The shimmer of a small pool of water caught in a cleft in the rocks drew his eye. Steadily melting snow kept the streams supplied all spring, and some of the water remained in puddles like this throughout the year. It was well-shaded; it looked like it escaped the sun’s wrath all day. A hardy yellow flower’s root had found its way down into it from above. The pool was just big enough to put his hands into. He crawled over and scooped out enough to drink. The water soothed his abraded knuckles and his parched throat. If only it could heal his battered heart as easily.
He sat down again in the shade and examined his hands.
He had been angry before—but never that angry. His fury usually came and went rather quickly. He listed those he had attacked in his imagination last night. One of the blows had been for Kamose for leaving Sabba to go to Moses. He could blame that one on being very tired and upset.
A few were for Moses for being gone so long and for being the only one who could handle this crowd.
Several were for Aaron because he wouldn’t listen to Sabba and wait a few more days.
Most of them were for Michael. He deserved every blow. He’s been causing trouble from the day I met him. What made him most angry was that Michael got away. He lived. He walked away without a scratch. Talk about unfair.
Which brought him to Yahweh.
He thought back over all the things Sabba had said about Yahweh: You can trust Him or be blown about like a leaf in a khamsin. This is a new relationship. His plan does not always make sense. He wants to have a deeper relationship with us, to be the God that lives with us. And Bezalel’s favorite: One step at a time.
Sabba had always said Yahweh had a reason for putting Bezalel in the palace. Was it to build this dwelling place for Him? If that was true, His plan started twenty years ago. He put Bezalel in the palace to learn all the skills he would need to build a house for Yahweh.
Moses had said they needed gold, silver, bronze, jewels. Where were they to come from? He remembered. They asked their Egyptian neighbors for gold and jewelry before they left that night. It was payment for four hundred years of free labor. Yahweh had thought of that, too.
And Moses. That had begun eighty years ago, when He put Moses in the palace as a prince, to learn all he needed to know to lead the Israelites out of Egypt and into Canaan. Then forty more years in the desert to learn how to survive, to learn where places like this hid.
How many other plans were in place Bezalel couldn’t even see?
The palace—his prison, which he had despised almost every day he was there—had given him Ahmose and Meri. And even Kamose. And of course, the skill to build a dwelling for Yahweh. Yahweh had given him the gift, but Egypt had developed the skills.
Without the palace, he would have none of them.
He couldn’t see how anything good could possibly come from Sabba’s death. But if Sabba’s life was to mean anything, Bezalel had to keep his grandfather’s faith alive.
He reached up to find a rock he could grab with his right hand and pulled himself up. He groaned. Pain radiated throughout his body. Every muscle fought against standing up. The battle, not to mention last night, had taken more out of him than he realized. He leaned against the wall. Climbing down was not going to be easy.
After an excruciating—and exhausting—trek down, he headed for his tent. The sun now fully up, the first gray rays of light filtered over the top of Mount Sinai. He had probably half an hour before it rose high enough to shine on the still-sleeping camp. He stumbled toward his tent, suddenly realizing how little he had slept.
Kamose came near and stopped in front of him, his gaze sweeping from head to foot. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up before your mother sees you, let alone Meri. She’d never survive it.”
Bezalel looked down. He hadn’t noticed the left side of his tunic was soaked with blood. He laughed to himself. Meri had nearly fainted when he came home that day at Rephidim, and he wasn’t nearly as bloody then as he was now. A lot dirtier, but less bloody. Kamose was right. Meri would not take it well.
Kamose pointed to Bezalel’s arm. “What happened to the lambskin?”
“I took it off to change it, but the new one was still a little wet from washing, so I let it dry a little longer. Then Moses came to talk to me, and that’s when I … left.”
“The wound is full of dirt now.” He pulled at Bezalel’s crimson-stained tunic. “I don’t think this can be saved. You have another?”
Bezalel nodded.
