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Ten Years Later
1116 BC

Deborah stood on the rise above the well, looking toward the forests that circled their village on three sides. A hill banked them on the fourth, neatly hemming them in. Except for the fields that stretched from their town walls to the edge of the trees, a man would have to walk a great length and to a great height to find them here. And yet, even here Deborah knew it was only by God’s mercy that Canaan’s forces and their commander, Sisera, had not discovered them.

How long, Adonai? The oppression of her people had been sporadic in the days when Lappidoth’s family and her father and brothers had been killed. But the strength of Canaan had grown.

She glanced at her sons, Lavi and Elior, chasing each other in the grasses, battling with sticks as though they were swords. The smile she showed at their innocent play vanished when she heard Lavi shout, “I’m going to kill you, Sisera!”

Elior, almost ten, stopped short. “I’m not Sisera. It’s your turn to be him.”

An argument ensued, one Deborah had heard far too often. She placed a hand over the growing babe within her. Be a girl. At least with a daughter she would not have to fear losing her to a battle against a force they could not defeat. Women did not go to war. A girl could stay safe in her home. With me, she thought, knowing how selfish that seemed. But the longing would not abate.

“Come, boys,” she called to her bickering sons. “It is time to do your chores.” She glanced behind her, lifted the water jug to her head, and strode down the hill toward the gate. Moans and complaints followed her, but both boys were quick to obey.

“Why can’t we go to the fields with Abba? He’s not far.” Lavi’s lower lip stuck out in a familiar pout. At seven he had a way of wrapping his desires into words she found hard to resist. But resist she did.

“No,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. To let them out of her sight . . . They were all she had. So she had taught them to obey her without question, something even their father seemed incapable of making them do. But she would not be manipulated, even for the sake of love.

The boys ran ahead of her and reached the gate before she could get there. Good. Time alone was a rare and blessed thing since her marriage. When had she grown so weary? Where had the spirit of the young girl gone, the one who had heard the voice of God and sang to Him as she walked along the way?

The babe moved beneath her hand, a familiar feeling from this active unborn child. “You are not going to give me a moment’s peace, are you, little one?” But the feeling of coming birth did hold an appeal nothing else could equal. How was it possible to love her offspring more than the man who had given her the chance to be the mother every woman longed to be?

If Lappidoth would just stand up for himself now and then. Speak his mind. Stop always giving in to their children’s every whim, even her every wish. Her cousins would laugh her out of the village if they could hear such thoughts. But what woman didn’t want a man of solid strength?

She paused as the gate drew near, glancing up at the tower where her uncle and some of the older men sat debating and settling legal matters for those who needed them. The men were nearly ancient, and sometimes she wondered if they even heard half of what the people asked of them, but there was no one else in the village to take up such a task. Certainly not Lappidoth, despite his knowledge of the law. He was too busy farming their land and doing scribal work for those who could not read or write.

The sound of whistling came from behind her, and she turned. She had taken too much time at the well, for there strode Lappidoth, his thin frame making her feel as though she had failed to feed him well all these years.

“There you are,” he said, smiling down at her as he approached.

“You are early.” She glanced at the sky. “The meal won’t be ready for some time. I did not expect you yet.”

He shrugged. “It is of no consequence. I have a letter to craft for one of the elders.”

She nodded, and he fell into step with her. Always the amiable one. Never complaining. Sometimes she wished he would complain just to give her a reason to argue with him!

“I was thinking,” he said as they passed by the guards and the houses of their neighbors toward their home near the end of the main street. “Would you like me to teach you to read the law and to write the letters?”

She stopped so abruptly the water jar nearly slid from her head. She steadied it with a shaky hand and stared at him. “Why would you do that? I will have no time for such a thing when the baby comes.” She barely had time now, but oh, how desire stirred within her breast at the very thought!

“I would teach you because I thought you would find pleasure in the knowledge.” He gazed down at her, his dark eyes holding hers in that tender look he gave her when she knew she least deserved it. “You are an intelligent woman, Deborah. And God speaks to you in the dreams at night. I think He would be pleased to have you learn the law for yourself.”

