“Hearken, Master,” said Joshua. “There is a noise of war in the camp.”
“No, not a noise of war,” said Moses. “Not the voice of those who shout for mastery, nor the voice of those who plead for mercy. It is the voice of those who sing and rejoice and make strange revel.”
He strode away, holding the two enormous tablets of stone, and Joshua followed. When they reached the camp, it was full night. Fires burned; huge shadows danced. Among the shadows danced the people. They danced before a stone altar. On the altar stood a great golden calf, the calf of Hathor, the cow goddess, mother of the beast gods of Egypt. The sound of Moses’ voice, bellowing with rage, froze the dance.
The dancers turned and saw Moses. He looked gigantic, standing there in the firelight, multiplied by shadows. He looked like a piece of the mountain descended, a giant carved of stone, holding two huge stone tablets. “Foulness!” he cried. “Abomination!”
He raised the tablets of the law. He raised high the enormous slabs of stone and smote the altar, smashing it. He used the table of the law like a great mallet. He smashed the golden calf, then stamped on the pieces, grinding them to powder. He mixed the golden powder with water, and dragged the elders to the trough and made them drink of this foul brew, for his wrath was consuming him. He seized Aaron and cried, “What have you done?”
“The people were set on mischief,” said Aaron. “They said to me: ‘Make us gods that shall go before us, for Moses is dead.’ And I took their gold ornaments and melted them and made this calf. I was afraid they would kill me.”
Moses mounted the broken altar and cried, “Who stands with the Lord? Who belongs to the Almighty God, maker of heaven and earth, the living God, whose image cannot be cast in gold?”
The sons of Levi gathered about him. Also, Joshua and Joshua’s first officer, Caleb, and their young fighting men, who were drawn from all the tribes. Moses said: “Let every man gird on his sword and go from gate to gate and from tent to tent. Let every man slay his brother, his companion, and his neighbor. Let every man be slain who does not stand here with us and declare for God.”
And those who stood with Moses fell upon the others with sword and spear. That night three thousand men fell. To those who were left, Moses said: “You have sinned a great sin. Now I must go to the Lord and try to atone for what you have done.”
He went up the mountain and spoke to the Lord. “Oh, these people have sinned a great sin. They have made gods of gold. I pray you, forgive their sin. If not, then blot my name, also, out of the book that you have written.”
The Lord said: “Go down. Lead the people to the place I have promised you. I will send an angel before you, but I will not go myself, for they have offended me.”
“Will you not visit us?” cried Moses.
“I will visit you. And on that day I will visit your sin upon you.”
“So be it,” said Moses.
“Depart,” said the Lord. “Lead the people. Lead them to Canaan, to a land flowing with milk and honey. But I will not go in your midst, for you are a stiff-necked people, and I will not go now, lest my wrath consume you on the way.”
Moses said: “I thank you, Lord. If I have found grace in your sight, show me the way that I may know you. I beseech you, show me your glory. I want to see you.”
The Lord said: “You cannot see my face. No man can see it and live. Stand here on this rock, and I will let my glory pass before you. I will cover you with my hand as I pass, and you shall not see my face but you shall see me as I depart. And you shall be the only man who has seen me.”
There was a great flashing of golden light. It was like sunlight but it was like sound, also, and the sound was song. And its voice was more boundless than the sea’s voice when it calls to the sailor. The voice stretched to the horizon and was one song, and the song was light.
Moses saw a great slab as of sapphire; the golden light sank into it and turned blue. The voice murmured, and it was a song of night and wind and sea and stars. And Moses swooned with the glory of it. When he awoke the light was ordinary, but he was filled with strength and happiness, and felt young again, and a giant in strength.
