“Highly engrossing, The Shepherd King, Book One: Foundation Stone is a fascionating read. Kudos to Avraham for crafting such a powerfully gripping tale of truly epic proportions.” ***** Five Stars – Dominique Sessons, Apex Reviews.
“This historical novel brings to life one of the greatest heroic stories of all time. I was especially impressed with the vivid way the author contrasts the world of David’s ancient Israel with Goliath’s world of idolatry. It really brought these characters to life for me and the vivid images created have remained in my imagination deepening my appreciation of the HOLY BIBLE... Literary genius! – Robert Apatow, Ph.D., Author of The Spiritual Art of Dialogue
This Book Rocks!
I read this book and was totally blown away. I was skeptical that this was just another bible story. I was wrong and this book was hands down hard core. It takes the reality of hard core history and brings it home … A tale of epic proportions that carries with it the deepest roots of who the Israelites really are and where they came from. A story about honesty, integrity and inner strength that define true heroism. This book will bring you to tears and make you scream at the top of your lungs. You will not be disappointed with this action packed thriller.
Adaman, “Scribe of Light”
The Shepherd King
Book One:
Foundation Stone
by
D. Avraham
Smashword Edition
Copyright 5768 (2008) D. Avraham
ISBN: 978-965-91360-2-5
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The Mountains near Tso`ar
500 years before the Exodus
Spotting the cave opening, Lot hesitated. He then gathered his courage and entered the cave, leaving his two daughters behind. He didn’t hear anything, and there weren’t any droppings on the ground, or any other markings, but he was far too harried today to try and evict some wild beast from his home. He blinked his eyes, trying to force them to adjust to the shift in light. He scanned the cave. It was large, at least three chambers, and blessedly empty. Exhaling a sigh of relief, he called to his daughters. They quickly materialized at his side.
Their clothes and their manner both spoke of wealth and position. But that was over now. Within less than a day, their entire world had been turned upside down. In fact, to their mind, the entire world had been turned upside down. In the minds of the two girls, the three of them might be the only people left in the world. That they had survived, was a miracle. It was only due only to their father’s righteousness and the hospitality he extended to the two strangers from the night before.
Those two strangers turned out to be heavenly messengers, angels in disguise of men. At least that’s what their father had told them. Their father had met them at the city gates and offered them hospitality. It was a custom forbidden by the city of S’dom, but their father often went against the grain. In gratitude for his hospitality, Lot was warned about the impending doom, and encouraged to save himself and his family. No one had listened to him. With a heavy heart he was forced to leave his married children behind.
While the city was still visible behind them, brimstone and fire rained down on the city. It was awesome and horrible. The smell of smoke still hung in the air. They had been warned not to look back, but their mother couldn’t resist. She was too connected to her home town. It was fatal. The girls were still too much in shock to feel the grief of their loss. They were still desperately scrambling to survive, to salvage their own lives. All of them seemed to be balancing on the edge of panic.
Lot sat on a boulder, hanging his head in his hands. He was confused and afraid, unsure what to do. His daughters watched him, themselves wondering about their future. Was there a future?
“Our father is old,” commented the older daughter to her sister, “but I don’t think there is any other man left in the earth.” She had been expecting to marry in a few months, though her father hadn’t yet arranged a husband.
The younger daughter shook her head. “What do you mean?” she asked.
The older daughter sighed. “I think we’re the only people left in the world, and there isn’t anyone to wed us, as is the custom of all beings in the world,” she explained. “If we don’t do something,” she suggested, “then humanity will end. Maybe that’s why we were saved.”
“What?” asked her younger sister, confused.
The older daughter gestured with her eyes towards their father.
“You don’t mean?” asked the younger sister. She was on the verge of tears. Her mind was overloaded. She couldn’t handle anything else.
“Is there any other way?” challenged the older sister.
The younger shook her head. “Father would never agree.” Even though she had heard of things like that in S’dom, their father had been appalled by such behavior.
“We have wine,” suggested the older daughter. We’ll let him drink, and when he is drunk, well.” She lowered her voice, even though she was already whispering. “We will preserve his seed.”
“I don’t know,” the younger sister hesitated. She hadn’t the strength to argue, but neither did she have the strength to agree to such an outrageous plan. “You go ahead and do what you want.” She didn’t need to take part in this, she thought.
“Oh no,” argued the older sister, reading her thoughts. “You have to do it too. We both have to.” “I will lay with him tonight, but tomorrow you have to do it,” commanded the older sister.
“Ok,” murmered the younger sister. She just wanted her sister to leave her alone.
Lot didn’t need much encouragement to drink wine. The older sister presented him with a cup. Lot grunted his thanks. As the dark liquid touched his lips, he closed his eyes. He gulped down the rough wine. His face felt flush immediately. His daughter refilled the cup. Lot was struggling with his own emotions and fears. Silently, he successively emptied the stone cup nearly as fast as his daugter filled it. The numbing sensation that spread across his mind was welcoming.
Finally he stood. The world spun around him and he stumbled into the cave to lie down. The older daughter followed him in, and helped her father to lay down. She was gentle. Her touch was soothing. Caught between the strong wine and his own memories, he didn’t really perceive who was with him, or what was taking place. She left long before he awoke.
The next evening, the older daughter said to her sister, “Ok, I laid with Father last night. It’s your turn, now.” The younger sister turned white. Had she agreed to this? She didn’t know what to do. “Let’s make him drink wine again tonight, so you can lay with him,” prodded her sister.
The younger sister nodded, as afraid to refuse, as she was to agree.
Confusion had clouded Lot’s mind all day. Now he had more memories to suppress. When his daughter handed him the cup of wine, he was all the more willing to accept it.