She swallowed, suddenly undone by such kindness. She had never told him of the vision she’d had the day her father sealed her betrothal. Yet he believed her dreams came from God. Why did he have such faith in her? Why was he so good to her when she sometimes barely tolerated him? “I will have no time,” she said again.

“When the children are asleep, you can set aside other chores and I will teach you.”

“Then who will spin the cloth for the clothes to put on our backs?”

“I will hire a maidservant for you.”

She searched his kind face. Saw the hint of a smile tip the edges of his beard. “We can afford such a thing?”

He nodded and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “We will make a way, beloved. Now say yes to my offer and let us go home.”

Now suddenly he was bold? But the slightest hint of respect for him surfaced as she slowly nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, afraid if she spoke too loudly she might risk revealing the sudden emotion filling her. “Thank you.”

He slipped her hand in his and walked with her the rest of the way home.

A week later, Deborah heard the loud shouts of the men at the city gate, carrying to her on the way home from the well. If they didn’t learn to hold their tongues, they would give away their village’s hidden place. She glanced up, catching sight of her uncle Chayim standing toe to toe with one of his brothers. A sigh and swift surge of irritation filled her.

“Go and wait for me near the gate,” she said to Elior and Lavi, “but do not go beyond the walls without me.”

They ran off, fairly eager to play in the side room where unwanted visitors or those who would be questioned were held. Her sons loved to pretend they were prisoners when the room was empty, a choice of play that often left Deborah more worried than she should rightly feel.

The voices grew louder, interrupting her last glimpse of her sons entering the room. Her irritation mounted as she climbed the steps to the area where the men met above the gates. They abruptly quieted at the sight of her.

“Deborah, whatever are you doing here, and in your condition?” Her uncle’s thin brows narrowed, his concern for her welfare comforting, though it did not ease her worries. Did the man have no sense?

“Uncle Chayim, you must keep your voice down,” she said, her gaze stern. She glanced from this man who could have given his son Amichai to her to wed, to his younger brother who seemed ready to continue the argument. “God has graciously protected us from Sisera until now, but if you do not keep your speech to a normal tone, you will awaken the entire forest and anyone who might be spying within it.”

Her uncle nodded, his smile too assuring. “Of course, my dear child. You are right, as always.”

Deborah walked to the parapet and looked down on the fields and forest below. The babe kicked harder than usual, and sudden pain in her back caused her to grip the edge until her knuckles whitened. She drew a sharp breath.

“Are you all right, my child?” Uncle Chayim drew close and placed a hand on her arm. “Shall I send for Ilana to help you?” He spoke of Amichai’s wife and distant cousin to Deborah, who had recently birthed a son, Shet, but who was also a woman trained in the art of midwifery. She had replaced Deborah’s mother as the town’s midwife soon after her mother rested in Sheol.

Deborah rubbed her back, longing in that moment for a sister or a different female cousin on which to rely. Ilana was not her favorite person, but there were few other choices.

“Yes, send for her.” Deborah made her way slowly to the stairs, Uncle Chayim walking with her, unwilling to release his grip on her arm. “And send Elior and Lavi home.” She stopped short as another pain ripped through her. This child would not wait long to make his or her entrance into the world. “And send for Lappidoth.” He should be near, just in case . . . She did not finish the thought. She would live through this. She would.

Hours later, much longer than Deborah first expected, the cry of a newborn filled the house. “A girl!” Ilana said, the gleam of triumph in her eyes. “With two sons already, how blessed you are, Deborah.”

Deborah took the baby from the woman’s arms and held her close while Ilana and another woman from the village brought in fresh bedding and settled Deborah among the soft cushions. She watched Ilana work, chiding herself for feeling curt and cross with this cousin. It was only right for Amichai to marry once she and Lappidoth had wed. What did she expect of him? To pine away after her or wait until some distant day when she may have become a widow?

A shudder swept through her, along with the familiar distant ache that seemed to come every time she thought of Amichai’s inaction. Such thoughts were foolish and it did no good to think them.

The mewling sounds of her new daughter drew her attention to the perfect child in her arms. She guided the babe to her breast and closed her eyes. How familiar and sweet the joy of a nursing babe. And suddenly the ordeal of birth brought a wave of exhaustion over her.

