J: The Woman Who Wrote the Bible

by Mary Burns

  “We each will write one word that describes the question we have in our hearts on this matter,” he explained. He and Abiathar proceeded to quickly write the word they each had in mind—of course, they had done this many times before—but it took me a few moments to collect my thoughts and think of something to write. I wrote my word and rolled up the little linen scrap into a tight scroll as I had seen Nathan do. Nathan quickly whispered to me that one by one, we would place the scrolls in a little chamber under the breastplate and pray to the Lord for an answer. Nathan would go first, followed by Abiathar; then it would be my turn. In the intensity of the moment, neither of us saw Abiathar watching me in astonishment as I wrote the word on the paper, his eyes at first wide, then narrow with disapproval.

  In utter silence, we entered the inner chamber of the prayer room.

  Chapter 20

  “You are to make the pectoral of judgement, finely

  brocaded, and of gold, purple stuffs, violet shade and red,

  crimson stuffs, and fine twined linen. In this you are to

  set four rows of stones: sard, topaz, carbuncle, emerald,

  sapphire, diamond, hyacinth, ruby, amethyst, beryl, onyx

  and jasper, mounted in gold settings... to this you will add

  the Urim and the Thummin so that the priest may have

  them on his breast when he goes into Yahweh’s presence.”

  Exodus 28:15-21; 30

  Darkness in a room without windows, and the flickering light of the lamps, a dark light, a shadowed light. Shades darker than black moved around the edges of the room. My father walked into the center point of the four lamps, turned, and faced us. Nathan stepped forward and slipped his rolled scroll behind the breastplate, then stepped back.

  My eyes were adjusting to the light a little. The whole room seemed to breathe with my breath, to move when I moved my eyes. From deep in his chest, David began a chant of prayer and thanksgiving, gratitude to our Lord and a plea to answer our questions and guide our path. He sang of the Ark and its wondrous presence, how welcome it would be in Jerusalem, how honored, how beloved!

  When he ceased speaking, there was silence again, but a breathing silence, larger now, as if another being had entered the room with us, something large and overcoming. I felt the surge of a powerful spirit thrill through my body, almost lifting me from the ground.

  The jewels and precious stones on the breastplate my father wore began to glow with light from within, but not all of them. A sky-blue sapphire, pulsing and shining, stood out in the first row of stones. Then, in the second row, a wheat-gold topaz lit up, its golden heart beating in time with the sapphire. After a moment, an emerald, green as new grass, threw out its light. All three gems shone and pulsed, then began to fade.

  Again, all was dark but for the flickering light of the lamps. Abiathar offered his scroll, and stepped back to wait. I felt elated and feather-light, as if I could leap into the air and fly away with the spirit who was in the room with us.

  Different stones shone this time: a pure-white stone with a silver fire in its heart, and then a dark stone, a black stone that gleamed like a cat’s eyes in the firelight. After a moment, a ruby’s blood-red glow lighted up, flickered, and was gone.

  It was my turn to offer the scroll with my question on it. I stepped forward to my father and saw nothing familiar in his face. It was a mask of ethereal transcendence—he was in communion with the Lord! I was afraid to touch him, fearing I would drop my scroll before I found the little niche where it was to be placed behind the breastplate. But I acquitted myself with dignity and stepped back to see the results.

  This time, the stones in the four corners of the breastplate all burst forth with light at the same time, piercing rays that reached the edges of the room—white, gold, purple, and fiery orange-red. And then, in the center of the breastplate, the four symbols I had been unable to read lighted up as if on fire, red-gold light streaming through the marks—it was the Name of God, the unpronounceable Name, the Name above all Names. My father’s body, too, began to glow as if from a light deep within him, and his arms rose up straight out at his sides, and his head fell back. His mouth opened, and The Name was intoned from out of his mouth, terrible to hear, terrible to see!

