Ruth: Reimagined

Seventeen

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Seventeen
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"We're at war with more than flesh and blood," Boaz said, one night  around the campfire, as the battered and bruised warriors leaned into the fire for warmth.

"I've seen it in the eyes of my enemies. I've seen it in the scars I hold. In the deaths I've witnessed. All of this, it cuts deeper than skin. It pierces to the soul."

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Boaz walked amidst the crowd of men in the vast  courtyard, with earthen walls and sturdy pillars, his face hardened, his heart pounding— the sound ringing in his ears since he heard the news. Abel had insisted on going with him, but he needed him, at Tikvah, watching over the harvest, and the harvesters, and the maidens. Looking out for any suspicious activity.

He shuffled his way through the crowd, the conversations and worries of the other men reaching him. "How many times do we have to die for Israel?" A man had said.

"Surely, we've sinned against Yahweh! Why else would this be happening?"

"It's enough now! The Lord shouldn't send anymore judges— they eventually die, look at Tola, Ibzan, Jair, Deborah, and Gideon. All of them are gone, and they  leave Israel in a worse state. When will the Messiah come, and save us once and for all."

"I hate those filthy–" 

  Boaz walked faster, as though he were running away from the truth, from the pain, from the danger that neared second by second.

In a sea of warriors, the fear was palpable. Boaz swept his gaze upon the thousands of men, his eyes flickering to the scars, the warriors held gruesome, the mutilated faces others had, those who walked with limps, those who had no eye, no arm. At times, he spotted familiar faces, men he'd spent years with, men he'd spent  his youth with, fighting wars, fighting for Israel.

As he made it to the forefront, he moved towards the mosaic tiled floors, deep into the hallways, at a corner, there lay before him stairs.

It was secluded here, almost quiet. Boaz climbed up the stairs, and as he did, he heard a trumpet being blown and the hush that came after it. He heard the sound of a familiar man's voice, rusty and deep. Loud, reverberating over the crowd in great authority. It was the General and Commander in Chief, Joshua.

Boaz made it to the top, and as he stepped out, on the long bridge, he met eyes with his fellow  leaders over thousands, hundreds, and tens. They were gathered, at one side of the bridge, looking out at the people, listening to the Commander, discussing softly amongst themselves. As a commander of thousands, Boaz stood beside a man he knew.

"Old friend," the man acknowledged him, with a gleam in his eyes. "It's been long. Good to see you."

"Same here." Boaz nodded, staring out towards the thousands of faces, a few of which looked up to him. "Although it's unfortunate that we have to meet in such conditions."

At that, a couple of the other men grunted in agreement. At the sound of Joshua's speech, rising to a rhythmic tempo that stirred the hearts of people, the leaders all went quiet.

Commander Joshua, made of muscle and wisdom, was 65 years old, yet the strength he carried only grew over the years. All of Israel looked up to him, at a point, as he was at the forefront of many of the battles.

"—this is not to cause fear among you," Joshua continued, looking out at the crowd, as though he could meet every eye. "This is also not for you to cause fear among the people among the women and children. As men, there are some burdens we have to carry alone and the waging of war is one of them."