In the Shadow of Sinai (Journey to Canaan Book 1)

by Carole Towriss

  He walked among the furnishings arranged in front of the dwelling. He ran his fingers over the candlestick and smiled as the sun danced on it. Its base, shaft, and seven arms were fashioned from one piece of gold. Each arm ended in a flower-like cup, so that it held seven candles, enough to light the inner room of the tabernacle.

  He turned at the sound of a gasp. Meri stood behind him with her hand to her mouth. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it, not even at the palace.” She reached out to touch the candlestick then drew her hand back as though she were afraid it might burn her.

  “Thank you. And it’s all right to touch it. Nothing’s been anointed or dedicated yet.” He took her hand in his and guided it toward the gold. “It took weeks. It was the last item to be crafted before the mercy seat.”

  “Are those almond flowers?” She pointed to the cups at the base of each stem that held the candles.

  “I’m glad you can recognize them.” He laughed, and gestured to the other pieces around him. “It’s all complete. It’s been six months of hard work, but it’s the best work I’ve ever done. We’re waiting for Moses to tell us when to set it up and put it all together.”

  Meri strolled among the other pieces of furniture. She ran her hand along the inside of a large basin.

  Bezalel joined her. “That’s a laver. It’s made of bronze, for washing before entering the worship area.” He laced his fingers with hers and led her from piece to piece. “And this is the altar. It was carved of acacia wood and then covered with bronze.” The altar came to Bezalel’s chest, and was wider than he was tall. He pointed to a small table. “This is made of wood and covered in gold, and will go inside along with the lampstand. I’m not sure yet what goes on top of it.”

  “Bread will sit on it. Twelve loaves.” Moses’s voice was still quite strong for a man of over eighty years.

  “Bread? Why bread?” Meri turned to him and furrowed her brow.

  “A symbol of Yahweh’s willingness to dwell with us. The bread will be in His presence always. The priests will bake new loaves each Sabbath to replace the old ones. There will be twelve—one for each of the tribes.” Moses inspected the pieces around him.

  “Aaron has two weeks of training before he and his sons are consecrated. Yahweh said we are to set up the tabernacle on the first day of the first month of the second year – the first of Abib.”

  He walked around the altar. “These are exquisite, Bezalel. Exceptional. You are truly gifted.” He looked at the candlestick. “I think this is my fav—” Moses froze in midsentence.

  “What?”

  “Hush!” Moses held up his hand.

  Bezalel’s mind went back to the moment a year ago when Sabba hushed him on the shore of the Yam Suph. His heart panged for more than one reason.

  Moses tilted his head. His eyes glistened. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  He raised one finger. “There! Again.”

  “I’m sorry. I heard noth—” A crack ripped through the air. Then another, louder. A long rumble shuddered the earth beneath their feet.

  “What is that?” Meri grabbed Bezalel’s arm.

  “That, my child, is the sound of ice cracking. And worse, falling. This time of year there is almost always snow on the mountains, and I’ve seen the effects of melting snow and ice as we head into spring. And I know that those sounds mean a flood will be loosed. Soon.” He looked up at Mount Sinai, and then to the left of the big mount. He tilted his head and listened some more. “It’s coming from Sinai. It will flood the east end of the valley, probably to near the center before the water slips through the rocks. We have a little time, but not long.”

  The old man surveyed the tabernacle and its furnishings. “Warn the Levites. They are to gather the pieces of the tabernacle—they already know who is responsible for what part. And tell the elders to move everyone else either west or to the low mountains. They needn’t get too high. The water doesn’t rise far but it will be fast, and strong.” He glanced at Meri, at her belly, and then back to Bezalel. He pointed toward Sinai. “Get her safe. Tell the elders. I’ll go north and send someone south.”

  The old man rushed off and Bezalel marveled at how fast he could move.

  Bezalel grabbed Meri’s hand and headed toward his tent, acutely aware of her pregnant body beside him. He was torn between wanting to run to get there faster, and going slower to keep her safe. Would it hurt her if she ran? He had no idea.

