Blue Thread

by Ruth Tenzer Feldman

  I gave Serakh a questioning look. She nodded. Moses. Except for his darker skin and his robes, he could have been my great-grandfather. His beard was white, his face deeply lined. Several men stood at attention by his side. Tirtzah stayed on her knees. She seemed to quake in his presence.

  Keeping her head bowed, Tirtzah talked softly to Moses for a moment or two. Then Moses gestured toward her sisters. Tirtzah stood, bowed again, and retreated a few feet. Milcah slowly came out of the crowd to stand just behind Tirtzah. Noa followed, with Makhlah clinging to her side. Hoglah inched toward her sisters. Milcah reached out and took her hand.

  Tirtzah touched the gold ring in her nose and glanced in my direction. Her mouth was drawn and tight, her eyes pleading for help. She seemed to be losing confidence by the second. She began to speak more loudly, her voice strained and quavering. Moses leaned forward. The crowd fell silent.

  Tirtzah said something again. She pointed to her sisters. First little Makhlah shuffled forward, mumbled gibberish to Moses, and retreated behind Noa’s robes. Noa and Milcah each bowed their heads, recited a string of words, and then stepped back. Hoglah mumbled worse than Makhlah, and said even less. Finally it seemed to be Tirtzah’s turn again.

  I longed to stand beside her and touch her, so that I could understand what she was saying. Once I heard what sounded like “Zelophehad,” and I knew she was speaking about her father. I whispered to Serakh, “What is Tirtzah saying?”

  Serakh’s lips brushed my ear. “Tirtzah explains the plight of her sisters. She tells Moshe that her father was an honorable man. She asks why her father’s share of the land should be divided within the tribe as is the tradition when a man has no sons. She says her father’s name would be lost forever. Our Tirtzah is wise. She asks in the name of her father, not herself.”

  Yes! For that one brief moment I did feel like her perfect messenger. Tirtzah had taken my advice. Perfect!

  Tirtzah hesitated and then began again. She placed her hand on her heart. She gestured toward the ground. I wished I could see her face, half hidden by her headscarf, but I dared not move.

  Moses stroked his beard. Eleazar frowned. An older man, who also wore a fancy turban, shook his head and muttered something.

  Serakh continued. “Tirtzah asks that she and her sisters be allowed to claim their father’s portion of the land, the portion that the elders intend to divide among her father’s brothers.”

  I nodded. With Moses, everything was supposed to go well. Isn’t that what they teach you in Religious School?

  Tirtzah said nothing more then. She bowed again to Moses and to several other men. People in the crowd began to move. There was a low murmur. Then a man with a curly black beard yelled in anger and pushed through the crowd toward the five sisters. Another man raised his fist and followed. A third one joined them.

  “Serakh, what’s wrong? Those men look ready to explode. We have to do something!”

  “Shhhhh!” she hissed. “You are talking too loudly in a language they have never heard.”

  The three men spat at Tirtzah’s feet. She flinched as if she had been struck. Finally she took a step back. Hoglah fell to her knees and clasped her hands toward the men. She seemed to be begging.

  I tugged at Serakh. “We have to do something! The daughters need that land. Look at Hoglah, she’s ready to give up now. Tirtzah won’t last long.”

  Serakh shook her head and said nothing.

  The three men circled the sisters and shouted at them. Milcah covered her head in her hands. Makhlah started to cry. Noa’s eyes were filled with terror. Tirtzah bowed her head. Hoglah huddled on the ground.

  I let go of Serakh and took a step forward.

  She reached for my arm. “Miriam, you do not know our ways. You must not interfere.”

  I jerked away and took two long strides. “I can’t let this happen,” I said—too loudly. “She needs me!”

  A little boy tugged at my robe and said something to me, his eyes wide with wonderment. An older girl suddenly jerked him away.

  I heard Serakh call after me, “Stop!” I turned and saw a man grab her arms. Part of me wanted to return to her side, to apologize, to explain, to make sure she would be all right.

  But how could I? Someone had to speak up for justice. I had to save Tirtzah.

