Signs and Wonders (26 page)

Moses stood upon Nebo, and God showed him the length and breadth of the land—its hills and streams, the wide, green fields of standing wheat, the harbors and cities, the fig trees, palm trees, and the orchards heavy with fruit, its flocks and herds and grazing places. And it was not only landscape he looked upon, but the terrain of legend. Swimming past him as he stood upon Nebo were the story fragments that had fed the hunger of his people in exile and slavery—Abraham heaping stones onto an altar as a child watched; Isaac digging his well; Jacob grappling a huge fire-robed angel; a lad in a coat of many colors riding a donkey toward his tall, bearded brothers. He heard sounds, also. The wind that grieved among the crags was Esau bewailing his legacy; the sound of the river was Sarah’s laughter.

Moses stood alone upon his peak under a darkening sky. For the last time he looked down upon the land he could not enter, looked upon it all from the edge of the wilderness to the utmost sea.

“Thank you, Lord,” he said. “This rich glimpse will nourish my soul through eternity.”

He went down from the mountain and passed the leadership of all the tribes of Israel to Joshua. Then he died.

And of all the patriarchs and prophets and holy men of Israel, there was none like Moses, for he alone spoke with God face to face.

F
INALLY, AFTER WANDERING
in the wilderness for forty years, the Israelites crossed over into the land that God had promised. Moses was dead, and all who had left Egypt had perished on the journey, except Joshua and Caleb. So that it was a horde of young men and women, all born in the wilderness, who followed Joshua into Canaan.

Now, those who went into Canaan were very different from those who had left Egypt. Born into a nomadic life, polished by ordeal, trained in the Mosaic law by those who had heard Moses utter it, they were tough, fervent, literate. Branded upon their soul was a hatred of slavery and a contempt for idolatry. Bred into their very marrow was the conviction that they had been brought by God to Canaan to take it away from those who lived there.

In His instructions to Moses, God had assigned a portion of the land to each of the tribes descended from the sons of Jacob, very strictly denning their borders—the largest portion to the largest tribe, Ephraim; the smallest to the smallest tribe, Benjamin. Now Joshua took a census of the tribes, according to God’s instructions, and set bounds to the territory each was to possess once it had been taken.

But this division of Canaan was done without the permission of the Canaanites and of the other people who dwelt there—the Philistines, the Moabites, the Ammonites, the Edomites, the Jebusites, the giant Anakim. Hundreds of years had passed since Jacob and his sons had departed from Canaan and gone down into Egypt. And the departure of the Israelites had been far more welcome than their return.

All the people who dwelt in Canaan—except the Philistines—were descended from the Hamitic tribes. Canaan was the son of Ham; Ham was the son whom Noah had cursed. But the most powerful of these peoples, the Philistines, were descended from Cretan sea raiders who had taken the west coast of Canaan and held it against all enemies. The Philistines were a clever, warlike people. They were seafarers, fishermen, pirates. They built the great harbor cities of Gath and Ashkelon. They worshipped the fish god, Dagon, and Astarte, the moon goddess, great whore mother of the groves.

The Moabites and Ammonites dwelt in the hills ridging the Dead Sea valley. They were fierce mountaineers, goatherds, robbers. They worshipped a fire god, Molech, an idol made of brass, hollowed like an oven. On feast days the hollow was filled with charcoal, and the charcoal set on fire. The idol grew red hot; into its brass hands live babies were put to roast.

The other Canaanite tribes worshipped the stone idol, Baal, and the moon goddess, Ashteroth, another name for Astarte. They, too, practiced temple prostitution, child sacrifice, ritual orgy, and ritual murder.

These rites were a foulness to the Israelites. The Hebrews were so fired with the idea of a single, all-powerful, law-giving God that they went into battle with a matchless zest. They felt that they were not only reclaiming their land but cleansing it of abomination.

Rumors of the Israelites had traveled before them—terrible rumors of a people who despised all customs and all gods except their own. And this God was invisible and almighty; He devoured all other gods, and awarded miraculous victories to His chosen ones. This God wielded calamity as a warrior used his spear—hurling tempest upon the enemies of Israel, assailing them with volcano, tidal wave, earthquake, and shooting fever-tipped arrows of pestilence into their camp. Now these Hebrews were coming out of the wilderness into Canaan, claiming that their dreadful God had promised it all to them, from the Nile to the Euphrates.