As Lot stumbled into the cave, after finishing his drink. The older daughter prodded her sister. Offering her some instruction, she pushed the younger daughter after their father. As he went to lie down, she entered his bed with him. His fortress of denial secure, Lot allowed his grief and fear to again conceal what was happening. He didn’t perceive that his daughter lay with him.
Soon it became apparent that both of Lot’s daughters were pregnant with child. The older daughter gave birth to a son, and she named him Mo’av, which means “from father,” and he became the progenitor of the nation of Moav. The younger daughter also gave birth to a son, and she named him more discreetly, Ben-`Ami, which means, “son of my people. He was the progenitor of the nation of Ammon.
From the first time I laid eyes upon him, I liked him. To this day, I still can’t tell you why. But, there was something about this young man that caused my heart, which I had thought long frozen in a state of cynical decay, to soar. I later learned that his name was “Dawid.” His name in the language of Yisrael means, “beloved.” I would also learn, eventually, that for this young man; this name was at once the essence of truth and the bitterest of irony.
I had been standing in the Valley of Elah with my commander, waiting for one of the Children of Yisrael to answer his challenge. Neither of us really expected anyone to take up the gauntlet. Especially as the days turned into weeks until this morning of the fortieth day, it was clear that Sha’ul’s camp was more than a little intimidated. Nevertheless we waited each and every day.
My master, Goliyath the P’lishti, had been steadily undermining the morale of Yisrael, coming out every morning and evening, shouting challenges to the camp of Yisrael that filled even my withered soul with zealous rage for our God. Yes, my God too. Despite my mercenary nature, serving as the shield bearer for the enemy, I suppose my soul was not entirely cut off from my people and my God, the Holy One of Yisrael.
We were just about to turn around and head back to our camp, when that young man, Dawid, made his appearance.
Goliyath stretched his body. “Let’s go, Uri’yah, they aren’t coming again,” he said as he snapped his neck from side to side. My commander laughed, “Cowards. We’ve already won, Uri’yah.” His comment strangely disturbed me. I scowled at my lapse into sentimentality.
Then he caught a glimpse of someone coming out into the valley. “What?” he was taken by surprise. I saw him too, and unexpectedly my heart filled with hope. Maybe today was the day that I had been waiting for. I laughed to myself. I didn’t even know I was waiting for something. I had given up on hopes and dreams a long time ago.
Goliyath turned to meet the challenger, and his surprise increased. Anger and contempt soon followed as he went out to meet the fool.
“It’s not their ‘king,’ that’s for sure,” Goliyath spat, but something told me differently. True, it wasn’t King Sha’ul. Goliyath had met him on the battlefield many years ago, when this “king of Yisrael” was just another farmer playing soldier. I also had seen him on few occasions. No, it wasn’t Sha’ul the son of Kish. Yet, some inner voice had awakened in me. I couldn’t yet put words to the voice. The closest I could come to describe the feelings inside me was … anticipation, or maybe, a vague type of hope. But in what, I had no idea.
On the other hand, my master was clearly disappointed. I could read his thoughts. This young man didn’t even have a decent weapon. Goliyath felt cheated. He felt as if he was being mocked. Like some oversized child, he was always afraid that people were laughing at him from behind his back. Goliyath cocked his head to make sure he was seeing correctly. It looked like some shepherd searching for his lost sheep. I know what he was thinking, maybe even hoping: Maybe, this fool stumbled into the battlefield by accident?
“Lose you sheep, boy?” Goliyath's voice was dripping with disdain. He began to approach Dawid. I quickly followed
Finally, Goliyath accepted that this really was the challenger. He shook his head in disgust. He was a well-built, healthy young man. He was full of vigor, but clearly not a seasoned warrior. Goliyath was probably wondering if he had ever even seen a battle. He was muttering to himself. I could barely catch the words. “Why would the `Ivr’im send such a man?” It was beyond contempt. Goliyath was enraged. Someone had just spoiled his mood.
Goliyath released a shout. He noticed the staff, now, and mocked, “Am I a dog, that you come at me with sticks?” Goliyath laughed, but then something caused him to stop. I heard the laughter catch in his throat. Goliyath stared in wonder at the little man standing opposite him. He was calm. There wasn’t any fear emanating from him. Goliyath must have concluded that this boy was insane.
Dawid smiled casually. Who was this young man that would tread with confidence in a place where most men would flee. In spite of myself, I liked him. I knew I would have to find out more about this boy. That is, if he managed to survive the next few moments of his life.
He looked so young standing there. Well, maybe not young, so much as fresh and alive. It had been some time actually, sixteen years, since the boy had reached the age of majority amongst his people. Thirteen was a special age for everyone in Yisrael. Yet, like most things for Dawid, that day was bittersweet. The morning of his thirteenth birthday was forever etched onto his soul, for good and for bad. For most, a day like that would have made someone an old man before his years. Dawid was just the opposite. His spirit shone bright, in spite of, or possibly because of, all the hammering his soul received. Like a well worked piece of leather, it would seem that this young man was being constantly stretched and softened by the Almighty Himself, but the light in his eyes never, or at least rarely ever, lost their shine.
***
Standing in the doorway, Dawid hesitated. Expectation, and fear that those hopes would be dashed, pierced his heart like a knife. Maybe now, he thought. Please, Almighty, let it be different now. Dawid was the seventh son, thus far the youngest, of Yishai of BethleHem. Today was the day that Dawid turned thirteen. Thirteen, the age of majority for the People of Yisrael: It was a very special milestone in the life of a young man. It was the day that he became a man.
Dawid’s six older brothers were all seated around the same low table, eating their morning meal. They were engaged in lively conversation, but the conversation came to a standstill as Dawid approached the table.
