Scarlet Cord
Joshua 2 Matthew 1:5 James 2:25-26
It is faded now, more pink than scarlet. The memory of that day Caleb gave it to me remains clear. I remember, too, the day Otni’el wove it into a bracelet, and how joy rose up in my heart when gave it to me.
It all began, I suppose with the coming of the voice. At the time between wake and sleep, the voice came, unsettling me much as would the blare of a trumpet in my ear. Yet I slept soundly that night. Come morning, I awoke refreshed.
I remember wondering, would it be wise to share this curious visitation with others? I decided surely not, for should such news reach the marketplace, the crones would waste no time in aiming their knobbly fingers at me whilst screeching demon! demon! Nay, I knew full well this was no demon voice.
What can I liken the voice to? A dove, wrapped in peace and assurance. My heart of hearts knew from whence it came: the God of Israel, the one we in Jericho called El Shadu. But how was it that El Shadu would speak to me, a Canaanite woman and mistress of a brothel?
Where to begin? All those many years ago … it was upon my first blood of womanhood that Ama spoke to Abu, “It is time for Rahab to serve the temple.” Abu took me by the hand to Keret, the high priest, and with croaking pleas and wash of tears, cried out, “Here I offer our daughter, Rahab, O Keret, that she may serve Kothar-wa-Khasis, Athirat and Anat as a qedesha. Take her. May she be a blessing to the temple and to Jericho.”
I was shown to a room, ill-appointed and barren save for a sleeping platform, a straw-tick mattress, a three-legged table and a stone lamp the size of my fist. Twelve years passed, or was it fourteen, I forget, during which I endured a parade of nameless men who rendered their silver to Keret, listened to his mumbled prayers, then used my body as their sacrificial altar. Sacred marriages, they were called, intended to appease Dagon to bless this one’s crops, to supplicate Qadeshtu in the winning of one’s desires, to appease Yarikh to shine the moon’s fortune upon them.
Soon, my duties became routine and I was able to close my mind in a way, an escape of sorts where I gave no thought to what was being done to me. Well, save for those occasions when men taken by strong drink called for – what shall I say – unnatural unions. All such occasions were cloaked by humiliation, made worse a lasting shame that befouled my heart.
Once, twice, a supplicant came to me with a plea for the vengeful goddess Anat to pour strife upon an offending neighbor. I quelled my laughter at the irony, for Anat was a virgin. Raca! No one was fooled by such theater! Ours was an abundance of gods and goddesses. Thus it was that the coffers of the temple grew fat. Such was the business of our temple.
Because Abu’s earnings were meager and Ama was bound to feed seven other children, I was grateful for the shelter, regular meals and decent clothing I and the other qedeshas were afforded. Donatiya and Hurriya and I became close as sisters, frequently sharing joys and sorrows. Though gods and goddess were abundant in Jericho, we had this prayer in common: Kotharat, bless the pessaries that guard our wombs lest we bear an unwanted child.
Yet those years were blessed with scraps of grace, happier times when reprieved from our duties, we qedeshas prowled the agora, filched fruit and sweetmeats from vendor’s bins, and eavesdropped on women’s gossip.
I found Jericho to be a curious place – mind you, I have little to compare it to, for I have visited only one other city, dry and dusty Heshbon, seated at the head of the Salt Sea and clouded in the reek of eggs gone bad. I likened Jericho, set upon a hill as she was, to a crown within a crown. An outer wall of stone surrounded the base of the hill while higher up, an inner wall of stone and mud brick enfolded the upper city, home to those whose stock in trade is wealth and power, citadel to the soldiers, seat of the temple and palace of our king, Shobak. The lower city, well, that is for everyone else.
For the most part, Jericho is pleasant city, blessed with four lively springs from which clear water burbles year round. Palm groves prosper throughout, offering a bounty of sweet dates and the favor of shade in those days Malak-bel, god of the sun, scoured us with his hot breath.
