Stories of the Prophets (Before the Exile)

An End to War.

"Damascus has fallen!

Damascus has fallen!!"

The whole city of Samaria rang with the glad tidings. Fleet-footed runners, who had started with this precious news on the day of victory, covered more than one hundred and fifty miles to bring it to the capital of the Kingdom of Israel.

They crossed mountains and swam rivers, fairly flew over fertile plains and through busy cities, shouting, while there was breath in their bodies:

"Damascus has fallen!"

Many of the messengers fell exhausted on the way, but others took up the wonderful news from the front and carried it on, until the whole northern part of the kingdom knew of the king's victory.

Little by little the whole story was told to the eager Samarians-how the king, Jeroboam II, himself led the hosts of Israel; how attack followed attack upon the fortified Syrian capital; how the first breach was made in the outer wall; how the valiant Israelites rushed upon the enemy, and how the final victory was won for Israel's standard.

What a celebration was there in Samaria that long-to-be-remembered day!

Not since the days when the first Jeroboam led the rebellion of the ten tribes against King Solomon's weak son, Rehoboam, and established the independent kingdom of the Ten Tribes, with Samaria as the capital, was there such rejoicing in that city.

We can picture the celebration in our mind's eye; we cannot describe it in words.

Parents who had sent their sons to the war now laughed happily through their tears, because there would be an end to war.

Sisters whose brothers doubtless lay dead in and about the walls of the doomed city, now sang songs of joy in the midst of their weeping, because there would be an end to war.

The strongest and finest men of Israel had given their lives for their country, but now, thank God! there would be an end to war.

The fall of Damascus meant the end of a hundred and fifty years' war, commenced by Ben-hadad I, of Syria, against Israel, long before Jeroboam's great-grandfather established the dynasty of Jehu on the throne of Israel.

It meant even more than that; it meant the end of Syrian oppression, and, perhaps, a period of peace to the long-troubled and war-ridden kingdom of Israel.

No wonder, then, that there were feasts of rejoicing and full-throated cries:

"Damascus has fallen! Long live King Jeroboam!"

"Damascus has fallen! Long life to the house of Jehu!"

All day and all night Samaria swarmed with people. The streets were

thronged with shouting men and women who had come from Geba and

Dothan, and even from Jezreel on the north, and from Schechem and

Shiloh and Bethel on the south, to help celebrate the great victory.

Sacrifices were brought at all the sanctuaries of Israel-in Bethel, in Dan, in Gilgal, in Beersheba.

Priests and people brought thank-offerings, and, together, sang praises to God:

"God is my light and my salvation,

Whom shall I fear?

God is the strength of my life,

Of whom shall I be afraid?"

Truly, God was on the side of Israel, or else the Syrians could not have been defeated. He was showing favor to the Northern Kingdom, and was pleased with Israel, for was not Judah, the Southern Kingdom, too, paying tribute to Jeroboam?

And so they recalled how Joash, the father of the great Jeroboam II, defeated Amaziah, king of Judah, took him captive, partially demolished the walls of Jerusalem, and looted the Temple in Jerusalem.

The older men of Samaria remembered the fine sarcasm with which Joash treated Amaziah's challenge to war, in his reply:

"The thistle that was in Lebanon sent to the cedar that was in Lebanon, saying, 'Give thy daughter to my son to wife,' and there passed by a wild beast that was in Lebanon, and trod down the thistle."

How young and old laughed at the repetition of this clever little story that compared Israel to a cedar in its strength and to a wild beast in its fighting power, and Judah to a poor, little thistle to be tramped upon!

Jeroboam II was indeed a son of his father. Joash humbled Judah, Israel's enemy on the south; Jeroboam humbled Syria, Israel's enemy on the north.

Not satisfied with the fall of Damascus, however, Jeroboam pushed right ahead and captured Lodebar and Karnaim, which he turned over to Assur-dan, king of Assyria.

The fact is that Jeroboam had to do this. It was his end of a bargain made with Assur-dan. It was agreed between the two that the Assyrians would keep their hands off during the war between Israel and Syria.

As a reward for Assur-dan's non-interference, Jeroboam undertook to capture these two cities and turn them over to the Syrians to become part of his empire.

Having fulfilled his agreement, Jeroboam continued his victorious march further north, and never stopped until he had laid low the pride of Hamath, the prosperous city on the river Orontes.

