Read the first three chapters of Walls.

Joshua awoke from his dream in a cold sweat. His chest pounded like a drum before battle, and he decided a breath of fresh air would do him good. After a sip of night-chilled water, he slipped on a pair of sandals and wrapped a cloak over his garments. The dream left him unsettled, and a long walk seemed necessary to sort through his thoughts.

He ventured outside into the cool dawn breeze. Most of his duties took place near the Tent of Meeting alongside the Levites, though he slept within the Ephraimite camp. The Ephraimites stayed at the southeastern corner of the Camp of Israel, so Joshua had to walk around the southern bend to approach Mount Nebo in the east. It was his usual route. He enjoyed watching the sunrise as he traveled toward his master’s final resting place.

Thirty days earlier, Joshua had watched Moses walk away through the shimmering haze toward Mount Nebo with nothing but a wooden staff—the same staff he had used to part the Red Sea, draw water from a rock, and defeat the Amalekites. Now it had performed its final task, its original purpose: helping an old man climb a mountain.

Moses was probably right to take it with him, thought Joshua.

Knowing these stiff-necked people, the Israelites would likely have turned it into another idol. His brothers and sisters clung to superstition despite its deadly cost, and it was possible they would not have followed Joshua unless he carried Moses’s staff himself.

Ironically, Moses had not appeared in the dream.

Joshua struggled to recall the events within his imagination—if imagination was all it had been. He pieced together a vague sequence and repeated it in his mind:

Joshua remembered nothing more.

Now he faced east as the rising sun cast its first rays from behind Mount Nebo. The morning air felt fresh, carrying a cool western breeze. In the wilderness, Joshua remembered only heat and exhaustion. There had been no rest from Sinai to Paran to Moab. For forty years, they had wandered, yet the Promised Land remained beyond reach.

Joshua had entered Canaan only once before, during a reconnaissance mission. Twelve men, including himself, had traveled the land for forty days. What they found had been both wondrous and troubling. With regular rains, fertile soil, and the Great Sea forming its western border, the land was perfect for the people. Truly, it was a land flowing with milk and honey.

When the spies returned and delivered their report to Moses, only Joshua and Caleb had urged Israel to go forward. The giants, armies, and towering walls frightened the other ten scouts. Joshua knew the conquest would be difficult, but Adonai had guaranteed victory. Sadly, the congregation sided with the majority, and God forbade that generation from entering the land.

Now, forty years later, Joshua stood ready to fulfill Israel’s destiny.

Joshua remembered the miracles that God had performed through Moses, but he also looked forward to enjoying bread and wine once more. Forty years of manna had sustained them, but its dullness and strange texture were impossible to ignore. No tilling, no harvests—God simply provided, and every morning the people gathered what they needed.

Joshua could not explain manna’s origin, only its existence.

And that was enough.

The eastern wind strengthened suddenly, causing Joshua to stumble. He turned westward so the rising sun would no longer blind him.

Then he heard the whisper within the wind.

“Moses…”

Joshua stiffened.

“Hello?” he called.

Surely it could not be his imagination.

He turned in every direction, searching for the source.

“Moses…”

How can this be? Joshua thought. The wind is speaking? Why does it call for Moses?

Then he remembered.

On the day Moses departed, the elder had laid hands upon Joshua and blessed him, saying that the Spirit of Wisdom would rest upon him. Perhaps this was how Moses had spoken with God all those years. And now, with Moses gone, the moment had come for Joshua to hear the Creator.

“Moses, My servant, is dead,” said God.

“Almighty Adonai!” Joshua fell to his knees and lifted his eyes toward heaven. “What am I to do with Your people in Moses’s place?”

“Now therefore, arise, go over the Jordan, you and all these people, to the land which I am giving to them, the children of Israel,” said God. “Every place that the sole of your foot will tread upon, I have given you, as I said to Moses. From the wilderness and Lebanon as far as the great river, the River Euphrates, all the land of the Hittites, and to the Great Sea toward the setting of the sun, shall be your territory.”

Then an image appeared within Joshua’s mind.

He saw the land from above: hills, valleys, streams, forests, and caves hidden among the mountains. He saw the seas, the wilderness, and the borders of the future nation. Lines divided the land among the Twelve Tribes. Milk and honey flowed down the hillsides, and upon one hill a brilliant light burned.

Everything was clear.

This is what Moses spoke of, Joshua thought. This is how he understood.

Amid the vision, Joshua spoke again.

“Will it be like the Amalekites? Will we prevail in every battle?”

“No man shall be able to stand before you all the days of your life,” said God. “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and of good courage, for to these people you shall divide as an inheritance the land which I swore to their fathers to give them. Only be strong and very courageous, that you may observe to do according to all the law which Moses My servant commanded you; do not turn from it to the right hand or to the left, that you may prosper wherever you go.”

The Torah scrolls, thought Joshua.

Before departing, Moses had placed them beside the Ark of the Covenant.

“This Book of the Law shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate in it day and night, that you may observe to do according to all that is written in it. For then you will make your way prosperous, and then you will have good success,” said God, as if reading his mind, and He surely was.

