When my daughter of Moab was born, her father had waited ten days to see her, as was the custom of his people. He had wanted a son, but when he entered the tent, his face broke into a smile. It was good that a man could not see a child immediately, when an infant was still battered by birth, swollen and blue from the burden of coming to life. To her father’s eyes, this girl child was a radiant being. He was a man who did not hide what he felt. He chose her name, and I agreed to his choice, for Nahara meant the light that shone upon great beauty. We agreed on many things, but on this most of all. I wondered if, on the other side of the Salt Sea, my daughter’s father knew that she was lost, if he had been waiting all this time for us to return. I wondered if when he found me in the wilderness and took me with him I had been wrong not to love him. At the very least I should have been grateful enough to offer him my loyalty in return.
OUR PEOPLE went out to see the new moon at the time of Rosh Chodesh. We offered God our prayers, but we did not rejoice. There was no dancing. The Roman wall had been completed, encircling us like a viper. The camps had risen, several of them larger than most villages. Those who had not come from Jerusalem were stunned by what the legion had accomplished; below them there were more people than many had seen in their lifetimes, the six thousand wearing the white tunics of the legion, and thousands more enslaved to help them with their brutal tasks.
The Romans’ main camp, set directly across from the Northern Palace, boasted a tower that rivaled that of any garrison. There was another large camp behind us, guarding the treacherous eastern slope, and six more smaller camps set in a circle. Beyond Silva’s camp there was the village of followers, where people led their daily lives, raising chickens, taking women for their pleasure, praying to their gods. I considered each one to be the murderer of my daughter.
I went out at night to the wall where I had drawn spells before, and there I took a dreadful oath.
I invoke and beseech the Most High God, Lord of all spirits and of the flesh, against those who treacherously murdered or killed, who spilled innocent blood in an unjust fashion. Lord who oversees all angels, before whom every soul humbles itself, may you avenge this innocent blood and seek justice.
I wrote these words upon parchment, then burned them so they might rise up to the Almighty. I called down the angels of Chimah, the messengers of wrath and of vengeance. Chimah is also said to be the name of the stars in the sky that are the seven sisters, who look down upon us in times of sorrow. As I beseeched the angels, I took a knife to my flesh and sliced along the palm of my left hand, though our people were not allowed to cut ourselves, or harm that which God had created. I cut deeply as I offered myself in a bargain to keep my surviving children safe from every living thing, and from the demons who were so close by, and from the lion below us.
OUR ENEMIES studied our ways. To them, we were nothing more than a scorpion placed under glass. They wished to gauge when we would next sting. Each time they attempted to scale the serpent’s path, we poured boiling oil onto them. Our archers were perched in the olive trees and along the wall, ready to shoot down whoever might try to pass. The path was narrow, and the legion was wide, an easy target when they tried to scale the mountain.
We thought they would see how dangerous a scorpion could be, despite its small size. But if anything, the Romans decided that the best way to catch a scorpion is to crush it in its own garden. To destroy us, they needed to reach us. They began their own path, a wide ramp built at the western slope and rising toward the North Gate. Barrel upon barrel of earth was brought to raise up this ramp, which took the form of a white mountain. We thought they were mad to attempt to create what only God could form, a cliff reaching two hundred cubits from the valley from which they could pursue us. But there were so many slaves and the work was unceasing, and before our eyes the cliff appeared, so white it burned with brightness. At night it seemed the world had overturned, and the stars were beneath us, rising up to us, threatening to burn us with their light.
The men at the synagogue met to discuss whether or not it was truly possible for this ramp to reach our walls. But in the time it took for them to debate this matter, the ramp rose so high that we could plainly hear the workers. The Roman soldiers were able to swing javelins and spears that took several lives. We were stunned by what our enemies had accomplished, and how, like our Creator, they had built a mountain overnight.
IN JERUSALEM I had seen my rival only once, as I stepped into the cart on the day I was driven out of the city. The wooden cage of doves was in my hand and I carried my child, who wailed in my arms. They forced me to go barefoot, as was the custom; when my feet bled, one more sorrow would be added to my punishment. I remember that Ben Ya’ir’s wife was wearing fine sandals, made of goat leather, clasped with brass buckles. She wore necklaces of lapis and carnelian and turquoise, with gold bracelets on her arms. I had only a black scarf wound around myself. As my enemy watched me climb into the donkey cart meant for hauling ewes to the butcher, I thought not of the torments of the wilderness, nor of the vultures and ravens that would follow us. I was not occupied with the heat that would bring us low or the jackals that would not be content to wait for our death so we might be their meal. Instead I was ashamed of my bare feet.