  Abiathar and Nathan fell to their knees but I was unable to move. A sound like a rushing wind filled the room, a whirlwind though nothing moved. I felt a breath on my cheek, and a touch like a hand on my head, and then slowly, slowly, everything faded away—the lights, the colors, the sounds—until it was just the four of us, mortals, standing in a dark room, the oil lamps dying out. The Lights and Perfection—Urim and Thummin— were consummated.

  * * *

  Nathan communicated to me, almost without words, that we were not to discuss what we had seen; rather, each would go away in silence to meditate and ponder the answers given to us, particularly the answer to our own question. My father looked exhausted but content as we left the prayer room, and he blessed me with a gentle smile as I turned to go.

  With what clarity and color even the simplest, most ordinary things appeared to me as I walked slowly back to my room! As I passed through the archways near the gardens, I could hear the rustling of flowers emerging from their pale-green shell of leaves, and every bee and bird in the garden spoke a language I could understand. They thrummed and hovered and trilled in time to the music of the Lord’s will, His very mind. This is what life must have been like in the Garden, I thought, before we were banished from the Lord’s presence—everything in perfect order, all living beings in happy harmony with His every thought.

  Except for us, I reflected, except for mankind, who has its own will, clashing cymbals in God’s otherwise perfect music. But that too is part of the music, a voice inside me said—I almost looked around me to see who had spoken, the voice was so clear and present.

  Back in my study, I gazed in wonder at my writing instruments and scrolls of work. They seemed magical to me now, in a way I had not felt so intimately before. The power of that one word, those four letters in the center of the breastplate! The very presence of HaShem had been in the room with us, through the beating, jeweled heart of the letters, answering our prayers.

  I did not know what the others had written or prayed for, but I knew my prayer: emet. I had learned in my studies with Nathan that the word for truth, emet, contains the first, middle and the last letters of the aleph-bet, the collection of letters we use to write, and that this is an indication that the Truth contains everything from First to Last, from Aleph to Tav: everything we say, everything we write, everything that is. But we know also from the teachings of our forebears that Truth is also about doing, not simply being. So in essence, my question was, what will be the truth in doing this deed? What will actually be done if the Ark of the Crossing Over is brought to Jerusalem?

  I sat quietly at my desk, watching as the dying light of day washed through the room, creating shadows slanting across the stone floor with its colorful rugs. The vivid details, the sharp outlines of everything my eyes fell upon were beginning to soften now, and the range and depth of my hearing seemed to settle back into a normal scope. At first I strained my eyes and ears, wanting to hold on to the exquisite sensations, but after a little contemplation, I knew I had to let it go. Perhaps I might be so blessed as to experience it again some day. If not, I would not forget it.

  My thoughts turned to the display of the Lights and Perfection as HaShem responded to my question of emet, truth. The shining of the jewels in the four corners of the breastplate seemed to me to signify the four corners of the earth, the four directions of the wind, and the four angels with swords who had been set at the corners of the Garden against any attempt to regain entry to our lost paradise. Thus, they signified order, strength, righteousness, harmony, right direction, solidity, and stability. This seemed to me a good thing, and then, The Name! What could this mean but that God Himself approved of this undertaking, of bringing the Ark to Jerusalem, in honor of His Name, and
building a magnificent Temple for Him, where we all could praise and thank Him for endless days? The significance of The Name Itself lighting up as it did seemed to me unspeakably great.

  I still felt a sense of foreboding, as I had at first, and wondered what could go wrong. My mind played among different possibilities and meanings until I lost track of time altogether, and night fell; the next thing I knew I was being gently shaken by my maid who had come in to help me dress and go to my father’s room, where I would dine with my father, Abiathar, and Nathan. I stood up, dizzy, faint, and ravenous with hunger. I quickly changed into a fresh gown, splashed some rose water on my face, let my maid brush and re-braid my hair, and half-ran down the corridor to join them.