Jeroboam II, thus had the great distinction of restoring the boundaries of the Kingdom of Israel to the proportions of the empire of David and Solomon, "from the entrance of Hamath unto the sea of Arabah," which is the Dead Sea.

Wonderful was the reception prepared for the king and his victorious army on their return to Samaria. More people had come to the city to join in the welcoming demonstration than had pilgrimed to Jerusalem on the Passover, in the days before the division of the kingdom.

The northern walls were massed with people, and the gates were decorated with flowers. Priests and elders, dressed in spotless white and led by the high priest, Amaziah, himself, awaited Jeroboam and his generals just outside of the city and preceded them to the gates. Such an acclamation of joy as greeted the king upon his entrance through the gates had never been heard in Samaria.

Passing through a triumphal arch of stone and marble, the procession was met by hundreds of maidens and children, clothed in linen and gold, who led the way, singing and strewing flowers in the path of the heroes.

A turn in the street led to the market-place. Here had been built a great triumphal arch of ivory and gold, beyond which was an altar, specially erected for the occasion.

Passing through the arch, Amaziah and Jeroboam mounted the steps that led to the altar. All the rest remained below. When the priest and the king faced the people the singing and the shouting ceased. With due ceremony, and according to the rites, the king brought a thanks-offering to God for his victories and his safe return. When Amaziah placed the sacrifice upon the altar a deep hush fell over the great assembly.

Slowly the smoke of the sacrifice rose to heaven, and the multitude of people, like one man, fell on their knees and worshiped.

Jeroboam was deeply moved. Solemnly he raised his right hand, and, from the depths of his grateful heart, he said:

"Peace to the house of Israel!"

Like the rumble of a mighty wave rolling toward the shore came the response from the sea of worshiping people:

"To the house of Israel, peace!"

For one whole week after Jeroboam's triumphant entry into the capital, Samaria was a place of feasting and rejoicing. When, by command of the king, the celebration came to an end and the people began to return to their homes, each one, on leaving the city's gates, repeated to himself the now answered prayer of over a century:

"Peace to the house of Israel!

To the house of Israel, peace!"

In the Days of Prosperity.

It was market day in Samaria.

Great throngs of people crowded all the streets. They jostled each other good naturedly, traded, bargained, renewed acquaintanceship, spoke of their home towns and expressed the hope of meeting again.

The market place itself, where the many bazaars displayed wonderful merchandise from many cities and many lands, was an especially lively place. It was gay with life and color. Gilded chariots and ivory-bedecked litters passed to and fro. Heralds announced particularly important personages and escorts and cleared a way for them with whip or spear. Military men and merchant princes, with many followers, often scattered the smaller merchants and petty traders in their path through the market. Many were caught under the wheels of the vehicles of the rich when they did not get out of the way quickly enough. Others were purposely thrust aside by the wealthy aristocrats simply to show their disdain.

It was a typical Samarian market day-crowds and noise; buying and selling; idle rich and drudging poor; haughty military grandees, in their resplendent attires, and cowed, miserable beggars in their rags; color and laughter at the bazaars, and tears and sorrow at the auction block just across the way-always crowds and always noise.

The auctioneer was shouting above the general din the good points of a man who had just been placed on the block.

"To be sold till the Jubilee Year," he cried. "How much am I bid?"

A clerk read the court's decree that this man was to be sold for debt. It was signed by the judges, who sat in the East Gate of Samaria. The document was a cold, formal statement. It did not take into account the reason why this man, in the full vigor of manhood, had fallen into debt. His creditors had pushed the poor fellow hard for their money. He could not pay. He pleaded with the judges that the sickness of his wife and children had reduced him to direst need, but it was without avail. He could not pay his debts and must work them off as a slave for seven years; that was the decree of the court. After seven years he would be a free man again. Cases like this were very common.

The keen eye of the auctioneer noted a man at the far edge of the platform who had made several attempts as if to bid during the sale. He was a middle-aged man, tall and thin, but wiry. His face was bronzed from exposure to sun and wind. He wore a long woolen mantel that completely covered him, even to the sandals on his feet.

"How much am I bid?" The auctioneer spoke the question directly to this country yokel, while he winked at the crowd in front of him. He thought that the fellow who came to the market clad in such clothes, instead of his Sabbath best, had little money with him to buy a slave, and less use for one. So he spoke the question again to the "farmer," expecting an answer that would make the crowd laugh and put them in good humor.

