To Dwell among Cedars Read online

  “Just as my people learned the hard way, you cannot control Yahweh. And the Ark he gave to your ancestors is a gift. A reminder of his justice, his mercy, and his provision. It’s not a weapon to be wielded, or even an instrument to elevate the power and status of Israel among the nations.”

  “She’s right,” said Ronen, from beside me. I’d not even seen him approach or climb atop the boulder as I’d made my impassioned speech.

  “I was just as convinced as you that Abiram’s and Bezor’s motives for doing this were pure,” he said. “But if that is true, then where are they now?” He gestured wide. “It is all of us who are in danger here, being this close to the Ark—not the men who planned it. Even Pinchas and Hofni believed in their faulty judgment enough that they walked onto the battlefield with everyone else.”

  He continued, his voice growing stronger. “We have learned this lesson time and again from stories of Adam, Avraham, Mosheh, and Yehoshua: when we run ahead of Yahweh’s will, men die needlessly. We must be patient and wait for clear direction, not trust men whose motives are obscure, to say the least. What is clear, from the supernatural blessing bestowed on both this mountain and the clan that protects it, is that Yahweh has chosen this place for the Ark to remain, for however long he deems it necessary. If we drag it to places it should not go for our own gain, how does that make us any different from Eli’s corrupt sons, or from the rest of the men who died for their folly?”

  “What shall we wait for then, cousin?” asked Machlon, a heavy note of mockery in his voice. “A pillar of smoke to lead the way?”

  “Perhaps,” Ronen said, in all sincerity. “I’ve spent the last eight years closing my eyes to the miraculous ways of Yahweh, thinking that times of such inexplicable wonders had long since passed, but I now believe that it was only my stubborn blindness that kept me from seeing marvelous things that were right in front of me all along.”

  “What if they are right?” said one of the other priests. “And this move isn’t sanctioned by Yahweh?”

  “These two know nothing,” replied another. “And they need to be dealt with.”

  “You mean like our Levite brethren who were murdered tonight for doing their duty?” said someone else.

  When I sought out the owner of the voice, I was shocked to see it was Shelah, the twin whom I’d never heard say a word.

  “I did not volunteer for this mission to have bloodshed on my soul,” he said, “nor to be struck down myself if this entire thing is only about power and influence for Abiram and his cohorts.” Without further comment, he turned and strode away, followed quickly by his brother, who glanced up at me with a remorseful look on his face before he disappeared into the trees.

  Chaos erupted after that, with at least five more Levites following after Osher and Shelah, and the rest of the men voicing their conflicting opinions about whether our warnings were valid. Machlon was in the center of it all, the men around him demanding an answer to Ronen’s question about why Abiram and Bezor were safely down in Kiryat-Yearim while all of them shouldered the risk, quite literally.

  As the men he’d been in league with argued, Ronen turned to me, his face a swollen, bloodied mess and his once-pure tunic soiled and torn. “I must beg your forgiveness. Eliora . . .” His dark eyes shimmered in the reflection of the torch. “I was wrong. I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am for all of this.”

  I swallowed hard. “You used me, Ronen. You must have known that I felt . . .” I stopped, unwilling to reveal my heart to him now.

  “My excuses don’t matter now,” he said. “I can only pray that you will give me the chance to explain later. But know this: even if I came here for all the wrong reasons, my feelings for you have been entirely genuine.” His gaze traveled over my face, as if he was memorizing the sight for the last time. His expression was so pained as his eyes followed the cascade of my hair down over my shoulder that I felt the longing in it like a physical touch. “I am so proud of you. For standing here as your true self without apology. No matter what happens now, promise me you won’t hide your light anymore. There is no song more beautiful than the one the Creator is composing with every single note of your life, one he’s been weaving together even before your first breath.”

  Stunned by his exquisite words but still so conflicted over his deception, I could do nothing more than stare at him with tears rolling down my face.

