Deborah Rising

by Avraham Azrieli

  A man in a dark coat approached her. “What do you want here, girl?”

  “I’m looking for Shatz Ha’Cohen.” She searched inside her sack and found the note. “I have a letter from his cousin, Obadiah of Levi.”

  The man took it. “Wait here.”

  He went into the house.

  A few minutes later he reappeared and beckoned her to follow him into the house.

  The difference between Obadiah of Levi and his cousin was like the difference between Emanuel and Shiloh. Where Obadiah was thin and soft-spoken, Shatz Ha’Cohen was large and boisterous. He had a massive gut, and multiple chins supported his round face. His traditional priestly white robe, with blue threads dangling from the edges, was further adorned with threads of gold.

  Shatz Ha’Cohen sat in a large leather chair and ate grapes from a clay bowl that rested in his lap. His breastplate was far more elaborate than Obadiah’s, made of solid silver with many jewels set in a pattern of tiny stars surrounding two columns of words.

  Three men sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor at Shatz Ha’Cohen’s knees. One was counting coins, passing them from one basket to another. A second man was writing with ink and feather on a long parchment. A third was tending to the priest’s toenails.

  Holding Obadiah’s note, Shatz asked, “Are you Deborah, daughter of Harutz?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Take off the scarf, girl.” He had a booming voice that left no room for argument.

  She pulled off her scarf. The knot in her hair came undone, and her thick tresses dropped over her shoulders.

  “Look at that hair!” The priest laughed. “Just as my cousin wrote: ‘A head like an abundant orange tree that’s ripe for the picking.’ How entertaining!”

  The men on the carpet sniggered.

  Her face burning, Deborah quickly tied up her hair and fixed the scarf to cover it. There was that fear again, tightening her chest, and the pressure in her eyes as tears threatened to erupt. “Banish your fear and embrace your strength!” she recalled. She forced her gaze away from the priest’s grinning face and focused on the one item that represented Yahweh—the breastplate. She inhaled deeply and focused on the pattern of jewels.

  “Do you like my breastplate?” Shatz patted it. “Shiny, isn’t it?”

  She nodded and wondered what the two columns of six words each symbolized.

  “You love pretty things?” He smacked his wet lips, leaning forward, his beady eyes staring at her. “Do you? I can show you more pretty things in my private quarters, because I also love pretty things—”

  “I love Yahweh,” she said.

  The grin froze on his face. He sat back, ate a grape, and spat out the seeds. “Tell me, girl, do you know what ‘Ha’Cohen’ means?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It means that I’m not just another small-town priest like my poor cousin Obadiah. Rather, I’m a direct descendent of Aaron, the wise brother of the prophet Moses. Only we, the sons of Aaron, the first High Priest, are allowed inside the Holy Tabernacle, where the Ark of the Covenant resides.”

  He patted his breastplate. “Do you recognize these words on my breastplate?”

  Deborah shook her head.

  His finger pointed at each of the words. “Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar, Zebulon, Joseph, Benjamin, Dan, Naphtali, Gad, Asher.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I know these names. They are the twelve Hebrew tribes.”

  “Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!” His booming voice hurt her ears. “These are the names of the twelve sons of Jacob, not the tribes! Do you know the difference?”

  She shook her head, her face turning red.

  “I didn’t think so. Have you heard of Jacob?”

  “He was the son of Isaac and the grandson of Abraham.”

  “And who were they?”

  “Our ancestors,” Deborah said. “The three Hebrew patriarchs: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, who was called Jacob only for a while, until he scuffled with a seraph and Yahweh changed his name to Israel.”

  “Very good.” Shatz seemed surprised that she knew all this. “And what tribe do you belong to?”

  “Ephraim,” she said.

  “Ephraim?” He pointed at his breastplate. “Do you see the name Ephraim here?”

  “I can’t read.”

  “Trust me, girl. It’s not here. Do you know why?”

  “Ephraim and Manasseh were the sons of Joseph, son of Jacob. When Joshua brought the tribes into Canaan to conquer it, he gave Joseph’s share of the land to his two sons, Ephraim and Manasseh.”

