“Caleb!”
Hackles rising, Kelubai turned and faced three men he knew to be his enemies. He remembered their names: Tobias, Jakim, and Nepheg. It was always wise to identify your enemies. Jakim raised his hand, pointing at him. “You don’t belong among our people, let alone among the elders.”
“I came to make a petition.”
“Your petition has been rejected.”
They spoke boldly now that the others were gone. “I will wait to hear what the entire council has to say.” Not that it would make any difference. He was here to stay whether they liked it or not.
“We say, Caleb, stay outside the boundaries of our village if you know what’s good for you. We don’t want outsiders among us.” They walked away.
“They called you a dog, Father!”
Yes, they had cast him among those wretched animals that lived on the outskirts of settlements, living off the scraps from the garbage heaps. He saw the shame in his son’s eyes, anger flaring in his youthful confusion. More stinging was the unspoken question Kelubai saw in his son’s eyes: Why did you allow it?
“They don’t know me yet, my son.”
“They insult you.” Mesha’s voice trembled with youthful fury.
“A man who gives in to anger might as well burn his house down over his head.” He could swallow his pride when his family’s survival was at stake.
Mesha hung his head, but not before Kelubai had seen the tears building. Did his son think him a coward? Time would have to teach the truth. “A wise man picks his battles carefully, my son.” Kelubai put his arm around Mesha and turned him toward their camp on the outer edges of the village. “If they call me Caleb, so be it. I will make it a name of honor and courage.”
The family remained on the periphery of the villages of Judah, but Kelubai stayed close whenever the council met and therefore heard whatever news came at the same time the Judeans did. And news did come by way of Levite messengers from Moses and his brother, Aaron. Pharaoh had hardened his heart again; another plague was coming. It would not touch Goshen, but would lay waste to Egypt.
“We must go back and warn your father and brothers!”
Kelubai knew what his wife really wanted was to go back, to be away from these Hebrews who would not speak to her. “I warned them already. We will wait here and make a place for them.”
“What makes you so sure they’ll come?”
“They aren’t fools, Azubah. Stubborn, yes. Frightened? As am I. No, we remain here. I left my words like seeds. When they have been plowed under and more plagues rain down upon them, what I said will take root and grow.”
The next morning, he went to the edge of Goshen and watched the cloud of locusts come. They darkened the sun. The noise was like a rumbling of chariots, like the roar of a fire sweeping across the land, like a mighty army moving into battle. The locusts marched like warriors, never breaking ranks, never jostling each other. Each moved according to the orders of the Commander, swarming over walls, entering houses through the windows. The earth quaked as they advanced and the heavens trembled. The ground undulated black. Every stalk of wheat and spelt, every tree was consumed by the advancing horde God had called into battle.
It won’t be long now, Kelubai thought, watching the road for his father and brothers.
Kenaz came alone. “Jerahmeel rages against the god of the Hebrews for destroying the last of his crops.”
“And Father?”
“You know Father cannot leave without his eldest son.”
“And Jerahmeel will not come because it was I who suggested it. He is the fool!”
“You did not suggest, Kelubai. You commanded. Your manner did not sit well with our brothers.” Kenaz smiled. “Since I am the youngest, it matters not what I think or whom I follow.”
“You’re wrong about that, my brother. You’ve shown courage by coming of your own free will, rather than bending to the will of those older and fiercer, but far less wise, than you.” He looked toward the west. “If Pharaoh does not let the Hebrews go, there will be another plague, and another. Jerahmeel will change his mind.”
Trading and bartering for goatskins, Kelubai enlarged his tent enough to shelter his brothers and their families when they came.
Another plague did come, one of darkness upon the land of Egypt. But when Moses and Aaron returned to Goshen, they brought ill tidings of Pharaoh’s fury. He would not allow the people to go with their flocks and herds, and he had threatened Moses that if Pharaoh ever saw him again, he’d kill him.
