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The Walls of Arad

By Carole Towriss

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Oasis of Kadesh Barnea, Sinai Peninsula
Late 13th Century B.C.,
Late winter, 22nd day of Shevat

“YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?” Zadok stared at the white-haired woman sitting beside him, her face as serene as if she had just asked him to pass her a cup of water.
“Marry her. I want you to marry Arisha.”
He’d seen the girl around Miriam’s tent. Not often. She tended to stay inside, away from the gazes of others. “Why me?” He wiped his sweaty hands on his tunic. Marriage was not a topic he enjoyed discussing. “I’m sure there are any number of young men who would be more than happy to take her as a wife. She’s very pretty.” Her wavy, light brown hair and sad eyes floated through his mind.
“She doesn’t need those others. She needs you.” Miriam’s wide grin plumped the apples of her cheeks, giving her an endearing child-like look despite her age.
“Needs me? What do you mean she needs me?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Are you going to repeat everything I say?”
Zadok jumped to his feet. “Are you going to tell me what you are talking about?”
“Sit down.” Miriam spoke without looking up or raising her voice.
Clenching his jaw, he pulled his cloak tighter against the cool morning breeze drifting through the long, orderly rows of canvas tents. “You know what happened the last time I wanted to marry someone.”
She flipped the manna cakes in the pan over the fire in front of her tent. Apparently satisfied they were nicely browned on both sides, she put two next to a handful of dates on a plate and handed it to Zadok. “Marah was a selfish, spoiled child, and her father was no better. They couldn’t see past tomorrow and had no faith in Yahweh’s provision.” She grinned. “But you will be perfect for Arisha.”
“And why is that?”
“Arisha is from Arad. In Canaan.”
“In Canaan?” He pointed north. “That Canaan?”
Miriam raised a brow. “You know of another?”
He bristled. “And I am perfect because like her, I am not a true
Israelite.”
Miriam’s eyes—the same piercing eyes she shared with her
brother Moses—held his. “I watched your sabba lovingly build every piece of furniture in that Tabernacle.” Her bony fingers pointed to the structure hidden behind the animal hide curtain on the other side of the sandy walkway in front of them. “Your grandfather crafted the Ark of the Covenant, over which the very presence of Yahweh rests. And I watched his sabba Hur, along with my own brother Aaron, hold Moses’s arms up to heaven all day so we would not be slaughtered by the Amalekites. That man gave his life for Israel. You could not be more Israelite if you were Jacob himself.”
“But still, my mother is half Egyptian. And my father—”
Her gaze softened as she placed her hand on his cheek. “I know your father. And I have known you since you were a tiny being in your mother’s belly.” She put one manna cake on a plate for herself. “I don’t care about your blood. I chose you for your shep- herd’s heart. Arisha is ... she has been deeply wounded. I would like to give her more time, but I can’t. She needs to marry. She needs the gentle nature Yahweh gave you, so her heart can fully mend.”
He shook his head.
“I have talked to Yahweh about this.”
He waited until a pair of priests passed by on the aisle between
the first row of tents and the outer wall of the tabernacle. He didn’t need anyone else hearing this bizarre conversation. “You’ve talked to Yahweh?” He finished his manna cake and picked up the second. “Have you talked to her? Wait—how do you talk to her? Does she speak Hebrew?”
“She doesn’t need to. I can understand her quite well. Our languages are very similar. Not like Egyptian. And no, I haven’t spoken to her because I wanted to speak to you first.”
Zadok pondered her words as he savored the sweet manna. “I cannot marry someone I do not love.”
“You will.”
Zadok blinked. “I will what? Marry someone I don’t love?” Could she possibly be ordering him to do that?
Miriam laughed. “No, no. You will love her.”
“How can you say that?”
Miriam waved her hand. “I know these things. This isn’t the first
time I've done this. It’s just the first time I’ve been so open about it. I usually just ... nudge people toward one another. And I’m always right.” She set her plate down.
“Why be different this time?” He ripped a date in two and removed the seed, then handed her the meat.
