“The father, yes, but not the son.” Seesya sneered as he reached down, seized Deborah, and pulled her back onto the horse. “A blacksmith is hard to replace, but that boy’s neck will meet my sword.”
Whatever guilt Deborah felt for the sin of lying, it went away now, for she believed Seesya really intended to kill Barac. Shutting her eyes, she prayed silently for him and his father as they travelled south, all the way to the distant desert, where the tribe of Simeon lived.
Holding the torch in one hand, Seesya led the group at a fast pace. Seated sideways on the hard saddle in front of Seesya, Deborah tried to lean away from him, but he held her tightly, his arm encircling her just below her small breasts, their bodies pressed against each other. His long hair tickled her neck, and she convulsed in disgust. She remembered Tamar’s lush hair, soaked with bloody mud, and imagined various horrors that Yahweh should visit upon Seesya, his father, and the elders, and even upon Obadiah of Levi, the priest who knew Tamar was innocent yet participated in her trial and failed to stop her execution.
The howling of coyotes came from the surrounding hills. The sound made the horses go faster, their hooves pounding the dirt road. Deborah put her hand in her pocket, clasped her father’s fire-starters, and submitted to the rhythm of the galloping horse and the cool wind on her face.
Out of the darkness, Emanuel appeared ahead as a cluster of lights from torches and cooking fires. As they rode by the Weeping Tree, Deborah looked away from her sister’s dangling body and began to sob.
“What’s wrong?” Seesya put his lips near her ear and yelled into the oncoming wind. “You miss the whore?”
“That’s a lie,” Deborah cried. “She was good!”
“A whore,” he shouted. “Your sister was a whore, your mother was a whore, and maybe you’re a whore, too!”
Deborah was still crying as they slowed down near the gates, which were locked for the night. The sentries recognized the group and opened the gates.
Inside Emanuel, the bitter stench of rotting garbage and human waste drifted from the hundreds of tents and shacks where the poor lived at the bottom of the hill, just inside the walls. She buried her face in her sleeve as the horses headed up the hill.
The houses along the main street were dark and quiet. Modest and simple at first, they grew larger and more elaborate higher up the street. The greatest of all, at the top, was the house of Judge Zifron. It was filled with his wives, concubines, children, and slaves. But Tamar was no longer there, and Deborah felt a terrible longing for her sister’s happy laughter and loving embrace. How could life continue without Tamar?
Deborah tugged at the ring on her finger. She was thirteen, and her next birthday was coming up. How long did she have before her first blood arrived and, after purification, her first time in Seesya’s bed?
She felt wetness between her legs. Was she imagining it?
At the top of the hill, they rode into the courtyard, which was lit with torches. The ground was covered with straw to soak up any animal waste. Stone columns supported the two-story house, which formed three sides of the courtyard.
Several stable boys ran over to take the horses. They were young slaves, easily recognized by their short-cropped hair, bare feet, and sleeveless wool shirts that came down to their knees. The soldiers dismounted and untied their spears and shields from the saddles.
Seesya grabbed Deborah at her hips, lifted her off the saddle, and lowered her to the ground. He prepared to get off the horse but paused and examined the saddle.
“What the hell is this? Did you piss on my saddle?”
Still dazed from the ride, Deborah realized that the warm wetness between her legs was real. Shame filled her, and her face flushed.
Seesya held a torch to the saddle, which was stained with red blood. “Look at this,” he said. “From a stupid girl to a stupid woman!” He jumped off the horse, his soldiers laughing with him.
Chapter 4
Seesya held the door to the women’s quarters while Deborah touched the mezuzah scroll on the doorjamb and kissed her fingers. Judge Zifron’s wives and concubines shared a large room next to the basket factory. Only a single small oil lamp burned in a wall recess. The women slept on straw mattresses beside each other, except for the one who had been summoned by the judge to his bed that night. Newborn babies slept in bassinets, and toddlers slept along the wall on the opposite side. The only person not sleeping was Vardit, the judge’s oldest wife, who stood at the window looking out to the courtyard.
