J: The Woman Who Wrote the Bible

by Mary Burns

  “Absolutely not,” she said, in a voice that brooked no dissent. “Such knowledge is not appropriate for women, and especially for a young unmarried girl! What are you thinking?” We were sitting together, along with Aloheth and other women of the household, sorting through baskets of clothing for mending or reworking. The pile next to me was growing apace; there was lots of work to be done to prepare for the coming winter.

  I noticed the other women nodding in perfect agreement, and Aloheth, never shy of giving her opinion, chimed in.

  “No man wants a wife who sits around mooning over fine words and useless pastimes,” she said loudly; she was losing her hearing, and compensated by speaking in loud tones. “And once you start having children, well, there won’t be any time for such things anyway.”

  “You may learn to play an instrument,” my mother said, softening a little at seeing my eyes well with tears. “You know your father was a master of the harp, perhaps you would like that, too?”

  I blinked back the tears. Music would also involve composing songs, I thought, so I tried to look pleased although I was determined to pursue learning how to write somehow. I nodded and leaned down to pick up a blue and white striped blanket that some insects had burrowed into, making a variety of holes throughout the cloth. It would have to be picked apart and the salvaged pieces could be rewoven, perhaps.

  “And since Aloheth brought it up, Janaia,” my mother spoke again. “We must start thinking, your father and I, of a suitable match for you. You’re at the age of betrothal now, and a year or so should see you well married, I’m sure.” She chattered on while I kept my face hidden, pretending to search the folds of cloth intently. So soon! Some warning sounded deep within my heart, which shuddered like a field mouse that hears the falcon’s cry and burrows deeper into its nest.

  “A king’s daughter, too!” cried Aloheth. “The men will be lining up at the door to the great hall before you know it!”

  A sharp look from my mother stopped her mouth, and then she patted my shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, my dear,” she said. “We will find someone very good for you.”

  “Yes, mama,” I said at last, choking back my fear. It wasn’t that I was set against a husband—and certainly I wanted children—but something inside me protested. Maybe, I thought, it’s because I’ve never been in love. If I actually loved some man, of course I’d be happy, and want to be married! This thought cheered me a little, and I tried to put my fears aside and concentrate on the work at hand.

  “When may I start music lessons, mama?” I said, thinking ahead to the pleasure that would bring.

  “Well, soon, I imagine,” she said. Her voice sounded studiously casual. “There is one young man, a priest, who’s been here in Hebron for a year or so, I believe, and they say he has a perfect voice and plays several instruments expertly.”

  “Oh that one,” said the irrepressible Aloheth, giving me a sidelong glance. “It is also said he has the makings of a great prophet, and was the only one who foretold the death of King Saul.”

  “Aloheth,” my mother said before anyone else could speak. “Isn’t it time for Amnon’s nap? Perhaps you could go see where he’s gotten himself to and get him into bed.” My mother’s “perhaps” was not a request, as we all knew very well, Aloheth better than anyone. She immediately rose and left the room in search of my little brother.

  The only one who foretold King Saul’s death indeed! I’d like to meet this so-called prophet, this master musician, and see what stuff he’s really made of. My indignant thoughts whirled in my brain as I picked furiously at the blue and white blanket. We’ll just see about this.

  * * *

  The subject of marriage rose again fairly soon, but this time it wasn’t about me. Almost as soon as we moved to Hebron, my father decided to take a second wife. And not too long after that, a third.

  My mother was devastated. I was not privy to their discussions about this, of course, but I put two and two together eventually. No wonder my mother’s spirits were so low, so soon after we came to Hebron! How hard and how sad it must be, I thought, to experience such ardent love only to see it cool and diminish, like a warm bread roll from the ovens left outside overnight. I didn’t understand at the time that my father still loved my mother; I just saw that she was not his only love, not anymore, and that she was very unhappy. Nonetheless, she was a valiant, noble and above all practical woman, and she was prepared to do her duty with silent grace.

