Love Amid the Ashes

by Mesu Andrews

  “Like you helped me by destroying the Chaldean temple?” Sitis’s words cut Job like a blade, and he doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. But she didn’t stop—perhaps she couldn’t stop. “The Chaldeans killed my Atif and the other servants. They took our camels—all as vengeance, Job. Why did you have to destroy their temple? Why couldn’t you allow Sayyid to take my offerings to Al-Uzza’s temple? Who did it hurt?”

  “Me!” Job sprung from his stance like an arrow from a bow. “You hurt me!” He beat his chest. “You deceived me, and you betrayed El Shaddai!”

  Sitis didn’t recoil. A mere handbreadth apart, they stood locked in a silent battle.

  Job finally spoke—softly, patiently. “It is no coincidence that the Sabeans and Chaldeans, traveling from opposite ends of the earth, raided our livestock on the same day, at the same moment, Sitis. And it is not by chance that fire from heaven burned up our sheep, and a desert wind swept away . . . ” His lips quaked. “Took away our precious lambs.” He calmly rested his hands on Sitis’s shoulders, but when she shrugged them off, his patience was spent. “Sitis, I destroyed the Chaldean temple nine years ago. Why did they wait until today to attack? You can’t blame man for one tragedy and El Shaddai for the others, when all things—blessings and trials—come from the Almighty.”

  Her expression became as hard as flint. “Fine, I am content to curse El Shaddai for all my pain,” she said with deadly calm. “And if you embrace El Shaddai, I curse you too.”

  7

  ~Job 1:20–21~

  At this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship and said: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised.”

  Dinah stared in utter horror as Sitis’s words echoed off the high red walls surrounding them. The silence that followed screamed rebellion, lifting the hair on Dinah’s arms and the back of her neck. Lightning flashed outside the courtyard door, and she winced, wondering if the fire of Yahweh would reach into Job’s dining hall and consume his belligerent wife. Nogahla grasped Dinah’s hand and looked up. Dinah saw her own disbelief and sorrow reflected in the girl’s midnight pools.

  “Nada, we’re going to my chamber,” Sitis said flatly. “I have nothing else to say to this man.” Job flinched as if she had slapped him. Stirring the tension with a hurried swish of her robe, Sitis grabbed Nada’s arm and fled the dining hall. Her purple robe disappeared behind a tapestry curtain covering a connecting hallway.

  Dinah stared after her, wondering how anyone could rebuild after such devastation. She wanted to console Job, to say something comforting, the way he had eased her years of pain and grief. But what could she say or do? Family and faith united them, but in reality she barely knew the man. He glanced in her direction, but his eyes looked through her. He buried his face in his hands and wept bitterly. Dinah turned away, unable to bear the agony of his strong silhouette shaken with grief.

  Instead, she gave her attention to the herdsman Shobal, who had found some cloth and was tearing it into bandages to wrap his friend’s burns. Hoping to busy herself, she tugged lightly on Nogahla’s hand, moving in the direction of the two servants.

  Shobal offered Dinah a weak smile but returned his attention to his friend. “Sit down, Lotan, so we can dress your wounds.” He shouldered the man’s weight, and Nogahla supported his left side, helping the injured shepherd to a nearby bench. Lotan’s burns weren’t as serious as Dinah had originally feared, but they covered a significant portion of his face, hands, and arms. She had just torn the last narrow strip of cloth when a cry jolted her.

  “No, Abba!” Dinah turned as Elihu shrieked and leapt toward Job—at precisely the same moment she saw Job raise his dagger to his throat. “Abba Job, you can’t. You mustn’t. It’s against the teachings.” Job lay motionless on the stone tiles, gazing into Elihu’s tortured face.

  At a time that should have been rife with tension, Job’s unnatural calm startled Dinah. With all her restraint, she held back an inappropriate giggle at the sight of Elihu—a tall, skinny broom tree—tackling the muscular, sinewy Job. Elihu lay on top of Job, panting. The younger trapped the elder’s arms to the floor. The dagger lay sprawled on Job’s relaxed palm, the atmosphere writhing with unasked questions.

  Tentatively, Dinah walked toward them and plucked the dagger from Job’s hand. Elihu met her gaze and nodded, seemingly satisfied that she had joined his efforts to protect Job. When she stepped back, the two men stood. Neither one spoke or looked at the other. Dinah looked up to meet Job’s gaze and then offered the knife back to him.

