As the commanders studied the field, Bezalel looked up toward his grandfather and Moses. Moses’s arms were drooping. They were now almost at his side after the long morning of holding them heavenward. Aaron and Sabba knelt beside him, praying to El Shaddai for victory and protection.
Moses began walking from side to side. The resultant surge of energy enabled him to raise his arms higher for a while. Bezalel turned back to the battle. He was shocked to see the Israelites advance on the Amalekites. But after just a short while the Amalekites regained control, and when Bezalel looked toward Moses, he was not surprised to find Moses’s arms had again fallen.
Bezalel ran to the young commander. “Joshua, I know the answer.”
Clearly irritated, Joshua spun on his heels. “What are you talking about?”
Bezalel stepped back. “I-I know why we’re losing.”
“Well, show me. Come on, hurry!” Joshua scanned the field.
“But that’s it. It’s not the men. It’s Shaddai.”
Twin furrows appeared on Joshua’s brow.
“Moses can’t keep his arms raised to Shaddai.” Bezalel pointed to the hilltop. “He’s too tired. When they fall, we lose. When he raises them again, we win. It’s that simple. It’s not your strategy or assignments or the men’s strength. It’s all Him.”
Joshua frowned and shook his head. “No. Can’t be.” He walked away, sputtering.
Bezalel fisted his hands on his hips and looked skyward.
After a few moments, Joshua returned. He took a deep breath. “So what do we do? Moses has to raise his hands; he was very clear about that. We can’t do it.”
“I know, I know.” Bezalel paced. An idea popped into his head. “But we can help him.”
Bezalel raced off to the top of the hill before Joshua could question him. He reached Moses and Sabba in just a few moments. “Sabba. Sabba!” He put his hands on his knees, breathing hard, trying to catch his breath.
“Bezalel! What are you doing up here?” Sabba glanced furtively at Moses. “You should not be here.”
“But I know what’s wrong.” He took several more deep breaths.
“What’s wrong? What do you mean?”
“I know why we’re losing.”
Sabba narrowed his eyes. “You do? Why?”
“Whenever Moses raises his hands, we win. When he drops them, we lose. If he walks, he gains more energy, and raises them, and we win again, but then he gets tired, and they fall, and we lose. It’s a big circle.”
Sabba shrugged. “Well, I don’t see how we can do any—”
Bezalel spread his hands. “You can raise his hands for him. Get him something to sit on. Anything to keep his arms up.”
Sabba and Bezalel found a rock large enough for Moses to sit on, and Bezalel recruited a couple of men to move it. Aaron and Sabba lifted Moses’s arms for him, and occasionally Moses took breaks to walk back and forth.
Within moments, the tide of the battle turned and Israel began to win. Amalekites staggered back in bloody waves, retreating before lines of invigorated Israelites. Groups of raiders gave up and bolted for their camps. Bezalel kept turning to check on Moses, to see if he had his arms raised. He smiled as he saw time and again they were, and watched the Israelites dispatch Amalekites one after another.
It was nothing short of amazing.
As the light retreated from the western sky, Bezalel bit into his last dry manna cake. He drained his water skin and wiped the drops from his beard with the back of his hand. He leaned onto his right hand and pushed himself up. Pain shot through his chest whenever he moved his left arm. He started down the hill, placing his feet carefully so as not to jar his body. Halfway down he stopped, looking across the sandy battlefield stained with dark, red blood.
Younger boys gathered weapons, cloaks, and sandals from fallen combatants. Closer to camp, girls ripped clothing for bandages while women tended to wounds and handed out bowls of hot manna. Older men repaired broken spears and arrows and lashed new handles to dagger blades.
The ordinariness was unsettling. People talked and moved about, but compared to the clamor and chaos of battle, the quiet echoed in his chest. The metallic smell of blood was overpowering and his stomach rebelled.
Bodies, both Amalekite and Hebrew, littered the field. Crumpled in the positions in which they had fallen, they lay silent and horribly disfigured. The Israelite bodies would remain until survivors could bury them, or find or create enough tombs in the walls of rock that surrounded them.