  It had been more than three years since my mother had given birth to my little brother, and there had been almost ten years between his birth and mine, with several miscarriages along the way. After Amnon, although my mother always held out hope, it was clear to her that my father must try for sons with other wives. Sons, of course, were most important, especially for a nascent king on the rise, but daughters were not unwelcome; though dowries must be given away with them in marriage, the custom at that time was for the new husband to join the bride’s family and so swell the ranks of fighting men, if need arose.

  My mother was a beautiful young woman when David first saw her and they fell in love. Her first husband—so the story goes, the chief storyteller being Aloheth, who was her maidservant then as now—was a very wealthy man of Carmel in Maon, by name Nabal (which means “churl”).

  Here is how Aloheth would tell the story—and when I was old enough to remember, I realized the meaning of the visions I had seen on the cave walls of my mother and father.

  The Story of Nabal and Abigail and How David Rescued Her

  There was a man at Carmel in Maon, and Nabal was his name. Now, Nabal had great influence and owned three thousand sheep and a thousand goats (this number regularly grew through my childhood). His wife’s name was Abigail, and she was smooth as a dove and canny as a fox, but her husband—who was a Calebite—was a stubborn mule, surly and mean, and old enough to be her grandfather!

  Now it so happened that one day during the sheep-shearing season, David of the Brilliant Eyes, who was hiding nearby in the wilderness of Paran to avoid the long arm of wicked King Saul, heard that Nabal was come out to visit the flocks and to oversee the shearing.

  Being rather in need of supplies, as you may well imagine, our blessed David sent a deputation of ten of his men to this crusty old Nabal, telling them to greet him thus: “All good wishes for the year ahead! Prosperity to you and your entire house and all that is yours! You should know that some of your shepherds were recently near us in the wilderness, and we were very good to them and did not molest them or the sheep.” (At this Aloheth would laugh until tears came to her eyes, and so would some of the other women, but I never saw anything funny in it at the time.) “Ask anyone,” they were to say to Nabal, “and they will tell you we protected them, so please receive us kindly, and give whatever you can spare to David, your son and your servant.”

  And so then, Nabal told them to take this answer back, “Who is this David? These days, every slave who runs away sets up as a chieftain of men! Am I to take my good food and wine and the meat I have provided for the men who work for me, and just give it to the first ruffian who tries to play the extortionist?”

  Well, you can imagine how that didn’t sit too well with David the Best of Men! No, indeed, he called up four hundred of his six hundred men to put on their swords and mount their horses and make straight for Carmel.

  In the meantime, a young man of Nabal’s household, a friend of the shepherds, went to the dove Abigail, the fox Abigail, and told her what happened. “David’s men were indeed very good to our herdsmen,” he said, “and they protected them like a wall all around them while they were in open country, night and day, as they were minding the flocks. Our master’s answer to David will no doubt bring ruin upon us all, unless you can think of something to do.”

  Now Abigail, that’s your mother, of course, being as intelligent as she was beautiful, set the servants to collecting great amounts of food: two hundred loaves, five sheep ready dressed, five measures of p
arched grain, a hundred bunches of raisins, two hundred cakes of dried figs—anything read to hand—as well as several skins of good wine. She had them loaded up on asses. “Go!” she told the servants. “Start down the road that leads to our house; I will ride ahead and you must catch up with me as soon as you can.” And do you think she said word one to Nabal, the old cheapskin? No, she did not!

  So then (and Aloheth would purse her lips and wink, and look very knowing at this point), so then, your mother consults the stones to find out what’s in store for this David—oh, she’s heard of him all right, with his ever-changing eyes, and the whole dust-up with Goliath the Giant, and King Saul never able to lay his hands on him—a hero on horseback if there ever was one! So she ups and puts on her best gown and her sparkling jewels, and twines some in her hair, and rides out alone on a swift horse to meet this David of Great Renown on the road. So they’re all riding along, don’t you know, and David (may he be blessed) was just saying to his right-hand man, I think it was your Uncle Oman—no maybe your Uncle Shamman—anyway, he was just saying, “What a waste of time it was to protect this stupid man’s flocks, when he treats us so badly. He has given us evil where we gave him good.” And David was so angry, that he swore a great oath that he would kill every single person in Nabal’s house—well, all the men, that is—that very day!