He heard the Lord’s voice: “Hew two tablets of stone like the first tablets that you broke. And you shall write again upon stone the words that I utter. And when you go down from the mountain, you shall coffer up these tablets in a great chest made of acacia wood inlaid with gold, which shall come to be known as the ark of the covenant. This ark must go with the people of Israel wherever they go in their long wanderings, and become the most holy furniture of whatever temple they erect to me. Thus they shall be an eternal nation; surviving slavery, massacre, and exile, finding a home always in my law.”
For many days and nights the Lord spoke again to Moses. The words that he spoke were laws and were carved on the stone. He finished and departed.
Moses took up the tablets of stone and descended. The people assembled in a mighty multitude, and he read them the words that were written on the stone, crying, “These are the statutes and ordinances spoken by the Lord, to be your law unto the last generation.”
The people stared at him in wonder. His face was streaming light. It had been kindled by the radiance he had seen upon the mountain, and it burned like a star. It was too bright to look upon; they hid their eyes. And Moses veiled his face and read the words that God had uttered on the mountain:
“ ‘I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.
“ ‘You shall have no other gods before me.
“ ‘You shall not make for yourself a graven image; you shall not bow down to it or serve it, for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God.
“ ‘You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.
“ ‘Observe the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath day to the Lord your God.
“ ‘Honor your father and your mother.
“ ‘You shall not kill.
“ ‘Neither shall you commit adultery.
“ ‘Neither shall you steal.
“ ‘Neither shall you bear false witness against your neighbor.
“ ‘Neither shall you covet your neighbor’s wife; and you shall not desire your neighbor’s house, his field, or his manservant, or his maidservant, or his ox, or his ass, or anything that is your neighbor’s.’ ”
It was thus that Moses gave the law, beginning with those we call the Ten Commandments, which the people of Israel were the first to receive and not the last to forget.
This was thirty-five hundred years ago. There was no law then, as we know it. The strong decreed, the weak obeyed. A king could order a subject beheaded, impaled, enslaved, or thrown into a dungeon to rot—and there was no appeal. There was no check at all upon the power of a slave owner. He could flog his slave to death, or work him to death if that seemed profitable, or use the body of man, woman, and child for his pleasure. A favorite way to correct a lazy slave was to grill him in an iron cage over a charcoal fire.
Into this world Moses strode, bearing his stone tablets. Inscribed on those tablets were laws decreed not by king, priest, or slave master, but by the supreme judge, who punished disobedience with disaster. These statutes for the first time in the history of mankind embodied the idea of justice; they restrained the strong and protected the weak. On the tablets were rules for honest and humane behavior that attached the power of divinity to the most generous impulses of the human heart, and gave them the force of law.
At first, Mosaic law was practiced only by the Hebrews—not always, never perfectly—but sufficiently to kindle a concept of righteousness, whose light has never quite gone out, even in the darkest days. Fifteen hundred years were to pass between the establishment of the law and the destruction of the Second Temple. During that time other peoples learned that the Hebrews, instructed by their God to treat one another decently, derived an inner strength that translated itse
lf into military victory—and, when victory was denied, retained the ability to rebuild their nation after defeat and exile.
The Mosaic law was enormous in scope, detailed, absolutely specific. Besides endless rules for ritual, it ranged from an elementary code of sanitation to statutes protecting widows, orphans, paupers, and slaves.
Besides the Ten Commandments, some of the other laws inscribed on the stone tablets were:
You shall not steal, or deal falsely, or lie to one another.
You shall not bribe or coerce a judge.
When sitting as a judge, you shall not take a gift, for a gift blinds the eyes of the wise, and perverts the words of the righteous.
You shall not curse the deaf, or put a stumbling block before the blind.
If an escaped servant comes to you, you shall not deliver him to his master. He shall dwell with you in the place he shall choose.
If a stranger sojourns with you in your land, you shall not vex him. The stranger that dwells with you shall be as one born among you. You shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.
But the great law bore heavily upon the people. Their souls flinched under the stern purity of these statutes. They stumbled into disobedience, fell into sin. In God’s judgment they were not ready to enter their inheritance, and He kept them wandering in the wilderness.
