by Tessa Afshar
Miriam looked up at Rahab with widened eyes. “That’s it, exactly.”
Rahab sensed the anger and defensiveness draining out of her sister. Izzie deliberated for some moments while the rest of them waited. If the men had been horses, she could swear they would have been pawing the ground with their hooves—they had no patience for waiting in tension.
The blanket they had folded over the scarlet rope the previous night still hung between two trees as a makeshift partition, which they had been using for privacy. Izzie walked behind the blanket. When she emerged a few minutes later, she was wrapped in a simple linen shift and carried the disputed garment over her arm. She marched over to the fire, still burning from the noon meal, and after an infinitesimal moment of hesitation, dropped the exquisite garment into the flames. They watched in stunned awe. Rahab saw her mother turn back and search through her own pile. She pulled out a couple of garments and threw them on the fire. One by one, they went through their meager belongings and burned every mixed garment.
Rahab supposed the more practical thing would have been to save these things and sell them at some Canaanite city. Their sacrifices, however, brought a subtle joy that they hadn’t yet experienced since their defection to Israel. It was almost as if they felt the pleasure of the Lord with their choices.
When it was time for Miriam and Ezra to take their leave, Rahab walked with them a small way as politeness required. Miriam slowed her gait to a saunter until they fell behind. In the seclusion of their walk she turned to Rahab. “How did you know about giving up the robe for the Lord and not for other people? I’ve walked with the Lord my whole life and have only begun to understand that lesson myself.”
“You credit me with too much, Miriam. I deserve no admiration.” Rahab came to a halt and reached out a hand, clutching at the younger woman’s fingers. She hesitated, swallowing a few times before she could force herself to plow forward. “Living in Jericho—my family and I—we’ve done awful things. You know I was a zonah. My father, he asked it of me, when I was fifteen. And I chose not to stop when I could have. I’ve had a dozen lovers, which is not many for such a profession, but a dozen too many for Israel and the Lord. Izzie sacrificed her son to Molech. The string of our sins and failures goes on and on. You must become aware of these things, Miriam. Tell your brother. Tell Joshua. They should give their consent knowing everything. Nothing is hidden from God, so it would be useless for us to join you under false pretenses. It would break my heart if you reject us. But it would do my heart no good if you accept us not understanding who we are.”
Rahab took a deep breath and stood still. There, she had said it. She had confessed. She kept her eyes lowered, desperate to avoid seeing the revulsion that was sure to be reflected in Miriam’s face. Now she would recoil from Rahab and take back every generous compliment she had given her. The silence stretched, and then to her shock, Rahab found herself enveloped in a hug that almost knocked her to the ground.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through.”
“What?”
“Your life sounds so hard. Such burdens you have borne. Did you think I would reject you when God has accepted you? If He buries your past, then so shall I.”
“Your brother? Joshua?” Rahab asked in a faint voice.
“Joshua will do what the Lord tells him. And Salmone will do what Joshua tells him, although there might be grumbling involved. Stiffen your resolve, Rahab. Rely on God’s approval. Salmone will catch up.”
The problem, Rahab reflected as she trudged back home, was that she wasn’t particularly sure of God’s approval. Deceiving herself into believing that God accepted her seemed a far more likely event than winning His genuine acceptance. In the meantime, there was Salmone, who definitely did not approve of her.
Chapter
Ten
Salmone’s sister prepared lentil stew for supper. The lentils crunched under Salmone’s teeth, half-cooked. The bread, raw in the middle, stuck to the roof of his mouth. Miriam slopped another ladleful of soup into his still overflowing bowl, her mind so preoccupied she didn’t even notice that half the soup sloshed over the side and onto Salmone’s hand.
He sighed. His sister in this state of mind spelled trouble. Most likely for him. “Miriam, what’s bothering you?” he prodded.
“Hmm?” Miriam blinked and stood up from her cross-legged seat on the floor to clean up the supper dishes, unmindful that she had refilled his bowl only moments before. Salmone was relieved. At least that meant he wouldn’t have to pretend to eat more.
