A Journey of One Thousand Miles: the Story of Ruth and Naomi Read online

  Orpah remained silent, but her thoughts were confused. She loved Naomi, but she did not want to remain alone. She felt abandoned, betrayed, by her husband and His God. There was a void inside her that was growing. He didn’t even leave her with a child. Yet, returning to her mother’s house would not be much of a future either; a childless widow was without very many good prospects. But then again, Naomi was the last vestige of any thing good she had had. She didn’t want to turn her back on her.

  Naomi persisted in her arguments to the silent responses of her daughters-in-law. “Return home to your people. I am too old to have another husband. Even if I thought that there still might be hope for me …” Her words trailed off. She hadn’t anything to offer any man. She would spend the rest of her days alone. A pang of desire for the companionship of her daughters-in-law made her pause. But no, it was not right. She voiced her protest, “You are still young and beautiful. You have many children left in your womb. I am old. Even if I were to marry and conceive tonight...” She laughed to herself at the thought. She was far from the merit of her ancestor, Sarah. who gave birth to a son in her old age. Yet she pressed her argument. She had to make the women see the futility of staying with her. “Even if I were to have a son, could you wait till he grew to manhood to take you in yibum, in levirate marriage? Would you remain alone and unmarried for all those years? You would be an old woman before he could build you a home and provide for you.”

  Ruth continued to shake her head in protest. Her tears flowed silently. The logic of her mother-in-law’s words was sound, but she would not yield. She would not leave Naomi’s side.

  Orpah had ceased to weep. She stood frozen at the crossroads of indecision. She did not want to remain alone. The void in the hallow of her heart began to grow.

  Naomi pushed harder. “No my daughters. It is terribly bitter for me, but you have hope; you have a future still.” Finally, Naomi articulated her true thoughts, “The Hand of the Almighty has gone out against me. He has judged me, and I … “Naomi’s eyes closed in resignation to her fate. She sighed, “I have to answer His decree, but you, my lovely daughters, return home. Begin anew.”

  Orpah was shaken, but she recognized the truth of her mother-in-law’s words. She raised her head and looked into Naomi’s eyes. Taking a step towards her mother-in-law, she took her hand and kissed it. They stared at each other for a long moment. Four tears, one after the other, disturbed the dust at their feet. Orpah wiped her eyes, and offered her mother-in-law a tight smile. They spoke no words, embraced again, and then Orpah turned to her sister.

  Ruth hadn’t moved. Orpah kissed her sister on the cheek; Ruth returned the embrace, but she didn’t move with her sister’s gentle nudge. Orpah didn’t wait for Ruth. It was her own decision. Orpah turned and took a path towards her own destiny.

  ***

  Orpah’s feet turned onto the cart path, but her mind traveled a different route, drifting to the realm of possibilities. Voices danced into her head. She had been connected to holiness, and now there was this void, a deep chasm that needed filling. She longed for the touch of her husband, his embrace.

  She reminded herself that he was no longer. Anger intermixed, and then replaced her sadness. Ten years, and the Holy One of Israel had denied them even one child. Ten years of divine judgment. Ten years of tense anticipation and disappointment. She had felt the holiness of the People Yisrael in the beginning; that is what caused her to cling to Khilyon, to choose his people, his God, but now, she was left with nothing. Bitter tears trailed down her cheeks. Nothing.

  She wanted the touch of a man, any man. She needed to fill the empty spaces. She knew the space in her heart would remain empty, void, but there were other hollows that needed to be filled. It would not be the same. Being with Khilyon was as much a spiritual as a physical experience. When he made love to her, they were not alone; he had connected her to the holy. Done in the modesty and purity of his people, he had made the coupling something more than human; something holy.

  But, suggested the emboldened voices in her mind, there were other forces, other energies to be tapped. Her spirit could be satiated other ways. The Holy One of Yisrael had stolen her husband from her and left her a childless widow. She would flee from such demanding, exacting holiness and embrace its antithesis.

  An audible sigh escaped her lips. Each step along the dusty trail-like road led her further and further away from her mother-in-law and all that was connected to her - her son, her people, and her God. When she broke from her internal reverie and became conscious of her surroundings again, she realized she was a lifetime away from her former, though temporary, home. Night was beginning to fall.