  He reached his tent and found Nahshon and Amminadab. They started spreading the word and Israelites ran north and south for the low mountains. Bezalel sent Meri south with Kamose for the time being and sprinted back to the center of camp.

  Bezalel and the Levites headed in the opposite direction of everyone else. They gathered pieces of the tabernacle that could be carried—mostly the cloth coverings—and ran west. The huge acacia wood poles finished with silver and bronze—sixty of them—were pushed into piles and left together, lying east to west. The gold-plated acacia boards and pillars for the Holy Place were gathered as well. He hoped they could withstand the force of the water. Even if they were pushed along, they were too big to be thrown out of the valley. The altar and laver were set behind the poles. The rest of the pieces were taken by the Levites west or to higher ground.

  Bezalel sprinted south to Meri. The sound of falling water grew louder and he shot a glance over his shoulder. Waterfalls popped up one after another, dotting Sinai and the mountains on either side. Pulse pounding, he doubled his speed and checked over the other shoulder. All the Levites were close to the foot of the lower mountains. The tabernacle was safe.

  Ahead of him, Kamose helped women and children onto the rocks. Men and youths clambered up around the captain. Where was Meri?

  To Bezalel’s left the rushing water closed in on him. The roar made it difficult to think. He caught up with Meri at the base of the rocks just before the water reached them. Why wasn’t she up higher yet? He found an open space, climbed up ahead of her, and turned to grab her hand.

  She was frozen. Terror covered her face. Her eyes were fixed on the rock in front of her, but apparently she couldn’t make herself move. Water swirled around her feet.

  “Meri! Now!” He reached for her, took her hand, and pulled. The sound of roaring water grew louder. His heart pounded in his ears.

  Her eyes met his. Some of the fear melted away and trust replaced it. She put one sandaled foot on a rock and searched for another foothold. Two more steps. She looked to him again for assurance.

  He dragged her forward. Almost safe. Just a few more steps. He smiled to calm her.

  She placed her left foot and stood. She lifted her right foot again, but a stocky young man rushed by her, shoving her out of the way. She toppled, fell to her left, and bounced down over slippery, wet rocks to the ground.

  Terror seized him and for a moment he was unable to move or even think. “Meri!” Bezalel rushed to her as water covered her body. He slid down rocks, banging elbows and knees. He groaned as he tried to pick her up, but between the force of the flow and her lopsided weight, he couldn’t lift her. He cried out as he tried again.

  Her belly kept her face under water. She flailed against the lack of air, making it harder for Bezalel to get a grip. She grabbed onto a rock and managed to pull her head out and drew in a gasping, screeching breath. Her face was pale and her eyes were wild.

  Kamose stepped in and lifted her and carried her up away from the flood.

  Bezalel followed. When Kamose set her safely on higher ground, Bezalel looked for the one who had knocked her down. He was waiting there, wanting to be found. Bezalel recognized his tunic and his build.

  Michael smirked. “One less Egyptian. Or should I say, two.”

  Bezalel clenched his hands into fists as the blood raced to his head. He looked at Michael and then to Meri.

  He chose Meri.

  She was soaking wet, but safe. She sat up then clutched at her stomach and screamed.

>   “The baby?” The air left Bezalel’s lungs in a rush and he knelt by her.

  Meri breathed loudly and rapidly.

  Bezalel stood and searched for Imma. He found her and called for her. She pushed her way toward him. Bezalel sat down behind Meri before his mother reached him. He supported her back and wrapped his arms around her.

  Meri cried out again.

  “What happened?” Imma’s eyes grew wide at the sight of her daughter-in-law sitting on the ground looking like a wet cat—and sounding like one.

  Bezalel looked to his mother, silently pleading. Meri leaned her head back against him, panting. He had absolutely no idea how to help her. Was the baby still alive or had the fall onto the rocks killed him? Would Meri be all right?

  Kamose answered. “Someone pushed her and she fell, and I think the baby is coming now.” He gestured toward the valley floor. “The water is already receding. It should be gone very soon.”

