A Light on the Hill

by Connilyn Cossette

  And yet, hadn’t Yahweh spared Cain—giving him mercy, condemning him to live a life of exile, but a life nonetheless? Could I not beg for the same?

  Eleazar knelt in front of the brown goat, laid his hands atop its head, and lifted his eyes in prayer. I knew that he was repenting of the sins of our entire nation and placing that iniquity on the head of this innocent goat.

  Another priest led the brown goat out of the gates of the Mishkan, through a split in the center of the wordless congregation gathered around, and out into the wilderness to the east of Shiloh where the little animal would be abandoned far enough away that it would never return.

  Now that the army, and among them Raviv, had returned from the battle-that-never-was with the eastern tribes, and the Day of Atonement ceremonies were complete, my trial would no longer be delayed. Soon, I would stand before Eleazer myself, just as those little goats had done. But which would I be? Slain or exiled?

  I kept my eyes on the white-clad priest and the goat, peering into the distance until the two figures became one and eventually faded from sight beyond the eastern hills, taking every sin of Israel with them, except for the one on my own heart that could not be atoned for except by my death.

  I release my own life to you, Yahweh. It is yours to do as you will.

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-Six

  11 Tishri

  A brisk wind tugged at my headscarf, making the tasseled ends flutter against my shoulders and provoking me to check, once again, that my veil was secure across my face. I may have been glad to leave off the linen within my own home, but I could not fathom leaving it behind as I stood on trial for murder before this justice-hungry multitude.

  A tall, gray-bearded elder stood on a little rise before me with six more elders beside him and unrolled a small papyrus scroll with an air of sacred piety. With a sharp glance at me, as if to ensure I was listening, the elder began reading with a ringing tone that echoed off the hills of Shiloh.

  “So you shall not pollute the land in which you are; for blood pollutes the land and no atonement can be made for the land that is shed on it, except by the blood of him who shed it.”

  As Mosheh’s words were read aloud to the assembly before the Mishkan, I attempted to keep my gaze straight ahead and on the elder whose lips announced my sin to the multitude who stood behind me, their faces lined with suspicion and hands ready to pick up the nearest rock to mete out their own justice. This, the first trial to be held for an accused murderer in Shiloh, was nothing less than a spectacle. The banners of each of the tribes represented here today flapped in the breeze.

  “The charges before you are grave, Moriyah bat-Ishai,” the elder from the tribe of Yehudah declared. He handed the scroll to one of the other men presiding over this trial. “Two young men, Zeev and Yared, the only sons of this man”—he gestured to Raviv who stood nearby, arms folded, jaw clenched—“are dead. Their blood cries out for justice.”

  Raviv had flinched as the twins’ names were spoken. Again I had the urge to run to him, bow at his feet, and beg forgiveness for stealing his sons, even though I knew it would not sway his hostility. He wanted nothing less than my death. Twice over, if it were possible. Although he was once again well-groomed and seemed healthier in body, his eyes were filled with black hatred.

  “But we come here today,” the elder continued, over the murmuring of the crowd, “to ensure that a fair trial is conducted. Mosheh was adamant that witnesses be allowed to speak.” He paused. “Who accuses this woman?”

  Raviv stepped forward. “I accuse this woman of murder. She deliberately laced stew with oleander. She was the one to prepare the food. She was the one who served my sons with her own hands. She stood by and watched them, with no remorse, as they vomited their guts and blood onto the ground.” He turned to me, blank-faced. “And she should die today. She should already have died.”

  “And what do you believe was her motive in such actions?”

  “I could never understand the black heart of such a viper.” His eyes narrowed. “One who could murder two innocent boys. But I believe it was her disdain of marriage to me. Or possible vindictiveness.”

  “What would she have against the boys?” asked the elder.

  “My brother Darek told me she threatened the boys over some other child. Said their lives would end badly.”

  I sucked in a breath at the twisting of my words. Would Darek testify against me too? Was he here? Waiting to back his brother’s claim? Without thinking, I glanced around me, hoping he was not there—foolishly wishing that he was.