Throughout the lower city, hither-thither lanes and alleyways confused even long-time residents, for Jericho, you see, had no streets. Mud-and-daub round houses – some, having seen the passage of years beyond remembering – mingled with more recent stone constructions.
When my time as a qedesha was done, I turned to support myself by doing what I knew; it was an easy change to become a zonah for all it required was that I move from the temple to a brothel. My accumulation of shekels came slowly but steadily – if nothing else, men’s lust was dependable,. After a time, I was able to employ zonahs rather than continue in that service.
My inn, brothel, call it what you will, was built into the outer wall of the lower city. Quarters were comfortable, spacious enough to accommodate my family. Ama, two sisters – one widowed, one married, her husband, too – and a flock of children shared our home. We enjoyed east-facing windows and a view of the Jordan from whence flowed an evening breeze to stave off the day’s heat.
My inn, such as it was, offered but two small rooms, furnished with little else than wood pallets and strawticks that garnered a modest fee from travelers. The brothel, was likewise but two rooms, simply furnished, save for a bit of comfort for the zonahs, Serachi and Xanava, whom I had taken in once their service as temple-qedeshas was done.
Night had fallen when the men sent by El Shadu came to our inn. I answered the rap-tap, rap-tap at my door.
My young nephew, Pabel, skittered to answer the door. I fended him off. “Pabel, I will see to this. Go to your mother.” I knew he would not. His wink flashed like the evening star. Such a child. His liveliness was that of a jerboa.
Two men stood at the door. Eyes keen as a saqar-falcon, dark as charcoal. Sun-burnished skin. Strong of arm, broad of chest. Cloaks, keffiyehs, soiled by sweat and sand. Sandals worn thin. Desert dwellers. Israelis.
In that moment, I recalled the very words of El Shadu: “Rahab … in the dark of night, two men of Israel will come to you … shelter them … provide for them …”
El Shadu was not a god to be denied, for his reputation had swept the land. All Canaan had heard the chronicle of Moses, the shepherd of Midian who strode into Egypt as El Shadu’s emissary, scourged the land with an epidemic of plagues, then wreaked the souls of Pharoah and his people with the slaying of all first-born males. How El Shadu had parted the Red Sea to allow Israel to escape Pharoah’s horses and chariots, ah, the tale seemed so fanciful, so outlandish. Nonetheless, scores of Israel’s sons and daughters unbound from Egyptian chains now roamed the Sinai. All of Canaan knew where they were headed.
Standing before these two men, the taste of copper filled my mouth. My thoughts were a tumble of disorder.
“Peace be upon you,” said one. “Be not afraid, for we mean you no harm. We are only potters, come to Jericho to sell our wares. I am Caleb. This is Panehas.”
Their words were the common tongue, the accent, of Egypt. My throat grew tight. My voice was that of a mouse.
“Eee, uhh, I … I am Rahab. Uh, mmm … this … this is a brothel. An inn. Mmm … your pleasure … what is your pleasure?”
Panehas said, “Rahab, we do not come for pleasure. We come from Abel Shettim, the meadow of the acacias across the Jordan. Our God has directed us to your inn. We seek only lodging.”
My stomach curled in upon itself. “Mmm. Mmm. Yes. Yes. I have a room. You will need to share a pallet.”
“Of no concern. We seek only a place to rest, and to eat.”
“Yes. Yes. Come, come in. I have bread and fruit. Wine, perhaps?”
“Surely. Most welcome. And water, for washing our hands, our feet?”
“Yes. Of course.”
The men reclined at table. I served them. “This oil,” I said, “is fresh from the olive press. The dates, picked just this day, the melon, from yesterday’s field. Can I get you anything else?”
Caleb said, “Thank you, Rahab. We are grateful.”
Caleb spoke to Panehas with a glance; Panehas replied with a nod. Caleb spoke. “Rahab, we are men of Israel, having left generations of slavery in Egypt. Yahweh, our God, has fulfilled the promise he gave to our father, Avraham, that the land of Canaan would be ours. Caleb and I are here to search the land, the cities. This city. Jericho.”
“I know.”