  “And they’re still fighting over it!” The priest laughed, which caused his chins to shake. “I’m impressed. An illiterate runaway knows our people’s history.”

  The men laughed again, as if on cue.

  “My father taught me,” she said. “He is dead now.”

  “Apparently.” Shatz glanced at Obadiah’s letter. “Harutz, owner of Palm Homestead.”

  Hearing her father’s name pained Deborah. She took another deep breath.

  “Dead and gone,” the priest said. “And no son to continue his name and inherit his family’s valuable homestead—the worst punishment for a man, isn’t it?”

  The three men grunted in agreement.

  “I wonder,” Shatz continued, “what reasons Yahweh had to punish your father so harshly.”

  Deborah bowed her head. It was true that her father’s death had deprived him of succession, which was all a man could hope for after life on this earth. And there was no doubt that Yahweh was the true judge. But she could think of no sin her righteous father had committed that would have justified such severe punishment. Dread came over her. She had been only twelve when he died, a young girl who knew little and understood even less. The priest must be right that her father had sinned gravely and earned Yahweh’s wrath. There was no other explanation.

  She could no longer suppress her tears.

  “We must humbly accept His judgment,” Shatz announced, resting his right hand on the breastplate, “as we joyously embrace His many generous blessings.”

  “Amen,” the men at his feet mumbled.

  She wiped her tears on her sleeve.

  “And now my cousin sent you here.” The priest picked a grape from the bowl and tossed it in his mouth. “It’s not like him to take such risk. How did you convince Obadiah to engage in this subversion?”

  “He’s afraid of my sister’s curse.”

  “Ah.” Shatz made a dismissive gesture. “If women’s curses had any power, all men would turn into lepers.”

  The men at his feet laughed again.

  “Now, tell me, have you taken off the betrothal ring?”

  She showed him her hand with Seesya’s ring still on her finger.

  “That’s good.” He spat the grape seeds aside. “Violating a betrothal is a deadly sin.”

  “I know,” she said. “That’s why I came to you. He’s a very bad man.”

  “Not even twenty, that boy, is he? Youthful mistakes may be forgiven.”

  The priest’s words shocked her. “Seesya is evil!”

  “The son of a powerful judge has to act with a heavy hand sometimes.” Shatz ate another grape. “I’ll think about your case. Meanwhile, you’ll be given food and shelter tonight.”

  “I can’t go back to Emanuel. In the name of Yahweh, please help me!”

  “Yahweh is everywhere, even in Emanuel.” Shatz waved his hand. “ Go now. Tomorrow, we’ll decide what to do about you.”

  The man in the black coat showed her to the door.

  “Wait a minute.” The priest curled his finger at her. “Obadiah wrote something about you being due for a marriage ceremony in a few days.”

  She nodded.

  “Then you’re still within the seven days of impurity, yes?”

  Again, she nodded.

  “Where is your red robe?”

  Deborah hesitated. Should she tell him that Obadiah of Levi had told her to throw away the red robe?

 
“Doesn’t matter,” Shatz said. “This is Shiloh, the city of the Holy Tabernacle. Here you must obey the sacred law of our forefathers. I’ll have a robe brought to you.”

  Deborah was shown to the women’s quarters, where she stayed with Shatz’s four wives and three concubines, who among them had three babies and many children. The youngest wife was only a year or two older than Deborah. The women had their own washroom with a water basin and a bath that, she was told, was filled every night with warm water. She was given a clean red robe and undergarments and assigned her own cot for the night.

  To help the children fall asleep, one of the wives played a harp, and another sang softly in a clear, beautiful voice. Deborah lay down, closed her eyes, and listened to them until sleep came.

  In the morning, she wanted to go to the Holy Tabernacle to pray, but the women told her there was work to do. Due to the Dance of the Maidens, there were many pilgrims in Shiloh. All the members of Shatz Ha’Cohen’s household were required to help with the pilgrims’ offerings down by the gates. Deborah joined them.

