They had been crying for some two score, less one dozen, minutes. All three of them! They had wailed and wept until they had no strength left. Now the cries were soundless, just tears coursing down cheeks, tracing courses of individual and shared sorrow, telling stories that words would take pages of parchment to.
The journey that had brought them this far was painful and anguish-strewn. They had experienced loss, in more ways than one, and were yet to fully recover from them. Yet, in all of that they had not wept like this–this gut-wrenching, heart-breaking, wish-I-could-turn-back-time cry, that emanated somewhere deep in the stomach, travelled through the chest and exploded simultaneously from the lips and eyes.
They had had one another. And it had made all the difference. They faced the grief together, consoled one the other and made the decision to carry on. It was a patently bleak future that lay ahead. But they had themselves. They had even collectively reached the resolution to face what was a dreary migration to the Old Land. There were no guarantees but they at least would start afresh–and that was critical at this time. This place held too many bad memories.
And now this! She had called for a stop. One they accepted gratefully. Under the shade of a pistacia, they uncorked their water skins and gulped down the life-giving fluid. They were catching their breath, pursuant to moving, when she dropped the bomb. It was the most inconceivable and unbelievable news–and literally pulled the rug from under their feet. She wanted them to turn back. If she was not who she was or any younger, a slap would not have been out of place to jolt her back to her senses. Instead, part two of the tear-spree had commenced.
Some Months Earlier.
She was grinding grain while her sister–she had to consciously call to mind that the technical term was sister-in-law, they were that bonded–fetched water from a nearby well. They were going to make some cakes for dinner. And she wanted it ready before the return of their mother–there it was again, mother in place of mother-in-law. However, in this instance, she did not care. Her biological mother had been less of a mother than she. What with alternating between her service at the Temple of Chemosh and her home, she was an absentee parent before the term caught on.
She was lost in the rhythmic movement of stone on barley and the fine powder that was the result. She did not hear the footfalls.
“Ruth. Ruth!”
She looked up into the face of the one person who mattered more than the world to her. The face was leathery and wrinkled from too many hours in the harsh sun that beat mercilessly on Moab. Crows’ feet gave hint of a time when it used to crinkle in laughter. There was none there now.
“Yes ma?”
“I have news. The famine in Yisrael is over. The Lord has visited His people with grain and wine.”
She had to take a while to absorb the news. For the last dozen or so years, she had watched the woman transform from a rotund, jovial and confident woman, sought by many for her wisdom, into an unhappy, glum, pessimistic recluse. Her husband’s death had been a major blow. But when her two sons died a few years later, on the same day, in an Amalek raid, the camel’s back broke. She had never recovered. The only seeming consolations were her daughters in law. They were also raw reminders of what once was. She however bore this stoically. Ruth wondered what this announcement boded. She did not have to wait for long.
“I am leaving this place.” She declared with finality. “It has brought me nothing but pain and misery.”
“Yyyou are leaving..?” Ruth whispered. She was not sure what she had expected. But it wasn’t this.
“Yes child.” The voice softened.
“What of her?” Ruth indicated with her head to the one that just walked in balancing a jug on her head.
“And me.” She added. Then waited with bated breath.
“You can come if you wish.”
They all did. And had thought they would leave within the next week. They had not. There had been debts to pay off and recover, plus trade-offs to make especially with regards to their home, its Spartan furnishings and the piece of land they cultivated. And they had to wait till it had rained–to make the difficult trip bearable.
Eventually they left, numerous weeks later.
And now they were at this place.
“You should return to your mothers. May The Lord be as kind to you as you have been to me and your deceased husbands; give you new ones and happy homes.”
It took about as long as six raven wing-flaps for the message to register. Then the floodgates opened.
This must be what they referred to as a decision junction. The thought edged to the fore of her mind through a teary haze. This was supposed to be a rest stop, a place of refreshment… It had become a metaphor of bereavement! Pleas had failed; tears had only begotten more tears. Nothing worked. The decision still stood. Now it was for two of them to choose what happened next…
Kilion! Another unbidden thought! It felt like it was yesterday he had come to marry her. He stood out from everyone else in the entourage, resplendent in a long, boldly-striped robe that was offset by a colourful sash tied around the mid-region. They had only seen twice before. First at a cousin’s marriage ceremony, and later, the day he asked her who her father was. He had told her then they would be coming. Kilion… He had turned out to be all a woman wanted in a man, then some more.
She realized she had been audible when both women joined her. They too called on their dead husbands, her sister on Mahlon and mother, Elimelech.
When they were exhausted, the older woman stood up. She looked at both of them and said,
“Go back, my daughters; I have nothing to offer you. Even if I were to marry tonight and have sons, would you wait around for them? Do not do this. My life is too sad for you to share!”
Orpah realized there was no arguing with her–they had not lived together so long for nothing. Tears streaming down her face, she hugged her mother in law tightly, kissed her on the cheek and turned back the way they had come, crying as she went.
Ruth stared at the retreating figure that was visibly ravaged by pain and she turned to her mother-in-law.
“Naomi.” She called her by her given name, for the first and probably last time.
“Do not ask me to leave you or stop following you. Where you go, I will go. Where you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. And where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried.”
When Naomi saw that her mind was firmly made up, she closed her mouth which had hung open throughout her daughter’s long and impassioned speech. There was a new light in her eyes. It was admiration–and a tinge of something else not totally formed. She turned in the direction of Yisrael and began walking.
They had a long, long march ahead of them.