By the Waters of Kadesh (Journey to Canaan)

by Carole Towriss

  Exactly.

  Another joined the first. “We should go back. You!” He pointed to Gaddiel. “You want to be our leader?”

  The question hit Gaddiel like a punch in the gut. Forty days ago, that was exactly what he wanted. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Fear competed with his pride. Did he want to go back to Egypt? Yes. As their leader? Maybe. All he knew for certain was he didn’t want to live—let alone fight—in Canaan.

  Kamose’s heart was as heavy as one of the rocks the spies now stood on, not because he feared they could not take the land, but because the people had rejected Yahweh’s promise.

  He’d seen Yahweh push back the Yam Suph, destroy Pharaoh’s army, defeat the Amalekites, send the manna. So had everyone else. Why couldn’t they believe He could do it again?

  Maybe because as a soldier, he knew personally how impossible those victories were without Yahweh’s help. He’d led the Egyptian army, experienced himself what the Amalekites were capable of, gone hungry and without water in the desert. He’d taken days to go the long way around the Yam Suph because no one had ever crossed it before.

  Had the Israelites already taken it all for granted?

  He glanced around. The crowd was working itself into a frenzy.

  Caleb tried to shout over the crowd. “This is not the land Moses sent us to. It is the land Yahweh has given us. We only need to obey.”

  The dark-haired man in front, not overly tall but strong looking, stepped forward again. “Yahweh brought us here just to let the Anakim kill us! We should go back!”

  Others joined him. “At least there we had food! I’m sick of manna!”

  “We want meat again!”

  The man turned and faced the crowd. “Stone them!” He raised his fist in the air.

  The crowd joined the chant. “Stone them! Stone them!” Men around Kamose began to search for rocks. Some headed for the low hills to bring back the rocks at their bases.

  Naomi grabbed at Tirzah’s skirt. Keren reached for Ahmose’s hand.

  “Get back to the tents. Quick!” Kamose pointed Tirzah and Meri toward their fire. “Go now!”

  “This is crazy. How did it all change so fast?” Bezalel shook his head and looked to Kamose for an answer.

  But Kamose bolted for the hillock.

  Moses and Aaron dropped to their knees, then on their faces, and cried out to Yahweh.

  Caleb tore his clothes as he pleaded with the increasingly panicky crowd. “Don’t do this! We can take the land. Do not rebel against Yahweh. Remember what he has already done. Remember the Yam Suph. Remember the Amalekites. Remember the water from the rock.”

  Joshua ripped his tunic. “Do not disobey! Yahweh is with us. He is not with the Canaanites. We will win! Do not listen to Gaddiel!”

  “Our wives and children will be taken as slaves! We have to go back. At least in Egypt we were safe.” Gaddiel continued to excite the people. His skin was flushed, and he was breathing quickly. He was beyond reasoning with. Although he was acting like a wild man, it did seem as if he truly believed everything he said.

  Kamose looked out over the frantic people. It was no use. He’d seen it before. Panic had set in. They couldn’t hear anything. There was no stopping them. He placed himself between the crowd and Moses, who was kneeling, head cushioned on his hands. At least Kamose could keep him from harm.

  The people continued shouting down Caleb and Joshua. “The Canaanites will kill us!”

  “No!” Joshua said. “As long as we have Yahweh with us, they have no chance against us, no matter how big they are.”

  “But we can’t see Yahweh. How can we know He is with us? How can we be sure He will be there?”

  Gaddiel had the crowd firmly behind him. Every time Joshua or Caleb tried to speak, the people shouted them down.

  Behind the people, back in the center of camp, movement caught Kamose’s eye. The ever-present cloud above them, normally a soft white during the day, glowed hotter and brighter. A tail of the cloud dipped toward the tabernacle until it touched the roof, glowing stronger as it grew. It burned from within, yet did not set the tent ablaze.

  Although Moses hadn’t been watching anything, he somehow knew what had happened. Kamose watched, amazed, as Moses stood, silently left the hillock. and strode toward the Holy Place. Aaron followed.

