The Walls of Arad

by Carole Towriss

  Aqhat stood to greet him. “Danel, it’s good you’re here. I’ve been busy since your last visit.” He stepped to a small table shoved against the wall and poured a cup of water, then handed it to Danel.

  He pulled out a heavy chair and sat. “I hope so. Keret wants to know how the recruiting is going.”

  Aqhat dropped into a large chair, propping his huge, sandaled feet upon his desk. “I have fifty men beginning training next week.”

  “Good. He should be pleased.”

  “Should be. But will he be?”

  Danel chuckled and shrugged.

  “How’s he doing?”

  He drained his cup before he answered. “He’s calm enough so far. Not like he was the first year or two.”

  Aqhat groaned. “If he gets that way again, I will not be able to take it.”

  “You won’t have a choice. At least this time you’ll be in command of the army. You won’t have to make all those scouting runs yourself. You can send the new recruits.”

  “Maybe you can keep him calm instead.”

  Danel laughed. “I'm trying.”

  Aqhat pulled his feet back and leaned forward. “What do you think will happen to Arad? Do you think we’ll be destroyed like Egypt?”

  Danel let out a deep breath. “I don’t know. Yahweh is a mighty God. He cares for His people.”

  “Yes, we’ve seen enough evidence of that. He rescued Kamose from our prison. No one else has ever escaped.”

  Danel raised a finger. “But He didn’t keep him from all harm and pain. Kamose suffered mightily before he got away. And the Israelites defeated the Amalekites, but they lost men in the battle as well.”

  “True.” Aqhat paused, drumming his fingers on his desk. He caught Danel’s gaze and frowned. “We have spent the last forty years learning about Him, learning His ways. Memorizing all the stories Kamose told you when he was here those long weeks. We no longer sacrifice to the Canaanite gods. Would He destroy us?”

  The silence felt like a weight on his shoulders as he thought of how to answer. “I don’t think He would want to, but would He save the city just for us? I'm not sure He would do that, either.”

  “You want me to do it today?” Arisha looked up at Miriam.

  “It is just the first of two ceremonies, daughter. You’re not marrying him yet. You’ll continue to live here with me.”

  Arisha fisted her hands. “But why? Why we do we have to do it twice? We don’t do that in Canaan.”

  Miriam took Arisha’s hand in hers, gently pried it open. “The first is the betrothal ceremony. This is where you are promised to each other. If we were living in Canaan, or anywhere else, the time between the betrothal and the wedding is when the husband would build a house—or add on to his father’s house, and prepare everything he would need to take care of you. You would make your wedding outfit, and your headdress of coins. But you would be as good as married even though you still lived apart. You could not separate from each other without a divorce.”

  Arisha gasped.

  “You did agree to marry him, did you not?”

  Arisha nodded slowly. The reality of the situation landed on her shoulders with full force.

  “Then we will have the betrothal today. You still do not have to marry him until you are ready. Both ceremonies are very simple, just a legal pronouncement.”

  “All right.”

  Miriam enveloped her in a warm embrace. “I need to make sure you will be taken care of when I am gone. You understand, don’t you, daughter? I know Zadok will be good for you. And you will be good for him as well.” The woman who had been closer to her than her own mother in the few short months she had known her, kissed her temple and left her alone in the quietness of the tent.

  Arisha sank to the cushioned floor. She could see how Zadok, with his kindness and patience, his calm spirit, could be good for her. What could she possibly offer to him? Why would he agree to marry someone like her? He was strong and handsome—surely he could choose any Israelite woman he desired.

  Miriam peeked through the flaps. “Arisha? Zadok is here. Will you come out?”

  Her heart began to race, but she closed her eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. She could do this.

  She stepped outside, and nearly retreated again. Zadok was there, and another man who had to be his father. Slightly shorter, grayer beard, even brighter smile. He looked like he was doing everything possible not to rush to her and embrace her. Instead he simply reached out to touch her shoulder.

  “Arisha. I’m so delighted to meet you. I’m Ahmose, Zadok’s abba.”