  The priest himself came on a horse-drawn cart a little later. He was dressed the way she had seen him the night before, but with the addition of a white cap, which like his robe was threaded with gold.

  A large, level field across from the fairgrounds was divided among the seven elder priests, who each carried the title “Ha’Cohen” and were the rulers of Shiloh and the leaders of all the rituals at the Holy Tabernacle. Each of the seven families set up a receiving table with many workers to process the various categories of offerings: fruit, vegetables, wheat, barley, oil, wine, sheep, goats, and cattle, as well as copper and silver coins. The pilgrims lined up along the road, and a group of Levite ushers directed each one to the next available table.

  Order was maintained by groups of soldiers, who marched back and forth in leather armor and long spears. Their commanders bowed to the elder priests every time they passed by. The soldiers’ demeanor made it clear that they would not tolerate even the slightest misbehavior.

  Deborah was assigned to pack fruit in tall baskets. She watched her surroundings with great interest. Shatz Ha’Cohen had a well-run system that processed the offerings quickly and efficiently, which increased the number of pilgrims and offerings his family received, compared to the slower neighboring tables. As each pilgrim approached with a handcart and livestock, workers quickly collected the offerings, counted them, and yelled to the scribe, who wrote the information down on parchment. Live animals were checked and probed for any malady or lameness, and when cleared were pulled into a holding pen behind the table. Shatz’s two eldest sons counted money offerings and wrote down the amounts before dropping the coins in a tall basket.

  Like the other elder priests, Shatz Ha’Cohen sat on a high chair at the end of his family’s long receiving table and oversaw the operation. Every pilgrim announced his name and tribe. Most were from Ephraim or Manasseh, but a few came from the neighboring tribes to the south—Judah, Dan, and Benjamin. The priest raised his hands, parting his fingers in pairs, and conferred Yahweh’s gratitude and grace upon the pilgrim and his family.

  Once received, the various offerings of produce and livestock were sorted out in the back. Except the very best, everything that was sellable was taken to the fairgrounds and sold to the throngs of pilgrims and caravans of foreign traders. Whatever remained of the offerings, such as unripe or overripe produce, or scrawny livestock that was unlikely to attract buyers in the market, was given to the poor.

  Every hour or so, a goat or a sheep was taken to a communal altar on a small hill overlooking the fairgrounds, slaughtered, cleaned, and burned on the altar. The smell of roasting meat drifted over the whole area, and pilgrims lined up before the altar to purchase edible parts of the sacrificial animals, which they ate with their hands while facing the Holy Tabernacle at the top of the hill.

  Deborah remembered her father explaining that every Hebrew must give offerings to the priests. Tithing required one-tenth of all produce and income. In addition, the priests were entitled to the first crop of all fields and orchards, and the firstborn of every farm animal. But now, witnessing the actual process up close, she heard some of the pilgrims announce that their offerings exceeded the mandatory obligation. They did it as a way to express gratitude for good things that had come to them since their last pilgrimage, or to ask for special blessings to improve their future lot. Others, in lower voices, confessed egregious sins they had committed and begged forgiveness in exchange for the additional offerings, pledging to be righteous from this day on. Without exception, Shatz Ha’Cohen granted blessings and pardons in the name of Yahweh while praising the pilgrims for their generosity.

  In the early afternoon, while sorting apples from a basket of offerings, Deborah noticed that everyone around her suddenly grew quiet. Looking up, she saw a group approaching—not to join the long queue of pilgrims along the road, but directly through the nearby field. They wore dark robes with hoods, sheer veils over their faces, and rags over their hands.

  Everyone turned away, for it was common knowledge that staring at a leper would cause a healthy person to become afflicted with the dreaded curse. None of the pilgrims, who had waited in line for hours, protested when the lepers bypassed the line.

  Deborah turned away as well, but curiosity soon drew her eyes back to the group. They seemed pitiful and sad, not scary or threatening. Their suffering was obviously a punishment from Yahweh for sins they had committed, and she wasn’t committing any sin by looking at them with compassion.