The country yokel again made as if to speak but changed his mind and backed away, facing the auctioneer.

He had hardly backed three paces when he bumped into some one. He was pushed violently forward, and, before he could recover, winced under a stinging crack from a whip.

He turned quickly and faced two brutish looking men, swearing at his awkwardness and cursing his impudence for being in the way.

The "farmer" could have given a good account of himself in a square fight with these men, but he knew better than to start a fight with them. They were the foreguards to a splendid pleasure outfit-the outfit of a very rich Samarian merchant. A fight meant arrest and punishment at the hands of Samarian judges, whether he was in the right or not. The rich of Samaria had the judges under their thumbs. A stranger or a poor man, in fact, anyone who had no influence in Samaria, stood little chance of getting justice.

So the farmer cleared the way. Standing aside, he watched the chariot drawn by four Egyptian steeds, surrounded by guards, slaves and hangers-on, make its way through the crowded market place, paying no attention to the rights and privileges of any one. The wealthy merchant in the chariot held his head up proudly. He greeted only the prosperous looking; upon the curious crowds and small merchants, he looked down with contempt.

The merchant whose attendants had so grossly insulted the "farmer" drew up before a great palace. Rich carpets were spread from the chariot to the steps of the mansion. The rich man's followers bowed low as he passed up the steps and through the door held open by attendants. Some followed him into the house; others mingled with the people in the market place; the slaves went to their quarters by a rear entrance.

The stranger in the woolen robe was not as green as he looked. He had witnessed the growth and prosperity of Samaria during the last twenty years of Jeroboam II's reign until it became the busiest trade center in the Empire.

Leaning against the stone column, on which was graven the record of Jeroboam's victory over Damascus, and still smarting from the lash of the servant's whip, he recalled the story of Samaria's great strides to its present prosperous condition.

The subjugation of Judah on the south, which this farmer had good cause to remember; the conquest of Syria on the north and Jeroboam's peace compact with Assyria further east, assured a long period of peaceful development within the empire.

New highways were built, so that the farther ends of the country were brought close together for business purposes. Farmers could bring their crops to the cities easily. Many remained in the cities and engaged in business pursuits. Caravans traveled great distances, bringing precious luxuries from one part of the empire to another, and even from foreign countries.

Many thus became very wealthy. They built themselves palaces for winter residences in the cities and palaces for summer residences in the country. To get rich seemed to be the aim of everybody; and, with riches, came ostentation and luxuriant living.

The city of Samaria, especially, was the center for Israel's most wealthy men. Their homes were wonders of stone and ivory. The furnishings rivaled in beauty the splendor of the outside. The rooms were high and spacious. The beds and tables and chairs were of the finest wood of Lebanon, carved by the craftsmen of Tyre, and inlaid with ivory. The coverings were of the richest purple and gold from Egypt and the Indies. Wine cellars were a part of every house and feasts were spread whenever the occasion offered itself. Fatted lambs and calves were slaughtered daily to supply the tables, and new instruments were invented to furnish music at the feasts.

This, however, was only one side of the picture of Samaria in its days of greatest prosperity. The "farmer" knew that there was another, much less beautiful. While the rich were growing richer, the poor were growing poorer.

The rich, thinking only of themselves, their wealth, their power, their good times, cheated and oppressed the poor unmercifully. They gave false weights and short measure and sold at high prices, poor stuff at that. They would drive a poor man into debt and have him sold into slavery; so that human beings became a drug on the market, as it were. In fact, at the very auction which the "farmer" watched that day, one poor man was sold for the price of a pair of shoes. The poor had even no chance to get justice in the courts. The greed for money placed corrupt officials in office and the offenders bribed them to the undoing of the poor and needy.

Strange to say, the Israelites, in whose midst there were those who lived such scandalous lives and treated the poor people so outrageously-the Israelites-nevertheless, believed in their hearts that they had not forgotten God. They believed that God was with them; that He loved them above all other peoples; that He guarded and protected them; that He sent them all their blessings of prosperity and peace.

This is the way they reasoned it out: Had not God helped them to defeat Judah? Had not God been with them when they crushed their ancient foe, Syria? Did not God send them rain in season, so that crops were good and plentiful?

