Tamar: A Novel of Ancient Israel

By Irene Elizabeth G. Williams

Tamar, a beautiful young princess of Israel, Palestine, daughter of King David, was ruthlessly raped by her half-brother, Amnon, who was infatuated with her, ill-advised by his cousin Jonadab to rape her, knowing that she was a virgin. The rape destroyed many lives, including that of Amnon, who was murdered by his brother Absalom, later killed in the civil war, where thousands of lives were lost. The rape had one ripple effect after another on King Davids family and became a national disaster, destroying many innocent lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504987233

Irene Elizabeth G. Williams

Irene Elizabeth G. Williams has been a journalist, writer, and communications professional since 1978. She began her writing career with the Marion Star, writing the Children’s Corner. She attended the Institute of Children’s Literature, Writer’s Digest University, and took several courses in fiction and nonfiction and novel writing. She learned how to write articles, short stories, news articles, feature articles, and books for children, teenagers, young adults, and adults, both fictional and nonfictional. She garnished media attention in the 1980s with the regional Pee Dee Observer by writing news articles, a family column, feature news stories, and other articles. In 1991, she extended her writing career by attending Southwestern Adventist University with a BS major in business administration, communications, and journalism and a minor in music. She opened her own media studio, Williams Communications Inc., subtitled, Skills & Drills, a business of teaching writing, art, music, voice, and crafts. In 2000–2006, she taught music, voice, and art at the Marion County Music School in Marion, South Carolina. She attended ASI University, where she majored in art. She’s Who’s Who among American Editors, Authors, and Writers. She’s also Who’s Who among America’s Businesswomen. She gained worldwide national attention when she wrote for the Review & Herald, “My Mother’s Faith” and “The Widow’s Gift.” She was awarded the Martin Luther King’s award for outstanding Community work and leadership by the NAACP. Mrs. Williams took up creative writing in high school in 1969. Later, she attended Florence–Darlington Tec., majoring in computer data, and Stanford Institute, extending her art and illustration skills. After raising a family of six boys, one daughter, and one granddaughter, Mrs. Williams pursues her passion for writing her first novel. She lives at home with her husband in Marion, South Carolina. She loves classical and religious music, composing music, songwriting, lyric-writing, playing the keyboard, piano, guitar, arts, crafts, knitting, crocheting, sewing, quilting, calligraphy, gardening, gourmet cooking, vocal artist, teaching, and writing.

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Tamar

A Novel of Ancient Israel

IRENE ELIZABETH G. WILLIAMS

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©

2016 Irene Elizabeth G. Williams. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Scripture quotations marked AMP are from The Amplified Bible, Old Testament copyright © 1965, 1987 by the Zondervan Corporation. The Amplified Bible, New Testament copyright © 1954, 1958, 1987 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/31/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5049-8722-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-8723-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016905161

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Contents

Author’s Note

Prologue

1   The Rains

2   Conspiracy

3   Summoned

4   Betrayal

5   Shame

6   Baal Hazor

7   Rebirth

8   Revenge

9   Ill Tidings

10   Flight

11   Wrath

12   Limbo

13   Reunion

14   Conflict

15   Ephraim

16   Pilgrimage

17   Solomon

Acknowledgments

About the Author

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This

book is for my dearest husband, Hezekiah, my daughter, Hezerena, my son, Hezekiah Jr. and my granddaughter, Jah’rena.

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Author’s Note

I t is said among many that the Bible stands as one of the greatest books ever written in human history. If you study the stories with care, a remarkable view of the human condition presents itself, a view that remains as relevant today as it was when the books of the Old and New Testaments were transcribed from the oral histories of ancient peoples long since ascended into the realm of legend and lore. The driving forces behind the characters—courage, self-sacrifice, love, greed, lust, cowardice, self-pity, vengeance, loss of faith, and so much more—represent the very essence of life both then and now.

