23 Ziv
Rephidim
The sun slipped behind the mountains, marking the end of another day. The sound of flowing water in the north was sweet and reassuring to Bezalel, and helped soothe his joyless, weary heart. He sat in the sunbaked sand on the western edge of camp and watched crimson and gold paint the evening sky, Meri’s head on his shoulder. He slipped into the rhythms of the desert, hearing hoots answer howls as the predators of the plains emerged from their haunts while their prey scurried for cover.
Even basking in the sunset was better when someone you loved was beside you. In fact, everything was better with Meri. The simplest things: gathering manna, sitting by a fire, taking a walk, just waking up in the morning. The joy she brought to his life was immeasurable.
Meri lifted her head and stared at him. “What are you thinking about?”
“How different everything is.”
“From what?”
“From the way it was in Egypt. Now that I have you, and Sabba and Imma.”
“You always had them.”
Bezalel shook his head. “Not really. I rarely saw them. Until the last several months.”
“But they were always there. They loved you. You told me yourself. They cared about you, thought about you every day, trusted that El Shaddai would take care of you. You always had them, whether you saw them every day or not.”
Meri always found the best in every situation. And she was teaching him to do the same. Or at least trying to.
Meri stood and glanced toward camp. “I’m heading back to help with the evening meal. Are you coming?”
“Not yet. I’ll be back in a little while.” He stood and kissed her cheek.
A sizable herd of antelope grazed in the distance, attacking any plant growth still remaining after the dry spring. Their long, dark horns contrasted with their white coats.
More movement drew his attention, perhaps one of the many groups of wandering drovers who called the desert home. He’d grown used to seeing them roam with their herds of goats, sheep, or even cattle, depending on the terrain. But this crowd seemed much larger than those nomadic tribal groups. And he saw no animals.
His hands began to sweat. Searching for something to climb for a better view, he noticed the rocky foot of a mountain trailing into the sand. He scrambled up as high as he could and stood on his toes, hand to his forehead. As he watched, their numbers grew. Worse, they came straight toward the Israelites’ camp, although still a distance away. Bezalel hopped down and ran to find Joshua.
He burst into Joshua’s tent. “Joshua! We have to go see Moses. Hurry!”
“Why? What’s the matter?” Joshua jumped up and followed Bezalel out of the tent.
Sabba sat by the fire. “What’s going on?”
“There’s an enormous group of people just beyond the edge of camp.” He paused and watched for Joshua’s reaction as he delivered the next bit of information. “They are not nomads … and they are headed straight for us.”
Joshua’s face lost its color. “What do they look like? Very tall? Dark? With long spears?”
“I don’t know; they were too far off. Come on. We have to tell Moses.” Bezalel took off for Moses’s tent and Joshua followed. Good thing they always camped near Moses.
Moses sat cross-legged on a cushion in front of his tent, his shepherd’s staff at his side. Although he had not tended sheep for over a year now, ever since he first returned to Egypt, Bezalel had never seen the old man without it.
Bezalel relayed what he had seen.
Moses’s eyes swept over Joshua, head to toe. “You are Joshua, son of Nun?” He wasted no time with pleasantries or formalities.
Joshua nodded.
Sabba arrived and Moses gestured to a cushion beside him.
“Hur speaks highly of you. Sit with me, both of you.”
They lowered themselves onto the sand. Moses’s calmness annoyed Bezalel. Didn’t he understand they were almost here?
Moses studied Joshua for a few moments. “You fought the Amalekites?”
“I don’t know who they were. They attacked a week ago. They were tall, dark, and carried long spears as their only weapons.”
“Yes, those are the cursed Amalekites.” Moses spat. “They have terrorized this desert for generations.” Moses offered Joshua a skin of water, but the young man shook his head.
“Yes sir. They killed my mother, father … little sister … my whole family. I have no one left.”
“You have Yahweh. You will always have Him. Never forget that.” Moses set the skin aside. “I want you to gather men to fight the Amalekites. You have tonight to gather and prepare. When the sun rises, be ready, for they always attack as soon as the sun is fully up. For tonight, we have nothing to fear. They will not fight without the sun. It is their ‘protector.’ But we have Yahweh.