  (Usually at this point Aloheth would pause, and look around her as if to say, Bless me, look at the time! I need to get back to work! So of course I and the other children gathered around her would clutch at her skirts and beg her to go on. What happened next? we’d call out, and she would sigh loudly, wink at us, and continue with her story.)

  So there’s Abigail trotting along on her horse as fast as she can go, and naturally, she meets David and all his four hundred men on the road; the servants with all the gift-offerings are not too far behind. She jumps off her horse and right away falls to the ground at his feet, bowing low and apologizing for her stupid husband. “Great lord,” says she, “place the blame on me, your humble servant, for Nabal’s churlishness—he is what he is named—if you would only deign to give me a hearing. If your men had met with me first, none of this would have happened.”

  David got off his horse then, amazed at her beauty and her cordial words, and held out his hand to lift her up from the ground. And when their eyes met, oh, I tell you, it was like lightning at sunset, or the high flames of a bonfire! And then Abigail spoke some more, just as the servants were coming up with the food and wine, and she presented it all to David, saying, “Forgive me, my lord, if I am presuming, but I hope you will take these gifts and give them to your young men, your warriors and companions, and cease to think about bloodshed and giving vent to your anger, righteous as it may be, for your humble servant has seen great things in store for you, because you walk in the way of the Lord God.”

  And David was amazed; he thought she must be a mind-reader and a prophetess, and he questioned her about the “great things” she had seen—you didn’t know your own mother was quite a little seer in her time, did you, Janaia? Of course, babies and all that tend to damp down that particular power, but well, one good thing replaces another.

  And so, your mother tells him, “I have seen that the Lord will establish your family forever, because you have fought for Him. No calamity shall overtake you for as long as you live—the Lord your God will wrap your life up and put it with His own treasure, but the lives of your enemies will be hurled from Him like stones from a sling! You will become ruler of all Israel, and at that point, you will not have to remember a stain of innocent blood shed because you were angry at being ill-treated by a fool and a knave, and then you will remember me, your servant.”

  So then, David in his turn, struck by her wisdom and her beauty, says, “Blessed is the Lord God of Israel who sent you today to meet me—with your blessed good sense, you have saved me from shedding innocent blood to appease my wrath.” Then he accepted all the gifts, and told her to go home in peace, and he and his men would turn back and be content.

  So! With many a long look and hidden smile, the two parted— but not for long! For what do you think happened to old Nabal? (and we would play along, and say, “A horse fell on him!” and “He fell down a well!” so she would laugh and tease us).

  When Abigail returned home, she found Nabal feasting away at a banquet fit for a king, and he became so very, very drunk that she decided there was no use saying anything to him that night. The next morning, when he was lying in bed with an aching head, she—like a good wife and an honest woman—told him everything she had done the previous day. Old Nabal looked at her, as angry as any old bull ox, and raised his hand to strike her, and a mighty seizure took hold of him right then and there, and he lay there like a stone for ten full days until the Lord saw fit to strike him again, and he died. And good riddance, I say!

  And quick as you can turn around, because you know good news travels almost as fast as bad, there was David sending his proposals to Abigail, that she should become his wife. And of course, as you know, here they are, and here you are (and she’d pinch my cheek or pat my head) and we all lived happily ever after!

  * * *

  But life doesn’t work so neatly, and although my mother was always accorded the respect of the first wife, and the eldest wife, I knew it was difficult for her—knowing David was sleeping at night in other women’s beds and fathering children that were not hers—and as the years went on, there were several more wives and many children.