My interest in the Bible comes from many places within my heart and soul. As a deeply Christian woman, my faith is the bedrock of my daily life. It governs how I treat others, and how I view the world and my place in it. But my interest is also rooted in my appreciation of just what the stories in the Bible can reveal, if you take the time to look closely enough and then let your imagination go. The story of Tamar, obscure but not entirely overlooked, has held a particularly magnetic attraction for me.

Tamar’s tale can be found in 2 Samuel 13. Tamar, a daughter of King David and sister the revered Solomon, the third king of Israel, falls prey to the lustful obsession of Amnon, her half-brother and David’s firstborn son. When Amnon lures Tamar into his bedchamber and rapes her, he unwittingly sets events in motion that lead to murder, desolation, and civil war as Israel’s former stability under the king dissolves into chaos. Tamar’s vengeful brother, Absalom, acts as a major impetus behind the murder and civil unrest that eventually follows Tamar’s rape, but the passivity of King David is just as much to blame. His reign of nearly forty years was drawing to a close. He no longer exuded the strength of body and mind once needed to slay Goliath and lead the Israelites to victory through unification of the twelve tribes of Israel. His sin with the beautiful Bathsheba and his orchestration of the murder of her husband, the soldier Uriah, angered God. God said through the prophet Nathan that the sins of the father would be visited on the sons, that the house of David would be forever cursed, and it was.

After Tamar left Jerusalem in shame after the rape, 2 Samuel 13 says little more than that she went to live in Absalom’s house as a desolate woman. On the other hand, no other figure in the Old Testament receives more mentions than King David, who became the second king of Israel in about 1000 B.C.E. after King Saul died in battle at Mount Gilboa while fighting the Philistines. The Philistines were Israel’s mortal enemy at the time of David’s ascension to the throne, though certainly not the only people in the Land of Canaan hostile to the Hebrews.

Perhaps it’s a modern tendency of mine to wonder if Tamar wasn’t quite so passive, if in fact she was anything but. Maybe she really did disappear into the shame of a victim without recourse to justice, but maybe she didn’t. Under Hebrew law at the time, the rape made her a widow cursed to remain loveless for the rest of her life. As I thought about her, I realized that she would make a superb subject for a historical novel if I interceded in what might have been to make her a strong female protagonist that we can all admire for her courage, compassion, wit, and cunning. She may not have been able to marry, or even have a boyfriend, but a man doesn’t make the woman. Often, though, a woman can make the man.

What happened to Tamar? Did she triumph as Israel spun out of control toward the end of David’s reign prior to his death in about 965 B.C.E.? Did she eventually find happiness and contentment despite the adversity she face? Despite the murder, bloodshed, and political intrigue that swirled around her like a sort of desert cyclone?

I’d like to think she did. Here, then, is her story.

Prologue

T he sun inched slowly below the high ridge above Absalom’s fertile lands near Baal Hazor, casting shadows that gradually enveloped Tamar in deepening gloom. The hills and valleys in Israel were beautiful to her, tawny and rugged close at hand and rimmed with purple and blue in the distant mountains. The green of her brother’s pastures stood in stark contrast to the deserts that embraced the kingdom.

As she sat watching the sheep graze, her shepherd’s staff at her side, Tamar wiped tears from her deep green eyes flecked with gold. The warm breeze wafting up the hillside tousled her long auburn hair. She craned her neck and looked skyward. The first stars became visible when the sun at last disappeared out of sight. The flickering of small open cooking fires in the camp below seemed to mimic the faint starlight, almost mocking her with the juxtaposition of fickle warmth in the settlements of man and the icy cold of untouchable heaven.

Long had she mourned her unspeakable loss, the vanquishing of her body and very soul at the hands of Amnon. Her half-brother and heir to King David’s throne had robbed her of any chance of happiness, had caused her to leave her father’s court, and had made her into an outcast with only desolation as a constant companion. Absalom had made a place for her on his vast properties, but she sensed a great hatred growing within him, and she knew she and Amnon were its source. She was powerless to stop it.

