by Joan Wolf
“What kind of a house do you have?” Rahab was asking. “Are you rich? You must be, if your father is a lord. We aren’t rich but we have some good vineyards. Does your father have many ships? Do you think I could ride on one of them?”
Out of this torrent of questions, Sala picked the one he could answer most easily. “Women are not allowed on ships. It’s considered bad luck.”
The smile was replaced by a look of astonishment. “Bad luck? Why?”
Sala had no idea why; it was just something he had always heard. He shrugged. “Everyone says it.”
“I never heard such a thing.”
Sala looked down his nose at this girl who barely came up to his chin. “You know nothing about ships. You told me you had never even seen the sea before you came to Gaza. How should you know anything about a seaman’s rules?”
She raised her chin. “I know rules like that are stupid. Why should women bring bad luck? Can you tell me one reason?”
Sala stared at her in amazement. Who does this little creature think she is?
He said, “They must bring girls up differently among your people. Israelites expect their women to be mild-mannered and courteous.”
Rahab mimicked his shrug. “Canaanite women are supposed to be like that too, but my father lets me do whatever I want.”
What a stupid man he must be.
“How old are your sisters? Will I like them?”
Sala noticed she didn’t ask if they would like her. He shook his head. This Rahab was different from any girl he had ever met. “I have two older sisters who are married and live with their husbands. Then I have two sisters who are younger than I am. There is Rachel, who is fourteen, and Leah, who is twelve.”
“I have never heard names like that. They’re pretty.”
“They are Israelite names. They were named after two of the women who were married to Nahshon, our great forebear.”
“And Nahshon is your father’s name!”
“Yes.”
“Who are you named for, Sala?”
“I am named for my father’s father. I was born two days after he died, so I was named for him.”
“Sala!” One of his father’s men was at the door. “Come. We have heard some news and your father wishes you to hear it.” The man sounded excited.
Sala got up. “I will bid you good night, Rahab. I hope you sleep well.”
“Thanks to you, Sala, I will.”
When Sala walked into the common room, all of the men turned to look at him. Even before he had taken a seat, Nahshon spoke. “I have been telling everyone of something amazing I just heard. A man came to see me, an Israelite who lives in Gaza who knows who I am. He told me the Israelites who escaped from Egypt so long ago have been located! We all thought they must have died in the desert, but it seems that is not the case. They have been living at Kadesh, in the Wilderness of Zin, for many years. And we never knew! None of us here in Canaan ever knew!”
Amos, Lord Nahshon’s head mariner, was the first to speak. “But there were thousands of them, my lord, or so we have always heard. How can so many have lived for so long in the desert?”
“There is water in Kadesh, and perhaps there are not so many of them as we have always thought,” Nahshon replied.
Sala had been told of the Egyptian Israelites and of the escape that had happened before he was born. But he had always been told they had perished in the desert. It was astonishing to hear they were actually alive.
After the men had departed, Sala went up to his father, questions bubbling up inside him. Lord Nahshon gave him a rueful grin and put a hand on his shoulder. “I am still not used to standing eye-to-eye with you, my son.” His face sobered. “This is wonderful news, Sala. I feel as if the heart of our people has just been resurrected from the dead.”
“ ‘The heart of our people,’ Father? What do you mean by that?”
“Let us sit down, Sala, and talk.”
Sala followed his father to a bench at the side of the room. Once they were seated, Nahshon said, “Do you remember the story of Joseph, the son of Jacob, who became a great lord in Egypt? You must remember it; I taught you myself.”
“Of course I remember, Father. Joseph went to Egypt because his brothers tried to kill him. And when there was a famine in Canaan, many of the people went down into Egypt, including Joseph’s brothers, because they knew there was food there. Joseph, who was now a lord, forgave his brothers and fed all of the Israelites who had come into Egypt. And many of them liked it there and decided to remain in the country as honored subjects of the Pharaoh.”
Nahshon looked pleased. “That is correct. Not all of our people went into Egypt during the famine, but well over half of us did and they stayed. However, after Joseph died, the situation of Israelites in Egypt deteriorated, until, finally, they were little more than slaves.”
Lord Nahshon looked off across the room as if he was remembering something. “I can clearly recall my father talking about the situation of our Egyptian brothers. His ships frequently sailed into the Egyptian Delta to deliver merchandise, and so he knew all about what was happening to our people.”
Nahshon stopped talking, his gaze still focused on that faraway something. After a moment Sala prompted him, “They were slaves?”
“They were being used for forced labor in the building of the city of Ramses. But there was little we Israelites in Canaan could do to help them. All of the cities in this country owe allegiance to Egypt, and we Israelites are only a small number of the Canaanite population.”
“I know,” Sala said in a subdued voice. This was something he had often heard, the lament that the land that should belong to his people and his God had been given over to the false gods of the Canaanites.
Nahshon suddenly turned his head and his black eyes glittered as he stared unflinchingly at his son. “Never forget that Canaan is our land, Sala, given to us by Elohim Himself. We are the people of God, not the Canaanite worshippers of Baal. This is why the discovery of the Israelites from the desert is so important to us. If they are planning to enter Canaan to reclaim the land of our fathers, of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, then we must be ready to join with them!”