  “Look!” cried one of the men, dragging my attention away from Ronen and toward the fog that was seeping out of the forest and curling around the base of the boulder under our feet.

  “We will be trapped here,” said another man. “It’s too thick!”

  Indeed, the mist was rising swiftly, swallowing the trees around us with surprising speed.

  And then, I felt it.

  My skin prickled, making me shiver as my scalp tingled and my bones suddenly went heavy, the weight pressing me down, down, down. It was the same bewildering sensation I remembered from the valley of Beth Shemesh.

  “Get off the rock,” I said to Ronen as I tossed the torch away. “Now.”

  Without argument, he obeyed, both of us scrambling off the boulder. Heedless of the fog that enveloped us, we dropped to the ground behind it. As we did so, fearful cries to Yahweh went up from the men who’d only just been shouting at one another. Some of the voices were coming from farther away. It seemed some men were fleeing blindly into the fog, and the rest were sobbing, repenting, and pleading for mercy.

  “Take off your sandals,” I rasped, suddenly recalling the story Azuvah told me of Mosheh and the bush that burned without ceasing.

  Since I could not see Ronen in the eerie blackness, I did not know if he’d complied with my strange order, but as soon as my own feet were bare I pressed my face into the rocky dirt, trembling just as violently as I had in the valley of Beth Shemesh. And then Ronen was there, his warm body pressed up against me. His hand somehow found its way to mine, his long fingers securely entwined with my own. Regardless of everything that had been revealed, his presence beside me felt right, and I was grateful he was there.

  Although my eyes were pressed tightly shut, a blue-white glow flashed against my lids, and the faces of my family, Natan, and even Azuvah went through my mind. We were too close to the Ark. Too vulnerable to the terrible glory. We would not survive.

  And yet somehow, no consuming fire swallowed me whole, and my lungs continued to draw breath after panicked breath. Even though I’d braced for all the horrors I’d experienced eight years ago, there were no booms of thunder or indications that the others had been burned like at Beth Shemesh.

  I had no idea how long Ronen and I remained facedown in the dirt and was too terrified to peel my eyes open to see if the brilliant light and fog had dissipated, until an unfamiliar voice spoke from above us.

  “Well. That was certainly exhilarating, wasn’t it?”

  Blinking in confusion, Ronen and I raised our heads to find a stranger standing atop the boulder, blazing torch in hand, gazing down on us with a glint of humor in his light brown eyes and a long, thick braid trailing over one shoulder.

  “It’s all right, the danger has passed now,” he said with a comforting smile. “You can come out from behind the rock. The rest of those fools have fled, and it seems the three of us need to have a conversation.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Ronen stood alone, his head bowed in submission, and his open hands still at his sides. The courtyard was full of curious onlookers, including all of my family members and those of the Levites who guarded this mountain. Only Rami and Nahor had been killed during the attack, with the rest of the guards either tied and gagged or knocked unconscious, so many of them stood witness to Ronen’s confession as well.

  He had explained everything, going as far back as the day he’d found Natan and me up until the moment the prophet Samuel came for us last night. He’d left out our tender moments under the oak tree and within its branches, much to my relief, but had made it clear that he’d take
n every opportunity to mislead me, my brother, and the rest of our family as to the true nature of his presence in Kiryat-Yearim.

  “I can only plead for your mercy,” he said to the elders—including my father, Ahituv the High Priest, and Samuel himself—who were gathered to hear Ronen’s testimony. “Although it is not a sufficient excuse for all my choices, I was blinded by my loyalty to my uncle, who I now believe preyed on my lack of maturity and my longing for a father’s guidance, and kept secret both the actual scope of his plans and his reasons for the deception in the first place.”

  Abiram and Bezor had fled Kiryat-Yearim, along with a number of other men who had been involved in the scheme. Osher and Shelah too had disappeared. But Machlon, along with a few other Levites and priests, had been arrested before they got off the mountain. Already Machlon had testified that Ronen was ignorant to much of the plan, that he’d had no involvement with the Gibeonites, and was innocent of bloodshed.

