Love Amid the Ashes (10 page)

Job chuckled. Though Elihu rivaled any man in the memorization of sacred texts, when it came to social graces, he was as awkward at thirty as he’d been at twelve. “Elihu, my favorite student! What are you doing here? I thought you were studying with Uncle Eliphaz in Teman.”

Elihu drew a breath to answer, but Sitis interrupted. “Job, it’s the spring of Uzahmah’s twentieth year. You promised Elihu’s betrothal proceedings would begin upon your return, remember?” The left side of her smile twitched, as it always did when she was nervous. She hurried over to take Elihu’s hand, leading him to Job. “Come sit down, Elihu. Job has just arrived, and I haven’t had time to tell him about the betrothal banquet. The children are all at Ennon’s house celebrating.”

Dinah seemed to snap to attention at the mention of her husband-to-be.

Sitis blurted out the rest of the information as if releasing the hot handle of a cooking pot. “I sent Nada to tell the children we would join them as soon as you both arrived.”

“Now? You expect us to attend a betrothal banquet now?” Job heard the censure in his voice but couldn’t contain it.

Living statues filled the room as Job contemplated his response. The courtyard doors clattered behind him, raging wind and lightning invading their silent world.

That’s when they heard it.

A single voice with low-pitched, tortured howls drew nearer. Every eye turned toward the courtyard entry.

“Nooo!” A herdsman burst through the doorway, the wind slamming the oaken slabs hard against the sandstone walls. Robes bloodstained and torn, Job’s chief herdsman ran across the dining hall and fell at his feet. “Master Job, they’re all dead!” Weeping shook his shoulders.

Job motioned Elihu to gather the women aside, and then he bent down and lifted the bloodied herdsman to his feet. “Shobal, are you hurt? Is this your blood?”

“No, Master Job. I hid in a dry wadi when the Sabeans attacked. They took away all your plowing oxen and the donkeys that were grazing nearby. They put all the servants to the sword. As soon as the Sabeans rode away on their horses, I tried to help the other servants. I tried, Master Job, but I’m the only one who has escaped alive to tell you!”

Job’s mind reeled. He had almost seven hundred servants tending his five hundred yoked oxen and five hundred donkeys. How could they
all
be dead?

“Shobal, are you sure—” Job’s heart leapt to his throat. He couldn’t swallow.
It can’t be.
“Did you say Sabeans? On horses?”

Job glanced up and saw Dinah’s horrified expression. She too must have made the connection between Zophar’s Sabean escort at Elath and the Sabean attack. Panic stabbed Job like a bronze-tipped arrow. He shook the bloodied herdsman. “Shobal, did they have any prisoners with them? Did you see a caravan in the distance?” His angry parting with Zophar replayed mercilessly in his mind.

But before the herdsman could form his reply, another voice sounded in the distance and a second servant stumbled through the courtyard entrance. It was Lotan, Job’s chief shepherd, and he collapsed beside his friend Shobal. His clothes were singed, his face, arms, and hands blistered with burns. “Master Job, the lightning! It was so horrible.”

Job bent to inspect his wounds. “Lotan, what happened to you?” Noting the charred skin on the man’s hands, he glanced at Dinah and called her over. “Listen, my friend. I have someone here who can tend to your wounds.”

“No, Master Job. The flocks, the servants.” He gulped for air, delirious, disoriented.

Job looked up at Sitis, her beautiful black eyes wide with fear, her whole body trembling. She stepped sideways without looking. Feeling her way to a bench, she sat down hard. Dread seemed to strangle everyone in the room.

Only Job uttered a whisper. “What about the flocks and servants, Lotan?”

The man’s face twisted into a mask of agony. “The fire of God fell from the sky, Master Job. It burned up all the sheep and every servant tending them.” Sobs garbled his words, but Job understood the last phrase, repeated again and again. “I’m the only one left . . . the only one left.”

The shepherd clutched Job’s robe, Job cradling him. Dinah knelt a few paces away, evidently perceiving Lotan needed compassion more than medicine right now.

“I’m just glad you’re safe, my friend,” Job said.

