Pearl in the Sand

by Tessa Afshar

  “Think on it, Joa. Where is the goodness of Jericho? Where is its compassion?”

  Joa lowered dark eyebrows. “We’re no different from anyone else. Everyone is the same.”

  “Everyone is not the same. The Hebrews don’t live by our standards.”

  “The Hebrews!” Joa spat the word with such venom Rahab quickly changed the subject. His mood remained dark, however, so after lingering with him for a short while longer, she grew restless again and left for home.

  Once there, she found she could neither sit nor eat. Pacing from room to room, she eventually climbed the narrow ladder to the roof where the flax was drying. Sinking down on the bundles, she stared into the distance, over the boundaries of Jericho’s farmlands. Somewhere beyond the horizon the Hebrews prepared for war.

  “Am I seeing what you see when you look at Canaan?” she asked her invisible enemy. “Have I seen us through your eyes today?” A small groan escaped her. “God of the Hebrews, I know little of your ways and naught of your thoughts. But if you are a god of compassion, then surely my people displease you. I ask your pardon.”

  The day had turned hot, and Rahab grabbed at the diaphanous veil on her head and yanked it off with an impatient move. A soft breeze lifted the heavy weight of her hair from her neck. She raised her face to its caress. The peace that had rested on her in the morning—a peace that brooked no explanation or dissection—returned again and settled over her with a new force.

  “God of the Hebrews, is that you?” An unreasonable conviction filled her mind—the conviction that this god was true, genuine, and present to her at this moment. “You are real,” Rahab said and expelled her breath.

  Peace deepened, thickening and surrounding her like a fog. “I believe in you. You are the God of all heaven and all earth. Perhaps I’m mad, but I believe it.”

  She lay down on the flax bundles and stuck her arms straight up into the air. “I believe!” she shouted.

  The sound of her own voice caught her attention. For the first time in years she felt anchored to something secure. Something good. That thought made her bolt up. “Like my people, I am a woman of wickedness.” In her mind’s eye she saw her bed and remembered what it represented. Every fiber held the memory of her iniquities. Her insincerities. Her lies. Her lust. She had always blamed others for her life. Her father’s betrayal. Her mother’s self-absorption. Her family’s needs. The perfidy of men. The faithlessness of the gods.

  She had been wronged many times, there could be no doubt of that. But she had also made her own choices. Would not God hold her accountable for them? “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I am sorry for it. I promise I will set that life aside. For as long as I live, I will set that life aside.”

  Chapter

  Four

  Salmone!” shouted a familiar voice with annoying insistence. Salmone hunkered lower behind the rock. He loathed giving up a rare moment of privacy, an elusive luxury when you traveled with multitudes of people. His friend, Hanani, called out again. “Time to come out of hiding, O Great Commander. Joshua has business with the leaders of the tribes.”

  That drew Salmone’s attention. With a sigh he untangled his long legs and straightened. “Stop straining the sheeps’ ears. You found me. What does Joshua want?”

  “Do I look like one of his advisers?” Hanani asked, scratching his beard and yawning. “He just said to find you. He wants to meet with the leaders of the tribes, so enough of this hiding out like a shy bride on her wedding night.”

  Salmone smiled. The closer Israel drew to the Promised Land, the greater his list of responsibilities grew. As a leader, he acted as advisor, mediator, warrior, decision maker, coordinator, organizer, commander, and cattle herder. His father, Nahshon, had held even greater responsibility than he as the leader of the people of Judah, and under his tutelage Salmone had grown accustomed to the burdens of duty early in life.

  “Thanks for fetching me, Hanani,” he told his friend and began to stride back toward the camp. Joshua didn’t call pointless gatherings, he knew. A man of action, he used his time with careful frugality.

  Salmone found the men already assembled around Joshua, and sat where he could best hear. Joshua’s stocky figure stood ramrod straight on a sloping hill. His salt-and-pepper hair waved in the warm breeze. Nothing else about him seemed to move. “I have news of Moses,” he started, but his voice wavered and he paused.