“What do you want?” Eli’av’s acerbic tone bit into Dawid’s heart. He was the eldest, and seemed to hold the most contempt for their youngest brother. All of their eyes seemed to bore into Dawid, Eli’av’s most of all. Dawid felt their hate and scorn. They probably didn’t even know that it was his birthday, today. They certainly didn’t care. Dawid wanted more than anything for just one kind word from his older brother. Tears welled up in his eyes. He wanted to run, to hide, but the pain of having his soul torn asunder had welded his feet in place. Dawid’s head spun as he waited for his brothers to finish the kill.
“He wants to sit with us,” suggested Shim`a, the third son of Yishai.
“What?” Eliav scoffed. “He must have lost his mind. Why would we let that sit with us?”
Avinadav, Yishai’s second son, looked at Dawid, and his heart cracked a little. He knew why Dawid was there. His eyes shifted from Dawid to his older brother, and sighed. He realized there would be no quarter in his older brother’s war against Dawid, but he allowed himself to try. “It’s his birthday today. He’s thirteen today,” offered Avinadav.
Dawid’s eyes met Avinadav. Though they were swollen and moist, he tried to offer silent thanks with his glance. Amindav returned an uncomfortable half-smile. He felt sorry for Dawid, but he also felt like a traitor to his older brother. Eliav was not cruel by nature, most of the time. Avinadav didn’t know what he had against Dawid, but he was sure that there be must be some justification for his hatred. Eliav didn’t act that way with any of the other brothers, or even with the family servants. Avinadav had seen Eliav show kindness in some of the most unlikely places. His attitude towards Dawid was a mystery to him, but he, like the rest of the brothers, trusted his judgment and followed their older brother’s lead.
“So what?!” attacked Eliav, “That’s supposed to make a difference?” He shot a look of chastisement at his brother. “Don’t you have chores to attend to?” Eliav challenged Dawid.
Dawid turned to leave, when their father entered. “What’s this?” Yishai asked, looking from Dawid to the brothers seated at the table.
“It’s his birthday. He’s thirteen today,” offered Netan’el.
Yishai shifted uncomfortable. “Ah, well, then.” Yishai mechanically placed a hand on Dawid’s shoulder. “Well, then … eh, Mazal tov,” he said flatly, his mouth almost curling into a smile.
Where his brothers were mean, his father was distant and reserved. He didn’t seem to possess any fatherly warmth for Dawid. It might have been okay, except that Dawid was acutely aware of the love and warmth Yishai had, and regularly showed, for his brothers. It was as if he only had enough love for six sons, and by the time Dawid came he hadn’t any left. His sterile politeness towards Dawid pierced his heart even deeper than his brother’s cruelty.
It was true that Dawid did have a reputation for being a troublemaker, a big troublemaker. It had become a regular occurrence for Yishai to be accosted with accusations that his youngest son had either stolen or damaged something.
Dawid always maintained that the accusations against him were totally unfounded. He was the victim of a bad reputation, and people needed someone to blame. Anytime something bad happened in BethleHem, Dawid was automatically blamed. His culpability was always assumed, evidence or not. How could his father believe all those lies about him?
But he did. Every time someone made even the most outrageous of claims, Yishai made restitution without so much as a protest. Dawid didn’t understand it. His father was a judge in Yisrael, and an expert at getting to the truth of the matter. Yet, he didn’t even ask Dawid for an explanation.
Dawid looked up, into his father’s eyes, searching for something, some answer to all this suffering. Yishai returned a blank stare. “Thank you, avi, Father,” said Dawid quickly, before turning and running out of the house. Tears were streaming down his eyes, as he ran. He just wanted to go, but he didn’t know to where. As he ran he shouted to the gates of heavens, imploring his Father in Heaven to turn a kind eye towards him. Something. Anything. He ran till his lungs gasped for air. Then slowly, almost aimlessly, he turned back towards the family estate. Dawid headed for his great-grandmother’s room. Mamma Ruth could always help soothe the pain.
“I know about being an outcast, my little lamb,” Mamma Ruth’s voice was soothing. She stroked his hair of his head as it lay on her lap. Dawid felt her voice blanket his soul and warm his heart, fanning the dying embers, so that the spark wouldn’t die.
“The Holy One is preparing you for something grand,” her voice was full of confidence, though Ruth herself wondered at the suffering of her great grandchild’s soul. “Everything has a purpose,” she soothed, assuring herself as much as the boy resting in her lap. “Even His chastisements are a kindness.”
“But why? I didn’t do anything. I don’t deserve this,” protested Dawid.
“I know, lamb, I know.” Ruth sighed, and then offered, as much to herself, “Sometimes we just get placed into the middle of the story, without knowing its beginning or its ending. We simply have to have faith in the Holy One, that He knows the whole story, and in the end, everything will make sense.” Ruth sighed again. “We should pray that we merit seeing the outcome; so that we can understand the good of all the difficult times.”
Ruth was no stranger to difficult times. As she stroked the child in comfort, her mind drifted to the beginning of her story. Well, not the beginning, but a beginning, a time of choice and destiny, whose path still hasn’t come to its conclusion.
The Month of Aviv, in the year 345 from the Exodus
The Fields of Moav
The winds came with the setting of the sun, bursting forth as if it had impacted against the horizon, sending the powerful gusts jetting across the desert plains. As the winds reached the village, their force seemed to increase with shrieks and wailing as they buffeted against the stone homes. When they arrived at what remained of a small estate, now in disrepair, their howl intermixed with the wail of the three women huddled on a goat’s skin in one of the low stone structures on the hill. Ultimately, the women’s wailing was no match for the winds, drowning their anguish in a torrent of heavenly fury. Even in the structure, the sound of their voices was almost lost.
“Oh daughters … oh, my daughters,” cried the elder of the women, her words breaking, a mix of anger and despair. “The world. The world. We’re drowning in the attribute of strict justice.” Her face and cry turned heavenward, stronger, but filled with bitterness and pain, “Where is your mercy, Holy One?” Her cry rose to a crescendo, “Have pity! Have pity!” The last syllables swallowed by her renewed weeping. “Dear God, have pity.”