Sala felt his blood thrill at his father’s words. He had been taught the history of his people, but it had always seemed so far in the past to him. Life was different today, or so he had always thought. Now it seemed as if their great days might not be over yet.
Nahshon was going on, “Think of it, Sala! Our Promised Land. A Canaan that is Israelite from border to border. The God of Abraham, the God of Israel, will be restored to His rightful place, and Baal and all his filthy rituals will be swept from our sacred soil.”
Sala had never heard his father speak this way. Nahshon had always been a pragmatic businessman, willing to work with anyone if it meant making a profit. And now he was talking about war! About conquest! Sala felt the thrill in his blood turn to fire.
“Do you think the Egyptian Israelites will do that, Father? Do you think they will try to conquer the land of Canaan?”
Nahshon let out a long breath. “I was a young boy when we learned about the escape from Egypt, but I can still remember how excited my father was. It was all anyone could talk about. We kept looking for them and looking for them. It is not that long a journey from Egypt into Canaan, and we expected to see them anytime.
“We knew they could not come by the Way of the Sea—they would have been too visible—they would have to come through the Sinai. But they vanished into the desert and, after a while, we gave up waiting. Everyone believed they had died of disease or starvation. And now—after all these years—to hear of their survival! It is miraculous.”
Sala’s breath caught with awe. “It is a miracle. It must be.”
“We must try to contact them, see how many are left, what their plans are.” The room had grown darker as they talked and Lord Nahshon’s teeth gleamed white as he smiled. “The day of the Lord is coming, Sala. Let us rejoice and be glad.�
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Four
THE MEN FROM RAMAC REMAINED IN GAZA FOR SEVERAL more days while Lord Nahshon made arrangements to purchase a ship. He had been lucky enough to find one already built by one of the most highly regarded ship builders in Canaan. The previous owner had died and his widow was anxious to be rid of it. Lord Nahshon, to his profound satisfaction, got a bargain.
A few of Lord Nahshon’s seamen sailed the ship back to Ramac, leaving Nahshon, Sala, and the rest to return by land with Rahab. Before they left Gaza, Lord Nahshon sent a message with a caravan going toward Jericho. The message was to Rahab’s family and told them where they could find her to fetch her home.
“They had better come for her,” Lord Nahshon said to Sala grimly as he watched the messenger set off. “I don’t want to be burdened with a Canaanite girl for the rest of my life.”
“Someone will come for her,” Sala replied. “I think she’s her father’s favorite. He spoils her dreadfully, lets her do whatever she wants—or so she tells me.”
Lord Nahshon frowned in disapproval. “Well, she’ll find things are different when your mother takes her in hand.”
Sala laughed.
Rahab had been hoping she would get to travel on the ship, but she refrained from complaining when she discovered Sala would be traveling with her by land. It was not far from Gaza to Ramac, only a two-day journey along the Way of the Sea, the main road from Egypt into Canaan and Mesopotamia. Sala had assured Rahab that the route was so well traveled that it was perfectly safe from bandits, so she could relax and enjoy herself.
Rahab was beginning to regard everything that had happened to her as an adventure. She hadn’t forgotten how frightened she had been, but she was proud she had escaped the evil bandits, and she did not fully understand how dreadful her fate would have been if Sala had not rescued her. For now, it was exciting to be so far from home, seeing all these new places and meeting new people. And she adored spending time with Sala.
He was her main companion on the journey. Lord Nahshon had paid Hura to travel with them, but the older woman rode a donkey, leaving Rahab and Sala to walk together. She was curious about his background and religion and he readily answered her unceasing stream of questions as they walked along the busy road.
The Gaza caravan they had joined was going all the way to Damascus and it was huge. There were over two hundred donkeys, and Sala and Rahab stayed close to the front to avoid the dust the animals kicked up as they walked.
“What kind of a temple do you have in Ramac?” Rahab asked. “Our village has only a small one, but my father and brothers have told me there is a magnificent temple to Baal in Jericho, and a shrine to Asherah too. Do you have a big temple to your god in Ramac?”
Sala’s nostrils quivered as if he had smelled something rancid. “Israelites do not have temples. Our God is hidden; we do not make images of Him. He is too great for that. It would be impossible to make an image that could capture His immensity.”
Rahab’s brows knit together. “But how do you know what He looks like then?”
He shot her a quick look. “We do not know what He looks like. He may appear to us in the things of this world, in fire or clouds, but He does not have a form like ours. He is Elohim, the Creator. There is no one else like Him.”
One of the donkeys in front of them jumped and skittered to the side of the road. The man walking beside him shouted and smacked him with his hand. The donkey brayed loudly and pawed the ground.
“He probably saw a snake,” Sala called ahead.
“No,” the man shouted back. “He is just stupid.”
The donkey finally swung in behind its fellow and the line continued its methodical pace forward.
“But your god must have a mother,” Rahab said, her puzzlement increasing. “And a wife and children.”