“What will you name her?” Lappidoth’s quiet words invaded her sleepy thoughts, but she looked at him and smiled just the same.

“Talya,” she said, knowing he would not suggest any other name he might prefer. He had allowed her to name their sons without a single protest, as though he found such decisions impossible to make. Like all of the rest of the decisions they had faced in their marriage.

“It is a beautiful name.” He lifted the blanket to peek at his daughter. “For a beautiful daughter.” His smile brought out the handsome qualities in his face, and light twinkled in his eyes. He touched Deborah’s cheek. “Thank you.”

She nodded but said nothing.

“I will let you rest.” He stood, his head nearly touching the ceiling in this room they normally shared. But he would sleep elsewhere until she could complete her sixty-six days of purification, a full twenty-six days more than when she had borne her boys. The thought did not displease her as she knew it should. What kind of a wife wanted time away from her husband? If she had married Amichai, would she have felt the same?

But the question held no worth, for what was done was done. God must have had a reason that she was forced to marry so quickly and to a man she barely knew. Even now, after ten years together, she did not really know him. He was elusive, wrapped in his work either in the fields or at the scribal table. His attempts to discuss the law had always ended in Deborah feeling like she had won an argument with him, which made her feel worse than before the discussion began. Shouldn’t a wife respect and obey her husband? Why must she always feel the need to prove that her opinion had value to the one person who seemed to value her above all?

And still she resisted him. Did he know it? Surely he sensed her reticence.

At least he was kind to her. And if she judged honestly, she sensed he might actually love her. She kissed Talya’s dark head, wishing with all of her heart that she felt the same.

Sixty-six days flew faster than Deborah expected they could, but between caring for Talya and her boys, and even with the help of the maid Lappidoth had provided, she’d had little time to sit with him to study the letters of the law or make more than a cursory attempt to read them. “I’m too tired tonight,” she’d said on many occasions, and in truth, she was. She ached for something she could not define and missed something she could not see. Why was she not satisfied with her role as wife and mother? What more was a woman to do in Israel?

The road to Shiloh where they would normally be expected to offer a sacrifice for her purification was too dangerous to travel. “How then will we keep the law?” she asked Lappidoth one evening when the day had come when they should make the trip.

“I am a Levite. Though it isn’t ideal, we will build an altar here and offer a lamb upon it. Pray that Adonai accepts us and forgives us for being unable to come to His tabernacle.” Lappidoth looked at her, his smile serious. “I have already begun to search for the uncut stones for the altar.”

“I am sure you will follow the law as best you can.” Deborah sank onto one of the cushions in the sitting room, Talya in her arms. “So you yourself will pronounce me clean?”

“Does another priest or Levite reside within this village?” He raised a brow, but his question seemed sincere.

“No. Only the elders, but they are not Levites. Are you sure we cannot try to make it to Shiloh?” The desire to travel there had not been with her since that day her father and brothers and other men had gone up to a festival and been murdered by Canaanites, in what appeared to be a random violent act. But that was before Sisera took charge as their commander, before he had acquired iron chariots to terrorize her people. Still, shouldn’t they obey the law despite the risk?

“We did not go up for Elior or Lavi. I do not think God has been displeased with us for that, do you?” He came and knelt beside her, placing his large but gentle hand on her knee. “Trust me, beloved. I am doing the best I can to keep you safe.”

She gave a slight nod. “I know.” She felt his eyes on her as she nursed Talya, and one glimpse told her his desire was for her.

“How beautiful you are, my sister, my bride,” he said against her ear.

Her face grew warm, the words familiar, part of a song he used to sing to her.

“Thank you, my lord.” She accepted his kiss above the baby’s head. “When will we be ready for the sacrifice?” For she could not deny him, no matter how ambivalent her feelings might be.

“Tomorrow.” He stood then. “I will go now and finish building it. Elior and Lavi can help me.”

She watched them go, a man and his sons. A surge of pride surfaced. This was her family. Whether the one she would have chosen or not, they were still hers. And she would do all in her power to protect them, and to respect the man who loved her in spite of herself.

