Azubah scrambled about, gathering their possessions and tying bundles while calling out to the children to keep the goats close. “Frogs, locusts, pestilence, and death! How do we worship such a God? No one gives without expecting to receive, Kelubai. What will this God ask of us?”
“So far He has asked nothing but that we believe what He says.”
“And once we are in the wilderness, what will He ask of us then?”
“If He asked for everything, I would give it to Him.”
“Our sons, Kelubai? Would you sacrifice our sons?”
Her fear gave him pause. The great overseers of Canaan were gods who thirsted for human blood. Was the God of Abraham such as these? If so, why had He asked for the blood of a lamb or goat rather than the blood of Israel’s sons?
Kelubai prodded the ox, and caught up to his father and brothers who had set off before him. Having no animals or possessions to carry, they could travel faster than he.
Hezron shared his excitement, but Jerahmeel feared the future as much as Azubah. “And how many more will be out there in the desert waiting for us?”
“They will have heard what God has done for us.”
“The nations may fear this God, but what reason have they to fear a band of slaves?”
Kelubai waved. “We are more than a band, brother. Look around you! We are thousands upon thousands.”
“Scattered in a dozen tribes, with stragglers who cling like ticks. We are not a nation. We have no army.”
“What need have we for an army when the God of heaven and earth fights for us? When people hear what has happened to Egypt, they will flee before us.”
“Where do you come by this faith in a God whose people call you dog?”
Kelubai grinned coldly. “I’ve been called worse.”
The ragged mass traveled by day and night, moving south, away from the trade route. Deeper into the wilderness they moved before turning east, pressing between the high walls of a great wadi that spilled into the Red Sea. And there the masses huddled in family groups, crying out to Moses to save them when news came that Pharaoh and his army were not far behind them.
“Now see what you’ve done to us, Kelubai!” Jerahmeel ranted. “Had we stayed in Egypt our lives and the lives of our children would be safe.”
Thousands screamed and wailed in terror when they realized they were blocked from all possible escape.
Kelubai lowered his head against the wind and pushed. “Stay in close with the Judeans.” Wind whipped at his robe, stinging his face with sand and drops of salt water. “Stay together!” He hauled his wife and sons closer as a cloud caught flame. Raging overhead, it swirled into a pillar of fire that closed the wadi and stopped Pharaoh’s chariots from racing out onto the spillway.
“They’re moving!” Azubah cried out.
And so the multitude pressed forward as the sea opened before them clear to the other side, revealing the path of salvation. Some people ran down the slope. Others, burdened with possessions, moved slower. Kelubai shouted for Azubah to run ahead and take their sons with her while he followed with the oxen and cart. His father and brothers stayed with him, grabbing sacks to lighten the load and make the way swifter. Thousands came behind, pressing tight, moving down the road through the sea. When he reached high ground, Kelubai found his family waiting among the Judeans.
The pillar of fire had lifted, and Pharaoh’s army raced out onto the sand and down into the pathway God had opened. Kelubai spotted Zimri among the stragglers. The old man, pale with exhaustion and sagging beneath the weight of a sack lumpy with possessions, struggled up the slope, his son, Carmi, helping him. Kelubai ran to them, grasped the pack, and supported the old man as they made their way up the hill.
“The chariots are coming,” Kenaz shouted, reaching them and taking the pack. “They’re coming! Hurry!”
A rushing sound and screams came from behind, and Kelubai felt a cold wet blast at his back. He fell forward onto his face and then felt hands upon him, dragging him up, shouting. Kelubai dug his heels into the wet ground and pushed, dragging Carmi up the slope. Lungs heaving, Kenaz flung the sack onto dry ground. Zimri was helped up, frightened but uninjured.
“They’re gone.” Kenaz stared out over the sea, searching. “All of them, gone.”
The multitude was silent, staring out at the rippling sea as bodies of the Egyptian soldiers washed up along the shore.