Sala was carrying a walking stick and now he slammed it into the ground and swung around to look at her. He was scowling. “You have no idea how ridiculous you sound. You Canaanites have made up foolish gods who are like people, but Elohim is not like us. He created us, but He is not like us.” He stared down his narrow, curved nose at her. “God created men and women, Rahab. All of the people in the world are descended from His first creations, but only we, the Israelites, have remained faithful to Him, the real Lord. That is why we are His special people.”
“So you only worship this one god, this Elohim, and you don’t have any other gods or goddesses—is that what you are saying?” It sounded so strange that she wanted to be certain she had understood him properly.
“Yes.”
“But you live in the land of Canaan, the land of Baal—”
Sala cut in before she could finish her thought. “Canaan is our land, the land of the Israelites! Elohim promised it to our people ages ago. It does not belong to you!”
The conversation was not going the way Rahab had thought it would when she innocently mentioned temples. Sala seemed a different person when he was talking about this god of his.
Rahab stared down at her feet as she thought. Her sandals were covered with dust, as were her narrow toes and instep, but she scarcely noticed. Her mind was busy trying to grasp what Sala was saying.
They walked in silence for a while before she looked up and said in the most reasonable voice she could muster, “But Canaan is the home of the Canaanite people, Sala. You and your father and the people of Ramac are the only Israelites I have ever met, ever heard of. You are small and we are big. This can never be your land.”
She watched as Sala lifted his face and squinted up into the intensely blue sky, as if the answer he sought were written there. “You don’t understand, Rahab. Once Canaan was ours, the home of the Israelites. Elohim told our forefather Abraham that He was giving this land to Abraham and all his descendants. He made a covenant with us, that He would be our God and we would be His people. And as a sign of that, He would give us the land of Caanan.”
Sala turned his head to look at her. There was a line like a sword between his eyebrows. His voice was no longer passionate; he sounded calm and positve. “Canaan should be our land, Rahab, the land of the Israelites. You will not hold it forever. Our time will come.”
He was making Rahab nervous. She put a tentative hand on his arm and said anxiously, “Surely it can be both our lands? Why can we not live in peace together?”
His brow smoothed out and he patted the hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. You’re just a girl; it’s impossible for you to understand these things.”
His condescension infuriated Rahab more than all his talk. “I understand perfectly well,” she snapped. “You think your god is better than our gods and that Israelites are better than Canaanites. Do you think I am as stupid as that donkey? You couldn’t have made yourself clearer. I just think you are wrong.”
Sala let out a long slow breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. Let us talk of something else.”
“Perhaps it would be better not to talk at all for a while,” Rahab replied. “I think I will go and see how Hura is doing.”
She turned her back on him and made her way down the line of donkeys.
Ramac was much smaller than Gaza. The walls of the city were made of mud brick, not stone, but they were very high, and the cobbled road from the gates to the waterfront was straight, with a clear view down to the sea. The houses along the main street were square and substantial looking, and Sala’s house was among the grandest of them all. Clearly Lord Nahshon was a rich man.
What Rahab liked best about Ramac, though, was that you could see the water from almost any point in the city. It shimmered in the sunlight, vast and beautiful, the Great Sea. She thought it was the most wonderful thing she had seen in her life.
Rahab stayed with Sala’s family for ten days, and much of that time she spent with Sala. His mother and sisters did not speak Canaanite and, since Rahab spoke no Hebrew, the women of the house were unable to communicate with her. Rahab sat and sewed with them for a f
ew hours each morning, but the rest of the time she was in Sala’s charge.
She told him she wanted to see the town and the waterfront, and he borrowed one of his sister’s cloaks and veils and took her around the various houses and gardens. He even sneaked her down to the waterfront, where women were not allowed. She stood for a few short minutes on a wharf, where she could see the great merchant ships riding at anchor. But she could not get him to take her for a ride on a boat. Women did not go on boats, he told her, and that was that.
Rahab thought this was a stupid rule, but she held her tongue. She did not want to say anything to alienate Sala. He was the most interesting person she had ever met and she loved being with him. He had traveled to Egypt and Ugarit and Damascus, places Rahab had scarcely heard of. She hung on his every word as he described these exotic locales. He also told her about some of the things that had happened to him when he was there. Some of his stories were funny and she would laugh delightedly, loving the way his smiling brown eyes met hers.
Sala was the only son, and his father was grooming him to take over the shipping business when he was older. Rahab was impressed to learn that Sala had learned how to add up numbers and keep books. He had even learned to read. Lord Nahshon was a learned man and he had taught Sala all the great stories of their religion.
Rahab had heard some of the stories of Baal and Asherah and the other gods and goddesses of Canaan, but Sala said Lord Nahshon had his stories written down on papyrus scrolls and he read them out loud once a week to all the men of the town. From what Rahab could gather, this was what the Israelites did for worship. They did not have temples; they got together and listened to the stories of their faith and discussed them. Sala had learned to read so he could take his father’s place in this duty as well. It was a position that had long been in their family.
Rahab loved to watch Sala’s face as he talked about his Israelite ancestors and how they had learned about their god. He looked so concentrated and intense, as if his very insides were glowing with the power of his words. She could tell that his god, Elohim, meant a great deal to him, that he believed in Elohim with all his heart.