To Dwell among Cedars Page 33

  Speechless, I sat with my mouth hanging open and my eyes streaming.

  “It is not you who must apologize, my precious daughter. But I do. We all do.”

  “I . . . I don’t understand.” I blinked, my gaze moving around the room in bewilderment at my siblings and my mother—all who looked regretful—and then landed back on him.

  “When you came to our home,” he said, his tone now infinitely more gentle, “you were so eager to be a part of us. You dove into everything with both hands and seemed so cheerful to be involved with our household, always serving everyone in that sweet, quiet way of yours, without a hint of discontent. Somehow, without meaning to, I think we gave you the impression that was what we expected of you. That you had to earn our affection by carrying everything on your shoulders, especially Natan’s troubles. Your mother warned me something was wrong, months ago, but I was too busy with my responsibilities to truly listen. If Ronen had not opened my eyes to all of this earlier, made me see how deeply you were hurting, I think perhaps you would have pushed yourself to illness after this incident, especially carrying this load of needless guilt.”

  “Ronen told you this?” I asked, my mind whirring like a spindle.

  “Indeed he did. The boy may have much to atone for, but there is no denying his deep affection for you.”

  A thrill pulsed through my limbs at the same time my cheeks heated, since all eyes in the room were still on me.

  “You know you were adopted into our family, Eliora. But I think perhaps you have not truly accepted what that means. You are not an outsider who is only allowed to stay because you work your fingers to the bone or because of some level of perfection you maintain. You are our daughter—no different than Rina, or Safira, or Miri, or Amina, or Dafna. When you accepted the invitation to join our family, that was permanent. Unbreakable. Irreversible. We will never ask you to leave or turn our backs on you. There is nothing you can do, or fail to do, that will make us stop loving you.”

  My hands flew to my face, sobs breaking free, and the bowl in my lap clattered to the ground. And then, before I knew what was happening, I was being pulled to my feet, my father’s strong arms wrapped around me as he held me tight and reassured me that I was his own. That his love was without condition and without end. My mother’s voice joined in, her own arms slipping around my waist as she told me that the day Natan and I agreed to stay was just as thrilling and joyful as the days each of our siblings was born. And then I was surrounded by the rest of my family, each of them whispering words of love and apology, kissing my wet cheeks, or in the case of Dafna, demanding to be lifted into my arms for a tight embrace. For the first time, I allowed myself to bask in the sweetness of their affection and acceptance, letting it soak down to the marrow of my bones and set me free.

  The only thing missing from this overflowing moment of joy and peace was Natan.

  Forty

  Natan had done a thorough job of removing the fallen oak tree from my flower garden. All that was left were ashes and charred leaves atop the squashed and burned remains of my once-vibrant blooms. I pressed my sharp-edged wooden shovel into the earth and turned over a scoop of dark soil, knowing from experience that the ash would nourish the earth and provide an even richer bed to establish new plants in place of those that had been ruined.

  It had been three and a half days since the shocking events in the woods, and in each moment I felt freer than the last. Every breath I took was deeper and more refreshing, every birdsong in the trees sweeter, and instead of feeling like everyone was staring at my hair or my height or labeling me a foreigner, I’d found myself thanking Yahweh for the tangible reminders that I’d been grafted into a deep-rooted family who did not count my Philistine heritage as something shameful. They saw my past as something that made me unique and gave testimony to the greatness and mercy of the God who’d drawn me out of Ashdod and led me to dwell among his covenant people in a house devoted to his ways. No longer was I uneasy about accompanying my sisters down to Kiryat-Yearim to deliver baskets of food to the residents there. I knew for certain now that it was as my mother had said: it was Yahweh I must cling to, and in him I found my peace, not my proximity to the Ark or even my continued presence on the mountain. And where Yahweh led me, I was determined to follow.

