The Levite priest looked at her, mildly surprised she would ask. At the same time, he felt a strange yearning to explain and share the lore. “Some sacrifices are freewill offerings to Yahweh—whether after the fulfillment of something, on a joyful occasion, or by way of petition,” he answered. “However, there are two sacrifices that are crucial. Each morning and evening, the community sacrifices a year-old lamb soaked with wine together with choice flour mixed with olive oil. Those are our perpetual offerings to our rock and master.”
The sacrificial offerings attract the entity and incentivize it to dwell in its earthly abodes, transmitted Hagar.
“The other obligatory reason for sacrifice is the occasional need for purging.” He settled back in his cushion and scratched his short, tangled beard. “At the heart of everything is the Covenant,” he said. “Our Rock provides us with protection, rain, and abundance of harvest. In turn, we obey His words and follow His edicts.” Avinadab’s face became stern. “But what happens if one of us unintentionally violates any of His commandments?”
Lee merely looked at him.
“The violation pollutes, and this pollution reaches the dwelling places of El Shaddai.” He glanced at them to make sure they were following. “Eventually, the abodes may become so contaminated, Yahweh would depart and leave us.” There was no need to spell out what that would mean.
“How do you cleanse the space?” asked Lee.
He nodded with approval at the question. “With life essence: the blood of an offered animal. If an individual has accidentally violated a prohibition, he brings the offering, and a priest purges the sanctuary’s courtyard. Now, if the entire community has done so, the priest has to purge both the inner sanctum and the courtyard with an offering brought by a representative of the community.”
“What happens if someone deliberately violates something?”
“This pierces the last veil and reaches the innermost sanctum within Yahweh’s abodes. While the evildoer is barred from making an offering, once a year, during the Day of Purgation, the high priest purges the holy of holies, the innermost sanctum. As you can see, the greater the violation, the deeper it penetrates into the houses of Yah. This is but a simplistic account, but I trust you grasp the principles.”
“I believe I do, yes,” Lee said carefully.
“Mind you,” interjected Yoash, “the purging of the divine dwellings is not a substitute for the actual atonement of the crime—which may take the form of death, due restitution, or being cut off from our midst.”
The patriarch looked askance. “Well, yes.” He returned his attention to Lee. “There is something else that needs to be spoken of.” His features clouded. “Murder, idolatry, and sexual abominations not only defile the divine dwelling but also the land. Contamination of the land cannot be cleansed. It takes generations for the pollution to dissipate on its own. However, if abominations overfill the territory, the earth will vomit its inhabitants.”
He really means, eject its inhabitants, transmitted Hagar. In Lee’s mind flashed the image of the desolate ruins of Rabbat Ammon.
Avinadab concluded, “Therefore, the burden and fate of the transgressions are shared by everyone. We are all culprits because we have let a rascal grow up in our midst. We are all responsible because, even if we did not encourage that person, we stood silently by. The silent majority.”
The patriarch gestured at the food by way of invitation, and they all commenced eating.
The dinner was a simple affair. Earlier, the elderly matriarch had thrown on a heated stone some flour mixed with olive oil. She served the flatbreads with baked onions. The main dish was steaming vegetable and lentil stew.
There’s something unexpectedly appealing in all of this, transmitted Lee.
Indeed. There is a sense of simplistic certainty to it all, which pushes away the vast nameless currents of the unknown; Yahweh’s paternal presence is comforting; and his code of law institutes fairness and even generosity.
The meal was winding down. Dark wine was consumed liberally, and small honey cakes were greedily eaten. Ephah, the patriarch’s aging wife, got up, fetched tambourine-like instruments, and distributed them to the female members of her household. This was greeted with ululations.
“O Yahweh, when you came forth from Seir,” the old patriarch started off, intoning. All the family members joined him in the song, “When You strode from the fields of Edom, O the earth heaved and the very heavens dripped rain.”