“I don’t have much time left.” She bit off a small piece of the fruit.
He studied her face, but he couldn’t tell for certain what that meant. Was she ... ?
“I’m failing. I can feel it. I want to know Arisha is in good hands before I go.”
“Does she know?” Why did he care? He barely knew her.
A smile slowly crept over Miriam’s face. “Why do you ask?”
“I-I just know how close to you she is. This will be hard for her.” Her smiled widened. “See? You care for her already. Besides,
you should be married by now, as well, shouldn’t you? How old are you now?”
“I was born twenty-three summers ago. And most people seem to share the opinion of Marah’s father.” Zadok dropped the plate on the sand at his feet. “You may have been thinking about this for some time, but this is the first I’ve heard about it, and I need to think.” He slapped his hands against each other and stood. “I’ll let you know.”
As a Levite, Miriam lived on the inner row of tents around the Tabernacle. Preferring to avoid the busyness of the only entrance to the courtyard, she’d pitched her tent all the way at the north end of the row.
Zadok strolled south along the wide walkway, the Tabernacle on his right, and tents of the Levites on his left. Halfway down he reached Moses’s tent. Moses lived exactly east of the tabernacle, across from the wide opening. Aaron, as high priest, lived next to him.
Zadok cut between the two tents and stepped into Judah’s section. His tent was behind Aaron’s. Sabba Hur had lived there many years ago, when he and Aaron were Moses’s closest advisors. He’d shared that tent with Abba, and Kamose, the Egyptian captain of the guard who had escaped with the Israelites. Joshua’s tent was behind Moses’s so he could be close to the leader, though as an Ephraimite, his tent would normally have been exactly opposite Moses, on the west side of camp.
Zadok turned and strode south, continuing through the tents of Zebulon. As he walked, he tried to make sense of what he’d heard.
But he couldn’t.
Why would Miriam pick him? She knew he wasn’t suitable. She knew his ... failings. It was an absurd request. He would just have to tell her no.
He walked beyond camp to the southern springs where the livestock were kept, and hopped over the rock wall. Now, where were his sheep?
There, near the smallest of the springs. His beautiful sheep. The only creatures he felt truly comfortable with. Sheep were so much simpler than people.
He scanned the group—all accounted for.
Well, actually, they weren’t his. Most of them weren’t, anyway. He was the shepherd for the priests. Three years ago, Aaron had come to him to ask him to take his small flock, the one he’d begun to build for his future, and turn it into a flock for the Tabernacle. Once they reached Canaan, the priests would need at least two lambs every day, more each Sabbath. Over one thousand lambs every year. Only the best lambs would do. Only the best shepherd.
“Zadok!” A young boy waved him over.
“Micah.” Zadok ambled toward the boy and tousled his hair. “How are my sheep?”
“Everybody’s here and happy. Reuben is finishing the milking, and Jonah says a couple of the ewes are looking very uncomfortable.” Micah laughed.
“All right. I’ll go check on them. Thank you.” He clapped Micah on the shoulder and headed for the ewes he knew were nearing time to deliver. It was early in the season, but not unheard of.
Jonah knelt by one of the expectant sheep. Jonah was Zadok’s most recent but his best hire yet. He was eighteen—the oldest— and big, strong, and willing to work at night with Reuben to guard the flock. Zadok paid the boys in milk, a commodity he had plenty of.
“How is she?”
“I think she might drop this lamb tonight.” Jonah rubbed his hand down the ewe’s back.
“All right. I’ll stay with her. You watch the flock.” “Can I help?” Jonah’s eyes pleaded.
“I need you to watch over the sheep, but there will be plenty more ewes waiting to deliver. If you can find someone else willing to work for me and to stand guard, you can help next time.”
Jonah’s shoulders drooped, but he nodded and loped off.
As the ewe wandered away from the flock to find a quiet place, Zadok followed from a distance. It was unlikely she’d need help, but he wanted to be close by, just in case.
At least she wouldn’t be asking him any uncomfortable ques- tions about his life.