  Hearing that the whole reason for the Yom Teruah gathering had been a ruse to cover the theft of the Ark was disheartening, and I wondered how long it would be before another ingathering festival would be called, especially since according to Gershom, a surprising number of the congregation in the valley had packed up their tents and disappeared the morning after the trumpets sounded, most likely because of Samuel’s insistence that they turn away from mixing pagan worship with that of Yahweh.

  Thankfully, those who remained had obeyed the call. Hundreds of unholy objects had been engulfed in cook-fires that night and a spirit of solemn repentance now hovered over the valley as the people prepared for Yom Kippur, when sacrifices would be offered for the atonement of the entirety of Israel.

  I, however, found myself anticipating the day of fasting and reflection in an entirely new light. After letting go of my fears that Elazar and Yoela might someday turn me out, either because of my own failings or Natan’s, I looked forward to spending that day thanking Adonai for removing me from a people whose gods demanded everything and gave nothing back, and placing me among those whose God lavished blessings on his own and asked only that they love him with all their heart, mind, soul, and strength.

  Neither Ronen, nor Samuel, had been seen since the trial, and I did not anticipate that I would see him again soon, if ever. But I wished I could thank him for telling my father what I hadn’t had to courage to say, and express my gratitude for challenging me to consider myself an ongoing work of the Creator, which had shifted my perspective of myself and my past so completely.

  In the days since he’d been gone, I’d called up his words time and time again about Yahweh composing a beautiful song with every note of my life. I missed him so much and could only pray that he might enjoy a fraction of the peace that he had given me.

  Also missing lately was Natan, who’d made only rare appearances at home to eat, sleep, or tend to the animals. I’d attempted to talk with him a few times, but it seemed that the revelation of both Shoshana’s betrothal and Ronen’s betrayal had erased any progress he’d made in reopening his heart to me, or anyone else. But I would not wait much longer to search him out and try again; he needed me and I needed him. We had a bond I refused to relinquish, no matter how hard he tried to push me away or how much distance he put between the two of us.

  I glanced back at the place where my oak used to stand, where now only a stump remained, longing for that place of refuge high up in the branches that I’d only ever shared with one person.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save it,” said a deep and lovely voice that made my heart leap into my throat. Before I turned to look at him, I took a few slow, measured breaths, so my own voice would not betray the bone-melting relief that threatened to bring me to my knees. He hadn’t left for good after all.

  “It was not your fault,” I said, finally meeting Ronen’s eyes. “You came as fast as you could.” He looked tired and gaunt, like he’d spent the last three days not sleeping or eating.

  “It wasn’t fast enough,” he said, and I knew that he was speaking of more than the fiery destruction of my tree. “I did not discern the danger, and when I did, I took far too long to gather the courage to open my mouth.”

  I paused before responding, searching the features that had become so familiar during these few weeks: the mahogany-dark eyes that had sparkled with mischief and affection, the lips that had sung me songs of immeasurable beauty, the hands that stroked the lyre with such tenderness as he told me the story of enduring love between his ancestors. He’d asked me for forgiveness as we’d stood on the boulder before the Ark, and I had yet to offer it.

  “Where have you been?” I asked, peeling my gaze aw
ay to resume shoveling the ash-laden dirt.

  “In the olive grove on the eastern slope,” he said. “I needed a place to be alone with my thoughts. To fast and pray. To truly seek Yahweh’s council on something Samuel proposed.”

  Burning curiosity over my father’s decision to release Ronen into Samuel’s hands had been a constant these past three days. But when I’d asked him to explain, he’d only smiled enigmatically and told me that I would understand in due time. He must have known all along that Ronen would return.

  I lifted my brows, silently demanding explanation. But instead of telling me what I wanted so desperately to know, Ronen was staring at my hair with a distracted smile.

  “Ronen.”

  His attention snapped back to my face, but his smile only grew. “You uncovered it.”

  A warm flutter winged its way around my stomach as he waited on my response. “You asked me to,” I whispered, knowing I was revealing far too much.