  Elihu shoved her. “What are you doing?” He grabbed for the weapon, but it was already firmly planted in Job’s hand. The two men locked eyes in challenge, each measuring the other, student testing teacher, would-be son protecting surrogate abba.

  “Elihu, you are mistaken.” Job’s voice fell into tortured silence. Dinah saw sadness in him but not despair. She trusted this man—even now, when his life lay in ruins.

  Elihu turned on her, raging. “His blood is on your hands . . . woman!”

  Dinah suddenly realized that this young man didn’t even know her name. His anger wasn’t aimed at the usual Dinah of Shechem but at a nameless woman he feared had endangered his beloved abba-teacher.

  “Elihu, I—” But her explanation halted when Job abruptly turned, dagger in hand, and walked toward the same tapestry through which Sitis had disappeared.

  “Abba, wait!” Elihu followed, and with sick dread, Dinah fell in step behind them, wondering if she’d mistakenly returned a weapon to a desperate man. Nogahla, Shobal, and even the injured Lotan trailed through a dimly lit hall, into the kitchen and servants’ quarters, and finally to an exterior courtyard. Job walked as if in a trance to the farthest corner of the yard. Passing kitchen scraps and garden waste, he trudged into a pile of ash collected from household braziers that was as tall as a small child. Job turned toward his followers and fell to his knees, sinking into the fine gray ash.

  The surrounding torches illumined Job’s tears, sparkling diamonds streaming into his coppery beard. With one hand, he ripped the neckline of his robe and released a feral cry. The dagger in his other hand returned to his throat. For one terrible moment, Dinah feared his death, but in the next, she marveled at his life.

  One swipe up, and Job’s flint blade razed the first swatch of beard. Another swipe, and Dinah was mesmerized. Nogahla, Elihu, and both herdsmen joined in hushed reverence as Job’s coppery tresses fell into the ashes. He shaved his head and face without a mirror, each nick of skin mingling his blood with tears.

  When at last he was cleanly shaven, Job lifted his grief to heaven in worship. “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. Yahweh gave and Yahweh has taken away; may the name of Yahweh be praised.”

  In his home’s waste yard, the symbol of all that was used up and broken, Job released his torrent of anguish in a desperate sacrifice of praise. He had held his grief amid the tragedies. He had controlled his rage during Sitis’s attack. But in El Shaddai’s presence, his emotion poured out as an offering. He rocked and prayed, throwing ash toward heaven, allowing the fine dust to fall over him like Yahweh’s healing balm.

  The sudden unsheathing of a dagger startled Dinah. She’d been so consumed by Job’s faithfulness, she hadn’t noticed when Elihu removed his keffiyeh. He approached Job and knelt beside his mentor and would-be abba. Without hesitation, Shobal and Lotan followed, and soon all three men began the tremulous task of shaving their heads and beards.

  “Naked I came from my mother’s womb,” Elihu began, his scraggly beard and wispy brown hair lying in the ashes beside him. The herdsman and shepherd joined the refrain, emulating the life lesson of their righteous master. They too had lost their livelihood tonight. They too had lost friends and family in the tragedies of this household.

  Dinah felt her throat tighten with emotion, swept aw
ay in the presence of such devotion. A man devoted to his God, student to his teacher, servants to their master. Her heart squeezed like olives in a press. Could I be so devoted? Or would I have rebelled like Sitis—bitter and angry?

  Job worshiped El Shaddai, though he admitted freely Yahweh’s responsibility for the devastation. Still Job trusted El Elyon’s perfect understanding and perfect ways. How could anyone live this way—with such faith, such unwavering trust?

  Dinah felt a slight tug on her robe and looked down into Nogahla’s wide, questioning eyes. She hugged the girl so tightly, they almost toppled over.

  “Mistress Dinah,” Nogahla whispered, “please, I want to leave here.”

  Dinah cupped the girl’s cheeks in her hands. “Nogahla, where can we go?” The moment the words escaped her lips, the deeper truth of Dinah’s circumstance seemed real for the first time.

  The shimmer of moonlight in Nogahla’s tears intensified her pleading. “Mistress Dinah, I’m afraid to go, but I’m afraid to stay.”