  From what my father said, Ronen’s cousin had been altogether altered by his close encounter with the terrifying glory of Yahweh, and truly repentant for his part in everything, including duping Ronen, manipulating him into using me, and threatening both our lives—something he swore was only a ruse to force our hands. He now stood off to the side of the courtyard, under guard, looking pale and humble as the elders conferred privately.

  I had not spoken to Ronen since last night. After Samuel had arrived and heard our explanation of what had transpired, my father and his men appeared to take Ronen into custody, and with the help of some of the priests who’d not been involved with the plot, returned the Ark back to its tent within the cedar grove. The cowards who’d stolen it had left it sitting on the ground in their hasty flight for their lives.

  But Ronen looked so lonely standing there in the courtyard and drained of spirit after his confession that it was all I could do to remain in my place and not run to him and wrap him in my arms. Yes, he’d been wrong, but I, out of everyone, understood the desire to belong, the drive to prove worthiness, and the feeling of indebtedness to a family whose generosity had rescued you.

  My father turned to face the crowd, his intense discussion with the other leaders now complete.

  “The charges against all involved in this plot are serious. It is only by Yahweh’s extraordinary mercy that those who were there last night still live and breathe. We have determined through extensive interrogations that two of the Levites from Simeonite territory are guilty of manslaughter and will be sent north to Shechem to live out their lives in the city of refuge. The rest will be banned from participating in any Levitical duty for an indefinite period and are ordered to pay restitution in the form of forced labor here in Kiryat-Yearim, with the exception of Ronen, who is released into the custody of Samuel ben Elkanah.”

  Ronen’s chin jerked upward, and he stared at my father in bewilderment, likely expecting his punishment to be the same as the others.

  “This entire event has been eye-opening for all of us,” said my father. “I knew Abiram was bitter that the Ark was left in the care of my father and me here in Kiryat-Yearim instead of being transported to Beit El under his own authority. But I never imagined he would go to such lengths to undermine that decision and then leave his son and nephew to suffer the aftermath of his plot. He and the rest involved in this scheme will not go unpunished, I assure you. An extensive investigation will be undertaken by the Levitical elders, and justice will be done.”

  Ronen did not react in any visible way to this pronouncement, so I wondered if my father had already discussed it all with him before now. It certainly explained why Abiram had been so cutthroat in his determination to move the Ark. I was so grateful that he’d been thwarted and hoped that anyone else who might be tempted to do so in the future, without clear direction from Yahweh, would remember the outcome of his failed coup.

  Living in Kiryat-Yearim had insulated me from so much, including the friction between the priestly lines of Aharon’s two sons, something I’d only learned about last night as Ronen told Samuel some of the underlying reasons for the plot. Samuel had not responded to the revelation in any way, merely nodding his head as he acknowledged Ronen’s explanation, and I could not help but wonder if he had some sort of insight into how it all would turn out in the end. After all, it was his childhood prophecy that had forewarned Eli about his own sons’ corruption and predicted that the line of Itamar would be cursed. But I suspected that whatever Samuel knew, or didn’t know, would be revealed in Yahweh’s perfect timing.

  “I can only pray that Samuel’s admonitions during the Yom Teruah ceremony are heeded,” continued my father. “We must, as a people, repent for our arrogant and idolatrous ways and turn our faces to Yahweh. Possession of the Ark, the Mishkan, or any of the holy implements is not what guarantees the promises of this nation. It is the eternal covenant they symbolize. We must stop fighting among ourselves over man-made traditions and power struggles and submit ourselves to Yahweh’s commands alone. I shudder to think what horrors Israel might be subject to if we do not remember the lessons of the past. Let us spend these next days leading up to Yom Kippur meditating on all these things and preparing to plead for Adonai’s mercy on the Day of Atonement.”