“Tomorrow, I will be on the top of the hill, watching, with the staff of Yahweh in my hands, raised toward His throne. Aaron and Hur will accompany me.”
Moses pulled himself up with his staff, and without a word disappeared inside his tent.
Bezalel snorted. Well, that was just strange. Go gather an army. Made of former slaves. Who have never fought. Should be easy.
Sabba put a hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “Joshua, you have much to do tonight.”
“Why should he choose me? There are others….” Joshua shook his head.
Sabba chuckled. “Moses makes no decisions lightly, or without consulting Yahweh, be assured of that. The choice was a good one, or it would not have been made.”
“How do I begin?” Joshua looked at Sabba then at Bezalel.
Bezalel lifted one shoulder. “Start with Kamose.”
Bezalel, Joshua, and Kamose sat around a fire outside their tents. The sun would be up in a few hours, but no one could sleep.
Bezalel stared into the fire. The carefree flickering of the flames mocked his mood. “What do you think our chances are, Kamose?”
Kamose took a deep breath. “I don’t know. None of you have ever fought before, probably never even handled a weapon. The Amalekites know this area much better than you, and obviously they have far more experience. And once the battle begins, we cannot retreat. They can. They have a myriad of hiding places in these rocks.
“However, they have lost the element of surprise, and they know we will be waiting for them. That’s a huge disadvantage for them. We have more men. We have more motivation to win. They fight only to loot and steal, but we will be fighting for our lives, and those of our families. And of course, we have Shaddai, who has promised to fight with us. If He can defeat the Egyptian army, He can handle this sorry group of raiders.”
Bezalel blew out a sharp breath. “Kamose, I didn’t know you had such faith in Him.”
“I admit, at first I wondered if I had made a mistake following you, abandoning my king.” Kamose recrossed his feet at the ankles. “But I have seen too much to doubt El Shaddai’s superiority. Crossing the Yam Suph was, of course, beyond amazing. But every day there is a new reason to believe. Manna, quail, water made sweet, water from a rock. I can make no other choice.” He pronounced the decision as if it were a logical military strategy.
Bezalel looked up and watched the twinkling stars. Joshua and Kamose both had experience in battle, even if Joshua’s was just one morning’s worth. Bezalel had no idea what to expect once the sun rose.
What would it be like? Soldiers were in and out of the palace all the time, but they were always polished and shined, never bloodied. Could he do it? Could he actually kill someone? Or would he run? Would he come back tomorrow—or would he leave Meri a widow before she had a chance to be a wife?
He shoved those thoughts deep inside his mind. “Joshua, do you remember the one who killed your family?”
“I will never forget his face.” Joshua’s eyes glazed over. Bezalel leaned forward to hear his soft voice. “I was helping my cousins. They were camped next to us. We managed to fight off their attackers, but when I tur
ned around, my parents.”
Joshua was silent a moment. “They were all dead except my baby sister, Annah. He raised his spear and drove it through her. As he ran off, he looked back at me and laughed. I went to Annah and held her. Blood poured out from her little body all over me. She died in my arms. I should have gone after him….”
“Joshua!” Bezalel grabbed Joshua by the arm and shook him. It was like waking him from a dream.
Kamose touched Joshua’s shoulder. “You did what was needed. You can’t always control everything. In battle you often have no control at all.”
“But if—”
“No.” Kamose’s voice was low, but firm.
Joshua looked at Kamose, then Bezalel, but said nothing. He twisted his arm free and lay back.
But no one slept.
28 Ziv
Bezalel jumped up and brushed the sand from his cloak. As he watched Joshua stride through camp, wordlessly jerking tent flaps open, he removed his thawb and tunic and tossed them inside his tent.
Meri crept out of their tent and stumbled over to Bezalel. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest.
His chest constricted. He embraced her and kissed her head.
Her eyes were moist as she looked up to him. “Promise me you’ll come back.”