The old woman’s cries broke against the cracked ceiling, sending the three women into another fit of wailing and tears. The two younger women, birth twins and twins of fate, had just buried their husbands, the sons of the elder woman, both struck down suddenly with an illness that broke their strong young bodies within a week, albeit taking another fifty to finish its task. Before they had retired of their bodies completely, what was left of the small estate had emaciated along with them.
During their illness there hadn’t been time to reflect on the worsening of their lot, but now that their bodies had been buried and their souls departed, the women, the mother Naomi especially, gave release to the frustration and despair that had camped at their door. The death of her sons was only the latest chapter of a turn of fate that had brought her from being part of one of the most esteemed families in Yehudah to a poor childless widow adrift in a foreign land.
Tears choked the older woman. She felt as if it were the hands of the Almighty at her throat. Yet, though she would still deny it, a part of her bitterness was directed towards her own hands that helped mold this bitter fate. As tears welled anew, she tried to push the memories away, but they refused. Dancing at the edge of her mind, teasing, taunting her, reminding her; those memories stayed close enough to her consciousness to torment her. In her heart, she knew that she had taken those first steps that led her to this wilderness, to this oblivion.
It was over ten years ago, in their home in Beth-leHem. Now delirious, she laughed at the name, which means the House of Bread. What a terrible irony for it had been the seat of a famine, the second in less than ten years. The promise of the Almighty’s bounty on His People seemed rescinded
Three hundred and forty-five years after the People of Yisrael escaped from slavery in Mitsrayim, the promise of a comfortable life in their own lands was kept just out of reach, like a carrot leading a donkey down the cart path. Their God’s promise of peace and security always seemed close, but the nation was never able to grasp it. Invariably, the closer the people got to their goal, the more they succeeded, the more they backslided, turning their back on the their covenant with the Almighty. And He always seemed quick to remind them of their wayward ways. Most of Yisrael’s neighbors were more than happy to be the agents of the Holy One’s chastisement. War was a natural state of affairs in the region.
Yet, He also always sent a deliverer. No matter how far the Nation of Yisrael strayed, whoring after other gods, when they cried out in anguish from the weight of their oppressors, He would send a deliverer. The Holy One’s presence would rest on some charismatic leader who would lead the people to victory against the foreign oppressor. They would throw off the yoke of tyranny, only to start the whole cycle anew; the same script, with different set of characters.
There were also other times, when instead of delivering them into the hands of a human enemy, the Holy One would turn nature against the people. Drought brought famine, and famine was hard on the people, and her leaders, the elders who would bear the responsibility for feeding a nation, bereft of food. When the Almighty rescinded His bounty, somehow the elders had to meet the demands of their people. And the people could be relentless in their demands…
The demands of the people – again, she chaffed at the memory of her thoughts then - they never stopped, the people nor the memories, and with such insolence. As if they deserved to be supported by her husband, Elimelekh. So what if that is the law? There were so many, too many. If they were to give out all they had to them, what would be left for her family? Her boys. Her precious jewels. The memories paused to let the bitter reality sink deeper. Her precious boys.
Given new strength, the memories returned to her thoughts and complaints: She had two young boys to raise.
Elimelekh was an elder, and he took his position as head of the tribe of Yehudah seriously. With his own resources, he sustained his people as best as he could. He would often go without himself, simply so his charges would be sustained. The weight of his tribe, and his nation wore heavy on his shoulders. Much of his personal wealth was diminished from the successive famines. For Elimelekh, it seemed only natural to use his patrimony, to fulfill the responsibility and duties of his position, which, likewise was an inheritance from his fathers.
But Naomi had cursed her husband’s position as a leader of the community. What did it get them? Nothing. How could he feel responsible for them? What about her? What about her children? She had begged him to leave, to find respite from the constant demands of the people. She voiced her concerns, her fears, until they rang in her husband’s ear more forcefully than the cries of hunger from his charges. They abandoned Beth-leHem for the plains of Moav.
Her voice rose in agony. Now she was the waif. Bitterness rose up at the Almighty’s cruelty. “I stand convicted,” she choked, “but I can not endure the judgment. Have mercy, have mercy.” The tears broke forth, but the memories swirled to the dance of the howling winds outside.
In the beginning, after they had crossed the River Yarden at Yerikho it had been almost idyllic. Elimelekh had brought a camel train to the plains of Moav. There, the people had greeted them as dignitaries, welcoming them into their midst.
Moav was a distant cousin of Yisrael. Living on Yisrael’s southeastern border, on the eastern banks of the Yarden and the Yam HaMelaH - the Salt Sea, the nation of Moav was descended from Lot, the nephew who had followed Avraham, Yisrael’s patriarch, to the promised land from the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates. According to tradition, when the Almighty delivered judgment on the city of S’dom, he sent heavenly messengers to warn and rescue the nephew of His faithful servant, Avraham. Lot fled the city, as instructed, but losing his wife and all of his possessions in the process.
When the angels arrived in S’dom to rescue Lot, a mob of citizens besieged Lot’s home, demanding that he turn over the strangers to them. Lot offered his two daughters to try and pacify the crowd, but the heavenly messengers robbed him of the opportunity to fulfill his offer, blinding the crowd with brilliant light. Yet, it would seem, they had already been lost to the wiles of S’dom. Those two daughters, corrupted by the influences of the decadent city, and despairing of any other survivors of the catastrophe, lay with their father in a perverted effort to preserve his seed. The nations of Moav and Children of Ammon were born from their unions.