  The elder, too, scanned the assembly over my shoulder. “Will your brother step forward? We need to hear his testimony.”

  Raviv’s confident stance faltered for a brief moment. “He is not here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.” Raviv’s answer was swift and livid. “He disappeared from Kedesh the night this murderess arrived there.”

  “Disappeared?” The elder sounded nearly as shocked as I was. Where had he gone?

  “He betrayed his family and took up with this harlot while sneaking her to Kedesh. She cast some spell over him.” Raviv’s tone overflowed with bitter disgust, leaving room for the subtle accusation of witchcraft to settle alongside that of murder and harlotry. “First she stole my children, and then she stole my brother. I don’t know where he went, and I do not care. He and I are no longer kin.”

  I cast a glance at his father, Pekah, seated nearby on a three-legged stool, his lame leg propped out to the side and chin atop his hands where they grasped his short crutch with white knuckles. His gray pallor showed how much he’d aged since the day I’d met him. It was I who had inflicted such agony on his family. My desire to kneel and beg forgiveness shifted from Raviv to his father. To lose his grandsons, and now to have his sons so deeply divided . . . empathy surged in my chest, reaching out to the broken man.

  “Any other witnesses to corroborate your claim?” asked the elder.

  “I am a witness.” A loud voice I did not recognize floated out of the crowd, and I turned to search out its source. “My daughter told me that woman knows everything about plants and herbs. There’s no way she didn’t know what she was doing.” The man behind the voice stepped forward—a burly man who stood a head over everyone around him. Behind him, looking more cowed than I’d ever seen her, Rimona stood, hands clutched together. I blew out a resigned sigh behind my veil. Of course she would say such things. She must have regretted covering my escape the night I left Shiloh.

  The elder tilted his bearded chin. “And you are a witness to this woman’s crime? You saw her prepare the stew?”

  The brute grunted. “No.”

  “Then your daughter? Was she present?”

  Rimona’s green eyes flicked to mine and, to my surprise, regret shone in them.

  “No. But that woman prepared some sort of magic concoction for Rimona when she got burned. It was near-healed the next day. She must have said some spell over her.”

  Murmuring broke out in the crowd and the elder raised a hand, but Rimona’s father continued on. “We all know she spent a long while in Jericho. Been tainted by those Canaanites. Even marked by them and dedicated to those bloodthirsty gods. Must have learned how to poison people there too. She’s half Egyptian, that one. Probably has evil in her blood.” By the time he finished, he was shouting over the baying crowd, some supporting Rimona’s father and his baseless accusations and many others calling out for him to be silenced.

  A shofar sounded out a loud, short call, and from instinct every person went quiet.

  Rimona’s father looked quite pleased with the chaos he’d caused, but the elder in charge of the trial was not amused. The older man glowered at him. “None of this is witness to the matter at hand.”

  “Why, it certainly is. She’s a witch with all those concoctions. Who knows what kind of cursed stuff she slips into all that food of hers. Maybe those boys figured her out and that is why she killed them
.” The man grinned and turned a sneer on my own father. “That’s why Ishai keeps her locked up in that house. So no one discovers her evil and takes away his ill-gotten vineyard.”

  Something connected in my mind. Rimona had also claimed that our vineyard was undeserved—as if somehow my father had snatched the land, instead of being gifted it for his loyal service to Yehoshua. Had Rimona’s father coveted the land? Was it revenge against my father that caused him to accuse me further?

  “That is enough!” The elder’s expression had gone livid. “This is not a chance to air your grievances. Everything you have stated is either hearsay or gossip. If you have no direct witness to the crime this woman is accused of, you will not speak one more word here today.”

  With a gesture of his walking stick, the elder commanded a few soldiers who’d been standing guard during the proceedings to escort Rimona’s father away.