The women started dancing around. The men, seated, were banging with their wooden bowls, keeping rhythm.
“My strength and my power is Yah,” they all shouted merrily.
Yahweh is a man of war,
Yah is His name.
O Champion of Yaacov, there is strength in Your loins.
For what god is there in the heavens and on earth who could do like Your deeds and like Your might? For who can be compared to Yah among the deities? Yah, God of Armies.
You send forth Your wrath; it consumes them like straw.
Your enemies cower before You, and You will march on their backs.
He consumes nations, His foes, He crushes their bones and smashes their loins!”
There was a loud crashing sound as the men slammed their bowls down, followed by hoots, laughter, and a brief round of ululations.
“Who is like You among the gods?” the slightly drunk, happy people hollered.
Earlier, a bleary Hagar had excused herself and was led by Tamar, using a wooden ladder, to the sleeping quarters on the second floor.
Noting Tamar did not return, the patriarch climbed up to call on her.
He found her standing with a razor in her hand over the still figure of the woman in golden hair.
“What have you done?” demanded the priest, as a jolt of fear hit him. Tamar jumped at the sound of his voice, the razor dropping from her hand.
A flush crept up her face. He couldn’t tell if she was abashed or nettled. “I put something in her drink and thought to shave off her hair while she was drugged.”
“Why?” Avinadab asked, bewildered and pained. He squeezed his eyes shut. “They’ve come in the shadow of our roof-beam,” he exclaimed. “Guests.”
For a moment, anger blazed in Tamar’s eyes. “I have seen the way this son of yours lusted after the golden-haired one.” The young woman jerked her head in the direction of the comatose figure. “He leered and was being the fool! And she is not even of the Seed.” Tamar crossed her arms over her chest, glowering. “‘Rejoice in the wife of your youth,’” she recited in a mocking tone. “‘Let her breasts ever slake your thirst, you’ll always dote in her love,’” she crooned, imitating the older people. “‘And why dote, my son, on a stranger-woman and cradle her lap?’”
Avinadab’s hand reached for the intricate tassels on his robe, fingering the indigo thread. “Jealousy does not become you, daughter,” he said at long last, mostly because he was expected to reproach her. But privately he had to admit she was right to be angry with her husband. He turned his head to gaze at the drugged woman. She was the most desirable woman he had ever seen. Skin fair as the moon, hair dazzling as the sun. Her lips were like a scarlet thread. The rounded swell of her perfect breasts like twin gazelle fawns. Earlier, he was wondering about the feel of her smooth, ivory skin underneath her robes.
When a traveler is thirsty, he will open his mouth and will drink from any nearby water, he mused. He brought himself out of his reverie with some effort and fixed his gaze on Tamar. “She is not at fault; she had done nothing unbecoming,” the elderly Levite pronounced. “The woman will be leaving us tomorrow morning. Let her go in peace.”
For a brief moment, Tamar looked ready to argue, but then she bit her lip, picked up the razor, and walked away, her long gown swishing, bracelets tinkling.
He was about to put out the lamp in the room when something caught h
is eyes. What was in the hands of the exotic woman? A book? The priest drew closer. Indeed, that’s what it seemed to be. What a curious form it had.
He pried it gently out of her limp hands and strolled to his bedchamber, thumbing through it and marveling at how thin the sheets of paper were.
Under the light of a burning wick, he read page after page through the passing hours. He recognized the majority of the ballads and poems; they were copied from the Book of Yashar and the Book of the Wars of Yahweh. The utterances of Yahweh and the laws in Exodus were taken from the Book of the Covenant. The rest of the text, most of the text, was another matter.
Avinadab encountered names of people he had never heard of before, battles that had never taken place, and a Yisra’elite human king—an outrage if there ever was one. He also came across accounts of priestly instructions for his people, one set after another. Each one added or subtracted something. He frowned and stroked his chin. At first, he thought it was merely scribal errors. But some of the changes appeared intentional.