While Yisrael languished for four hundred years, slaves to the global power of Mitsrayim - Egypt, Moav grew into a mighty nation, carving out a kingdom on the fertile eastern bank of the Yarden. Rejecting their father’s loyalty to the Holy One, Lot’s daughters, and their sons, served the gods they had come to know in S’dom. Moav became a patron of Khemosh, a terrible and vengeful god, and consort of Asherah, a goddess whose image graced nearly every home.
When the nation of Yisrael was liberated from Mitsrayim, and they returned home, Moav was far from welcoming. Camped on their border, the nation of Yisrael requested to pass through Moav, promising not to disturb its peace. However, Moav felt threatened by such a large nation, who had devastated the world power of Mitsrayim. Under the leadership of their king, Balaq, Moav attacked Yisrael. They learned quickly that they should have granted the liberated nation’s request.
After Yisrael established herself within her borders, relations with Moav grew cordial, if not friendly. They shared a similar culture, their languages differing only in dialect, and trade benefited both nations. When Elimelekh journeyed eastward with his family to the Plains of Moav in order to escape the famine, the nation, this time, was more than welcoming.
Even when tragedy had taken Elimelekh from her, the blow was softened. The people of Moav had been supportive, even giving two of their royal daughters to her sons in marriage. Both Orpah and Ruth had agreed to accept the path of the `Ivri God, and observe His ways. Naomi found comfort from her husband’s death and companionship in her two new daughters-in-law. For a while, that first sign of impending tragedy, instead of serving as a warning, simply was accepted as a part of life.
Aside from the terrible cult worship of its gods, Naomi found the Moav culture similar to her own. Her ear soon became attuned to the different dialect, and after a time, her eyes no longer widened at the public play between men and women in the market. Her body was sated by the bounty of Moav’s provisions, convincing her that all of her needs were being fulfilled.
A gust of bitter wind seemed to ignore the stones, enwrapping the women in a blanket of cold. They huddled closer together. Naomi’s memory surged, choking up another bitter memory. This time, the first real signs of tragedy danced boldly in her mind.
MaHlon had burst into the common house looking for Khilyon. Naomi felt a surge of panic at seeing her son’s agitation. A hollow seemed to form in the depth of her soul. She pushed herself away from it instantly, but a residue remained. “What’s wrong?” She asked hesitantly. Her son calmed somewhat at the sight of his mother. “It’s the sheep,” his tone serious, but the alarm diminished. “Several died in the night, suddenly, and many of the others …” His voice trailed off. “I don’t know,” he continued, “but they seem … lifeless, and their wool is falling away.”
Throughout the years of her marriage to Elimelekh, Naomi had become familiar with many of the trials of herding, but something in her son’s tone, or some other unseen force, caused a lump of panic in her throat. She felt herself hurtling towards that abyss again. “It will be okay,” she offered, trying to assure herself as much as her son. “It’s not the first time we’ve lost a few sheep.” Her son simply nodded and continued his search for his brother, Khilyon.
Within three days, the entire flock of over three hundred sheep died inexplicably. Two weeks later their flock of goats followed them to the ash pile. During the same fortnight, bandits managed to steal five of their camels and several horses. The brothers were forced to undersell another camel to buy a much needed milk goat and other supplies. As setback followed setback, their workers fled, accompanied by increasing speculative whispers of curses and encroaching darkness.
Rumors kept their neighbors at bay. Evil had come to roost amongst the strangers.
When the last of their workers finally fled, they liberally rewarded themselves with a generous severance. They took anything they could lay their hands upon. Within a month, the family seemed to descend as far as anyone thought possible. A cloud of doom hung over their lives. Each new day was met with dread and uncertainty.
Then, when failing to return from their fields, Khilyon went looking for his brother. He found him lying amongst the barley. He was conscious but incoherent. His body covered in a cold sweat. Two days later Khilyon was struck with the same malady. Though it took nearly a year of suffering, the two brothers never rose from their sickbeds. Yet, long before their last breath, the once proud estate was in ruins; nothing was left. The three surviving women were forced to dig their men’s graves themselves.
The winds continued to howl, echoing the lamentations of Naomi’s heart. She prayed for mercy from the Almighty. A bitter mercy – that He would be kind enough to end her suffering too and join her with her husband and sons. The winds seemed to laugh in response.
***
A thin line of light creased the eastern horizon heralding the imminent dawn. Naomi let out a small sigh as she noticed it. She sat outside facing the east, her back towards her home, consumed with thoughts and memories.
Sometime in the night the winds had stopped. And though she had been awake the entire night, she only noticed the storm’s end long after it had settled. The storm of the last three days suddenly was no more and a calm now rested on the world. Naomi did not share the same calm. Today she would rise from her official mourning, but rise to what? Where would she go? The Almighty did not seem to leave her many options.
As her eyes focused on the horizon, she saw shadows. Against the backdrop of the rising sun, dark shapes seemed to grow before her. Blinking away the fog of her reverie, her consciousness gave voice to the visage: a trade caravan heading towards the west. Yet, it had been so long since she had seen such a vision; it felt more illusion than real.
As the caravan approached, Naomi recognized three men riding donkeys with another three or four walking along side. There were about a half a dozen camels, laden with various packs and sacks holding their wares. The men all wore light colored wools, which, with the rising sun at their backs, seemed to glow.
Then, the caravan seemed to stop in its tracks. Naomi watched in wonder, trying to decipher the travelers’ actions, but it was too far. She watched the men dismount, and then the entire group froze in place. Her eyes winced to decipher details of the scene, but with the sun behind the group, their efforts were fruitless.
Almost as instantly as it had stopped, the caravan rejoined its trajectory, and now, with the sun firmly established in the heavenly sky above their heads, it was clear that the caravan’s path was directed towards her estate. Though, she still couldn’t decide if it was happenstance or by design.
Naomi rose from the ground, absentmindedly pulling her shawl tighter. Even though the morning air was cold, her chill seemed to emanate from within. She took a step or two towards their approach, but no more. Squinting into the sun, Naomi awaited their arrival.
