Friday, December 18, 2009

Chapter Two - Part I

Sisera’s mother, Bethena, peered through the palm wood lattice screening the solarium window. She longed for her son’s return, with a lover’s longing. And once again the pangs of that deep emotion bothered her. Such feelings from a mother for her son were not seemly. She had never acted on them; never even hinted at them. But ever since Sisera’s father had been killed by the Haibrus seven years ago, and Sisera had accepted the role of protector of the house, Bethena, had felt a new, deeper, almost sexual, she blushed at the admission, feeling for her valiant son.
When, two years ago, Sisera, then twenty eight had been elevated by King Jabin to command first the palace guard, then the corps of chariots, Bethena had felt her longing become tinged with worry and concern that sometimes bordered on pain. Sisera’s duties required him to be away from Hazor often, and though she was forty-four, with a comely body and the vigor of youth, Bethena kept to herself and was lonely without her son.
It need not have been that way, for Bethena was a princess of royal blood, being Jabin’s half sister, they had the same mother, also of royal blood. Perhaps the longing was in her blood, a thing passed down through the generations. Something she must simply learn to bear, a dull ache that was always present, sometimes stronger than others. Yet it did seem as if there had been a time, when she was twelve, before she’d spent her first month in the Temple of Astarte, when the ache had not been with her.
Even royal maidens offered themselves as sacred prostitutes, though they lived and served in the Temple’s inner-most courtyard, the one reserved for the great leaders of the nation.
Bethena saw a cloud of dust on the horizon, between the city’s twin guardian peaks. Sisera! Her heart leapt. Gently, she said to herself, it may not be he. Yes, gently. She studied the cloud for a moment. Her vantage point on the third floor gave her a good view. It was not a large cloud; probably not chariots, perhaps one or two riders on horseback or a small column of men on foot.
The sounds of the city drifted up to her and Bethena looked down. Across the street immediately below her were the Kings granaries. A small group of functionaries were talking over a donkey laden with sacks of grain. Tomorrow, when the grain was distributed the noise would be deafening. Behind the granaries, was the slave market, with its stalls, pens and platforms for showings. Some few merchants were walking their human property around the stalls, exercising them. Once a week, in two days time, the market overflowed with the color, noise and spectacle of the very rich in their finest regalia, buying the very poor in rags. To the left were the public wells from which most of the noise came.
Bethena looked up. The dust cloud was dissipating. She could not see the great gate from her position, but if it were Sisera, she would hear his horse’s hooves on the street stones in a moment.
Sisera had been born nine months after her first stay in the sacred temple of holy Astarte. Thoughts of the Great Goddess made Bethena’s heart race. She had lived a gentle chaste life outside the city, in a small quiet village with her amah. Her mother, who lived in the palace with the king, had little interest in Bethena; rarely came to see her and rarely invited her to the palace. Bethena was untroubled by this and thought it the natural state of affairs. She loved wandering bare foot in the lush fields and playing with the lambs. She actually saw the city for the first time when she’d turned twelve and her half brother Jabin, the King of Hazor, rode out in great state and pomp to bring her to the temple.
Bethena had never seen the shimmering fantastic colors of silk or breathed the mingled smells of oranges and lemons, dung and spice, nor felt the sway of horse and litter. All of this was bound up in her sensual memories of Astarte, Goddess of Fertility, and of serving Her in Her Temple, so that her heart still raced when she thought of it.
No sound of horse’s hooves. Sisera had not returned. Bethena sighed and turned from the lattice. The sun was setting. Slaves were lighting torches and the quickening breeze sent a chill through her. Bethena pulled her robes more tightly about her.
First, they had bathed her. Temple maidens only a few years older than herself, naked but for jeweled loin clothes that barely hid their clean shaven genitals and slid suggestively into the clefts of their buttocks, disrobed her and led her to a pool of steaming water. Bethena had never seen such large quantities of hot water before. She dipped a toe in and drew back. The three girls waiting upon her tittered. One of them, a lithe red-head who she would come to know as Melka, took Bethena’s hand and led her into the water.
Bethena had never, ever felt anything as satisfying as being in that pool. The girls stood away from the pool with their backs to Bethena as she acclimated herself. Bethena had not had an opportunity to study a naked person before and her eyes roamed hungrily over the flowing, full curves the teenage temple maidens. Do I look like that? She wondered.
Melka turned, bent to pick up a sponge and came to sit beside Bethena in the water. Looking deeply into Bethena’s eyes, Melka gently rubbed first Bethena’s hands, then arms with the sponge. Bethena’s heart raced and she felt her abdomen and genital areas turn to liquid. She groaned and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the other girl’s ministrations.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Process