"Therefore," said they, "God is on our side. Let us go up to the sanctuaries and offer sacrifices upon His altars."

And so, at festival times, Bethel and Gilgal, and Dan and Beersheba were crowded with the rich, offering their sacrifices, feasting, drinking and rejoicing. It never entered their minds that God is the God of the poor, as well as of the rich. Though they continued to rob and oppress and enslave the poor and the needy and the helpless, they were perfectly satisfied with the idea that all God asked of them was to offer the prescribed sacrifices. If there were any who knew differently, or thought differently, they seemingly did not dare say so in anybody's hearing. For the poor, these were, indeed, evil times.

At this point in his musings, the "farmer" actually shuddered. He was not aware that his peculiar dress and his peculiar position at the moment had attracted attention. While he was contrasting in his mind the great difference between the rich and the poor in Samaria, several men, having nothing better to do, had stopped to stare at the yokel. As is always the case when people stand in the street and gawk, a large crowd soon assembled. A military chariot stopped near the group of curious gazers to see what was going on. Soon several others were halted there, including gilded and gaudy litters, in which fashionably dressed women were being conveyed. All stared, called each other's attention to the queerly garbed stranger, and finally laughed outright.

The man who was the center of attraction became aware of the crowd only when he had reached that point in his thoughts, the horrible picture of which had made him shudder. When he noticed the crowd, he gasped. He recovered from his astonishment quickly, however. He opened his mantle, showing his gaunt, powerful form. He raised his head and faced the crowd. His face, strong and sunburned, was tense and drawn for a moment; then it relaxed. Deep lines, expressing severe pain, were furrowed in his forehead.

The crowd, in turn, was astonished at the complete change that had come over the "yokel." Before they recovered from their mistaken opinion about the man, they saw him clinch his fists in determination and heard his voice ring out clearly and distinctly, above the din of the market place:

"Hear ye,

Who turn justice to wormwood

And cast down righteousness to the earth;

Who trample upon the poor

And afflict the just;

Who take a bribe

And thrust aside the needy in the gate:

I know how manifold are your transgressions,

Saith the Lord, God of hosts,

And how mighty your sins,

The end of my people Israel hath come,

Saith the Lord, God of hosts,

I can no longer forgive."

This outspoken attack upon Samaria, its rich, and its military nobles, was so extraordinary that it amazed the crowd. Having spoken, the "farmer" turned away and was soon lost among the bazaars. Some looked after him, astonished at his recklessness in laying himself open to the revenge of the powers that be. Others looked after him, amazed at his bravery and fearlessness.

That night many in Samaria had heard of the unknown stranger and his speech in the market place. At many dinner tables the question was asked:

"Who is this man who dares to lift his voice against the high and powerful in behalf of the poor and downtrodden?"

"Who is this man who dares to proclaim the doom of the Kingdom of

Israel in the days of its greatest prosperity?"

The Man Who Dared.

There lived a man in the little town of Tekoah, in the Kingdom of Judah, twelve miles south of Jerusalem, who made a living from "dressing sycamore trees."

In ancient Palestine, the fruit of the sycamore that grew in Judah was dried, ground into flour and used for making coarse bread. This bread was eaten by the very poorest people, who could not afford to buy wheat.

Now, the man who lived from gathering poor fruit, out of which poor bread was made, for poor people, must, himself, have been very poor.

But a poor man may love his country as much as a rich man; and, when the foolish war between Amaziah of Judah and Joash of Israel broke out, this "dresser of sycamore trees," from Tekoah, followed his king on the battlefield.

At the battle in which Amaziah was defeated and Joash gained his greatest victory, leading to the destruction of part of the fortifications of Jerusalem, this man, fighting valiantly in the front ranks, with many other patriotic Judeans, laid down his life for his country. He was buried in the trenches, an unknown hero, whose name is not even in the records.

But history gives us the record of his son, named Amos. Left with his widowed mother, after the war, the burden of finding a living for the two was soon thrust upon him. There was only one thing that he knew by which he could earn money-"dressing sycamore trees."

He went at his work with a vim. As he grew up, and his and his mother's needs increased, his wits became sharpened. Why could he not dry and grind the sycamore fruit himself? This he did and increased his income. Then, his mother suggested that she would bake the flour into bread, if he would sell it. Amos agreed to that, and the little family thrived.

