The Prophetess - Deborah's Story Read online

  “She is a young woman who is lonely and wants to see beyond our small settlement,” he had said, giving her that lopsided grin of his, the one he knew could make her yield. “She is not so very different than you were at her age, if memory serves me well.”

  “Your memory is mistaken.” The words had been a retort and untrue, but she couldn’t fight them both. How was it that a daughter was more difficult to keep safe, to control, than her sons? She had such hopes that a daughter would be quiet and obedient and stay at home like a good woman in Israel.

  Like you?

  She crossed her arms, irritated with her own thoughts.

  “Stay with your mother, Talya. Perhaps another time.” Lappidoth touched their daughter’s shoulder, then turned to join his sons.

  “May I go with you tomorrow then?” Talya hurried to his side and tilted her head in that persuasive way she had.

  Deborah felt her patience fraying as she stepped closer. “You will continue to ask until he gives in to you. Then what? You will want to visit the neighboring villages? Perhaps you should walk alone in the middle of the road when Sisera’s nine hundred chariots are drawing near.” Deborah cringed. How like her own mother she sounded! She rolled her eyes at the whole mess she was making of this argument. Again. She turned away from them both.

  She glanced at Lavi and Elior, two sons who obeyed both her and Lappidoth, who gave them no cause to fret—not like their willful sister. But they avoided her gaze. Huffing her frustration, she marched past them all and kept walking toward the center of town, toward her palm tree.

  How could a man who watched his family perish at Canaan’s hand even consider allowing their daughter to leave their village and risk her safety? Sisera had grown bolder in recent years, and word had come to them a few years earlier how Israel’s commander Barak had lost his wife during a raid on a local well. Deborah blinked, seeing the image of the broken, bloodied young bride, feeling Barak’s grief. Sisera raped and pillaged wherever he went, and Deborah could not risk a similar fate for Talya. No. Let the girl argue and plead. She would not win this argument even if Deborah had to outright defy Lappidoth to keep her from doing so.

  Deborah sighed, a bone-weary weight she carried with her every moment she spent in Talya’s presence, every moment she tried to find a solution to the mother-daughter struggle they could not seem to shake. The girl needed to settle in a home of her own, bear children. Perhaps then she would understand.

  The thought troubled her. Shet, born a few years before Talya, had been one cousin Deborah considered. She had long since forgotten her feelings for his father Amichai and actually found Amichai’s wife Ilana a woman to be trusted. Their children could have made a good match. But Shet had married an outsider the year before, and there were few men in the village who were eligible mates. With so many keeping to their own towns, and village life fairly ceasing for fear that a celebration would draw Sisera’s attention, there was no joy of the bridegroom in the streets. People married in secret, celebrated in homes in private, worshiped alone. Few caravans traveled the land, and when they did, they kept to the hills, avoiding the main roads. Times were definitely not as they had been in her youth. They were worse. Much, much worse. And twenty years of oppression had taken a great toll on them all. Talya was simply expressing her frustration at all of the restrictions.

  Deborah shook herself as the voices of her husband and sons carried to her while they made their way toward the city gate. She glanced in their direction, relieved to see that Talya was not with them. Tomorrow could be another argument, but at least today she could judge the people without that added worry.

  “What word do you seek?” Deborah asked later that afternoon, after an already full day of judging the people. Ever since the vision she’d had at the purification sacrifice, the people of the village had begun to seek her advice. A few women at first, who came to her as she worked the grindstone. Then a woman and a man, then the men. Now even the elders sought her so often she had taken to holding court beneath the palm tree in the center of the town. Talya would play quietly at her feet in those early days, but soon she ran through the village with the other children, particularly Shet. Why had he not asked for her hand? Just as Amichai did not ask for yours?

  A man wearing the colors of the tribe of Issachar approached, drawing her thoughts back to her duties. He removed his turban and bowed his head in deference. She nodded in response.

  “A runaway slave from another tribe has sought refuge with me,” the man said, rubbing a hand over his beard. His gaze showed uncertainty, but it held hers with a sense of acceptance, that he would abide by her ruling. “Should I return him to his master?”

  Deborah lifted the scroll Lappidoth had copied for her and searched the words he had taught her to read. Most of the time she could recall the laws from memory, but now and then she was forced to consult Moses’s Law.

  “There it is,” she said at last, careful of the parchment as her finger traced the words. “‘You shall not give up to his master a slave who has escaped from his master to you. He shall dwell with you, in your midst, in the place that he shall choose within one of your towns, wherever it suits him. You shall not wrong him.’” She looked up. “There is your answer.”

  The man nodded. “But what if he has committed a crime against his master? Should not his master have some say in the matter?”

  Deborah took a moment to roll up the scroll and set it beside her on the bench. “The slave has sought refuge with you for a reason. If he has killed a man, then the avenger of blood must seek justice. But if he has been mistreated by his master, then his master is the one who deserves to be brought to justice. It is impossible for you to know which one happened unless the avenger of blood comes looking for the man. In the meantime, treat him with kindness.”

