Arisha shifted. How much should she tell these women she hardly knew? They knew she was not Israelite—her name alone revealed that—but how much else did she want to share? “Miriam took me in when I had no one else. I owe her my life.”
“I’ve brought your meal, ladies. A surprise tonight. Manna.” The voice outside cackled.
Arisha breathed a prayer, thankful for the interruption.
The women waited to be sure their visitor was safely gone before reaching through the tent flaps for the basket of food.
“Has the wind died down?” Ruth asked.
“Mostly.” Hannah placed the basket of manna in the center of the tent and passed the skin of milk to Arisha.
She grabbed the stack of cups from the corner behind her, took one and handed the stack to the woman beside her.
“Where did you meet your betrothed?” Ruth asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Miriam asked Zadok to marry me. Miriam’s family has always been close to his, and she chose him for me.”
“Zadok?”
“Um … yes.” She squirmed.
“Well, what do you mean she asked him?” The third woman—Dinah?—pointed a long finger at her. “You are a marriageable, beautiful woman. Maybe a little older, but so is he. And he’s a handsome young man. I’d think the first time he saw you, he’d ask.”
Arisha took a long drink of her milk. These women did not let up. Maybe the fact that he’d rarely seen her, that she’d hid from everyone and left Miriam no choice had something to do with it.
“Maybe because—”
“Ruth, be quiet.” Hannah glared at her friend.
Maybe Arisha could change the subject. “Is the wind calm enough to open the flaps?”
“Let’s see.” Hannah peeked out of the tent. “I think we could do that for a while.” She rose and tied the flaps back.
Arisha walked to the other end and did the same. A gentle breeze whooshed through, clearing out the stuffiness of the last two days. She exited and let the wind blow through her hair, bringing a sense of calm for the first time since the funeral.
She sat in the sand, and though the evening air around her was cool, the sand’s heat seeped up into her body and soothed her weary muscles. How could doing nothing all day be so exhausting?
The sunset splashed bold orange and pink stripes across the sky. A perfect sky for Miriam—audacious and bright. Arisha watched the display until the sun sank below the western mountains, taking all its colors with it. Once again, Arisha felt bereft.
She went inside, and after evening prayers with the others, lay back on her mat.
Two days down, five to go, then she could see Zadok. For the first time since she had agreed to marry him, she actually found herself aching to be near him.
17th day of Abib
The noise poked at the edges of his mind, demanding entrance. Zadok had finally fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning after thinking and praying and wondering. It was ridiculous how much he missed her. Did she miss him?
There was no reason to get up. His sheep were well watched, Arisha was gone, and if he stepped outside, Zivah would only harass him. He rolled over, closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t ignore the clamor any longer. The mumbling and murmuring continued, growing stronger, finally driving him awake. He sat up and rubbed his temples, trying to dislodge the fog in his head. He lay back down, draping his arm over his eyes.
With no rest coming, he arose, shrugged on his thawb and crawled out of the tent. People rushed past him, shoving and pushing. Where was everyone going?
Jacob banked the fire in front of his tent.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to find out. I didn’t want to wake you.” Jacob grabbed a plate from in front of his tent, then stood and waited until he caught Zadok’s gaze. “Zivah collected your manna and left you these cakes. She said you haven’t been sleeping.”
Zadok lifted one shoulder. How did she know? A few nights back in his parents’ tent and already everyone knew everything. He gestured to the crowds. “Where are they going?”
“Toward the big spring, I think. Moses returns today. Maybe they’re going to see him.” Jacob lead them north through the rows and rows of tents, silent until they reached the end, then they angled northeast. “Arisha returns tomorrow?”
“She’s supposed to. She and the other women have one more day because they prepared the body.”
“Hmmm.” Jacob nodded.
The crowd gathered at the big spring was tense and agitated. Cries of “Where’s the water?” and “Why did the water dry up?” overlapped each other and grew louder and more insistent.