One day Amos brought the idea to his mother that their sycamore bread could be sold at a better price in Jerusalem. He asked for permission to go there and his mother, desiring more that her son should see the capital than that he should get higher prices for the bread, said:

"Go, my son, and God be with thee."

That trip to Jerusalem and the several trips that followed, made a great impression upon the young man and gave a remarkable turn to his whole life.

He saw Jerusalem, of whose beauty and glory his father had often told him, a fallen city. It had not yet recovered from the terrible results of the war with Amaziah of Israel; King Uzziah had not yet restored the treasures and vessels of which the temples had been looted; and, in the quarter of the city where Amos sold his bread, oh! such poverty, such wretchedness, such desolation!

His heart was filled with grief. He went to the trenches where he knew his father lay in an unmarked grave, and wept bitterly. There, at his father's grave, a wonderful thought came to him. A new light entered into his life and a great determination for his future career. His mind once made up, he soon outlined a plan for himself, and having the determination to carry the plan through, he made rapid progress.

With the additional profits that resulted from his business trips to Jerusalem, Amos bought sheep and goats and became a shepherd, as well as a gatherer of sycamore fruit.

The great rocky wilderness that slopes from the limestone hills of Tekoah down to the Dead Sea was just the place where sheep and goats could prosper.

So, in addition to the thriving business of his old trade, he dealt, also, in goat milk and wool and in the animals themselves.

Often, as he sat on the hillsides, in the cool of the sycamores, and watched his flocks, his mind would turn to the things he saw and heard in Jerusalem. He had heard there that Bethel, one of the sanctuaries of Israel, was always filled with pilgrims at festival time-and he determined upon a trip to Bethel, twenty-two miles north of Tekoah.

He returned greatly disheartened.

"Wealth and feasting saw I there," Amos told his mother, "and wine and song, and altars reeking with blood of fatted lambs and oxen; but God was not in the heart of the people of Israel."

His mother chided him gently. To say such things was blasphemy; for sacrifices were demanded of all the people by the religious laws of the state; and it was also commanded that a portion of the sacrifice should be consumed by him who brought it-therefore the feasting. As to the song and wine, did not the Sweet Singer say, "Serve the Lord with gladness?"

Amos did not reply. He knew that his good-hearted mother had given expression to the idea of God's worship as all the people, both of Israel and of Judah, at that time, understood it. They brought the sacrifices, as prescribed by the priests at the sanctuaries; a portion of the slaughtered animal was given to God on the altar, and the portion that was eaten by the sacrificer was looked upon as a meal-a banquet-participated in by him and God, together; such a meal soon became a feast, with wine and song. Unfortunately, these banquets often degenerated into drunkenness and revelry.

Amos felt that such worship of God was not right, but he had not yet discovered what was wrong.

When the period of prosperity opened up for Israel, with Jeroboam II's conquest of Damascus, Judah also felt the good times. Amos, now an experienced master herdsman, took the advantage afforded by the peace and improved business conditions. He traveled with his stock-in-trade to far northern markets, to Samaria, to Damascus, to Hamath, and, from there his caravans wended their way east, even as far as the City Asshur, the capital of Assyria.

He was not a mere trader, however. He was a close observer and a student of men and things wherever he led his caravans. He talked with strangers about other lands which he had not visited and became, therefore, well acquainted with political, religious and social conditions everywhere.

All this made no change in the outward circumstances of Amos. Success did not turn his head. He did not build himself a palace, but remained with his mother in the village of Tekoah, where he was born and raised. He did not indulge himself with fine clothes and high living, but continued to dress simply and live plainly.

His mother was often greatly worried about Amos. When he returned from a far northern and eastern trip he would betake himself to his beloved hills and sycamore groves and flocks. He would work with the most lowly of his sycamore fruit gatherers; but he would often spend hours by himself in the woods or in the wilderness.

It was during these lonesome hours that Amos added high thinking to his simple living. The grandeur of Samaria and the wealth he saw displayed in Bethel did not deceive him. Neither did the peace compact between Jeroboam II and Assur-dan III blind him to the exact state of affairs in the relationship between the two countries.