“Speak your mind, girl. Tell me what’s troubling you. And can you fetch me a rag? If you insist on scalding me with stew, the least you can do is clean it up.”
“Oh, of course,” she said and handed him a long piece of fabric. It was Salmone’s best belt. Salmone set the belt aside with his dry hand and grabbed some water and walked outside to rinse his fingers and sleeve. And to think. He pulled his wet hand through his hair, cooling down. Then he marched back inside.
“Now sister, tell me what has beset you.”
“Can you tell? How observant you are.”
“Miriam!”
“If you insist.” She flopped on a cushion across from where he lounged. “I’ve been talking to Rahab.”
“I might have guessed,” Salmone snapped. He slapped the carpet next to him and jumped up. “First day and already with the problems.”
“I like her, Salmone. I like her a lot. And if you stop being so mule-headed, you would too.”
“Fine. What’s the difficulty then?”
“She talked with me about her past. She told me about some of her sins, hers and her family’s, because she desires to hide nothing from you and Joshua. She’s desperate to join us, but she does not want to do so under false pretenses. She wants you to consent to their presence with the full knowledge of who they are and what they have done. I thought her confession was admirable. Not many would be so forthright under the circumstances. She is determined to do everything right. She prefers to lose her dream for the sake of her integrity if it comes to that.”
Salmone expelled a long-suffering sigh and dropped back down on the cushions. “So. Tell me about this past.”
In succinct sentences, Miriam explained to her brother what Rahab had revealed. Salmone shook his head, struggling between a grudging admiration and exasperation. “How am I supposed to make these people fit with us, Miriam? Child sacrifice? Selling your own daughter into prostitution? Adultery? Joshua has set me upon an impossibility. Let him be the one to solve it. Go ask him.”
“I already have.”
“Of course,” Salmone muttered, leaning back. “How foolish of me not to remember you’ve lately become bosom friends with the leader of Israel. And what did he have to say, pray tell?”
“He said, ‘What, and you think when I agreed to have Canaanites join us I expected them to be pure as the sons of Levi?’”
“At least he isn’t surprised, though how he can reconcile himself to this mountain of sin, I don’t understand.”
“He believes the past remains the past. It becomes God’s domain. He also said, ‘Our job is to rescue the present from its rotting carcass.’ He said he admires Rahab for being truthful.”
“What an unparalleled paragon of virtue I serve,” Salmone derided. “There you have it, young sister. And mine is the job of grave digging, I surmise, in order to rid us of said rotting carcass.”
The next morning, a grudging Salmone went back to Rahab’s camp, Miriam bouncing on jaunty steps at his side. He found the family gathered together and taking inventory of their finances. Crouching on one knee next to Karem, he asked, “Have you enough for tents?”
“Depends on what a tent costs.” He told Salmone the sum of their net savings.
“You have sufficient for one large tent. It will be a tight fit for fourteen people, but I think you will be able to manage. Then you’ll have ample left to invest in several goats and perhaps a calf.” He ca
st Izzie a sidelong glance. “And a few sheep. That way, you’ll have milk and butter and cheese and yogurt, as well as wool. If you work hard in the land, by next year you’ll be able to buy a second tent.”
Rahab swiveled around toward him. “Work the land, my lord? Does that mean you’ve decided that my brothers and father can help cultivate farmland rather than go to war?”
“I thought that wouldn’t slip by you,” he drawled. “Yes, I have decided that we will benefit from their farming experience. Assuming that you will learn to abide by the Law, that is.” Rahab dropped her head so that he could not read her expression. He perceived this as a habitual tendency with her, one he already found frustrating. He tightened his mouth and turned to Izzie. “Miriam told me what you did yesterday. That was courageous. Well done.” Izzie flushed with pleasure.