Dinah turned away, tears rolling down her cheeks. Job saw that Elihu was comforting Sitis, as much like a son as the children of her womb. The young man would make a fine husband to their daughter, but what kind of dowry could he offer for Uzahmah now? Three-quarters of Job’s wealth had been swallowed up in a few moments. Worse than that, over a thousand of his servants had died tonight—mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters. And how would they bury all the dead?

Lightning flashed again, and Lotan bolted from Job’s arms, terror-stricken. At the same moment, bloodcurdling screams echoed through the canyon outside the courtyard. Job exchanged horrified glances with the men in the room, and all seemed to realize that some sort of attack was under way.

“Elihu, get the weapons!” Job shouted. “Shobal, can you fight?”

“Yes, Master Job!” The herdsman ran to barricade the courtyard door.

“Lotan, you stay here with—” Job’s instructions were cut short by Sitis’s scream. He saw Atif, his defiant steward, stumble from the hallway, hands on his belly and blood on his hands.

“Atif, my dear Atif.” Sitis was instantly on her feet and at her servant’s side.

Elihu, who had been on his way to the weaponry closet, grabbed Atif under the arms and dragged him toward a table. Job, Shobal, and Lotan helped Elihu lift the old man onto a table, while Nogahla retrieved Atif’s keffiyeh from the floor. Job saw the steward’s gaping wound and stood paralyzed by fear.

Dinah grabbed the black-and-white keffiyeh from Nogahla and pressed it against the wound. “Push the cloth firmly here to help stop the bleeding.”

Atif groaned, and Sitis shoved Dinah away. “Stop! You’re hurting him.” She hovered over the old man. “It’s all right, Atif. You’re going to be all right.”

Job watched Dinah back away, Nogahla’s arms waiting to console her, but he didn’t have time to assuage hurt feelings now. He could still hear a battle just outside his doors. “Atif, who did this?” he said, uncertain if his steward could even comprehend the question. “Atif, can you hear me?”

“Master Job . . .” His voice sounded raspy, like spit in a flute. “Chaldeans, master. Three raiding parties. Taking camels. Killing the servants.”

“Chaldeans?” Elihu gasped. Job looked into the young man’s pale face, and Elihu looked at Sitis. “When Ima sent word to Eliphaz in Teman, I joined a large caravan of Chaldeans that brought me to Uz tonight. I left them just moments ago. They seemed like common merchants.” Job watched the dawning horror on Elihu’s features. “How could the people I’ve ridden with for days be the same raiders that murdered your servants?”

“It was your guide, Master Job.” Atif clutched at Job’s collar. “Your guide sent word to the Chaldeans that you would arrive tonight at sunset.” The old man cringed in agony. “I’m sorry, Master Job. You hired the guide on my word.” His eyes closed and he seemed to lose consciousness.

“No!” Sitis cried. “Atif, don’t leave me!” She buried her head in his chest, mumbling her grief. “I have no father but you, no brother but you. Please, don’t leave me.”

The old man’s eyes fluttered and his hand moved weakly to stroke Sitis’s cheek. In a whisper barely audible, he said, “You’ll be all right, child. Nada will care for you.” Turning to Job, he stilled his hand. “The camels are gone, servants gone—all gone.” Atif’s eyes froze in death’s stare, and he expelled the final rattling breath from his lungs.

“Atif?” Sitis clutched wildly at his robe. “Atif! Atif!”

Job stroked his wife’s back as she lay across the lifeless body of her lifetime friend and guardian.

“Whom do I have but you and Nada?” She poured out the loneliness of her childhood, and her wailing crescendoed beyond bearable.

But wait . . . Another keening voice, the same tone and pitch, emanated from the curved hallway and created an eerie duet.

“Nada?” Job breathed the name, identifying with horror Sitis’s portly nursemaid, who emerged from the hall covered in fine red dust.

Nada’s cries changed to shrieks, her eyes wild at the sight of Atif’s blood now covering Job and Sitis. “My mistress, not you too! I cannot bear to lose you too!” She ran to Sitis, lifting her mistress’s chin, her arms, inspecting her for injuries.

Job tried to gather the hysterical woman in his arms. “Nada, calm down. What’s happened? What do you mean—”

“No!” Elihu grabbed the maid’s arm with such ferocity and strength that Job stood gaping. “Nada, where is Uzahmah?” Elihu raved. “I saw you walking to Ennon’s house as I entered the city.” The old woman buried her face in her hands, shaking with sobs, unable—or unwilling—to speak.