  In my father’s chamber, the smells of roasted meat and vegetables and the sight of good wine in beautiful cups almost took my breath away, and then I laughed aloud. After such a transcendent experience this afternoon, to be delighted with mere food and drink! It seemed incongruous, and yet, as the three men turned questioning eyes to me, I could see that David at least, quickly understood my feelings, for he too laughed and called out to me.

  “Yes, you see, little one, that the Lord provides for the whole man: food and grace, wine and exultation! Come, join us in our feast!”

  As I sat down, there seemed no trace in Abiathar’s welcoming nod of his previous discontent at my presence. Nathan, who had barely touched the food on his plate as yet, had that absent look in his eyes, and scarcely seemed to notice I was there. We ate and drank in companionable silence for a while, and then, when the servants took away the dishes, my father gestured to them to leave the wine on the table and depart. All but his faithful Ithream, who retired to a small couch behind his curtain.

  “So,” my father said abruptly. “Tell me what the Lord says to us, through Urim and Thummin.” He looked at all three of us. “The truth now,” he said, looking each of us in the eye. “No holding back, no glossing over to make things palatable.” I should have expected nothing less.

  Nathan spoke first, having been the first to make his request.

  “I asked for tikvah, hope,” he said. He was looking at his hand curled around the cup of wine, which he had yet to taste. “Would the temple to be built for the Ark bring back hope to our people, for a peaceful life, at last, here in Jerusalem?” He paused, then took a sip of wine.

  “At first, when I saw the jewels shining forth, first the blue one, like the sky, and then the golden jewel, bright as the sun, and finally, the grass-green emerald, it seemed to me that the glory of all that was made by God, our creator and giver of life, would rejoice in His Ark coming forth out of obscurity and into the glory of a beautiful temple.”

  He fell silent, looking into the depths of the wine. We waited.

  “Then, when I went back to my room, I fell into a deep sleep, where I seemed to be awake but was not, and a dream came to me.” Nathan took a deep, steadying breath, and continued. “I was high on a hill above a broad plain on which two armies faced each other. In the space between them was the Ark, covered by the tent and surrounded by guards. The tent was glowing, and I could hear a kind of low thrumming sound emanating from it.

  “A man suddenly appeared next to me, dressed in flames of white and gold, and he spoke to me. ‘Go and say to David my servant, ‘This is the word of the Lord: Are you the man to build me a house to dwell in? Down to this day I have never dwelt in a house since I brought Israel up from Egypt; I made my journey in a tent and a tabernacle. Wherever I journeyed with Israel, did I ever ask any of the judges whom I appointed shepherds of my people Israel why they had not built me a house of cedar? I have lived in the open air, under the blue sky, under the golden sun, and have blessed the grass under my feet! Then say this to my servant David: This is the word of the Lord of Hosts. I took you from the pastures, and from following the sheep, to be prince over my people Israel. I have been with you wherever you have gone, and have destroyed all the enemies in your path. I will make you a great name among the great ones of the earth, and I will give you peace from all your enemies. When your life ends and you rest with your forefathers, I will anoint one of your family, one of your own children, to succeed you—it is he shall build a house in honor of my name, and I will establish his royal throne forever.’”

  Nathan ceased speaking, and silence filled the room, with only the crackle of the fire in the hearth to keep us tied to our senses. I feared to look at my father’s face, wondering how he would take what I saw as a rebuke. How startled I was then, upon lifting my eyes, to see tears of joy coursing down his cheeks! He spoke after a moment, as if he were talking directly to the Lord, and he used the familiar form of address, as one does to an intimate, a beloved.

  “What am I, Lord God, and what is my family, that thou hast brought me thus far? Always thou hast made good thy word, and great indeed thou art, above all gods, there is no one like thee. Be pleased now to bless thy servant’s house that it may continue always before thee.”

  David wiped the tears from his eyes, and smiled happily. “A son of mine, then,” he said, “will build a mighty house for our God, not I.” I thought Nathan looked relieved, and he tried out a tentative smile. David laughed then, and held up a hand to Abiathar.