  The first new wife was the most severe trial for all of us, though especially for my mother. Luckily, she was truly a fine, loving woman, mature beyond her years, and a widow, as my mother had been. Her name was Ahinoam, of Jezreel, and she was humble and quiet before my mother, always gave way to her, and never put on airs about her status. She eventually gave David two daughters and two sons, though not at first, which in a way helped nourish the friendship between her and my mother, which lasted their lifetimes.

  I watched this age-old drama of men and women unfold in our household, and kept in my heart the lessons of love and friendship, jealousy and strife, forgiveness and heartache that played out before me. Is this what the future held in store for me as well? Why should I think I would be any different in my fate?

  Chapter 10

  "Unto thee, O Lord my God, I lift up my heart. Make thy

  paths known to me, O Lord; teach me thy ways."

  Psalms 25:1,4

  His name was Nathan, which means “God has given”—very much like my name, which he pointed out upon our first becoming acquainted.

  “We share the same root word na—gift—in our names,” he said.

  He was about twenty when I met him. He wore the everyday dark robe of a priest and scribe and carried himself with modesty and humility, his long brown hair usually pulled back in a knot. There was often a far-away, otherworldly look in his brown eyes, as if he were listening to voices in another realm. His features were even and his voice well-modulated; he sang most excellently and could accompany himself and others on a variety of instruments.

  Nathan was skilled in languages and writing, having started learning when he was a young boy. His parents brought him to Hebron in dedication to HaShem, to be a priest in His service, because he was the child of their old age, their only child, and they felt he belonged to the Lord. But music was his special skill and passion. And given what Aloheth had said about the Lord favoring him with the gift of prophecy, I was determined—with a mixture of curiosity and shameful envy—to see if his powers were greater than mine.

  I began my lessons on the harp, playing and singing to my own accompaniment, and I learned quickly. Nathan was a strict and observant teacher, for all his absent-minded air.

  “Janaia, that last passage was played very unevenly,” he told me one day. “You are not practicing as you should be, I’m sure of it.”

  I had indeed played the melody poorly, but I couldn’t help it. My mother had just told me that morning that she and
my father had been discussing a number of young men—and some not so young—who were making overtures for my hand. I was unsettled in the extreme, and could not concentrate on my music. It was all happening too soon, and I knew that when I was married, all hope of learning how to write, or becoming more skilled in prophecy, would disappear under the duties of a wife and a mother.

  I looked up at Nathan, who had walked over to me where I sat at a south window to catch the late rays of sun on a warm autumn afternoon. He sat down on the bench, took the harp gently from me, and proceeded to play and sing the piece himself, exquisitely. The song was a mournful one, about a dove whose mate was taken by a hawk, and she died of grief.

  I did the only thing I could do; I burst into tears.

  Nathan was very kind. He put aside the harp, and sat with me quietly until I stopped crying. I apologized through my sniffling.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” he said, bending his head down to look into my face.

  I lifted my head. I had never looked so directly into his eyes before, and I saw only kind consideration.

  I took a great, long, shaky breath. Why not?

  “My parents are receiving various … well, offers … for my hand in marriage,” I said in a low voice.

  “And you do not want to be married?” Nathan asked the question without judgment.

  “Well, no, I mean, I think I do want to be married,” I said. “But I just …,” I hesitated. Should I tell him what I really wanted? I decided just to speak and see what would happen.

  “There are two things I want more than anything, more than a husband or even children,” I said. Now it all came out in a great rush. “I know you are said to be a prophet, so you will understand! I, too, have experienced God speaking through me, when I warned my father about King Saul, and also when I foretold the deaths of Saul and Jonathan, and the Philistines’ victory over the armies of Saul. I have had no one to whom I can speak about this, no one who does not either dismiss me as a child, or who fears my power and will not talk of it! I want — I want to know more of what this means for me, and I’m afraid that if I follow the usual path of a woman—and become a wife and mother—that it will all fade away and I will be as nothing.”