“Adonai,” said Joshua, “these men are young. They possess zeal, but not wisdom. They have not witnessed Your greatest signs and wonders. How shall we overcome fortified cities like Jericho, or nations filled with giants?”

The wind roared suddenly, hurling sand across the hillside. Joshua ducked low and shielded his face as dust lashed against his skin.

“Have I not commanded you?” God’s voice was a roar, much greater than a whisper now. “Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for Yahweh your God is with you wherever you go.”

The storm subsided.

Joshua opened his eyes.

Nothing more needed to be said. The Lord had given His command.

I suppose I’ll have to get used to that.

Joshua was not far from the camp of Israel. They dwelt in Abel-Shittim east of the Jordan, and the camp spread across the plain like a small city. He often walked beyond the camp at dawn to watch the sunrise, and Mount Nebo was his favored destination.

The fierce wind had passed, though a gentle breeze still cooled him as he walked. He led millions now, an entire nation, and he himself was growing old. Moses had lived one hundred and twenty years, and Joshua was nearing two-thirds that age.

I suppose I am still young by comparison, Joshua thought with a quiet chuckle.

The sun climbed steadily into the clear Canaanite sky. No clouds lingered upon the horizon except the column rising from the Tabernacle of the Lord at the center of the camp. The Levites surrounded it in careful order, while the Twelve Tribes formed a vast circle around them.

The pillar of cloud rose calmly into the heavens like a silent whirlwind, untouched by the breeze.

No fire fed it. It simply was.

The Levitical priests responsible for the Sanctuary had surely awakened by now. This was the last day designated for mourning Moses.

Within minutes, Joshua approached the eastern camps of Judah, Issachar, and Zebulun. Judah occupied much of the eastern side because of its vast numbers, and lion-emblazoned banners fluttered throughout their encampment.

“Caleb!” Joshua called.

The elder stood outside the tribal tent speaking with one of his sons, Hur, a younger man of Judah. Caleb wore his customary sash threaded with gold and bright crimson outer garments that marked his status among the elders of Israel. Though dressed as a chief, he remained humble—a man Joshua trusted deeply, the only other spy willing to enter the Promised Land forty years earlier.

“Caleb!” Joshua called again as he approached.

Caleb noticed him and bowed. Hur followed suit.

“Joshua,” Caleb said. “How may I serve you?”

“I must speak with you privately.”

“Of course. Hur, my boy, we shall continue this discussion later.”

“Yes, my Lord. Thank you.” Hur bowed once more and departed.

Caleb turned back toward Joshua.

“Come,” he said, drawing aside the tent flap. “Let us speak.”

The two men entered the large nomadic tent. Inside, wooden poles supported low ceilings draped with woven goat hair and wool. Reed mats covered the packed earth floor. Folded bedding lined the far side of the tent beside hanging animal skins filled with grain and several clay jars of water.

At the center stood a polished acacia-wood table scattered with scrolls and clay tablets.

Joshua stepped beside it.

“Adonai has spoken to me at last, Caleb,” he said quietly. “This morning, as I walked near Nebo, He spoke through the wind.”

Caleb’s eyes widened.

“What did He say?”

“He commanded me to be strong and courageous. He said no army would prevail against us so long as we hold fast to the Torah.”

“Yes,” Caleb murmured thoughtfully, stroking his beard. “Moses spoke similarly before he departed for Nebo.”

“Exactly. But there was more.” Joshua stepped closer. “Adonai spoke of the borders of our nation, and as He spoke, I saw the land—not with my eyes, but within my mind. Like a vision.”

“Tell me.”

“All that Moses said of Canaan is true. I saw the Tribes’ territories marked on the land like lines on a map, from the Euphrates to Gaza. It truly flows with milk and honey. There are great cities and small villages, some steeped in evil, others inhabited by good people. I cannot articulate how I know, but I do.”

Joshua’s eyes shone.

“The giants we saw forty years ago still remain, though far fewer than before. It seems the Canaanites themselves have slaughtered many of them. The survivors dwell mostly in the south, near Philistia.

“Oh, Caleb—the vineyards, the wheat fields, the rivers, the mountains! Everything a nation requires to flourish. No more manna. The land is perfect for vineyards and barley harvests. I only wish you could see what I saw.”

Joshua smiled in a way Caleb had not seen since the days of Moses. The joy upon his face was contagious, filling the tent like a swirl of wine.

“How do we proceed?” asked Caleb.

“We cross the River Jordan.”

Caleb blinked in astonishment.

“What? At this season? How can we cross with herds, tents, supplies, and the Ark itself? Surely rafts would fail us. Could we not journey northward instead?”

Joshua’s expression hardened slightly, though he did not frown.

“Do not doubt God, my friend. You remember the Red Sea. Adonai will part the Jordan as well.”

Joshua turned away.

Has Moses’s death shaken his faith? he wondered.

For a moment, the two men stood in silence while the wind whispered softly against the tent walls.

At last, Caleb sighed deeply.

“You are right, old friend. Forgive my hesitation. We have never done this without Moses.”

“I understand,” Joshua replied, turning back toward him. “Gather the elders at noon. Shalom, my friend.”

“Shalom.”