  She smiled. His voice was soft, like Zadok’s, but more … energetic.

  Miriam slipped an arm around Arisha’s shoulder. “Ordinarily, your abba would be here. Since he cannot be, Moses has agreed to take his place. Is that all right with you?”

  She managed a nod. She had no one but Miriam. That Moses would do that for her when she’d barely spoken to him…

  She glanced at Zadok, deep in conversation with his abba.

  Ahmose’s hands gestured constantly as he spoke. When Moses approached, Ahmose greeted him with a warm, fierce hug. Did he ever stop moving?

  Moses laughed, extricating himself. “Ahmose, my boy. You are still one of my favorite people.”

  My boy? He had graying hair.

  “Now, let us start these two on their life together.” Moses maneuvered Zadok to face him, and Ahmose stood at his side.

  Miriam placed Arisha next to Zadok, hooking her arm around her elbow.

  “We have welcomed Arisha among us. When we were at Mt. Sinai, Yahweh told us to welcome strangers, since we were once strangers in a land not our own. She has come to know Yahweh as the only true God, and we count her as our own.” Moses faced Zadok. “Now I stand in place of Arisha’s abba, and I say to you, today you have become my son-in-law.”

  Miriam leaned near. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “I suppose not.” Arisha turned to Moses. “Thank you. That was … unbelievably kind of you.”

  “I am all too happy to do this for you. It’s been a long time since my own children were of the age to marry.” Grinning, he turned her toward Zadok. “I think someone else wants your attention.” He moved away as Zadok neared her.

  “Are you all right?” His soft brown eyes searched her face.

  She scrunched up her face a moment, causing him to laugh.

  “Don’t laugh.” She poked his chest, laughing herself. “I’m all right.”

  “Good. Then I have something to ask you.”

  3rd day of Abib

  Zadok stood before Zivah and Jacob, arms crossed. “She is coming to share the evening meal with us. But hear me: do not ask about marriage. Do not embarrass me, or her. Do not make her talk if she doesn’t want to—she is painfully shy. She is so afraid of coming here it’s taken me weeks to talk her into it.” He took a step toward them and narrowed his eyes. “If you do anything to scare her off or make her uncomfortable, when we do marry I will move to the tents of Benjamin on the other side of camp and I will never come home.”

  Jacob’s eyes widened. Zivah’s face lost all color. He’d probably overdone it, and besides, he’d never be allowed to move to Benjamin, and they knew it. He didn’t care. He had to make them understand.

  He turned and slipped between Moses’s and Aaron’s tents, and into the walkway. Out of their sight, he stopped a moment and inhaled a long, slow breath. Yahweh, help this go well. I don’t want to scare her. Why a family meal should be so terrifying he still didn’t understand, but to her it was. And he’d promised he would do whatever he could to make it easier.

  Arisha waited for him, pacing in front of the tent, twisting the end of her sash. Her lips moved silently—was she praying, too? His heart ached for her. If only he could take away her fear. But the best way to do that was to face it with her.

  “Arisha?”

  She raised her head to him, and her face softened. It seemed some
of her fear dissipated. Did his presence do that? His heart beat faster at the thought.

  “Are you ready?” He took her hands in his. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

  She tilted her head and smiled weakly, and he pulled her into his arms. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time,” he whispered.

  She nodded into his chest.

  He stepped away. “Come, then.”

  Within moments they were at Zadok’s tent. She grabbed onto his arm as they stepped from between the tents into view of his family.

  Imma was the first to reach them. Instead of hugging her, she simply took Arisha's other hand in both of hers, and Zadok breathed a prayer of thanks.

  “Arisha, I’m so glad you’ve joined us. I’m Zadok’s imma, Adi. Zivah is taking care of the food, so why don’t you sit right here between Zadok and me and let me get to know you a little better?” Imma led her to the fire, and Arisha released Zadok’s arm but reached for his hand.

  “Now I know you’ve heard about everyone, but I will introduce you.” Imma leaned toward Arisha and pointed to each person in turn. “This is Zivah, Zadok’s younger sister. The handsome young man next to her is her husband, Jacob. They live a few tents down the row, but they are here all the time.”

