Pearl in the Sand

T
he title of this novel and the use of pearls in the story are the result of literary license. While Egyptians used mother-of-pearl in their jewelry during this era, no archaeological evidence for the use of pearls exists until centuries later. However,
Mother-of-Pearl in the Sand
doesn’t have quite the same ring.

The Bible tells us that Rahab was a harlot
(innkeeper
was a euphemism for prostitution). Biblical Hebrew has two distinct words for describing prostitution. The first,
kedeshah
, refers to temple prostitutes. The second,
zonah
, refers to the garden-variety kind. Wherever Rahab’s profession is mentioned, the word
zonah
is used. Our story deals with this distinction.

Many of the references made to Rahab both in the Old and New Testaments include the term
zonah
(Rahab the
zonah)
, which is to say that the people of Israel never quite forgot her background. Though most of the descriptions of her have a distinctly positive slant, this juxtaposition indicates that Rahab may have experienced a mixed reception in her new home. Welcomed and admired, yet never quite outliving her past.

Salmone’s name appears with several different spellings in the original Hebrew, including
Salmon, Shalmon
, and
Salmone
. While most English translations of the Bible use the first version of the name, this novel uses the final version. Naming my hero after a fish seemed unappealing both to me and to my readers.

Wherever possible, this book has been based on biblical and archaeological sources. The scene in chapter 17 comparing Rahab’s experience in Jericho with Israel’s experience in Egypt during the first Passover was inspired by a chapter in Tivka Frymer-Kensky’s book
Reading the Women of the Bible
(New York: Schocken Books, 2002, pages 297–300). Ultimately, however, this is a novel—a fictional account of a historical woman who holds great importance for both Jews and Christians. The Hebrew Bible discloses that after the destruction of Jericho Rahab settles in Israel permanently, but we are not given further details about her life (Joshua 6:25). For Christians, Rahab’s destiny is revealed in one third of a verse in Matthew’s genealogy of Jesus. These simple words reveal Rahab’s amazing destiny:
Salmon the father of Boaz, whose mother was Rahab
(Matthew 1:5). In other words, Salmone and Rahab were married and had a son.

The Bible gives us a glimpse into Salmone’s background through several genealogies (1 Chronicles 2:11; Ruth 4:20–21). Clearly, he comes from a highly distinguished family in the house of Judah; his father Nahshon is the leader of the people of Judah, and his father’s sister is wife to Aaron (Numbers 2:3–4). Of Salmone’s own specific accomplishments and activities nothing is known. But the verse in Matthew is still shocking. How could a man who is practically a Jewish aristocrat, significant enough to get his name recorded in the Scriptures, marry a Canaanite woman who has earned her living entertaining gentlemen? Much of this novel deals with that question. Needless to say, this aspect of the story is purely fictional. We only know that Salmone married Rahab and had a son by her, and that Jesus Himself counts this Canaanite harlot as one of His ancestors.
On how such a marriage came about or what obstacles it faced, the Bible is silent.

The best way to study the Bible is not through a novel, but simply to read the original. This story can in no way replace the transformative power that the reader will encounter in the Scriptures. For the biblical account of Rahab, refer to Joshua 1–10, the book of Ruth, and Matthew 1:1–17.

D
awn had yet to appear when Rahab tumbled into consciousness, courtesy of an impatient nudge. “Stop your laziness, girl. Your brothers and father are almost ready to leave.” Her mother gave Rahab one more unnecessary shove.

Rahab groaned and gave up on rest. Bleary-eyed and sore, she forced herself to rise from her bedroll. For two months she had been doing the work of men, waking before daybreak and wrestling the land all day with little food, water, or rest to renew her strength. It was useless—even at fifteen and only a girl she could see that. Their land had produced nothing but dust. Like the rest of Canaan, Jericho was in the grip of a brutal drought.

Though she knew their efforts to be wasted, every day she pushed herself almost past endurance because as long as they stayed busy, her Abba had hope. She couldn’t bear the thought of his despair.

“Child, hurry,” her mother snapped.

Rahab, who had already folded her bedroll and was almost finished dressing, continued her silent preparations at the same pace.
She could move no faster if the king’s armies were at the door.

Her father entered the room, chewing halfheartedly on a piece of stale bread. His face, pale and drawn, glistened with sweat. Rahab finished tying her sash with a quick motion and snatched a piece of hard barley cake that would serve as breakfast and noonday meal. Giving her father a tight hug she said, “Good morning, Abba.”

He stepped out of her embrace. “Let me breathe, Rahab.” Turning to his wife he said, “I’ve made a decision. If I find no sign of a crop today, I’m giving up.”

Rahab sucked in her breath just as her mother let out an agitated wail. “Imri, no! What will become of us?”

Her father shrugged and walked outside. Apparently his season of denial was at an end. He was admitting defeat. In a haze, Rahab followed him. She knew this day would be no different from the others. The thought of her father’s wretchedness made her cringe.

Her brothers Joa and Karem were waiting outside. Karem munched on a raisin cake, a luxury their mother saved for her eldest son. His wife of one year, Zoarah, stood close, speaking in tones too soft for Rahab to hear. In spite of her worry, Rahab bit off a smile at the way they held hands. Theirs had been a love match, a rare occurrence in Canaan. Although she teased her elder brother at every opportunity, Rahab’s heart melted at the thought of such a marriage. Sometimes in the cover of darkness when the rest of the family was long asleep, she dreamt of having a husband who would cherish her as her brother did his Zoarah. Lately, however, her thoughts had been too consumed by worry to leave room for pleasant daydreams.

Standing as far off as their tiny garden allowed, Joa, the youngest at fourteen, gazed at nothing. Rahab had not heard him string three words together in as many days. It was as if the drought had dried up his speech. She noticed dark circles under his eyes, and his tall frame seemed gaunt. He had probably left the house with no food in his belly. She reached for the bread wrapped in her belt, tore it in
two, and brought it to Joa. Insufficient even for her, it would have to do for both of them.

“You eat that, young man.”

Joa ignored her. She sighed. “You don’t want me nagging at you all the way to the farm, do you?”

He glared at her with irritation, then held out his hand. She lingered to make sure he ate it, then traipsed after their father.

Their pace was brisk as they walked toward the city gates. Rahab noticed that even Karem, who was rarely given to broodiness, appeared ashen with anxiety. Finally he broke the silence that hung over them. “Father, I went to Ebrum in the market as you told me. He refused to sell me oil or barley for the price you said. Either he has doubled his rates since you last purchased from him or you are mistaken about the price.”

“Send Rahab, then. She negotiated last time.”

“Rahab. You might have said,” Karem drawled, a good-natured glint lighting his eyes. “One glance at her pretty face and every thought of sums and profits leaves Ebrum’s flat head.”

“Not so!” Rahab objected, her voice rising higher with annoyance. “It has naught to do with my face, thank you. I am better at bargaining than you, that’s all.”