Joshua smiled once more as he pulled aside the tent flap. Caleb returned the smile, and with a confident wink, Joshua departed.

The novice warriors of the Tribe of Judah stirred at the first clang of sparring from the center of the pit.

Salmon was a master duelist, and because Israel had not seen war for many days, the men of Judah hungered for diversion and tested one another with blade and shield.

“Adonai, show me the way,” whispered Salmon.

The mid-morning sun peeked just above the horizon, briefly blinding him as he circled his opponent, leaving him vulnerable to an attack, so the contender swung at him.

The youths flinched at the clash of metal as Salmon parried the blow. He quickly shifted his feet aside to protect his eyes from the glare. Then, he kicked sand into his rival’s eyes and lunged through the cloud to counterattack. Salmon burst out of cover as the other man coughed. His thrust was blocked at the last second, preventing it from piercing his opponent’s armor, and the man’s counter jab slipped between Salmon’s left arm and his side.

The boys watching on either end of the pit gasped as the sword appeared to go through their champion, but this actually gave Salmon an opening.

He grabbed his opponent’s sword hand, still clutching the hilt, and pulled. Salmon brought his sword to the man’s neck, poised for a fatal slice. The blade hovered there, the opponent’s arm now pinned at Salmon’s side. Their faces were close enough to smell each other’s breath. Salmon kicked him to his knees, keeping the blade at his throat.

“Yield,” grunted Salmon, ensuring he kept his grip on the challenger.

Everyone on the perimeter held their breath as the dust from Salmon’s earlier kick settled back on the ground. A few of the boys shielded their eyes from what could have been a brutal death. Then Salmon felt the man’s forearm soften, and the sound of a sword falling to the ground behind him signaled his victory.

Salmon released the man and raised his sword into the air to celebrate the triumph, causing cheers to echo around the pit. While Salmon loved the taste of victory, it was more important to show the young warriors how to make the most of their surroundings in a fight. They were about to enter the Promised Land, a land flowing with milk and honey, but it was still unfamiliar territory to them, and the Canaanites were barbaric. Only two men knew what lay beyond the Jordan River: Joshua and Caleb. Forty years ago, they had entered the land, and Salmon imagined they would lead the way again before the rest of Israel followed.

Part of him wanted to enter the land purely to taste something more flavorful. Manna was all he’d known—at least that was the abundance they had in the wilderness. Authentic food could only be brought in from the spoils of the nations they conquered along the way. Usually, their rations ran out within a week of victory, so it was back to manna for the foreseeable future. “Bread from heaven,” Moses had called it. Salmon always laughed at that term because it hardly resembled bread. Its flavor was like a wafer’s, with a hint of honey, and it was somehow nutritious. Manna had served them well for the past four decades, but the people were ready for a proper feast. Maybe that would happen when they crossed into the land.

Chants from the crowd jolted him back to reality.

“Well done, Salmon!”

“You really showed him!”

Salmon chuckled. “That is why I always tell you the greatest weapon God gave you is your head, not your blade,” he said. “Think before you swing. But not for too long, or you might lose your head.”

Laughter erupted from the group that was hanging on his every word. While Salmon enjoyed the attention, he didn’t like the constant spotlight. Once the sun was high, he would either stay busy, hide in Caleb’s tent, or jog around the camp’s perimeter. There was a lot to see on his runs. Each of the Twelve Tribes had its own unique customs. For example, the Tribe of Asher made the best oils and herbal remedies, supplying the Levites for atonement sacrifices and rituals. Meanwhile, the Benjaminites prided themselves on ambidextrous tricks. Using one’s left hand in a duel could catch enemies off guard, so they often carried a hidden dagger in addition to the sword they had. Despite Tribe Benjamin’s talents, the Judahites were the strongest fighters among the Israelites and led every battle. Sometimes fights broke out between Benjamin and Judah, but they became less frequent over time. The closer they got to Canaan, the fewer intertribal conflicts there were. It was wiser to focus on the real enemies across the river.

Moses had reminded them of this before his departure. Elohim would protect them from their enemies as long as they obeyed the Torah. That was what the Levites were for: the priests of the people. They were more studious, usually literate, and spent much of their time around the Tent of Meeting in the middle of the camp. Moses and Aaron taught them how to sacrifice to Adonai and recorded the 613 teachings and laws that constitute the Torah. The only people who truly knew the Torah were the Levites. It was their sole purpose.

Salmon was glad to be a Judahite rather than a Levite. To him, the Levites appeared haughty, convinced they knew best. Sometimes, after a long argument with someone from an esteemed bloodline, like his cousin, Phinehas, he wished he could settle the dispute with a fight instead of words.

“Blood is unnecessary unless God commands it,” Phinehas had told him during one of their encounters. “It is unclean.”

“Enough with the unclean this and unclean that,” Salmon replied. “A little blood is how we learn to protect ourselves. You do want us to protect you, right?”

“I can protect myself.”

Levites could not tolerate the sight of blood, except during their animal sacrifices. For reasons unknown to Salmon, that was deemed acceptable. How the wives within the Levitical Tribe put up with their husbands every month was a miracle in itself.