Bezalel continued his painful trek down the hill. The blood on his shenti, his skin, his hair, was a sticky, foul reminder of every gruesome action he had taken that day. Every muscle and joint resisted moving and demanded rest. The memories of what he had seen and done flooded his mind and refused to give him peace.
As he neared camp, the sounds of mourning reached his ears. Widows wept over husbands who would never again come home; children cried for fathers who would never again kiss them good night.
He had taken many lives today. The first time it appalled him. Horrified him so much it had almost gotten him killed. Each time after was a little easier. He didn’t see them so much as people, fathers, husbands. They were only the enemy. Just like the soldiers who died in the Yam Suph.
Now he didn’t feel anything. He was numb.
El Shaddai, what have I become?
Eighteen
1 Sivan
Mount Sinai
Fading sunlight sparkled on the high, narrow granite walls that led the Israelites through the dry wadi from Rephidim. Their arduous trek into the mountains had finally leveled out. As Bezalel emerged from between the stone alley onto a narrow but long plain, he dropped his packs and gawked at the land before him.
Three imposing peaks lay directly in front of them to the east, and far lower mountains surrounded them on all other sides. Rivers wandered in from cracks in the mountains and fell into pools that looked deep enough to swim in, and at least four streams crossed the hanging valley floor before trickling out again.
Two long gardens stood tucked along the south wall. Tamarisk, lotus, acacia, and sycamore trees spilled out of the gardens and up onto the mountainsides. Date palms stood guard over an abundance of fruit trees and vibrant flowers.
A bump from behind told him to get out of the way. He picked up his packs and made his way down the path from the mountain’s mouth to the valley floor. The soft green grass reached over his sandals and tickled his feet. There would be plenty of food for the animals.
The next morning, Bezalel found Meri gazing at the mountain as the honeyed aroma of manna cakes cooking over a flame filled the air. He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Feeling better today? I know the climbing was difficult for you. Are you comfortable up this high?”
She put her hands over his and leaned her head against his chest. “I’m fine as long as I can’t tell I’m up high. With the mountains surrounding us it’s easy to forget. These mountains are incredible. I’ve never seen anything like them. Back home it’s all just flat, flat, and more flat. Here, we’ve slept by them, walked around them, we even walked through them yesterday. And now, this field, or whatever you call it, this area, it’s tucked away up here, and no one would ever find it unless they knew it was here.”
“Moses lived out here a long time. He knew about it.”
Kamose strolled up, catching the end of their conversation. “I have fought in this desert in many battles, but I never knew about this valley. I know of several oases, but nothing as large as this.”
Bezalel pulled away from Meri. “I think the shepherds keep these to themselves. Moses says there are a few more. This is the largest, where he often summered.”
Ahmose skipped up to them. “Bezalel, will you take me to the water over there? I want to swim.”
Bezalel chuckled. “Do you know how to swim?”
Ahmose made a face. “No. But it is not all too deep, is it? Can you teach me?”
Joshua approached them ca
rrying the spear he’d taken from the Amalekite who had murdered his family. He had not been without it since the battle. “Moses said we are to put a barrier around the mountain, so no one can touch it.”
Bezalel gestured in a circle. “Which mountain?”
Joshua pointed east with his spear, over his shoulder. “That one. Mount Sinai. Moses says that’s where Yahweh appeared to him in the burning bush. I need some more men and a great deal of rope.”
“You go get the rope. I’ll gather some more men. I’ll be back later, habibti.” Bezalel placed a kiss on Meri’s cheek.
“But what about the pool?” Ahmose tugged on Bezalel’s sleeve.
“Come on, I’ll take you.” Kamose extended his hand, and they wandered toward one of the many watering holes.