Miriam stood up and moved to Izzie’s side, carrying a folded piece of fabric. “This is for you,” she said as she laid it into Izzie’s hands. “I wove the fabric myself last year. It pales compared to your exquisite workmanship. I wish you would teach me how to weave like you. We have nothing so fine as your work in all of Israel.”
“For me?” Izzie gulped.
Miriam laughed. “Well, it’s not for your brothers. Their waists are too big.” Salmone smiled inwardly.
Two weeks later, Salmone found himself at the Jericho camp. Again. He tried to concentrate on Joa’s recitation on sacrifices, but he found his eyes wandering instead toward Rahab. She had one of her nieces on her lap, while trying to teach an older one how to spin yarn. He noticed that around the children she lost her guarded look, her full mouth softening with frequent smiles. She was beautiful, he gave her that. At first, he found that very loveliness off-putting. It reminded him too well of her former profession. But he perceived nothing harlot-like about this woman. Her manner was reserved, bordering on shy. Her demeanor, though forthright, could match any Israelite maiden for modesty. Sometimes he almost forgot about her past and had to forcefully resurrect the memory. This wasn’t exactly the kind of detail a man ought to waylay.
He dragged his eyes and attention back to the circle of men around him. Joa had lost his haunted air in the course of the past ten days. He seemed to take a genuine interest in the precepts of the Lord. They all did. “My lord, Salmone?”
“Hmm?”
“Why does the Lord demand an offering for unintentional sin? I mean, how can it be sin if you don’t even know you are doing the wrong thing?”
“Whether you do the wrong thing intentionally or unintentionally, there are consequences. Let us say I break your leg on purpose because I have a grudge against you. My anger and lack of self-control causes you a lot of pain. Now supposing that I break your leg by accident. Will your bone ache any less because it was crushed by accident? Will you run faster because I didn’t intend to harm you? Sin is like that. Whether you know what you’re doing or not, there is damage. There are consequences. The holiness of the Lord requires justice for these consequences. It demands a covering for them. At the same time, He is merciful with our mistakes. So He Himself gives us that covering by providing us with the sacrifice.” Salmone shifted to make himself more comfortable, and as he turned, he noticed that Rahab had left her nieces to the care of her sister-in-law, and scooted closer in order to hear their conversation. He had come to realize in the course of the past days that anything to do with God drew her without fail.
Noticing the diversion of his attention, Rahab cleared her throat. “So the Lord forgives the one who errs by sinning unintentionally?”
Salmone turned toward her. “With the right sacrifice. Yes.”
She kept her lashes lowered, hiding her expression from him. Salmone balled his hand into a fist at his side. He found that he was beginning to hate the way her eyes slid from him as if in dread. For all his inner objections to her, had he mistreated her over the past two weeks? Had he insulted her? Demeaned her? Why did she smile for Ezra and Hanani and Miriam and every other human creature under the sun as far as he could tell, yet for him she only had reserve and distance? He itched to put his hand on her chin and turn her to face him. Instead, he tightened his fist harder.
“What about the aliens living among you?” she asked, her voice soft and without inflection.
“What about them?” he growled. He wasn’t paying attention to her question. Instead, his mind was still grappling with her remoteness. Resentment rose up in him, unreasonable and sharp, coloring his voice with a harsher edge than he intended.
She sensed that edge and misunderstood it. Her pale skin turned a bright pink, and he realized too late that she was mortified. “Pardon, my lord. I didn’t mean to interrupt your teaching,” she said and moved to get up. Before he could think, Salmone reached out his hand and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down.
“Stay. You weren’t interrupting.” For a moment she tried to pull her hand away, but he held it fast, and pulled her down harder. Forcing his voice into gentleness, he said, “Ask your question again.”
She grew very still. Salmone became aware that he was still holding her wrist and quickly released her. With a casual motion, he leaned back against his elbows, increasing the distance between them.
“I … I just wondered if the alien living with your people could also receive forgiveness by presenting an offering.”