Salmon knew he wasn’t as smart as Phinehas, but he was better at dealing with people. That’s how he won their dispute that day: by getting others to side with him until Phinehas retreated to the Levite camp. Poor Phinehas couldn’t handle the pressure of being watched, so, like the best fighters, Salmon used a weapon other than his sword.

“Can you teach me how to fight like that, Salmon?” one youngling asked.

“Ooo! Me too!” another person hollered.

“Just keep watching, but most importantly, practice with your sword masters,” he said. “You won’t learn unless you apply what you see.”

Just then, one of the boys stepped back and kicked a handful of sand into his friend’s face. The friend coughed heavily, and his eyes watered.

“Hey! Don’t do that unless it’s an established duel. He’s your brother, and we don’t do that to our brothers.”

“But you did it just a second ago.”

Salmon’s brow furrowed with impatience. The boy didn’t even need to reply; Salmon could tell he understood because he looked down at his feet.

With a scoff, Salmon pushed through the crowd, but before he could leave the pit, someone called his name. He turned back to see the man he had just beaten, his brother, Naam. He was back on his feet, sword at his side, rapidly closing in.

“You did pretty well that time, Naam,” said Salmon. “A bit more awareness, and you might have had me.”

“That was one hell of a stunt you pulled back there, bastard!”

“No need for name-calling, I just⁠—”

Naam’s knuckle slammed into Salmon’s jaw. Salmon’s head jerked from the blow, then he leaned over to spit out the leaking blood.

Great, he thought, now those Levites won’t even let me within a foot of the Tabernacle.

This reminded him of Phinehas, so he chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” asked Naam, his back straight as if he had a rod lodged up his⁠—

Salmon retaliated with an uppercut, giving Naam a chance to dodge left, but this was intentional; Naam didn’t notice the rock at his feet, which caused him to trip and stumble back into the dirt.

“What did I say about minding your surroundings?” said Salmon, glancing at the crowd. “I hope that burns the lesson into your thick skull, Naam.”

Salmon turned around to walk away again, but Naam leaped and tackled him by the legs with a grunt. The move surprised Salmon, but it made him laugh even more because he was now truly under Naam’s skin. With raw fists, the two rolled around in the dirt, exchanging blow for blow. Dust curled around them like a small whirlwind, and soon the crowd did the same. Though they were no longer in the pit, the pit had come to them.

“WHAT IS THIS?!”

The voice boomed above the assembly, and as if parting the waters of the Red Sea, the onlookers cleared a path between Caleb and his two sons.

Caleb stood with a staff and a long gray beard, slightly resembling the late Moses. He approached the two boys, both of whom had paused their struggle to stare at their father. Naam was on top of Salmon when the fight was interrupted, so he was the first one Caleb pulled away.

Caleb grabbed his son by the arm, surprisingly strong, and shoved him away from Salmon.

“You, boy!” he spat. “Get up!”

Salmon had long been an adult, but compared to Caleb, he was still a boy.

“Onward!” said Caleb, adjusting his grip on Naam by the collar.

Salmon got to his feet, brushing dirt off as he went. He could feel the youths watching him just as intently as if he were still sparring. Then the three men went back to the Tent of Judah.

“Sit!” said Caleb, throwing back the entry flap to the Tent of Judah.

After traveling through the desert, this tent felt like home to them. The Elders of each Tribe had a large dwelling in the middle of their designated campsite to hold meetings and house the families of each chieftain. The women of Judah sewed elaborate tapestries of lions and swords to decorate the tent. Some of the fabric recounted stories of old, like Jacob wrestling with Adonai and Noah’s Ark, while others depicted portraits of Moses and told stories to remind them of their liberation from Egypt. Scattered beds lined the perimeter, and in the center were tables, candles, papyrus, ink, clay tablets, and other supplies that literate members could use. Three couches near the entrance formed a U-shape to welcome guests, with a small table in the middle for drinks.

Salmon and Naam sat on opposite sides of the U, and Caleb pushed the small table out of the way so he could stand between them. Salmon touched his lip to check for blood. The outside was beginning to scab over, but the inside was still soaked in scarlet. Naam had a few bruises, and Salmon prided himself on likely having given him a black eye.

“Why do you constantly torment me with these vain skirmishes?” asked Caleb. “The mourning period for Moses has just ended, and you go and gather a crowd to put on a show? Do you enjoy the attention? Is that it?”

Salmon quietly shrugged, signaling the possibility.

“The bastard humiliated me!” said Naam. “Do you expect me to let him insult our family?”

A swoosh sliced through the air as Caleb hit the young man in the face with his staff.

“He is your brother!” said Caleb. “Treat him like one!”

Naam pouted and avoided eye contact; a grown man reenacting a child’s immaturity.

“And you,” Caleb said, turning to face Salmon. “Why do you feel the need to turn every duel into a spectacle? He is of your kin; don’t humiliate him!”

Brother, thought Salmon. He mulled over the word Caleb used in the previous reprimand. You can really see the resemblance.