  Bezalel looked down. The flood was indeed nearing its end. The whole thing had lasted less than half an hour. The water was flowing back out of the valley and down into the desert far below them as fast as it had fallen from the mountaintops. People already climbed down.

  Meri leaned forward and screamed. Imma knelt beside her and took her hand, whispering instructions in her ear. A couple other women hovered as well. When the pain subsided, Imma brushed back Meri’s hair.

  Bezalel searched his mother’s face. “It’s too early, Imma.”

  “Only three weeks, habibi. Babies often survive coming that early.

  And three weeks is only a guess to begin with. A good guess—the Egyptians were very skilled at that—but still, it is up to Yahweh. I’ll go get things ready.”

  Bezalel closed his eyes and buried his face in Meri’s hair. He fought the tears building up behind his eyelids and tried to remember what he had learned on the mountainside months ago.

  Kamose knelt and tapped him on the shoulder. Bezalel couldn’t look at him, didn’t want Kamose to see him cry. He looked the other way as the big soldier picked Meri up and carried her down the rocks.

  Imma had rushed ahead. She found a tent someone was willing to let them use in the dry, western half of camp, then came back to lead them.

  As Bezalel followed behind Kamose, his wife cried out once more.

  Bezalel poked a stick into the fire. It had been hours, and he wasn’t allowed anywhere near Meri. He knew she was on the dry side of camp in a tent, with Imma and other experienced women to help her, but he longed to comfort her. Her cries rang in his head.

  The sun had dried up much of the water, and though it wasn’t quite dry enough to set them up yet, most of the Israelites had were sorting through the tents slammed against the rocks or scattered on the floor of the valley.

  He jabbed at the flames. Was Meri all right? Was the baby alive? Why wouldn’t someone tell him something?

  Michael. Why did it come back to Michael again? How could one person bring so much pain into his life? Was he going to take away someone else now? Would Yahweh let him do that?

  Bezalel stood. Nahshon had found his tent and brought it back for him. It lay collapsed on the ground near him. He found the opening and reached inside, fumbling around for a moment until he found what he searched for. He grabbed it and marched off.

  Kamose watched Bezalel as he left the campfire with a dagger in his hand. What did he plan to do? Surely Michael deserved to be punished for his actions, deserved to die, even. But would Bezalel simply march off and murder him in the camp?

  Kamose followed him at a distance. Bezalel was preoccupied enough not to notice. When he left the tent areas, Kamose breathed a sigh of relief. But where could Bezalel be going?

  He kept following, although in the open it was harder to stay hidden. Bezalel headed southwest for the gardens and disappeared into the trees.

  Kamose entered and sloshed through the trees until he found Bezalel in the still dry western garden. He stood near a tree with dark, twisted bark and pink flowers, head on his arm against the bark.

  “What are you doing?”

  Bezalel started and turned. “What do you mean?”

  “I followed you. You left with a dagger. I thought you might have meant harm to … someone.”

  “Oh … you mean Michael. I thought about it; I admit it. But that really wouldn’t accomplish anything. Meri and the baby will live or die, whether I kill Michael or not.” He took a deep breath. “The last time I got angry, I nearly broke both my hands, I couldn’t lift my arm for weeks, I terrified my wife, and I spent the night on a mountainside. And after all that, Sabba was still dead.”

  He fingered the blade of his dagger. “Sabba trusted in Yahweh his whole life. When Savta was taken, when Abba died, when I was taken to the palace—he never wavered. He was not always happy, but he…” Bezalel paused, as if he were searching for the right words. “He had trust, or hope, or peace. I’m not sure what it was, exactly, but … I can’t fight my life anymore. I have to trust Yahweh. All I can do is pray.” He stared toward the mountain. “I don’t want to lose Meri or my baby, but I’ve learned being in the shadow is warm and safe, not cold and dark.”

  Kamose frowned. “What?”

  Bezalel shook his head. “Nothing. Something Meri taught me.”

  “Then why are you carrying your dagger?”

  Bezalel glanced at a small tree next to him and shrugged. “I just came to see if there were any pomegranates left. Meri loves them. And I needed something to do.” He reached over and sliced off some of the deep red fruit. “Going back?”

