The Prophetess - Deborah's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  He dragged himself up and considered splashing the brackish water over his face and scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, but changed his mind. Ignoring the water, he moved through the semi-dark house to the door, then blinked and squinted in the bright sunlight that met his gaze as he opened it. A man stood before him, one who looked vaguely familiar.

  “Barak, son of Abinoam?” The man looked him up and down, then smiled. “I am Fareed, son of Heber. My father sends word to tell you that what you have ordered is now ready.” He glanced behind him as though he feared the shadows.

  Barak opened the door wider and bid him enter. “Let me light a lamp.”

  “If you open the shutters there is no need,” Fareed said.

  Barak nodded and walked to the window, blinking hard to clear his head, then turned to face his guest. “The weapons are ready, you say?”

  Fareed nodded, “Yes, my lord.” He glanced about the sparsely furnished home. Barak did not even have a cushion to offer the man a place to sit.

  “Forgive my lack, Fareed. I fear the place has been without a woman’s touch since my wife died.” Saying the words disturbed him, but he was surprised that the pain had dulled in the weeks since he had returned to this place. Perhaps he was finally adjusting to Nessa’s loss. Or perhaps he had drunk too much wine the night before. He cared little why.

  “I would have brought the weapons with me,” Fareed said, “but Sisera’s troops are too unpredictable. My father would not allow me to risk it.” He pulled a dagger from the sheath at his waist. “This is one of them.” He extended it to Barak.

  Barak took it and examined the blade. “This is good work.”

  “Thank you, my lord. My father made as many as the ore would allow. I am afraid Sisera brought another load of fine ore just days after you did, so we have been busy trying to finish both orders. I do not know when Sisera will return to claim his. I suggest you bring your men with you as protection when you come.” Fareed gave Barak an uncomfortable nod and backed toward the door. “I should get back while it is light.”

  “I would offer you food and drink, but I fear even that has been depleted here in recent days.” When was the last time he had eaten? His stomach rumbled at the very thought.

  “It is no trouble, my lord.” Fareed tapped a sack at his side. “I have plenty of provisions. But I must go. Sisera’s men hide in the most unlikely places, and I must take great care returning.”

  “Let me go with you. Two are better than one.” Barak’s sudden desire to do so surprised him. He had given up all hope of overcoming Sisera. Why should he care about weapons now?

  Fareed shook his head. “Do not trouble yourself, my lord. You must gather your men and come. One man cannot carry all of the weapons alone.” He gave Barak a sidelong glance.

  Barak ran a hand over his beard. “You are right, of course. Tell your father we will come very soon.”

  Jael looked up from her grinding and glanced across the circle of tents at Daniyah talking with Raja, Fareed’s wife. The girl’s curves could be seen beneath her robe and tunic, something the guards had surely noticed. Uneasiness crept into Jael’s heart. The girl needed a husband to keep her safe.

  Safe. Did such a thing exist in this land? As long as men like Sisera roamed the earth, there was no place that would ever feel truly safe. Sisera could kill any husband they might find for Daniyah and take her from him. Even Alim’s tents were not free of his reach, though the distance made it seem so. But Heber’s attempts to send for his niece Parisa, daughter of his younger brother, for Ghalib, and safe passage home for Daniyah had met with scorn once Alim got word of it.

  She tsked her tongue, aggravated with herself. She should have pushed Heber to make peace with Alim from the moment the fight ensued rather than allow pride to send them away. They should have humbled themselves, submitted to Alim’s leadership, however hotheaded and foolish the man was. She released a pent-up breath. It was too late now. They were truly alone in a sea of peoples they did not know.

  The women departed into Raja’s tent, and Jael returned to her grinding, wishing the constant motion would take her thoughts with them. She stopped to rest and rubbed the crick in her back. Men’s voices came from a distance.

  She stood, cautious. Please don’t come out of the tent, she silently begged Raja and Daniyah. They knew to stay hidden if male voices they did not recognize were heard in the camp. Jael alone would face any intruders, though her heart skipped a beat with every memory of Sisera’s bold touch.