Salmon had dark, wavy hair and kept his face clean-shaven. He was of average stature for an Israelite, with a round face, a sharp jawline, and a toned, evenly proportioned body. Naam, on the other hand, was lanky, and his face seemed to stretch upward, topped off by his hair sprouting in heavy curls. Salmon’s favorite feature was Naam’s snout of a nose, which drooped slightly at the tip. Many of Naam’s traits were a strange mix of Caleb’s and his mother Ephrath’s, and she wasn’t much in the way of beauty. Objectively, Salmon was attractive… but Naam… not so much. And that helped Salmon sleep soundly at night.

The addition of that black eye is an improvement, Salmon thought. It might even improve the symmetry of his face a little once it swells.

“Do you hear me?” Caleb asked, stepping directly into Salmon’s line of sight.

Salmon nodded.

“You'd better. Otherwise, I’ll drag you up to the altar myself and sacrifice you like an Amalekite infant!”

A horn interrupted the scolding. The three of them turned toward the sound’s source at the center of the camp. Each horn produced a distinct sound depending on the situation. War horns sounded different from assembly horns. This one, in particular, was the latter.

Caleb froze. His eyes darted around the tent like he was tracking a fly. A drop of sweat slid down his forehead, and he plunged his staff into the ground, contemplating his next move.

Salmon tilted his head, watching Caleb’s clenched fists and the tight line of his jaw, displaying unfamiliar signs of tension on his usually stoic face.

“Don’t move,” he said before trudging off to the Tent of Meeting, where Joshua was calling the Elders.

Hear, O Israel, Phinehas wrote on a fresh scroll.

Yahweh our God, Yahweh is one! You shall love Yahweh your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your⁠—

He couldn’t remember the last clause.

With all your… he thought. With all your what?

Joy?

He wrote joy feebly onto the scroll with great uncertainty and continued to finish the rest of the Shema. The fact that Phinehas had written this down multiple times without memorizing it was concerning, especially regarding his future role as Kohen Gadol, the High Priest of Israel. Moses’s last words were crucial to remember because he was conveying what Elohim had told him. They were not suggestions or casual conversation. This was the Word of God.

Phinehas finished the rest of the passage and retrieved an official copy of Moses’s final speech for comparison.

Hear, O Israel: Yahweh our God, Yahweh is one! You shall love Yahweh your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your… strength.

Phinehas slammed his fist on the table before crumpling his profane papyrus and catapulting it across the tent in a fit of rage. He realized afterward how wasteful his reaction had been, but he had been studying the Torah for over a month. Ever since Moses left camp, he took it upon himself (save for the invisible pressure of his father) to memorize it all. He wasn’t even a quarter of the way through the speech, and he had messed up the most important part.

His lower jaw hung forward from his normal bite, and he scoffed at himself.

Aaron would be ashamed.

The reality was not the case; Aaron had led Israel into idolatry forty years prior with a golden calf, saying, “This is your god, O Israel, that brought you out of the land of Egypt!” Nobody remembered that part of the story unless they read Moses’s scrolls. Phinehas, however, revered his grandfather as a perfect man, and his great-uncle, Moses, was even more perfect!

That man surely never sinned… had he?

It didn’t matter. He had all the role models he needed to be the next great Levite. He knew that the events regarding him in those scrolls would ensure his name’s record for thousands of years; however, the most significant one within those scrolls had left demoralizing consequences on his life.

The memory plagued him, and he couldn’t dismiss it when it surfaced. Before he could regain control, his mind wandered back to it, recalling the events from a year earlier…

It was one of the cooler, dry months in Moab, a particularly cloudy day east of the Jordan. The light was dipping below the horizon when Moses came to Kohen Gadol Eleazar, Phinehas’s father, to address the plague. This was not a common cold or pox; this was something much more sinister. It was not a visible affliction from the outside, not one that could be seen unless the infected person was stripped of all clothing. The disease was disturbing, and it only seemed to target the sexually promiscuous. Hence the taboo. Moses and the Levites outright condemned any form of adultery, sodomy, or fornication. This was a shock to many of the Israelites who had multiple sexual partners outside of marriage. They had normalized monogamy, though polygamy was fairly common. Even Moses had two wives over his lifetime, but he was no adulterer, and at the time, he was far beyond the years when that was even possible. After the Exodus, Moses was more focused on saving his people, and on this particular occasion, it involved their prudence.

Phinehas was present for his father’s conversation with Moses. Eleazar was training him to become the future Kohen Gadol of Israel, so it was only right for him to sit in on affairs involving Tribe justice. Someday, he might have to carry out the law; that day may have come sooner than expected.

The leader of Israel showed a furrowed brow and a weary bearing. He held his head between two hands and gazed down at his feet so intently, it was as if something miraculous was happening between his toes. Phinehas saw the tear run down his cheek for only a moment in the fluttering torchlight before Moses wiped it away.

“Yahweh’s anger burns against the adulterers of this generation,” said Moses.

“What?” asked Eleazar, stunned. “Who among us has betrayed the Law of Adonai?”

“These stubborn people!” Moses said, standing up suddenly and fixing his gaze upon everyone in the tent. “It is as if they have no ears to hear and no heart to receive! They only take for themselves. How many times must I remind them to stay strong and courageous against the iniquities of the land?”