  He stepped closer, and it was all I could do to remain in my place and not throw myself into his arms, seek out the rightness I’d felt when we lay side by side behind that boulder with our hands entwined. But first there were questions to ask, answers I required, and things I needed to say.

  I cleared my throat and asked the most pressing question first. “What has Samuel asked of you?”

  “He has begun to assemble a group of young people in his hometown of Ramah who desire to study the Torah of Mosheh and to explore the mysteries of prayer and prophecy by learning from Samuel himself. He says that the next few years will be decisive for Israel, and he needs disciples who are ready to stand firmly for truth in spite of severe opposition, bold enough to call for repentance no matter the cost, and fearless enough to join with him in the effort to tear down the ancient Canaanite high places all over the Land.”

  My mouth had gone slack as he’d spoken. From the astonishment on Ronen’s face, he too was still in awe over the invitation.

  “But . . . how? Why?” I stuttered. “After what happened?”

  He huffed a laugh and ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s just it. He was there, Eliora. He heard everything you and I said to Machlon and the priests. He said that anyone who was willing to sacrifice his family, his livelihood, and everything he loved in order to speak such bold truth was the sort of person who Yahweh could use in this endeavor. And he had already spoken to Tuviyah about me; he knows that my strengths lie in composing songs and says that it is a skill that will be of utmost importance in the days to come. I have no idea what that means or how writing songs will have any impact on Israel’s future, but how could I possibly refuse such an honor? Especially when I do not deserve it after all I have done.”

  “You can’t,” I replied, smiling widely even as my heart splintered in two. “You must go. This is a gift to you from Yahweh because of his goodness. Just like I’ve learned that my failures do not lessen my family’s love for me, yours do not change the character of the God who offers grace for all of us through the blood of the sacrifice on the mercy seat. I know Abiram turned his back on you, Ronen, but Adonai vowed to never leave or forsake us. We both must hold tight to that promise and find peace in it.”

  Ronen’s eyes dropped closed, his lips pressed together as if he were restraining deep emotion. For a few moments, I just watched him, breathing in tandem with him as he collected himself enough to speak. When he did lift his lashes to meet my gaze, they were wet.

  “How are you so good?” he asked. “Why are you not railing at me? Screaming at me for my lies and foolishness? Cursing my name for taking advantage of your kindness and generosity? I do not deserve your compassion. I do not deserve your forgiveness.”

  He sank to the ashy ground in front of me, looking up at me with pleading eyes. “And yet even though I know I am not worthy of that forgiveness, and far from worthy of your love, I cannot help but beg of you to listen, to hear me when I say that although Machlon made it sound as though I was playing a game with your heart, it is not the truth. I was so relieved when you didn’t seem to know exactly where the Ark was and thrilled when Natan too, revealed nothing, and then so very devastated when you showed me your secret refuge.

  “I hated that knowledge and wished so much that I had never climbed into that oak tree with you, or that in your innocence you hadn’t shown me the location. In a moment of weakness, I did tell him the Ark was in a cedar grove—I confess that freely and with deep regret—but it was the Gibeonites who gave him the exact location. I did not want to betray you, Eliora, even if that’s what I was sent here to do. From the moment I found you in your garden, crying out to Yahweh on your brother’s behalf, I struggled between what I thought was my sacred duty to my God and my family, and the draw your sweet and generous spirit has had on my tortured one.”

  I had no time to wallow in embarrassment that he had indeed heard me pour out my heart to Adonai that day, because he was not finished.

  “And it was a priceless gift that you gave me, showing me that it was not by taking vengeance that I would honor my father and brothers, but by lifting up my voice in adoration and glorifying Yahweh with the same devotion they did. Even for those few moments I played my lyre and sang with the other Levites on the ridge, I was overcome with the sense that I was finally where I was meant to be and doing exactly what I was supposed to do. All because of you, Eliora. Your kindness, your strength, your loyalty, your patience, everything about your beautiful heart makes me want to be the man who might one day deserve you.