Dawn broke through the latticed windows in her room, the room that Lappidoth would share with her again this night. She glanced about at the untidy conditions and called the maid. “While we are at the sacrifice, I want you to air out this room and put everything neatly in order.”

“Yes, my lady,” the woman said, quickly setting to work. That everyone obeyed her still seemed strange to Deborah. Her mother and grandmother had been the ones who commanded and gave orders, not her. No one had listened to her in her youth. But she was the mistress of the house now, and her mother and grandmother had not lived long after the loss of her father and brothers.

The thought still pained her, but Deborah shoved the memories aside as she hurried to dress and wrapped Talya in a blanket for the walk to the altar in the clearing just outside the city gates. Her family, aunts, uncles, cousins, and their children joined in the solemn procession. Normally, she and Lappidoth would have traveled to Shiloh alone with their children, not half the town, but with the threat of terror on every side, the people needed distractions, and this sacrifice would remind them all of their need of a deliverer.

Forgive me, Adonai. She knew this sacrifice was meant to atone for any sin she had committed during her pregnancy and giving birth, any law she may have broken during the time of her outflowing. Why birth itself needed atonement, she did not quite understand, but perhaps it came from the father passing his sin through her on to their child. She did not hold the responsibility alone.

The gate drew near now, and she made her way up a slight incline to where a perfectly built altar stood. A lamb without blemish was tied to a nearby tree, bleating softly. Deborah handed Talya to Ilana and knelt at the lamb’s side, burying her face into its neck, unable to stop the tears. Why must it suffer on my account?

Lappidoth knelt beside her and placed one hand on the lamb, the other on her shoulder. Neither spoke, and even the crowd waited in silence. At last Lappidoth stood, released her fingers from gripping the lamb’s wool, untied the animal from the tree, and led it to the place of slaughter. In one swift motion, he slit its throat. Elior caught the blood in a basin, as he had been taught, while Deborah knelt in the grass, weeping.

Lappidoth heard his wife’s cries, their soft sorrow gripping his heart. How small she seemed where he glimpsed her in the dirt. He hefted the lamb’s broken body onto the altar and lit the fire, its smoke rising to the heavens.

Oh Adonai, send us a deliverer.

How often had they both prayed thus? Surely God had a plan for Deborah to fulfill in freeing Israel. Somehow he knew it deep in his heart where he discerned truth. Why could she not see it, despite his efforts to teach her? Despite her dreams?

The breeze blew the smoke upward, but moments later the fire flamed higher than the smoke, rising, rising, swirling above their heads until Lappidoth feared it would catch hold of the trees. He quickly glanced at his sons and then at the crowd, whose wide eyes told him they saw the same. He left the altar to join Deborah.

He found her on her knees, bewildered, looking about. Darkness fell around them except for the fire that burned bright from the altar.

“Is someone there?” Deborah called out.

Did she see something they could not?

“Who’s there? Where is everyone? Lappidoth?”

The fire leapt from the altar and swirled about her, engulfing her.

A scream burst from within him. “Deborah!” The crowd fell to their knees, and a heavy fear forced him to do the same.

A bright light invaded the space around her, swirling, warm, strange . . . comforting. The light shone even beneath her closed eyes, and in a moment she was no longer kneeling in the grass before the altar but standing on a mountain surrounded by the men and women of Israel, all bowed with their faces to the earth.

Adonai Elohim, forgive us. Their cries pierced her, a blade to her soul, bringing the sting of shame, remorse. Forgive me. Her knees gave way and she sank to the earth again, tasting dirt. Forgive us. The words came from the tongues of the men and women of tribes from Dan to Beersheba. And in a blinding moment, she saw all the oppression of the Canaanites flash in her mind’s eye. The people were weeping and crying out to God for relief, for deliverance.

Send us a deliverer, a redeemer, Lord God.

The prayer moved past the people and wedged itself like fire in her soul. And then the vision faded and the leaves waved above her head, and Lappidoth, the altar, and the people of her town on their knees came into view. Deborah stood, shaking, afraid to breathe, but did so for the air that had been sucked from her lungs in that fleeting moment.

