by Brian Godawa
“The entire Egyptian army drowned?” asked Og. He could not believe it.
“Not the whole,” said Horus. “The majority. Some forces were left in Egypt of course.”
“Of course,” mocked Ashtart.
Horus added, “But then the Amalekites invaded and almost annihilated what was left.” These were the Amalekites that the Israelites had fought on their way out of Egypt.
“Tch, tch, tch. When it rains, it storms,” mocked Ashtart. “So where does that leave us now?”
A subtle smirk grew on Og’s lips. He knew exactly where it left him.
Horus gave it up, “This will be the last tribute I will be receiving from you. Egypt is withdrawing its protection from the region.”
So that was it. Without the power of its gods, and without its mighty chariot army to exert Pharaoh’s will, Egypt could no longer maintain its iron grip on Canaan or its aggressive stance toward its enemies. It was pulling back to lick its wounds and rebuild its strength in the face of mounting Hittite power in the north.
What that meant to Og was that he now had complete freedom to engage his own designs on the Transjordan.
At last, his twist of fate had arrived. With mighty clans like the Anakim, it might take a generation of careful planning and strategic maneuvering, but his dreams of dominion were now a possibility.
Ashtart said, “Well, if Egypt will no longer be protecting Canaan, then she will certainly receive no tribute from us.”
Og felt empowered by his patron goddess.
Horus went flush with anger. But he knew she was right. He had risked coming with the hopes of getting one last amount of extortion money, but Ashtart had uncovered his impotence and was now flaunting it in his face.
Ashtart sang, “Og, You had better get planning. We have a land to conquer.”
Horus interrupted, “Do not be too sure of your own supremacy, quim. I am also here to warn you that the Habiru have their sights set on Canaan.”
Now Horus was emboldened with his own sense of retaliation.
“And the god who crushed the pantheon of Egypt will be coming with them.”
Ashtart turned stone cold.
“Where are they?” she asked.
“I received word that they are wandering somewhere in the wilderness near Meribah.”
“How many are there?”
“Seventy thousand. Six thousand warriors.”
“Well, then, we shall just have to be ready for them when they arrive to give them an Ashtart welcome: The dance of death.”
The dance of death was a phrase used of Ashtart’s vicious and bloody battle technique. Despite the fact that she was now the submissive consort of Ba’al, the most high god, she was still the second most ruthless warrior in the pantheon.
Ba’al had bested Ashtart in the battle of the nine kings in the Valley of Siddim so many generations ago. He had prepared to bind her into the earth. But when Ashtart revealed her diabolical plan of taking over Canaan, and submitted herself to Ba’al’s complete authority over her, he decided to make her his servant. Her skills at war would be of more help to him than doing it alone. And her intellectual brilliance and strategy were a fitting complement for his overwhelming brute force. He was not a dumb brute, but her mind was definitely more cunning, so long as he could keep her in submission. And he managed to do so in unspeakable ways.
And that abuse became a well of pitch-black violence that Ashtart would draw upon for her own assertions of power.
Horus and Fenuku prepared to leave.
“Stop,” said Ashtart.
She strode up to Horus, the blood now dry on her body.
He stood his ground, but she could see he was weak.
And she was strong.
Very strong.
She said, “One more thing, feathered fowl.”
She grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the stone wall.
He did not react. He submitted. He knew he had not the fortitude to face her.
She whispered into his bird face. He could smell the odor of blood from her mouth.
“Do not call me quim. I still have my rod, and I use it with excess and impunity. You may however call me—‘ambidextrous’ because I walk two sexual paths.”
It was true. When Ashtart had chosen her identity as a goddess in the antediluvian plans of the Watchers, she did so as an irony. The Watchers were all male, but they had to impersonate some female deities, and she thought it would be an extra rise to her scandalous reputation if the greatest warrior in the entire pantheon was a female who could kick the brains out of any macho male storm god or other. All that is, except for the storm god Ba’al. Ashtart had modified his body to appear female, but underneath the façade, he remained utterly and totally male.
But Horus also knew that she would not bind him into the earth. Though the gods had personal ambitions, they needed to remain allies against the far greater enemy of Yahweh. He had counted on that fact by offering the intelligence of his approach.
Ashtart released Horus. He grasped his throat to rub out the finger marks and massage his windpipe.
He backed away to leave.
“Give my regards to Isis,” she said. “I am still jealous of that girl’s fashion.”
Chapter 5
Forty years had passed slowly for Joshua in the Wilderness of Zin. Yahweh had vowed to make Israel wander in that desert wasteland for forty years until the entire generation of the spies was dead. As Joshua weathered the time, much had happened to compound that judgment.
There was another incident of rebellion where the sons of Korah challenged Moses’ authority to lead the people. They thought that Yahweh could speak to everyone equally. They were swallowed up alive into Sheol as Yahweh’s definitive response to egalitarian revolution.
The prophetess Miriam, Moses’s sister, had died recently as well.
But they had stayed at Kadesh, a dry and desolate area, and the people were grumbling and complaining, yet again, that Moses had taken them out from Egypt and into the wilderness, only to let them die. There was nowhere to grow food or find shelter, and no water to live on.
