Hannah lifted a brow, taken aback by this turn of events. “I am always here when Elkanah comes.”
“Tonight is different.”
Hannah tilted her head. “What do you know that I don’t?” Elkanah had said nothing to her about setting a date, though she had been sorely tempted to press him.
“You will know soon enough. Now go!” Adva pointed to the tent door. “If things go as I think they might, you may speak with Elkanah outside the tent near the door afterward.”
“Alone?”
“I will be close enough to listen.”
Of course she would. Why should Hannah expect anything different?
“Shall I send one of my sisters-in-law to help you?” she asked.
“Send Malka. Watch her children so she doesn’t worry.”
Hannah nodded and slipped from the tent. Her mother’s nerves were as frayed as an old coat, adding to Hannah’s own nervous state. She looked toward the road, where she could see her father leading her brothers and Elkanah in her direction. He carried a clay pot in his hands, no doubt filled with the meat left over from the sacrifice. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food and the smells of the fresh bread still coming from her parents’ tent.
She hurried to the shelter beside theirs and ducked under the flap. “Malka, Ima needs your help.” She walked to the corner where Malka had just placed her youngest among the blankets.
She looked at Hannah and smiled. “Watch him carefully. He just ate and is likely to need changing soon.” She stood and glanced at her other children. “Be good for Aunt Hannah. Ima will be back soon.” To Hannah she said, “There is bread and a little wine waiting for them. Dip the bread in the wine. They will sleep better for me, and I need them to sleep!” She stifled a yawn. “It is unfortunate that Adva could not have allowed you to help tonight. I want nothing more than to rest.”
Hannah touched Malka’s arm. “I would gladly help her, but she is insistent I not be there for whatever the men plan to discuss.”
Malka nodded. “Of course. It was the same way when Dan came to speak to my father. It is the way of things.” She touched Hannah’s cheek. “You have grown up, my sister. Soon we will be celebrating your wedding feast.”
Her smile caused Hannah’s heart to flutter. This meal truly was more serious than the ones they had shared in the past. But hadn’t she seen it in Elkanah’s eyes? Hadn’t Meira warned her? Her hands grew moist with the thought of all that could come of this night.
She glanced at the baby, who kicked his feet and cooed. One look around the tent reminded her that she wanted this. She was old enough to enter marriage, and she wanted a family of her own.
Please, Adonai, let this be the night. But also please let things proceed according to Your will.
The end of the meal and time with Elkanah suddenly couldn’t come soon enough.
2
Elkanah followed Hyam into his tent, Hannah’s brothers trailing behind. The soft light of several oil lamps illumined a medium-sized room spread with colorful rugs and cushions placed along the goat’s-hair walls.
“Come, come,” Hyam said, motioning Elkanah to sit in the place of honor along the wall farthest from the door.
“Thank you, my lord.” Elkanah ducked his head to avoid hitting the center beam and sat cross-legged with his back against a cushion. Hannah’s father and brothers quickly joined him, and once Hyam spoke a blessing over the food, he broke the bread and passed it to Elkanah.
Elkanah accepted the bread while Hyam continued to break pieces from the loaf and hand them to his sons. Each man dipped the bread in the oil and salt and ate for a moment in silence.
“So tell me, Elkanah,” Hyam said as Hannah’s mother passed various dishes to her husband to offer to those seated, “now that you are thirty, you have had a chance to perform your duties here more than once. What is your opinion of the place?”
Elkanah wiped his mouth with a cloth, weighing his thoughts. Hyam clearly wanted to get into a discussion of the corrupt priesthood. It was the topic on the mind of every Levite. “A few weeks is not much time to give the priesthood a good assessment,” he said, gauging his host’s reaction. “But I was not impressed with Hophni or Phinehas.”
Hyam’s head bobbed up and down. “I expected you to feel this way. I knew you would be one to follow the law, unlike our ‘distinguished’ priests.”
“If only we could do something about it. The priesthood belongs in the hands of Eleazar’s descendants, not Ithamar’s.”
Hyam dipped his bread in the oil and then ate it, holding Elkanah’s gaze. “You are descended from Eleazar, are you not?”
Elkanah nodded. “Yes, but neither I nor my brothers can march into the tabernacle and declare ourselves priests. Eli has held sway over the holy things since the days of the first Phinehas ended.”
Silence followed his remark as Hannah’s brothers seemed to contemplate his words. Had he said too much? He hadn’t meant to sound so defensive, but it was true. None in his family were able or called out by God to challenge the current system. It had led to many discussions and debates among his brothers, but they had never found a solution.
“You have been coming to my home to visit my daughter for some time now,” Hyam said, jarring Elkanah’s thoughts to a completely different focus. He watched the man stroke his beard, eyeing him. “As her father, I have the right to ask—what are your intentions?”
He drew a breath, telling himself that he might as well speak truthfully. “With your permission, my lord, it is my intention to marry Hannah.”
Hyam looked at him for a lengthy breath and smiled wide. “You have my permission, on one condition.”
Elkanah met his gaze, a sudden kick in his heart. “What condition?”