  She fingered the small dagger strapped to her side. Heber had insisted she carry the thing, but she had never used it for anything but cutting meat from the bone to put into a stew. She walked slowly toward the coming men, whose voices quieted as they approached. And then Barak’s face appeared as he emerged from the trees.

  “Barak,” she said loud enough for the girls to hear. “You have come.” She noted Keshet at his right hand and several men behind them.

  “Jael.” Barak greeted her with a smile, and Daniyah chose that moment to rush from Raja’s tent to join her mother. “Daniyah,” the man said, his voice kind. But Jael did not miss the way his eyes quickly caught her frame. He too had noticed the changes in Daniyah. Jael searched his face for some hint of interest, but he turned back to Jael as though Daniyah were a sister or friend, nothing more.

  “Is Heber working?” Barak glanced toward Heber’s tent, which showed no sign of her husband or sons.

  “Yes, my lord. He is preparing an order for Sisera,” Jael said.

  Barak nodded. He knew. Of course Fareed had told him. “Has Sisera given a time when he will come for it?”

  Jael studied him a moment. If he knew when Sisera would come, he could lie in wait.

  “He has not.” Jael gave him a look that said she knew his thoughts. “If he had, I would surely tell you. But he comes at will, and we must always be on guard because we do not know when.”

  Barak nodded. “Exactly as he does so with every attack, every ride through Israelite villages and cities.” He glanced at Keshet. “We must gather what we came for.” He nodded again to Jael and walked off.

  “You must stay for the evening meal,” Jael called after him. “You and your men.”

  Barak turned slightly. “Thank you. We would be most grateful.”

  She silently counted the number of men who followed and wondered how many stayed back near the road guarding the way in case Sisera should come calling. She turned to Nadia, who had awakened from a nap and now knelt in the dirt, sifting the grain. “We must kill a goat for the stew.” She looked at Daniyah. “Go find Ghalib and tell him to do so at once, then return and gather more vegetables. We have many mouths to feed this night.”

  18

  Deborah entered the courtyard of her home when the sun was at its highest point, a time she had learned she must rest. There were so many cases. Too many. And each year the people seeking answers increased. She drew a deep breath and released it, her heart wearied. So much pain lined the faces of her people. So many hurts she could not fix.

  “Come, Ima, let me get you something to eat and drink.” Libi stood and retrieved a cool dipper of water before Deborah could refuse.

  “Thank you,” Deborah said, drinking deeply. “It is warm today.” She fanned her face and glanced back toward the village square, where some people waited on the knoll.

  “You must tell them to come another day, Ima.” Libi grasped her upper arm and gently guided her into the house. “You do not sleep well. I hear you walking in the courtyard when the moon is still high.”

  Deborah met her daughter-in-law’s gaze. “If you hear me, then you do not sleep well either, my daughter.” She smiled at Libi’s nod of amused acceptance.

  “Except I have Elisheva as my excuse. She still wakes in the night to feed.” Libi had birthed the girl only a few months before, and while Sheva was a quiet babe, she had yet to sleep through the night.

  Deborah looked fondly at her daughter-in-law as she took a seat amo
ng the cushions in the sitting room. “How well I remember those days.” How long ago they seemed now, though Deborah was still considered young by many. She had married at only fifteen and had her children quickly. Except for Talya, who came as a surprise a little later.

  “Where is Talya?” The memory brought the typical concern she always felt for her only daughter.

  “I think she is below in the cave, practicing with her bow.”

  Deborah nodded and closed her eyes. Libi’s footsteps receded as Deborah pondered the thought of confronting Talya. She had been moody and quiet for weeks now, and her eyes flashed fire whenever Deborah caught her looking at Yiskah. Was Yiskah the only one of their village to worship false gods? How many more men and women had caused their families such pain?

  Shet’s angry voice filled her memory, and the image of him standing in their courtyard the week after he had heard Yiskah’s tale still rang in Deborah’s mind.