  On that solemn note, the gathering was dismissed, and Machlon and his men led away. As I watched in fascination, Samuel approached Ronen, who had not yet moved from his place at the center of the courtyard, and placed his hand on his shoulder, speaking in low tones that I wished I could discern. Ronen nodded, lifted his chin to look into Samuel’s eyes, and then followed the man of Adonai as he walked away.

  Just before he turned out of the courtyard, Ronen glanced back over his shoulder to meet my eyes. A vast and fathomless ocean of regret stretched between us. And then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared in my life, both times, he was gone.

  The little ones had been clinging to me all afternoon. Shai and Amina followed me around the house, showing me a variety of treasures and innocently asking questions about last night. Dafna, who knew nothing of what had transpired, had insisted that I carry her practically everywhere since the trial in our courtyard disbanded. It was almost as if they sensed I needed distraction from both the ache in my chest after Ronen’s departure and the confrontation I knew was coming as soon as my father returned home.

  He’d been so focused on dealing with the perpetrators of last night’s events that he’d only spoken to me for a few moments this morning, just long enough to hear my side of the story before he strode out the door. But I was under no illusion that the one conversation was sufficient to cover all that needed to be said.

  And so, I kept busy. I swept the house top to bottom. I helped my mother and Miri prepare the evening meal. I tended the donkeys that Natan had neglected today after disappearing early this morning. I helped Yonah restack the end of one of the woodpiles that had toppled. I let Amina and Dafna braid and unbraid my hair a number of times. They’d been fascinated with the color of it, now that I’d finally put aside my headscarf and allowed my hair to fall down my back unfettered. I’d made a silent promise to Ronen that I would let my light shine, and even if he’d left me without even a good-bye, and with a thousand questions I would never have answers for, I was determined to keep it.

  By the time my mother sent Yonah to call the men to the meal, I was exhausted from being in constant motion but found a new burst of energy the moment my father, Gershom, and Iyov came through the door. To my surprise, Rina and Safira followed them, saying their husbands were busy tending to the prisoners, so they’d decided to join us.

  More often than not, we had extra guests at meals—the single Levites, one of the neighbor families, and sometimes people from down in Kiryat-Yearim. But tonight, only my mother, father, and siblings sat together on the floor of our home. Natan had apparently refused Yonah’s call to eat, too busy repairing the charcoal mound that had been destroyed, so I set about filling an extra bowl of vegetable and barley stew for him to eat later.

&nbs
p; “Sit down, Eliora,” said my father, when I’d sprung up to place the bowl on a shelf. I startled at his demanding tone, tears immediately springing to my eyes and the memory of Menash’s dismissal heavy on my heart. Would this be the last time I was allowed to partake of a meal with this family I adored?

  I obeyed, my pulse racing as I fidgeted with the bowl on my lap. “I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am, Abba. You welcomed Natan and me into your home, treated us as your own, and I repaid your generosity with betrayal. I deserve whatever punishment you deem fitting.”

  The room was silent as I remained with my head down, my eyes on the stew but seeing only every single mistake I’d made since Ronen had appeared in Kiryat-Yearim.

  “Eliora,” he snapped, the uncharacteristic edge in his voice making me flinch and nearly spill the bowl. “What are you talking about?”

  I lifted my gaze to find him staring at me, wide-eyed and jaw agape.

  “It is my fault. I showed Ronen where the Ark was. I did not even stop to consider . . .” I swallowed against the hot lump in my throat. “And then instead of running for you that night, I followed after him instead, which of course led to being coerced into leading Machlon and the others down the mountain. There is no excuse for my actions, other than profound foolishness.”

  “You are foolish,” he said, the words striking hard at the very center of my chest. “Foolish for blaming yourself for something that was in no way your fault. Foolish for thinking that I would be angry with you for being tricked by a man who deceived me as well. And foolish for imagining that I would punish you for trying to save the life of someone you care about and for risking your own life for Israel’s holiest treasure.”