“You can never divorce her. Even if she proves to be barren, you can never divorce her or send her back to me or to her mother.” His intense gaze never left Elkanah’s face.
Elkanah felt the heat of embarrassment sweep through him. “I have no reason to ever desire such a thing. I will gladly put my seal on such a promise.”
Hyam leaned against the cushion and glanced at Malka. “Go to your tent and send my daughter to join us. We will sign the ketubah once we return from the feast.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Elkanah felt a sense of relief that the decision was at last made, for he had not known when or how to broach the subject. Strange provision or not, he wanted Hannah. He could never grow weary of her or want to send her away.
Malka moved to the tent door, and Hannah’s brothers rose and excused themselves to their tents, leaving Elkanah alone with Hannah’s parents.
“You may speak with her under the awning outside the tent.” Hyam stood, indicating for Elkanah to do the same.
“Thank you, my lord.”
He bid them good night, his heart skipping several beats as he walked outside and waited.
Hannah’s hands grew moist as she walked slowly from Malka’s tent to her parents’. Elkanah’s form came into view in the moonlight as she passed her brothers on their way to join their families. She did not miss their smiles and mild chuckles as they passed. She would take the brunt of their teasing tomorrow, but for tonight, at least, they would allow her this moment.
She reached the spot beneath the awning where Elkanah waited and glanced at the open tent door. No sign of her parents, but she had no doubt they stood near enough to hear.
“You came.” Elkanah spoke first. “But of course you would.” He seemed as nervous as she, which put her strangely at ease.
“Well, my father did summon me.” She smiled, meeting his gaze.
He motioned for her to sit on the ground, for they could not walk away from the tent.
“Let me gather some cushions first.” She hurried into the tent, nearly bumping into her mother. “I don’t want him to sit in the dirt,” she said, snatching the cushions the men had used when eating.
Her mother merely nodded, and Hannah hurried outside again
and placed the cushion on the ground for Elkanah. She sat opposite him and clasped her hands in her lap.
“I hope you are at ease?” Suddenly she was nervous again with the knowledge that her parents were listening.
“Quite,” he said. He folded his robe beneath him. “I suppose if I’m going to keep my word, I’d better start.”
A lump in her throat kept her from speaking. Could he hear the way her heart pounded at the look he gave her?
“I have asked your father for permission to marry you, Hannah. Will you accept me and become my bride?” He looked almost uncertain, which seemed strange since her father had likely already made the arrangements.
“Yes, of course. I would be most happy to become your bride.” Hannah smiled, and he reached for her hand.
“We will have the betrothal when we return and set the date for the wedding.” He touched her chin and gazed into her eyes. “Which I hope is very soon,” he said softly.
She smiled shyly. “As do I.”
Hannah’s mother appeared at the tent’s opening. “I think it is best for you to come in now.”
Hannah stood, thinking the time much too short. But by all accounts she was now spoken for and would soon legally belong to Elkanah. Her heart beat in a new joyous rhythm at that thought.
3
Hannah walked with her mother and sisters-in-law the next morning to the tabernacle, where they stood in a long line waiting their turn to pray. The women who served at the door to the tabernacle moved about the courtyard, some refilling the bronze basin with fresh water, others joining the singers as she had once done at the side of the tented building, lifting tambourines and their voices in worship to Adonai. Still others assisted the Levites as they prepared for cleansing or made sure their garments were straight and true before they entered the Tent of Meeting to attend to their duties there.
Hannah watched them, reminded of her earlier fascination with their work. “I wonder if we will find Lital in this crowd,” she said to her mother. She strained to see above the heads of the women in front of her but could not make out the distinct faces of the singers.
“It is highly doubtful, though perhaps your father can look for her before we leave. She is likely visiting her mother somewhere among Ephraim’s tribe, for I did not see her with the Kohathites.”
Hannah glanced about once more, catching sight of the high priest Eli sitting beside the tabernacle door while his sons inspected the sacrifices and burned them on the altar behind her. Eli was old, but not so old that he could not perform his priestly tasks. Why then did he just sit and watch his sons?
The line moved forward and Hannah slipped closer to her mother, listening to the music of the singers. She closed her eyes, caught up in the sound.
“We’re almost there,” her mother whispered, touching her arm. “Save your prayers for the proper place.”
Hannah gave her mother a curious look but said nothing. Was there a proper place to pray? Did her mother never long to walk in the fields when the new spring flowers were in bloom and just thank Adonai for His goodness? Must prayer be kept only for mealtimes and feast days and Sabbaths or directly in front of the tabernacle?
She looked ahead and to her left. A small group of women, arms full with baskets of bread left from the wave offerings, walked toward some outbuildings that housed such gifts meant for the priests and Levites.
“It is our turn.” Her mother interrupted her musings again.
Hannah stepped forward behind her sisters-in-law and knelt before the tent’s door. The noise of hurried feet and rushing servants, the song of the singers, and the low thrum of male and female voices made prayer suddenly foreign and strange. She opened one eye to see her mother prostrated before the tent, speaking aloud.