  Suddenly, Orpah noticed that she was not alone on the road. Seemingly out of nowhere, there was a donkey headed in her direction. It was already close. On his back sat a hunched rider. They would cross paths within moments. Had she seen him coming from a distance, she would have moved off the road into the fields, fearful of what might happen to a lone woman traveler. Now it was too late for such precautions, so she merely moved to the side of the road, to insure that the donkey would have plenty of room to pass.

  However, instead of moving to the opposite side of the road, the donkey moved directly into her path. Her heart leapt, as anxiety crept up her spine. There was still some distance between them. Cautiously, Orpah moved to the opposite side of the road, yet again, the donkey matched her move. Her breath caught, as she stopped in her tracks, waiting.

  The donkey and rider reached her in moments, but each of those moments was impregnated with anxiety and fear. She noticed the rider was completely enwrapped in his dark cloak, the color of shadows. The cloak was draped over his head and shoulders creating a hood before folding back over itself covering his mouth and nose. His eyes seemed like distant glowing embers hidden in the recesses of those shadows. The donkey stopped within a handbreadth of her. Orpah felt the donkey’s breath on her face. It was as if in a dream.

  “Shulmtu. Greetings,” the low voice of the rider resonated in her head. She seemed to recognize the voice. It seemed to carry the same tone and measure as the voices of her soul. Her fear augmented, though surprisingly the anxiety diminished. She realized she had shut her eyes tightly, and now she slowly opened them looking up in the direction of the man’s face.

  “Shulmu,” her voice was barely a whisper.

  She felt as if the donkey rider smiled, though she couldn’t have seen it. “The roads are treacherous for a woman traveling alone towards the dark. Minna izimtu’a? What could you possibly be seeking?”

  Her heart leapt. She stared at the rider, but didn’t answer. She knew she didn’t need to.

  “No, child,” he chided. I’m merely an old traveler. However, if you continue on your path, and take the left fork at the crossing, you will find a band of P’lishti soldiers. There are about a hundred of them. I’m sure that they would offer comfort and hospitality to such a comely lost soul as yourself. Fare well.”

  Orpah’s mind was swept away in reverie. It must have been the tension and anxiety, but when she regained her bearings, she was once again alone on the road. The rider and donkey seemed to have disappeared.

  P’lisht’im. The very bane of Yisrael’s existence, what greater nation to introduce her life’s new course. From the time of Yisrael’s ancestors’ sojourn in their land, they had zealously fought against Yisrael’s bringing the glory of the Almighty to the world. Lust: it was synonymous with the P’lisht’im. Descendents through wife swapping between Pathrusim and KasluHim, both offspring of Mitsrayim, they have come to represent the very essence of licentiousness. They lived on the Western coast of the land of K’na`an resolving to be a thorn in the side of the Nation of Yisrael, despoiling their plans for bringing light to the world.

  Orpah recalled the geopolitical lessons of her youth she received growing up in the royal residence of Moav.
The very name for their nation, P’lisht'im, meaning open at both ends, defined their nature as being totally accessible to the spirit of lust. This is why they clung to the land of K’na`an, for the K’na`anim and the P’lishtim share a common bond to the forces of materialistic, egocentric desire, and the land of K’na`an, when it rebels against the forces of holiness, becomes the perfect focus for such forces. The battle for the Land of Kna`an or the Land of Yisrael is a battle between the very forces of Heaven and Earth.

  Suddenly she recognized the rider and the voice in her heart. She had been given a mission, so it seemed, from the very “Accuser of Yisrael,” the nation’s Calumniator and Detractor, the Angel Samu-el, Israel’s Denouncer before the Heavenly Court. Her head began to swim, her hear leapt with anticipation. She resolved to serve her new master well. She had trouble containing her excitement. The trace of holiness she had experienced was now gone but in its place, lust filled her heart.

  ***

  Torchlight flickered in the distance.