“There’s no water?” Zadok furrowed his brow.
They made their way to the front of the crowd, to the edge of the spring. It was indeed, nearly dry. The day Miriam died it was full. In seven days it had dried up? That seemed impossible, and yet it had happened.
Moses stood in the center of the dry bed. Aaron waited several strides away. No one else had ventured beyond the former edges.
“He looks bad,” Jacob whispered.
Moses looked like he hadn’t slept since his sister died. His face was drawn, it even appeared he hadn’t washed, although he must have purified himself after his seven days outside the camp. Perhaps the grief had taken such a drastic toll. He simply stood silently, absorbing the shouts and the yelling and the abuse from the crowd.
Jacob spread his hands. “Why won’t he say anything? Do anything?”
“I don’t know.” Zadok shook his head. “It’s so unlike him.”
“You should have let us die in Egypt!” A large man shoved his way to the front, shaking his fist at Moses. “Almost forty years we’ve been here, and for what? We’re no better off than the day we left. We’re back to no water, just like our parents at Meribah!”
A shorter, stockier man joined him. “Benaiah’s right. We’re all going to die here, us and our children and our animals. We never should have left!”
Never should have left? Zadok, like everyone else, had heard the stories from his father and grandfather of the people demanding to go back to Egypt—more than once on the journey to Kadesh. That very desire, and the refusal to go forward into Canaan when Yahweh commanded it, was the reason for the forty-year delay. Never did Zadok think he would see it for himself. Didn’t anyone learn anything?
Joshua sprinted up beside them, out of breath. “What’s happening?”
Zadok gestured toward the dry pool. “The people are angry there’s no water and demanding to go back to Egypt.”
Joshua shook his head. “Looks like they ambushed him on his way back, caught him before he even made it home.” He took stock of the crowd. “I’m going to Moses.” He jogged to the center of the pool and huddled with Moses and Aaron.
Moses raised his staff in the air and waited for the crowd to quiet. “I must talk to Yahweh.” He strode from the dry pool back toward camp. The crowd parted to let him through, and Joshua and Aaron rushed to keep up with him.
The crowd milled around, edgy, complaining. Miriam’s death forgotten, their only thoughts were of water. Benaiah and his friend moved throughout the crowd, keeping everyone agitated.
Zadok frowned. “I don’t like this. This sounds just like the time the spies came back and the people threatened to stone Moses.”
Jacob glanced around. “How does a crowd become so cruel so fast? Last week everyone’s talking about heading into Canaan, now they want to go back to Egypt? Back to Egypt—most of these people have never even been there!”
“I think lack of water or food, or fear can make people do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do.” Abba spoke from behind them.
“Abba! I didn’t see you.” Zadok clasped his father’s shoulder.
“So they want to go back to Egypt again, do they?” Abba chuckled dryly, although a sadness filled his eyes.
“That’s what they say.” Jacob huffed. “How could
they possibly want to go back to where they’ve never been?”
Abba looked over the crowd, still milling about. “Egypt is a cruel and hateful place, and my back bears the proof. They speak from fear. Yahweh did not bring us this far to fail; be assured of that. He will take care of His people. He always has. We only need to wait for Moses.”
Zadok rubbed his thumbnail against his lower lip as the morning sun beat down on his shoulders. Moses and Aaron had been gone a long time, and the people were growing increasingly restless. There were even a few mentions of stoning—again. When Benaiah had the men so worked up Zadok feared they would never calm down, Moses and Aaron appeared at the edge of camp, Joshua behind them. They marched through the crowd toward the waterless spring, walked over the dry ground to the other side, and continued toward the low hills north of camp.
Zadok, Abba and Jacob sprinted to get ahead of the crowd, finally catching up with Moses. When they slowed to a walk, Zadok drew his arm across his brow, leaving a trail of sweat on his skin. “Where do you think he’s going?”