“NO, I WON’T! WHY CAN’T I just stay here with you?” Arisha grasped Miriam’s wrinkled hands and pulled them to her chest, fighting to control her voice. The tent she shared
with the old woman closed in on her, shutting out everything but Miriam. Her blood pounded in her ears and her heart thumped against her chest. Her legs wobbled. How could Miriam do this to her? How could she throw her away like this?
“Arish—”
“Please, please let me stay here with you.” She grasped Miriam’s tunic.
Miriam withdrew her hands and placed them on Arisha's wet face. “You are a woman, and it is well past time for you to marry and create a life of your own. You cannot live in mine any longer.”
“But I don’t want to. I don’t know how.” Arisha buried her face in Miriam’s shoulder and sobbed. “I'm afraid,” she whispered.
Miriam embraced her and rubbed circles on her back. “No, no, my child, you mustn’t be afraid. Yahweh has created marriage for us, and it is a good thing. It is not something to be feared.”
Arisha pulled back and narrowed her eyes. “But you never married.”
“I almost did.”
“What happened?”
Miriam gestured to a cushion.
Arisha released her and sank to the floor, immediately missing the comfort of the woman. She swiped the tears from her cheeks and tried to slow her breathing.
Miriam stepped outside the tent. While she was gone, Arisha studied the tent that had been her only real home—at least, the only one she could remember. Soft cushions stuffed with wool, covered in sheepskin, were scattered over the floor. Their extra tunics were neatly folded in the corner. Skins of water occupied another corner. Sleeping mats lay rolled up along the back wall.
She was safe here. How could she leave?
Miriam returned with two cups full of hot water, then sat across from Arisha. She reached into a bag and withdrew mint and sage leaves and dropped a few into each cup. “It was long, long ago, back in Egypt. His name was Eliab. We were two months from marrying, and he was killed in the brickfields.”
“Oh, Miriam!” Arisha's hand went to her mouth.
“Obviously I was devastated. I knew I would never love anyone else like I loved him. I thought ... I thought my life was over. I wouldn’t come out of my house for a month.”
Miriam stirred the leaves in the cups. “Then a friend had a baby. Her imma had died when she was very young, and I had always helped my imma with Aaron and Moses. She begged me to come help her, so I spent several weeks with her. And then another friend needed me, and another ... and I realized I found it very fulfilling.”
Arisha shook her head. “But you never married.”
“Yahweh gave me something else. I could have sought marriage again; I chose not to. But it wasn’t because I was afraid. I chose another way instead.” Miriam took her hand. “What would you be choosing?”
Arisha released a slow sigh. “Nothing, I suppose.”
“Exactly.” She fished the leaves from the tea, then offered a cup to Arisha. “I'm asking you to trust me, Arisha. I know this is the best life for you.”
Arisha's eyes filled with tears once again, but she blinked them back. “When do I have to do this?”
“Not until you are comfortable with him.”
Arisha's eyes widened. “Truly?”
Miriam laughed. “Of course. I am not trying to get rid of you.” Arisha frowned. It certainly felt that way.
“You may not believe me, but I am doing what is best for you.”
She took a long sip of tea. “I’m happy living alone, helping other people. I am quite demanding, I love to be in control, and I hate taking orders. It would take a very special sort of man to live with me. I never found another one like Eliab.” She shrugged. “But you, my sweet, would not be happy. We were not created to live alone.”
“But I am not alone! We have each other. Why can’t it stay that way?”
Miriam set her cup aside, then took Arisha's hand in both of hers. She waited until Arisha's gaze met her own. “I know you’re afraid. But I have known this man since he was a baby. I know his father, and knew his grandfather and his great-uncle. He is an honorable, gentle man, and he will never abandon or mistreat you. You have trusted me so far. Trust me now.”
Arisha sniffled and managed a nod as Miriam exited the tent. After a few moments, Arisha left as well. She wandered north along the walkway. The sun hid behind the Tabernacle but hadn’t quite set, leaving her in the shadows.
