My father owned the best known inn between the Tigris and Damascus. Hamash was one of the fortunate of the city. We had enough wealth to live in a comfortable house across the courtyard from the sheds and pens where the animals were housed. Most of the inhabitants of Jericho and the surrounding towns bedded their animals in their homes. The very poor slept in a hovel with the beasts. Some residents were able to provide a second floor of family sleeping quarters. Our dozen servants, mostly slaves from the northern hills or southern desert slept in the lofts above the animals. I never thought about the men and women who waited on my every need. It was the way my life was. I pitied my friends who did not have someone to comb and braid their hair in the morning.

    My three brothers were half-grown by the time I was born. Perez at thirteen was oldest. Jonadab, a year younger, was a constant shadow for his brother. Hamul, the youngest was ten. There were other children who did not live past the dangerous and tragic infant years. Mother never spoke of the five babies who died so young. My birth when she was twenty-eight was a constant source of joy.

   My father loved me. I never really doubted that. With his love came the expectation of great accomplishments. I dreamed of marriage to the son of the gal, the chief of Jericho.

   Hamash of Jericho had even higher aspirations. “My little princess, you will make me proud.” Nearly every day the man crooned his dreams to me. “With your amazing red hair and gentle ways, you are certain to attract the eye of an important man when the time is ripe. Who knows, perhaps the priests will set you aside for service to Astarte.”

   What my father said was partly true. I did have hair that flamed in the sunlight. The gentle ways and soft words of an obedient woman were harder to learn. I had a way of speaking my mind that my mother and the women of the household deplored. Both Mother and Father were very indulgent of me.

   My childhood was filled with much greater freedom than most girls of Jericho. Hamash encouraged me to ask questions frowned on by my nurse. I was always intrigued by the multiplicity of the gods worshipped by our guests. It seemed strange that each nation had different gods.

   How can there be so many gods?” My question at five brought a smile to my mother’s face although her answer was less than satisfactory.

   “Someday you will understand,” was all she would say...