Kelubai stood beside Zimri and Carmi. “Praise be to the God who saved us.”
The old man was still pale, but he had regained his breath. He gripped Kelubai’s arms for support. “My thanks, Caleb.” For the first time, the term was spoken without derision. Caleb. A new name for a new alliance. So be it.
The old man’s hands tightened. “Make your camp next to mine.” His son, Carmi, grinned and slapped Caleb on the back.
Before three days had passed, jubilation became complaining when the desert water was found to be bitter and undrinkable. Moses prayed and cast tree bark into the pond, enabling people to quench their thirst before traveling on to the date palms of Elim. Some would have been content to stay, but God had told Moses to lead His people into the wilderness. Why? was the common cry. Why didn’t God lead them to green pastures and still waters instead of heading them out into an arid wasteland of sand and rock? Thirst and hunger soon set in, and the people complained for meat, as though God were a heavenly servant meant to give them whatever they craved. Moses prayed and God sent quail into the camp, so many that no one could walk without stepping on them. But in the morning, a greater miracle came when God gave them the bread of heaven to sustain them. Instructions were given to collect only enough for one day and no more.
Caleb knelt, picked up a few white flakes, and let them melt on his tongue. They were sweeter than anything he had ever tasted and held the slightest moisture of dew. When he had filled his clay jar, he rose and looked up at the cloud overshadowing the huge camp. It did not move with the air currents as other clouds did, nor disappear over the course of a hot day. It remained with the people, thick in portions, with fingers of gray-white, as though the mighty hand of God Himself shaded the Israelites and fellow travelers from the killing heat of the desert sun. Freedom, water, food, shelter. Was there anything the Lord had not given them?
Overwhelmed with emotions he could neither understand nor define, Caleb raised his omer high, tears streaming down his face. “How do I worship You, Lord? How do I give thanks for my life? How am I to live from now on? Nothing is the way I imagined it would be, oh, Lord!”
Life had become confusing. Freedom was not the simple matter he had dreamed. As a slave, he knew what the day would hold and how to get through it. Now, he didn’t know what the next morning would bring. Every day was different. He didn’t know where he would camp or for how long or why a particular place was chosen. He pitched his tent near Zimri’s each evening, but there were always others around them, strangers vying for a better position. How was he any different from all these others, ambitious for themselves and their families, craving something better than what they had always known, demanding more now that freedom had come and brought with it the reality of daily decisions that had always been made for them. Caleb had liked to think of himself as more shrewd, more able to find his own way, but realized now that he was the same as all the others. He had been born and reared in a mud hut and lived all his life on one small plot of land he worked for Pharaoh’s benefit. Now, he was in constant turmoil, out of his element. Instead of dwelling in one place, he traveled great distances and lived in a tent like a desert nomad. This was not the life he had imagined.
Tense, irritable, fighting against the confusion of his new life, fighting to keep his relatives together and in some semblance of order, he felt more shame than joy. At times, they behaved like a pack of wolves, growling at one another, fighting over scraps.
“Where are we going, brother? I thought we were supposed to be heading for Canaan, and we’re in the middle of the wilderness!
”
Every day had its squabbles and challenges. How did Moses hear the voice of God through the cacophony of voices raised in constant question and complaint?
Caleb struggled within himself, too.
In his heart, he cried out to God. I don’t want to question Your ways, Lord. I want to go with thanksgiving and without hesitation where You tell us to go. I want to set off into the unknown the way Moses does—head up, staff in hand. I don’t want to look back with longing on the life I’ve known. Oh, God, help me to remember how unbearable it was and how I longed to be free. Is it possible for You to change a man? If so, change me!
“Caleb!”
At the sound of Jerahmeel’s annoyed voice, Caleb lowered the omer and held it against his chest, eyes closed, teeth clenched.
“We’re on the move again! Though who but Moses can guess where we’re going this time. As if there’s a better place than this to rest . . .” Jerahmeel’s complaining faded as he stalked away.