Kamose grabbed his dagger, cut the garment at the right shoulder and then down the side. He slipped it over the mangled arm and held up the tunic. “I think you should burn this.” He put his hand on the slice in Bezalel’s flesh. “It feels hot. Disease may be setting in. Come.” He walked toward the stream.
Bezalel followed and waded into the water. He bent over and splashed water onto his arm.
“No. You need more force to get the dirt out. Get under the water.” Kamose pointed to where the water was dropping into the stream from the gap in the rocks above them. He stood there with his arms crossed as if he were instructing a new recruit.
Bezalel grimaced. He moved toward the falling water and slid his arm under it, groaning as the liquid pounded into the raw flesh for a few moments. He pulled it out and checked it, rubbing off the caked-on blood from his side and chest before he emerged from the water.
Kamose used a relatively clean part of Bezalel’s tunic to stop the bleeding the running water had prompted and looked at the wound. “At least it’s clean now. But if you open it again, it will need to be sewn up. Use linen to wrap it. You can wrap it more tightly, keep it closed until it heals. There’s some by my tent.”
He squinted and lowered his head to get a better look. “It looks red, though. We need some honey. Or copper salts. I know someone had some after Rephidim. I’ll see if I can find something. For now, let’s get back. Sun’s coming up.”
They headed across the field toward camp. Kamose stirred the fire when they reached the tents and tossed the ruined tunic in it.
Bezalel watched Kamose out of the corner of his eye. Kamose would never ask him where he had been all night, although it was probably easy for him to guess what had happened.
Meri wouldn’t be so easy.
He stared into the fire and thought over what he had learned—had he really learned anything last night? Only time would bear that out. It was easy now, in the bright morning sun, to say he could trust Yahweh and honor Sabba’s life, but if—when—things went bad again, would he really do it? Or would he just let his anger take over?
Bare feet appeared by the fire. Bezalel raised his head to see Meri standing over him with her hands on her hips.
“All night? You’re gone all night and I have no idea where you are!” Her eyes shot daggers at him.
Bezalel dragged himself up and reached for her. “Habibti—”
She backed up. “Don’t do that. You left and didn’t even—oh, look at your arm!” She reached for him. “You ripped it open again.” Spreading her fingers, she drew them down the sides of the wound as tears filled her eyes. She walked over to Kamose’s tent and grabbed the linen from it. She gestured to Bezalel’s seat and sat down next to him, gently winding the strip of cloth around his arm.
She tucked the end of the linen under. “What were you doing all night long?” Her eyes pleaded with him.
He tried to explain what happened on the mountainside, what he had thought about.
She took his hands in hers and turned them over, examined the cuts. “So have you decided it’s all right to be in the shadow?”
“What?”
“Remember? When you told me what your name meant? You thought being in the shadow of Yahweh meant being forgotten, cold. I told you about being in my imma’s shadow.”
“Ah, yes.” He stared at the fire. “Maybe. Maybe that’s how I need to look at it.”
Meri took a deep breath. “Well, the way you’re looking at it now is not helping you much.”
The noon sun brightened the camp without its wilting heat, and children scampered through the streams and chased each other around the tents. Sheep grazed lazily where the day before Israelites had killed one another. Moses stood at the edge of the flock, his head resting on his hands, his hands on his staff.
Bezalel drew near Moses. “I came to apologize for last night. My anger was … inexcusable. I’m very sorry. I apologize to you, and I’d apologize to Yahweh, if I knew how. I shouldn’t have raised my voice and I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
“I accept your apology for raising your voice. But you needn’t be sorry for what you said. You didn’t say anything offensive to me. And Yahweh is great enough to hear whatever you have to say to Him.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Do you know that when He sent me to Egypt I argued with Him?”
Bezalel opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Moses handed his staff to Bezalel and picked up a lamb. “Yes, I argued. I told Him I wasn’t important enough. I told Him they would never believe me. I told Him I needed proof.”
“Did He give you proof?”
“Enough. I went, didn’t I?” Moses chuckled, and stroked the lamb’s head.