  The man thanked her and stepped away, allowing the next person to approach. The questions had come in a continual stream. Some Deborah could answer, others made her feel at a loss for wisdom. Even her prayers did not always yield the words the person hoped to hear, and Deborah was forced to send people away the same way they had come.

  The sun ebbed toward the west, and her men returned through the city gates. Deborah rose from her bench and began the slow walk to greet them. But as she took two steps away from the center patch of grass where the palm grew just tall enough to offer the comfort of shade, the air grew still and twilight flashed brilliant oranges and golds about her, swirling, blinding.

  She stopped, bracing herself, unable to keep her eyes from closing against the light. What do You want of me, Lord? She knew now the signs of a vision, but they usually came to her in dreams. She knelt in the dirt and removed her sandals, though no words came from the light. Forgive me. Her heart pounded, matching the rising dread she often felt at such times.

  The words the ancient commander Joshua had spoken to Israel filled her mind. Now therefore fear the Lord and serve Him in sincerity and in faithfulness. Put away the gods that your fathers served beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the Lord.

  But, Lord, have we not done this? She had told the village to do so when Talya was but a babe. Lappidoth had sent clay tablets with the command from their new prophetess saying the same to every town in Israel.

  Not all.

  The soft words rocked her, even as the light faded and her breath slowed to its normal rhythm. So Sisera still possessed power because Israel still compromised and did not fully obey the Lord.

  She rose slowly, pondering the vision as she returned home, consumed by it as her family spoke over a shared meal, her heart still beating with the feeling of awe and dread. Her hand shook as she dipped a piece of flatbread into the stew and gave it to her grandson Orel.

  Her daughter-in-law Ahava drew her young daughter Tikva into her arms to nurse. Two chubby hands held her mother’s cheeks and kissed them. Deborah warmed to see the affection of the child, despite the heavy feeling in her heart. Oh for the peace that once ruled the land, that her childr
en’s children could live in a world without the oppression of evil men. Talya should be free to roam as she wished, and joy should rule where fear now reigned.

  But later as Deborah lay beside Lappidoth, listening to his even breathing, she could not rest. Not knowing that men and women, perhaps even in her own village, still worshiped other gods. If they did not root out the cause of their own faithlessness, they would never be free of Canaan’s oppression.

  3

  Barak sat straight up. Sweat—cold, lifeless drops—beaded his brow, trickled down his back. Air escaped his lungs but would not return. Again he dragged for breath, clutched the neck of his tunic, ripped at its constraints. The forest taunted him, its deep shadows and willow branches mocking him now. His breath released at last, leaving him trembling. He shook himself, forcing his mind to grip what was. These surroundings, familiar yet so strange, were far from home. They could not, would not, pull him under as the house he had shared with Nessa did. The trees did not hold the strength, the waning warmth, of Nessa’s arms.

  It was only a dream. He blinked hard. The same dream, but only a dream. He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers tangled in long, unkempt hair. He shook himself again. Not real.

  His heart beat fast as he stood on shaky legs. He glanced at his sleeping men. Dawn would come soon. He should attempt sleep again. But rest would not come. Not until he avenged her blood.

  He picked his way out of the underbrush to the edge of their hideaway where the tree line rimmed a cliff that overlooked the road. Sisera took this road too often—from Beth-shan to Shechem. Week after week. Month after month. For nearly twenty years.

  The larger towns had been able to withstand the brazen attacks. But not by much. And only because their walls were tall and strong, and worship of Yahweh still resided there.

  A knot, fist-like, gripped his middle. He held a trembling hand in front of him. The dream always had the same effect. He had to get hold of his emotions. If he didn’t, his rage could drive his men away. Over half of the country already lived in terror. How many small towns had fallen to Sisera’s sword? He must do something to stop the onslaught.

  “Trouble sleeping again?”

  He jumped. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.” Though he instantly recognized Keshet, his silent shadow and right-hand man, his quiet approach still jarred him.

  Keshet nodded an apology. “The dream again?” he asked.

  Barak clenched both hands and looked away. How was it possible that a dream could reduce him to a weak-kneed woman? “Just once I would like it to end differently.” He glanced at the few stars visible through the trees. “Maybe if she lived in the end, I would awaken and all would be well. This life”—he moved his hand to encompass the makeshift camp—“would be the dream. Nessa and I would still live in Kedesh-naphtali and be raising a quiver of children.” He blinked, ashamed that after three years the emotion still stung.

  “You cannot bring her back, Barak.” Keshet’s calm words, though true, did not soothe.

  “They destroyed her.” The words, a whisper, still twisted and burned within him. When Barak had found her, it had been too late to save her.

  “And Adonai Elohim, blessed be He, will avenge her, my friend. Even now He is planning our enemy’s demise.” Keshet cupped Barak’s tense shoulder.

  Barak took a deep, cleansing breath. “If our God were with us, Nessa would not have died in the first place.” He voiced the thought that had haunted him since that fateful day.

  “Do not blame God for what men have done.” Keshet spoke so softly Barak almost missed his words. Keshet had also lost a sister to Sisera’s sword. How was it possible he did not hold God accountable for not protecting the righteous, the innocent?