  “I will be heard!” the big man bellowed. “These filthy Egyptians have no right to Hebrew land—”

  His rant was cut off by two soldiers grabbing his arms and pressing him backward. After tossing a few curses toward my father and me over his shoulder, the man submitted to the escort until he reached the edge of the congregation, where he roughly shrugged them off and strode away, every step full of the same violence he’d spewed at me.

  The elder pressed three fingers to the center of his forehead, as if gathering his wits about him after the outburst. He let out a long sigh. “He will be dealt with later. Now, does anyone here have actual witness to this crime?”

  One of Raviv’s men stepped forward. “I was there the night Zeev and Yared died.”

  “And what did you witness?”

  “I only came on the scene as the two boys were retching their guts onto the ground. But I saw that girl”—he pointed at me—“running away from Raviv as if a leopard were on her trail. If she were innocent as she claims, why would she run like that?”

  The image of that poisonous stew crawling toward me in the dirt was made fresh all over again. The glimmer of the deadly liquid in the lamplight. The scent of the meat and the fresh herbs that had masked the bitterness of the oleander. Blind panic had driven me from the house in that moment.

  Again the crowd behind me chattered, provoking the elder to raise his walking stick in the air. “Quiet! If you people cannot contain yourselves, I will make you scatter.”

  The voices trickled off.

  “Does anyone else have witness with bearing to this case?”

  “I do.” Ora’s sweet voice rang out from behind me. I stiffened. Had my father brought her to watch me be condemned? A rush of relief came over me at the strange and morbid thought that at least Ora could not see my death with her eyes.

  “And you are?” asked the elder.

  “My name is Ora.” Her son, Tevel, led her forward until she was standing within two paces of me. “And I am a friend of Moriyah’s family. I am her confidante and can testify to her state of mind that day.”

  “By all means,” the elder gestured with his hand for her to continue, and then, a bit red-faced from his blunder, said, “Please, do speak.”

  “I have known Moriyah for the last year. She is a kind and generous-hearted girl. She comes to visit me almost daily and walks with me in the vineyard, taking pity on an old, blind woman.”

  In any other circumstance, I would have rolled my eyes at the overstated description.

  “Moriyah was . . . conflicted over her impending betrothal to Raviv. As, of course, any young woman might be when promised to a man she does not know. She came to see me, a little frightened, a little nervous, but absolutely determined to obey her father’s wishes. I told her to prepare a meal for Raviv and his family, since she is known far and wide as a wonderful cook. She agreed that it would be a good way for her to get to know his family, to show him that she would accept the match and do her best to be a good wife. She in no way exhibited any malice toward the man, his sons, or anyone in his family. And if anyone would know, it is me.” She nodded her chin, putting a close to her statement with assurance.

  Raviv surged forward. “It does not matter what kind of act she put on, the evidence was clear in the stew. It was examined by myself, my men, and even by her own father. There was chopped-up oleander in my son’s meals. There is no possible way someone as familiar with plants, as she and everyone else freely admit, could mistake oleander for some other cooking herb.”

  “And all you men saw this oleander?”

  Four men behind Raviv nodded their heads and one called out, “Saw some still on her preparation table, too, and a few pieces stuck to the blade of her knife.”

  “She’s not blind, too, is she?” yelled a heckler from the middle of the crowd and a number of laughs followed the interruption.

  Raviv took advantage of the disorder and pointed an accusing finger at me, shaking with fury. “This woman is obviously deceitful. Who could possibly know what is going on in that head, with her face hidden like that? The story of her stay in Jericho is very well known. Who knows what sort of evil she learned in that heinous place? A place where children were sacrificed to the same gods that are burned into her skin? She killed my sons, the only sons of the wife I loved. She stole everything from me and she deserves to die.”

  He lifted his palms, as if conceding in advance that he’d stepped over the line the elder had drawn with Rimona’s father, and walked back to his place before fixing a black stare on me.

  He has won, and he knows it. An ice-cold finger seemed to slash across my throat, and my hands and feet went numb.

  The elder turned back to look at the other men overseeing the trial, as if searching their ranks for what to do next. In response, another man stepped forward, his wiry black beard so long it nearly reached his belt.