Abba shook his head. “I don’t know. He seems to be headed for the hills. That’s a long way north of camp. Uncle Kamose took me there once when he showed me the trail the spies took.” He glanced behind him. “I don’t imagine all these people will keep up with him. They’ll give up after a bit and turn back.”
A hot and uncomfortable walk later the ground became rocky, and finally they came upon the beginnings of the cliffs that later turned into the mountain range that ran the length of Canaan.
Ahead of them lay a flat rock face with a gash in the front. Moses neared the formation, then clambered up on some lower rocks at its base. Aaron followed him; Joshua waited below. Moses turned and waited until the crowd gathered around him.
Zadok’s heart hurt for the man—his face still showed remarkable strain, and he appeared utterly exhausted. If only this had happened a few days from now. Moses raised his staff toward the split in the rock. “This is the source of all our water. The water pours out here, runs along the ground, then sinks back under the limestone until it bubbles up at the spring. Yahweh said if I speak to this rock He will—”
“So we get some water.” Benaiah shoved his way to the front once again. “How do we know it will last this time? How do we know we’re not better off going back to Egypt? We’ve spent our whole lives here, living on manna, never eating any real fruit or vegetables or bread. And no one”—he turned to face the crowd and spread his arms—“except Joshua and Caleb has ever seen Canaan. I’m not sure it even exists!” He laughed. “At least not the way they tell it. Full of grass and water and fruit and wheat and trees of all kinds. We need to g—”
“Now that’s enough!” Moses raised both arms and shouted over the man at his feet.
Zadok stepped back. He had never heard Moses raise his voice. Moses had always been the very model of peace and calm. “We are not going over that again! The last time someone wanted to go back to Egypt, we had to wait here, in the sand, outside Canaan for forty years! There will be no more talk of Egypt! You will do as I say!” He punctuated his sentence by jabbing the end of his staff into the rock at his feet.
Benaiah raised a fist at their leader. “Just a minute—”
“No!” Aaron lunged at Benaiah. “Leave him alone! Stop talking! Go back to your tent.”
Benaiah’s eyes grew wide, but he did not move.
“Have you not learned a single thing?” Moses’s voice was loud, but shaky. The crowd stilled instantly. Even the birds had fled the mountain. “Must we do everything? Must we bring water from this rock?” He turned toward the face of the mount, raised his staff over his shoulder and slammed it against the rock. An earsplitting crack reverberated through the air. Moses pulled back and then slammed the rod again, releasing another deafening clap. He remained silent and still for a long moment, then fell against the rock, head on his forearms, shoulders shaking. He slowly slid to his knees.
What just happened? “Is he all right?” Zadok moved toward the lower rocks.
“I’m not sure….” Abba grabbed his tunic and jerked him back. “Stay here.”
“But he needs help.” Why would Abba keep him from offering aid?
“Aaron’s with him.”
The stone shuddered and burbled. The people closest to it retreated a few steps. It gurgled louder, and they stepped further to the side. A thundering quake shook the ground under their feet, and water burst from the gash and spewed out, shooting through the air a distance well over the height of three men. It thundered to the ground and flowed about the same distance again before sinking beneath the rocks and eventually disappearing.
The crowd roared its approval and chased after the precious liquid. The few little children that had followed danced in the errant drops before it crashed, until their parents dragged them toward the spring again.
No one gave a second look at the brothers stranded on the rock.
Zadok gestured toward Moses once again. “Should we do something? Look at him.”
Moses lay collapsed in a ball where he had stood. Aaron wrapped his arms around him, rocking him like a child. Joshua stood to the side, standing guard over the tragic scene.
Abba took a step forward and waited until Joshua caught his gaze and slightly shook his head.
“No. Time to go.” He grasped Zadok and Jacob by the upper arms and started back.
“You’re just going to leave him there?” Zadok twisted around to see as Abba pulled him along.
“Joshua and Aaron will take care of him. He doesn’t need anyone else watching.”