Not a question of ritual. Not a question that would help her fit in with Israel, or assist her to avoid costly mistakes. This wasn’t a question of outward practicality. She was seeking to please God, to find forgiveness and redemption.
Would God give these things to one such as she? Did he even know the answer? The echo of a distant teaching seeped into the edges of his mind. What had Moses taught about the aliens?
“Moses once said, speaking for the Lord, ‘You and the alien shall be the same before the Lord: the same laws and regulations will apply both to you and to the alien living among you.’ He said this about offering sacrifices.”
“He said that the alien shall be the same as you before the Lord?” In her eagerness, Rahab forgot to avoid Salmone’s eyes. The curtain of withdrawal lifted from her face, and she stared at him without her usual guardedness. Salmone took a sharp breath. He became aware, perhaps more than she herself, that her whole heart was in that question. She had ripped herself open, laid herself bare by asking it. For at the core of her words was the fragile offering of herself, her hunger to belong to the Lord and to Israel, knowing very well that she might be rejected, cast out and unacceptable.
He had wasted so much time worrying about her loyalty, worrying about the dangers of insidious Canaanite idolatry, worrying about her motives. Had he ever been barking up the wrong tree like a rabid dog! All Rahab actually wanted was to belong to the Lord. She thirsted for God. Hungered after Him. She couldn’t seem to get enough of His precepts. And what she was searching for wasn’t knowledge. It was belonging. She wanted the Lord Himself.
Could someone like her belong to God? Would He take her, accept her, receive her, cover her shame and sin? Was she the alien He had in mind when He spoke those words through Moses? Salmone didn’t want to give her any false reassurances or empty promises. Silently, he asked the Lord to direct his response.
“Moses said those words, yes,” he began. “He was speaking about sacrifices, and saying that the aliens living with the community of Israel must live according to the same rules. They must offer the same sacrifices.” He stopped and sank into deep thought for some moments before continuing. “We ought to remember that for Israel, sacrifices aren’t a token ritual. They avail something real. Sacrifices are both the acknowledgment of our wrong and the price of our forgiveness. So if God asks an alien to offer a sacrifice, He isn’t asking for the fulfillment of a ritualistic law. God wouldn’t ask for a sacrifice if He weren’t willing to pour out His forgiveness and acceptance in return.” He stopped for a moment and stared into the shifting sand. “It’s strange. I have never thought of this before.”
Rahab looked
like she was exploding with questions. Salmone watched the desire for answers tangle with something else, something more primal. Fear? She swallowed and saying nothing, slipped back behind her wall. Frustration and relief warred within him. With a force he barely understood, he wanted to smash down that defense, to experience again her openness and trust. Yet he also knew that some of the questions she was desperate to ask would tie him up in tangles. Will the Lord forgive me for my life of adultery? Will He forgive my father for asking me to become a harlot? Will He forgive my sister and her husband for offering their son to Molech? Will we have a new start, a clean slate?
Salmone rubbed the back of his neck with a hand callused from the handle of a sword. What was the answer to these riddles? There were injunctions against every one of those sins, and serious consequences for each. Would God forgive? Would He give this family a second chance?
Miriam chose that thorny moment to come and join him. She had been speaking with Rahab’s mother for the past hour. Salmone noticed the dark circles under his sister’s eyes. She had risen from bed before him that morning, cooking for and tending to the sick for several hours before coming with him to visit Rahab and her family. Exhaustion etched her features. He should have noticed sooner, he thought with a pang of guilt. Standing up in one fluid motion, he pulled her up with him.
“Come. Time to return home.” He turned to face the men before leaving. “Tomorrow, I’m going to speak to Joshua about getting you settled in our camp. I think you are ready.” Then maneuvering his sister ahead of him, he pushed her with gentle fingers to get out of there before the family’s jubilant expressions of thanks could start to harp on his nerves.
The walk home started in silence. Miriam was too tired for words, it seemed, and Salmone was drowned in speculation about Rahab’s unasked questions.