Her request sliced through his heart. He didn’t want to lie, but he had already learned the hard way not to make promises he could not keep. It was not up to him. He stroked her hair and gave her a gentle kiss while he tried to decide what he could say.
The tear on her cheek told him she knew what he was thinking.
He gave her a squeeze and closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them he saw Imma standing outside her tent.
He laid his hands on Meri’s face and kissed her, savoring the taste of her lips, excruciatingly aware it might be the last time he ever touched her or even saw her. “I have to go now,” he whispered.
Imma stepped behind Meri and grasped her shoulders. She smiled at Bezalel and nodded, telling him with one gesture everything he needed to hear from her, then led Meri away. Tears rolled down Meri’s cheeks as she slipped from him.
He was left standing by the fire, alone.
The sun was barely up, casting a rosy glow over the camp as he made his way toward Joshua where the men gathered. Most carried weapons they had scavenged from the Egyptians. They milled around, munched on manna cakes, sharpened daggers, gathered arrows for bows. Five men brought a large, open, tarred basket full of water. He joined the crowd filling skins and tied two onto his belt. Hundreds of low-voiced conversations melded into one constant hum around him.
Fear and excitement mingled in Bezalel’s gut. Part of him wanted to start, to get on with it. The waiting only heightened his anxiety. The rest of him was happy to wait. He paced like a palace cat, headed nowhere in particular, wandering in between and around clumps of men standing in groups of twos and threes.
As the sun finally climbed over the mountaintops, the Amalekites attacked. Spears held high, the enemy raced toward the camp, screaming. This time, the Israelites waited for them.
Raiders and Israelites blended in a sea of flesh and metal. Pounding footsteps and clanging blades competed with shrieks and shouted orders.
Armed with only a dagger, Bezalel fended off spear thrusts from every direction. Raiders surrounded him. A giant Amalekite smirked as he separated Bezalel from the group. Blows rocked his shoulders even when he blocked them.
Fury fueled unfamiliar strength. He dodged a jab and aimed for his enemy’s heart. He thrust his dagger deep but missed by a hand’s breadth. Bright red blood pumped out over his hand and the metallic smell filled his nostrils. The wound slowed down the enemy, but the attack continued. The Amalekite’s spear sliced a gash from the top of Bezalel’s left shoulder to just above his elbow. Pain screamed throughout his left side. The blood was warm as it streamed down his arm and chest.
Bezalel’s vision narrowed to only the Amalekite standing before him. He tightened his grip on the dagger and again sought the raider’s heart. The blade plunged into his chest. Blood spewed onto Bezalel’s face. The Amalekite looked at him with horror-filled eyes, grabbed at Bezalel’s tunic, and collapsed.
Bezalel stared at the fallen warrior. He had taken a life. He had killed someone. That person had been trying to kill him, and had been enjoying it, but still he had killed. What kind of person did that make him?
He realized standing there thinking made him an easy target when another Amalekite rushed at him. He fell backwards. A raider stood over him with a spear aimed at his heart. Bezalel’s chest heaved and his heart raced. Was this it? Was this the end? He should have paid more attention.
Behind his attacker, Joshua rushed at the enemy’s back and wrapped his left arm around him. With his right he dragged his blade from one ear to the other, slicing his throat.
The Amalekite slumped to the ground, blood pouring from his neck. Bezalel scrambled up and out of the way before the crimson liquid covered his feet. As Joshua reached for the spear the dead Amalekite still grasped, he was gripped from behind. Dagger dripping blood, Joshua slashed his attacker’s forearm. Muscle and bone were revealed as more blood drained over Joshua’s tunic. The arm released its choking grip.
Bezalel rushed to help, but Joshua shoved him aside.
Joshua turned to face his attacker. His scream echoed as he lunged at the Amalekite. He drove his dagger into his enemy’s shoulder, his hands, his calves. Anywhere but the most effective targets.
The Amalekite responded by jabbing his spear straight into Joshua’s left thigh, and blood spurted. The enemy yanked out the spear, twisting it, ripping flesh as he did.