As the members of the caravan became distinct entities, Naomi’s eyes widened with her surprise. She saw the distinct fringe of her people hanging from the corners of the travelers’ garments. Now searching, her eyes soon registered small black boxes peering out from beneath their head wraps. The boxes, a sign of the covenant with the Holy One and containing verses from their holy text, were mandated by the Almighty for the men of Yisrael to wear. The trade caravan was from the Land of Yisrael. And it was returning home.
Questions filled her mind. Considering the wares it seemed laden with, it had been a successful trade. Yet, how had Yehudah, beset by famine, anything to trade with anyone?
When the caravan was less than a hundred amoth (about fifty meters) away, one of the travelers, a short round man with a thick black beard, which seemed to grow away from his face, dismounted and approached Naomi. His hands folded across his chest, his steps were measured, his eyes directed towards a spot on the ground about a handbreadth before the widow.
“TinaHmi min ha-Shamayim. May you be comforted from the Heavens,” the stranger proffered.
Naomi startled. The holy language, which her ears had longed to hear for over a year, combined with the unconventional greeting made her jolt. How? She questioned. Then her hand absently went to the tear in her dress over her heart, the ceremonial tear of a mourner. One is not suppose to offer the regular greeting to a mourner. She wondered at what point this stranger knew her status.
The tears fought to begin to flow anew.
“I,” she paused to compose herself, “I rise from my mourning today.” She paused before saying, “Shalom Alekhem. Peace unto you, sir.” Then she added, as much to herself as to the visitor, “You’re actually the first comforter we’ve received.” The bitterness was not hidden from her voice.
The traveler shifted uncomfortably, not knowing how to respond. His bulbous nose seemed to twitch.
Almost as way of apology, Naomi explained, “I buried my two sons last week.”
“Barukh dayan ha-emith. Blessed is the True Judge,” the traveler intoned the traditional response for hearing bad news, but his words were hesitant, unsure as to how they would be received.
Suddenly, Naomi recognized him: It was Shimon, from the Hetsron clan. She wondered if he had recognized her, though, in deference to modesty, it would be unlikely. She remembered him as one of the Elders, a pious man. Shimon wouldn’t gaze at a married woman’s face without cause. Despite the heaviness of her grief, her heart lifted, if ever so slightly, at the chance meeting of a fellow countryman. She wondered what this man thought of a daughter of Yisrael dwelling in the plains of Moav.
Naomi broke the awkward silence. “Forgive me, but I haven’t any way of fulfilling the provisions of welcoming the stranger.
Her confession cued the traveler to action. Waving his hand, he offered, “We have plenty, allow us the merit of comforting the mourner, even if it is a little tardy.” Without waiting for a reply. Shimon turned and quickly waddled towards his fellow travelers. His hands gesturing instructions even before his mouth voiced them. Within a short time, a small encampment sprung to life in the desolate courtyard of Naomi’s home.
***
She watched the trade caravan diminish into the distance. Even though she had already decided that she too would return to BethleHem, she wouldn’t have been able to travel with the caravan. Regardless, the news they brought was like a message from the Almighty Himself, a reprieve, if not a complete pardon, of her sentence. Yehudah was flourishing again; the Master of the World had rescinded His strict hand of Justice against her people. There was hope that her sentence would also be commuted.
Ruth and Orpah were busy bundling the few utensils that the family still owned as Naomi stood in the courtyard of her once majestic estate. Again, the memories berated her, yet, despite their sharpness, there was a point of light buried in their attack. Maybe, she would yet find solace with her people. Her people; the thought suddenly elicited pangs of fear. When she left them, she was a princess; she would now be returning as a waif. She would be at their mercy. She hoped they would show her more mercy than she had shown them.
Naomi turned to leave the courtyard; her two daughters-in-law were standing in the shadow of the afternoon sun. Tears stained their faces. Seemingly on cue, the three women embraced, sharing their silent memories. Yet, the hug was brief, for each realized that they should begin their journey. The three women silently left the courtyard and turned their steps towards the road that would lead them to the land of Yehudah.
The three women, holding hands began to walk together. They hadn’t gone more than forty steps when Naomi stopped in her tracks.
Suddenly, she was hit with the realization that her daughters-in-law were leaving their home to become strangers in her country. Naomi wasn’t even sure about her own survival; she surely couldn’t bring these young women with her. She would have nothing to give them. Their future would be as bleak as hers was in Moav.
Naomi stopped in her track. “What are you doing, my daughters? Go back, both of you. Return to your mother’s house. May the Almighty grant you peace and show you kindness in return for the kindness you have shown to the departed, and to me. Go. I have nothing to offer you.”
The two women, the two sisters looked at each other, each wrestling with their own desires and expectations. Both had grown to love both Naomi and her God. How could they abandon them? For surely returning to their people, they would be cut off from both.
Silence seemed to hang in the air for an eternity.
It was finally broken by Naomi. “Go back, already. You’ve more than fulfilled your obligations to me. May the Almighty grant each of you rest in your own homes, in the home, and arms, of another husband.”
Again, neither sister knew what to do. They stood there, shifting their feet, their eyes drifting from the ground to the other sister, waiting for some unknown cue.
Naomi pulled them into her arms and kissed them. The three broke into tears, weeping without restraint.
Ruth broke the silence this time. “We will stay with you, Mother. We will go back with you to your people.”
Orpah immediately concurred, “Yes, Mother, we haven’t anything really to return to. We will stay with you.”
“No my daughters. I have nothing to offer you. I haven’t even a home” Naomi tried to maintain her composure. In truth, she loved her daughters-in-law very much, and was afraid to face returning to Yehudah alone, but that would not be fair for them. That would not be good for them.