Vardit hurried to the door. “Praise God, you’re back safely!”
Seesya grunted. “Calm down. I’m not a boy anymore.”
“I was worried—”
“Don’t stand in the window anymore,” he said. “The soldiers can see you.”
His mother seemed ready to argue, but she held back and and bowed her head.
“Watch this little witch,” he said. “Make sure she doesn’t run away again. I’m holding you responsible, Mother.”
He left, and Vardit shut the door behind him. At thirty-two, she was getting old. After Seesya, she had given birth to eleven more children, fulfilling Yahweh’s command to the Hebrews to multiply and fill the land. Sadly, other than her first son and two girls, none had survived infancy. As the first wife and the mother of the judge’s heir, Vardit was more important than the other women, even the young ones, whose company their husband now preferred. In the past year, since the two orphan girls had been brought from their dead father’s homestead, Vardit had assumed responsibility for them.
Deborah felt a drop of blood run down the inside of her thigh. The room spun around, and her knees folded under her. She fell to the stone floor and began to shake. She panicked. What was happening to her? Was she falling ill? Was it the red fever, which took a week to kill a grown person with vomiting and incontinence until death was a relief? These possibilities made her shake even worse, and a film of cold sweat covered her face. She moaned.
“Poor thing.” Vardit knelt, sighing from the pain in her joints. “You must feel completely alone in the world, but you are not. You’re a daughter of the tribe of Ephraim. We’re all your family now.” She opened her arms for an embrace.
“I’m bleeding,” Deborah said.
Vardit retreated. Impurity passed by touch from woman to woman, requiring seven days of waiting, and then the immersion in purifying water, before a woman was suitable for her husband’s bed again. Touching Deborah would have made Vardit impure as if her own blood had come. An aging wife like her would not want to reduce her already diminished chances of being summoned by her husband to his bed.
“Let me see,” Vardit said.
Deborah got up, fetched the lamp from the wall recess, and brought it over. At the spot where she had sat on the floor, the flickering flame illuminated a wet, red stain.
Vardit looked closely. “It looks like it.”
“But I’m almost a year younger than my sister.” Deborah tried to control her voice. “It’s too early!”
“Sometimes a bad fright, a shock, or an illness makes it come sooner.” She took the lamp from the girl’s shaking hand. “Don’t be afraid.”
“I don’t like blood.”
“This isn’t like blood from an injury or a wound. This is good blood.”
“It’s dirty blood.”
“Not dirty. Impure, which is very different.” Vardit put the lamp on the floor. “Every young woman is scared when her first blood comes, but when you grow old, its arrival makes you very happy, because it proves that you’re still a complete woman.”
“I don’t want to be a woman.”
“Shhh. Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Some truths should not be pronounced out loud. You can dislike being a woman as much as the sentry by the gate dislikes the night, but as the sentry cannot change the night into day, you can’t change what you are.”
“The night will change into day in a few hours.”
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��Yes, but you will still be a woman tomorrow and every day after that. Instead of worrying about whether you like it or not, you should give thanks to God for blessing you with fertility.”
“What should I do?” She pointed at the blood on the floor. “About this, I mean.”
“Are you in pain?”
“No.”
“That’s a good sign.” Vardit rose to her feet with another sigh. She went to the trunk where they kept their clothes, pulled out a red robe and a set of undergarments, and tossed them to Deborah. The girl quickly changed. She rolled up her brown dress and undergarments for the next washday.
Vardit gave her a rag. “Press it between your legs inside your undergarments and go to sleep. The first time should be quick. The bleeding may be over tomorrow, and the seven-day count will begin. I’ll check you every day to make sure.” She dragged a straw mattress to the side of the room where women usually slept during their monthly impurity. “Here you go.”
Deborah carefully lay down with the rag pressed between her legs. She was still shaking. “I miss Tamar,” she whispered, tears flowing again.