In “Song of Moshe,” Avinadab puzzled out the original passage: “When the paramount god gave estates to people…he set out the boundaries of people by the number of the deities.” However, it was altered to say: “He set out the boundaries of people by the number of the Yisra’elites.” The Seventy Lesser Deities of the world along with the land and the people deeded to them by el elyon, the supreme god, to rule were erased with the stroke of one word. When he re-read some of the pages, other significant modifications had registered.
Exodus rightly noted that the father can either refuse or consent to give his daughter away in marriage to a ravishing man. However, this was modified in Deuteronomy, where the father was bound to do so, even if the matchmaking was terrible. It got worse. In installing a professional judiciary at the town gate, Deuteronomy expressly ousted the clan elders from their traditional role as mediators and arbiters.
Avinadab kept on reading, his mood increasingly darkening.
In the morning, Lee was shaking Hagar until the blonde woman sat up with a groan. She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Damn, I think I was drugged last night.”
Lee shot her a concerned look. “Drugged, you say?”
“Yes. But I have a feeling—”
She stopped talking. Avinadab stood in the doorway, grim as death. His curly black hair gleamed like coal in the dim room.
“So, who killed Goliath?” he spat out. “Was it David son of Yishai or was it Elchanan son of Ya’are-Oregim? Your book lists them both.”
He flung it at Hagar’s feet.
Oh, shit, thought Hagar.
“Is that what I think—” began Lee, but her companion made a chopping motion with her hand.
“So you read it,” Hagar stated.
“I welcomed you into my home and…and you bring this…thing under my roof,” he sputtered, eyes wide with outrage.
Hagar rose to her feet in one fluid motion and walked up to him. “But you don’t know what this book is, do you?” she said quietly.
“An abomination that should not exist!” he shouted as other villagers crowded in, all talking. “‘You shall not add to the word I charge you, and you shall not subtract from it’!” screamed the priest in rage, his face turning purple.
“Avinadab—” started Hagar.
“Don’t talk!” shrieked the Levite. He whirled. “Take these two women and stand watch while the elders decide their fate.”
Hagar considered the predicament they were in, then gave Lee a nod, and the two were led outside.
Two seemingly unarmed women, one elderly and the other small in stature. The villagers did not have a clue. And therefore did not bother to tie them. They were content to let them sit together by the well while a few women and children kept watch.
Time dragged on as the elders sat in a circle under a large acacia tree, debating and arguing among themselves.
Lee studied the assembled group of aged men. “When are you going to get us out of here?” she inquired. “Before or after they stone us?”
“I hope it won’t come to stoning,” Hagar replied. She smiled faintly. “Oh, I can extricate us all right, but things can get…messy. If I end up killing some of Yahweh’s flock, the chances of his help will plummet. Let’s see what they decide and take it from there.”
“Was it the Hebrew Bible he found?”
“Yes. And we need to get it back somehow. My plan requires it.” Hagar gritted her teeth in anger.
“How do you intend to use it to get us out of this world? The Hebrew Bible doesn’t exactly provide a flattering picture of the Israelites, you know.”
“True. I had to remove large sections of it,” Hagar admitted. There was a faint glint of humor in her eyes. “If Yahweh were to learn of the decadence Amos described, he would write those people off and never look back. If he were to learn how Chronicles and Ezekiel challenged the precepts of inter-generational retribution and collective punishment, he would shit bricks. If he were to learn the theology in Daniel, he would not even associate it with his own.”
“Does the Hebrew Bible really contain contradictions and alterations?”
Hagar glanced hopefully at the elders. But it seemed the heated discussion the men were having was not going to end any time soon. They had time on their hands. Plenty of it.