How could she pray in such chaos? Her head began to throb, and no words would come to her mind, but she remained bowed in the position of prayer, doing exactly what Elkanah had once said he found false among worshipers. She pretended to pray, though as she attempted to shut out the sounds, a few words finally came to her silent heart.
Oh Adonai, forgive me. I cannot speak aloud to You among so many people. I . . . Nothing feels as it should . . . Forgive me.
When at last her mother stood, Hannah rose, relieved. She looked about her as they made their way toward the fenced opening, past the altar, away from the joyous singers and serving women. Her mother touched her elbow, guiding her away as a group of elders with a guilt offering came before Hophni, who slit the throat of a bull. His brother Phinehas caught the blood in a bowl and walked to the altar to sprinkle it there.
Outwardly, they seemed to be doing everything they were supposed to do as priests. But as she caught Phinehas glancing with open interest at one of the passing serving girls while he was supposed to be placing the blood on the altar in sincere reverence, she turned away, repulsed. What was he doing? She knew the priests ruined many a sacrifice, but had she seen lust in his gaze? She shivered, praying it was not so.
“I saw you at the tabernacle today. I don’t think you noticed me, though.” Elkanah had come to share the evening meal with them again, and this time, given their new promise of betrothal, Hannah’s parents allowed them to walk among the tents that bordered theirs.
“I saw some elders there with a guilt offering. Were you with them?” She certainly would have recognized him, and though he was not yet an elder, perhaps he had joined them when she was not looking.
“I was actually speaking to my cousin off to the side of the tent near the buildings that Hophni and Phinehas built for their families. I had some questions for my next turn serving here.” He glanced at her. “You seemed troubled.”
She looked at her feet, careful of each step, then stopped to face him. “Everything felt strange here today, not like it was when I came months ago with my father.”
“Everything is strange. Serving here can be wonderful when the priests are not around, but it is hard to avoid them.”
She knew that now, especially after the way Phinehas had looked at one of the serving women. But he wouldn’t actually touch one of them, would he? “I don’t like them,” she whispered.
“Nor do I,” he admitted. He dug his toe into the dirt, then looked at her. “Worse, I would like to do things to them that make me guilty of sin in my heart.” He paused.
She waited, watching him.
“One of my cousins was recently forced . . . by Hophni. Now she is ruined, and there was nothing my uncle could do about it.”
Hannah gasped. “How is that possible? They are the priests! Can’t Eli do something?”
Elkanah shook his head. “Until recently it was only the sacrifices they desecrated. Now their lusts have driven them to worse practices.”
Hannah linked her arm through his, suddenly feeling the need for his nearness. “I saw one of the priests look unseemly at a serving woman today.”
Elkanah stopped to look into her eyes. “Obviously, this is not the first time.”
“But surely there is something the Levites can do.” She heard the desperation in her voice.
He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “The priests threaten to withhold the forgiveness of God from our people, Hannah. The Levites are helpless against them.”
“They cannot do that! They are not God!”
“No, but they stand in God’s place and represent Him, so they think they can do as they please.” He lowered his voice. “They are playing a dangerous game.”
She nodded. “Did your uncle confront Hophni?”
Elkanah nodded. “My father, my uncle, their brothers—they all came together, but Hophni just laughed in their faces. He told them that he would do as he pleased with the serving women, and if they even tried to stop them—Phinehas does it too—then they would refuse to accept every future sacrifice brought by our families and prevent us from fulfilling our Kohathite duties.”
Hannah covered her mouth with both hands. “How can they threaten such a thing? Moses passed down
those duties to us. We are Levites. Only Levites can care for the tabernacle.”
Elkanah leaned closer. “You and I know that. Truth is, everyone knows that, but everyone is also afraid of the priests.” His look held anguish. “Who among us wants to feel as though he can never sacrifice to the Lord as He requires? Would we build our own altars and avoid the feast days? Would we not be guilty before the Lord for such neglect of His tabernacle?”
Hannah met his gaze, drawn to the fire in his eyes. “But is there nothing the Levites can do? Appeal to Eli? Appoint new priests? Surely the actions of these two cannot please the Lord.” She glanced beyond him a moment before searching his gaze.
“It’s not a simple or easy thing to do,” he said. “I have never seen it done or heard of such a thing in Israel, except for the time when God struck down Aaron’s sons and when Eleazar’s son Phinehas had no able-bodied male to take the priesthood. It fell to Ithamar’s line then and has been that way since.”
“The priesthood was better during the civil war with Benjamin?” Hannah knew Israel’s history well enough to know this good Phinehas had lived during that terrible time. But his descendants had not been able to continue his good work. Perhaps the evil of that time had affected the priesthood then too.
“I don’t know that they were better. That Phinehas was a good priest. But times have not improved. And the leaders have become more corrupt. We haven’t had a godly judge in many years.”
He shook himself. “I did not want our short time together to hold talk of evil in the land again. Forgive me.”
She smiled. “It is all right.” She looked beyond him again. “I used to long for this place. But the crowds, the noise . . . I must confess I could not even pray, though that is what I had come to do.”
A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story Page 2