A pair of Laughing Doves flew over her head, their snickering call lightening her heart. They were the most beautiful of the desert birds. She picked up her pace and followed them.
North of camp, two enormous springs were joined to two on the east by a small river. Miriam said they supplied enough water for everyone even in the hottest summers, but she hadn’t been here long enough to know. The river fed broom bushes and date palms stretching toward the sky, standing like watchful sentinels all along the east and north sides of camp. Low hills protected them on the south and west.
She reached the largest spring, the one directly north of camp. A warm breeze blew in off the mountains far beyond the spring, tossing her hair over her shoulders. She gazed north, where the desert gave way to cliffs, then to the hills of Canaan. When she escaped months ago, she never would have imagined a place as lovely as this.
Women came and went, carrying skins full of clear water to their waiting families. Always the women, always alone. Miriam said marrying brought man and woman together, but from what she saw, women stayed with women and the men were still with the men.
Why should she marry anyone if she would still be alone?

ZADOK SWATTED AT THE WETNESS on his cheek and rolled his head away. Too early to wake up. Wet pressure jabbed him in his neck, and after a moment, his nose. He opened
his eyes to a year-old lamb nuzzling his face.
He reached up to rub the animal’s head. “What’s the matter?
Can’t find your imma, Neshika?”
Zadok’s gaze wandered skyward. Yahweh’s protective cloud
hovered, the fire of night giving way to the puffy white of day. The cloud was not only a reminder of His pronouncement that Israel wait here, outside Canaan for forty years, but protection from the sun and heat while living in the desert. Zadok breathed a quick prayer of thanks.
The yearling baaaed at him, then nuzzled him again.
“Fine, I’ll get up.”
He sat up and rubbed his eyes, squinted against the sun at his
flock lying around him. He stretched and groaned. How much sleep had he gotten? Not much. The first lambs of the season had been born. After the first ewe delivered, he discovered another in distress. Nearly ended up pulling the lamb out of its mother that time. And then of course he had to sit and watch as the mother licked the baby clean, and the lamb in turn began to suckle. There wasn’t a more satisfying experience in the world than seeing a newborn stand and begin to walk.
“Zadok?”
He twisted toward the voice. “Jonah? You’re still here?” He stuck out a hand and Jonah pulled him up.
“You looked like you could use the sleep, so I stayed a while longer than usual. Reuben isn’t here yet, but Micah is. Are you up now?”
Shivering in the cool morning air of early spring, Zadok brushed off his sheepskin cloak he’d used as a blanket and shrugged into it. “Yes. Thank you for staying. You can go now. Get some sleep yourself.”
Jonah nodded, then picked up several skins of milk he had gath- ered and jogged toward camp.
Zadok picked up the lamb at his feet, checked its ears, eyes, looked in its mouth. “Doing well today, Shika. Now run off.” He moved to another lamb and did the same.
A third cowered near its ewe trembling. He knelt beside the lamb, ran his hand along its back, down its flanks. What was the problem? Gently taking hold of the head, he pulled the nose toward him. There it was—a nasty scratch on her face. He reached for the horn in the bag tied to his belt. “Hold on, girl. Hold on.” He removed the skin cover, then dipped two fingers into the ram’s horn full of olive oil and rubbed the cool liquid into the wound. The lamb jerked her head at first, but calmed as the oil soothed the sting. “Better now?” He drew his fingers over the rest of her head, checking the rest of her skin just in case.
He strolled through his flock, inspecting the youngest and the oldest. All present and doing well. He glanced at the low wall they had built soon after Yahweh’s decree. Huge rocks dragged and rolled from the rugged hills south of camp sectioned off an enormous area for the remaining sheep and goats they had then. Three semi-sweet springs fed by an underground river nurtured a pasture, full of grass and safe from predators.