“No,” Sitis said, her voice a menacing growl, head wagging side to side.

Nada let her hands fall to her sides, her expression pleading. “Mistress, I tried to help them.”

“No! Nada! It’s not true. Tell me right now that my children are safe!” Sitis screamed, trembling violently. “Tell me the babes you caught on birthing stones are alive and drinking wine at my oldest son’s home.”

Job suddenly felt as though he were inside a narrow hallway. Sounds became distant. He grabbed Sitis, clinging to her. Was this real or a terrible nightmare?

“Nada,” he said, struggling for breath, “tell us clearly what happened.” He was vaguely aware of others in the room, but he couldn’t recall their names or why they were present. He could see only Nada, hear only her voice.

“I went to Ennon’s house to tell the children you had arrived home and Elihu would be here shortly.” Nada gasped, the rest of her words coming out in a cry. “Then the wind came. A mighty desert wind struck the four corners of the house as I walked out of the courtyard. The stone walls gave way, and the tented ceilings and beams came down on top of them.”

“Nooo!” Sitis collapsed into Job’s arms, but this time he had no strength to hold her. They both tumbled to the floor, lost together in private agony. Sitis continued her wailing, groping on the floor. Someone cradled her, tried to comfort her, but Job couldn’t think about Sitis. He had to know about the children.

Like a madman, Job was back on his feet. He grabbed Nada’s head between his hands and drew her face so close, he could smell the sweet wine she’d been drinking. “The children, Nada,” Job shouted above Sitis’s cries. “Did you see them? Did you see any of the servants? Could they have escaped somehow?”

The old woman’s arms began to flail. “No!” she screamed. “The children, the servants—everyone. They’re all dead! I saw them begging me to help them, their hands held out to me among the red rocks and broken beams!” She called out the children’s names, slapping herself in the face, smashing her fists into the unyielding stone wall until her knuckles were bloody.

Job tried to restrain her, but she shoved him away with surprising strength. He watched helplessly as hysteria entered their midst, its grip like the leviathan’s jaws.

Elihu ran from the room, screaming, “Uzahmah, no! Uzahmah!” Job called after him but realized the boy was beyond reason.

Sitis clutched at Dinah’s robes, her hair, her face, as though grief were quicksand and Dinah the lone rope. Then, just as quickly, Sitis rebuffed Dinah’s embrace and struck her violently. Dinah tried to quiet her, tried to restrain her, but the grief fueled his wife’s strength, and Dinah moved away, giving wide berth to Sitis’s frenzy. The inconsolable mother pulled out handfuls of her long, ebony hair and clawed at her own face, leaving deep gouges.

“No, not my children! El Shaddai, Al-Uzza, by the gods, not my babies!”

“Come, wife,” Job said with a sudden and unexplained calm. He grasped Sitis’s shoulders, lifting her gently to her feet, restraining her tenderly but firmly. “Only one God can help us.”

“No!” Sitis screamed. “This is your fault! You and your God!” She broke away from his guiding hands.

“Sitis. Stop this. Please, let me help you.”

“Like you helped me by destroying the Chaldean temple?” Sitis’s words cut Job like a blade, and he doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. But she didn’t stop—perhaps she couldn’t stop. “The Chaldeans killed my Atif and the other servants. They took our camels—all as vengeance, Job. Why did you have to destroy their temple? Why couldn’t you allow Sayyid to take my offerings to Al-Uzza’s temple? Who did it hurt?”

“Me!” Job sprung from his stance like an arrow from a bow. “You hurt me!” He beat his chest. “You deceived me, and you betrayed El Shaddai!”

Sitis didn’t recoil. A mere handbreadth apart, they stood locked in a silent battle.

Job finally spoke—softly, patiently. “It is no coincidence that the Sabeans and Chaldeans, traveling from opposite ends of the earth, raided our livestock on the same day, at the same moment, Sitis. And it is not by chance that fire from heaven burned up our sheep, and a desert wind swept away . . . ” His lips quaked. “Took away our precious lambs.” He calmly rested his hands on Sitis’s shoulders, but when she shrugged them off, his patience was spent. “Sitis, I destroyed the Chaldean temple nine years ago. Why did they wait until today to attack? You can’t blame man for one tragedy and El Shaddai for the others, when
all
things—blessings and trials—come from the Almighty.”

