Levites pulled a deep purple linen cloth covered with embroidered cherubim over the golden framework. They followed with a goatskin, a ram skin, and finally another leather skin.
One by one, Bezalel’s finest creations were carried inside—the ark, the table, the lampstand, the incense altar.
“Why are the others being left outside?” Meri pointed to the laver and the huge bronze altar.
“They stay in the courtyard. Next they’ll build a wall around all of this with all of those pillars and cloths stacked over there.”
They watched in silence as the Levites continued moving the furnishings.
“What happens now?”
“Tonight Moses will consecrate Aaron and his sons as priests. Each tribe will bring an offering for the tabernacle, one a day for twelve days. Then, sometime soon after that, we leave.”
“For the new land?”
“For the new land.”
Meri laid her head on his arm. “I can hardly wait.”
Later that day Bezalel met Oholiab and Moses, and Aaron and his sons walked up moments after. Moses led them inside the gate.
Aaron stood before his brother, the brother he had come to know only in the last two years, wearing nothing but his linen, knee-length trousers. Moses plunged a cloth into the laver and gently ran the cool water over Aaron’s outstretched arms.
Moses continued to wash his brother and nephews as Bezalel and Oholiab readied the holy garments.
“Which is first?” Bezalel whispered, trying not to interrupt Moses.
“These first.” Oholiab handed him a long, linen tunic, and then a sleeveless, knee-length robe of blue, a blue as deep as the sky. Bezalel gave Moses the tunic and then held up the robe to find the neck. Attached to the robe’s hem was a row of golden bells and woolen pomegranates. The bells rang softly. He furrowed his brow. “What are these for?”
Oholiab gestured for them to step aside. “They are so the people can hear that he is still alive.”
“What?” A lump formed in his throat.
“Once a year, Aaron will approach Yahweh to ask for forgiveness. He will wear the bells to let Israel know that Yahweh has had mercy upon us and has forgiven us and not killed the priest.” Oholiab picked up another garment. “The breastplate and your ephod are next.”
Bezalel held the thick breastplate that Oholiab had woven of blue, purple, scarlet, and gold threads. He gasped. “Oholiab, never even in the palace did I see any cloth so exquisite as this.” He held it while Oholiab attached the ephod Bezalel had made. It had twelve stones on it placed in four rows of three, each different, each representing a tribe of Israel. Bezalel had engraved the names of the tribes on those twelve stones, so Aaron would represent the whole of Israel before Yahweh each time he wore it.
Finally, Moses wrapped a long piece of linen about Aaron’s head. Then, with a blue cord he put a gold plate on the turban saying, “Holy to the Lord.”
Bezalel held a container of the holy anointing oil for Moses. Moses opened the container and filled a horn with it, then dipped his fingers in the sweetly-scented liquid. He sprinkled some on the tabernacle and everything in it, then sprinkled the altar and everything on it seven times. Then he filled the horn a second time.
Moses stood before Aaron, who sank to his knees and knelt before his brother. Moses poured a single, thin stream of oil from the horn onto Aaron’s head. The oil drizzled down his hair, onto his face and beard. Tears escaped Aaron’s eyes, and oil and water fought as they made their way down his cheeks.
As he watched, Bezalel understood. He understood it all. The deep and abiding love Yahweh had for His people. A love so great He would lead them out of slavery into freedom. A love so pure He expected holiness and obedience. A love so deep, He offered total forgiveness when they couldn’t be holy or obey.
But how could such a powerful and sovereign God love a people so frail and disobedient? Bezalel knew that God loved Israel, but he would never understand why.
20 Ziv
Bezalel sat at the base of the mountain, the same mountain where nine months earlier he had screamed and fought in the dark of the night looking for answers. This time he held his daughter in his arms. Tomorrow they would leave for Canaan, and after a few weeks of travel, arrive in their new home. What would it be like? What would he do? He couldn’t make a living being an artist, at least not at first.
But he had created a masterpiece. If he never made anything of gold or silver again, he could be satisfied.
He had Meri. And Adi.
He thought of everything that had happened over the last two years.
Nahshon had married and was now leader of the tribe of Judah. He’d presented Judah’s offering at the dedication of the tabernacle two weeks ago, the first of the twelve tribes to do so.
Young as he was, Joshua was recognized as the military leader of the Israelites.
Aaron was settling in to his duties as high priest.
Kamose had finally found his place among the Israelites. He mentored Joshua, but most of all, he was uncle to Ahmose. He was discovering Yahweh and what the Living God could mean in his life.
And little Ahmose. Well, Ahmose was Ahmose. He had lost so much in his short life, but as always, he chose to focus on what he still had. Imma spoiled him, Uncle Kamose doted on him, and Bezalel and Meri both adored him. Ahmose delighted in the new baby, and it was often difficult to get him to leave her alone long enough to let her sleep.
The sun peered over the top of Mount Sinai, but it would be over an hour before the spot on which Bezalel sat was flooded with light. For now, he was in the shadows. As he pulled his thawb around his shoulders and wrapped a blanket more tightly around Adi, he smiled.
In the shadow.
It was a good place to be.
Acknowledgments
My unending thanks to:
My mother—who never stopped believing in me.
My faithful husband John, and my delightful gifts from God: Emma, Mira, Dara and Johnny—for letting me write for hours on end, for going to movies without me, for sometimes making your own dinner, and for your unconditional love. Success, like life itself, wouldn’t mean nearly as much without you.
Sandi Rog—without you this book would never have made it to its present and publishable form, even though you made me rip apart my manuscript and start over. (All right, it wasn’t quite that bad.) You’re the reason Meri’s in the story, who was meant to be only in the first chapter, but refused to go away.
My critique partners from HisFictCrit, Scribes Who Scribble, and She Writes—for your time and knowledge. Because of many of you, Kamose didn’t die in Egypt.
My beta readers— Lynn Rose, Carrol Mercurio, and Dr. Sue Pankratz.
Gayle Roper—for teaching me to keep tension all the way through.
Randy Ingermanson—for teaching me to rescue defeat from the jaws of victory.
Kelli Standish—for a gorgeous website. Dazzle where you are planted.
Matt, Tracy and Emily at Jones House Creative—for helping me reach my readers.
Ellen Tarver and Wendy Charot—for polishing my manuscript until it shined.
Dan DeGarmo—for taking a chance on an unknown author.
Nathan Ward—for a fabulous layout.
Reuben Rog—for a cover that was beyond my imagination.
And you, dear reader—for spending some of your precious time with my story. Learn even more about these characters and their world, as well as the stories to come, at www.caroletowriss.com.
For a full listing of DeWard Publishing Company books, visit our website:
www.deward.com
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PUBLISHING COMPANY
About the Author
Carole Towriss and her husband live just north of Washington, D.C. In between making tacos and telling her four children to pick up their shoes for the third time, she writes, watches chick flicks, and waits for summertime to return to the beach.
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Carole Towriss, In the Shadow of Sinai
In the Shadow of Sinai Page 27