“Tell what has happened, my Lord,” said Eleazar.

“The Moabites among us have infected the impure with an untreatable ailment. These men and women have not adhered to Yahweh’s statutes and ordinances; for they have taken foreigners as wives and worshiped their gods.”

“They perform ritual harlotry with Moabites?”

Ritual harlotry, repeated Phinehas in his head.

The Torah strictly forbade holding pagan orgies dedicated to false idols. The intercourse was an offering to foreign images and went against the Torah through and through. Sex was to be had between a man and his wife. Phinehas recalled Moses’s writings about it from his adolescent education.

“There is no other possibility,” said Moses. “Elohim has revealed it to me in this way.”

Eleazar scratched his tangled gray chin. “Shall I prepare a burnt offering?”

Moses frowned. Tears flooded his eyes, their sorrowful glow evident as he shook his head.

“No, I’m afraid that will not do,” he said. “Gather the Elders and Judges from each Tribe. Bring them here.”

Eleazar bowed and then left the tent in a hurry. That left only two.

The horn sounded outside, and now they just had to wait.

Moses’s staff rattled the ground as he made his way toward Phinehas. The young man stood in the middle of the tent beside a large couch. Moses rested on it for a moment, sighing heavily as he descended into its cushions. He looked up at Phinehas and motioned for the priest to sit beside him. Phinehas obeyed, feeling his legs turn to jelly, but hid it as best he could.

“You know the plague that I speak of?” asked Moses.

He knows I do.

Phinehas recalled several Levites coming to him, hoping to confirm their ritual cleanliness. Unfortunately, after presenting their physical afflictions, he had to reject them. He sent them to other priests and healers for remedies, but they could not participate in rituals until the disease was cured. It was a gruesome ailment, and he suppressed a gag at the mere thought of it.

Phinehas puckered his lips, unsure what to say, but the words came eventually.

“The one reminiscent of leprosy: Sores on the genitalia that burst with pus and filth until the host dies for dealing unrighteously,” he said.

“Yes, my son.”

Phinehas nodded.

“Have you witnessed it?” asked Moses.

“You mean to ask if I have this affliction?”

“No, my boy, of course you don’t,” Moses chuckled before inching closer to Phinehas. “Do you know who has been playing the harlot?”

“I do not mean to gossip,” said Phinehas. “But there is word that a few of the infected are Levites… and, unfortunately, the rumors are true.”

Moses grumbled with grim understanding.

“Indeed, my Lord, it is truly disgraceful,” said Phinehas.

“Any friends of yours?”

“I-I think not. None that I know of, though I am not one to have many companions.”

“My boy,” Moses put a hand on his shoulder. “Friends are not just playmates or people to feast beside. Friends are those who stand by you when you make hard decisions, sojourn through dark days, and help you live to see the other side. My brother, your grandfather, was my friend. Your father is much like him; their similarities are beyond compare. This family—this blood is sacred. Anointed with grace that we did not earn, from a God who chose us.” Moses smiled with his eyes. “Be strong and of good courage, my boy. You have a great destiny in your path.”

Phinehas looked into the Elder’s large eyes. Within them, he saw… wonder. Glorious wonder and purpose, the likes of which he could not fathom. It was as if the reflection of God Himself sparkled within his irises. He felt peace at the look of grace, and then, through that gaze, the Spirit of the Lord cast a flame upon his soul. It was warm in those eyes, despite the pale blue. Phinehas smiled back with his own eyes, just as he imagined Adonai might.

“Thank you, my Lord,” said Phinehas.

“I am not the one you thank,” said Moses.

The tent flap opened to reveal a group of about twenty-four men, excluding Eleazar and Joshua. These were the leaders from each of the Tribes. Due to its massive population, the Tribe of Joseph, which had a double portion of the Abrahamic Covenant, split into the Tribes of Manasseh and Ephraim, Joseph’s two sons. So, excluding the Levites, there were Twelve Tribes of Israel.

Moses stood up with the help of his staff.

“Evening, gentlemen, welcome!”

Phinehas also joined him and walked beside him to greet the men. They all bowed in reverence, but Moses waved for them to halt. Phinehas admired his humility despite being the leader of millions.

“I am afraid I summoned you bearing bad news,” said Moses. “Yahweh has come to me greatly displeased. He weeps for his people, Israel. The Lord commands us to take matters into our own hands. We have grounds to accept this trial and restore justice to the camp.”

Moses frowned once more with a sigh.

“We are to kill the infected and expose them in broad daylight before Adonai, so that His fierce anger may turn away from Israel.”

Phinehas’s eyes widened, and a murmur made its way through the group of men.

“Preposterous! Kill our own brothers?” one of them said.

“Thus says Yahweh,” said Moses. “Each of you must put to death those of your people who have yoked themselves to Baal of Peor.”

Phinehas understood. Sexual relationships with the Moabites were turning people's hearts away from the one true God. They worshipped the false idol, Baal of Peor, in pursuit of pleasures and orgies. These illicit, extramarital sex rituals with the Moabites were causing the spread of the plague.