  A hush fell over the people as the brothers passed. Fingers pointed to the sky and to the tent. People who moments ago were ready to throw rocks at him just let their leader pass, untouched. Most sat down, apparently willing to wait until Moses returned from talking to Yahweh.

  Kamose breathed a long sigh of relief. Calm had returned, at least for now. And no one had been injured.

  Joshua clambered down and stood beside Kamose.

  Kamose glanced at him. “What do you think will happen?”

  Joshua shrugged. “I have no idea. But I don’t think Yahweh is very happy with us.” He plopped to the ground. “Why can’t they just trust Him?”

  Kamose sat beside him. “Joshua, as I’ve said before, you have a faith that very few have. You can see a future that most men cannot.”

  “But is it asking too much?”

  Kamose thought about that. “No. It is not.”

  Joshua was silent for a moment, then he turned and stared at Kamose’s clothing. “Why are you in a tunic?”

  Kamose smiled. “Later.”

  After more than an hour, the cloud lifted. An aisle appeared in the crowd, and Moses approached the hillock. His face was ashen.

  Kamose jumped up to help him ascend. Joshua and Aaron followed.

  The old man faced the people.

  A hush rippled over the Israelites.

  “Yahweh is angry that you do not trust Him, that you do not believe He will go before you into Canaan. After all the signs He performed in Egypt and on the way here, you have treated Him with distrust and contempt.”

  The Israelites began to murmur. Men rubbed their hands over their faces. Women hugged themselves. Shoulders slumped as sandals dug in the dirt.

  “And so this is His judgment: Not one of you who has witnessed His glory, who has disobeyed and tested Him over and over again, not one of you will see the land He promised He would give to you. You will stay here in the wilderness for forty years—one year for every day the scouts spent in Canaan. The very thing you feared, will happen to you—you will die in this wilderness. As for the children you said would be taken as slaves, they will enjoy the land He promised you.”

  Wails and cries came from the people. Some women fainted, while others dropped to their knees and clasped hands at their chests and begged. “No, we’re sorry. We believe now. Give us another chance!”

  Moses raised a hand, and the crowd fell silent. “Of the scouts, only Caleb and Joshua, who believed the promises Yahweh made to all of you, will go into Canaan. As for those who refused to believe Yahweh, who came back and lied to you, lied about Yahweh, lied about His land, today will be the last day they will ever draw breath.”

  Gaddiel stumbled down the hill. It was difficult to walk straight. He wobbled on his feet. He drew the back of his hand across his forehead and it came away wet. His head spun and his stomach churned. He swallowed back a bit of bile.

  Surely he did not hear what he thought he heard. His last day to draw breath? Was what he had done really so bad? All he had wanted to do was keep from fighting those giants.

  And get a little glory for himself.

  And take some away from Joshua.

  Maybe it was that bad.

  But he wasn’t trying to show any “contempt” for Yahweh.

  At least he didn’t think so.

  His stomach spasmed.

  He reached his tent and fell onto his sleeping mat. Maybe he just needed to sleep. It had been a grueling forty days.

  Violent stomach pains jolted him awake. He grabbed his torso and drew his knees up. He groaned.

  Tirzah came to the door. “Are you all right?”

  Gaddiel tried to speak, but he c
ould only moan. Blistering sweat poured from every part of his body. His clothes were soaked. “H-hot.”

  She knelt beside him. “Let me take your cloak. You fell asleep with it on.” She reached to remove his outer garment, but even the gentlest touch caused excruciating pain. He screamed.

  She jerked her arm back. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you? Are you injured?” The genuine and deep concern on her face shocked him. Had it always been there, or did he only now notice? It was probably there. He just never gave her any credit.

  He rolled to one side and tried to pull his sleeve down. She grasped the end and drew it off without causing too much pain. He swayed to the other side and repeated the action.

  Tirzah pulled the tent flaps back and tied them open, then did the same on the other side. The cool breeze flowing through felt good on his wet skin, even through his tunic.