  I took another stride and then another. The man with the curly beard looked at me. He motioned to the others, and all three turned toward me. The man growled at me—ugly words that must have been filled with hate. I felt my face burn, but I kept my gaze steady. Tirtzah’s perfect messenger did not turn away. I had to do what was right for my sister of the heart, especially when her real sisters thought she was wrong.

  I could feel Serakh watching my back. “Do not move any closer,” she said. “Look down, and I will come get you.”

  The man with the curly beard grabbed Tirtzah and threw her into the dust. His eyes locked on mine.

  “No!” I shouted.

  Someone grabbed me. I yanked free and raced to Tirtzah. She scrambled to her feet. We hugged.

  “Go back,” she said. “My father’s kin are furious. You are in grave danger.”

  “Moses will understand,” I assured her, hoping that was so. “I’ve got to explain. It’s your only chance.”

  I pulled myself away from her, squared my shoulders and marched into the empty space between the sisters and Moses. The three men seemed struck dumb. I heard nothing but my own rasping breath. I stood face-to-face with the man everyone said was the most important leader of the Jewish people. My people.

  I looked back toward the sisters. My headscarf fell to my shoulders.

  The crowded hissed and shouted. Hoglah and Milcah grabbed Tirtzah. Tirtzah called to me, but this time I understood not one syllable. Noa stared at me and touched her hand to her headscarf. Realizing what was wrong, I covered my head and turned back toward Moses. He looked puzzled, but not angry. My mouth went dry.

  “Come away!” Serakh pleaded with me as she struggled to free herself from a man who held her wrists.

  No. I stood my ground. Tirtzah depended on me. All of her sisters depended on me, even Hoglah, though she wouldn’t admit it. I took a deep breath. I bowed as I had seen Tirtzah bow, and I faced the one man who really mattered.

  “I am here to speak on behalf of the daughters of Zelophehad,” I said, trying to sound important. He had to understand me. Serakh and I could communicate, and she was hardly mentioned in the Bible. But the Bible said that Moses spoke with God. And Moses did other amazing things I couldn’t remember. Surely he could do what Serakh could.

  I put my hand over my heart. “I come from another time and place. I am Miriam of the line of Joseph, and I beg you to honor their request for their inheritance.” At that one crazy moment I thought of Mama and her favorite motto: It pays to be polite. “Please.”

  His eyes were deep brown, almost welcoming. “Miryam?”

  “Yes! Miriam. You understand me. I knew you’d be able to, I just knew it.”

  “No!” Serakh shouted. “Moshe understands nothing but his sister’s name. And you are wearing her robes. Be silent, bow, and step away. Walk back to me, before he thinks you are a conjurer and orders you to be put to death!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Miryam’s clothes? I suddenly itched all over. No wonder the robes Moses wore looked like mine. As I turned toward Serakh, I saw a woman eyeing me with such horror that I thought devil’s horns must have sprouted from my head. A chorus of menacing voices surrounded me, and the two men with spears who stood near the entrance of the tent began to move toward me.

  “Serakh, I need your power to speak to him.”

  “I do not have such power to give you. Come away. Now.” She switched to a language that I couldn’t understand, the language of these people. The Hebrew they spoke—if it was Hebrew at all—sounded like a distant dialect of the Hebrew I heard back home.

  Moses stroked his beard and frowned. I searched his face in vain for some sign o
f hope. My head pounded. My ears buzzed, and I felt dizzy and sick.

  “Please, Your Honor…Your Holiness…Serakh brought me here. You’ve got to listen.”

  Moses said nothing. The man with the curly black beard picked up a large round stone. Makhlah shrieked and raced to me. She hugged my legs and buried her face in my robes.

  “Get away from me,” I urged, hoping she’d understand. She didn’t budge.

  Then Tirtzah was at my side, her hand on my waist. “We stand together,” she whispered to me, her eyes fierce. She took Makhlah’s hand and called to the sisters behind us. Milcah and Noa took a step forward. Hoglah stayed put.

  Serakh’s voice rose above the din. “Miriam, speak to them of The One, of Our Elohim. Remember the words and say them now.”