When Kelubai stood on the outer edge of the Jewish congregation and heard the instructions given by Moses’ messenger, he knew the end was coming. He returned to his camp and told Azubah he must go back and bring their father to Goshen. “You must stay here with her, Kenaz, and keep this camp secure. Now that the darkness has lifted from Egypt, others will come seeking refuge among the Hebrews. Hold our ground against them!”
Hastening to his father’s house, he found his older brothers had gathered their families. “Another plague is coming!” Kelubai was thankful the locusts and darkness had made them willing to listen. “I heard with my own ears that all the firstborn sons will die in every family in Egypt, from the oldest son of Pharaoh, who sits on the throne, to the oldest son of his lowliest slave. Even the firstborn of the animals will die.”
Everyone looked at Jerahmeel, and he paled. Jerahmeel looked at Kelubai with new respect. “You came back to save my life?”
“We are brothers, are we not? But it is not only your life I want spared, Jerahmeel, but those of your firstborn son and the firstborn of all my brothers. Remember! Every firstborn son.”
Hezron stood. “We will return to Goshen with Kelubai. Our animals are all dead. What little grain we had hidden away for sustenance was eaten by locusts. There is nothing to hold us here.”
They journeyed to Goshen willingly, setting up tents close by Kelubai’s camp. He called them together as soon as they were settled. “Listen to what the Lord instructed Moses. Each family is to sacrifice a year-old lamb or goat without defect.” The blood would be smeared over the entrance to their tent, and they must remain inside until death passed over them. The lamb or goat was to be roasted with bitter herbs and eaten with bread made without yeast. “We are to wear sandals, traveling clothes, and have walking sticks in our hands as we eat this meal.”
When the night of the forewarned plague came, Kelubai, his wife and children, Kenaz, his father Hezron, and fourteen others stood around the fire pit as a goat roasted over the hot coals. Trembling in fear, they obeyed Moses’ instructions exactly, hoping everyone inside the thin canopy would survive the night.
Kelubai heard a sound moving overhead, a whispering wind that made his blood run cold. He felt a dark presence press down upon them, press in from the thin leather flap that served as their door. All within the circle held their breath and pressed closer to one another. Kelubai shoved Mesha and Jerahmeel into the center of the family circle. “You die; we all die.” Jerahmeel looked around, confused, shaken. When screams rent the cold night air, Azubah grasped Kelubai’s robe and hid her face in its folds while their sons hugged close around him. A man screamed, and everyone in Kelubai’s shelter jumped.
“We’re all going to die!” Some began to weep.
“We won’t die.” Kelubai spoke with a confidence he was far from feeling. “Not if we put our faith in the unseen God.”
Jerahmeel held his oldest son by the shoulders, keeping him close. “We’ve only goatskin to cover us, Kelubai, while the Hebrews have mud-brick huts and doors.”
“Something is out there. . . .”
Fear grew in the room, fanned by more screams from outside. The children whimpered; the circle tightened.
“We must follow the instructions.” Kelubai cut meat from the goat. He strove to keep his voice calm. “See to the bread, Azubah.” She rose to obey.
“How can you expect us to eat at a time like this?”
“Because the God of Abra
ham demands it.” Kelubai held out a slice of goat meat to his father. Hezron took it. “Give thanks to the God of Abraham for His protection from this plague of death.”
Kelubai swallowed his fear and forced himself to eat the Passover meal. Tomorrow will bring our freedom!
Egyptians came running toward Goshen, crying out, “Leave! Go quickly!”
“Pharaoh has relented!”
“Go as quickly as you can or all of us will die!”
“Hurry!”
“Here! Take this grain as a gift. Plead with your god for my life.”
“Take my silver.”
“Here is my gold!”
“Pray for us!”
“Away with you! Hurry!”
Others clutched at the Hebrews’ robes, pleading, “Please, let us walk with you, for we’ve heard God is with you!”