  “You have more faith than I,” he said at last, surprised that to admit such a thing left him strangely bereft. “I am weary of living the life of a bandit. And yet we cannot go home until our women and children are safe.” He paused, glancing once more into the trees where soft snores still met his ear. “How long until Adonai Elohim repays such evil? There is no good reason that Sisera still lives.”

  “Perhaps the next time you speak with the prophetess, she will know.”

  The very woman he took reports to of Sisera’s movements when the news was worth telling.

  “She might already know of Sisera’s latest threat,” Barak said, wondering just how much of a prophet Deborah was if she had to be told such news. Didn’t prophets know everything before the rest of them did?

  “She isn’t God, my friend. She would only know what He tells her. And sometimes God uses men to do His bidding.” Keshet smiled—Barak could hear it in his voice, though it was hard to see his features in the predawn darkness.

  “I suppose you think God wants me to do His bidding and tell her?” It would mean traveling south, the exact opposite of home and away from Sisera’s main haunts in northern Israel.

  “She makes a good stew. And the last I noticed, she has a lovely virgin daughter.” Keshet said the words to coax him, but suddenly the truth of them hit their mark.

  “Deborah is a leader in Israel with a virgin daughter.”

  Keshet chuckled. “Yes, I think I just said that.”

  “Sisera is kidnapping the virgin daughters of leaders in every village and town where he can find them.” That was the news Barak had managed to goad out of a captured soldier on his last raid. If the man was telling the truth. “Which means Deborah’s daughter is at risk.”

  Keshet sobered at the reminder and ran a hand over his beard. “We should leave at first light,” he said, voicing what Barak knew he must do.

  “Yes.” Suddenly his dream had become real all over again.

  “Shema, Yisrael, Adonai eloheinu, Adonai echad.” The Shema, “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one,” spoken from Lappidoth’s lips was as familiar as Deborah’s breath. Did she take it for granted that God was one, was with them, heard their prayers? A soft sigh escaped as she lifted her gaze heavenward, listening.

  “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise.” Lappidoth’s voice filled the courtyard where family members had gathered. Ever since the murder of her father and brothers years ago, few people ever traveled to Shiloh, but as a scribe who had copied the law, Lappidoth made sure that his family was not lacking in their knowledge of God.

  And yet . . . did any of them truly take the Lord seriously?

  She looked to her sons, her daughter and daughters-in-law, her grandchildren, her aunts and uncles and cousins. Were any of them among those who worshiped foreign gods in secret? Please show me, Adonai. Unless she caught them in the act, the only option she had was to send her husband and sons house to house to search for signs of idol worship. Is this what You would have me do?

  She barely noticed when Lappidoth said the final prayer and dismissed the Sabbath meeting, until voices filled the yard and the women clustered together to bring the few items they could carry to share the Sabbath meal. There would be no time beneath the palm tree or hearing of cases today. There would be no work of any kind, only worship, joy in the Lord, and each other’s company.

  She rose from the stone at the sound of a commotion coming from the city gates. A young man with hair draped to his shoulders marched at the head of a band of twenty bedraggled men. He lifted a rugged, bearded face to look in her direction.

  “It is Barak,” she whispered to Lappidoth, who stood suddenly at her side.

  At his approach, Deborah met Barak’s gaze and saw a flash of anger in his dark eyes. Her stomach twisted. Something was wrong.

  She shivered at the sudden memory of her father’s and brothers’ broken bodies, at the terrible keening of her mother and grandmother the day they were broug
ht into their village, at the pain she had never quite been able to shake from her heart. They’d been beaten nearly beyond recognition.

  She blinked, willing her heart to calm, searching Barak’s face for some reassurance that did not come. “What is it?” She would hear the news no matter how bad it might be.

  Barak ran a roughened hand over his beard. How long since he had bathed? Or slept?

  “Your daughter is in great danger, Prophetess.”

  The men gathered around him in the courtyard at the central fire. Deborah’s sons and Lappidoth sat with them. Deborah sank to a stone seat near her husband, her knees too weak to hold her. Where was Talya? One glance showed her standing in the arch of the door, wide-eyed, listening.

  “Sisera has decided to try a new strategy,” Barak said. “Apparently raping and pillaging our villages and towns and caravans and our innocent women drawing water for their families from our wells was not enough.” He paused, the words charged with hatred. “Now,” he said, breaking the awkward silence, “he is seeking out the virgin daughters of every elder in Israel, in every town, from Dan to Beersheba.”

  Deborah heard Talya’s soft gasp, which accompanied the sudden pounding of her head.

  “He is planning to use your daughters to draw out the men to fight him in battle. He knows that we are few in number, that we sneak around and attack here and there but have no power to overthrow him. He would use your daughters as bait to draw fathers and brothers to war. With his nine hundred chariots and thousands more fighting men, he will squash Israel once and for all.”

  Barak’s words hung in the air, and Deborah saw Talya slink farther against the wall, her face ashen. Deborah’s heart beat an unsteady rhythm. Now for certain she could never let Talya out of her sight.

  “What will we do?” Lavi spoke for the group, his question aimed first at Barak, then at her. “God speaks to you, Ima. Has He said what to do? Our women will never be safe as long as Sisera lives.”