  “Later. I’m going to wait here a bit.” Kamose watched Bezalel walk off. He had known who Bezalel was, of course, since he first came to the palace. It was his job to know everyone in the palace. But he had never talked to him until he started searching for Ahmose. In the past eleven months, since they had left Egypt, they had become quite close.

  Bezalel seemed different since his night on the mountainside. He’d lost his anger. But his life since then had been rather idyllic, except for the loss of Sabba. A beautiful young wife who adored him, living on this lush, highland plain, freedom from slavery, even the chance to create again. And a baby coming. What was there to be angry about?

  But this was different. He had expected a violent outburst. He himself would have gladly killed Michael for Bezalel. Meri had come to mean almost as much to him as Bezalel did.

  Kamose paced. How could he explain this?

  He had decided even before he left Egypt that Ramses was not a god. And obviously there was something to Yahweh’s power—he had seen too much to doubt it. But was there more to Yahweh than raw power?

  He thought back to the night Ahmose prayed for Bezalel. Kamose had never understood prayer. It never did any good in Egypt. The gods did what they wanted to, if they were even gods at all. And if Yahweh were really God, and knew everything, and was in control, why did He need someone like Kamose to tell Him what to do?

  But Yahweh certainly meant something more than power to Ahmose. He always had to Sabba. And now to Bezalel. Was it worth a try?

  Kamose knew only one way to address a superior. So he stood straight and tall and faced Mount Sinai.

  “Yahweh, I am a soldier. I understand only orders. And I know that often commanders know things soldiers do not. So if this cannot be done, I understand.

  “I have one request: please save Meri and the baby. They have become my family—Bezalel, Meri, Ahmose, and Imma. The only family I have, now that I have left Egypt. We have lost Hur; please don’t take anyone else away.”

  As Bezalel neared his tent, he noticed Imma returning from the birthing tent. He dropped the pomegranates and sprinted to her.

  She grabbed his shoulders. “Habibi, all is well! You have a daughter!”

  He threw his arms around her and cried with relief.

  “When can I see Meri?”

  “You can see her now, but she is exhausted. Come.”

  He tiptoed into the tent. Meri lay on
a pile of blankets, her face pale and wet, her hair falling all around. In her arms was a tiny … person. His breath caught in his throat. He’d seen babies before, but he had never been so close to one. Her perfect miniature hands, nose, mouth—they were extraordinary. He reached for Meri’s face. “Are you well?”

  She laughed softly. “I’m fine. Very tired, but well.” She lifted the baby to him. “This is your daughter.”

  He hesitated.

  “She won’t break.”

  “Are you sure?” He chuckled. He put out his arms, pulled them back, and then reached again and took the baby.

  “Put your arm under her head.” Meri adjusted his forearm.

  “I’ve felt more comfortable holding bags of gems and gold dust.”

  Meri laughed. “What shall we name her?”

  Bezalel drew his finger along the baby’s face. “She is so beautiful. More beautiful than anything I have ever made, or even seen.”

  She stared at him.

  He looked up at Meri. “What about Adi?”

  “Adi” She repeated the word thoughtfully. “What does that mean?”

  He smiled. “Jewel. My precious, faultless jewel.”

  She reached up and touched his cheek. “It’s perfect.”

  1 Abib

  Bezalel rose before dawn and made his way to the tabernacle site. He watched as the Levites placed silver sockets on the ground. Gold-covered wood boards and crossbars were added to form walls.

  Meri joined him, carrying baby Adi. “What are they doing?”

  “Setting up the tabernacle.”

  “Why aren’t you helping?”

  “I’m no longer allowed to touch it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It has been dedicated to Yahweh. Only the Levites can touch it now.”

  She rubbed his back. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It’s all right. My part is over. Now they take care of it. Forever. And they have to carry it.” He chuckled and reached for his daughter. “But I get to carry her.” He settled Adi on his chest and laid his cheek on her head. “Look, they’re putting Oholiab’s covering on.” He pointed to the center.