Kelubai accepted the proffered gifts as his sons stripped down the goatskin coverings and yanked up the tent poles. He laughed. “Didn’t I tell you all that our freedom was at hand?” Who would have imagined that God would make the Egyptians pour offerings upon them as they begged them to leave? Kelubai raised his hands in the air and shouted, “What a mighty God You are!” Laughing joyously, Kelubai heaved the last gift onto his cart. “Our taskmasters shower us with gifts and plead with us to leave!”
Azubah scrambled about, gathering their possessions and tying bundles while calling out to the children to keep the goats close. “Frogs, locusts, pestilence, and death! How do we worship such a God? No one gives without expecting to receive, Kelubai. What will this God ask of us?”
“So far He has asked nothing but that we believe what He says.”
“And once we are in the wilderness, what will He ask of us then?”
“If He asked for everything, I would give it to Him.”
“Our sons, Kelubai? Would you sacrifice our sons?”
Her fear gave him pause. The great overseers of Canaan were gods who thirsted for human blood. Was the God of Abraham such as these? If so, why had He asked for the blood of a lamb or goat rather than the blood of Israel’s sons?
Kelubai prodded the ox, and caught up to his father and brothers who had set off before him. Having no animals or possessions to carry, they could travel faster than he.
Hezron shared his excitement, but Jerahmeel feared the future as much as Azubah. “And how many more will be out there in the desert waiting for us?”
“They will have heard what God has done for us.”
“The nations may fear this God, but what reason have they to fear a band of slaves?”
Kelubai waved. “We are more than a band, brother. Look around you! We are thousands upon thousands.”
“Scattered in a dozen tribes, with stragglers who cling like ticks. We are not a nation. We have no army.”
“What need have we for an army when the God of heaven and earth fights for us? When people hear what has happened to Egypt, they will flee before us.”
“Where do you come by this faith in a God whose people call you dog?”
Kelubai grinned coldly. “I’ve been called worse.”
The ragged mass traveled by day and night, moving south, away from the trade route. Deeper into the wilderness they moved before turning east, pressing between the high walls of a great wadi that spilled into the Red Sea. And there the masses huddled in family groups, crying out to Moses to save them when news came that Pharaoh and his army were not far behind them.
“Now see what you’ve done to us, Kelubai!” Jerahmeel ranted. “Had we stayed in Egypt our lives and the lives of our children would be safe.”
Thousands screamed and wailed in terror when they realized they were blocked from all possible escape.
Kelubai lowered his head against the wind and pushed. “Stay in close with the Judeans.” Wind whipped at his robe, stinging his face with sand and drops of salt water. “Stay together!” He hauled his wife and sons closer as a cloud caught flame. Raging overhead, it swirled into a pillar of fire that closed the wadi and stopped Pharaoh’s chariots from racing out onto the spillway.
“They’re moving!” Azubah cried out.
And so the multitude pressed forward as the sea opened before them clear to the other side, revealing the path of salvation. Some people ran down the slope. Others, burdened with possessions, moved slower. Kelubai shouted for Azubah to run ahead and take their sons with her while he followed with the oxen and cart. His father and brothers stayed with him, grabbing sacks to lighten the load and make the way swifter. Thousands came behind, pressing tight, moving down the road through the sea. When he reached high ground, Kelubai found his family waiting among the Judeans.
The pillar of fire had lifted, and Pharaoh’s army raced out onto the sand and down into the pathway God had opened. Kelubai spotted Zimri among the stragglers. The old man, pale with exhaustion and sagging beneath the weight of a sack lumpy with possessions, struggled up the slope, his son, Carmi, helping him. Kelubai ran to them, grasped the pack, and supported the old man as they made their way up the hill.
“The chariots are coming,” Kenaz shouted, reaching them and taking the pack. “They’re coming! Hurry!”
A rushing sound and screams came from behind, and Kelubai felt a cold wet blast at his back. He fell forward onto his face and then felt hands upon him, dragging him up, shouting. Kelubai dug his heels into the wet ground and pushed, dragging Carmi up the slope. Lungs heaving, Kenaz flung the sack onto dry ground. Zimri was helped up, frightened but uninjured.