The majority of the animals they had brought from Egypt had been lost on the way to Mt Sinai. Expecting to be in Canaan in a matter of weeks, many had been slaughtered for food. Others had died for lack of water. The grassy area had been set up for those who wished to continue to keep their flocks, but most lost interest quickly. They kept a sheep or a goat or two, just for some milk, but no one wanted to start breeding animals here, thought it was too much trouble. They wanted to wait until they reached their new home.
Zadok wanted to have his flock ready when they got there. He loved the work, loved the animals. He had built up a small flock, and intended to have quite a good-sized one before they reached their permanent home in Canaan. Joshua had told him about the grassy hills in the south, perfect for raising sheep. Dotted with springs, there was enough water and food for any flock. It was all Zadok had dreamed of since the first time he held a newborn lamb.
And when Aaron asked him to give it up ...
But he could still work with the sheep, and he was doing what Yahweh wanted.
Now the lush pasture of Kadesh was basically his. The low hills that surrounded them on three sides and the noise of the people kept the sheep safe from most predators, but Zadok took no chances and kept at least two people with the flock at all times.
With the springs, the hills, and the date palms, the oasis had been a perfect place to wait out Yahweh’s judgment of forty years.
But it wasn’t Canaan. Not the land they had left Egypt for. No one over twenty who escaped that day had been allowed to live to see it because of their unbelief when the scouts returned with their report. Zadok’s parents were still alive, but all four of his grandparents had died. There were few left now.
His eyes darting back and forth, he scanned the hills, as he did several times every day, searching for anything that might harm his animals. He turned to see Moses coming toward him.
“Your flock is well cared for, Zadok.” Moses smiled as he took stock of the sheep around him.
“Thank you. That means a lot coming from another shepherd.”
“There are times I miss caring for one of Yahweh’s simplest creations.” Neshika loped near and nudged Moses’s leg. The old man bent to pick her up, his staff hooked on his arm.
Zadok marveled at his agility. Even at one hundred twenty years old, Moses moved with the ease of a man a fraction of his age.
As Moses held her and stroked her nose, she nuzzled his chest. He laughed. “She’s quite affectionate, isn’t she?”
Zadok smiled as he rubbed her ears. “That’s why I named her kiss.”
Moses gently set the lamb on the grass. He leaned on his staff and was quiet for several moments. “I hear Miriam asked you to do something.”
Zadok huffed, then leveled his gaze at Moses. “Do something? She asked me to marry someone I've never even met.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her I’d have to think about it.”
Moses shrugged. “Could be quite an adventure.”
A chill ran through Zadok. “I don’t like adventures. That’s why
I'm a shepherd. I like peace, calm, predictability. It’s the same year after year, season to season. The rains come when they are supposed to. Lambs are born when they are ready. The sun rises every morning.”
“A life like that can be tedious, my son.”
Zadok crossed his arms and gazed at the far-off mountains. “Maybe. But it’s safe.”
“Safe from what?” “Danger ... risk ...” “Heartache?” “Maybe.”
Moses studied Zadok and stroked his white beard. “Are you going to hide in the pasture your entire life?”
“Maybe.” Years of keeping his voice low around the sheep kept Zadok from raising it, but his chest tightened.
“Just because they didn’t understand you, doesn’t mean everyone won’t.”
“I won’t go through that again.”
Moses’s eyes were gentle. “Miriam wouldn’t let you.”
Zadok rubbed his thumbnail on his lower lip. “I just can’t,” he
whispered.
Moses pursed his lips. “Have you considered that this is what
Yahweh, and not just Miriam, wants from you?”
Zadok breathed a heavy sigh. “Why would you think that?” “For one, Miriam rarely makes decisions involving others, especially to this extent, without hearing from Yahweh. Second, she has known you since you were born. Do you really think she would do something so serious, on her own, if she had any inkling it would hurt you? And third, in my experience, Yahweh seems to take a particular delight in turning our world end over end when we are at our most content.”
Moses turned and left without waiting for a response.
Most content. Was Zadok content? He’d limited his world to a narrow, carefully controlled existence, designed to keep out pain and loss. It worked, as far as that went. He had been free of pain and loss since ...
But content? Probably not.

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