  Our Elohim? I closed my eyes and struggled to think straight. I focused on my time alone with Serakh in her cave and on the Yom Kippur service where we had met. Our Elohim. Eloheinu. I cleared my throat, filled my lungs with the hot desert air, and chanted the only Hebrew prayer I knew by heart. “Shema Yisroel Adonoi Eloheinu Adonoi echod.”

  Would Moses understand the kind of Hebrew I recited so many centuries after his death?

  I no longer felt Tirtzah’s hand on my waist. The noise of the crowd began to die away. Still I kept my eyes shut, afraid of what I might see if I opened them.

  “Hear, O Israel,” I whispered to myself, remembering the translation in the prayer book, “the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.”

  Silence.

  Then someone pressed my shoulder, and I heard Serakh’s voice, strong and steady. “You have done well, my Miriam sweet and strong. You speak of The One who brought them out of Egypt. You are still a stranger to them but no longer an enemy.”

  I dared to open my eyes. Serakh was beaming. Noa—and even Hoglah—stood near us. Tirtzah held Makhlah in her arms. The two men with spears had returned to the entrance of the tent.

  Moses beckoned me to approach.

  My heart beat in my throat. Serakh squeezed my hand. She and I stepped forward. As Serakh spoke, Moses shifted his gaze to me. He brushed a fly from his cheek. A pleasant odor rose from his clothes, spicy and sweet, like cinnamon and mulled wine. He smiled at me once, and I noticed two teeth were missing.

  Serakh touched my shoulder. “Can you show Moshe your blue thread without removing Miryam’s garments?” Serakh asked. “Make sure your headscarf does not fall again. You must maintain your modesty.”

  I slipped my arm into my sleeve and touched the shoes I’d tied to my petticoat loops—shoes in the wrong time and place. I felt for my prayer shawl and ran my fingers over the corner fringes. A faint tingle told me when I’d touched the right one. I pinched it gently and pulled my arm through the sleeve. The blue thread emerged. I bent toward Moses.

  “Eloheinu,” I said, as he touched what I held in my hand. I longed to say so much more, yet there didn’t seem to be a need. Perhaps I’d already said it all.

  Moses turned to Serakh. They spoke again, and I knew everything would be all right.

  “Bow your head,” Serakh told me. As I did, Moses placed his hands on my shoulders and recited words that sounded vaguely familiar. His grip felt firm and comforting. My eyes filled with tears.

  Moses spoke to the crowd. Afterward, a hundred conversations erupted around me. When I looked up, I saw the back of his robes as he walked into the Tent of Meeting.

  “Moshe has declared that he must speak with The One about the daughters,” Serakh said. “We will wait and watch over them until he returns. Certainly he will not emerge before the noonday meal.”

  “But Moses will do what’s right, won’t he, Serakh? He’ll give them their land.”

  She turned her palms upward and cocked her head. “He will do what can be done. The daughters are safe for now, as are you. Moshe has given you his blessing.”

  His blessing. If we have such things as souls, then surely mine was radiating light. Yet even knowing the magnitude of what had just happened, I felt strangely calm.

  “We shall wait for the decision of Moshe in the hospitality of your mother’s tent,” Serakh announced to the sisters. “Tirtzah, you have spoken wisely in the name of your father.” Milcah nodded. Noa fussed over Makhlah, who still seemed upset. Hoglah grabbed Tirtzah’s arm and hissed something that sounded not at all like a compliment.

  My eyes met Tirtzah’s. I crossed my fingers and gave her a hopeful look. She frowned in confusion.

  Doesn’t she know that good luck sign? “Tirtzah,” I said, and smiled the biggest smile I could muster. She did the same.

  The crowd parted in our presence, as if we were royalty or diseased. But a muscular young man stepped forward to stand by Tirtzah, a hair’s breadth away from touching her.

  “Oh, my!” I murmured before I could stop myself. He looked like Richard Broxburn, the bookstore clerk whose charm and good looks had tantalized Florrie and me in Portland.

  “This is Gabi the Reubenite, who wishes to marry Tirtzah,” Serakh whispered to me. “You must not stare at him. She will wonder at such boldness.”

  I pretended to adjust my robe until my embarrassment faded.