  Did Yahweh really mean to kill the spies? Except of course for Joshua and Caleb. It wasn’t fair. Perfect Joshua. Always wins.

  He had told the truth, for the most part. There were giants in Canaan. Maybe he exaggerated their size a bit, but he doubted they could win against them. And those cities, those walls. How could they ever breach them?

  No, they could never take Canaan.

  He was right.

  Wasn’t he?

  He drifted off again.

  Once again a wave of pain woke him. Or maybe his own screams, he wasn’t sure.

  He coughed into his hand. It came away filled with blood. He grasped at his cloak and rubbed the hot liquid onto it. He curled into a ball again, but the pain did not abate. His skin was on fire, like he’d been dropped into an unending flame for which he was the fuel. Pain seared his chest with every cough, and every movement brought new experiences in agony.

  Was this what the baby felt like, burning to death in the sacrificial fire in Hazor? Maybe Gaddiel could have tried to save that baby. But there would always be other babies. What good would saving one do?

  He could have tried. Should have tried.

  Tirzah came in with a large bowl of water and a cloth. She sat beside him and washed his face, then his arms, then his legs. The relief lasted only a few moments, but it calmed him. When she saw it helped, she started all over again.

  He lay there, gratefully soaking in the relief. Guilt overwhelmed him. How could she help him after all the cruel things he had said to her? Did to her? Maybe compared to Jediel, his cruelty was easy to endure. Maybe she thought she had no choice. She probably didn’t, if she wanted to feed her children.

  He didn’t even know the names of his nieces. Was he that selfish? Why? What had his wife done to hurt him that much? Nothing he could think of. She actually had tried everything she could to please him. He married because it was expected. He never wanted to be responsible for someone else. He was truly happy when she died giving birth.

  He could have been more generous with Jediel’s possessions. He could have let Tirzah have it all. It was being done more and more now, letting daughters inherit when there were no sons. He had kept it all because he wanted it, just because he could.

  The cloth moved over his face again. The breeze kissed his wet skin and for a moment the pain—only on that part of his body—disappeared.

  He opened his eyes and his gaze met hers. He summoned all his energy. “I’m … sorry.”

  She stopped in midwipe. She stared at him for what felt like forever. She didn’t smile. Did he make it worse?

  Finally a smile broke across her face. A small one. A sweet one. “It’s all right.” She took his hand for just a second. It was worth the pain.

  Tirzah brought her hand to her mouth. Gaddiel had apologized. She could hardly believe her ears. Was he delirious? He seemed to be sincere. He had no reason to lie any more.

  His breathing calmed—he must be asleep again.

  She wiped his face once more with the cool cloth, and grabbed the bowl before she stepped outside. Confused and even disparaging stares met her as she exited the tent, and she tried to keep the tears from falling before she left Zebulon and could get back to Judah. Yes, he had been cruel to her, and yes, she had refused to marry him, but did that mean she should withhold from him the most basic of kindnesses as he lay dying? How could his own people—once her own people—judge her for that? She was grateful she was no longer one of them.

  Kamose waited for her at their tent. He did not question her tears for another man, a man who had refused to allow her to keep the things she had owned as his brother’s wife, who had made her life as a widow even more miserable. She loved Kamose for that, because she wasn’t sure she could explain her sorrow.

  “Gaddiel is dying,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t like him, but I don’t want him to die. I don’t want anyone to die.” She brushed away a tear. “All the spies are dying?”

  “So I hear. All but Joshua and Caleb.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “You are very kind to tend to him.”

  “He said he was sorry.”

  Kamose remained silent.

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  Kamose breathed deeply. “I expect that now that he is dying, he realizes he has made a lot of mistakes, and one of them is the way he treated you. Whether he wanted to marry you or not, he could have done better by you. Men tend to stop lying to themselves when they know they are about to die.”

  He must have fallen asleep again. The barest amount of pink light showed in the western sky. The ache was gone. But since Gaddiel could not move a single muscle, that could not possibly be a good sign.