New chapters will be posted here every other day or so. Feedback about how you like the story would be greatly appreciated.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Introduction: A Series of Novels About Four Heroes of the Old Testament



A series of novels about four heroes of the Old Testament will be serialized here. For info on how purchase the manuscript and for queries from agents or publishers, please contact Dr. Steve.

One Woman, Three Kings – The Story of Deborah, Saul, David and Solomon

The Bible tells us that 175 years after Moses led the Children of Israel out of Egypt, there arose a woman, Devorah, a daughter of Ephraim, to be a Judge over her people, a prophetess and a righteous example unto them. The Bible also tells us of Devorah’s husband, Lappodoth; Barak, the great Hebrew general; Sisera the Canaanite general; Yael the Kenite, slayer of Sisera; and of Sisera’s mother, Bethena. The Bible touches only the high points of their lives. What follows is a more complete story.

Chapter One

“Devorah! Devorah! It is time.”
The young woman turned from contemplating the blossoming olive trees to face the climber intruding upon her sacred space. So soon, she thought. I would spend more time with You, Abba.
Dry wind lifted Devorah’s flowing black hair, spilling it across her forehead and into her large green eyes. Arising from the soft grassy place on the rock strewn hill, Devorah adjusted the robes billowing around her. Lappodoth, the man violating her sanctuary, had only a few cubits before reaching her. She sighed, warmth suffusing her chest, heart still aching with devotion.
I am always with you, daughter.
She nodded, and whispered, “I know. I am deeply grateful! I rely on you so….” This place nourished and nurtured her; gave her strength. It wasn’t the grassy knoll on the rock-strewn hill per se, it was the hill within her; a place of deep peace, carried everywhere she went. And, if she chose - remembered she could choose, she was able to experience it anytime, anywhere. Here on the hill, with the crystal blue sky and windswept, puffy white clouds choice was unnecessary, she simply experienced that exhilarating contradictory sensation of empty fullness.
Not vacant unconsciousness, oh, no, but a fully aware alertness, sensitive to the potential in each moment. In this place, she was without identity, not Devorah, not a woman, nor lover, nor Sar – a Judge over Israel, but just a being, pure, effortless being, energy incarnate. It was the place God dwelled; was God. In this place, when she thought, felt and acted from this place, all was well. Outside it, life was more difficult. “Thank You, thank You, thank You!’ she whispered.

Gratitude was cause, not effect.
Devorah brushed the hair from her face and smiled down at Lappodoth, admiring his vigor and sure-footedness. Her teeth, even and unstained, gleamed in the bright noon day sun. Raising a hand to shield her eyes and perfect oval of her face from the harsh light, she realized she enjoyed the sun and wind but preferred experiencing them from the shade of her great palm tree.

She felt Lappodoth’s eyes on her and blushed. He’d barely looked away from her the entire time he’d been navigating the boulder strewn slope. After eighteen months of marriage, Devorah was still not used to her husband’s carnal appreciation of her. He especially admired the evenness, and symmetry of her features and her skin - more white and creamy than olive-tinted, as was normal for her tribe, Ephraim. He was a Judean and they were more fair. She was a great catch - all four limbs intact, and the great bride price her father Eli had given, and she knew that in spite of her sudden mood shifts, trance-like episodes [which were becoming more frequent] and an assertive directness, bordering on the demanding, Lappodoth considered her a great prize.