“You know? How can that be?”
“Your God, the one we know as El Shadu, has spoken to me. All Canaan has heard how El Shadu has gone before you and delivered you from Egypt.”
A hiss interrupted us. Pabel beckoned from the doorway. “Auntie! Soldiers are coming!”
I knew what had happened. Someone had seen the Israelites come to my inn and reported them to the garrison.
“Hie! No time to tarry! Panehas, Caleb, come quickly! The ladder will take you to the roof!”
The climb took mere minutes. I pointed to the sheaf of flax I had stored on the rooftop. “Pull the stalks aside! Lie down! I will cover you! Do not speak! Do not move!”
A stumble down the ladder, a dash to the entryway and I answered the moment a fist pounded the door. Aqhat, the malek of the squad of armed soldiers was a man I knew, for this was not his first visit. I spoke to him. “Good evening, Aqhat. Do you seek comfort at my inn? Or do you seek the pleasure of a woman?”
Aqhat’s eyes glittered in the torchlight; his voice was the growl of a wolf. “Spare me your niceties, Rahab. Two men from Israel were seen entering your brothel. Bring them out!”
“Ah. Yes, two men did come, presented themselves as potters, come to sell their wares. They sought no pleasure with a zonah, only brief refreshment. They have gone.”
Another growl: “Stand aside, woman. You men! Search the place. Find the Israelites! Drag them out.”
The soldiers trampled through the rooms, downstairs and upstairs, peering into our private quarters, frightening my family. I held my tongue. Two of them climbed the ladder to the roof. I dared not to breathe. Relief poured over my soul when one called out, “Nothing up here but a pile of flax!”
I said to Aqhat, “When the men left, it seemed they were headed for the main gate. If you hurry, perhaps you can catch them.”
Wearing vexation like a cloak, the grumbling malek led his detail away. Shadows danced like wraiths in the light from their torches.
All was quiet. Pabel grinned at me from the doorway. He winked. I smiled. From the stairway of the second floor, I called out. “The soldiers are gone. You may come down.”
Panehas huffed, then sighed. “Rahab, might we have another cup of wine? This hiding in sheaves of flax is thirsty work.”
“Indeed. And I shall join you.”
Although the wine was a welcome respite, I felt a darkness sweep over me like the wings of a strix-owl. Caleb noted the change. “Rahab. What troubles you?”
“I know El Shadu favors Israel and has given the land of Canaan unto you. I know how he has already rendered the Amorite lands from the Arnon to the Jabbok into the hands of Israel. I know just as Israel has taken King Og at Bashan and King Sihon at Jahaz, you will soon take King Shobak and Jericho. I fear for my life. I ask that you swear to me by your God that you will grant favor to me and my house, that when the time comes, you will spare me and those who are mine.”
Caleb sipped his wine. He set his cup on the table. “Done. Because you have favored us, Rahab, it shall be as you ask. Your lives will be spared. Our word is the word of Yahweh.”
“That is all I ask. But know this: Aqhat and his men will not give up on their pursuit. But I have a way for you to escape.”
From a wooden chest, I took a strong rope. Together, we tied one end securely to a post and threaded the other end out the window. “When you climb down, run quickly, hide yourselves in the hills above the city. Once you see the soldiers return to the city, flee to your people at Abel Shettim.”
“Rahab, giving thanks for how you have helped us, how you have served Israel seems hardly sufficient.”
From his pouch, Caleb drew a tangle of bright red cord. “Here, now, I give you this. When the time of battle comes near, wrap it around the rope and hang it out this same window. It will be a sign to Israel that your life is to be spared.”
“I bow to your kindness, Caleb, Panehas, and to your promise. I bow to your Yahweh as well.”
Within moments, the men melted into the darkness.
At dawn’s break, I thought to see Israel’s army, but no, it was too soon. Days passed, then weeks. A few days more and I stopped counting for my fear rose up and swallowed Caleb’s promise. Had El Shadu truly brought Egypt to her knees? Was I living in a land of smoke and dreams? Regret, like a persistent mouse, nibbled my hope to nubs.
