Sisera's Rest

 

Sisera ran, hunched over, gathering his last remaining strength. His fevered lungs heaved, his chest rising and falling almost simultaneously. He had long since abandoned his sword; it weighed him like a stone. Beads of sweat crawled from his temples beneath his helmet, across his face and forehead, stinging and stinging his eyes. His hardened tongue couldn't moisten his chapped lips. He kept running, even though he had lost the pursuers almost an hour ago. But he knew the search would not cease.

So he was no longer a hetman. There, far behind him, Mount Tabor rose majestically into the sky, a silent witness to the terrible defeat of his forces. From its forested foothills to his home gate of Harosheth, the bodies of his warriors and the wreckage of his chariots marked the escape route of the remnants and the relentless, vengeful pursuit of Barak's forces. The defeat was complete and unexpected. Who could have considered such a possibility? How could anyone have predicted that the mountaineers of Naphtali and Zebulun, having left the safety of the serpentine forest paths of Tabor, would be able to resist their chariots in the valley? How could the sons of Amalek, proven in their battles against Tyre, have succumbed to these Hebrews? They had been trampling them for twenty years. Twenty years! And the battle? Sisera felt a shiver and a chill run down his spine as he mentally transported himself back to the Kishon River and saw the same scene. Chariots crumbling and colliding, ranks of his brethren swept away as if by an invisible force, fire appearing from nowhere! Finally, panic and slaughter. The death of Ethbaal, his brother, who had cleared a path for them to escape. And finally, the Naphthalites chasing him through the wilderness like a wild gazelle. By the gods, they might be here soon... He quickened his pace, pushing through the thorny undergrowth toward a sparse stand of trees. He stood in the shade of a spreading terebinth, hunched over, gasping for air. He listened. His senses, clouded by running, told him he was entering familiar territory. He was near Kadesh. A city of refugees! If only he could reach it... Heber the Kenite was camped near Kadesh. After all, peace reigned between him and the king of the Canaanites. This was his chance. But first he must leave this wilderness. He cast his eyes around with a hazy, blurred gaze, searching for lurking hunters, but there was no sign of danger. This terror fueled his imagination, every sound making him wary. He steeled himself and ran on.

Day was just beginning when he spotted the Kenite tents in the distance. As he approached, he saw camels and a woman watering them from a well. There was no one else in sight. Sisera focused his wandering gaze on her face and immediately recognized her. It was Jael.

Heber's wife knew of the battle raging in the north. Rumors echoed throughout Israel that Barak, son of Abinoam, had risen with ten thousand men to fight the Canaanite forces. That the prophetess Deborah was with him. She didn't yet know the outcome of this battle. She didn't know until she recognized the features of the warrior running alone toward her. It was Sisera, "The Chained One," commander of Jabin's army from Hazor! Why had he come alone, without a large retinue, chariot, or weapons? Why did he keep looking back? The answer was simple: He was seeking refuge. Could it be that the Lord of hosts had defeated the hordes of Jacob's enemies today? Jael decided to meet him.

"Stop, my lord, stay with me! Fear nothing!" she called to him and urged him to approach. He was unable to say anything, only pointing back with a look of panic in his eyes. She nodded in understanding. She ordered him to hide in her tent and covered him with blankets. When he asked for water, she gave him a skin of fresh milk to drink and put him down again. As she was about to leave, he called her.

"Watch at the entrance to the tent. And if anyone comes and asks, 'Is anyone here?' reply, 'No one,'" he said, drifting off to sleep. She nodded.

Finally, he found shelter. He fell asleep almost immediately. Instead of the heavy hallucinations that summarized the day's experiences, he dreamed of his hometown, Harosheth. He saw his mother, rejoicing in the beautiful garments he had brought her. Phoenician and Hebrew captives peering through the windows of their houses, his home, the temple of Dago, the royal court, vineyards, fields full of livestock. He recognized the faces of his relatives and neighbors. He feasted with them in his dreams, celebrating the harvest of another expedition. He didn't even feel the dull thud that followed darkness.

Barak stood at the entrance to Jael's tent. He and his men had only just arrived. The other Israelites were still searching the area. They would have to be summoned, if what Heber's wife says is true.

"Come in," she said to him, "and I will show you the man you seek."

He was afraid to open the curtain of the tent and enter alone, even though impatience and joy urged him to take vengeance. But yet... There sleeps that uncircumcised man, under whose leadership his predatory neighbors had for many years destroyed the crops, carried off captives, and destroyed the homes of Jacob's sons. Now the blood of the innocent would be upon his head. Yes! Barak, sword in hand, burst inside. At first, he saw nothing. Animal furs, bedding, and chests were strewn about the ground. When he moved them aside, he saw a hole in the ground, skillfully covered with blankets. He raised his weapon and threw aside the blankets.

Suddenly, a soft cry escaped his lips. Yes, it was him. Sisera. He lay among the skins as if asleep. Only, a tent stake was embedded in his split temple, pinning him to the ground.

Barak quickly covered the body, not wanting to let the swarm of insects, drawn by the stench of blood, into his path. None of today's wartime horrors had astonished him as the sight of this seemingly sleeping body. What a failure. Killed by a woman! His plans to punish him in front of all Israel were futile. This uncircumcised man had escaped the suffering he deserved. He should have...

No... He should have done nothing. How could he have thought such a thing?

Bedon left the tent. He looked once more at Jael, who was looking into his eyes. He recalled the words another woman had recently uttered: "By the hands of a woman God will give you Sisera." He suppressed the bitterness of his disappointment. It was the Lord of hosts who had orchestrated matters to punish his cowardice. He, Barak, needed a woman's help to begin the work of Israel's salvation, and it was a woman who had helped him complete it.

"Indeed, you have prepared an easy death for him. May all the enemies of the Lord perish in this way.