Now, panting from his exertions, Lappodoth opened his arms to her as he reached the summit. Devorah stepped into them, hugging him. He smelled of sheep. Not an unpleasant odor, but distinctive. His body was firm and well-muscled beneath his robes. She felt her nipples grow taught, broke the embrace and stepped back, holding him at arms length to admire him.

“The children are assembled, my Queen.” Lappodoth had taken to calling her that early in their relationship. At first, it bothered her. Now she enjoyed it; especially when he paid homage to her with his tongue and mouth. Oh, what joy, she thought. I am blessed! Thank you, Father.

Devorah nodded and lowered her arms. “What news, husband?”

The playfulness disappeared from Lappodoth’s eyes. “Sisera may be on the move.” His voice was low and tinged with anger.

At last! Devorah thought. Thank you, Abba! Now, Barak. “You know this…how?” Devorah’s green eyes stared intently into his brown ones. If this were true….

“Yael told me. He was taking a flock of our fathers sheep to Charoshet.”

“If Sisera goes west….” Devorah saw the plain of Sharon stretched out in her mind’s eye, from the Great Sea to the Jordan.

Lappodoth completed her thought. “He will cut us in two.”

“And we will have to fight!” Devorah’s chin jutted; her eyes narrowed and Lappodoth thought he saw sparks of green fire fly from them. A truly magnificent woman!
Devorah blinked, breathed deeply. The children were waiting and after that, the majlise. The majlise… If they were to fight the assembly would have to agree, as would the twelve tribes. The wind whipped her hair. The Canaanites have chariots, many chariots; we….

“I must be a clear channel,” she said.
“What?” Lappodoth asked.
“I must be a clear channel, husband.” She smiled up at him, she was only 5’ 1” and he, 5’ 6”. “For the Lord,” Devorah added, wanting to be clearly understood.
Lappodoth nodded slowly. His eyes searched Devorah’s. “What is it like, when God speaks through you?” His eyes shone and his voice was filled with compassionate curiosity.

Devorah knew he’d wanted to ask her that question from before they’d been formally introduced or ever spoken; from when he’d sat before her in the majlise beneath the palm tree in the hill country of Ephraim, between Ramath and Bethel. She’d been attracted by this same sensitive curiosity in his eyes and his strong handsomeness. More intelligent than most of those she judged in majlise, Lappodoth accepted her authority less grudgingly than did other males, even though she was 20 and he 25.
“God does not speak through me, my husband. I hear something; words; sometimes see visions, then tell what I understand.” She reached out and caressed his bearded cheek. “Sometimes it is easy and I merely repeat exactly what I hear. More often I must think about what He means. It is for these times that I pray to be a clear channel, to get my own self out of the way of the Presence, and give the message as He intends, not as I intend...”

“You get yourself out of the way very nicely,” Lappodoth said, reaching around to squeeze her buttocks, “for such a lusty maiden.”
She stepped closer and hugged him back, allowing his hands to linger, enjoying their soft caresses. “I have had much practice,” Devorah said, stepping back, taking his hand in hers and bringing it to her lips for a kiss. “This,” she kissed his hand again, “my lips, your hand, this kiss, the soft breeze, birds singing, bright sunlight, is God. All is God.” Lappodoth’s eyes sparkled into hers. “Shame, fear, hatred these are not of God; those are what we do when we forget we are one with God. Evil is not a power of itself, my beloved. It is simply the absence of God.”
The breeze gusted strongly from the encampment carrying the laughter and shouts of the children.
“Come, Devorah, Sar, Judge over Israel,” Lappodoth said. “Your students,” his eyes met hers, smiling, “your other students await.”
As they walked carefully, hand-in-hand down the rock-strewn hill, the joy and blessedness again arose spontaneously in Devorah. ‘Thank you, Abba,’ she thought. ‘I am so deeply grateful.’ She squeezed Lappodoth’s hand. ‘I shall not fear the Canaanites; but will deal with them from that place of deep serenity, invulnerability, calm assurance and joy within me, that is You. Thank You!’

