Zur
My husband told me the story before he died.
I relate his telling to you:
My young friends came running and skipping,
their joy beaming,
shouting, “Zur! Zur!”
“Yes, my simple ones,” I answered.
“People are coming. Lots of people.”
“Hmmm,” I thought.
“And they have a smoking tent in their midst!”
I ran, heedless of my companions’ joy.
“Father!” I cried as I came to the city gate.
“My son of one sandal
and of one bleeding foot,
why such haste?”
“They come,” I said,
and watched my father turn pale.
Time passed. The people had turned back
at the corner of our land.
Then at the death of my father
I became chieftain of the clans
of our paternal house.
We chieftains called ourselves kings,
the five kings of Midian,
although King Sihon of the Amorites
called us dukes.
Then came the fated day.
We called the nobles of Midian in council
with us kings. I reported, “The people
of the smoking tent, after years of wandering
in wildernesses, had turned north
to the big kingdoms of Sihon and Og,
now crushed as if they were made of clay.”
“But now,” said King Rekem,
“They move south,
and are poised on the plains of Moab.”
“Their god is strong,
and is taking land and spoil,” said King Evi.
“We must defend our way of life!” said King Reba.
“Moab is taking action—Balaam’s curse not to be
but Balaam’s scheme holding promise,” said King Hur.
We joined, our daughters rising to the task,
seducing the weak men
of the people of the smoking tent
into making offering to our gods.
Their god was angry, but not weakened.
Then in council once again, I spoke,
“We anger their god,
only to see him cleanse his people.
If we wish to survive,
we must strike their god in his heart.”
“What do you propose?” asked King Evi.
“We defile their sacred smoking tent,” I said.
“How?” asked King Reba.
“My daughter Cozbi has charmed
a chieftain of these people into thinking
that the greatest thrill
in all the world
would be
to have relations in the smoking tent.”
“Let it be done,” said the kings.
Our daughter died trying to kill a god.
The reprisal missed me as I sat grieving
in the back of a cave,
leaving me to tell our story.
Not many of us survived.
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