Bezalel was silent for a while. “Why was He absent for so long?”
“Not absent. Just still. But I don’t know. Until we were numerous enough to inhabit the land? It’s hard to say. He does not give us all the answers.” Moses looked into the lamb’s ears, at his eyes. “Tell me, are you still angry?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He raised his hand to show Moses his palms. “I … thought … about it a lot last night.”
Moses laughed. “I know a little about anger. I left Egypt forty years ago because of anger.”
“What happened?”
“I saw one of the taskmasters beating an Israelite for no reason. I became angry. I hit him; he hit me. I hit back harder—too hard. I killed him.” Moses set the lamb down and picked up another.
Bezalel nearly choked. “You killed an Egyptian?”
Moses strolled toward the center of the flock. “Then I buried him and tried to hide it. But someone saw me, and I had to run. Anger, my boy, will destroy you, if you do not learn to control it.”
Bezalel followed. “That’s what Sabba always said.”
“Your sabba was right.” Moses inspected this lamb as he did the first.
“Well, I had all night to think about that, and I’ll have several days’—or weeks’—worth of pain to remind me…. Just what are you doing?” He pointed to the lambs.
“Sorry. I was a shepherd for forty years. Now, what about Yahweh’s request?”
Bezalel shook his head. “How can I possibly build a dwelling for God? I wouldn’t know where to begin. I don’t build houses; I make jewelry.”
Moses stopped and faced Bezalel. “He will give you all the wisdom you need. And you will not be alone. He has chosen another man, Oholiab, of the tribe of Dan. He is skilled in embroidery and working with cloth. He will build the outside—the tent—and you will build the furnishings. And you will have many helpers.”
Bezalel paced and thought for several moments.
Moses continued to examine sheep, wandering away from Bezalel.
“I will do it. But I am in no shape at the moment. I can’t even lift my arm.”
“I agree. And I think you need time to grieve.” He set a lamb down, and patted it on the head. “I have to return to the mountaintop for another forty days to receive another copy of the law, as well as the instructions for the dwelling. Also, the entire camp needs to be rearranged. Aaron has the plans for that. The tabernacle will be in the center; the camp will be around it by tribe. Make sure you are near my tent, at the front, so you are close to the center.” Moses placed his hand on Bezalel’s chest. “By the time all that is done, I should be back, and your arm should be healed, as well as your heart. At least enough to begin work.”
11 Ethanim
Bezalel faced the people, assembled once more before Moses and the mountain.
“Yahweh brought you out of Egypt. Now each of you shall pay a ransom for your deliverance—one-half silver shekel per person.
“Yahweh has promised He will dwell among us, so we are to provide for Him a dwelling place. To build this, He asks you for offerings of gold, silver, and bronze; linen; gold thread; ram, badger and goatskins; acacia wood, and spices. Your ransom price also will go toward building the tabernacle. You may begin to present your offerings to Yahweh in a few days.”
Moses pointed to Bezalel. “To build his dwelling place, Yahweh has appointed these two men. Bezalel, son of Uri, son of Hur—that same Hur who gave his life for Yahweh—of the tribe of Judah. Bezalel is an artist of the highest order, once artisan to the king of Egypt, now artisan to the Creator of all. Bezalel is skilled with gold, silver, bronze, precious stones, and the carving of wood.”
Bezalel stepped back and Oholiab stepped forward.
“Also I present to you Oholiab, son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan. Oholiab is excellent at making all kinds of cloth, at putting designs in cloth, creating tapestry and the like.
“Both have also been blessed to teach and lead others. They will need many assistants, so when you bring your offerings, if your heart is stirred, you may also talk to them about helping.
“And now, we are here to dedicate them.”
Bezalel and Oholiab knelt.
Moses raised his arms. “You have a great work ahead of you. It will take many months, and much talent, patience, and skill at supervising and teaching others as well.”