Twenty three children scampered around the well at the center of the large oasis in the hill country of Ehraim; their cries and laughter echoing up from the cool, damp depths. The children, ages three to thirteen, were gathered for Devorah’s daily school. No other Sar before her had cared to educate the clan’s children. Devorah believed instructing the children was a joy and an honor, not an obligation, and she enjoyed it mightily. She also had a weekly class for the older children. Still unable to conceive her own, though not due to lack of trying, Devorah, felt that all of these raucous, racing, little people were her own.
She even accepted Canaanite children into her classes. The oasis was after all, just off the main road. And her primary concern, both as a Judge and as a person was peace. What better way to ensure peace than through mutual understanding and education? Yet in spite of her best efforts, perhaps, at this very moment, Sisera was massing his war chariots.
She shut her eyes tightly, swayed, heard the thunder of horses hooves and saw the heavy iron chariots’ wheel scythes turning and flashing, blood and flesh dripping from them. She reached out her arm and Lappodoth steadied her.
Fear not my daughter, in whom I am well pleased; for I am with you.
“Yes, my Lord. Thank you,” she whispered.
“Are you well?” Lappodoth asked.
“A moment husband,” Devorah said. “But a moment.” It was too much, at times. After all, she was only human. And this understanding of what He, or It was. He was not like Baal or Toth or the gods of the nations surrounding them. He was not like a He at all. Much more like an It - a presence in, around and through her, everywhere equally present; all knowing and oh wonder, all loving.
“Then why these ceaseless wars, Abba?” Devorah whispered. Yet the joy; the deep sense of connection, even in times of danger, remained. When she was able to come from that sacred inner space, all would be well.
“What,” Lappodoth asked?
She opened her eyes and smiled. “To the children,” she said, taking his hand and stepping out on the downward sloping path. “Then the majlise.” She laughed softly.
“What?” Lappodoth asked warmly.
“Oh, I was just thinking that perhaps my concern about the Canaanites is a bit misdirected. That my first concern will be our own people, getting the priests at Shiloh and the twelve tribes to agree.”
“Indeed!”
Soon they heard the yelps of the children mingling with the flapping of the tents, and the braying of camels and donkeys. The sounds of civilization. A dog with a stumpy tail raced around her feet, almost tripping her. The aroma of dung fires, unwashed people, animals and roasting meat filled the dry air.
“I have very often wondered,” Lappodoth said, “why we can not live in houses like other peoples.”
“I have also wondered, husband. I think some day we shall. But now, too many think cities are unclean and ungodly. And consider how very many of our people have gone over to the gods and goddesses of our neighbors.”
Lappodoth nodded. They were almost to the encampment. “Yet we have been here, in this place, without breaking camp from before I was born.”
“We have always wandered in search of Him….” She said.
“But if he is everywhere, as you have said, can he not be in the cities of Moab, and Jerhico and Hazor? Did not Joshua purify those cities in the Lord’s name?”
“He did, Lappodoth,” Devorah said, “almost two hundred years ago. But now Jabin, Sisera’s master, rules in Hazor.”
Lappodoth spit at the names, scowling, stopped walking and turned to face her. “How long will your gracious God allow us to be tormented? It has been nearly a generation since Shamgar, son of Anath, was judge over us and subdued the Philistines. Will Jabin’s atrocities go un-avenged?”
“Do not blaspheme, Lappodoth.” Devorah’s voice was low and rough-edged, very like a growl. “Have I not been a good judge over Israel? Have I not nurtured Barak and our army? Am I not a good daughter to my parents and wife to you?”
Chagrined, not wanting to attack or upset her, but only wanting to relieve the anger and distress in his own heart, Lappodoth stepped forward and enveloped Devorah in his arms. “Forgive me, my Queen,” he said. “I meant no harm to you. And I meant no blaspheme. But, when?”
Shouting and laughing, a young boy, Kenaz, 12, and a young girl, Abishag, 11, ran up to them. Kenaz grabbed Lappodoth’s robes and pulled him in the direction of the well. Abishag did the same with Devorah.
“You are late, teacher,” Abishag said to Devorah.
“Yes,” Kenaz said. “We are tired of waiting. We want to hear the rest of the story.”
Lappodoth broke free of the child’s grip. “Yes,” he said, turning to Devorah to lightly brush her cheek with his lips. “Finish the story. I must relieve Yael with the flocks. I will stop at your father’s tent on my return.”