Oh, Lord, she whispered, why have you abandoned me?

She’d read those words in the Torah while studying under the grand priestess while she still lived under the care and protection of King David. Until that fateful night with Amnon, she’d never really taken them to heart. To her, they were mere words, a sentiment she intellectually understood, and yet a state of being that had, until that night, remained distinctly abstract, unreal, and unknown. Now it was real enough to force her into exile, both physically from Jerusalem and emotionally from herself.

Tamar sighed, grabbed her staff, and stood up, smoothing out the black fabric of her long robe, the robe of scorn, of disgrace, of shame that tradition held she must wear to atone for her sin of being raped. As a shepherdess and sister of Absalom, she feared nothing about being alone and away from camp in the twilight. She knew no bandits would dare accost her, and force her to yield to a violent and lustful violation. Strong, agile, and tall, she could best even a warrior with her staff, as long as she kept her distance and the warrior wasn’t all that skilled in the art of combat. As spurned as she was, she was still a daughter of the king. No one would harm her. Anyway, how could she be harmed more than she already was?

Assured that the flock was safe for the night, Tamar walked down a steep trail to Absalom’s stone buildings. There were modest homes, sheds, and dwellings for the animals. A few of the women nodded in vague acceptance of her passing. Others ignored her completely. None of them smiled. The passage of time did not decrease the sting of their slights, but she knew the treatment was actually civil compared to what it would be in Jerusalem, particularly at the palace. She made her way to her rooms, where Dinah, her motherly handmaiden, greeted her.

You have been crying, Dinah said.

Tamar turned away, did not meet Dinah’s eyes.

You must get past the pain, Dinah said. Life, you see, goes on even after the darkness comes. There is always light in the end. There is always the light of the Lord!

Tamar sat heavily down on a chair next to a small wooden table. The table was made of cypress. It was old and battered, showing the scars of many years. She had begun to feel a lot like that table. She said, I have faith in the Lord. I just have no faith in men.

Dinah tossed back her head and laughed. You are wise beyond your years, she said.

A slight smile crossed Tamar’s lips.

You must be hungry, Dinah said. Let me fix you something to eat.

I’m not hungry.

Of course, you are! You’ve been out in the sun all day watching those silly sheep! Really, I don’t know what you see in them. They smell. All they do is eat grass.

They make crap too, Tamar said. Lots of it.

Oh, Tamar, Dinah said, shaking her head.

I have been reading about the Promised One and the temple that will be made in honor of God, Tamar said. I have been reading of the one who will die for our sins and offer us redemption without sacrificing sheep, goats, and bulls.

Dinah said nothing. She just gazed intently, and her stare made Tamar uncomfortable.

I think when the Messiah comes, the world will be better, Tamar said.

Yes, Dinah said, it might be. But the prophecies say it will not be so good for Him. Maybe not for us either. But who is to tell these things? Who can say? Dinah shrugged and raised her arms up, extending both palms toward the soot-covered stones on the ceiling. We just do what we can. That’s all.

Yes, we do what we can, Tamar said.

Tamar stood up and went to a basket containing sewing materials. She’d acquired various skills since coming to live with Absalom. With the abundance of wool from the sheep, Absalom naturally included making textiles as one of his sources of profit. She’d been forced to learn how to sew, how to tan a hide, how to even cook and wash pots, things that would have been considered far beneath her station as a princess at court. Now, though, she was asked to do the work of an ordinary woman. Only Dinah knew of her skills as a healer and her power to see hidden meaning in dreams, hers and those of others. The simple women of Absalom’s camp wouldn’t understand. If anything, the knowledge of her powers would make her even more of an outcast.

What are you doing? Dinah asked.

You’ll see, Tamar said, drawing a pair of shears from the basket.

With one smooth motion, Tamar lifted a handful of her beautiful reddish brown hair and cut it off, close to the scalp.

Tamar! Stop! What are you doing?