“They’re gone.” Kenaz stared out over the sea, searching. “All of them, gone.”
The multitude was silent, staring out at the rippling sea as bodies of the Egyptian soldiers washed up along the shore.
Kelubai stood beside Zimri and Carmi. “Praise be to the God who saved us.”
The old man was still pale, but he had regained his breath. He gripped Kelubai’s arms for support. “My thanks, Caleb.” For the first time, the term was spoken without derision. Caleb. A new name for a new alliance. So be it.
The old man’s hands tightened. “Make your camp next to mine.” His son, Carmi, grinned and slapped Caleb on the back.
Before three days had passed, jubilation became complaining when the desert water was found to be bitter and undrinkable. Moses prayed and cast tree bark into the pond, enabling people to quench their thirst before traveling on to the date palms of Elim. Some would have been content to stay, but God had told Moses to lead His people into the wilderness. Why? was the common cry. Why didn’t God lead them to green pastures and still waters instead of heading them out into an arid wasteland of sand and rock? Thirst and hunger soon set in, and the people complained for meat, as though God were a heavenly servant meant to give them whatever they craved. Moses prayed and God sent quail into the camp, so many that no one could walk without stepping on them. But in the morning, a greater miracle came when God gave them the bread of heaven to sustain them. Instructions were given to collect only enough for one day and no more.
Caleb knelt, picked up a few white flakes, and let them melt on his tongue. They were sweeter than anything he had ever tasted and held the slightest moisture of dew. When he had filled his clay jar, he rose and looked up at the cloud overshadowing the huge camp. It did not move with the air currents as other clouds did, nor disappear over the course of a hot day. It remained with the people, thick in portions, with fingers of gray-white, as though the mighty hand of God Himself shaded the Israelites and fellow travelers from the killing heat of the desert sun. Freedom, water, food, shelter. Was there anything the Lord had not given them?
Overwhelmed with emotions he could neither understand nor define, Caleb raised his omer high, tears streaming down his face. “How do I worship You, Lord? How do I give thanks for my life? How am I to live from now on? Nothing is the way I imagined it would be, oh, Lord!”
Life had become confusing. Freedom was not the simple matter he had dreamed. As a slave, he knew what the day would hold and how to get th
rough it. Now, he didn’t know what the next morning would bring. Every day was different. He didn’t know where he would camp or for how long or why a particular place was chosen. He pitched his tent near Zimri’s each evening, but there were always others around them, strangers vying for a better position. How was he any different from all these others, ambitious for themselves and their families, craving something better than what they had always known, demanding more now that freedom had come and brought with it the reality of daily decisions that had always been made for them. Caleb had liked to think of himself as more shrewd, more able to find his own way, but realized now that he was the same as all the others. He had been born and reared in a mud hut and lived all his life on one small plot of land he worked for Pharaoh’s benefit. Now, he was in constant turmoil, out of his element. Instead of dwelling in one place, he traveled great distances and lived in a tent like a desert nomad. This was not the life he had imagined.
Tense, irritable, fighting against the confusion of his new life, fighting to keep his relatives together and in some semblance of order, he felt more shame than joy. At times, they behaved like a pack of wolves, growling at one another, fighting over scraps.
“Where are we going, brother? I thought we were supposed to be heading for Canaan, and we’re in the middle of the wilderness!”
Every day had its squabbles and challenges. How did Moses hear the voice of God through the cacophony of voices raised in constant question and complaint?
Caleb struggled within himself, too.
In his heart, he cried out to God. I don’t want to question Your ways, Lord. I want to go with thanksgiving and without hesitation where You tell us to go. I want to set off into the unknown the way Moses does—head up, staff in hand. I don’t want to look back with longing on the life I’ve known. Oh, God, help me to remember how unbearable it was and how I longed to be free. Is it possible for You to change a man? If so, change me!
Sons of Encouragement Page 23