  I kept my head down and followed Serakh through the camp. The sun grew hotter. My head throbbed. The walk seemed endless—tent after tent, many filled with women’s voices, goats tethered to stakes or roaming free, a circle of men squatting together and talking loudly, children laughing, squabbling, or racing past, the littlest ones naked from the waist down.

  Serakh stopped sometime later. It could have been ten minutes or an hour. “Tell your mother we are coming, Tirtzah. Our messenger and I will rest for a moment under this tree.”

  She guided me to a shady spot. Grateful, I sat beside her, and wiggled my hips until the shoes around my waist didn’t bother me. I took off my sandals and rubbed my feet.

  “Do not uncover the soles of your feet in public.” Serakh flicked her robe across them and rolled her eyes.

  But our messenger’s feet hurt, I thought, putting on my sandals. Our messenger has a headache, and our messenger would like a large glass of lemonade, several sweet rolls, and a long soak in the bathtub. Seeing this Gabi version of Richard, I suddenly longed for home.

  I brushed sand from the robes that made Moses think I was his dead sister. “Why didn’t you tell me I was wearing Miryam’s clothes?”

  “Why didn’t you stay by my side?” Serakh sounded like Florrie, not someone who was over four hundred years old.

  “We’re even-steven,” I said, now that the danger was past.

  “Even what?”

  I smiled. “I mean you had your reasons and I had mine. Tell me about Miryam, Serakh. The sister of Moses. Was she your best friend?”

  Serakh rubbed the callus on her hand. “Miryam is more than that. Her wisdom still inspires me. I have watched her grow up and grow old. Her death tears at my heart.” Serakh wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She called to a boy who looked about the age Danny was when he died. He nodded and scampered away, arms pumping the air, legs flying.

  I sifted sand through my fingers. “My brother’s death was like that,” I told her, suddenly feeling the need to tell Serakh all about Danny. “Tearing at my heart, I mean. We had a favorite game—Steadfast Tin Soldier.”

  “You played war?”

  “The Steadfast Tin Soldier is a story our mother read to us when we were little. It’s about a toy soldier who loved a paper ballerina. When Danny got bigger, he used to jump from our kitchen window, like the tin soldier did. He’d go on adventures and tell me about them.”

  The boy returned with a handful of what looked like huge, smooth raisins the color of caramel. He dropped them in Serakh’s lap.

  “Dates,” she explained. “The fruit of this tree. Eat them carefully, there is a hard seed inside.” She scooped out a shallow hole in the sand.

  I filled my mouth with warm, sticky fruit, sweet as honey. My headache dissolved.

  “How did your brother die?”


  I put the date pit on the ground next to me. “Danny must have jumped from that window a hundred times. But one time he landed on a roofer’s nail, and it punctured his foot. My mother cleaned the wound as best as she could. Four days later my father fetched the doctor. By then it was too late.” I bit my lip and reached for another date.

  Serakh waited quietly.

  “Danny played Steadfast Tin Soldier because of me. I liked to watch him jump from the window. I didn’t know he could get hurt. I didn’t know he could die.”

  She touched my hand. “This game. How old were you the last time you played it?”

  “Seven. Danny was ten.”

  “You were a child, no more than the age of Makhlah. It was not your fault.” She leaned forward and spat the date pit into the hole. “Now you try. Chew the fruit and spit as I do. Did you ever spit seeds before? Try.”

  I rolled the pit on my tongue, puckered my mouth, and took aim at the hole in the sand. Bull’s-eye.

  “Here,” she said, offering me another date. “Do that again.”

  I did. No one had ever encouraged me to spit seeds before, and I must admit I enjoyed it. Danny retreated back to the place I kept him, tucked away in my mind—safe.

  “I am sorry I did not tell you about Miryam’s clothes,” Serakh said, sounding serious again. “I thought you would be safe if you stayed by my side. What you did today was brave, but also foolish and dangerous. I brought you here to inspire Tirtzah, not to act in her place. Save your interference for your own spot on the olam.”

  “But what happens here is so important!”

  “In your Port Land is there nothing worth fighting for? You say women there gather to ask men for more rights. Would your elders punish you if you interfered to help this Annashaw?”

  I took another date and chewed slowly. Tirtzah dared to do something because her father was dead. But mine was very much alive.