What had she witnessed? Was she ill? Her heart pounded as she staggered toward Ilana, who knelt, shaking, as Deborah took Talya into her trembling arms.

“What did you see?” Lappidoth was suddenly at her side and grasped her elbow. The crowd of men and women rose and quickly surrounded her. “Tell me, beloved, for we know God has spoken to you.”

His words brought the vision into clearer focus, and words grew heavy on Deborah’s tongue. “We must pray,” she said at last, addressing the crowd. “Each one of us must seek Adonai’s help and cry out to Him to free us from Sisera, from Jabin, our tormentors.”

Silence descended as though the darkness had returned. She caught the curious glances of her sons and the quizzical brow of Lappidoth.

“And with our praying, we must repent,” she added. Could they not see the urgency? “All of us—our neighbors, our kinsmen—we will not find relief until we put away the foreign gods from among us.”

The silence deepened as men and women exchanged guilty looks. She felt Lavi’s touch on her arm, caught the awe in his gaze. She looked around at these familiar faces, her own face heating as though someone had scorched her. “You know I speak the truth.” She set her jaw, her tone pleading. “Our men have taken Canaanite wives and given their daughters to Canaanite men. Is it any wonder that our God has sold us into such bondage to these people? We are no better off than we were in Egypt, for we have sinned against the Lord.”

She released a deep sigh and held Talya closer, a shield against their disapproval. They must understand. She could not bear it if her family did not support the vision.

Throats cleared in the prevailing silence.

All eyes looked to her. Deborah swallowed the disquiet. “I saw a vision of our people today, every tribe from Dan to Beersheba gathered on a mountain, begging God for a deliverer.”

“If we are to pray, we must send messages to the rest of the villages to do the same,” Lappidoth said.

Suddenly everyone began to speak at once, and Deborah could not take the noise, this onslaught of words. She slipped away with Talya, making the excuse of the need to nurse her, her heart thumping with fear.

Who am I that You should entrust me with such a vision? I am a simple woman, a mother of small children. What do You want of me?

Send us a deliverer, the people in the vision had said.

She entered her courtyard and sank onto a low stone bench, but one glance told her Lappidoth and her boys had followed. Thankfully, blissfully, they were alone. The boys went into the house as Lappidoth knelt beside her.

“God has called you to lead us, beloved. The men all agreed that the vision gives you the right to speak for us, to pray to God for us. You are a prophetess, Deborah.”

“I am a wife and a mother. Nothing more.”

He shook his head, his hand softly cupping her cheek. A stirring filled her at his touch, and suddenly she wanted to be simply what she had said. A wife to him in a truer way than she had been all these years, and a mother to their three children.

“You are much more, beloved, though it almost pains me to share you. I dare not go against the will of our God.” He took her hand in his and stroked Talya’s head with the other. “The men will listen to you because you hear the voice of God, Deborah. You are called out for such a time as this, to help us during this awful oppression. God is going to use you, perhaps both of us, to bring about that deliverance.”

She shook her head even as tears slipped down her cheeks. “I cannot. I am a simple woman with fanciful dreams.”

“Who used to sing to the Lord songs that rivaled the trill of the birds, a woman who has lost too much joy since we wed.” He traced a line along her jaw. “You lost much when you lost your family, beloved. But I am here to tell you that we saw the fire of God surround you. God gave you that vision because He takes delight in you, and you must heed it.”

I cannot. But she did not say the words, for she could not look into those dark intelligent eyes and deny him what he believed to be true.

Forgive me, Elohim. Surely I am a woman of unclean lips, a woman who speaks words without thought. I am not a man to lead my family, worse yet Your people.

She turned to face the bright sky, caught by the brilliance of the sun overhead. Music swirled in and around her, and a voice, soft as a whisper, filled her ear.

Hear My words: if there is a prophet among you, I the Lord make Myself known to him in a vision. I speak with him in a dream.

In a heartbeat, she knew Lappidoth was right. The vision had truly come to her from the Lord. “If I am to be God’s prophet,” she said softly, “I think it is time I let you teach me to read.”