Nameless

I am nameless.

If you must call me by a name, refer to me by my associations. The most common of these would be “The Wife of On.”

My husband was the firstborn son of Peleth. When the decree was put forth that the priesthood was to be passed from the firstborn men and Levites to the sons of Aaron, On was easily convinced to rebel. A messenger from Korach arrived at our tent, spewing words such as “disgraced” and “treachery” and “abandoned by God.” Before I had even brought out washing water and bread, On had left with the messenger in a silent rage.

I am a woman and know that such things are not my place to question, yet I sensed the false ring in Korach’s words and it made me uneasy. I had been both a wife and a mother for many years and this had given me experience. My husband could be easily drawn into anything with a few well-spoken words by men more powerful than he.

I chose to wait and listen.

“Tomorrow we go to Moses.”

I glanced towards my husband from where I stood near the hearth. He spoke to our firstborn son, a young man of twenty, with his father’s shoulders and the light of God in his eyes.

On took a slice of the soft manna in the center of the table and took a bite. He breathed deeply through his nose, chewing slowly. “Korach has assembled two hundred and fifty of some of the best men of Israel. They understand how deeply we have been...