Her expression became as hard as flint. “Fine, I am content to curse El Shaddai for all my pain,” she said with deadly calm. “And if you embrace El Shaddai, I curse you too.”

~Job 1:20–21~

At this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. Then he fell to the ground in worship and said: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The
Lord
gave and the
Lord
has taken away; may the name of the
Lord
be praised.”

Dinah stared in utter horror as Sitis’s words echoed off the high red walls surrounding them. The silence that followed screamed rebellion, lifting the hair on Dinah’s arms and the back of her neck. Lightning flashed outside the courtyard door, and she winced, wondering if the fire of Yahweh would reach into Job’s dining hall and consume his belligerent wife. Nogahla grasped Dinah’s hand and looked up. Dinah saw her own disbelief and sorrow reflected in the girl’s midnight pools.

“Nada, we’re going to my chamber,” Sitis said flatly. “I have nothing else to say to this man.” Job flinched as if she had slapped him. Stirring the tension with a hurried swish of her robe, Sitis grabbed Nada’s arm and fled the dining hall. Her purple robe disappeared behind a tapestry curtain covering a connecting hallway.

Dinah stared after her, wondering how anyone could rebuild after such devastation. She wanted to console Job, to say something comforting, the way he had eased her years of pain and grief. But what could she say or do? Family and faith united them, but in reality she barely knew the man. He glanced in her direction, but his eyes looked through her. He buried his face in his hands and wept bitterly. Dinah turned away, unable to bear the agony of his strong silhouette shaken with grief.

Instead, she gave her attention to the herdsman Shobal, who had found some cloth and was tearing it into bandages to wrap his friend’s burns. Hoping to busy herself, she tugged lightly on Nogahla’s hand, moving in the direction of the two servants.

Shobal offered Dinah a weak smile but returned his attention to his friend. “Sit down, Lotan, so we can dress your wounds.” He shouldered the man’s weight, and Nogahla supported his left side, helping the injured shepherd to a nearby bench. Lotan’s burns weren’t as serious as Dinah had originally feared, but they covered a significant portion of his face, hands, and arms. She had just torn the last narrow strip of cloth when a cry jolted her.

“No, Abba!” Dinah turned as Elihu shrieked and leapt toward Job—at precisely the same moment she saw Job raise his dagger to his throat. “Abba Job, you can’t. You mustn’t. It’s against the teachings.” Job lay motionless on the stone tiles, gazing into Elihu’s tortured face.

At a time that should have been rife with tension, Job’s unnatural calm startled Dinah. With all her restraint, she held back an inappropriate giggle at the sight of Elihu—a tall, skinny broom tree—tackling the muscular, sinewy Job. Elihu lay on top of Job, panting. The younger trapped the elder’s arms to the floor. The dagger lay sprawled on Job’s relaxed palm, the atmosphere writhing with unasked questions.

Tentatively, Dinah walked toward them and plucked the dagger from Job’s hand. Elihu met her gaze and nodded, seemingly satisfied that she had joined his efforts to protect Job. When she stepped back, the two men stood. Neither one spoke or looked at the other. Dinah looked up to meet Job’s gaze and then offered the knife back to him.

Elihu shoved her. “What are you doing?” He grabbed for the weapon, but it was already firmly planted in Job’s hand. The two men locked eyes in challenge, each measuring the other, student testing teacher, would-be son protecting surrogate abba.

“Elihu, you are mistaken.” Job’s voice fell into tortured silence. Dinah saw sadness in him but not despair. She trusted this man—even now, when his life lay in ruins.

Elihu turned on her, raging. “His blood is on your hands . . . woman!”

Dinah suddenly realized that this young man didn’t even know her name. His anger wasn’t aimed at the usual Dinah of Shechem but at a nameless woman he feared had endangered his beloved abba-teacher.

“Elihu, I—” But her explanation halted when Job abruptly turned, dagger in hand, and walked toward the same tapestry through which Sitis had disappeared.