  “Now then, my priest, let us continue with hearing these most interesting interpretations!”

  Abiathar shook his head. “Always I am the one to throw cold water on a cheerful fire,” he said, looking a little grim. He made an impatient gesture with his hand and spoke harshly. “The three gems that shone when I placed my word—yirah, fear—for I wished to know what in this enterprise we had to fear—the three gems in the breastplate revealed three things to me: the white purity of innocence will be betrayed, black death will come to one who has done evil, and there will be red blood shed in violation of God’s will.”

  A deathly chill took hold of me as Abiathar spoke, and his words pierced my heart like many arrows flung all at once. I gasped for breath and held my hand to my heart. Immediately my father rose and came to where I sat, and Nathan also, came round to the other side of me, taking hold of my hand.

  “What is it, Janaia? What is wrong?” I could not breathe, my chest felt as if it were closing up and squeezing the air from my lungs. I started shivering as from the utmost cold.

  My father pulled a blanket from a couch in the room and wrapped me in it, then picked me up in his arms and carried me over to the bed. He laid me in it like an infant in a warm cocoon, then lay down beside me and held me close, warming me with his body and breathing his own breath into my mouth until I stopped shivering and gasping and became calm enough to breathe on my own.

  Ithream had jumped up from his bed when he heard the commotion and was standing ready at the bedside with a cup of warmed wine, which he offered to my father, who had risen from the bed and was sitting next to me. He held it to my lips so I could drink a bit, holding my head up to help me.

  I felt ashamed at having created such a scene, but I didn’t know what to say. Why had Abiathar’s words so affected me? Was I about to be betrayed, or shed someone’s blood, or be responsible for someone’s death?

  As if sensing my thoughts, Nathan came close and spoke.

  “We must watch over you, and you must be very careful,” he said. Abiathar also drew near. I looked at him, questioning, and he shook his head.

  “I don’t know if or how you are connected to this question of mine, and this answer,” he said. “But as Nathan says, you must be cautious during this time.”

  “What did you consider of your own question, and its answer?” Nathan then asked.

  “Are you well enough to talk just now?” my father intervened, and I nodded. I wanted to talk about it.

  I repeated to them the thoughts I had about the possible meaning of the four corners, and they agreed it seemed right. But as for The Name—I told them that other than anticipating that there would be some manifestation of HaShem in a way that was as yet unknown to us, I felt I was not able to divi
ne the meaning.

  “The Ark,” Abiathar said, after thinking a moment, “you probably don’t know, never having seen it. The Ark has The Name written on it as well, just as it is on the breastplate.”

  I thought about that, and something stirred in me. “Something will happen—the betrayal, the blood, and the death, they are all linked to The Name—and the desire for its power.”

  Suddenly I was very tired, and I sank back on the pillows. The three men decided to leave me in possession of the chamber, with Ithream staying to watch by my bedside. I drifted off to sleep, unable even to tell my father I was sorry to make him find a bed elsewhere. Probably with Michal was my last conscious thought before sleep took me.

  Chapter 21

  “It was a long time, twenty years in all, that the ark

  remained at Kiriath Jearim, and all the people of Israel

  mourned and sought after the LORD.” 1 Samuel 7:2

  After that day and night, I kept close to my room and avoided walking through the marketplace unescorted, as I liked to do. My chambers in Jerusalem were large and filled with light, high up in the house, with a view from the windows over the seemingly endless rooftops of this great city, out to the plains. A fountain plashed and trickled in my own private courtyard, complete with a sweet fruit tree, a trailing vine, and rising scents from an herb garden planted long before. I wondered whose room this had been before I came.

  About a week after the consultation by Urim and Thummin, my father had all the people gathered together in the broad, sunny marketplace square near the gates of the city. Messengers had gone about the city all morning, pounding on drums and ringing bells, calling the people to the public area for a great pronouncement by David the King. A servant knocked at my door, rousing me from my studies to escort me, along with all the women of our household.