Moses cried out to Him, “How long, O Lord, how long?”
The Lord answered, “Your people have sinned against me. They have broken my law and ignored my word; they have grieved and offended me. But I have chosen them and will abide by my choice. Nevertheless, they must be punished. And this is the punishment: They shall wander in the wilderness for forty years. All those who came out of Egypt shall perish in the wilderness. Of this weak and wicked generation only two men, Joshua and Caleb, shall go into the promised land.”
“And I, shall I not go into the promised land?”
“You shall go to its borders but not cross into it.”
“Why not, O Lord, why not?”
“You have intervened for this people. You have stood between them and my vengeance. For love of you I spared them. I must consider that they are you or my wrath will consume them. Yet you, too, shall perish in the wilderness. Of the generation that I delivered out of Egypt only Joshua, your captain, and the valiant Caleb shall enter the land that I promised—these two and all the children born in the wilderness, your children and your children’s children; they shall enter their inheritance. They shall be my nation.”
“Then I shall have done my work,” said Moses. “The task that you have given me I shall have fulfilled. I thank you, God, for the fulfillment.”
So God kept the people of Israel wandering in the wilderness for forty years. By this time Moses was a hundred and twenty years old. He knew that his time on earth was ending. “I pray you,” he said to the Lord, “allow me one glimpse of the promised land, although I may not enter it.”
The Lord said: “Among the mountains called Pisgah the highest peak is Nebo. Climb to the top of Nebo, and I will show you the land that I have promised.”
Moses felt the years fall away. Strength returned. He climbed to the top of the mountain. His eyes were no longer dim. He looked upon the land that was to be Israel’s. He saw all of Canaan, from the mountains of Lebanon to the southern desert, from the mountains of Syria to the sea. Lying before him was a scimitar-shaped land of astounding variety, mirroring the richness of the world. Northward stood the mountains of Lebanon, where cedars grew. Eastward were the mountains of Syria, sloping down to the Jordan valley, where a river ran, the Jordan river, widening into a great lake at the base of the mountain where he stood. To the south, past the sullen glare of the Dead Sea, was the desert he knew so well; beyond that, Egypt. To the west, the sea. And that sea, now under a westering sun, was a pool of blue fire.
Moses stood upon Nebo, and God showed him the length and breadth of the land—its hills and streams, the wide, green fields of standing wheat, the harbors and cities, the fig trees, palm trees, and the orchards heavy with fruit, its flocks and herds and grazing places. And it was not only landscape he looked upon, but the terrain of legend. Swimming past him as he stood upon Nebo were the story fragments that had fed the hunger of his people in exile and slavery—Abraham heaping stones onto an altar as a child watched; Isaac digging his well; Jacob grappling a huge fire-robed angel; a lad in a coat of many colors riding a donkey toward his tall, bearded brothers. He heard sounds, also. The wind that grieved among the crags was Esau bewailing his legacy; the sound of the river was Sarah’s laughter.
Moses stood alone upon his peak under a darkening sky. For the last time he looked down upon the land he could not enter, looked upon it all from the edge of the wilderness to the utmost sea.
“Thank you, Lord,” he said. “This rich glimpse will nourish my soul through eternity.”
He went down from the mountain and passed the leadership of all the tribes of Israel to Joshua. Then he died.
And of all the patriarchs and prophets and holy men of Israel, there was none like Moses, for he alone spoke with God face to face.
IN THE PROMISED LAND
FINALLY, AFTER WANDERING in the wilderness for forty years, the Israelites crossed over into the land that God had promised. Moses was dead, and all who had left Egypt had perished on the journey, except Joshua and Caleb. So that it was a horde of young men and women, all born in the wilderness, who followed Joshua into Canaan.