  “Let the accused come forward. She should have the chance to speak in her own defense,” said the second elder.

  Voices erupted from the crowd around me as I stepped forward and turned toward the assembly.

  “She is a liar!”

  “A temple whore!”

  “Let her speak!”

  “How can we believe anything she says?”

  “She is innocent!”

  “Stop hiding!”

  More jeering and a few shouts of support layered over my tumultuous thoughts as I blinked tears from my eyes. How could I do this? No matter what truths I spoke before this crowd, nothing would persuade them. Many of them had already decided my verdict in their hearts, fear of the unknown proving my guilt in their eyes.

  And why not? I had been in Jericho for many months. I had been taken to the temple, and for all they knew, influenced by such things. I’d hidden inside my home, fearing disdainful glances and painful questions. I’d hidden my face and allowed the myths to spring up without countering them with the truth. Those myths had then stretched and sprouted new tendrils, tangled vines watered with gossip, until the root of truth was completely buried beneath a riot of well-fed lies.

  I’d neglected to open my mouth and tell my own story. I’d covered up my insecurities with a veil and called it protection for my family when it was nothing but protection of my own pride.

  REMOVE THE VEIL.

  This time I did not hesitate. Did not brush away the Voice as mere whim or imagination. I obeyed.

  Lifting my hands, I untied the knot at the back of my neck, unwrapped the linen that was taut against my face, and un-looped the rest of my long headscarf until it was free, and then dropped it on the ground. I shook out my hair and brushed its black bulk away from my face. Then, I lifted my chin and faced the assembly, the truth of my marking fully exposed.

  My father stood off to the side, his expression stricken and his arm tight around Ora, as if he needed her strength to stand—or perhaps to stop himself from rushing forward to shield me.

  As I scanned the crowd of people around me, I sifted through my mind for someone with courage to emulate. Alanah, my warrior-hearted friend with her hunting bow? Ora, who spoke
with charisma and unwavering determination? Or Rahab, who thwarted the king of Jericho and saved the two spies sent by Yehoshua?

  Speak the truth, no matter the cost. Closing my eyes for a moment, I allowed the memory of Darek’s words to soak into my bones. I could not hide behind anyone else’s courage today. This could very well be my last hour in the land of the living. No more hiding. It was time to drop the veil completely and reveal myself.

  I turned to the council of elders standing before me, and at that moment realized that off to the side of the elders stood not only Eleazer, the High Priest, but Yehoshua himself. Determined not to allow their weighty presence to deter me, I took a deep breath to project my voice, knowing that the hills around us would bounce and echo my words back into the people’s ears as it did for the priests whenever I sat beneath my fig tree up on the ridge. The crowd, perhaps a bit shocked by my actions, stood hushed behind me.

  “It is true that I was taken to Jericho. You all know that I was held captive there for many months.” I continued to tell the story of Alanah, of Rahab, of the priestess and her vengeful command to brand me. I also described my rescue in detail—every word, every smell, every cry for merciful death from Yahweh.

  “Never was I violated in that temple,” I continued. “I have never been touched by any man in that way. I have never been a zonah. The only thing I learned in Jericho was how to cook from Rahab’s kind Nubian bodyguard, a man who sacrificed his life to protect all of us. I put on that veil at first to hide the wound, so as not to upset my family and to avoid scrutiny. I continued to wear it as a protection for my damaged pride.”

  The truth felt like cool, fresh water washing over me.

  “Yahweh rescued us from that city, by his mighty hand. And although at times my faithfulness wavered, I have never in my entire life worshipped any God but Yahweh. I have never bowed to a graven image. I have not used the name of Yahweh to commit evil. I have prepared Shabbat meals for my family and served them before enjoying joyous rest in honor of my Creator. I have always striven to honor my father and mother, even to the point of submitting to a marriage I did not desire. I have not stolen. I have not borne false witness against another. I have kept my body pure. I have done my best to be content with my life and all I have been blessed with. But—” I stopped, swallowing against the razor-edged words that must be released.