“Thank you, Lappodoth,” Devorah’s smile was weary. “Until this evening.”
“Come! Come!” Abishag called, dancing around her.
The children led Devorah through the bustling encampment toward their meeting place at the well. The hill country of Ephraim was steeper and rockier than the name suggested, Devorah thought, as she walked past the looms, tinsmith, grain and butcher’s stalls that lined the upwardly-sloping main path. But it gave them security, as did their nomadic ways. Tents could be struck quickly and easily, at the first sign of trouble. The steep rock-strewn inclines were easier to defend and made use of chariots impossible. The land was useless for farming, so their neighbors had no need of it and left them alone.
Yet over the last decades, as they prospered and their numbers increased, the Ephramites needed more food and land they could farm. Their movement down to the fertile soil of the Jezreel valley and the villages of the Canaanites, once gradual, a family here, a family there, was now accelerating. Her own sister, Micah, her husband, Ehud, and their six children had been living among the Canaanites for eight years. Abishag, the child who was tugging at her arm, was the oldest of them.
The land was theirs. God had given it to them and Devorah felt the Covenant keenly. It lived deep in her heart and illuminated her soul and mind. Never could she even contemplate living among the unbelievers. Being near their gods and goddesses, their rituals of death and fornication, were an anathema to her. Yet, here was the beautiful, no radiant, Abishag, healthy, intelligent and no worse for her family’s living among the unbelievers for eight years.
Lappodoth had touched a nerve though. More and more of Jacob’s descendants, especially the tribes of Judah, Nephtali and Zebulon, along with her own, were living in houses and farming, acting as merchants and artisans, and, as they expanded, took root, traveled to trade and visit, their neighbors were threatened, and the violence against them increased. Only the most heavily armed caravans dared travel.
The taxes and the money the Canaanites extorted from them for protection was unconscionable. Hadn’t the Lord given this land to them the Israelites? The time for action was fast approaching; but Sar Barak was a weak reed. Still, were not the others surrounding them, the Kenites, Sidonians, Canaanites; Moabites, Philistines and Jebusites also made in the image and likeness of God…?
Devorah welcomed all to partake of the Covenant. Birth mattered not. To experience the reality of the One God as she experienced it; to know the everlasting love and forgiveness, and to live from that place, was the greatest blessing one human could give another. Bestowing that blessing was the focus of Devorah’s life. So, Abishag had brought Kenaz, son of the Canaanite iron worker, to the class with her.
The One God Devorah worshipped did not require punishment, attack and destruction. He, or It, was about asserting the good, the true and the beautiful, not eliminating evil. There was no opposition to It’s Oneness. It was whole and complete, abiding in all of Its creation, human and inanimate. It’s greatest joy, and the greatest joy of Its servants, was to awaken human beings to their birthrights; their reality of being spiritual beings having earthly experiences.
Kenaz reached his small hand up to Devorah’s. “Faster, Devorah, faster,” he called. “You think too much. Your mind wanders.”
She smiled down on him. He had no idea of the danger his presence here created for himself and his family. Not from Devorah, or the Israelites, but from his own people, the Canaanites. Only two months ago, their king, Jabin, had decreed it a crime for iron or any iron making technology to be given to the Haibrus. The king feared it would be used as he used it, to make weapons.
Devorah saw the humor, thought that God enjoyed a good joke. How much was enough? King Jabin, ruler of Hazor, and his General in Chief, Sisera, already had 900 iron chariots and 40,000 soldiers armed with iron-tipped spears, knives, swords and shields. While the children of God, well, yes, they were all children of God, but those who had a Covenant with the One God, had all of 10,000 soldiers armed with older bronze weapons – one or two weapons per man, not the spear, sword, knife and shield of each Canaanite soldier.