Joshua never slowed. He thrust his blade into the Amalekite’s throwing arm. He sawed the blade in a long, deep gash.
The enemy’s spear fell to the blood-drenched ground, and he grabbed his wound.
Joshua drove the dagger into his belly. When the man finally collapsed, Joshua picked up the spear. He stood over him for a moment and scowled. Then he cried out as he drove it straight into his heart.
Bezalel rushed to Joshua. He pointed to the fallen Amalekite. “Was that …?”
Joshua looked to Bezalel, chest heaving. “Yes. That was the man who killed my family. And this”—he held up the spear—“is the weapon he used to do it. I have made sure he will never kill again.”
Partway up the hillside, Bezalel and Kamose studied the battle under the bright, noon sun.
Joshua limped near and stared at the mass of frenzied people below.
Suddenly Kamose spoke. “Look down there.”
Bezalel strained to see but saw no order or planning in it at all.
Kamose leaned in toward Joshua, pointing toward the battle raging beneath them. “See what they’re doing? The enemies go to our weakest point. Then we send reinforcements. Then they send their men to the other side. And it starts all over again. We end up constantly defending ourselves.”
“So somehow, we have to make them the defenders. But how?” Joshua paced. Red-spotted lambskin wrapped around his thigh.
Bezalel rubbed his arm, where his own tightly wound bandage stopped the bleeding but not the pain.
“I know. We divide them.” Joshua pointed his spear to a point in the fracas. “We send a column of men down the middle of the largest group, and divide it into two pieces.” He drew his spear from the bottom to the top of the fray. “That way they can’t reinforce each other. Then we’ll keep dividing until they are defeated.”
“Excellent. You learn quickly.” Kamose slapped Joshua on the shoulder. “But make a wedge. A point will allow you to break the fighting. But then expand it as you go, further separating the army into two pieces. Then they will not be able to break your line.”
Joshua turned to Bezalel. “I want you to lead the first column.”
“Me?” Bezalel gulped. “Why me?”
“Because I trust you, and you will do as I ask. All you need to do is lead.
Later, as I find more good leaders, I’ll send them to cut the army yet again.”
He pointed toward a group of men nearby. “Take them with you. Have them spread out as you go, until you get a line of men all along the length of the army. You don’t need to be able to fight, so your arm won’t matter. Just keep the Amalekites from crossing that line.”
Joshua called to a group of men and told them to follow Bezalel. The group clambered down the hillock.
At the bottom of the hill, Bezalel faced his warriors. “I’m going to make a way straight through the battle. You follow me. Leave men behind as we go, until we make a wedge. The last ones will stay here at the beginning. Spread out all along the line. They may attack at first, but they’ll leave for weaker areas. Hold the line until you receive other instructions.”
The makeshift soldiers nodded, and Bezalel headed into the mob. He snaked between the hand-to-hand battles. His only goal was to stretch out the line as quickly as he could.
When he reached the far end, opposite the hill, he looked back at the battlefield. As hoped, they had split the battle wide open.
He left instructions with those behind him, leaving two in charge. He swung wide around the battle to rejoin Joshua. About halfway around the field he noticed another man who appeared to have just finished doing the same, perpendicular to his line. He stopped to see who the captain was. “Nahshon?”
The man jogged over to him. “Bezalel! It’s hard to tell who anyone is. We all look alike—bloody, hot, and dirty.”
Bezalel grabbed the skin from his belt, took a long drink of hot water then passed it to Nahshon. “I wonder if this is doing as much good as Joshua expected.”
“It kept them from sending two or three men after only one of us. I lost several men that way this morning. They never had a chance.”
“Have you seen Michael?”
“No, but I doubt he would risk his own safety for anyone else. As long as he stays in camp he’ll be safe. And I’m sure that’s exactly what he will do.”
Joshua fidgeted with his spear. “We’re capturing weapons from them; we have almost as many as they do now. We have killed more of them than they have killed Israelites. The men don’t seem to be too exhausted. I fill in all the weakened areas with new fighters. What more can we do?”
In the Shadow of Sinai (Journey to Canaan) Page 20