  He closed his eyes for the last time. The day was over and he was dying. Yahweh had punished him for giving a false report about the mission. And he deserved it. He knew very well he lied when he stood there and said what he had said. Oh, it was true there were giants in the land. He also knew they could have taken any of those cities with Yahweh behind them. But his fear, his lust for power, and his desire to take down Joshua had blinded him to any truth other than the one he had created in his own mind.

  And that had cost him his life.

  Sixteen

  The despondent wailing was relentless. The night had come and was nearly gone, and still the crying continued.

  In their tent, Tirzah slid next to Kamose, and he drew her closer. She shut her eyes tight against the unsettling noise. The warm, solid feel of his body next to hers was usually reassuring, but tonight it seemed to have little effect. “Forty years,” she whispered. “We will never see Canaan.”

  He turned toward her and wrapped his other arm around her. “Your children will.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

  “At least we won’t have to worry about not inheriting any land.” She laughed dryly.

  “Your daughters will marry and live on their husbands’ land and be well taken care of. You don’t need to worry about anything. Besides, I thought you said you liked it here, with the manna, and your new friends, and”—he chuckled and kissed her neck— “me.” He rolled onto his back.

  “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  “Um hmm.”

  He rubbed her back a few times, then his breathing slowed. The soft, regular sound soothed her, and she was almost asleep when a new thought jarred her awake. She pushed up on one elbow. “What if we have a child?”

  Kamose opened one eye. “Maybe it will be a girl as well.”

  “What if it’s not?”

  “Why don’t we worry about that later?”

  “But he will not be given land. Where will he live?”

  He turned his head to fully face her, and with his other hand lifted her chin. “Tirzah, you cared for Gaddiel all day, and it is now more than halfway into the night. You are tired, and when you are tired, you worry.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes, you do. You need to sleep.” He slid a hand behind her neck and pulled her back down against his chest. “If Yahweh gives us children, He will provide for them. For now,
get some sleep. I fear tomorrow will be a very long day.”

  She settled her head on his shoulder, but her thoughts continued to stir. Sleep did not come easily.

  Kamose woke early and slipped out of the tent. The camp was awakening slowly, as most of the Israelites had been up deep into the night. He knelt at the fire pit and stirred the embers to a bright red glow.

  A droning from the tabernacle drew his attention. He stepped between his tent and the one Ahmose now shared with Rebekah, whenever she stayed in their camp. Joshua’s and Moses’s tent, behind Kamose’s, faced the tabernacle, and Joshua was already awake when Kamose drew near.

  “What’s the noise about?” Kamose pointed toward the courtyard.

  Joshua shrugged one shoulder. “Not sure. We’re going to see.”

  Moses exited the tent. Kamose and Joshua fell in behind him as the old man marched to the center of camp.

  A sizable and restless crowd of men already waited. Before Moses could speak, one man stepped forward. “We are ready to go now.”

  Twin creases appeared between Moses’s brows. “Go where?”

  A younger man with curly, light brown hair muscled his way forward from the second row. “To Canaan. We are sorry we did not trust Yahweh yesterday, but we realize our error, and we are ready to fight.”

  Moses shook his head. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work that way. Your decision was made; now Yahweh has made His.”

  “But we know we were wrong. We want to fix it.”

  Moses approached the young man. “What is your name?” he asked gently.

  “Lamech.”

  “Lamech, you are doing the same thing all over again. You are disobeying Yahweh. He said we are to stay.”

  Lamech folded his arms over his chest. “We’re going.”

  “I can’t stop you. But Yahweh will not be with you. You will not succeed; you will be defeated. The Amalekites and the Canaanites will be waiting. Because you have turned away from Yahweh, He will not be with you, and many of you will fall by the sword.”

  Lamech glared at Moses a long moment, his eyes narrowed. Then his face hardened. “I don’t think so. I think we’ll win. We’ve had plenty of practice in battle.” He turned and stormed away.