When her daughters-in-law remained silent, Naomi continued, “Return home, my daughters, my beautiful daughters. Why would you come with me? Am I going to have any more sons to take you for wives? You are free from your obligations, Return home.”
Ruth shook her head slowly in silent protest. She couldn’t articulate it, but she would not leave her mother-in-law. Abandoning her meant abandoning everything that had meaning in her life. It would mean abandoning the holiness of her husband’s people.
Orpah remained silent, but her thoughts were confused. She loved Naomi, but she did not want to remain alone. She felt abandoned, betrayed, by her husband and His God. There was a void inside her that was growing. He didn’t even leave her with a child. Yet, returning to her mother’s house would not be much of a future either; a childless widow was without very many good prospects. And then again, Naomi was the last vestige of any thing good she had had. She didn’t want to turn her back on her.
Naomi persisted in her arguments to the silent responses of her daughters-in-law. “Return home to your people. I am too old to have another husband. Even if I thought that there still might be hope for me …” Her words trailed off. She hadn’t anything to offer any man. She would spend the rest of her days alone. A pang of desire for the companionship of her daughters-in-law made her pause. But no, it was not right. She voiced her protest, “You are still young and beautiful. You have many children left in your womb. I am old. Even if I were to marry and conceive tonight.” She laughed to herself at the thought. She was far from the merit of her ancestor, Sarah, who gave birth to a son in her old age. Yet she pressed her argument. She had to make the women see the futility of staying with her. “Even if I were to have a son, could you wait till he grew to manhood to take you in yibum, in levirate marriage? Would you remain alone and unmarried for them all those years? You would be an old woman before he could build you a home and provide for you.”
Ruth continued to shake her head in protest. Her tears flowed silently. The logic of her mother-in-law’s words was sound, but she would not yield. She would not leave Naomi’s side.
Orpah had ceased to weep. She stood frozen at the crossroads of indecision. She did not want to remain alone. The void in the hallow of her heart began to grow.
Naomi pushed harder. “No my daughters. It is terribly bitter for me, but you have hope; you have a future still.” Finally, Naomi articulated her true thoughts, “The Hand of the Almighty has gone out against me. He has judged me, and I …” Naomi’s eyes closed in resignation to her fate. She sighed, “I have to answer His decree, but you, my lovely daughters, return home. Begin anew.”
Orpah was shaken, but she recognized the truth of her mother-in-law’s words. She raised her head and looked into Naomi’s eyes. Taking a step towards her mother-in-law, she took her hand and kissed it. They stared at each other for a long moment. Four tears, one after the other, disturbed the dust at their feet. Orpah wiped her eyes, and offered her mother-in-law a tight smile. They spoke no words, embraced again, and then Orpah turned to her sister, her twin.
Ruth hadn’t moved. Orpah kissed her sister on the cheek; Ruth returned the embrace, but she didn’t move with her sister’s gentle nudge. Orpah didn’t wait for Ruth. It was her own decision. Orpah turned and took a path towards her own destiny. This would be the first time their paths would part.
***
Orpah’s feet turned onto the cart path, but her mind traveled a different route, drifting to the realm of possibilities. Voices danced into her head. She had been connected to holiness, and now there was this void, a deep chasm that needed filling. She longed for the touch of her husband, his embrace.
She reminded herself that he was no longer. Anger intermixed, and then replaced her sadness. Ten years, and the Holy One of Israel had denied them even one child. Ten years of divine judgment. Ten years of tense anticipation and disappointment. She had felt the holiness of the People Yisrael in the beginning; that is what caused her to cling to Khilyon, to choose his people, his God, but now, she was left with nothing. Bitter tears trailed down her cheeks. Nothing.
She wanted the touch of a man, any man. She needed to fill the empty spaces. She knew the space in her heart would remain empty, void, but there were other hollows that needed to be filled. It would not be the same. Being with Khilyon was as much a spiritual as a physical experience. When he made love to her, they were not alone; he had connected her to the infinite. Done in the modesty and purity of his people, he had made the coupling something more than human, something holy.
But, suggested the emboldened voices in her mind, there were other forces, other energies to be tapped. Her spirit could be satiated other ways. The Holy One of Yisrael had stolen her husband from her and left her a childless widow. She would flee from such demanding, exacting holiness and embrace its antithesis.
An audible sigh escaped her lips. Each step along the dusty trail-like road led her further and further away from her mother-in-law and all that was connected to her - her son, her people, and her God. When she broke from her internal reverie and became conscious of her surroundings, she realized she was a lifetime away from her former, though temporary, home. Night was beginning to fall.
Suddenly, Orpah noticed that she was not alone on the road. Seemingly out of nowhere, there was a donkey headed in her direction. It was already close. On his back sat a hunched rider. They would cross paths within moments. Had she seen him coming from a distance, she would have moved off the road into the fields, fearful of what might happen to a lone woman traveler. Now it was too late for such precautions, so she merely moved to the side of the road, to insure that the donkey would have plenty of room to pass.
However, instead of moving to the opposite side of the road, the donkey moved directly into her path. Her heart leapt, as anxiety crept up her spine. There was still some distance between them. Cautiously, Orpah moved to the opposite side of the road. Yet again, the donkey matched her move. Her breath caught, as she stopped in her tracks, waiting.
The donkey and rider reached her in moments, but each of those moments was impregnated with anxiety and fear. She noticed the rider was completely enwrapped in his dark cloak, the color of shadows. The cloak was draped over his head and shoulders creating a hood before folding back over itself covering his mouth and nose. His eyes seemed like distant glowing embers hidden in the recesses of those shadows. The donkey stopped within a handbreadth of her. Orpah felt the donkey’s breath on her face. It was as if in a dream.