He knew that Tiglath-Pileser III, the successor of Assur-dan, had crushed all rebellions in Assyria, which Assur-dan III had failed to do, and was reorganizing the army of the great empire. He knew that Damascus, which had been weakened by Jeroboam II beyond hope of recovery, would be the first point of conquest for the young and energetic Pul, as Tiglath-Pileser was called. Next before him, to the south, lay the rich Kingdom of Israel, the booty from whose palaces and sanctuaries would be an enormous prize for the Assyrian emperor and his army. After Damascus, must come Samaria!

In other words, Amos saw distinctly that the time was near when Israel would have to fight again for its independence and its very life; and he asked himself, "Is Israel prepared?"

Clearly it was not. The rich had become unfit for war, because of their luxuriant living. The poor had become unfit for war, because of their oppression by the rich. Should the Assyrians invade the land, how could such a nation of weaklings defend its home and its liberty?

Israel must be warned! It must be awakened from its stupidity to a realization of the danger ahead! The rich must cease their extravagances and become manly men again! The poor must be given their rights, must be treated justly and righteously, that they may become manly men again! Only a nation of moral, upright, God-fearing men can hope for victory! If the Assyrians should defeat and crush Israel, it will be God's punishment visited upon Israel for its sins and crimes.

Amos had often discussed these things with his mother. She was not surprised, therefore, when, one day, upon his return from a long trip into Assyria, Amos said to her, "I am called to the cities of Israel. My mission will be prolonged many days."

The good woman knew and understood. Laying her hands upon his head, she repeated the blessing with which she had blessed him when, as a timid young man, he made his first trip to Jerusalem:

"Go, my son, and God be with thee."

And so it was that Amos, the herdsmen of Tekoah, had dared to speak for the poor people in Samaria, and to prophesy the fall of the Kingdom.

His first speech attracted little attention, but others, in various parts of the country, to the same effect, followed. Many laughed at them; few thought seriously about them.

But Amos was not so easily discouraged. He concluded that the wrong idea the people had about God, how to worship Him and what He demanded of them, was the cause of all the evil. Amos, therefore, selected the sanctuaries during festival season as the place where he must do his preaching.

He went especially to Bethel, the king's sanctuary, where Jeroboam brought his sacrifices and where the great nobles and soldiers and richest merchants gathered and reveled in their feasts.

One day Amos broke in upon a reveling group, with the unexpected call:

"Prepare to meet thy God, O Israel!"

Such a call was, indeed, unexpected. The Israelites, assembled at the sanctuary, offering their sacrifices, believed that they were with their God. Some one told Amos as much, and the crowd jeered at the fool, who evidently did not understand his religion.

This laughter ceased suddenly, however, when Amos began to chant a mournful dirge:

"Hear ye this word which I take up for a lamentation over you,

O house of Israel!

Fallen, no more to rise, is the virgin Israel!

Cast down upon her soil she lies,

There is none to raise her up.

The city that taketh the field with a thousand,

Hath but a hundred left;

And the one that taketh the field with a hundred,

Hath but ten left."

A young officer, who felt that the army, the pride of the Kingdom, had been grossly insulted, rushed forth from the crowd and exclaimed, hotly: "Thou art a false prophet! Prophesy no more."

Then he continued, explaining to Amos and to the crowd, that God could not have sent such a message to the house of Israel. God was with them, he said, and was gracious to them. Israel was stronger, mightier than ever before and Israel was, that very day, at Bethel, at Gilgal, at Beersheba, bringing thanks-offerings to God.

Amos stood stolidly by and listened until the young man had finished.

Then he replied:

"Thus saith God to the house of Israel:

Ye that oppress the poor and crush the needy,

That trample upon the just and cause the poor of the land to fail,

Seek Me and live,

But seek not Bethel,

And Gilgal do not enter,

To Beersheba go not over;

For Gilgal shall surely go into captivity

And Bethel shall come to naught.

Seek God and not evil

That ye may live

And so God, the Lord of hosts,

May be with you, as you say.

Hate evil and love good,

And establish justice in the gate.

Perhaps God will be gracious,

The God of hosts, to a remnant of Joseph."

The young officer shook his head in disgust and walked away. Others, however, remained awhile, meditating upon what Amos had said.

Amos, too, when he went his way, felt that his words had made an impression. He thought they had fallen, like seeds, upon fertile soil. Would these seeds take root? Would they grow and flourish? Would they bear fruit when the crisis for Israel came?

But first a crisis for Amos came, when he had to fight for his life.