A Light on the Hill

by Connilyn Cossette

  His eyes grew round. “I missed your food.”

  The boy looked much more gaunt than he had three weeks ago. Hadn’t my father attempted to feed him? Or had he been left to his neglectful uncle’s devices? Frustration bubbled up. How could anyone be so hateful to this darling child?

  “Your face!” he said, wide eyes latched on my scar. “I’ve never seen it before!”

  Instinct caused me to lift a palm to my cheek. “Yes, I don’t wear a veil anymore. At least . . . not here in my home.”

  He sniffed and then his lips curved up a bit, though not the broad grin I’d come to adore. “I knew you were the prettiest lady.”

  “Of course she is!” Ora’s voice came from the open door. “A bright, beautiful light that should have never been hidden in the first place.”

  Extricating myself from Eitan, I ran to my friend, hugging her tightly, even as she clung to my father’s arm. “Oh! I missed you!”

  She kissed my cheek, her sightless eyes shining with tears. “And I missed you, my dear girl.” She placed her hand on my back and I leaned into her, breathing in the comforting scent of her hyssop-scented hair. “You have much to tell me, I hear.”

  I sighed, releasing her. “I do.”

  “Good. You know I must hear every detail. Not one left out, yes?” She lifted her brows high. “But first,” she said, sniffing. “Is that what I think it is?”

  I laughed. “Of course. I would never hear the end of it if I did not make your favorite.”

  “No,” she said with a saucy grin. “No, you would not.” Then she squeezed my father’s arm. “Ishai, please help me sit down so I can eat this girl’s stew. I’ve wasted away to nothing while she’s been gone.”

  My father laughed as he led Ora to the table. A relaxed laugh I had not heard in months. Apparently the two of them had become quite close while I was away. But just how close? He gave me a sheepish smile as he folded himself down to sit next to Ora, confirming my guess. Perhaps something good had come from this awful situation. They were a good match, and Ora’s spirited presence would do much to heal his wounded heart.

  Eitan sat close to me on the ground as we ate, as if to reassure himself that I was still there, but he was quiet as Ora pelted me with questions about my journey. I did my best to keep my explanations simple and mentions of Darek to a minimum, only saying that he’d broken with Raviv and had been determined to ensure I arrived in Kedesh for a fair trial.

  Somehow Ora managed to glare at me, even with blind eyes. “You will tell me more . . . later.” Her mouth pursed and her head tilted to the side in exasperation, but I knew she would not press me around Eitan. However, I was none too eager to needle around in the ache of Darek’s loss, even with the woman I’d come to think of as a second mother.

  “I have some news,” said my father. “About the trial.”

  My heart thudded painfully. Would this be the last meal I provided for these three people I loved so much?

  “There’s been an urgent report,” he said, “sent from across the Jordan River. Apparently when the tribes of Manasseh, Gad, and Ephraim crossed back over, heading toward their own lands, they set up an altar. There has been outcry against such a blasphemous act. It was not any altar determined by Yahweh, nor sanctioned by Eleazar and Yehoshua.”

  “What does it mean?” Ora asked, confusion on her lovely face.

  “It means that Yehoshua has been forced to send men out to confront the tribes about such blatant disregard for the law. Eleazar’s son Pinechas has been charged with this heavy task, as he has a reputation for unswerving willingness to execute justice when necessary.”

  Pinechas, the man who would take up the mantle of High Priest when his father passed into the next life, was famous for executing a Hebrew man and his Moabite lover to stop a plague that had swept through the Hebrew camp before Jericho fell. His courageous actions most likely saved thousands of lives. Yehoshua could not have selected a better man to confront such an egregious error in judgment by the eastern tribes.

  “What does this have to do with the trial?” I asked.

  “Elders from all of the western tribes will be sent with Pinechas, and this includes Pekah, Raviv’s father. As one of the leaders of his tribal regiment, Raviv is also obligated to go, in case the confrontation becomes an altercation.”

  “Surely there will not be war between the tribes?” Ora’s voice trembled.