Then came the dawn when I arose and peered out my window. I gasped for breath. They had come in darkness. Israel’s army surrounded the city.
Fever charged my heart for I knew what was about to come. Hurriedly, I roused my family, “Israel has surrounded Jericho! Prepare to leave! Make ready! Make ready!”
Jericho’s lanes and alleyways rang with the clamor of alarm. From the garrison came the shouts of command, “Bar the gates! Prepare for battle!” From the lower city came shouts of fear.
Terror gabbled at my innards. Caleb must come soon, Panehas at his heels!
Yet no one came. How long must we wait? Have they forgotten us? Has Ashima, the goddess of fate and treachery, prevailed? Are we doomed?
I clambered to the rooftop to watch the assault, but it did not begin as I thought. Cloaked in silence, the soldiers began to march around the city. In their van strode a band of priests bearing a chest of gold on carry-poles, marking time with blasts from their ram’s horn shofars. Then, strangely, when the army had completed a single course around the city, they stopped. As one, they turned, their eyes keen upon the city.
A ghost of stillness enveloped Jericho. There was no assault. Jericho’s soldiers from the garrison stood ready to defend … against what? Ranks of men encircling the city who did not attack?
The next morning, all of Jericho’s activity ceased as the Israelites again made a circuit around the city. Eyes inside the city walls glazed with fear. Israel’s eyes watched. Israel waited.
On the third dawn, I was early to the rooftop, hoping for sight of Caleb or Panehas. Again, the tramping of thousands of Israel’s feet sent hammer-blows to Jericho’s soul, each step driving dread and fear more deeply into our hearts.
So it went. On and on. Day after day.
Then, come the dawn of the seventh day, the force of Israel did not greet Jericho with the stomp of feet. That day, their host of priests stood at the head of the procession. Their golden ark gleamed in the early sun. They raised their shofars to release a single bleat that rode the air with a strange power. The army of Israel, swords brandished, spears aloft, began to march and made no sound save for the tramp, tramp, tramp of feet.
When I saw two Israeli men break from the ranks and run to my window, hope leaped in my heart. One of the men yanked on the rope. The other cried, “Rahab! Rahab!”
Caleb and Panehas had come.
I could breathe.
Mother and I helped the children out the window. Next came my sisters, mother, brother-in-law. Lastly, I grasped the rope and climbed out the window and ran.
Again, the trumpets sounded, trammeling our ears as Panehas and Caleb hurried us to safety. At a hilltop, I paused to look back at Jericho and saw a man of regal presence among the ranks of Israel. Joshua. The one who brought Israel across the Jordan. The one to whom Moses had given leadership over the twelve tribes of Israel.
With his staff raised high, he called out, “Hear, O Israel! Advance! March around the city seven times! Give no war cry! Raise not your voices! Keep your silence until I give the command. Then! With all that is in you, shout! Shout as unto the Lord!”
Panehas tugged at my arm. “Rahab! Hie! We must hurry!”
Seven times, Israel marched around the city of Jericho. With each circuit, the blare of the shofars seemed to swell until I feared my ears would bleed. With each circuit, Israel’s feet pounded the earth with new fervor.
At once, marching stopped. Shofars fell silent. Joshua raised his arms and gave voice. “All Israel! Shout! Shout as Unto the Lord!”
Like a winter storm from Mount Quruntul, fierce with thunder and lightning, the voices of the soldiers of Yahweh rose and echoed within the city walls. I watched a single brick tumble to the ground, then another and another. Then, as if struck by a mighty fist, the outer wall crashed inward, raising columns of dust and dirt to the skies. With hearts bent on destruction, eyes keen with death, the army of Israel swept over the lower city, then, like hordes of locusts, surged into the upper city. Sword hewed flesh. Shouts of conquest met screams of terror and I could not tell which was which. The stink of blood and fear clotted the air. Buds of fire grew to flames of hungry rage.
Come dusk, a plaintive cry pierced my soul: “Jericho is no more!”