“Abba, wait!” Elihu followed, and with sick dread, Dinah fell in step behind them, wondering if she’d mistakenly returned a weapon to a desperate man. Nogahla, Shobal, and even the injured Lotan trailed through a dimly lit hall, into the kitchen and servants’ quarters, and finally to an exterior courtyard. Job walked as if in a trance to the farthest corner of the yard. Passing kitchen scraps and garden waste, he trudged into a pile of ash collected from household braziers that was as tall as a small child. Job turned toward his followers and fell to his knees, sinking into the fine gray ash.

The surrounding torches illumined Job’s tears, sparkling diamonds streaming into his coppery beard. With one hand, he ripped the neckline of his robe and released a feral cry. The dagger in his other hand returned to his throat. For one terrible moment, Dinah feared his death, but in the next, she marveled at his life.

One swipe up, and Job’s flint blade razed the first swatch of beard. Another swipe, and Dinah was mesmerized. Nogahla, Elihu, and both herdsmen joined in hushed reverence as Job’s coppery tresses fell into the ashes. He shaved his head and face without a mirror, each nick of skin mingling his blood with tears.

When at last he was cleanly shaven, Job lifted his grief to heaven in worship. “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. Yahweh gave and Yahweh has taken away; may the name of Yahweh be praised.”

In his home’s waste yard, the symbol of all that was used up and broken, Job released his torrent of anguish in a desperate sacrifice of praise. He had held his grief amid the tragedies. He had controlled his rage during Sitis’s attack. But in El Shaddai’s presence, his emotion poured out as an offering. He rocked and prayed, throwing ash toward heaven, allowing the fine dust to fall over him like Yahweh’s healing balm.

The sudden unsheathing of a dagger startled Dinah. She’d been so consumed by Job’s faithfulness, she hadn’t noticed when Elihu removed his keffiyeh. He approached Job and knelt beside his mentor and would-be abba. Without hesitation, Shobal and Lotan followed, and soon all three men began the tremulous task of shaving their heads and beards.

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,” Elihu began, his scraggly beard and wispy brown hair lying in the ashes beside him. The herdsman and shepherd joined the refrain, emulating the life lesson of their righteous master. They too had lost their livelihood tonight. They too had lost friends and family in the tragedies of this household.

Dinah felt her throat tighten with emotion, swept away in the presence of such devotion. A man devoted to his God, student to his teacher, servants to their master. Her heart squeezed like olives in a press.
Could I be so devoted? Or would I have rebelled like Sitis—bitter and angry?

Job worshiped El Shaddai, though he admitted freely Yahweh’s responsibility for the devastation. Still Job trusted El Elyon’s perfect understanding and perfect ways. How could anyone live this way—with such faith, such unwavering trust?

Dinah felt a slight tug on her robe and looked down into Nogahla’s wide, questioning eyes. She hugged the girl so tightly, they almost toppled over.

“Mistress Dinah,” Nogahla whispered, “please, I want to leave here.”

Dinah cupped the girl’s cheeks in her hands. “Nogahla, where can we go?” The moment the words escaped her lips, the deeper truth of Dinah’s circumstance seemed real for the first time.

The shimmer of moonlight in Nogahla’s tears intensified her pleading. “Mistress Dinah, I’m afraid to go, but I’m afraid to stay.”

Fear steered Dinah’s thoughts down an awful path of possibilities. Job’s son was gone, and her future had died with him. Dinah couldn’t ask Job to spend his depleted resources for her return to Jacob’s tents, but how could she and Nogahla survive on their own?

El Shaddai, what will we do?
She had marveled at Job’s faithfulness and trust in God when all was lost, but now realized she faced the same uncertainty.
How will I provide for Nogahla?

Her gaze was once again drawn to Job, who just a few nights ago had taught her the love and forgiveness of El Shaddai. Tonight he showed her the sovereignty of Yahweh and that a person’s response must always be trust and praise. She wasn’t sure that she could accept God’s will without question, but she would try to follow Job’s example.