The cloud was moving now. In its changing shape, Caleb imagined its folds like an eagle with outspread wings, floating, head down watching them, not as prey but as sheltered offspring.
“Caleb! Are you going to just stand there? They’re moving!”
And will You please change a few others as well?
The people rose up in anger when they reached Rephidim, for there was no water. Caleb and his wife had given their water to their sons, and were as thirsty as everyone else. His relatives gave him no rest.
“It was your idea to follow this God. . . .”
“Where’s the better life you promised?”
“I’m thirsty, Abba.”
“How long before we get there?”
“Ask your abba where there is.”
Caleb left them and sat among the rocks at the base of the high mountain. If he was going to die, he wanted to do it in peace and not surrounded by grumbling Israelites or relatives blaming him for every discomfort. Still, he heard the multitude crying out in the distance. Pressing his hands over his ears, he tried to shut out the angry shouting. His own wrath mounted, his heart pounding fast, his blood rushing hot and heavy.
How soon they all forget what You can do! You made the Nile run with blood. You brought forth plagues; You killed Egypt’s livestock with pestilence. You covered the people with boils, destroyed the land with hail and fire, and killed the firstborn from Pharaoh on down, all the while sparing the animals and lives of those who belong to You. And still that madman Pharaoh changed his mind and came after us!
But You opened the sea, made a dry pathway across, then closed it again over Pharaoh’s army, washing them away like dust before a windstorm. The sea. The Nile. The river of life . . . no. No! Who but a fool would long for that place of slavery and death?
Water, Lord. Please. Water is a small thing, but we will die without it. Oh, hear us, God who commands the heavens and the earth. Help us!
Tongue parched, throat closing, his skin so dry he felt his body shrinking, he closed his eyes. If not for the cloud overhead, Caleb knew he would have perished already, baked in the heat, dried out like a Nile fish on a rack.
Why am I still alive? What is the purpose in all this suffering? I don’t understand You. Did You set us free only to allow us to die of thirst? It makes no sense. Water, Lord. Oh, God of might and mercy, please, give us water. I don’t believe You brought us out here to die. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it!
The cries of the mob suddenly changed to screams of excitement and exultation. Trembling from weakness, Caleb stood and took a few steps so he could see what was happening. Water gushed from a rock in the side of the mountain, forming a stream that raced down and pooled. Thousands sank to their knees and fell forward onto their hands to thrust their faces into the water and drink like animals. Another miracle! Another, just when they needed it most.
Stumbling, Caleb made his way down the rocky slope. Pressing his way through the celebrants, his gaze never leaving the rock that flowed water, he squatted, cupped his hands, and drank. The Rock itself was the well of life-giving water. The stream flowed straight from the stone, fresh and clear and cool. As Caleb drank deeply, he felt his body renewed, strengthened, revitalized. Closing his eyes, he held the precious water and washed his face, longing to immerse himself in it.
As the people were quenching their thirst, Caleb heard shouting.
“The Amalekites are attacking! They are killing the stragglers!”
Moses called for Joshua. People cried out again, frightened this time.
“They’ll soon be upon us!”
“We have no army to fight against the Amalekites!”
Caleb rose, dripping, and ran to his camp. He rummaged through the possessions he had brought from Egypt until he found his scythe. “Come on.” He raised his farm implement and called to his brothers. “Fight for our brothers!”
“We’re not soldiers.” Jerahmeel stood back. “We’re farmers.”
Caleb faced him, angry. “Should not a farmer fight for his neighbors?”
“Who is my neighbor?”
There was no time to stand and argue. People were dying! Turning his back on his father and brothers, Caleb ran after Joshua. Others had gathered with Moses’ young servant. Moses had already given instructions and now climbed the mountain, his brother, Aaron, on one side and his friend Hur on the other.