How could it be that my heart bled with sorrow and yet I rejoiced. My family and I, we were safe, alive. But my home of these many years lay in heaps of rubble, marked by gouts of smoke.
The next day, Israel’s encampment was a haze of exhaustion. At the sun’s first rays on the second day, Joshua stood at the verge, arms wide, staff high. “Hear, O Israel! At the word of the Lord every living thing in the city has been put to the sword! Canaan’s gods are dust and ash! Jericho’s silver and gold now add to the treasure of the Lord. As Yahweh commanded, Jericho now lies in waste!
“Give praise the God of our fathers, Abraham and Jacob and Joseph! Give thanks to Yahweh, the God of all gods, for he has delivered Canaan unto Israel, his chosen ones! All Israel, raise your voices in thanks to our God!”
Cheers of triumph deafened our ears. The blare of shofars sounded as if never to cease. Faces beamed. Tears flowed. Men embraced. Women sang. Children danced.
I gazed at what had been my home, now broken and smoldering, strewn across the hilltop, dross and dreck. My stomach curdled as if I’d eaten a snake.
Long days passed, drew into longer weeks and then more. What food we had was bland. Water tasted of goatskin. Webs of boredom bound us to our tent. I deafened my ears to Mother’s complaints. Friendships were few while whispers of zonah and nekhar, foreigner, were plentiful. I could not rid myself of the stink of smoke and death.
I had thought – well, hoped – that on the day Joshua commanded Israel to strike the tents, our condition would improve. Kyriat Arba, a royal city of refuge, had been made ready by the Levites. We packed up what little we owned and began to walk. Two days later, under Joshua and Caleb’s safeguard, my family and I found our new dwelling at Kyriat Arba. Of course, I was not permitted to resume my former profession there but in time managed to establish a small inn of sorts. Nonetheless, Kyriat Arba did not become home. Suspicion and derision tarnished what welcome might have been. Jericho remained a stone in my heart.
What had Jericho done to warrant this wrath of Yahweh? Was this God of Israel so bent on revenge as to command wanton destruction of that ancient city, the slaughter of every living adult, child, ox, donkey, sheep, and goat? How could this be? The writings of Moses had declared Yahweh to be majestic in holiness, awesome in glory, the redeemer of his people, a benefactor of unfailing love. What?
That the destruction of Jericho was so absolute, I could not comprehend. Even more puzzling: who was I that Yahweh would deign to save me?
I thought to gather stones for an altar to Kotharat, the goddess whom I had served for so long; perhaps she would tend my anxious heart. But no, I well knew that as Jericho died, so did my faith in the old gods. Only one remained: El Shadu. Yahweh, the God of Israel. A thorn of doubt stung my heart as I bowed to pray.
I did not expect the answer to my prayer to come so quickly, for within the hour an Israelite youth arrived at to my door. “My pardon,” he said. “Are you not Rahab, who sheltered Caleb and Panehas from the soldiers of Jericho?”
“Yes, I am she. How may I serve you?”
“I am Otni’el, son of Jepunneh, brother to Caleb. Rahab, the spirit of the Lord is upon me. He has told me how deeply you grieve for Jericho, for all you have known. It is at Yahweh’s command I come, a harbinger of peace.”
“Otni’el, I know how your Yahweh has delivered me, a zonah and Canaanite from the destruction of Jericho unto the nation of Israel. I am grateful. Pray, what is it that Yahweh wants me to know?”
“Might we sit in your courtyard?”
It felt strange that I, twice the age of this youth, should be advised by him. And yet, I did not question his words were those of Yahweh. I folded my hands on my lap, cast my eyes down. “Please, Otni’el, speak freely.”
“Long ago, Yahweh, the Lord our God called Israel to be his chosen people. He covenanted with our father, Avraham, to bring us to a land flowing with milk and honey – the land of Canaan. It is now that Yahweh fulfills his covenant.