  Two days ago, Moses had called the people of Israel together. “I’m getting on in years and am no longer able to lead you,” he had announced. The crowd had objected in dismay, for Moses still showed the vigor of a man in his prime in spite of his advanced age. His eyes had the vision of a young man, his muscles bulged, and he strode about with the crisp movements of youth.

  To the murmuring of Israel, Moses had merely raised a silencing hand. He was used to objections from them, and their insistence no longer swayed him. “The Lord has informed me that I shall not cross the Jordan with you. He has chosen Joshua to be your leader, and so I name him, and so I bless him.

  “It’s time to leave fear behind or you’ll be robbed of your destiny. You don’t need confidence in yourselves or in your own power. Be strong in the Lord. When disaster seems close, don’t be discouraged. God will never leave you.” When Moses finished his address, he set out for Mount Nebo. That was two days ago, and now Joshua had fresh news of him. The gathered leaders held their silence, barely breathing.

  “Before he left, Moses again laid hands on me and blessed me,” Joshua disclosed. Salmone could see the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed several times. “Moses told me he would not be coming back from Mount Nebo. He was right, as usual. The Lord has informed me that His servant Moses is dead.”

  Some of the men gasped; others sat stunned. Could it be true? Had Moses died? They understood that none of Moses’ generation save Joshua and Caleb would live to enter the Promised Land; Moses himself had said as much.

  Salmone stared at Joshua in disbelief. He noticed the glint of unshed tears in Joshua’s brown eyes and knew with sudden certainty that he would never see Moses again. Throughout Salmone’s life Moses had been there like a beacon guiding his people. Surely there would never be another man with his faith. Surely Israel had lost her greatest leader. Salmone put his hand on the front of his tunic and tore it. The men around him looked at Salmone wide-eyed. It was as if his action made Moses’ death a reality.

  Joshua nodded and tore his own tunic. “Tomorrow,” he said, “Israel will begin grieving for Moses formally. We will have thirty days to shed tears and mourn. Then we must move. The Lord is about to give us this land. Tell the tribes. Prepare them for grief. Prepare them for obedience.” He raised his arms. “Prepare them for victory!” he shouted.

  Salmone rose with the rest of the leaders and walked back toward his tent, dragging with every step. He was an old hand at mourning. He had lost mother and father. He had lost a young wife. Tears would come, he knew. Yet rejoicing was not far behind. Finally, finally, after a lifetime of wandering from wadi to wadi, from valley to plateau, from gravel paths to limestone fields he was in sight of home. He gazed around him and took in the mobile camp that formed the only life he had ever known. Tents, large and small, dotted every cubit of the landscape. Makeshift pens held livestock—sheep in some, goats in others, with a few cows and oxen here and there. Their smell and dust filled the air. What would it feel like to live in a house, to have a barn, to own land? He was about to find out. Home meant more battles and trials, but it also meant a fresh hope for the future.

  As he strode toward his tent, Michael, Sethur, and Jedaiah cut across his path. Good. These were men of influence who would help him spread the news.

  “Is it true, my lord? Is Moses really dead?” Michael asked. He was a stocky man several years Salmone’s senior. There was a steadiness about him that Salmone liked and trusted.

  Salmone nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid it is. The greatest loss we have ever known, and yet Joshua assures us that
we will be marching into the lands west of the Jordan in a month.”

  “Lord have mercy!” Sethur cried. “We’re undone! How can we win any battles without Moses?”

  Salmone looked at Sethur through eyes narrowed with calculation. “Undone, are we? I suppose God can’t manage to fulfill His promises without Moses.”

  Sethur made a slashing gesture in the air. “God used Moses to free us from slavery in Egypt. He used Moses to keep us alive in this forsaken wilderness. He used Moses to lead us to victory in every battle we have ever fought.”

  Salmone crossed his arms. “And now He will use Joshua. Or do you have a better plan, perhaps? Would you recommend going back to being Pharaoh’s slave?”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Then stop saying. You are spewing panic. Our faith was never in Moses or in any other man. Our faith is in the Lord God. Every one of us is replaceable. Even Moses.”

  “Does Joshua have a plan?” Michael asked.