Bezalel groaned as all the air escaped his lungs. Talent and skill he had; patience, no. He had never worked with or taught anyone.
“You cannot possibly do this on your own. You will need skills far greater than you could ever develop.”
Then why did Yahweh ask?
“Yahweh, we come before You this day at the beginning of a great undertaking. You promised me on Mount Sinai that You would fill these young men with wisdom and understanding, knowledge and craftsmanship, to complete that which You have asked of them. I believe You have already done so. But they themselves need to know this, too. So I ask today that You give them one more gift: anoint them with confidence. Fill them with the knowledge that You have equipped them with all they need for this task. Give them the gentle authority they will need to manage the hundreds of workers You will call forth. Give them wisdom to know who should do what, the willingness to share their great knowledge with others, and discretion to know which tasks to keep to themselves. Remind them daily that You are with them and to ask You for help when they need it.”
Bezalel opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t feel any different. Could he do this?
Twenty-one
18 Ethanim
Bezalel stood in the acacia-wood fenced enclosure surrounded by gold and silver, skins and linen. He laughed at the incongruity. Most of his life he’d spent in the midst of opulence, but in the palace it was revered—jewelry adorned necks and ears and fingers, gilded furniture stood on polished stone floors, artwork hung on frescoed walls—none of it was tossed in raw heaps on a grassy field.
A Levite brought him a skin and held it up. The priest poked at it with a reed dipped in ink made from soot. “So far we have forty-three talents of silver, fifteen talents of gold, and thirty-two of bronze.” He pointed at a pile in a corner. “And over there is the linen, and behind that—”
A scuffle at the fence drew Bezalel’s attention. A guard restrained Ahmose by the back of his tunic. “No children allowed!”
Ahmose’s face was red, and he put his hands to his throat. “But he’s my brother! I have to see him!”
Bezalel dashed for the gate.
“He said he was your brother.” The guard sneered. “With a name like Ahmose! No Israelite would name a son Ahmose.”
Ahmose fought to hold back tears. “I was trying to come see you, but he won’t let
me.”
Bezalel glowered at the guard. “He is my brother. Now let him go.”
The man snorted and released Ahmose, who rushed to Bezalel’s side, grasping him around the waist.
Bezalel pulled him away and dropped to one knee. He grasped the boy’s shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“My heart is stirred.”
“Your heart is what?”
“My heart is stirred. Moses said anyone whose heart is stirred to help should come and see you. Well, I want to help.”
Bezalel swallowed. What could a child possibly do to help? If I tell him he’s too young, I’ll break his heart. And who am I to say Yahweh has not called him?
“All right, for now, you can be my special assistant. And then, when we find the perfect job for you, we’ll know, and the job will be yours.”
“Yes! Thank you.” Ahmose jumped into Bezalel’s arms and hugged him.
Bezalel set the boy back on the ground. “Let me finish counting, and you go play, all right? We won’t start building for many days yet, but I promise not to start without you.” He winked at Ahmose, and the child ran off.
5 Av
Kamose and Ahmose strolled back from the garden with pomegranates, walking through the neat rows of tents now set up by tribe around the center of the camp.
“He said I could help. We just don’t know how yet.” Ahmose struggled with his pomegranate.
Kamose stopped and took the fruit from the boy and sliced it open. “That’s a very special job. Bezalel must love you very much to let you help make Yahweh’s house.”
Ahmose beamed up at Kamose. “I love him, too.”
The corners of Kamose’s mouth tipped up in a smile. He handed Ahmose his pomegranate and headed down the row again.
Ahmose skipped ahead.
Kamose kept his leisurely pace. Ahmose had far too much energy for him to keep up with. He hated to admit it, but he was no longer a young man. He’d enjoyed his time here at Sinai. The area was beautiful, Bezalel and Meri and Rebekah were wonderful people to be around, there was no Ramses screaming at him and becoming more bizarre and malicious by the day. The only problem was that he had time to realize how lonely he was—
In the Shadow of Sinai Page 24