A man from the Tribe of Ephraim stepped forward, out from the group of Israelite Judges. Phinehas was quite familiar with the man, nicknamed “Desert Scourge” by their enemies, but he knew him as Joshua, son of Nun.

“Yes, my Lord, Moses,” he said, bending the knee, his head bowed, and clutching his walking staff, its tip digging into the floor. “We will do as the Lord of Hosts commands.”

Caleb joined Joshua in bending the knee, and one by one, the other men followed suit.

It’s a shame they only follow those two, thought Phinehas, looking between Caleb and Joshua.

A subtle fear arose deep within his gut that told him once the two Elders had passed, nobody in Israel would keep the people as one nation under God.

“Gather all the adulterers at once and bring them to the Tent of Meeting,” said Moses. “If you sense dishonesty, make them show proof.”

With a bow from each man, they all departed. Moses spoke to Eleazar for a few minutes before leaving as well. Eleazar moved to a desk in the middle of the tent and started jotting down some notes. Phinehas met him across the table and eyed him until his father looked up.

“Yes?” asked Eleazar, putting his stylus down.

“They won’t do it, Father,” said Phinehas.

“Do what?”

“Find them all. The infected.”

“And how do you know that?”

He hesitated to tell his father about the recurring dream he had been having over the past month. The dream scared him because it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like he was peering through time into the past—or possibly the future. The scene replayed itself in his head.

A tent. A spear. Blood.

He wasn’t supposed to be the one doing the unclean work, but he did…

And it involved the adulterers.

Phinehas bit his lip. “I-I’m not sure. I know they won’t. A piece is missing.”

“Hmm,” Eleazar picked up the stylus and wrote something else down. Then, when he noticed his son didn’t move, he looked back up. They locked eyes, and his father could see something within him. A fire burned… a spirit… the Spirit.

“Go. Seize the abominations.”

Curious.

Phinehas nodded with reverence, walked around the desk to the exit flap, and rushed out of the tent.

It did not take long for the Camp of Israel to erupt in shambles. The fires rose as the accused were dragged from their own dwellings. Men and women alike, Hebrew and Moabite alike, the suspects were tossed into the center of camp like a herd of cattle and locked in by Benjaminite shield walls. A few men jumped the soldiers in a futile attempt to escape, but they were met with a face full of wood or the butt of a sword. Shouts from confused families echoed around the scene, and soon Joshua appointed an additional layer of Benjaminites to face outward from the circle and prevent protesters from breaking the inner barrier.

The night dragged on, and more people were thrown into the ring. Bystanders watched their friends being taken and wept. It was as if they knew what was to come. The smell of disease grew stronger as the density of the infected increased. It had a rotten, horrid scent, like sour milk. The ring of soldiers did not expand with the influx but contracted, leaving the captives with little room to breathe.

Phinehas watched from afar, as he had all night. The circumstances were sinister, compounded by public humiliation. He sensed it would not be long before the executions began. A message was meant to be sent, and it would surely be received. Phinehas’s heart went out to those affected, but he understood that the Law was vital and an example had to be made. These people had done evil in the sight of Adonai by worshipping false gods and defiling themselves with pagan foreigners. They had disobeyed and were to be judged accordingly. No more chances. They could have stopped along the way, but instead indulged their flesh. If Israel was to be a light to the world, it had to be refined, and sometimes the hardest choices required the strongest wills.

Ritual horns blew.

Phinehas looked across the crowd to the Tent of Meeting and saw Moses ascending a small wooden stage where he typically gave proclamations. Joshua stood beside him, and Caleb stood beside Joshua. Eleazar was on the other side of Moses, arms folded across his chest plate with twelve multicolored gems. Levitical priests crowded behind them, and the rest of the congregation was present. All of Israel gathered, awaiting what their leader had to say. Their faces flickered in the light of scattered fires around the camp. The weeping was muffled, but did not stop… it would not stop for the rest of the night.

“Our God, Yahweh, the true and living God, sees what goes on behind closed doors,” boomed Moses. “You cannot hide from His vision, nor can you stop His plans. We, the children of Jacob, have been given the ultimate gift of sanctity, a place to meet with the Creator of the universe,” Moses gestured to the Tabernacle. “Despite this great honor, this lot of infidels would rather take part in idolatry and sexual immorality than worship Adonai. The Chosen People have chosen wrong. You have played the harlot against the One who loves you more than anyone on the face of the earth. You have done evil, and therefore, you will be punished, banished to Sheol until the end of days.”

Moses wept. “I am sorry, my brethren. Truly sorry.”

And he meant it.

“Strip your garments so all of the children of Israel can see your sin.”

Joshua ordered his legion into the ring. Each soldier grabbed hold of the nearest person and ripped their clothes to expose the infected area. Many of them felt embarrassed and tried to cover themselves with their hands; others did nothing and stood as still as statues. The stench amplified from the assembly. Joshua’s legion of Ephraimites stepped out, and the circle reformed its barriers.

Moses looked down at them, his chin quivered, and tears streamed down his face. He wiped his eyes with his left hand, then held his right hand high above his head.