  “And it was not just you who I came to esteem either,” he continued, barely taking a breath. “But your father, your brothers, and your entire family. The accusations my uncle spewed about them were proved utterly false during that first meal. I could not help but immediately see the contrast between the family that took you in with such openness and unconditional love and the one that manipulated and used me, and I wished that—” He stopped, swallowed hard, and then half-whispered, “I wished that you would consent to be my wife, so they could be my family as well.”

  Everything seemed to stand still as he looked up at me with such hopeful apprehension, including my breath, the birds in the trees, even the whisper of the breeze in the orchard nearby, or perhaps the thundering of my heartbeat drowned it all out.

  “I know I have much to prove,” he said, the words toppling over themselves. “And I vow to you that I will do everything in my power to show you that I am, in fact, a man of integrity. A man who can be trusted with both your heart and your future. I have already spoken to your father, told him I plan to travel with Samuel for the next few months as he goes town to town, seeking out others he means to invite to Ramah, and calling for repentance along the way.”

  “So, you have decided to go?”

  He nodded. “After three days of fasting and prayer, I truly believe it is what I’ve been called to do.”

  “And what did my father have to say about all of this?”

  His lips quirked, a small measure of that mischief I so enjoyed creeping back into his countenance. “He said to ask you.”

  I trusted my father implicitly in all things, even more than I had before he’d asked my forgiveness and expressed his deep love for me. If he had given leave for Ronen to even hint at a betrothal, then he must believe this man was sincere in his repentance and his regard for me.

  “And what will happen when you return?” I asked, doing my best to temper the excitement building in my chest.

  “That depends upon you, my love,” he said, his tone solemn but expectant. “Are you willing to go with me to Ramah? Samuel assures me that there will be plenty of other women living in the new community he calls Naioth, including his own wife, whom he says would both welcome your arrival and be thrilled to share her own knowledge of the Torah with you.”

  I blinked down at him, trying to focus on everything he’d said instead of just the way his endearment seeped deep beneath my skin and made my mind a little hazy. “But . . . but I am Philistine.”
/>
  “That you are,” he said, with a gentle smile, “and Avraham was an Amorite. Rahab was of Canaan. Calev was a Kenite. And many who entered this land with Yehoshua were of Egyptian and other foreign descent. As I said on the rooftop that morning, I think your heritage only makes your witness more powerful. And Samuel agrees with me.”

  “He does?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I told you? He heard everything you and I said to the priests. The invitation to Ramah is not just for me. It is for both of us. Together.”

  I thought of Azuvah, and how she’d repeated the stories of her people to herself so she would not forget them even in the dark misery of slavery. How she spent night after night telling two Philistine children those same stories in her tongue without knowing how important such knowledge would one day be for us. How she sacrificed her life for our freedom so I might one day be offered the opportunity to know more about the God she clung to even in her forced exile. I curved my hand over the tzitzit she’d given me and blessed her memory before I gave my answer.

  “I have not been away from this mountain since you brought me up here on your back,” I said, remembering how thrilled I’d been to be so close to him even then. “And for all these years I’ve been terrified of being away from the Ark. Its nearness has given me peace, made me feel safe.”

  “We can stay,” he said. “I am willing to remain in Kiryat-Yearim and guard the—”

  I placed a hand over his mouth, his warm breath on my palm causing a small shiver.

  “Let me finish,” I said, and at his nod—complete with a smile in his mahogany eyes—I dropped my hand. “As I was saying, my mother reminded me that it is not the Ark that watches over me and protects me, but the God Who Sees. The God who led Natan and me to a house where I entered into covenant with his beloved people and have enjoyed such peace and blessing. And since I’ve now truly come to see myself as one of those beloved people, I have full confidence that no matter where I go, Yahweh’s peace and protection will go with me.” I moved forward, placing my hands on either side of his face, reveling in the softness of his beard as I stroked his cheekbones with my thumbs. “To Ramah, or to the ends of the earth, if that is where you ask me to go.”