  “I will not give her a writ of divorcement, Deborah. I cannot give her such freedom to do as she pleases. But I also will not cover her shame. How can you even ask it of me after what she has done?” The vehemence in his tone did not surprise her, but the bitterness troubled her.

  “Are we not all sinners in God’s sight?” she asked him. “Can you look at me and tell me that you have not coveted in your heart? For though you may have kept the whole law, you and I both know that no one can keep the law of the heart. All of us want what we should not have or long for what belongs to our neighbor. If you try to tell me otherwise, I will know you are not telling me the truth.” She had held his gaze, unflinching, until his face flushed pink and he broke eye contact.

  “Even if I have coveted,” Shet finally said, his voice tight with anger, “I have not worshiped other gods, nor thrown myself into the arms of other women.” He set his jaw and crossed both arms over his chest.

  “No, you have not,” Deborah conceded, hiding the sense of defeat she felt. “But even the least of sins needs to be atoned for, my son. Even those of which we are unaware will separate us from Adonai. Do not harbor such bitterness in your heart that you end up with the greater sin.”

  Shet’s eyes grew wide, his look askance. “Mine is not the greater sin, nor could it ever be.”

  “Be careful of where pride will lead you.” But her words had fallen on deaf ears, for Shet had blocked them as certainly as the village gates were blocked each day and night.

  Deborah sighed. She opened her eyes and shifted on the cushions, startled to see Yiskah nearby, refilling the lamps with oil. She sat up and studied the girl.

  “Yiskah, come sit with me.”

  Yiskah turned and did as Deborah asked without question, her dull eyes as lifeless as a goat recently sacrificed.

  “My child,” Deborah said, taking the girl’s hand. She masked her startled feeling at Yiskah’s cold fingers and rubbed them between both of her hands. “I must ask you something, and I want the truth.”

  Yiskah looked down at their joined hands and simply nodded.

  “Do you want to return to Shet? If he were to ever forgive you, would you return as wife to him? Would you treat him kindly, with respect?”

  Yiskah looked up, but her gaze moved beyond Deborah’s. “He will never want me. Not after what I have done.”

  “I am not asking you to decide whether you think Shet will forgive. I am asking if you will willingly return as wife to him.” Deborah squeezed the girl’s fingers and smiled when their gazes met. “It is not so hard a question, is it?”

  “I love his grandparents and his mother,” she said softly. “I do not know what I feel for Shet.”

  “Feelings matter little, my child. Commitment is a choice. Will you give it? Will you respect his wishes in running his household?” There was no sense wishing Shet would cover her shame if Yiskah still harbored rebellion in her heart.

  “I would not worship other gods again,” she said at last. “I would do as the law commands.” She lowered her head again, but Deborah saw color heighten her cheeks and understood the embarrassment she felt. “I only wanted a child, Deborah. I thought Asherah could give us that.” Her voice fell to a whisper.

  Deborah released her hands but rested one on the girl’s knee. “Is our God your God now, my daughter? Or do you still pine after Asherah in your heart?” She coaxed Yiskah to meet her gaze.

  Yiskah looked away, but Deborah did not miss the tear that slipped down her cheek. “How can I call Him my God when I have broken the very first of His commands? I am no use to Him now.”

  Was this how the men and women of Israel felt, those who had played adultery with Canaan’s gods, when Israel’s God had clearly said, “You shall have no other gods before me”?

  “Oh, my child,” Deborah said, and this time Yiskah looked up and held her gaze. “Our God is a forgiving God, a merciful God. He gave us the law to show us that we cannot keep it. He gave it to guide us, but also to make us realize that His law is perfect, He is perfect, but we are not. It is why He allows us to repent and sacrifice. A broken and contrite heart our God will not despise, Yiskah.”

  “I am broken,” Yiskah whispered, clasping her hands in her lap and wringing them as one would a wet garment. “But even if God forgives, Shet does not.”

  “Perhaps Shet will . . . in time.”