He waved, causing the Benjaminites to mount spears on their shields and press inward. One step at a time, uniformly across the ring, feet shook the ground. Cries erupted both inside and out. Blood poured from stabs, and bones snapped from the pressure. The men in the middle could not breathe; half of them did not die by the tip of the spear, but by suffocation. Some desperate men pushed their brothers into the spears to make room for themselves, but it was futile. Others were smart enough to dodge the spearheads and slip between soldiers, but they were quickly met with a sword from the back line.

There was no escape.

This was their final orgy.

Phinehas watched as thousands died. Some faces he recognized; most he did not. He did not protest, nor did he cry; he simply stared down at the judgment of the wicked. Phinehas had witnessed mass death before, but this was brutal. The slaughter of Israelites at the hands of Israelites.

For the greater good.

Within minutes, the crowd of people turned into a pile of naked bodies. Some with limbs twisted and shattered, others with cuts through their torsos, but all of them had the infected waste of tissue bubbling from their groins.

Orders were being shouted above the sound of mothers weeping and husbands who had only just found out their wives had been unfaithful. Bodies were dragged away to be tossed into a fire outside of camp, their limbs creating tracks in the sand leading to their final destination on earth.

Phinehas remained in the same place, watching everything. His senses were acute, and he took note of every hint of minutiae. A light breeze forced the putrid smell into his nostrils, and so he finally looked away.

That’s when he saw them.

A man held a woman’s hand as she ran behind him through the chaos, directly in front of Moses himself. Somehow, he didn't see. Others were not running, not even the soldiers or sobbing loved ones, only this couple.

Running from what? thought Phinehas.

Phinehas trailed behind them and passed by a spear stuck in the dirt. He paused, contemplating whether to pick it up. Obeying his instincts, he reached down, pulled the tip free from the soil, and tucked it under his arm. He quietly followed the couple to the camp’s edge until the man opened a tent flap and the woman hurried inside, after which the man followed shortly. Phinehas sneaked around a corner, searching for movement in their dwelling and assessing the situation. Carefully approaching the tent’s exterior, he paused when he overheard their voices.

“Only grab essentials. We cannot take much without drawing eyes,” said the man.

Phinehas peered through a hole in the fabric, but his nose understood before his eyes. He winced and scrunched his face.

That smell, he thought. Sour milk. The stench of the infection.

He gripped the spear as if to lob it and walked around to the tent’s opening. He opened the flap and stood to block their way out. The woman was in a state of undress, and he could see the sores, confirming his suspicion.

The man noticed Phinehas before she did. He raised a palm and stepped in the way, shielding her.

“Don’t,” he said. “Please, don’t do this.”

Phinehas said nothing and only raised his spear, its tip directed toward them.

The woman realized what was going on, sat on the ground, and covered her affliction with a loose garment. She began to weep.

The man took a step toward Phinehas.

“You don’t want to do this.”

He inched closer.

Phinehas’s eyes were bloodshot, and his heart felt like it would explode. He had never killed, not once. The law said, “Thou shalt not murder,” but was this murder? His chin quivered just as Moses’s had as he gave the order just before….

“We can talk this through.”

He inched closer.

“She knows the most beautiful women in all of Midian. You can join us and have a life among them.”

He inched closer.

“You can lie with any of them—you can lie with HER! They will love you!”

This is not murder, thought Phinehas.

The fire burned within him.

This is justice.

He kicked the man back, and the adulterer fell on top of the woman. With the swiftness of a commanding Judahite, he cast the spear straight through the man’s chest and into the woman’s abdomen. Blood spewed from the man’s mouth, and the woman shrieked in agony. Her cries pierced the air, but Phinehas stood still as if time ceased to exist.

Justice.

Then the fire was extinguished.

“The man Phinehas killed was named Zimri, a member of the Tribe of Simeon,” said Joshua. “The woman was a Midianite named Kozbi, the daughter of one of their head chiefs, Zur.”

Moses nodded his head. “Approach, my boy.”

Phinehas walked up to him, his head bowed to the ground. Moses spun him around to face the congregation of Elders and laid a hand on his shoulder. He breathed in through his nose with great effort, then exhaled, before opening his mouth to speak. His eyes were closed, his mind rummaging behind the lids, examining within.

“Thus says Yahweh,” he began, “Phinehas, son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron, the priest, has turned My anger away from the Israelites. Since he was as zealous for My honor among them as I am, I did not put an end to them in My zeal. Therefore, tell him I am making My covenant of peace with him. He and his descendants will have a covenant of lasting priesthood, because he was zealous for the honor of his God and made atonement for the Israelites.”

The Elders shouted with praise and applause. They had fulfilled God’s commands because of Phinehas and chanted his name. They championed the young priest and gave him a new title:

Phinehas the Zealot.

It was over.

The memory left him, and Phinehas cupped his face, shaking his head to forget the source of his infamy. It was the blood dripping from the spear that sent shivers down his spine. He was used to animal blood, but this was human.

He pulled out a new sheet of papyrus and dipped his pen in ink, therapeutically.

Hear, O Israel: Yahweh our God, Yahweh is one! You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength.

He rested his pen resolutely on the table after finishing the verse. He knew without looking at the reference copy that it was correct.

Then the all-too-familiar horn sounded, coming from the Tent of Meeting.