  My father looked down at her, tenderness in his gaze. “I pray it will not come to this. But the law must be obeyed. We have seen time and again what happens when the Torah is flouted. Thousands died in the wilderness for such disobedience, and Yehoshua is determined not to allow such evil to befall us again. Even if that means raising swords against our brothers.”

  A few moments of silence followed such a pronouncement and in my heart I pleaded with Yahweh for lasting peace between the sons of Yaakov.

  “Therefore,” continued my father, “because Pekah and Raviv will not be here, your trial has been postponed until the matter is resolved. It could be a few weeks, or it could be months, dependent on the outcome of the confrontation.”

  I released a tremulous breath. “Can I stay here until then?”

  “Yes,” said my father, his own relief plain on his face. But a furrow formed between his black brows. “However, you are to remain in the house, under guard, until the trial can proceed.”

  And once again, my home was a prison.

  Nevertheless, I dipped my chin in acceptance. “I will gladly welcome whatever time I have left with the three of you and am grateful for such undeserved kindness.”

  “You will be exonerated, Moriyah,” Ora said, her blank-eyed gaze pinned on me and her expression fierce. “I have no doubt.”

  I leaned over to squeeze my loyal friend’s hand, deciding to leave the argument for another time, away from Eitan. “Your cup is empty,” I told her. “Abba, it seems we are in need of another pitcher of wine.”

  With a teary glance at me and a sad smile, my father allowed my distraction and stood to retrieve more wine. Once our cups were full, I asked my father about how the vineyard had fared without Yuval during the remainder of the grape harvest. To my relief he obliged, explaining which field hands had stepped in to fill Baz and Aviram’s duties as well.

  I breathed easier as the conversation shifted away from the ordeal I’d undergone and, thankfully, remained far from the question of what would happen after the trial. I shifted to put my arm around Eitan as my father and Ora exchanged conversation that proved their friendship had indeed deepened significantly while I was away.

  Eitan laid his head on my shoulder with a quiet sigh, and I ran my fingers through his disheveled hair. For now it was good to be with these people whom I loved so much and pretend that instead of imprisoning me, these four walls would hold my inevitable destiny at bay.

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-Five

  Yom Kippur

  After weeks of being pent up in my home, the sight of my fig tree nearly brought tears to my eyes. With leaves just beginning to curl in preparation for their yearly change of colors, its twisted branches still displayed a few fragrant purple figs. Leaning back into its familiar embrace, I sighed.

  My father sat near me with his own back against the gnarled trunk, one of those luscious figs in hand, and his attention fixed on the Mishkan below us. “This truly is a wonderful place to view the ceremony,” he said. “I can even hear the priests talking to each other down there, as if they were standing only twenty paces away.”

  I’d been grateful that my father had secured permission to escort me here, so I could see the sacred Yom Kippur ritual performed from this bird’s-eye perch on the hill, where the inner workings of the tabernacle courtyard would not be hidden.

  “Yes, I found this place within the first week of our move here.” I grinned at him. “I was surprised you never found me here.”

  He brushed the fruit against his tunic, then studied its deep purple skin. “You neede
d a place to yourself, without eyes on you. And I knew you were safe on our land.” We went quiet, ignoring the three armed guards a few paces away, the reminder that I was in no way safe, or allowed to wander free while facing a trial for murder. My father took a bite of his fig, and the juice trickled into his black beard.

  “They are back, aren’t they?” I asked, dreading the answer but sensing it in the way he’d been avoiding my eyes since yesterday.

  He wiped his mouth and blew out a breath. “Yes.”

  “What happened? Were our men forced to fight the eastern tribes?” My pulse raced at the thought of such a terrible thing, even though it had delayed my trial.

  “No. Thankfully what had been called an altar was determined to only have been a memorial, set up by the eastern tribes to remember their vow to fight with their brethren, should the need arise.”

  “I am glad to hear that it was not necessary to fight our own people. That would have been a tragedy.”