Caleb peered through the crowd to the man in its center. Joshua looked so young and nervous. The men around him were tense, shifting, uncertain. Caleb felt uneasy. What did he know about fighting against a trained enemy?
He remembered what God had done for them already. The Lord, He would protect them. The Lord, He would give them victory. I will believe that. I will set my mind upon Him. I will proclaim my faith before these men loud enough that they will all hear and know I am for the Lord!
“Let me through!” Lowering his head, Caleb shoved his way through the crowd until he stood before Joshua. “We are God’s to command, Joshua. And the Lord has designated you to lead.” Caleb looked around and raised his voice. “God will fight for us! He did not bring us out into this desert to be picked off by cowardly marauders who kill the weak and helpless, nor by any who bow down to false gods!” Baring his teeth in a grin, Caleb stared Joshua in the eye. “Command us as God commands you. The battle is the Lord’s!”
Joshua’s eyes shone with sudden fierceness. He let out a shout and the others joined with him.
And so they went out into battle armed with farm implements and threshing tools, while three old men stood on the mountain praying.
And God gave them victory.
After the triumph came the lingering stillness. Caleb waited along with thousands of others camped at the base of the mountain while Moses went up to meet with the Lord. Days passed, and long nights of quiet and question.
Waiting proved a greater test than taking up arms against the enemy.
* * *
TWO
* * *
Caleb sat in misery, staring up at the mountain. Here I sit, coward that I am, an outsider again. He hung his head.
Washed, adorned in clean garments, consecrated, he had stood with the multitude, eager to hear the Lord. He had heard God blow the shofar blast. The sound of it, long and heavy, had rattled his chest. A consuming fire had flared from the mountaintop, along with a thunderous roar. He had fled in terror. Like stampeding sheep, thousands had run. And like the others, he had cowered at a distance. Let Moses listen to God and tell them what He said.
Moses was on the mountain again, but this time he had taken the elders with him, including Zimri from the tribe of Judah. Joshua, too, had been summoned.
Mortified by his own cowardice, Caleb spoke to no one. He knew he had missed his chance to be close to God. Covering his face, he wept.
When Aaron and the elders returned, Caleb went to hear what Zimri had to tell the sons of Judah.
“We saw the God of Israel; under His feet there was a pavement of sapphire, as clea
r as the sky itself.” Zimri shook with excitement, his eyes shining. “And He did not stretch out His hand against us. We ate and drank in praise of Him. And then the Lord called Moses up the mountain. God will give him the laws we are to live by.”
“Where is Joshua? What happened to him?”
“Joshua went up the mountain with Moses. We could see them both as they went up. Then they stopped and waited for six days. On the seventh, the mountain caught fire and Moses went into the cloud and disappeared. Joshua is still up there waiting for him.”
“Are Moses and Joshua alive?”
“God only knows.”
“Before Moses went up, he told us to wait, and we did wait.”
“Did they take anything up with them? Food? Water?”
“Nothing.”
Days passed, then weeks. The people grew restless. Moses was surely dead. Why were they still camped in this desolate place? Why didn’t they return to Egypt? They need not fear going back now. Surely, after all the plagues, the Egyptians would be in fear of them?
“Why should they fear us?” Caleb remonstrated with his family. “We did not bring the plagues. God did!”
“We should get out of here before he decides to kill us the way he’s killed Moses.”
“We don’t know that Moses is dead.”
Jerahmeel stood. “He’s been gone a month, Caleb! He’s an old man, and he went up that mountain without food and water. What do you think has happened to him?”
“He lived in Midian forty years before he returned to Egypt. That old man knows how to survive in the desert.”
Hezron stood between them. “Kelubai, you were right in leading us to Goshen. We are free from slavery. But now, it is time to go back to Egypt or go on to Canaan. We cannot stay here forever.”
Caleb clenched his hands. “Why not? We have water. We have manna.”
“What sort of a life is this?” Jerahmeel raged. “I’m sick of manna. The sweetness of it sticks in my throat.”