  “It’s still early. You know Joshua. He talks to God more than he talks to us. He’ll have a plan in time. We have a whole month to grieve for Moses first.” As Salmone turned, his eye caught Jedaiah and he flinched. The man was trying hard not to burst into tears. Salmone berated himself for a fool. How could he have forgotten the deep affection that Jedaiah held for Moses? A special bond had existed between the older man and the younger. Jedaiah more than adored Moses as a hero. He loved him.

  Salmone reached out and grabbed Jedaiah’s shoulder. “I am so sorry. I know how much Moses meant to you. And I know what you meant to him.”

  Jedaiah’s lip quivered like a little boy’s, and large tears slid down his cheek, disappearing into his beard. “I didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye.”

  “I’m sorry, Jedaiah,” Salmone repeated, grieved for his friend. He was wise enough in the ways of mourning not to offer platitudes. Loss had to be borne, that was all. There were no short ways around it. “We’ll begin formal mourning for him tomorrow. If you wish to play a special part, you should go and see his family.”

  Jedaiah nodded. Salmone guessed that having something practical to do would provide an outlet for his grief. Jedaiah departed at a half run toward Moses’ tent.

  “So we’ll be going into battle soon,” Michael said into the ensuing silence.

  “Indeed. God is giving us the land.”

  Sethur said, “You seem very confident of victory.”

  “I am, Sethur. My confidence is in God. You know how our parents’ faith deserted them. You know even though they had Moses, they refused to fight for fear of losing. I don’t intend to make that mistake. God is giving our generation another chance. I don’t propose to lose my opportunity as my father lost his.”

  Sethur licked his cracked lips with a nervous tongue. “I don’t want to lose my opportunity either.”

  Salmone clapped him on the back. “Good man. Trust God. And when you run out of trust, just obey Him.”

  For the next twenty-four hours Salmone applied his substantial energy to calling out the most influential men and women under his care, explaining to them about Moses and instructing them to do as Joshua had said. Life without Moses seemed unimaginable. Perhaps the Lord meant them to realize that flesh and blood could not bring about their ultimate destiny. Only the Spirit of the Lord could.

  Salmone understood that if they stepped outside the security of their faith, the people would realize what a dubious undertaking the coming battles actually were. Israel’s warriors had nothing to recommend them against the battle-hardened soldiers and walled cities of Canaan. All they had was God. And wrapped up in faith, this seemed more than enough.

  When the thirty days of mourning were over, Joshua called the tribal leaders together. It was evening, and the leaders crowded into Joshua’s large tent. Salmone’s long, hard-muscled limbs were sandwiched between Caleb and Elidad, one of the leaders from the tribe of Benjamin. He could feel their scratchy homespun robes rubbing against his calves. A curious contentment washed over him—contentment at being surrounded by his brothers in spite of their elbows digging into his ribs and his legs being wedged into an awkward fold. Their companionship comforted him. A sense of safety seeped inside his bones.

  In the tight space, Joshua’s voice rang out like the whoosh of a loosed arrow. “We must get the people ready to cross the Jordan River.”

  Elidad cleared his throat. “But Joshua, the Jordan is at flood stage. It’s impassable. Wouldn’t it make more sense to wait a couple of months? It’s been nearly forty years. What’s another two or three months?” Salmone swiveled around to stare at him in astonishment. To his shock, he saw a number of heads nodding in agreement.

  Joshua’s eyes narrowed. “Is this the counsel of the Lord, Elidad?”

  Elidad shifted on his mat. “Well, no. Speaking sense, that’s all, Joshua.”

  “Let me tell you something, every one of you. Human wisdom won’t win us these battles. It will be God alone, as it has been since the day Moses led us out of the bondage of Egypt. We aren’t called to be men of war as other nations understand warfare. We are called to be a people of faith. Our shield is God’s Law. Our sword is His Word. He is our strong tower, and He alone will give us victory. Otherwise we might as well dig our graves now.”

  A silence fell upon the men. How easy to forget they could not live as other nations. How easy to slide into pride and human reasoning that left no room for the ways of God. Finally Elidad broke the silence again. “If the Lord leads us into the churning waters of the Jordan, we will follow, Joshua. We will follow Him anywhere.” Salmone felt his tightened muscles relax.