Dinah hugged Nogahla resolutely before releasing the girl and turning her back to the men. She grasped the neckline of her undergarment, and with a strong pull, the woven fabric gave way. “We didn’t know those who died,” she whispered to Nogahla, “but our dreams have died tonight too. Our grief is just as real, our future just as unsure.” Careful to cover the torn tunic beneath her robe, she slowly faced the men on the ash heap once more.

Dinah didn’t need to intrude on the men’s ash pile. She didn’t need to shave her hair in order to speak to the Creator who had given her ima Leah’s wheat-colored tresses. Dropping to her knees beside dinner scraps and garden waste, she recited Job’s words. “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. Yahweh gave and Yahweh has taken away; may the name of Yahweh be praised.”

As she began to formulate her own words of praise, she sensed Nogahla turn, and heard her garment rip and her sweet voice repeat the now familiar refrain.

Sayyid listened contentedly as Uz regained its quaint stillness. Taking a long, slow drink of his sweet wine, he glanced over his cup at his Edomite friend. Bela, son of Beor, was a short, squat gem merchant whose girth covered the full width of Sayyid’s courtyard bench.

Swallowing the sweet nectar, Sayyid tried to calm his nervous friend. “Take a deep breath, Bela. My guards will soon return with the final report on our substantial gains.”

The man’s little eyes darted back and forth over rounded cheeks like two horseflies jumping over gourds. “Why is it taking so long?” he whispered. “The screaming stopped long ago.” Bela smoothed his mustache, his fingers rounding his mouth and tugging at his long, red beard.

Did all the men of Esau have that hideous copper coloring? Bela was pompous and repulsive, but Sayyid forgave his faults because he was the second-wealthiest man in Uz. And after the Chaldeans raided Job’s camels, Bela would be the wealthiest.

“You need not whisper.” Sayyid soothed him in liquid tones. “Every servant in my home is loyal and would not dare betray me.” He clasped the wrist of a young serving girl as she offered olives and cheese. His grip tightened, and he felt her immediate submission. Head bowed, body trembling, she set the tray aside and fell to her knees. Sayyid tipped her chin with one finger and tilted her face toward Bela for approval. “You see, my fine Edomite friend, my home is a sanctuary, and every servant knows my desire before I speak it.” Sayyid eyed her hungrily.
Perhaps I will choose you to help me celebrate my victory over Job tonight
, he thought as she glanced warily between the merchants.

“How can you think of women at a time like this, Sayyid?” Disgust laced Bela’s tone. “And tell me this. Why do all your slave girls look the same? Dark hair, dark eyes, full lips and curves. All the same height and weight—just differing ages of the same woman. Where did you even find so many who look alike?”

Sayyid laughed to hide his discomfort. No one had openly posed the question before. “I decided a long time ago to start a collection of perfect women.” Sayyid released the girl and waved his hand, explaining his obsession as a silly game. “It’s the reason I’ve never married, Bela. Why buy one cow when you can drink milk from a thousand herds?”

Bela’s chuckles caused dizzying ripples across his ample middle. Sayyid was relieved to divert the man’s attention from the corps of Sitis look-alikes he’d purchased over the last forty years.

The sudden sound of marching halted Bela’s laughter and sped Sayyid’s heartbeat. “Now we’ll have our report on the Chaldeans’ raid, my friend. We will be rich men and Job’s camel caravans ruined.”

As if summoned by the words, the captain of Sayyid’s household guard appeared at the gate, followed by a small detachment of men. The massive captain, Aban, in his black robes and keffiyeh, almost disappeared into the night until he smiled. The brilliant white teeth in his chiseled jaw glowed as brightly as the torches lighting his way across the pebbled path.

“Master, all three Chaldean raiding parties completed their objectives,” he said. “Job’s camels are being driven to Damascus for sale and his servants are dead. Job’s Hebron guide, who helped coordinate the Chaldeans’ arrival, has been—” Aban paused, glancing at Bela. Sayyid nodded his permission to continue. “The guide has been
silenced
and is no longer a threat to expose your plan.” The captain lifted one eyebrow and pursed his lips.

Sayyid recognized immediately the telling signs that his young captain had suppressed further details—perhaps something displeasing. He rose from his chair, standing eye level to Aban’s chest, and with a menacing whisper still commanded enough respect to back his captain onto his heels. “Tell me what you hesitate to say.”