  Adira crawled into Imma’s lap and giggled when she tickled her. “This little one is Adira, her daughter. She is named after me.”

  Zivah pulled the last manna cakes off the fire and dropped them onto a plate. She placed that next to a bowl full of dates.

  “Ah, and you know my husband Ahmose, and wth him is our grandson, Josiah.”

  Abba strolled to the fire with Josiah on his shoulders, who proudly proclaimed, “Savta, look! Look how tall I am!”

  “I see. You have grown overnight.” Imma laughed as Abba placed Josiah on the ground and sat next to him. “Adira, go back to your imma so we can eat.” She kissed the girl’s cheek and picked her up from her lap.

  Arisha gestured to Josiah. “Is he older or younger?”

  Zadok was thankful she was making an attempt to join the conversation, but her voice was strained. Was he the only one who noticed?

  “He’s the oldest, but only by a year. Boy first, girl second, just like Zadok and me.” Zivah placed a bowl in Adira’s lap.

  Arisha smiled. “I always thought an older brother would be nice. Someone to look out for me.”

  Zivah pointed a finger. “They look out for you, yes, but they also tend to boss you around. And control your life. And act like they’re your father instead of just your brother.”

  “When did I ever do that?” Zadok sat up straighter.

  “Every day of my life until I married. You didn’t even want me to get married.”

  “What?” Jacob nearly choked on his manna.

  “That’s not what I said.” Don’t start a fight now, Zivah. He aimed a glare at his sister.

  Zivah cleared her throat. “Zadok, how are the sheep? Any new ones this week?

  “Yes.” He shot her a grateful look. She knew very well how many new lambs he had, but he was thankful she had changed the subject. “I’ve had more this year than ever. Two yesterday, in fact. We are well on our way to doubling the flock.”

  “I want to see them! Please!” Adira bounced up and down. Her knee bumped her cup of milk, and it toppled, spilling onto the sand.

  Beside him, Arisha gasped softly. She stopped in mid-bite. Holding a date with one hand, she reached for him with the other and squeezed his wrist. What did she think would happen?

  Jacob frowned at his daughter. “Adira, couldn’t you go even one day without spilling something?” Then he burst into laughter.

  “No, she can’t.” Josiah answered for his sister.

  “I’m sorry, Abba.” Adira reached for the cup but only succeeded in pushing it further into the sand.

  Jacob extricated the half-buried cup, wiped the sand from the rim and poured more milk into it. “She spills something almost every day.”

  “Which is why we never fill her cup more than half full.” Zivah glanced at Arisha as she wiped the sand off the girl’s hands.

  Zadok felt Arisha loosen her grip on his wrist.

  Josiah sat up straighter and looked at Arisha. “She’s a baby. I don’t spill, ever, ‘cause I’m not a baby.”

  “Josiah! Tell your sister you’re sorry.” Jacob put his hand on his son’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Adira.” He leaned near and kissed her check. The girl giggled.

  Abba chuckled and shook his head. “Now, Zadok, about your sheep. How many lambs so far this year…?”

  Zadok reached for another manna cake. Next to him, Arisha's body relaxed as the conversation changed course.

  After the meal, he walked her back. “Was it as bad as you feared?”

  “It ended up quite enjoyable, actually. Your niece and nephew are adorable.”

  “Why were you afraid?”

  She looked away. “Meals were never very pleasant, anywhere I lived. I spilled once like that, serving wine…” Her face clouded.

  His heart ached for her. What happened when she spilled? Nothing she wanted to talk about—or remember, apparently. “And with Miriam?”

  “No, those are lovely, of course, but there are only the two of us.”

  “What about when she has visitors?”

  “I stay in the tent.”

  He reached for her hand. “Always?”

  She shrugged and nodded.

  “You must hear them, at least. What about when Moses and Aaron come over?”

  “They seem to have a delightful time. But I assumed maybe it was just because there were no children, or they’d been apart for so long. I thought it was unusual.”