“Because Yahweh is the Holy One, he calls Israel to worship him and him alone. To do so, we must be holy as he is holy. To keep us from iniquity, Yahweh has given us his Law. That we should not forget, Moses has inscribed it, the Torah, on scrolls. By this, all Israel shall know that as we attend to Yahweh’s written word, we will be blessed.”
The tone of a sneer tainted my words. “And should Israel not hold to the Torah, his curse will follow?”
Otni’el ignored my sour note. “That is true enough, Rahab, Yahweh is the One God, the Holy One, righteous and pure. He cannot countenance any manner of sin or evil. Surely you know the seven nations of Canaan bow to a multitude of gods. Worship, as varied as the stars in the heavens, has been rife with sacrifice of death.”
Otni’el’s reckoning did not cease. “Yahweh has commanded Israel to break the altars of Moloch, to smash the sacred stones of Yarikh, to cut down the trees of Asherah. As Yahweh impels Israel to drive these nations from Canaan to bring an end to the detestable practices of rampant sexual debauchery, of slaying and burning of infant sons and daughters.”
A coldness ran through me, prickling my skin. Tears cast to my eyes and I wrenched my hands, for well I knew how I had been party to such worship.
As if touched by mercy, the tone of Otni’el’s voice softened. “Yahweh calls us to worship him, to love him above all others … to walk in obedience to his Word. He gathers us to serve him with all our hearts and souls, minds and bodies. He promises to forgive the wickedness of all who put their faith in him, to set aside their sins as if they never were, for he is a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, forgiving of wickedness, rebellion and sin. He abounds in love and faithfulness, manifesting his love to upon his beloved children. Rahab, can you imagine the joy, the praise and honor that is yet to come?”
“How can this be, Otni’el? I am of Jericho, of Canaan. I, too, have engaged in these … these practices, I have worshipped other gods. I … “
Otni’el’s hand upon mine stemmed my words with comfort. “Do not condemn yourself, Rahab. Yahweh is not only a holy God, a God of justice. He is a God of mercy who bestows love and grace upon those who hear his voice, who turn to him in faith. Who worship him. Who put their trust in him.”
My hand flew to my heart. Tears clouded my eyes. “Mmm … me? Yahweh loves me? In so many ways, I have hidden my life in wickedness. How …?”
Otni’el’s nod and smile were all the answer I needed. He waited quietly as my tears flowed, then asked, “Rahab, if you have the scarlet cord my brother gave you, would you bring it to me?”
His clever fingers wove the long strand into a woven band. A moment of joy passed between us as he fastened it around my wrist.
In the years that followed, I am glad to say, I have given my life to Yahweh. In return, he has poured out his blessings upon me in so many ways. Because traders come often to Kyriat Arba, my small inn has prospered. Mother, comforted at long last, no longer complains but gladly helps with the household chores. On warm afternoons, she gathers her grandchildren about her and tells them stories.
At Caleb’s behest, Joshua stood before the gathering at temple and explained how I had saved Caleb and Panehas from capture and thus Israel from defeat. His voice, I remember, thundered like that of a lion when he said, “Israel would not abide in the land of Canaan as we do this day were it not for Rahab. She is one of us, a blessing from the hand of Yahweh. Welcome her with kindness.”
Indeed, from then on, I was made welcome at worship in Kyriat Arba’s small temple, a blessing made even greater for it was there I met Shalmon, my husband. We have a son, now, Boaz. He is a strong boy, and swift. Much like his father, he is kind and thoughtful of others. In my secret heart, I believe his name will be remembered by many.
The first evening I was permitted to attend temple worship, the priest read from the scroll of Moses and such joy rose up within me that I was brought to tears.
Since that day, the moment I rise, I speak again those precious words, for they are my life, my hope and my heart.
Yahweh, my Lord, I rejoice and give thanks to you for you are my God … I will praise and exalt you … you strengthen me and defend me … you are my salvation … in your unfailing love, O Lord, I know you will lead your people, we whom you have redeemed … by your strong right hand you will guide us to your holy dwelling.
Copyright © 2023 Peter K. Schipper