  Silence fell between them until at last Deborah spoke once more. “You will stay with us until Shet comes to a better decision.” With that she stood. “It is time that I return. Send Talya to meet me as the sun begins to set.”

  “Yes, mistress.” Yiskah stood and hurried from the room as though the demons of her past still chased her.

  The day waned as Deborah heard a case involving two men from the same tribe, one in service to the other. “You cannot keep a man longer than six years. You must release him in the seventh year. His debt to you is paid.”

  “But he still owes me far more than his work has covered,” the owner protested.

  “Nevertheless, you must release him. And in addition, you must give to him liberally from your flock, your threshing floor, and your winepress. Give to your servants as the Lord your God has blessed you.” She studied the man until he acknowledged her with a look and nodded, though he said nothing.

  Deborah watched them go, glad they were the last of the day. She rose, took her flask of water, and headed for home. Talya met her partway as requested.

  “You needed me, Ima?” Talya’s dark eyes did not hold their familiar spark, nor did they seem displeased. Yet something was not quite the same.

  “Yes,” Deborah said, falling into step with her. “I want to know what troubles you.” She paused. “I am asking as your mother, not a judge. You do not have to tell me, but I would like to know if I can help.”

  Talya kicked a stone along the path and stopped. Their courtyard was some distance ahead, but they would soon reach it. “Many things trouble me, Ima.” She glanced toward the house. “I don’t like having her there.” She met Deborah’s gaze. “How long must she stay?”

  “Until Shet is willing to take her back.” Deborah wondered how wise that answer truly was. She could not force a man to forgo his pride. She could only suggest, especially where a man was in the right to refuse.

  “He never will, you know.” Talya’s certainty caused her to look up.

  She lifted a brow. “You know this how?”

  “I’ve heard him talk. She should have been stoned.” Talya’s bitterness nearly matched Shet’s.

  Deborah’s shoulders drooped, defeat settling within her. “What else troubles you, my daughter? For the frown you wear and the silence you carry cannot be for Yiskah alone.”

  Talya kicked another stone and slowly began walking again. “Why is it so hard to convince a man of your worth?”

  This time it was Deborah who stopped to face her daughter. “Are you speaking of someone in particular?”

  “Barak, Ghalib, how many do you want? Even Shet before he met Yiskah. But I was probably too young then for him to
notice me.” Talya’s voice wavered slightly, and Deborah scrutinized her daughter, searching her face.

  “Barak, I understand. He is not ready to care for any woman, and you did not make things easy for him.”

  Talya nodded and looked away. “You don’t have to remind me.”

  Deborah shifted from one foot to the other. “You barely met Ghalib, yet you hold interest in him?”

  Talya shrugged. “He seemed kind, and I thought he liked me, though perhaps it is a cousin he longs after, and I was just a distraction for him.” She looked up the street toward the homes of the other villagers. Toward Shet’s home.

  “Tell me you are not thinking you could replace Yiskah.” The realization struck Deborah like a blow. Surely not. Talya was many things, and she and Shet had been friends for years, but . . . Deborah could not possibly allow such a thing. Not now. Not while Yiskah lived.

  Talya shrugged as if she had, in fact, entertained the possibility. But a moment later she shook her head. “No, Ima. I would not interfere in my cousin’s marriage. I could not marry a man who harbors such bitterness.” She met Deborah’s gaze, and in that moment Deborah glimpsed the change in Talya, one she had somehow missed earlier. “I could not wed Barak either. Not as long as Nessa is still wed to his heart.”

  Talya’s chest lifted in a deep sigh, and she continued slowly walking toward their home. “The Kenite seemed to like me,” she said softly. “But I don’t think his mother did.”

  “His mother probably thought her son should marry within their clan.” She did not add that Talya should do the same. What good would it do to completely dash the girl’s hopes? There were so few men from which to choose.

  “Then what do I do? Find some random Israelite and beg him to marry me?” Talya gave a mirthless laugh.

  “Of course not.”