A mighty host gathered against the children of Israel. Joshua had to fight for every foot of land. And God gave him victory. Nevertheless, there were defeats, as well.

A
T THIS TIME THERE
was no king in Israel. For the first three hundred years after they reached the promised land, each tribe was governed by a council of elders. However, from time to time, when menaced by an enemy, or seeking to cast off the yoke of an oppressor, a single chieftain would emerge from one of the tribes, and, by virtue of his strength and his wisdom, would be accepted as leader by all the tribes. These leaders were called judges. There were thirteen judges, twelve men and one woman. The woman’s name was Deborah, and she was perhaps the most remarkable of all the judges.

She dwelt in a village on the slope of Mount Ephraim. She was a wife and a mother. She was also a woman whose nights were full of dreams and whose days were full of deeds. For often the Lord appeared to her at night and told her what to do, and she would arise to do it. Her fame as a prophetess spread, and the children of Israel went to her for judgment. She sat under a palm tree and heard disputes, summoned witnesses, and gave judgment. And the palm tree she sat under was looked upon as a sign of God’s favor toward her, because palm trees did not grow in that mountain region; hers was the only one.

Now, at this time, the children of Israel had swerved from the Lord’s narrow path, and had begun to worship the gods of the Canaanites—the blood-hungry stone god, Baal, and Ashteroth of the groves. God was angered. In His anger dwelt spearmen and chariots. His anger was defeat and death and slavery. He gave Israel into the hands of Jabin, king of the Canaanites, whose captain was Sisera, a mighty warrior. Sisera attacked with nine hundred iron chariots and scattered the men of Israel. He delivered the land to his king, who oppressed the Israelites most cruelly for twenty years.

One night, Deborah spoke to God: “What of your covenant, O Lord? Did you save us from the Pharaoh only to give us into the hand of Jabin?”

God answered: “Jabin shall be given into the power of a woman.” He said no more, but sent Deborah a dream of battle.

The next morning, she summoned a man named Barak, a man of valor, who would not bow to the Canaanite and who was a fugitive in the hills. “God has spoken to me in the night. He named you, Barak. Go, muster ten thousand men of the tribe of Naphtali and of the tribe of Zebulun, and array them for battle upon the heights of Mount Tabor.”

“Ten thousand men,” said Barak. “Sisera will bring a hundred thousand against us. And he has iron chariots, and we have none.”

“The Lord will walk with you,” said Deborah. “In His presence, numbers cease to count. He multiplies the few and reduces multitudes. Besides, chariots cannot charge uphill.”

“I go up the mountain with my men; then what?”

“Then, the Lord promises, Sisera will lead his army through the valley along the bank of the river Kishon. You shall attack downhill and drive the Canaanite into the river.”

“When I hear your words, it all becomes possible,” said Barak. “But I know that when I leave you this battle order will seem again like the death trap it is.”

“Then I will go with you,” said Deborah, “and keep you believing in the impossible, it is right that I should go, for the Lord said He would give Sisera into the hands of a woman. Up! Let us go! The Lord goes before us!”

Barak gathered ten thousand men of Naphtali and Zebulun, and led them to the top of Mount Tabor. Then Deborah, standing on a peak of the mountain with Barak, felt herself sinking into a dream. For she saw exactly what she had seen in her night vision: Canaanite spearmen marching through the valley between the hills; the iron chariots along the river bank—and Sisera on a huge, black horse, the sun glinting off his brass armor.

“It is well,” she said to Barak. “These are the men, these the chariots, this the array the Lord showed me in my dream. Blessed be the name of the Lord! He stands with us today. Salute Him with your sword, brave Barak, and take what the Lord has given you.”

Barak raised his sword high and shouted a shout so loud and joyful that the hills rang with it, and the sound of it fired his men’s hearts with courage. The Israelites surged downhill and struck the ranks of Canaan like a mailed fist. The Canaanites broke. They were driven into the river and drowned in their armor. Some made a stand, and Barak and his men cut them down like men scything down wheat.

