It is the Sabbath. From all around comes the grief stricken wailing of the women. Take a lesson that you may be wise and Godly.
With chariots and chargers the host of Hizaz, general officer of the foreigners of Across-Jordan, storm these hundred miles down the valley of their invasion. Not one man of Isreal comes out to confront them. Unopposed, they rush the length of the valley, carrying surprise and conquest into the heart of the nation. Not a single warrior draws up against them. against them.
The army comes with such momentum, such victorious speed that it neither ravages the crops nor consumes them. The pillage will wait till the whole district is subjugated. The dash is awful and terrifying, who could dare to oppose the conquers? They exhaust themselves with the haste of their dash. Never before since Abraham threw up his tents has an army rushed over the country, subduing it without even a wimper or a struggle.
At last, upon the second day, as the army approaches the great mount fortress city of Ar, the scout, breathless, gallops back from the far front of the army to where Hizaz, general of those of Across-Jordam is driving behind a lathered team of horses. The general has been expecting this message. The scout will report on the army. The defenders have surely thrown up at their mighty fortress.
"And, boy, tell us, is it a real enemy or only a token?" the haughty Hizaz demands of his man.
"May it please, your grace, but there is not a man of Israel, neither warrior nor war wagon and not an obstacle in the road."
"How can this be, lad?" the General demanded. "Are they like women? Like sheep who flee without honor?"
"No one dares to oppose you, mighty Hizaz. our fame will be boundless. Everyone will praise you. And there is more."
"So, speak it!" the General orders.
"Smoke rises out of Ar," the young man confides. "The city is a fire!"
Just so it proves to be. That great fortress, Ar, seat of the goddess which is moon and queen of the cities of commerce is smoke and ruin. All about the city and its wall are the terrible signs of a great, great battle having been but recently completed. Broken weapons, destruction; not more than a day previously an awful conflict was enacted there. Not a person remained. Only the funeral fires smoldering and the burned out city remain.
The officers of the army of Hizaz gather about him. Certainly there has been an awsome civil war between equally matched forces. Not even bodies remain for the women have carried their sons and husbands off to be cremated.
These people are no match for us." The captain tells his general. "Look at the weapons. They are ancient, broken and useless. Who ever survived will be easy prey."
"They are just country folk," laughs antoher officer. "They are farmers not soldiers. Look they fought with rocks and broken tools. They are just Israelis!"
Only the boy who drives the General's chariot seems concerned. "General, these are a strange people who worship an invisible God. They have unnatural customs, and they do not burn their dead. They bury them."
"Certainly, Gos, they cremated them this time. Not even a single body remains." The General sneered as again the breathless scout gallops up. He has come from the rolling hills in the direction toward Tas-ta-car, the smaller fortress city, twelve miles distant.
"It is Tas-ta-car, great General!" the rider announces. "From the look out, I've seen a column of smoke rising and the whole valley is full of a moan as if the voice of then thousand dead."
So, again off, breathless, without a rest, the grand invading army of Across-Jordan rushes on toward Tas-ta-car. "We shall have the meaning of this," the General assures his troops. "We shall possess this rich land and piss on the feneral fires of this cowardly people."
On they rush and as they advance they hear the moan, like a distant howling wind. IT grows louder as they race nearer to Tas-ta-car. The valley is narrow and rocky. The sides seem to echo. "It is women!" The young driver tells his General.
"So it is!" Hizaz confirms. "It is widows lamenting their dead! We win without even a struggle!"
So the vanguard climbs the winding narrow way up and around the sides of the mound upon which Tas-ta-car, sad, smoking, grief stricken sits. There behind the mound on the narrow closed in ground are hundreds of women, hundreds of funeral fires filling the air with sickening smoke.
"There must be thousands of dead," the driver tells his General. "Everywhere there are fires and the smoke is so thick I can't see even the rim of the hills!"
"A fog of death and victory," Hizaz smiles at the lad. "We'll rest here and you men will use these widows. We have accomplished our objective."
Pulling up among the first ranks of lamenting women, the General steps down from his chariot, his splendid leather armor polished like brass. "And what has happened here?" he demands of a young Israeli woman. "Where are your men?"
"Dead!" the girl wails. "Dead or run away. Even my brother and my father. They fought against Ar. It was a tragedy. . . dead or run into the desert."
The whole of the army has gathered in the narrow field and the fires and the wailing women. The gasping horses, pawing the ground make the thick smoke swirl and some of the women are putting wet straw upon the pires so that in a moment everything is obscured like ghosts.
The wailing of the women is deafening. But, wait, just as the smoke closes in so taht each soldier is isolated, standing by his exhausted stead, t all becomes clear. The wail of lament becomes a war-cry.
Everywhere soldiers fall. There is mad fury, confusion. The invadres have no escape.
The mighty General is felled by the young woman he was questioning, she burying a sickle into his eye. The boy, his driver, falls with a pike in his spine thrust by one of the masquerading Israeli warriors.
In half an hour the invaders are vanquished. It has all been a trap, a scheme!
So, son, take a lesson. Beware the wailing women. Each howl is a ghost, like some which will rise up and defeat the haughty warrior. You are a weak people, godly and simple, easily overcome, but you must fight for what is yours or you will lose it. fight in a way to win using the places you know and the tools you have.
The young woman, to the daughters, her sister says:
Nothing is given for free. Kicking and squawing, furious and fighting, you bring infants into the world. Each instant is a struggle. It is athe joyous way of life. Fitght for you loved ones or die youselves."
And, in the blood drenched field, the ghost of Gos, the General's charior driver arises from the ground like half visible vapor.
We come for a time and we go. Leave a foot print of yourself.
