 4: But beware, O Israel, lest your hearts turn away, lest
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Speaker 4: you forget the Lord your God. For if you forsake
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Speaker 4: the covenant, if you chase after other gods, I declare
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Speaker 4: this day that you shall surely perish, scattered, lost, destroyed.
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Speaker 1: The words landed like stones, each syllable striking deeper, heavier.
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Speaker 1: The throne room was silent, no murmurs, no shifting feet.
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Speaker 1: only the quiet weight of conviction settling like dust on
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Speaker 1: every soul present. Josiah sat frozen. He had not realized
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Speaker 1: his hands were trembling until he saw the faint quiver
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Speaker 1: in his fingertips. It was all here, written before his birth,
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Speaker 1: before his father's birth, before his great-grandfather's wicked reign. A
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Speaker 1: warning unheeded. a prophecy ignored. Suddenly, Josiah's breath hitched. His
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Speaker 1: vision blurred as something deep inside him broke. The words
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Speaker 1: of the scroll faded into the distance, drowned beneath a
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Speaker 1: rising tide of memory, of fire, of drums. His chest tightened.
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Speaker 1: His hands clenched against the throne's arms. His body knew
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Speaker 1: before his mind did. Suddenly, He was a child again. Suddenly,
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Speaker 1: he was back. Back at the valley of Hinnom. Visions
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Speaker 1: of horror flooded his mind. The mother wailing. The baby screaming.
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Speaker 1: His father smiling. The fire raging, writhing, licking at the
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Speaker 1: sky like something alive, something aware. The priests, faceless behind
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Speaker 1: their masks, lifting their arms, their voices curling into the
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Speaker 1: night like black smoke, praising, calling, demanding. The smell, God,
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Speaker 1: the smell, thick and sweet and rancid, flesh and incense
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Speaker 1: burned together, indistinguishable. The crowd swayed, the drums pounded, and
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Speaker 1: the child cried, The child, the child, the child, lifted
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Speaker 1: high like an offering, limbs flailing, voice shrill, too small
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Speaker 1: to fight. And his father, Amon, holding Josiah's tiny face
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Speaker 1: in his hands, forcing him to watch. This is worship,
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Speaker 1: he had said. His voice even, his eyes alight with
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Speaker 1: the reflection of flames. And then, the throh. The fall,
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Speaker 1: the fire swallowing, the scream, stretching, twisting, morphing into something else,
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Speaker 1: morphing into a vision of a serpent. Josiah felt it,
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Speaker 1: felt it again here now in this moment as if
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Speaker 1: the fire had never gone out. His stomach lurched, his
24:45
Speaker 1: body trembled. His hands clenched into fists so tight his
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Speaker 1: nails bit through skin. He was shaking, gasping, drowning in heat,
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Speaker 1: in smoke, in the weight of a crime too vast
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Speaker 1: to comprehend. His voice cracked from his throat, raw and anguished,
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Speaker 1: the words ripped from his ribs.
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Speaker 3: We are undone. We have betrayed him.
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Speaker 1: Josiah rose suddenly. the legs of the throne scraping against
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Speaker 1: the stone floor. His breath hitched in his throat, his
25:20
Speaker 1: hands shaking at his sides. A raw, guttural sound clawed
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Speaker 1: its way up from his ribs, a grief too deep
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Speaker 1: for words. He grabbed the fine fabric of his royal robes,
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Speaker 1: his fingers digging into the cloth, and then, with a
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Speaker 1: single violent motion, he tore them apart. The sound of
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Speaker 1: it was nothing compared to the screams that had never
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Speaker 1: stopped ringing in his ears. Gasps echoed through the chamber,
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Speaker 1: but Josiah barely heard them. The seams ripped, a physical
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Speaker 1: reflection of the break within him, the fracture of his
26:00
Speaker 1: heart under the weight of truth. He stood there, trembling,
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Speaker 1: his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. his eyes
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Speaker 1: burning with unshed tears. The silence stretched long and unbearable. Then, finally,
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Speaker 1: Josiah raised his gaze to Hilkiah, his voice raw, scraping
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Speaker 1: against his throat like the.
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Speaker 2: Edge of a blade. Find me a prophet.
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Speaker 1: This Pray.com production is only made possible by our dedicated
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Speaker 1: team of creative talents. Steve Katina, Max Bard, Zach Schellebarger,
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Speaker 1: and Ben Gammon are the executive producers of The Chosen People,
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Speaker 1: narrated by Paul Coltofianu. Characters are voiced by Jonathan Cotton,
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Speaker 1: Aaron Salvato, Sarah Seltz, Mike Reagan, Stephen Ringwald, Sylvia Zaradok,
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Speaker 1: Thomas Copeland Jr., Rosanna Pilcher, and Mitch Lashinsky. Music by
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Speaker 1: Andrew Morgan Smith. Written by Aaron Salvato, Brie Rosely, and
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