Sisera’s horse was killed beneath him. But he leaped off and hacked his way through his attackers, and plunged into a copse of trees. He ran with long strides, and drew away from his pursuers. He went swiftly through the copse and out the other side. The sounds of battle grew dim. He walked over a darkening plain. He was exhausted, battered, faint with hunger, but he did not lie down to rest because he saw the glow of a fire far off. He forced himself to walk, and finally came to a tent, which he recognized as a Kenite dwelling. The Kenites had wandered in the desert with the children of Israel and gone into Canaan with them, but they did not war against the Canaanites.

He saw a tall woman come out of the tent. “Who are you?” she said.

“I am Sisera, captain of hosts, under Jabin, the king. I am wounded and weary, and men hunt my life.”

“I am Jael,” said the woman. “Come into my tent and do not be afraid.”

He went into the tent. She led him to a pile of rugs, and he lay down. She covered his feet with a mantle.

“I pray you, give me a little water to drink, for I am thirsty.”

She took him cool milk in a cup. He drank it, and she covered him again. He said. “I must sleep now. Please stand in the doorway. If anyone comes, asking for me, say there is no man in your tent.”

Jael means “mountain goat.” She had been given this name because, as a girl, she had roamed the hills wild and free. She could run uphill as swiftly as a goat, and jump nimbly from rock to rock. Her husband was a smith, and she helped him in his work. She stood at the anvil and smote the red-hot iron with a hammer. She was a tall, lithe, powerful woman. Although she was a Kenite and the wife of a Kenite, her heart inclined toward Israel. For she had heard the old tales and knew that the Kenites were descended from Jethro, the father-in-law of Moses.

She stood in the door of the tent, looking at the huge stars studding the sky, and thought, He is Sisera, captain of hosts, a mighty man. But now he flees through the night like a runaway slave, like a whipped boy. Surely, his army has been defeated by the Israelites. And if so few can scatter the iron chariots of Canaan, then their God must have marched with them, trampling the iron chariots, crushing them like grasshoppers under His foot. Truly, He is mightier than stone Baal or Ashteroth of the groves.

She saw a star fall, trailing light, and thought, Does He crack the stars like walnuts? How big are His hands? She shuddered, half with dread, half with delight. Has He brought this captain to my tent? Has He brought him to me for punishment?

She went back into the tent, stepping softly. Sisera slept. She went out again and pulled a tent peg from the ground. It was a long, heavy wooden stake, sharpened at the end. She took the sledge hammer off the anvil, and went back into the tent. She stood over Sisera. He moaned and stirred in his sleep, but did not wake. She put the point of the stake to his temple, raised her hammer, and struck down. The peg split his head and drove deep into the earth. He died without waking.

She heard a noise of horses. She went out of the tent. A troop of horsemen reined up. Their leader spoke to her. “I am Barak. I seek a Canaanite named Sisera—a large man in brass armor, wounded perhaps. Have you seen anyone?”

“Descend, my lord,” said Jael. “Come into my tent.”

“I cannot,” said Barak. “I seek Sisera.”

“You have found him. Come inside.”

Barak followed her into the tent and saw Sisera lying in his blood. His head was nailed to the ground by a wooden peg. Barak cut off that head and took it to Deborah. She was old. But she seized a timbrel and danced as joyously as a young girl. She led the people in dance and song. She sang:

The kings came and fought.

Then fought the kings of Canaan

in Taanach

by the waters of Meggido.

They fought from heaven; the stars

in their courses fought against Sisera.

The river of Kishon swept them away,

that ancient river,

The river Kishon.

Blessed above women shall Jael

the wife of Heber

the Kenite be; blessed shall she be

above women in the tent.

The Canaanite king was utterly defeated. He did not dare attack the children of Israel again. And his sons inherited his fear, and kept the peace. There was peace for forty years.

T
HERE WAS A
man named Manoah, whose wife was barren. She prayed to the Lord, saying, “Please open my womb.”

Manoah spoke to the Lord, also. “O God, do not let her wither in her prime. Let her bear.”

An angel appeared to the woman and said: “The Lord hears you. You shall bear a son. Now you must beware: Do not drink wine or strong drink; eat nothing unclean. The son you bear shall be consecrated to God, and shall deliver Israel from the hand of the Philistine. As a sign of this mission he must keep his hair uncut and braid it into seven locks. He shall be given giant strength; its virtue shall reside in his hair.”