  Fear steered Dinah’s thoughts down an awful path of possibilities. Job’s son was gone, and her future had died with him. Dinah couldn’t ask Job to spend his depleted resources for her return to Jacob’s tents, but how could she and Nogahla survive on their own?

  El Shaddai, what will we do? She had marveled at Job’s faithfulness and trust in God when all was lost, but now realized she faced the same uncertainty. How will I provide for Nogahla?

  Her gaze was once again drawn to Job, who just a few nights ago had taught her the love and forgiveness of El Shaddai. Tonight he showed her the sovereignty of Yahweh and that a person’s response must always be trust and praise. She wasn’t sure that she could accept God’s will without question, but she would try to follow Job’s example.

  Dinah hugged Nogahla resolutely before releasing the girl and turning her back to the men. She grasped the neckline of her undergarment, and with a strong pull, the woven fabric gave way. “We didn’t know those who died,” she whispered to Nogahla, “but our dreams have died tonight too. Our grief is just as real, our future just as unsure.” Careful to cover the torn tunic beneath her robe, she slowly faced the men on the ash heap once more.

  Dinah didn’t need to intrude on the men’s ash pile. She didn’t need to shave her hair in order to speak to the Creator who had given her ima Leah’s wheat-colored tresses. Dropping to her knees beside dinner scraps and garden waste, she recited Job’s words. “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. Yahweh gave and Yahweh has taken away; may the name of Yahweh be praised.”

  As she began to formulate her own words of praise, she sensed Nogahla turn, and heard her garment rip and her sweet voice repeat the now familiar refrain.

  Sayyid listened contentedly as Uz regained its quaint stillness. Taking a long, slow drink of his sweet wine, he glanced over his cup at his Edomite friend. Bela, son of Beor, was a short, squat gem merchant whose girth covered the full width of Sayyid’s courtyard bench.

  Swallowing the sweet nectar, Sayyid tried to calm his nervous friend. “Take a deep breath, Bela. My guards will soon return with the final report on our substantial gains.”

  The man’s little eyes darted back and forth over rounded cheeks like two horseflies jumping over gourds. “Why is it taking so long?” he whispered. “The screaming stopped long ago.” Bela smoothed his mustache, his fingers rounding his mouth and tugging at his long, red beard.

  Did all the men of Esau have that hideous copper coloring? Bela was pompous and repulsive, but Sayyid forgave his faults because he was the second-wealthiest man in Uz. And after the Chaldeans raided Job’s camels, Bela would be the wealthiest.

  “You need not whisper.” Sayyid soothed him in liquid tones. “Every servant in my home is loyal and would not dare betray me.” He clasped the wrist of a young serving girl as she offered olives and cheese. His grip tightened, and he felt her immediate submission. Head bowed, body trembling, she set the tray aside and fell to her knees. Sayyid tipped her chin with one finger and tilted her face toward Bela for approval. “You see, my fine Edomite friend, my home is a sanctuary, and every servant knows my desire before I speak it.” Sayyid eyed her hungrily. Perhaps I will choose you to help me celebrate my victory over Job tonight, he thought as she glanced warily between the merchants.

  “How can you think of women at a time like this, Sayyid?” Disgust laced Bela’s tone. “And tell me this. Why do all your slave girls look the same? Dark hair, dark eyes, full lips and curves. All the same height and weight—just differing ages of the same woman. Where did you even find so many who look alike?”

  Sayyid laughed to hide his discomfort. No one had openly posed the question before. “I decided a long time ago to start a collection of perfect women.” Sayyid released the girl and waved his hand, explaining his obsession as a silly game. “It’s the reason I’ve never married, Bela. Why buy one cow when you can drink milk from a thousand herds?”

  Bela’s chuckles caused dizzying ripples across his ample middle. Sayyid was relieved to divert the man’s attention from the corps of Sitis look-alikes he’d purchased over the last forty years.

  The sudden sound of marching halted Bela’s laughter and sped Sayyid’s heartbeat. “Now we’ll have our report on the Chaldeans’ raid, my friend. We will be rich men and Job’s camel caravans ruined.”

  As if summoned by the words, the captain of Sayyid’s household guard appeared at the gate, followed by a small detachment of men. The massive captain, Aban, in his black robes and keffiyeh, almost disappeared into the night until he smiled. The brilliant white teeth in his chiseled jaw glowed as brightly as the torches lighting his way across the pebbled path.