She cleared the immediate area around her from rocks and reseated herself. “You are thinking of the Hebrew Bible as a cohesive, unified piece. It’s not; it’s a library of different theological streams. In turn, each body of work within the Bible, within this library, is in effect a compilation. Each of these draws on various parables, stories, voices, and accounts. Each of these contains layers upon layers that have coalesced through the centuries, gradually altering meaning, expounding, extrapolating, reinterpreting. Think of the Bible as centuries-long compilations of wiki entries. Even a cursory reading of the repeating divine revelation scenes on Mount Sinai makes this obvious.”
Hagar pondered. “I suppose it can be said Chronicles is a reworking of Samuel and Kings. One of the stories in Daniel may have reworked The Healing of King Nabonidus. Tales of the Patriarchs reworked parts of Genesis. Deuteronomy reworked Exodus. A body of laws in Leviticus may be a revision and incorporation of laws in both Exodus and Deuteronomy. And Temple Scroll may have reworked large sections of all those bodies of laws and related rituals.”
“I am unfamiliar with some of those works.”
“Some came later, some had a theology whose appeal was limited to a certain era or sects. Hence, millennia later, they are far less known.”
Hagar went on, “Most people think the Hebrew Bible defines Judaism. In truth, the theology of the Bible never did reflect much of the reality on the ground. Anyway, over two millennia passed since, and new bodies of work came into being: from the Mishnah to Gemara to Mishneh Torah to Shulchan Aruch; from the early Enoch apocalypses to Sefer Yetzirah to the Zohar to Pardes Rimonim to Etz Chaim to Likutey Moharan—if to name but a few landmarks. This brings us to the present age: a vast library, ranging from the prosaic to the mystic, from Wisdom literature to deep symbolism, reflecting different streams within Orthodox Judaism and spanning countless generations.”
Hagar stretched her legs in front of her and shook them.
“For the most faithful adherents, Judaism is foremost a way of life, encompassing both broad moral precepts and numerous procedures dictating every conceivable aspect of one’s life.
“The vast body of regulatory codes may have its start in the small collections of laws and rituals in Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. However, fast-forward to the present time, and Judaism at is contemporary religious core is both noticeably different and infinitely more articulated. It has far more to do with the thousands of pages of Kagan’s Mishnah Berurah—and beyond—with the conduct rulings spelled out in the thousands of pages in collection
s such as Igros Moshe and Yalkut Yosef. Mind you, this is but the treatment of the mundane. As I said, there are vast bodies of work that delve into mysticism, existential issues, and metaphysics.”
Hagar added, “Overlaying all this in the last couple of centuries is the rearrangement of a major portion of the Jewish society at its religious core. It has transformed itself to tightly-knit groups, each centers around a dynasty, whose leader routinely holds court in every sense of the word. Those cult-like dynasties—such as the Satmar, Chabad, Belz, Ger, and Bobov—are as removed as possible from what El Shaddai and the Yisra’elites are about.”
Her eyes sought and held Lee’s. “The Yisra’elites and their patron god must not get a whiff of these blasphemies by the Jews—or my plan to get us back home will crash and burn.”
Chapter 15
In the end, the elders resolved that the fate of the two women was to be decided by the casting of urim and tummim, when a stranger strode in.
Mal’akh!
Lee could sense the heightened, almost predatory alertness of her companion.
“There are two foreign women among you,” announced the stranger. He was a nondescript man of medium height in his thirties. Yet, his confident poise left no doubt as to his identity. “They are to accompany me.” His voice held no inflection. It belonged to someone holding the supreme assurance that his will be obeyed without question.
He then noted the gathering of the elders. “What has transpired here?”
The Levite frantically whispered something to one of his sons, who took off at a run. The priest bowed down to the enigmatic figure. “Those two foreigners you spoke of had in their possession a book of falsehoods,” he said and handed it over. “I was the one who invited them into my house, unaware.”
The mal’akh leafed through the pages for a few minutes. No expression on his face. The Levite’s son sprinted out with a pan holding smoking incense, halted a few paces away from the mal’akh, and started fanning the smoke about.
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