Deborah Calling

by Avraham Azrieli

  As they approached the city, trumpets sounded. Two large flags, copper-colored with a golden tiger, were raised to the top of tall poles and fluttered in the wind. The sentries ran out and lined up by the gates.

  Sallan straightened up, sitting tall in the saddle, and sped up to take the lead ahead of the group. He raised his right arm in greeting. Riding behind him with Kassite and the two boys, Deborah was impressed that Sallan’s arrival had prompted such honorary commotion, though the large crowd in the garden had already shown her that his fame was indeed great.

  General Mazabi emerged from the gates, riding at the head of a contingent of soldiers, and galloped down the road toward them.

  Sallan stopped his horse and kept his arm raised in a greeting.

  The general and his soldiers didn’t slow down as they bore down on the group. In the last moment, Kassite urged his horse forward, grabbed Sallan’s horse’s bridle, and pulled both horses off the road. Deborah and the boys did the same while General Mazabi and his soldiers flew by at full speed.

  A trumpet sounded from the west, where a military convoy was approaching. The general and his soldiers welcomed the convoy in a cloud of dust.

  As it came closer, Deborah saw a gold-plated chariot, drawn by a pair of black stallions, followed by twelve iron chariots and a few hundred foot soldiers. The soldiers wore the same tall helmets, decked with rooster combs of copper-dyed horsehair on top, and carried the same flags as the ones by the gates. General Mazabi rode beside the golden chariot.

  The vendors and their customers ran over from the fairgrounds and lined up along both sides of the road.

  Deborah was surprised at how young the king looked. His freckled face was smooth, his body was slim, and his lips were thin and red. He drove the chariot with one hand and held a spear in the other. His leather armor was etched with intricate designs, his helmet was the color of gold with a crown-like ridge but no horsehair comb, and his gloves glistened with precious stones.

  Everyone dismounted, went down on their knees, and bowed as the king’s chariot came to a stop.

  “Is this our long-absent Elixirist?” King Esau the Twentieth had a thin voice, which fitted his physical stature, yet contrasted with his opulent regalia.

  Sallan stayed kneeling, but looked up and smiled. “Yes, my king.”

  “The news of your return delighted us immensely.”

  “Praise the gods for bringing Your Excellency home safely.”

  “We’ve been away for only a few weeks, but Edom has missed you for a lifetime. And now Qoz in His divine wisdom has brought you back to us, because we need you more than ever.” The king pointed his spear at Sallan’s bandaged hand. “What happened?”

  Sallan held it up. “A setback during our escape. I lost a finger, but the rest of my body gained freedom.”

  Deborah looked at the king. Up close, his face seemed even younger.

  King Esau tapped Sallan’s shoulder with his spear. “Stand up. Let us look at you.”

  Sallan stood, a sigh escaping his lips.

  “You’ve become an old man.” The king grinned. “You should drink your famous Youth Elixir—or better yet, bathe in it!”

  The men nearby laughed.

  “Yes, my king.” Sallan bowed again. “May I take this command as permission to resume my work and provide the people with the elixirs they desire?”

  Murmuring broke out as his question was repeated for those who were too far to hear it.

  The king’s grin faded. “Not yet. We shall think about it.”

  More murmuring sounded, tainted with resentment.

  Sallan bowed. “I’m grateful for having lived long enough to see the precious child who once bounced on my knee grow up to wear the crown of Edom. My heart swells with unbounded happiness.”

  “Good. We are pleased.” The king looked at Rogez, measuring him up and down with admiration, and his eyes dropped to Deborah, who was kneeling by her horse.

  “These men escaped with me.” Sallan placed a hand on Kassite’s shoulder. “This good man is an expert in treating cowhides, making wonderful leather—”

  “This one!” The king pointed his spear at Deborah. “What’s his name?”

  “This is Borah,” Sallan said. “He’s just a boy.”

  “A boy on a rich man’s horse.” The king stared at her. The blue in his eyes seemed unreal, as if painted with the dye used to color the threads on the Hebrew priests’ robes.

  Sallan nudged her, and Deborah lowered her gaze.

  “The world is out of order,” the king said. “The cursed Hebrew tribesmen of Simeon abducted our beloved sister, Needa. We demanded her safe return, but they play hide and seek with us, those roving outlaws!”