  “Indeed.” My father ran his fingers through his beard, contemplation on his brow. “However, I fear with the volatile nature of these tribes, there may yet be a time when the sons of Yaakov lift swords against each other.”

  “I pray that day will never come.”

  “As will I, my daughter. Although I was born in Egypt, this nation, such as it is, is my home. I cling to the promise that countless generations will enjoy the fruits of this land in peace. In freedom.” His rueful smile ushered the trial back to the forefront of my mind.

  Determined to brush off the throbbing ache that had begun at the realization that Raviv was now back at Shiloh, and most likely even more desperate to see me die, I snatched the half-eaten fig from my father’s hand. “Speaking of generations, Abba . . . when are you going to marry Ora?” With a smirk I took a large bite of the lush, seedy flesh.

  His mouth gaped. I’d never seen my father’s dark skin flush to such a deep color before.

  “Oh, now, Abba.” I swallowed my mouthful and leaned my shoulder into his. “Don’t for a moment think you’ve hidden the way you look at my friend. And the way you always seem just a bit too eager to walk her home after she comes to visit me in my prison of a home.” I peered at him through narrowed lashes. “What are you two doing out there among the vines after dark?”

  Apparently his skin could go even darker. I put a hand over my mouth, tears of laughter clouding my sight.

  He fidgeted, tugging at the tzitzit on the hem of his garment. “Moriyah, I loved your mother with everything in me . . .”

  Tossing aside the fruit, I snagged his hand and braided my fingers with his. “Oh, Abba. Don’t you see? This makes me so happy! I want you to have joy again. Ima would want the same. And there is no one in the world I’d rather see you marry than Ora. She is so much more than a friend to me, and I will be pleased to call her Ima as well—although I very much doubt she will let me.” I could just hear her in my mind, scolding me for making her feel old.

  He allowed himself a small smile. “When you told me to watch over her, I intended to simply ensure that her son was doing so. I was so consumed with worries for you and trying to run the vineyard without Yuval. . . . But then I remembered how you two used to walk together, and I became convicted by my lack of attention.”

  He looked away, down toward the Mishkan where the many white-clad figures of the priests and Levites were preparing for today’s special sacrifices. “Of course, when I asked whether she would like to walk with me, Ora was just as concerned for you, and we spent our stroll discussing you, our pasts, and what might happen.” He turned back to me, his expression shy. “Before we knew it the sun was going down and we’d passed hours talking together. From that day on, I never missed a walk. At first it was a great comfort, having a friend to talk with about you. But then . . .”

  “You came to love her?”

  “There is something about her. She . . . she somehow sees deeper than any sighted person ever could. I cannot explain how it happened but yes, I came to love her.”

  “She is very beautiful,” I teased. “Surely you’ve noticed . . .”

  “Of course I’ve noticed.” He pinched my arm playfully. “And yes, I hope to marry her very soon. Perhaps after . . .”

  “After the trial,” I finished for him, and the jesting tone of our conversation again coiled into tension.

  “You will be found innocent, Moriyah. I have little doubt.”

  “Not innocent, Abba. I am a manslayer. The boys died at my hand. I have come to accept that my ignorance of the act does not excuse it. It was my hands that placed the oleander in the stew and mine alone. Mistake though it may be, their blood is on my head. My only hope is that Raviv will not be able to convince the elders that I planned such a hideous act.”

  “They are fair men, daughter. You will see. Yahweh has protected you thus far. We must simply throw ourselves at his mercy and pray he will continue.” He leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes. He must be very tired after the last few weeks of preparing the vines for the upcoming season of cold and rain. All without his trusted steward.

  Where was Yuval now? Had Shuah’s company made it to Tyre? To Sidon? Perhaps Yuval, Zendaye, and Binaim were even now on their way back down to Egypt.

  Darek’s plea that I go with them whispered through my mind, and I admitted to myself that there had been moments over the last few weeks that I nearly wished I had. So many exotic places I would never see . . .