  They neared her tent. The fire was banked and the flaps pulled shut.

  Arisha glanced up and down the row. “I think we’re the last ones awake. Everyone has to awaken so early for their morning priestly duties. Ummm, let me check on her.” She slipped inside, exiting a moment later. “Miriam has gone to sleep already.” She frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s just so tired, all the time. I…” She rubbed her palm with the thumb of her other hand.

  “I know she’s grateful she has you. You are very precious to her.”

  She shrugged and dropped her gaze.

  “I should go back.” He didn’t want to. He’d rather talk to her. He’d shared her all evening, and he wanted some time with her alone. “May I see you tomorrow?”

  She looked up. “When?”

  He reached to touch her, but pulled his hand back. “As soon as the sun is up.”

  She smiled. “How about after the mid-day meal? I have many things to do first, and I want to make sure Miriam is doing well.”

  “I’d like that.” He lowered his head and placed a light kiss on her cheek. “I’ll see you then.”

  Morning couldn’t come fast enough.

  Five

  LATER THAT NIGHT, ZADOK SAT with Abba and Jacob for the first time in almost two years. Not since the Marah debacle had he felt like joining the men around the fire after the evening meal. The cloud above them glowed softly, providing warmth and reassurance of Yahweh’s presence.

  Zivah had retired to her tent with her children, and Imma had slipped inside her own. A hawk sailed overhead as the western mountains swallowed the last bits of light. A charred palm log crumbled in the pit, sending a shower of flashing red sparks first shooting into the air, then floating down again.

  Zadok stared at the ever-shifting flames. His life had altered in ways beyond his comprehension in the last several weeks. Everything he’d planned had been swept away with one simple statement from Miriam. “I want you to marry her.”

  And he was thankful. Never would he have been brave enough to try to change his life. He would have stayed in the pasture with the sheep forever.

  Joshua lowered his lanky frame to the ground next to him. “Zadok. It’s been a long time since you have been at your father’s fire.�
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  Zadok nodded. “It has. I missed it more than I realized.”

  Joshua leaned back and stretched out his long legs. The older man had been part of Zadok’s life for as long as could remember, living in the tent next to theirs, right behind Moses. As a young man Joshua had shared that tent with Zadok’s sabbas, Kamose and Bezalel, and Abba. Joshua had teased Kamose trading his golden, jeweled armbands, the symbol of his office as captain of the guard in Egypt, for an Israelite tunic when he fell in love with Tirzah, trying to embarrass him. He never succeeded.

  And Joshua grieved as deeply as any of them when Kamose died.

  The tent flap rustled. A platter of cups full of fresh mint and sage leaves appeared and was placed on the ground to the side, followed by a pot of water. Imma stepped from the tent, then bent to retrieve the items. She knelt next to Abba and set them on the ground by the fire.

  “Thank you, habibti.” He kissed her on the cheek before she disappeared into the tent once again.

  Abba returned to his conversation with Jacob, and Joshua turned to Zadok. “I hear you had a guest at your tent this evening.”

  “Yes, we did. How did you know?”

  “I just came from Moses’s tent. He’s quite fond of her, though she barely speaks to him.”

  “She barely speaks to anyone.”

  “So it seems. She speaks to you, though. I wonder why that is.” Joshua smirked as he raised a dark brow.

  Before Zadok had to answer, Abba spoke. “I believe the water is hot. Does everyone want tea?” He reached for a cloth to grab the handle of the pot, then poured the steaming liquid over the leaves.

  A sweet, tangy fragrance filled the air, and Zadok breathed deeply.

  After allowing a few moments for the tea to steep, Abba removed the leaves, then passed around the cups. Zadok blew on the tea and took a sip. It tasted of earth and mint and filled him with a sense of familiarity and connection.

  Jacob broke the mood by slurping his drink. “Joshua, are you and Moses forming plans to attack Canaan?” His eyes sparkled. Why did talk of war excite him? It always had, even when he and Zadok were children. He’d come over and listen to battle stories from Kamose and Joshua, until they refused to talk of it anymore.