But of course, that was adequate for the Israelites. What else but faith in the One God was necessary? Devorah laughed out loud; would that were true. She shook her head, sadly. God does help, but I have a people to govern and defend. Barak is a fine general, but one could not fight chariots of iron, wheel scythes twisting and gleaming, with stones; though they did have those in abundance. She kicked one away and it rolled, harder than she’d intended, into an old man sitting beside the path.
“Forgive me, Sire,” Devorah bowed.
“No forgiveness is necessary, daughter,” he responded.
A few more paces and the children engulfed them.
“Teacher, teacher!” They shouted. “Finish the story.”
“I can not finish the story, my darlings,” Devorah said, settling herself cross-legged, her back against the well. “It is too long. But I can continue it. Where did I leave off?”
Hands shot into the air accompanied by a chorus of, “Me! Me!”
Devorah remembered very well where she’d left off and her heart raced with enthusiasm and her eyes shone with the eagerness to resume; but she was an excellent teacher also and wanted her young students to share her enthusiasm and be actively involved.
“Marni,” she said, pointing to a tall girl of 10 with tight black curls and penetrating blue eyes.
Marni stood up. A hush fell over the group. Devorah heard the sounds of the busy camp, the animals, people talking and even the wind in the palm trees. “You told us that we had come to the sea and could not cross; that behind us was Pharaoh’s chariots. We were trapped.” Oos and ahs of approval and anticipation rippled around the group.
“Yet we are here,” Devorah said, motioning Marni to sit. “So we must have escaped.” The children nodded. “How did we do that?”
“God!” Jesse called out to a chorus of agreement.
“And why would God save us?” Devorah asked
“The Covenant!” They all stood, repeating it over and over until Devorah gestured for them to be seated. Heart racing now, eyes almost sparking fire, Devorah stood. How wonderful, she thought. If they could only retain this zeal. “Yes,” she said. “The Covenant – our promise to serve the One God and It’s promise to guard, guide and prosper us in return. Where is this One God?”
They jumped up again, each with their left hand on their heart and the right on their forehead. “It is within Devorah,” they chanted. “It is within every one of us.”
“Is that all?” Devorah asked.
“No,” Jesse said.
“It is everywhere,” Jereboam proclaimed. “The water, earth, sand, sky, clouds and animals.”
“And how do we serve It then, if It is everywhere?”
“By honoring all things,” Marni said, “and respecting all things; beginning with ourselves. To be good stewards of creation, kind, gentle and respectful.”
“And to obey the Laws and Commandments,” Jereboam added.
“Yes!” Devorah said. “When we do this we serve God, are one with God and God will guide, guard and protect us. But first is the Covenant. First is our knowledge that we are one with God and It is one with us. As long as we remember our oneness with the great creative power of all that is, and live, feel and act from this place we are serving God and cannot act amiss. But….”
“If we forget our oneness,” Jesse said.
“Our partnership with God,” Devorah continued, “then we are on our own, have ceased to serve God and will bring trouble and difficulties upon us. Many will say God is punishing us for disobeying Him. How many of you have heard this?” They all raised their hands. “I do not think God punishes us. Most people will disagree with me. But I want you, my best students, to know what is in my heart. I think God is one loving power, that only loves and does not punish. What feels like punishment is only our choice to be separate from It, our mistaken belief that we are alone and apart from It. In truth, we can never be separate from It.” Devorah’s eyes blazed with light and she seemed to be floating an inch above the ground. “We have only to remember the Covenant, God’s promise to us and our promise to God to claim or birthrights, to know the truth of our partnership and claim our Oneness and our lives will change.”
The children’s eyes also glowed with excitement.
“And so,” Devorah continued the story. “Moses heard God say, ‘stretch out your staff over the waters.’ Moses did so, and a great wind came and parted the waters of the sea and we walked across on dry land.”
A soldier, covered with dust, thick leather vest speckled with bright blood, face bruised and bronze helmet askew raced through the circle of children and stood before Devorah, He dipped his head as a sign of respect. “The Jeremiah’s caravan was attacked on the road to Hazor two hours ago. Jeremiah and four others are wounded, three are dead. Everything was taken. The survivors are on their way here.”
“Who were the attackers?” Devorah asked.
“They wore no uniforms,” the soldier said. “But their swords and knives were of iron. I think they were Canaanites; Sisera’s men.”