  “Good.” Joshua’s grin flashed the white of a perfect set of teeth. “Now listen. Go through the camp each one of you. Tell the people to get their supplies ready. Tell them we’ll be crossing the Jordan before the week is over.

  “One more matter. I’m planning to send two men west of the river to spy for us. We especially need information about Jericho. I am not looking for heroics. Just go in, assess the situation, and return. I’d like to know what sort of welcome awaits us.”

  Salmone jumped up. “Send me, my lord.”

  “No, Salmone, I need you here. But fetch your friend Hanani. I will send him and Ezra.”

  Swallowing his disappointment, Salmone bowed his head in obedience. He had long since learned to rein in his impulses. He smiled as he thought of Ezra and Hanani’s excitement at being chosen by Joshua for such an important mission.

  Flooding made the fords nearly impassable. Hanani and Ezra had to cross the hard way—striving against the force of the water in tandem by creating bodily blocks for one another, one standing still, bearing the force of the river on his back, while the other stepped ahead. With sheer determination they flung themselves against the relentless force of the water, battling violent torrents and concealed eddies as their feet nearly gave way with each step. Exhausted, they finally managed to pull themselves out onto the west bank by holding on to branches dragging in the water. They had come too near to drowning.

  After catching his breath, Hanani threw an agonized glance at Ezra. There was no way the people of Israel could pass through that river.

  “Let’s go directly to Jericho,” Hanani suggested. “It’s what Joshua is most interested in, and our time is short.”

  “It’s also the most dangerous part of our mission, Hanani. Passing through the city gates without getting caught won’t be as easy as gathering manna.”

  Hanani pulled on his dark beard. “That’s unavoidable. Just keep your chin down and try not to stare like an Egyptian calf when we get there. We’ll enter during the afternoon bustle and hopefully no one will notice us.”

  “I won’t stare if you don’t babble like a girl. Your accent will give us away before you finish your first sentence.”

  Hanani cast his friend a mock glare. “At least I know how to talk. What about you? ‘Hello, Mi-Mi-Miriam.’ So profound. So charming. I’m sure Miriam ran home and begged her brot
her to give her to you in marriage after that conversation.”

  “Oh, eat your beard.”

  Hanani was too distracted to continue bantering; his halfhearted barbs were only an attempt to mask the heft of anxiety preying on his mind. He suspected Ezra struggled with similar worries.

  The day became uncomfortably hot, and their drenched clothes dried quickly. Soon, the two men stripped off their outer robes and traveled in their simple homespun linens. The road to Jericho was covered by delicate gravel, which was easy on the feet. Hanani, whose feet had grown resilient from years of marching, barely felt the strain of the walk.

  Though still leagues away, Jericho’s stone walls came into view. As the men grew closer, they noticed groups of soldiers marching two-abreast on the top parapet, passing other groups coming from the opposite direction without any difficulty.

  “Nice stonework,” Hanani muttered. “How thick are those walls, anyway?”

  Ezra grunted. They had already discussed their plan. They would walk in brazenly, blend with the crowds, keep their ears open, and walk out toward nightfall without speaking to anyone. Hanani knew their real job was to listen. How were the inhabitants of Jericho reacting to Israel’s victories east of their land? Were they even aware of the events of the past few months? Were they preparing for battle?

  Their plan went awry from the first step. The guards at the gate were checking everyone. Each interview seemed lengthy and detailed, undermining the spies’ intention of entering without being noticed. As the two men approached, one of the guards blocked Hanani’s path and another thumped a beefy finger against Ezra’s chest. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “Merchants,” Ezra said.

  “Where are you from?” the guard persisted.

  “Midian, mostly. But we travel around.”

  The guard frowned. “You talk funny.”

  Hanani glanced around in desperation. There would be no fighting and no running. The gate area was thick with guards. Audacity would be their only hope. “We talk funny because of the dust of the road, brother. My thirst is killing me. And this one,” he nodded toward Ezra, “is so hungry he could swallow a camel and its mother. Let us by, friend. We have money to spend in Jericho.”