Dinah leaped up and grabbed Tamar’s right wrist. Look what you’ve done!

Let go of me, Tamar said, her voice quiet and forceful. I know what I’m doing.

Dinah let her go.

Calmly, Tamar methodically cut off her hair. With each clip, piles of auburn fell to her feet, carpeting the stone floor. Tamar was aware of Dinah crying. The faithful servant sat at the table, her head buried in her hands, her sobs softly filling the room. A pang of guilt shot through Tamar, but she tamped it down and kept cutting.

You were so beautiful! Dinah said. Your hair was so beautiful.

At last, Tamar finished. She looked down at her hair strewn on the floor, her eyes wet with tears. Stifling her emotions, she quietly said, I am done being beautiful. Now I will just be me.

Tamar slipped out of the black robe, her robe of shame, the robe she’d been forced to wear so that all could see her for what she was. She smiled as she held the garment high with her left hand, her nakedness in full view in the dim light of an oil lamp. The flames flickered and the sheep fat that fueled the lamp hissed occasionally.

Oh, my! Dinah said, running to the window and pulling the heavy woolen flap closed, further darkening the room. Somebody could look in! Someone could see you!

Tamar opened the shears with her right hand, and began cutting the robe in half.

Stop! Stop! Dinah said. Your brother will drive you away if you don’t wear the robe!

I am no widow! Tamar said, raising her voice as her anger boiled to the surface. I am no victim! And no man will ever make me one!

Oh, Tamar! No one made you a victim. But now look at what you’ve done!

Tamar tore at the black robe, twisting and pulling at the seams. The sound of tearing fabric was oddly pleasing to her. For a long and satisfying moment, she felt the cold touch of hatred take hold, a hatred for Amnon that she knew would bubble up again to eclipse the love she still felt for him. It was a forbidden love that made her literally sick when she let herself think about it, about him.

Dinah brought a white robe to her and draped it over her slender and shapely shoulders. In the dim light, as Tamar looked down at herself while putting the robe on, she could see how strong she’d become. Her legs were long and toned. Her stomach was flat. Her hips and waist gave her an alluring aura of femininity, and her breasts were firm and well defined.

Dinah? Tamar said

Yes?

I think my new journey has just begun.

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1

The Rains

T he days grew short with the approach of the winter solstice, but for Tamar the night shadows that shrouded Jerusalem were welcome. For with the darkness came the rains, cool and refreshing after the long hot months of summer and the dusty khamsin winds that blew in from the eastern deserts during spring and fall. For just two months out of the year the clouds more regularly skirted low over the limestone walls of the city. The downpours pattered on rooftops and bathed the fields and orchards of the highlands that spread out for miles at an elevation of twenty-five hundred feet or more. The hills surrounded the capital of Israel, perched as it was on its strategic ridge.

The Israelites were once a diffuse organization of twelve tribes clinging to outposts in the Land of Canaan, but they were now unified under the rule of King David, second monarch of Israel and defeater of the fearsome Philistines, the Ammonites, the Moabites, and the Jebusites. The United Kingdom of Israel and Judah was a forced to be reckoned with, and its influence extended out from Jerusalem to the far reaches of the coastal plain, the mountains, and the Rift Valley.

As evening came on, the servants lit lamps fueled with liquid sheep fat that sizzled and sputtered. Torchlight danced in the darkened corridors of Tamar’s home, a dwelling separate from the grand palace of David and a distinct honor accorded to her because of her intellect, beauty, and standing in the eyes of the great king despite her origin of birth. Tamar stood on a balcony overlooking the grounds. A gust of wind brought cool raindrops to her, sprinkling her face and slightly wetting the colorful robe that marked her as a princess virgin. She was not a true Israelite woman, not by ancestry, because under Hebrew law a true Jew had to have a Jewish mother. Her mother was a convert, not a flower born in the holiness of Israel’s God. As such, Tamar always felt a bit apart from David’s family, with his prodigious number of