“I’m sorry about your sister.” Vardit covered her with a wool blanket. “It must have been terrible to watch her being punished—even though it’s the law. Think of it as the will of God.”
“It couldn’t be His will. He is just.”
“Try to forget what you saw and think about the happy times ahead.”
“How can I forget Tamar?”
Gesturing at the line of sleeping children near the wall, Vardit took a deep breath and exhaled. “I lost many children. Do you think I didn’t love each one of them? Do you think it didn’t hurt? Let me tell you, losing a child is more painful than giving birth.” The older woman’s eyes filled with tears. “What God gives, He may take back. You have to let go. As soon as you feel the pain come back, tell yourself that it’s in the past, that you must forget about it and think of the future.”
“But Tamar didn’t die of an illness. She was executed even though she hadn’t done anything wrong! It’s not fair!”
“Keep your voice down.” Fixing the blanket over the girl, Vardit shook her head. “It’s hard to understand the ways of the world. I was once as young as you, and I remember how confusing it was.”
Deborah sat up. “I’m not confused.”
“Then you know what it meant that Tamar was without her virginity.”
“I know what it would mean for another girl, but Tamar had never been with a man.” She hugged the blanket to her chest. “Why did he accuse her falsely?”
“Hush!” Vardit looked around the room, making sure no one was awake. “How dare you speak against my son?”
“I mean no disrespect. Forgive me.” She wiped her tears with the sleeve of the red robe. “But why? Tamar would’ve been a good wife. She would’ve given him sons and daughters—”
“Hush!” Vardit took a deep breath. “Listen to good advice from a woman who has survived twenty years of marriage. Let it go. It’s not a woman’s place to ask questions.”
“But I don’t—”
“Our job is to serve a husband, to please him, to make him happy so that he’ll provide for us and protect us and summon us to his bed even when we’re no longer young and pretty. Nothing good ever came to a wife from questioning her husband.”
“He’s not my husband yet.”
“You’re betrothed. It’s practically the same.” The older woman glanced at the ring on the girl’s finger, and her voice softened. “It’s better that you accept what God planned for you. Be obedient and respectful, and your husband will be good to you.”
“Tamar was obedient and respectful, and Seesya was not good to her.”
“He’s young, my son. Not even twenty yet. He doesn’t stop to think deeply about things. He’s aggressive, like a colt that thinks it’s already a stallion.”
“A colt doesn’t think.”
“The moment he was born, when I heard his first scream, I felt a divine presence in the room. That’s why I named him Seesya, because I saw Yahweh right there. And Seesya is blessed. He’s destined for greatness.” Vardit’s face glowed with pride. “Seesya’s name will be known across the land as a great warrior and conqueror. He’ll defeat the Canaanites, bring back the glory of Joshua’s days, and lead our people with justice and goodness!”
Deborah lowered her eyes. Obviously, Vardit’s love for her son had blinded her to his true nature. “Evil doesn’t change,” she said.
“My son is not evil. It’s the horrible scar that makes him look bad, that’s all.”
Deborah knew that the older woman was wrong, but how could a mother admit that her son was evil?
“How did he get the scar?”
“Every man has scars. Unfortunately, Seesya’s scar is on the face. Other than that, he’s very handsome. Wasn’t your sister happy to marry him?”
“Then why did he accuse her falsely?”
“Because she didn’t please him,” Vardit said. “That’s all there is to it. She failed to please her master, and therefore she failed as a wife.”
“He caused her to be stoned to death!”
“The way he got rid of her is not important. It’s his right.”
Several sleeping women shifted under their blankets. One of them murmured something about the noise.
“Get it into your head, girl.” Vardit lowered her voice to a sharp whisper. “We’re women! What does a man do with his lame horse? Or his lame donkey? Or his lame dog? It’s the same thing with a lame wife. Let it be a lesson to you. To all of us!”
Deborah turned away, pulled the blanket over her head, and murmured, “Tamar wasn’t lame.”