Eight
18th day of Ziv
THE SUN HAD completed a good deal of its journey through the sky when a young priest strode from the camp, carrying a horn in one hand and a branch of hyssop in the other. An even younger novice, dressed in only the plan linen tunic of his office, followed, carrying a large pot of water. The older man fairly galloped by, staring straight ahead, as if attending to these people in need had interrupted his day.
Arisha quietly called to the others. They lined up in front of their tent.
When the Levites reached them, the priest removed the stopper from the horn, then recited a prayer while pouring ashes into the water. He took the branch from his assistant, dipped it into the water, and sprinkled each of the women in turn. Then he abruptly turned and stalked away without speaking to them, as he had done four days earlier.
“Why does he always seem so sullen?’ Arisha whispered to Hannah. This was the fourth time she’d seen him—on Moses’s third day, their third, then yesterday—Moses’s seventh—and today. Not once had he smiled, nodded or even looked them in the eye.
“He’s just angry that after he does his duty here, he’s unclean till sundown. Anyone who touches the purification water is.”
Arisha looked at the sand. She hadn’t realized she would be part of ruining someone else’s evening.
Dinah huffed. “What’s he got to be upset about? It’s just a couple hours ‘till then. We’ve been here a week.”
Hannah grinned. “He’s young and impatient. Whenever we are here during his week of duty, he acts this way. Some people are just like that. Some people are usually happy, some usually sad, some—like him—usually mad.”
Ruth frowned and waved her hand. “Does he think we ask to be set apart from camp for seven days because we wish to help others?”
Arisha tilted her head. “And why is it we have to be out here for seven days?”
“Don’t you know?” Ruth narrowed her eyes at Arisha. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. It is a part of Yahweh’s law, part of our lives.”
Arisha stepped back. Her shoulders tensed. Had she angered Ruth? She’d only meant to perform one last act of love for Miriam. “I- I …”
Hannah placed her arm around Arisha's shoulder and turned her away from Ruth. “It’s to remind us of the sacredness of life. Anything death touches is unclean, and cannot abide in Yahweh’s holy presence. That’s why her
tent and everything in it must be purified, why we must remain away from camp for one week, why Aaron could not touch his sister at all.”
Dinah stepped near and smiled. “We take that burden from the families. We prepare the bodies for them so they can remain in camp, stay together to mourn. It is our gift to the community.”
The tension flowed from Arisha's shoulders as she began to understand. Understand why these sweet ladies gave up so much time, why they loved doing it, and why it meant so much to those death left in its wake.
“Let’s go, ladies. No need to dawdle.” Ruth marched off toward camp.
Arisha gestured toward Ruth. “Where’s she going? We can’t go back yet, can we?”
Hannah shook her head. “Now we must go to the river between the springs and wash ourselves and our clothes as well. Someone will meet us there with fresh clothing.”
Hannah locked her arm in Arisha's as they strolled toward the water. “Ah, here comes Judith now.”
Judith shuffled toward them, a bulging bag over her shoulder, leaning heavily onto a cane. Hannah said she used to be one of those who attended the bodies, but the work—and remaining away for a week each time—became too much. Now she ministered to those who ministered, and brought the manna each morning and fresh clothes on the seventh day. “Only until sundown, ladies. Yahweh appreciates your service. I would gladly embrace you if I could.” Her bright smile boasted several missing teeth. She tossed the bundle on the ground at their feet.
Hannah knelt to remove the items from the bag and then pushed it toward Judith. “Thank you, my dear. It is never the same without you, you know. We miss you so.”
Judith cackled. “I miss you, too, but I don’t miss sleeping out here. My bones are too old for that.”
Dinah laughed. “Has Deborah had that baby yet?”
Judith beamed so widely Arisha thought the old woman’s cheeks would burst. “Yes, she did. And they named her Judith.” She groaned as she bent to pick up the bag then tottered off, laughing to herself.
The Walls of Arad Page 8