“Shulmu. Greetings,” the low voice of the rider resonated in her head. She seemed to recognize the voice. It seemed to carry the same tone and measure as the voices of her soul. Her fear augmented, though surprisingly the anxiety diminished. She realized she had shut her eyes tightly, and now she slowly opened them looking up in the direction of the man’s face.
“Shulmu,” her voice was barely a whisper.
She felt as if the donkey rider smiled, though she couldn’t have seen it. “The roads are treacherous for a woman traveling alone towards the dark. Minna izimtu’a? What could you possibly be seeking?”
Her heart leapt. She stared at the rider, but didn’t answer. She knew she didn’t need to.
“No, child,” he chided. I’m merely an old traveler. However, if you continue on your path, and take the left fork at the crossing, you will find a band of P’lishti soldiers. There are about a hundred of them. I’m sure that they would offer comfort and hospitality to such a comely lost soul as yourself. Fare well.”
Orpah’s mind was swept away in reverie. It must have been the tension and anxiety, but when she regained her bearings, she was once again alone on the road. The rider and donkey seemed to have disappeared.
P’lisht’im: The very bane of Yisrael’s existence, what greater nation to introduce her life’s new course. From the time of Yisrael’s ancestors’ sojourn in their land, they had zealously fought against Yisrael’s bringing the glory of the Almighty to the world. Lust: it was synonymous with the P’lisht’im. Descendent through wife swapping between Pathrusim and KasluHim, both offspring of Mitsrayim, they have come to represent the very essence of licentiousness. They lived on the Western coast of the land of K’na`an resolving to be a thorn in the side of the Nation of Yisrael, despoiling their plans for bringing light to the world.
Orpah recalled the geopolitical lessons of her youth she received in the royal residence of Moav. The very name for their nation, P’lisht'im, meaning open at both ends, defined their nature as being totally accessible to the spirit of lust. This is why they clung to the land of K’na`an, for the K’na`anim and the P’lishtim share a common bond to the forces of materialistic, egocentric desire, and the land of K’na`an, when it rebels against the forces of holiness, becomes the perfect focus for such forces. The battle for the Land of Kna`an or the Land of Yisrael is a battle between the very forces of Heaven and Earth.
Suddenly she recognized the rider and the voice in her heart. She had been given a mission, so it seemed, from the very “Accuser of Yisrael,” the nation’s Calumniator and Detractor, the Angel Samu-el, Israel’s Denouncer before the Heavenly Court. Her head began to swim, her heart leapt with anticipation. She resolved to serve her new master well. She had trouble containing her excitement. The trace of holiness she had experienced was now gone but in its place, lust filled her heart.
***
Torchlight flickered in the distance.
She made her way to the camps edge. A dog’s yapping reverberated incessantly against the dark night. As she approached she saw the large group of men in various positions of relaxation, conversing amongst themselves. Walking into the circle of light, her presence captured everyone’s attention, all eyes turned, as if on command. Her dress was in the Moav style, road worn but quality, her stature, her presence, bespoke of her noble birth. She emphasized every nuance, every movement. Even the dog stopped his yelping.
“Qarabu’in migru’in. Noble warriors,” she began, pausing for emphasis, “Qarabu’in emmamu’in. Heated warriors,” she smirked. “Ekhadat Orpah b’nt Aglon zeru Balaq Ma-alaku h’rabu. I am Orpah, daughter of Aglon descendent of the great King Balaq. Which of you thinks he can please such a rare flower in your camps?”
A pregnant silence permeated the camp. All eyes darted from the lovely princess to his comrade, each gauging her words, her intent, and his chances against his fellow. Suddenly, as if on cue, the dog sat up tall and yelped three short yelps. The silence was broken and all the men began their own clamoring. Offers from the exotic to the erotic, from the brash to the refined were thrown towards Orpah, and she reveled in their offerings. The men began rising to their feet, moving towards the woman, each wanting her for his own, but Orpah had other ideas.
“Wait,” she called out, “with so many fine suitors, I suppose we’ll all just need to learn to share.” A devilish smile affixed itself to her face, as the crowd was thrown into silence for the third time. It was the last time the camp would know silence until the morning hours.
Orpah didn’t wait for them but sauntered into their midst. Soon hands, some gentle, some rough, began to caress her form. She closed her eyes, trance-like; letting each sensation fill the crevices of her hollow soul.
***
Consciousness and feeling returned slowly. The air was warm and dry. The sun’s morning light warmed her face. Sound seemed suspended. The sensations had been so overwhelming, that her mind, unable to process the events quickly enough, suspended itself somewhere between pain and pleasure. She was sore, but aches of pleasure mixed with the pain and the feeling of blood and sweat, and other fluids, along her sensitized skin. Even the air had a different sensation. She allowed her mind to drift, for what could have been moments or hours. Orpah felt a stirring within, and she knew. These forces had been more generous. She was with child, a very special child. A child with a hundred fathers and a …
Orpah felt a wet sensation on her face and her eyes flutter opened to meet those of the dog. He was licking her cheek. She turned on her side, but let the beast continue its tongue bath. At least there was one gentleman, she chuckled. Then the chuckle turned to laughter, and as the laughter escaped the depth of her soul, Orpah felt the embrace of destiny. She remembered the donkey rider on the road, and offered him a prayer of thanks. Slowly she rose to her feet. She found her cloak, shook the dust from it and wrapped it loosely around her shoulders. She laboriously set off in search of a cistern or a spring to wash up. The dog quietly tagged along.
***
A few steps from her mother-in-law, Orpah hesitated and looked over her shoulder, waiting to see if her sister would join her but Ruth stood frozen, her mind processing the events. She fought to find expression for her desire. Her soul clung to her mother-in-law.
“Dearest daughter,” Naomi’s voice was soft but firm, “Your sister has chosen wisely. She is returning to her people and her gods. Go, child, join her, return with her.”