  She made her way to the camps edge. A dog’s yapping reverberated incessantly against the dark night. As she approached she saw the large group of men in various positions of relaxation, conversing amongst themselves. Walking into the circle of light, her presence captured everyone’s attention, all eyes turned, as if on command. Her dress was in the Moav style, road worn but quality, her stature, her presence, bespoke of her noble birth. She emphasized every nuance, every movement. Even the dog stopped his yelping.

  “Qarabu’in migru’in. Noble warriors,” she began, pausing for emphasis, “Qarabu’in emmamu’in. Heated warriors,” she smirked. “Ekhidit Orpah b’nt Aglon zeru Balaq Ma-alaku h’rabu. I am Orpah, daughter of Aglon descendent of the great King Balaq. Which of you thinks he can please such a rare flower in your camps?”

  A pregnant silence permeated the camp. All eyes darted from the lovely princess to his comrade, each gauging her words, her intent, and his chances against his fellow. Suddenly, as if on cue, the dog sat up tall and yelped three short yelps. The silence was broken and all the men began their own clamoring. Offers from the exotic to the erotic, from the brass to the refined were thrown towards Orpah, and she reveled in their offerings. The men began rising to their feet, moving towards the woman, each wanting her for his own, but Orpah had other ideas.

  “Wait,” she called out, “with so many fine suitors, I suppose we’ll all just need to learn to share.” A devilish smile affixed itself to her face, as the crowd was thrown into silence for the third time. It was the last time the camp would know silence until the morning hours.

  Orpah didn’t wait for them but sauntered into their midst. Soon hands, some gentle, some rough, began to caress her form. She closed her eyes, trance-like, letting each sensation fill the crevices of her hollow soul.

  ***

  Consciousness and feeling returned slowly. The air was warm and dry. The sun’s morning light warmed her face. Sound seemed suspended. The sensations had been so overwhelming, that her mind, unable to process the events quickly enough, suspended itself somewhere between pain and pleasure. She was sore, but aches of pleasure mixed with the pain and the feeling of blood and sweat, and other fluids, along her sensitized skin. Even the air had a different sensation. She allowed her mind to drift, for what could have been moments or hours. Orpah felt a stirring within, and she knew. These forces had been more generous. She was with child, a very special child. A child with a hundred fathers and a …

  Orpah felt a wet sensation on her face and her eyes flutter opened to meet those of the dog. He was licking her cheek. She turned on her side, but let the beast continue its tongue bath. At least there was one gentleman, she chuckled. Then the chuckled turned to laughter, and as the laughter escaped the depth of her soul, Orpah felt the embrace of destiny. She remembered the donkey rider on the road, and offered him a prayer of thanks. Slowly she rose to her feet. She found her cloak, shook the dust from it and wrapped it loosely around her shoulders. She laboriously set off in search of a cistern or a spring to wash up. The dog quietly tagged along behind.

  ***

  A few steps from her mother-in-law, Orpah hesitated and looked over her shoulder, waiting to see if her sister would join her but Ruth stood frozen, her mind processing the events. She fought to find expression for her desire. Her soul clung to her mother-in-law.

  “Dearest daughter,” Naomi’s voice was soft but firm, “Your sister has chosen wisely. She is returning to her people and her gods. Go, child, join her, return with her.”

  Then something broke in Ruth. Her mother-in-law’s encouragement gave voice to her struggle. She would not return to her former life, distant from the Truth, from the One True Master of the World. She couldn’t bear to turn her back on the holiness of Yisrael, even if it meant a life of solitude. Ruth moved to face her mother-in-law; her voice was soft but resolute. Her voice resonated from the depth of her soul.

  “Don’t push me to abandon you, to “return” from following you. For where you go, I shall follow; where you rest, I shall rest as well. Your people are my people; you’re God is my God. I’m not going back.”

  Ruth continued, her voice gaining strength. She would not let anyone steer her away from the Source of all living. “Where you die, will be my final resting place, and there I will be buried. Thus, may the Almighty do to me, and thus may He add to my suffering, but nothing, nothing,” her voice rose in strength, but remained controlled, firm, “Nothing but death will separate me from you.”