  “Master, all three Chaldean raiding parties completed their objectives,” he said. “Job’s camels are being driven to Damascus for sale and his servants are dead. Job’s Hebron guide, who helped coordinate the Chaldeans’ arrival, has been—” Aban paused, glancing at Bela. Sayyid nodded his permission to continue. “The guide has been silenced and is no longer a threat to expose your plan.” The captain lifted one eyebrow and pursed his lips.

  Sayyid recognized immediately the telling signs that his young captain had suppressed further details—perhaps something displeasing. He rose from his chair, standing eye level to Aban’s chest, and with a menacing whisper still commanded enough respect to back his captain onto his heels. “Tell me what you hesitate to say.”

  Aban swallowed hard, and Sayyid watched the lump bob up and down in his throat. “Master Sayyid,” he began, “Job’s old house steward, Atif, was mortally wounded in the attack. I’m sorry, master. I know he’s been a friend since you and Mistress Sitis were children.”

  Sayyid released the breath he was holding and waved away Aban’s concern. “It can’t be helped. I was afraid you were going to report something awful—like some of Job’s camels survived the raid.”

  The lump in his captain’s throat bobbed again. “The Chaldeans took all of Job’s corralled camels, Master Sayyid. However, the few camels and supplies from his Hebron caravan were sheltered in his household stable and were overlooked by the Chaldeans.”

  “Overlooked? You’re telling me Job still has camels and goods to trade?” Sayyid heard the shrillness of his voice and hated it.

  “Sayyid, calm down.” Bela’s voice melded into Sayyid’s building fury. “What are a few camels and some baubles compared to the three thousand camels Job lost to our Chaldean raiders?”

  Before Sayyid could berate his fat little Edomite friend, Aban interrupted again. “Job has lost much more than camels tonight, my lord. I believe the gods have smiled on both Master Sayyid and Master Bela this evening.”

  The sudden anticipation on his captain’s face calmed Sayyid’s fears more than words. Aban wouldn’t have offered Sayyid hope if he couldn’t deliver. Master and captain knew each other implicitly. Not only had Sayyid trained the boy with bow, sword, and spear since his mother had served as Sayyid’s concubine, but he’d seen Aba
n’s warrior instincts develop at a young age. Aban was the youngest captain in Uz, the most relentless, and loyal beyond question.

  “Tell me,” Sayyid said, soothed by Aban’s confidence. “Slowly, so I can relish each detail.”

  The captain’s left eyebrow rose again, this time drawing up the left side of his mouth. “Sabeans have stolen Job’s five hundred yoke of oxen and his five hundred donkeys, and they killed every servant.” Sayyid laughed so loud, Bela jumped, rippling his belly again. Aban bowed to the delighted lords before continuing. “It seems even the gods have joined in your quest to ruin the man. Lightning fell from the sky and burned up every sheep and servant in Job’s fields, and desert winds collapsed the four corners of Ennon’s home, killing every child of Sitis’s womb.”

  Sayyid’s laughter stopped. “Sitis’s children are dead?” he said, stumbling back, feeling blindly for the ivory chair he called his throne.

  Bela scooted to the edge of the bench beside Sayyid, his feet almost touching the ground. His fuzzy red hair and beard matched his now bloodshot eyes. “I never dreamed Job would lose everything,” he said. “I simply wanted to set myself above Job for the day when Great-Abba Esau appoints his successor to rule Edom.” Shaking his head, he pressed his thumb and forefinger to weepy eyes. “I didn’t want to ruin Job. We are Edomite kinsmen, after all.”

  A white-hot ember of panic rose inside Sayyid’s chest. He couldn’t afford Bela’s remorse or sudden attack of conscience. “Your kinsman?” he said, placing a firm hand on Bela’s arm.

  Bela looked up, startled by Sayyid’s grasp.

  “You don’t owe Job loyalty just because your grandfathers descended from Esau’s loins!” Sayyid released Bela’s arm and slammed his hand on his ivory throne. “Was he acting as your kinsman when he spoke against your appointment as city judge, saying you were too young and inexperienced? Was he your kinsman when he renounced your worship of Kaus, the Edomite mountain god?” Sayyid rose from his perch, and with each question stepped closer, dug deeper into Bela’s emotional wounds. “We did not ruin Job, my friend. It was the gods who have ruined your kinsman, and it is your duty as a city elder to protect the rest of Uz from further retribution.”