Now, those who went into Canaan were very different from those who had left Egypt. Born into a nomadic life, polished by ordeal, trained in the Mosaic law by those who had heard Moses utter it, they were tough, fervent, literate. Branded upon their soul was a hatred of slavery and a contempt for idolatry. Bred into their very marrow was the conviction that they had been brought by God to Canaan to take it away from those who lived there.
In His instructions to Moses, God had assigned a portion of the land to each of the tribes descended from the sons of Jacob, very strictly denning their borders—the largest portion to the largest tribe, Ephraim; the smallest to the smallest tribe, Benjamin. Now Joshua took a census of the tribes, according to God’s instructions, and set bounds to the territory each was to possess once it had been taken.
But this division of Canaan was done without the permission of the Canaanites and of the other people who dwelt there—the Philistines, the Moabites, the Ammonites, the Edomites, the Jebusites, the giant Anakim. Hundreds of years had passed since Jacob and his sons had departed from Canaan and gone down into Egypt. And the departure of the Israelites had been far more welcome than their return.
All the people who dwelt in Canaan—except the Philistines—were descended from the Hamitic tribes. Canaan was the son of Ham; Ham was the son whom Noah had cursed. But the most powerful of these peoples, the Philistines, were descended from Cretan sea raiders who had taken the west coast of Canaan and held it against all enemies. The Philistines were a clever, warlike people. They were seafarers, fishermen, pirates. They built the great harbor cities of Gath and Ashkelon. They worshipped the fish god, Dagon, and Astarte, the moon goddess, great whore mother of the groves.
The Moabites and Ammonites dwelt in the hills ridging the Dead Sea valley. They were fierce mountaineers, goatherds, robbers. They worshipped a fire god, Molech, an idol made of brass, hollowed like an oven. On feast days the hollow was filled with charcoal, and the charcoal set on fire. The idol grew red hot; into its brass hands live babies were put to roast.
The other Canaanite tribes worshipped the stone idol, Baal, and the moon goddess, Ashteroth, another name for Astarte. They, too, practiced temple prostitution, child sacrifice, ritual orgy, and ritual murder.
These rites were a foulness to the Israelites. The Hebrews were so fired with the idea of a single, all-powerful, law-giving God that they went into battle with a matchless zest. They felt that they were not only reclaiming their land but cleansing it of abomination.
Rumor
s of the Israelites had traveled before them—terrible rumors of a people who despised all customs and all gods except their own. And this God was invisible and almighty; He devoured all other gods, and awarded miraculous victories to His chosen ones. This God wielded calamity as a warrior used his spear—hurling tempest upon the enemies of Israel, assailing them with volcano, tidal wave, earthquake, and shooting fever-tipped arrows of pestilence into their camp. Now these Hebrews were coming out of the wilderness into Canaan, claiming that their dreadful God had promised it all to them, from the Nile to the Euphrates.
A mighty host gathered against the children of Israel. Joshua had to fight for every foot of land. And God gave him victory. Nevertheless, there were defeats, as well.
DEBORAH
AT THIS TIME THERE was no king in Israel. For the first three hundred years after they reached the promised land, each tribe was governed by a council of elders. However, from time to time, when menaced by an enemy, or seeking to cast off the yoke of an oppressor, a single chieftain would emerge from one of the tribes, and, by virtue of his strength and his wisdom, would be accepted as leader by all the tribes. These leaders were called judges. There were thirteen judges, twelve men and one woman. The woman’s name was Deborah, and she was perhaps the most remarkable of all the judges.
She dwelt in a village on the slope of Mount Ephraim. She was a wife and a mother. She was also a woman whose nights were full of dreams and whose days were full of deeds. For often the Lord appeared to her at night and told her what to do, and she would arise to do it. Her fame as a prophetess spread, and the children of Israel went to her for judgment. She sat under a palm tree and heard disputes, summoned witnesses, and gave judgment. And the palm tree she sat under was looked upon as a sign of God’s favor toward her, because palm trees did not grow in that mountain region; hers was the only one.
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