They assembled before Moses to make their complaints known. Moses and his brother Aaron the High Priest then went before Yahweh in the Tent of Meeting to implore for his ear. Joshua, ever shadowing his master, bowed to the floor, and listened to it all.
Yahweh had told Moses to go to a large rock outcropping, and to tell the rock to yield its water for the sons of Israel to drink and to give their animals. He distinctly heard Yahweh specify that he speak to the rock.
The congregation had been gathered before the large rock and Moses stood upon it with Aaron and glared down upon the people. Joshua and Caleb stood at the foot of rock, looking up at their perturbed leader.
“People of Israel!” Moses’ voice rang through the camp with uncanny strength for such an old man. But he also shone like burning bronze in a refiner’s fire because he was unveiled and had just been in Yahweh’s presence.
Joshua could see from his vantage point that Moses was trembling. His fortitude was coming from a fury of anger that had been building in him for some time.
Caleb thought that Moses had become impatient with the people. That impatience had taken its toll on him.
Moses then spoke as if he was Yahweh himself, “Hear now, you rebels! Shall Aaron and I bring water for you out of this rock?”
The multitude murmured. They were not quite following.
Then Moses lifted his staff and struck the rock twice.
Everyone watched with anticipation.
Moses and Aaron watched with anticipation.
But nothing happened.
Gossipy grumbling started to pepper the crowd. Maybe they would be going back to Egypt after all—without Moses.
But then, the ground rumbled.
Voices hushed.
And suddenly, the rock split in two, right down the middle, and a blast of spring water came bursting out of the rock, showering t
hose closest to it.
People laughed and danced.
The water started to find its way and immediately carved out a small creek to flow toward the camp.
Shouts of joy, “miracle!” and Moses’ name could be heard as everyone pressed in to get a drink from their newly flowing streams of water in the desert.
But when Moses and Aaron went back to the Tent of Meeting, they were surprised by Yahweh’s response from within the Shekinah cloud.
It was something that would change all their lives forever.
It was the Sabbath. The last of the week where the Israelites did no work, but to feast and celebrate their god in worship and fellowship with one another. It was a holy command that they followed even before they entered Canaan. Most of the feasts, such as the Feast of Unleavened Bread and the Feast of Harvest could not be followed until they were settled in their land with crops and the like. But others, such as the Sabbath and many sacrifices at the tabernacle, were celebrated in anticipation of their consummation in the Promised Land.
Joshua was dedicated to following all the details of Yahweh’s laws with exact precision. The Sabbath was so holy that all work was forbidden on that one day. The Israelites would have to make preparations for their meals the day before so that they would be able to abstain from such mundane labors to focus on their sacred duty.
The duty to keep the Sabbath thus holy was so serious that even the picking up of sticks to make a fire was considered a violation and was punishable by death.
Many Israelites considered such punishments as extreme. But Joshua understood it more easily than most. He knew that it was not the measure of the finite crime that justified the seriousness of the punishment, but the measure of the infinite god, against whom the crime was committed, that made it of such magnitude.
Many of these wandering Israelites were still indulgent idol worshippers who could not understand the holiness of their deity because of their own moral depravity. Joshua was a man of the law and Yahweh’s perfect law required perfect obedience, so he was determined to be that model of perfect obedience.
Caleb saw this character trait of Joshua as both a strength and a liability. To him, it was like following one half of the law of Yahweh but ignoring the other half. For the other half, the laws of sacrifice and atonement, were precisely the completion of the story that began with man’s sin. Atonement was the good news that followed the bad news. It was the heart and soul of Yahweh’s sanctifying relationship with his people.
These were the differences that caused stress in Caleb’s relationship with Joshua. But their bond was much deeper than their differences. It was a bond that was evident now as Caleb, his daughter Achsah, and his younger brother Othniel, entered Joshua’s tent to share a feast with his family.
They sat on mats along with Joshua’s extended family of mother, older uncle, two younger siblings and son and daughter. Joshua’s wife Hasina, and his aunt served them dinner. It was a robust family, not as big as others, but full of life.
Joshua’s father, Nun, had died some years back. So as patriarch of the family, Joshua gave the blessing. They entered into a meal of heavenly manna prepared in various ways, along with fresh water from the new spring.
Manna was the miraculous daily provision of food for Yahweh’s people that began when they left Egypt and wandered in the desert wilderness. It appeared with the morning dew every day. The Israelites would gather enough for the day to prepare and eat. But it would only last that day. Any leftovers would rot with maggots.
Only Othniel had the sense of humor to speak up as he examined the manna meal in front of him. “Manna cakes, manna bread, manna porridge. I must complement you, Hasina. Just when I thought there was no new way to possibly prepare manna, your creativity proves itself once again. Manna soup! Thank Yahweh for herbs and spices to flavor his mundane ‘miraculous provision.’”