  The group of about twenty might have been a family, or merely a collection of unrelated lepers who had joined together after their families had cast them off. It was hard to tell anyone’s age, or even their gender. Each one brought an offering—a basket of fruit or vegetables, a bale of sheep’s wool, or a newborn goat.

  The ushers, whose job was to direct pilgrims from the head of the line to one of the tables, said nothing as the lepers came closer and stopped, unsure which table to choose for their offerings. The silence lingered as hundreds of pilgrims and dozens of priests and workers gazed at the ground and said nothing.

  “They should come here,” Deborah said quietly to no one in particular. She dropped the apples into a basket, stepped forward, and yelled, “Come over here!”

  The lepers’ masked faces turned in her direction and she shuddered, seeing that some of their eyes were gone, leaving empty black holes.

  Raising her hand, she waved them over. “Right here.”

  Shatz Ha’Cohen hissed, “Shut up, girl!”

  The lepers walked over slowly, carrying their gifts.

  He rose from his comfortable chair and, without looking at them, declared, “Step up, brothers and sisters, and make your offerings to merciful Yahweh.”

  The lepers put down the offerings on the ground before the table and tied the rope of the baby goat to the leg of the table.

  “Repent your sins,” Shatz proclaimed. “Renounce your depravities. Throw away your turpitudes for which Yahweh punished you with the curse of affliction and disfigurement.”

  The lepers stood before the elder priest and bowed. Extending his hands forward with the fingers parted in pairs, he looked up at the sky and recited the blessing: “May Yahweh bless you and protect you. May He show you kindness and grace. May He illuminate your path and grant you peace.”

  As they walked away, Deborah noticed that some of the lepers had to lean on each other for support.

  When they were out of earshot, Shatz sat down, sighed loudly, and pointed at Deborah. “You, big mouth, take all of this away. Burn all of it. The goat, too.”

  She heard a few people laugh as the activity resumed at all the tables. One of the women gave Deborah a straw mat in which to pack up the fruit, vegetables, and wool. The young goat followed her to the garbage dump near the gates, where a fire was kept burning all day. She tossed the lepers’ offerings onto the fire, followed by the straw mat. Making sure no one was looking, she
released the young goat near a clump of bushes, where it began to nibble as Deborah ran back to work.

  About an hour before sunset, a priest blew a ram’s horn to signal that no more offerings would be received that day. The pilgrims still waiting along the road to deliver their offerings went across the road to the fairgrounds, where they would spend the night. Merchants conducted the last business of the day while their women cooked the evening meal and fed the children and animals.

  When cleanup was complete and no one was paying attention to her, Deborah slipped away. She ran across the road and over to the other side of the fairgrounds, where Zariz and his family had set up camp the day before, eager to tell him what had happened at Shatz’s house and to beg his father to shelter her again if Shatz decided in favor of Seesya.

  The Moabite family was no longer there. A Canaanite caravan selling figurines and trinkets now occupied the spot.

  She crisscrossed the whole fairgrounds from end to end, back and forth, searching in vain until the sun went down and the first music came from the vineyards. It was the evening following the Dance of the Maidens, and young men were going to dance while the maidens watched from the hillside.

  The realization hit her hard. Zariz was gone!

  Back on the road near the gates, Deborah stood in the dark, filled with a sense of loss and disappointment. The music and cheers from the vineyards mixed with the hum of countless people talking in various languages. The air was filled with smells of cooking and animal waste, and the flames of hundreds of torches painted the city walls with a red glow. In the midst of all this human activity, she felt completely alone.

  A burst of lights drew her eyes to the top of the hill, above the dense houses of Shiloh, where fires ignited simultaneously around the Holy Tabernacle in a spectacle that drew a collective groan of surprise and elation from everyone in the valley below. Lit up against the night sky, the columned edifice with its turquoise walls appeared to float in the air above the city. It was a breathtaking sight, and the pilgrims and merchants watched in awe.