The recruits all gathered near Joshua’s tent, and he led the group toward the base of Mount Sinai as he spoke. “We’ll work together to make sure no one touches the mountain. Remember Moses’s words: ‘Anyone who touches the mountain must be put to death.’” He pointed to two of the group. “You and you, what are your names?”
“I’m Isaac. He’s Asher.”
“Start cutting some support poles from the trees growing around here. Do you have a knife?”
Asher held up a dagger.
“We’ll dig holes, set the poles, tie the rope, and move to the next spot to begin again. Everyone understand?”
They all nodded.
“Let’s go, then.”
Isaac and Asher disappeared, and the rest started digging. Bezalel started on a hole, but being only days away from the battle, his wound ripped open and blood trickled down his arm. He dropped the shovel.
Joshua came over and grasped Bezalel’s forearm. “Go back and wrap it up again before it rips any further.”
“Digging puts too much pressure on the wound. Perhaps I can tie the rope.”
“Get it wrapped first. If you can tie rope without pulling on it, go ahead. But I’m not answering to Meri if you come back worse than when you left.”
Kamose held his nephew in his arms as they made their way down the sloped ground toward the center of the pool and stopped when the water reached his chest. Warmed by the sun, it was refreshing, and reminded him of the Nile.
Ahmose squealed when the water touched his chin. Kamose moved his hands to the child’s waist and pushed him away until he was at arm’s length.
Ahmose gasped softly.
“You’re fine. I’ve got you. Kick your feet.”
Ahmose kicked and giggled. He started splashing.
“Don’t get me all wet!”
“You’re in the water. How will you not get all wet?” Ahmose laughed.
“Very true.” Kamose laughed with him.
“Uncle Kamose?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about my mother.”
Kamose studied the boy’s face. “She looked a lot like you. You have her eyes. And her cheeks.”
Ahmose smiled.
“Yes, her cheeks looked just like that when she smiled. And she loved to run and play when she was little. She liked to laugh a lot. She never became sick.” He chuckled. “She didn’t like to help at home very much, though.”
Ahmose laughed.
“You remind me of her when you laugh.”
Ahmose splashed and kicked some more. Then his face clouded a moment. “Did she ever tell you who my father was?”
Kamose took a deep breath. “No, habibi. She never said his name.” She hadn’t, since it was obvious, so Kamose didn’t actually lie.
Ahmose looked toward the edge and smiled when he saw some boys his age. “I want to play now.”
“Let’s get to a shallower part then, where you can stand up.” Kamose pulled him closer and swam toward the edge. He set him down and Ahmose scampered off.
Kamose stood and watched him run and splash and giggle. Ahmose loved to laugh. He saw the best in everyone he met. Kamose saw no reason to spoil that by telling him his father was the creator of all that was horrible and awful in his life. He would eventually figure it out, and by then, hopefully, he would be old enough to forgive his mother, his father, and maybe even Kamose.
Joshua looked at the sun shining through the cloud blanketing the valley. It was well past its zenith. “We’ve still got quite a way to go. This is going more slowly than I thought.”
Bezalel took a long drink from a goatskin and handed it to Nahshon. “Can’t we finish tomorrow?”
“Moses wanted it done today, but we might have to.”
“I can go find some more men.” Nahshon offered Joshua the skin.
“All right. At least four more.” Joshua drew the back of his hand across his brow.
Nahshon returned with five more men and some manna, along with some dried quail. He gave food to the others who had been there all day and brought the rest to Bezalel and Joshua.
Saul, one of those Bezalel had drafted, called to Joshua. “I need to get on the other side of the rope. I can’t set this pole from here.”
“No!” Joshua strode over to Saul. “The boundary has been put up and it must be observed. We can’t risk you touching the mountain.”
“Well, then, I won’t touch it. But let me get on the other side, or the rope will never be put up.”
“I said no.”
Saul grumbled and went back to trying to set the pole. At that moment, Isaac and Asher came up with some more cut branches, and Joshua walked over to meet them.
“Here are twelve more. How many more to finish?”