Chuckles slipped out around the meal spread. But especially from Achsah. Othniel had watched over Achsah like an older brother as she grew up in Caleb’s frequent absence. Othniel was now aged fifty-three and he shared a closeness with Achsah that sometimes made Caleb feel jealous and then guilty for his lack of fatherly presence in her life. In some ways, he was his brother’s opposite. He was a swarthy man with dark curly hair, deep set eyes and stocky features, but he too had become a trusted warrior and commander of hundreds in Israel’s army.
“Brother,” scolded Joshua, “would you rather have some quail again?”
“Yes. But only if it is not accompanied by the same consequences as last time,” said Othniel. “I will not forget that chastisement. We had quail meat coming out of our nostrils. One memory I do not treasure.”
He poked Achsah sitting next to him and she giggled again.
Othniel was referring to the time when the Israelites had previously complained about the manna provision, and cried out for meat like they had in Egypt. So Yahweh sent them meat. A strong wind brought them so many quail to eat that their entire camp was piled high with squawking and feathers. They got sick of it after a month. Some even died from a plague, the rotting flesh was so bad.
Joshua’s daughter Abigail peeped, “I still do not understand what manna is.”
Othniel said with a silly sotto voice, “That is why we call it ‘manna. It means, ‘What is it?’”
The children giggled again.
Achsah stroked Abigail’s head and offered, “I think Yahweh wants to teach us to be grateful even for what we do not have.”
All the adults understood the double meaning of Achsah’s words. She had lost her dear mother Nathifa five years earlier.
Caleb had met Nathifa seventeen years ago and fell madly in love. For some unknown reason, after they had Achsah, Yahweh would not bless them with any more children. This troubled Caleb deeply because he was an outsider, a convert to Israel from the Canaanite tribe of Kenizzites. So the only way he could feel a true part of the people of Yahweh would be through a large family that would blend into and throughout the nation.
But that was not to be.
Any normal Israelite would consider this childlessness a curse from Yahweh for some hidden sin or because of his pagan heritage. But Nathifa did not believe Yahweh owed them anything, and that all suffering was his way of making them draw near to each other and to their god.
Caleb may have been a gibborim warrior, but he was also a tender lover. He had adored and cherished his Nathifa as life itself. He was so affectionate with her in public, kissing her and embracing her, that he would often get in trouble for too much display in their modest culture.
When a desert plague had swept through the congregation, Nathifa had been struck by it and died. Caleb’s cry of pain could be heard for miles around. He had determined to never remarry because his beloved was too much a part of his happiness, of who he was and what he had become. He could not move on and start anew without her. It would make him feel like Sheol would have won, and she would be forgotten in the land of the living. Living in the pain of loneliness without someone to replace her was the way to keep her memory alive.
Fortunately, Caleb and Achsah were accepted and loved as kin by Joshua’s family, so they always traveled and set up tents near each other, regardless of their different tribal affiliation. Othniel would watch over Achsah when Caleb was gone, and Joshua’s family would often take care of Achsah when Caleb and Othniel were both on a mission or engaged in military pursuits.
Joshua’s son Nathan broke through the sad tension that filled the air when he complained, “I hate manna. I agree with Uncle Othniel. If we could eat quail, I would help gather the firewood to cook them.”
Joshua snapped a look at Nathan, who froze in terror. He knew better than to make his father angry.
But Joshua was not angry. He was frightened for Nathan. “Son, what have I taught you about the Sabbath?”
Nathan’s eyes were wide with fear. “We are to do no work.”
“And what would happen if you picked up firewood in rebelli
on against the command of Yahweh?”
“I would be stoned by the congregation.”
The conversation went uncomfortably quiet around the table. Hasina looked with pity on her little Nathan. He barely understood what he was saying.
Joshua continued, “I love you with all my heart, my son. But our god Yahweh is a holy god and he requires our total obedience. If you rebelled against him, I would have to obey our creator and hand you over to the judges or suffer the same fate. That would break my heart more than anything in the world.”
“Yes, father,” whimpered Nathan.
Everyone felt so bad for Nathan. He was so young. But they also knew that Joshua was right. That Yahweh’s laws were to be followed with strict adherence. No man, woman, or child was above the law.
Hasina knew that Joshua was speaking the truth. He loved his son more than anything on earth. But he loved his creator more, and that meant he would offer him up as Abraham offered Isaac, if Yahweh requested it.
The good news was that when it came to his uncompromising standards, Joshua was harder on himself than he was on others.
Joshua turned to Caleb. “Let us go for our exercises.”
As Moses’ assistant, Joshua had represented Moses’ command to the armed forces. Moses was the military general of Israel, but with age, he had given over physical leadership on the battlefield to Joshua as his chief commander.
Joshua’s first proof of his superior skills had come early on in the exodus when he was appointed as field commander to lead their forces against the pillaging Amalekites. Joshua had been successful and had served as proxy general ever since.
Caleb was a commander of thousands under Joshua, but also his right hand man, and the only one capable enough to personally train with his commander.
Out beyond the camp in an open desert area, Joshua and Caleb engaged in battle exercises and fighting maneuvers with various weapons. As his elder, Caleb had taught Joshua everything he knew. Joshua had quickly become his equal but despite the age difference of a good twenty years, they were equals in stamina and intensity as well.