  “May Qoz strike them down where they stand,” Sallan said, “and bring Princess Needa home.”

  “You are right,” the king said. “We shall make an offering to Qoz, and then, with His blessing, we’ll raise a new army and make war on our Hebrew enemies.”

  Hearing his words, Deborah could hardly breathe.

  The king shook the reins, and his horses pulled the golden chariot forward, followed by General Mazabi, the twelve chariots, and the hundreds of foot soldiers, who marched with renewed vigor to the open gates of Bozra.

  The vendors and their customers lingered near the road, discussing the return of the young monarch without Princess Needa and his refusal of Sallan’s request.

  Kassite mounted his horse, but Sallan didn’t. He looked at Deborah, shaking his head.

  “I know,” she said. “I shouldn’t have stared at the king, but his eyes—they’re so blue.”

  “Drawing attention to yourself is very dangerous,” Sallan said. “If he finds out you’re a Hebrew, we’ll both lose our heads.”

  “Why?”

  “Should I have told him you’re a Hebrew like the tribesmen who abducted the princess?”

  “I’m of the Ephraim tribe, not Simeon.”

  “Do you think the king cares about your tribal affiliation? In his eyes, you’re all roving outlaws.”

  Kassite chuckled atop his horse. “The king is right. I would give my right arm to see all the Hebrews cut down by the sword.”

  Deborah looked up at Kassite. She was hurt at first, but remembered that both he and Sallan had spent almost two decades in Hebrew slavery.

  “If you want to live,” Sallan said, “you must hide your Hebrew roots. Imitate our Edomite ways—even if you don’t wish to mutate.”

  She didn’t argue.

  “It won’t be hard.” He gestured at her. “Your hair, your skin, your height. No one will doubt you’re an Edomite. We escaped from Egypt together, and I’ve made you a member of my household for as long as you wish.”

  “You have my complete gratitude,” she said, “but please remember that one day, when I’m ready, I’ll have to follow the path laid down for me by my ancestors and my God and return to Canaan.”

  “I won’t hold you prisoner,” Sallan said, “but continue to hope that your heart will eventually accept the futility of returning to Canaan and rejoining the primitive Hebrews.”

  “My people aren’t primitive. We are sinners, and Yahweh has turned His back on us, but when we repent, He will smile upon us again and make us more prosperous than before. One day, we’ll build cities greater than Bozra.”

  “That is what you get,” Kassite said to Sallan, “for begging a Hebrew girl as if she were Pharaoh’s daughter.”

  “I’m not a king’s daughter,” Deborah said. “God forbade us from anointing kings and queens, but He told my father in a dream that I was destined to become a prophet, and that’s a greater honor than being royalty.”

  “It’s tempting,” Sallan said, “to believe that the gods marked you for greatness, but what if your father’s dream was just that, a dream?”

  “It was true,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Then you should have drunk the third dose. A man’s path is much safer in this world, especially in Cana
an.”

  “The path is never safe,” Kassite said, “for one claiming to speak for a god.”

  “God created me a woman,” Deborah said. “He expects me to pursue my True Calling as a woman. And to succeed, I’ll have to be better than any man.”

  “Why?” Sallan smiled as he asked it, for it was usually she who asked why.

  “Because I’ll have to do battle, not once, but repeatedly, and I’ll have to win every time. For that, I’ll have to learn not only how to fight, but also how to lead others in fighting.”

  “That’s an impossible goal for a woman.”

  “My time in the tannery taught me that I could do everything the men did.”

  “You compare my tannery to war?” Kassite waved his hand in dismissal. “Perseverance might be enough to survive the tannery’s stench of rotting animal flesh, but a battlefield reeks of rotting human flesh.”

  His words caused her to catch a whiff of the terrible stench coming from the lumps of rotten, bloody meat she had swallowed in order to survive her wedding night in Shiloh.

  “I’ll do what’s necessary,” Deborah said, “become a trained warrior and learn to win battles as the best general.”

  “There’s an Edomite saying,” Sallan said. “To make a great general, start with a witless recruit.”

  “I’m not a complete novice,” Deborah said. “I’ve killed a man.”