  Naomi’s jaw dropped. It all fell into place for her. She understood. Tears welled up, bitter tears. Naomi had spent so many years fighting her reality, and yet, she had missed the point. Her own struggle against her external situation and then her internal battle with the deeds of her past, her chaffing against the Almighty’s judgment, had caused her to miss something - something essential: Even an adversarial relationship with the Master of the World was far greater than a life of emptiness and lies. Her arms searched for her daughter-in-law, but this time not for comfort, but for strength. It took a stranger to her people and her God to see what she had failed to recognize her entire life. Naomi was returning home; Praise the Almighty, she was returning home.

  “Thank you my Lord,” she whisper, “thank you,” she directed her voice to her daughter. She could return home, no matter how hard the path might be.

  Naomi and Ruth clung to each other and turned towards BethleHem, and began their journey homeward.

  Chapter Two

  Homecoming

  The journey to BethleHem passed much quicker than either woman expected. Hand in hand they walked, but each with her own thoughts, Naomi with her memories, and Ruth with her expectations. They soon arrived at the crossing of Yerikho, not far from the place where Yehoshu’ah and the children of Yisrael crossed into the Land of Yisrael on their return, their liberation, from Mitsray’im.

  Ruth envisioned herself as one of them, full of anticipation, tinged with an edge of trepidation. She remembered the stories, of both her youth and, later from the perspective of her husband, of the many miracles that the Holy One had performed for His People, and how the other nations, hers included, trembled in fear of His Might.

  The crossing at Yerikho gave Naomi pause as well. Memories of her leaving the Land, and now, an opportunity to return, filled her with emotions: contrition and joy, tedium and excitement intermixed. World-weary sighs and gasps of anticipation periodically punctuated the women’s silent journey.

  So the two women went, until they arrive in the environs of BethleHem. The fields of barley, some still green, others golden, but all tall and near their harvest, gently fluttered and waved in the gentle breeze like a sea of gold and green. The late morning sun made the fields glow with a warm light of their own. Periodically they were greeted by men and women making preparations for the upcoming harvest. It was the eve of the PesaH festival and on the second day of the
festival was the offering of the `Omer, the first sheaves of the barley harvest.

  Like the undulating waves of grain, the news fluttered before them: Naomi, the wife of Elimelekh, was returning home and with her was her daughter-in-law, a woman from Moav, who had clung to her mother-in-law and her God.

  Soon a contingent of old friends and neighbors met the two on the road to greet them on their return and welcome them home. As a group of a dozen or so women approached, Naomi heard one of the women whisper in surprise, “Can this be Naomi? What has happened to her?”

  Another whispered in return, “This can’t be Naomi. She always had such fine shoes, this one is barefoot.”

  The group paused, unsure how to approach their returning neighbor, who by all appearances was a shadow of her former self.

  “Don’t call me Naomi,” Naomi called out to the women, trying to relieve the tension, “Call me Mara, for the Almighty has embittered me. I was full when I went away, yet The Holy One has brought me back empty. There is no reason to call me ‘Naomi – Pleasantness,’ for the Holy One has reprimanded me; He has revealed that my actions have not been pleasant. The Almighty impoverished me. Call me Mara.”

  Her words had the opposite of the intended effect. While they didn’t actually move, it seemed as if the ‘welcoming committee’ shrinked several amoth away from Naomi. Daggers of silence hung in the air.

  Naomi tried again. Extending her hands in supplication, she tried to remove the edge from her voice. “Sisters,” she began, “the Holy One is wholly righteous. He has performed for me the Hesed of bringing me this lovely righteous woman. Please come to know my daughter, Ruth.”

  The tension broke and the circle of women closed around Naomi and Ruth. Amidst an exchange of tears and hugs, Naomi, and Ruth, returned home.

  ***

  Ruth paused from her labors. She had been grinding seeds from a wild rye, shipon. Clusters of it grew nearly everywhere, but its seeds were difficult to cultivate. From its flour they would make crude cakes on the stones they heated from the animal dung that also seemed to “sprout” everywhere. They had been living in a cave on the outskirts of BethleHem, near the main artery of traffic, for a few days.