  Sifting through my memories of my time with Darek, melancholy targeted my heart. I’d heard nothing from him in these weeks confined inside my home and had no idea whether he’d been part of the confrontation with the eastern tribes like Raviv, or if he’d simply gone off on his own.

  Perhaps he had already returned to that beautiful valley to begin building his life in the place where someday he would bring a wife . . . raise children. Clearing my throat of a burning sensation as I foolishly pictured myself within such a scene, I swallowed my tears. There was no use clinging to futile hopes.

  Laying my palms on my lap, I opened them toward the sky. He is yours, Yahweh. I release him to you.

  Even if it pained me, I would release Darek. I would release my father and Ora. I would even release little Eitan, knowing that even in his uncle’s home, Yahweh would watch over him, just as he had guarded Yuval within that dark temple.

  They are yours, Yahweh. I release them to you.

  A shofar stuttered a call, an announcement that the ceremony was about to begin.

  “What happens first, Abba?” I asked. I knew a few things about the ceremony but was eager to learn more about this Day of Atonement for the priests, and for all of Israel. It would be a day of fasting for us, a day of reflection, repentance, and rest.

  “There . . .” My father pointed at the figure, garbed in white, standing by the shining bronze laver in the Mishkan courtyard. “There is Eleazar washing his hands and feet before the ceremony begins. Today he wears the simple white garments like the other priests instead of the jeweled breastplate and the red and blue ephod.”

  As soon as Eleazar had finished washing, he walked to the gates of the Mishkan. Three priests met him there, each leading an animal by a rope—a red-hued bullock, and two goats: one brown and one black.

  “Why three animals?”

  “The bullock will be sacrificed to atone for not only the sins of the priests and to cleanse the Mishkan, but to atone for the sins of Eleazar himself. If he were to enter the Kodesh HaKadashim, the most holy space inside the Mishkan, without such a sacrifice, he would be killed in the presence of the shekinah that hovers there over the ark.”

  It was hard to imagine that enormous pillar of cloud and fire that had led us through the wilderness now compacted inside the holy place, but there were times I’d come here at night and seen a glow from within the Mishkan, one that far outshone the ever-lit menorah. Even through the many layers of linen, wool, and animal skins, the glorious light pulsed, as though earthly things could not contain such bril
liance.

  What would it be like to approach the golden ark that contained the Ten Words, the last remains of the manna, and the staff of Aharon that had budded almond blossoms to confirm Yahweh’s choice of High Priest?

  Even the thought of being in the vicinity of such mystery sent shivers through me. I’d long heard the stories of men stricken dead by getting too close, their bodies charred before they hit the ground. Surely a woman who had killed two young boys would not be allowed even one breath inside the holy sanctuary. I restrained a shudder at the too-clear image of my own fire-blackened body falling to the sand. I remembered the agony of being burned all too well.

  We, along with thousands of Hebrews gathered all around the green-terraced hills of Shiloh, watched in silence as Eleazar slew the bullock, and with the help of four other priests, gathered the blood of the young steer into a bowl before disappearing into the Mishkan again.

  I turned to my father for explanation.

  “The blood will be sprinkled on the mercy seat, between the wings of the cherubim on the ark. Then more blood will be sprinkled in the Mishkan, on the veil that partitions the sanctuary, and on the curtains that lead inside as well—a cleansing of the holy place from any accidental defilement committed by the priests.”

  “Accidental?”

  “Yes, an oversight of one of the ritual laws given to the priests. Yahweh has provided such mercies, thankfully, for even the priests are nothing more than human.”

  As I considered that thought, the black goat was slaughtered, its blood sprinkled on the curtains of the Mishkan as well. Then the two bowls of blood were mixed together and the combination slathered on the four horns of the altar at the center of the Mishkan courtyard.

  Mercy! Mercy! The sound of my own cry echoed in my head. I, too, had committed an act of accidental defilement—one that Mosheh had declared polluted the Land itself—an act that by law could not be atoned for, except by the blood of the person who shed it. Just as Abel’s blood had cried out after his brother Cain had murdered him, Zeev and Yared’s blood cried out for justice.