  “Winning a scuffle isn’t the same as winning a battle, which isn’t the same as winning a war.”

  “Will you help me?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Sallan sighed. “I’ll speak with General Mazabi.”

  “Good timing,” Kassite said as he urged his horse forward. “The king wants to raise a new army.”

  Deborah held the reins of Sallan’s horse while he mounted it, before getting onto Rogez. He whinnied happily as she settled in the saddle.

  They rode through the gates into Bozra. The king and his entourage were already halfway up the first street, moving slowly through a cheering crowd.

  “Look who is here,” Kassite said.

  A familiar group of men stood by their horses inside the gates. They had cleaned up and wore new robes, but Deborah recognized them at once and felt a cold wave of dread. Antippet was wearing a bandage over his eyes, while Patrees and the other Edomite slaves from the tannery stared back at her.

  Kassite waved them over. They came and knelt before him.

  “Master,” Patrees said, “we beg forgiveness.”

  “Do you have my silver?”

  There was a long silence, and Deborah looked at Kassite, wondering what silver he was speaking of.

  Patrees reached under his armor, pulled out a heavy purse, and handed it to Kassite. “I forgot to leave it behind when you banished us. I was too upset.”

  Deborah watched Kassite put the purse under his robe. The missing purse was news to her, and she was impressed that the Edomite men were honorable enough to return it.

  “Master, will you forgive us?”

  “Only if Borah does,” Kassite said.

  They turned to her.

  “Why would I forgive them? They attacked me and forced me to poke out a man’s eyes.” She pointed at Antippet. “They deserve no forgiveness.”

  “It’s not simple,” Sallan said. “You’re sentencing them to harsh slavery.”

  “Me?”

  “They need a place to live and work, or they’ll be arrested and sent to the king’s copper mines. Kassite’s patronage is their only hope.”

  Now she understood why they had returned the purse.

  “Tell me who am I,” she said.

  They didn’t respond.

  “Speak up,” she said. “Who am I?”

  “You’re Borah,” Patrees said. “Borah, the boy, our group leader.”

  The rest of them nodded.

  “Fine,” she said. “You’re forgiven.”

  Their faces broke into smiles.

  “Master,” Patrees said, “we want to serve you again.”

  “My family’s homestead has been neglected,” Kassite said. “There is water, but it has been diverted into an old mine and needs to be redirected. Will you work hard and obey me?”

  They chorused, “Yes, Master!”

  “Get your horses ready.” Kassite turned to Sallan. “Be well, old friend. I will come back to visit you soon.”

  The two men edged their horses closer and hugged.

  Things were happening too fast, and Deborah suddenly felt alarmed. From the moment he had agreed to let her stay at the tannery, Kassite had been her guardian and mentor. Despite his occasional sharp tongue, she knew his heart was warm and caring.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why are you leaving?”

  Kassite smiled and tugged at his horse’s reins to get closer to her. “As you are attached to Palm Homestead, I belong on my forefathers’ land.”

  She nodded, a lump forming in her throat.

  “Before I go,” Kassite said, “you must tell me something. How did you get out?”

  “Yes,” Sallan said, “I also want to know, having been locked down there for three years, constantly trying to find a way through that heavy door to no avail!”

  Deborah untied the sling from around her waist and held it by the loop and tab, the pouch dangling below. “I put my arm out through the porthole, swung the pouch until it hooked under the end of the crossbar, and pulled—”

  “Ah!” Sallan clapped. “That’s why the chair was broken!”

  “Brilliant.” Kassite laughed. “Just brilliant!”

  “There was nothing brilliant about it,” she said. “In fact, because of my stupidity, the lamp went out and I was left in complete darkness. Then, by coincidence, I fumbled with my sling and got the idea to use it as a lever. That’s all.”

  Kassite shook his head in wonder. “I must admit, when you first arrived at the tannery and told me your story, I thought of you as a foolish girl with a big dream that would surely get you killed.”

  “But you helped me.”

  “Because I felt pity for you,” Kassite said. “Now, I pity your enemies.”

  Tying the sling back over her robe, Deborah felt her face flush.

  Patrees said, “Master, we’re ready to go.”

  Kassite leaned over and pressed Deborah’s forearm. “You will always remain in my heart, Borah.”