“I’m not sure,” Joshua said. He looked from where the group was working down to where the rope would need to end. When his gaze returned to the group, he saw Saul climb over the rope. They were trying to get the branch to stand up straight enough to hold the rope at the right level, but were having trouble. Saul looked around, as if searching for something. Joshua yelled to get his attention, but Saul ignored him.
Saul pointed at something as if he had found what he was looking for, and walked over toward the mountain. He walked to its base, picked up a large rock, and turned back toward the rope fence.
In an instant, Joshua grabbed the knife from Isaac’s hand and expertly launched it at Saul. Saul dropped to the ground, the knife in his heart.
The others digging with him backed away. Bright red blood gushed from Saul’s chest and colored his tunic.
Bezalel struggled for breath and his legs went weak. He couldn’t take his eyes off Saul’s lifeless form lying among the rocks. He’d seen Joshua kill in battle. He’d seen him kill brutally when he encountered the Amalekite that had murdered his family. But this was different. This was an Israelite. Without anger. Without vengeance. Without any hostility. Without thought, apparently.
How could he do that?
Although he knew El Shaddai had commanded death for anyone who touched His mountain, and although he knew Saul had deliberately and knowingly violated the order, he still could not believe Joshua had killed him.
He looked to Joshua, who stood staring at the fallen man. The color had drained from his face. His voice shaking, he mumbled to Nahshon to take over, and stumbled away.
Bezalel and the others finished the rope line in near silence. When they reached the end, Nahshon dismissed the workers.
“What about Saul’s body?” asked Bezalel.
“We can’t get it without touching the mountain ourselves.”
Bezalel shuddered. “I guess not. Still, it seems wrong to just leave it there.” He stared in the direction of the body.
Nahshon shrugged. “I know. But what can we do?”
The pair walked back toward the body. In that place where Joshua had pierced Saul’s heart, a pile of rocks from Mount Sinai itself now covered the body.
Around the fire late that night, when everyone else had gone to sleep, Bezalel told Sabba about the incident at the foot of the mountain.
“I don’t understand.” Bezalel poked at the fire.
“Don’t understand what, habib
i?”
“Any of it. Why Joshua killed Saul, why we had to put the ropes up in the first place, none of it.”
“The ropes were put up to set Mount Sinai apart as a holy place. Yahweh resides there now. He wishes to dwell among us, in a way we can see and be aware of. So He has chosen to live there for the present. But He is not man. He is El Shaddai, God Almighty. He is perfect and holy, and He must be set apart from us.”
“So the ropes are to keep us away?”
“Yes. Moses ordered the boundaries be placed to remind us. We can approach Yahweh, but only as Yahweh proscribes. Saul chose to disobey. Joshua, on the other hand, chose to obey. I am sure it was a difficult thing for him to choose obedience when the consequences were so great. He will carry the memory of today with him forever.”
“Where is he? He didn’t eat.”
“He’s been with Moses. He hasn’t come out of Moses’s tent since he came back. When he does come home, I am sure he will need your understanding, not your judgment.”
6 Sivan
The Israelites spent three days preparing themselves to meet with Yahweh, washing their clothes, cleansing themselves. On the third morning, exploding thunder and crackling lightning shook the camp awake. A cloud, heavier and duskier than the one above them, sat atop Mount Sinai.
Bezalel slipped from his tent and quickly built a fire and set some water to boil.
Imma returned from gathering manna and poured some into the bubbling water then scooped it into bowls. The meal was without conversation, but was far from quiet. The mountain’s noises had everyone on edge. They had no sooner put the last bites into their mouths than a single trumpet blast echoed down the mountain. A shudder went through Bezalel, and Meri shook next to him.
Clan by clan, the Israelites filed toward the bottom of Mount Sinai, shoulders stiff, steps slow, mouths set in grim lines. Apprehension grew along with the crowd, and the trumpet continued to blare. The people faced the craggy peak, the portentous cloud floating atop it.
In the Shadow of Sinai (Journey to Canaan) Page 21