Chapter 5
Deborah woke up with her head still under the blanket. Around her was the usual bustle that followed sunrise, with babies crying, children running about, and women chattering. She expected to hear Tamar’s voice. Her sister had always slept beside her, but was an early riser and an eager participant in the women’s conversations, perhaps to make up for all the years of growing up at an isolated homestead. But Tamar’s voice wasn’t among them, and when Deborah remembered yesterday’s stoning, she whimpered involuntarily and bit on her knuckles to keep silent. She remained covered up, hoping the others would leave her alone. Last night, Vardit had advised her to forget about Tamar, to let it go. But how could she forget her sister? And how could she stop crying?
Vardit pulled off the covers. “Good morning,” she said.
Deborah sniffled and wiped her eyes.
“It’ll get easier, I promise.” Vardit handed her a bowl of cooked oats. “In the meantime, you must eat to regain your strength.”
Deborah looked at the food and felt sick.
One of the women, a Canaanite concubine the judge had bought the previous year, carried a small bowl of oats and placed it before the knee-high wooden effigy that stood beside her baby’s bassinet. Her deity had a human body, a hawk’s head, and a polished copper disk for a crown. The young woman mumbled a few words and pulled aside the window curtain. The rays of the sun touched the copper disk, making it glisten like gold.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Vardit smiled. “Ra is the sun god. They say his powers are great, especially with new babies.”
The concubine picked up her baby and held it before Ra. The baby began to cry. She pulled out a breast and sang quietly in her native Canaanite language while nursing her baby. One of the others women, a Hebrew wife, brought her young daughter over and helped her add food to the bowl before Ra.
“You heard my son’s warning last night,” Vardit said to Deborah. “If you escape again, he’ll hold me responsible.”
Filling her wooden spoon, Deborah nibbled on the oats.
“You’d gain nothing from running away, because he’d catch you again. And this time, he’d whip you in front of everybody. Is that what you want?”
She shook her head and ate some more.
“Promise me you won’t try to escape again.�
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Deborah looked away.
“Stubbornness is the worst disease.” Vardit sighed. “There’s no point in escaping. My husband controls the whole area. He owns more slaves, farms more fields, and collects more taxes than any other judge in this land. He is the master here.”
“Yahweh is the only master.”
Vardit laughed. “How long will you cling to the old faith? If you want to live well here, you must embrace the world of today. My husband is blessed by Yahweh and all the other gods—that’s why he rules over everything here, including you.”
“Yahweh alone rules over everything, including me and the land of my father.”
“Silly girl. Your head is filled with foolishness.” Vardit made to pat Deborah’s head but withdrew her hand. “That old order is long gone. My husband says that land is owned by the man who can defend it. And who defends us from the Canaanites? Have you forgotten what happened to your parents?” Vardit clucked her tongue.
Deborah glanced at the Canaanite concubine feeding her baby next to the effigy of Ra. “Why does he allow idol worship in his house?”
“Again with the old faith.” Vardit rolled her eyes. “Ra brings light into a new life—it’s known. I used to put Ra in window above Seesya’s cradle, and look how he’s grown into a healthy and strong man. He’s fearless, my son!”
Deborah pushed aside the bowl of oats. “My father told me what Yahweh said to Moses on Mount Sinai: ‘If you follow my laws and observe my rules, I shall give you rains, the fields shall yield crops, and the trees fruit. Harvest shall precede vintage, and vintage shall precede seeding. You shall eat to satiation and sit safely on your land. But if you don’t—’”
“This is silly. Why are we arguing about things that a woman’s mind cannot comprehend in the first place?” Vardit handed Deborah a clay figurine. “It will make your bleeding pass more quickly and with less pain.”
The figurine fit in the palm of Deborah’s hand. The top part was formed as a naked woman with long hair, her arms folded under her full breasts. Below the hips, the shape blended into a column or a pillar, with the base flaring out like a dish. Deborah had never seen it before.
Deborah Rising Page 4