  “Farewell, Master.”

  “Say a good word to your Hebrew god for me.”

  She smiled through her tears. “Shall I give you a blessing?”

  He removed his white leather hat and lowered his head.

  Letting go of Rogez’s reins, Deborah held her hands over Kassite’s head, four fingers on each hand spread in two pairs. “May Yahweh bless you and protect you. May He show you kindness and grace. May He illuminate your path and grant you peace.”

  Kassite put his hat back on. “And may He do the same for you.”

  With Patrees leading Antippet’s horse, the Edomite men trotted behind Kassite through the open gates of Bozra and broke into a gallop on the road across the valley, raising a dusty wake.

  Sallan wiped his eyes and urged his horse up the street. Deborah caught up, followed by the boy-servants.

  They made the sharp turn to the next street up. Everyone had come out of their houses to cheer the king and his soldiers. When the people saw Sallan, they cheered again. In front of one of the houses, Deborah saw a woman holding a young boy, who pointed and yelled, “Look, Mother! A white horse!”

  To be continued …

  Acknowledgments

  The idea for Deborah Rising and its sequels came during a visit to the archaeological remains of the ancient city of Shiloh in the Samariah Hills, about twenty miles east of modern-day Tel Aviv. The tangible remnants of the Holy Tabernacle (where the tribes of Israel had worshipped for three centuries before King David built a temple in Jerusalem approximately three thousand years ago) fueled my imagination and inspired me to fill an enigmatic gap in
the dramatic story of the first woman to lead a nation in recorded human history: Deborah.

  While the Book of Judges describes Deborah’s stunning success as a prophet, a judge, and a military leader who liberated her people from Canaanite oppression, it offers no information about her family, upbringing, or youth. How could a girl, growing up in a world controlled by men, rise to rule over them? What hardships forged her formidable tenacity? What setbacks hardened her resilience? What challenges honed her skills? These are the fascinating mysteries I attempt to unravel by telling Deborah’s story.

  As always, this novel would not have come to life without the tireless support of my wife, Fiona, a hardworking physician who finds time to read several drafts of each new novel and provides astute critique, perceptive comments, and inspiring encouragement. Fiona and our children fill my life with love and laughter, which sustain me daily.

  We are blessed with wonderful friends and family members who read my manuscripts at various stages, provide insightful observations, and, most importantly, offer enthusiastic support. They include (in alphabetical order) Margie and Arie Adler, Lucie and Ephraim Arnon, Ruth, Sarai, Talya, and Benjamin Azrieli (my mother, sister, daughter and son), Hagit and Michael David, Rabbi Dr. Israel Dreisin, Don Eddins, Monica and Prof. Michael Finkelthal, Lois and Bob Gamerman, Risa and Opher Ganel, Rachel and Joel Glazer, Prof. Sharon Glazer and Tamas Karpati, Julie and Hanan Gur, Jennifer and Nir Margalit, Dr. Bernard Rosenbaum, Glenna Salisbury, Stephen J. Wall, Ernest Wechsler, and Carol Wilner.

  The team at HarperCollins Publishers and HarperLegend has been incredibly supportive and professional, especially Anna Paustenbach, who shepherds each manuscript through the multiple stages of preparations to publication with unfailing expertise, judicious counsel, and good humor, and copyeditor Kathy Reigstad, whose expert hand brings numerous improvements to every book. Needless to say, the responsibility for any mistakes or typographical errors would be mine alone.

  In the course of preparing to write Deborah’s story, I consulted countless books and articles about the way people lived in the ancient Middle East. They are too many to list here in full, but I am particularly indebted to the scholarly works of William F. Albright, Yigael Yadin, Avraham Biran, Israel Finkelstein, Benjamin Mazar, Amihai Mazar, William G. Dever, Joyce Salisbury, Carol Meyers, Thomas E. Levi, George Hart, Bruce Routledge, Richard Elliot Friedman, Geraldine Harris, Richard Wilkinson, Boyd Seevers, Gale A. Yee, Brian Schmidt, Alan Dickin, Monroe Rosenthal, Isaac Mozenson, Diana Vikander Edelman, Hershel Shanks, and Claudia Valentino.