Three women sat together. Prayers of dedication drifted from the next room. They were very different in appearance and manner. The youngest was dressed in a simple gown. The straight, neatly braided dusky hair framed a small heart shaped face. Her gray eyes attracted and held attention. They seemed to be deep clouded pools of mystery as she watched the archway between the two rooms. When a baby’s cry sounded, the young woman flinched and caught her lower lip between her teeth.

Seeing the reaction the taller of her companions bent close. Nearly white hair could just be glimpsed beneath the widow’s veil Rahab had worn for five years. A few strands of red hair lingered beneath the veil. Despite her age there was a lingering grace and peace about the woman that spoke of a great inner beauty and faith.

“It is the price we women pay to abide by the Law of Abraham. We feel the pain when our sons cry. He will soon forget,” the old woman sighed in sympathy.

“It seems cruel,” for a moment it looked as if Ruth would cry.

“My dearest daughter,” a comforting hand covered the twisting fingers. The third occupant of the room spoke. “Better the pain now than when they are older. My own sons were not circumcised until the entire congregation of Israel camped at Gilgal. They were in agony for weeks afterward.”

A grimace crossed the deeply lined face. The tragedies of life left their mark in each crevasse. On her lips a serene smile was visible although faded brown eyes sparkled with tears of memory. Naomi too wore a widow’s veil over her grey hair. The old woman had buried her children and her husband in a distant land.

“Behold the newest of the Sons of Israel. Obed son of Boaz bar Salma is an inheritor of the promises to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob!” From the main room came the triumphant proclamation over the cries of the infant.

Proudly a tall man entered the room. He tenderly held his child. Ruth reached out to take her baby then drew back her arms when she saw Naomi stretch out eager hands.

…

“Even in Jericho we heard of the manna and of the fiery pillar of cloud. You are blessed to have seen the power of the Living God among you during the time in the wilderness,” Rahab looked almost wistful.

“It is true,” Naomi smiled ruefully, “I grew up knowing that the God of Sinai was present. What I did not learn was that I AM was not among us for terror but for love. As a child it was impossible to not be aware of the pillar that everyone knew was the Presence of the Holy One. Despite the stories of Miriam I was afraid of the Holy One. My belief centered on the terrors and plagues rather than on the loving care we experienced in our wanderings.”

“It must have been amazing to know that you were freed by the hand of God,” Rahab sounded awed.

“The tribes of Israel left Egypt ten years before I was even born. My mother was only a child of eight when Pharaoh bowed to the God of Moses and freed the sons of Jacob. I never knew a life of slavery. It was a vague anecdote remembered by the adults. Sometimes Father told me about his work on the monuments for the King before the Exodus. ‘We dragged huge blocks of limestone into place over logs and sand.’ He said. ‘They were larger than the entire Tabernacle.’ I could easily imagine rocks that large. All around were the stony mountains of the wilderness. They loomed over us every day. A life of whips and taskmasters I could not understand.”

Naomi rocked from side to side with the infant in her arms. He dozed. Her companions were silent.  ...