Ruth - Woman of Valor - A Virtuous Woman in an Immoral Land

Chapter 1

“Your friend has earned the privilege of dying, surely you can understand her happiness.”

Ruth’s full, perfectly sculptured lips, curved down, her jaw clenched. Turning her head, she glared at her mother with cold, careful eyes, eyes that held misery. Figat’s fierce look, etched into a face of stone, held on the young Moabitess. Finally, Ruth lowered her head and watched her sandaled feet kicking up tiny dust clouds.

Muttering words best unheard, the woman slanted narrow eyes toward Ruth’s father, Paebel. Figat’s lip curled into an ugly sneer.

“How much longer will I attempt reasoning with this rebellious daughter? She is 15 years old and still has no understanding of Moab’s gods. Why do we waste words on this obstinate girl?”

Paebel ignored her and kept walking.

I am her mother; Figat said to herself. I demand obedience and accept no arguments. Ruth will pay dearly if she continues her stubborn attitude.

The sun rose like a ball of fire, blinding yellow, and unbearably hot. It was midday when the family passed through the main gates of Ar, the chief city in Northern Moab. A sea of frenzied worshippers pushed and shoved them along toward the gigantic idol that sat in the middle of town. Thousands of Moabites joined in the cries of devotion to their fiery god.

“Great is Chemosh, god of the Moabites! Great is Chemosh, god of the Moabites!” A myriad of worshippers shrieked the god-loving words in mindless repetition, and those praises to their fire-breathing deity banged around the inside of Ruth’s head like a hammer on an anvil.

The blazing sun triggered sweat, which ran profusely down her spine. Choking smoke filled her nostrils, and the loud, never-ceasing praise of Chemosh had her on the brink of vomiting as the gut-wrenching events of this abominable, debauched, worship service drew nigh.

Figat, a tall, straight woman with small, brutish eyes held the Moabite gods in high esteem and had little use for anyone who did not. Her daughter did not have the same enthusiasm for the gods, and beating Ruth with a rod probably would not change her attitude.

“Today, you will see our great Chemosh, the supreme god of all our gods, given the ultimate sacrificial offering, a human life. Offering Donatiya will appease his fury and beseech his blessings upon our people.”

“Must she be sacrificed?” Ruth’s voice cracked. “I—I know her. All my life I have known her.”

“It is our god’s will.” Figat breathed a loud sigh to make her point. “You know that! He requires a child.”

“She is not a child.” Ruth moaned softly, wrapping her arms across her chest. “She is thirteen. It, it is not just.”

“Thirteen is a child,” Figat said with a pinched expression, “and Chemosh decides what is just. Donatiya will join all the other privileged ones who have gone before her into the next world. Sanctification awaits her in the next life. She willingly climbs the steps. She wants this. Would you deny her?”

Ruth’s jaw fixed tight, her nostrils flared. “Would you be so quick to defend Chemosh if it were me?”

Figat’s hard eyes turned a bit firmer. Her lips pinched tight, and her fists even tighter.

Opening her mouth to answer her daughter, she reconsidered and stifled her rebuke.

Reading her mother’s expression of utter contempt, Ruth said no more. The blackest of nightmares, an idolatrous worship spawned in the pit of hell, would start soon, and she could only stand by helpless.

Her parents had forced her to attend, but she would not look. She would refuse. If they beat her—well, it would be worth it. Compelled to watch her beautiful friend being cast into the fires of Chemosh would rip her heart out.

How could this human sacrifice possibly be acceptable? Yet, he was the god of Moab. All Moabites understood their god had blessed them more than Yahweh, the Israelite God.

The Israelites dwelt a few miles away on the west side of the Salt Sea. The rain fell in Moab, yet it stopped at the sea. Why that continued month after month was a mystery. The only reasonable answer most Moabites could give was Israel’s God had forsaken his people. Ruth believed it.

For as long as Ruth could remember, Israel had produced meager crops from their parched land while the fields of Moab flourished. Over the years, she had gazed at the dearth of Israel’s crops from her family’s lush fields located in the highlands of Moab a short twenty-five miles across the waters. On clear days, the ugly, dirty-brown earth of Judah was shockingly visible across the narrow sea.

How could her country be so blessed with green, abundant fields and enormous crops while within sight of her family’s property Israel suffered scorched earth? The answer had to be Chemosh and the Baals. Her gods made all the difference for the Moabites.

Year after year, they proved their dominance with unimaginable blessings bestowed upon Moabite worshippers while Yahweh would not, and probably could not provide for his people. The Israelites served an impotent God. The allegation had been stated many times by her friends, including Donatiya. That explanation satisfied everyone.

Ruth raised her hands and cried out, “Great is Chemosh, god of the Moabites!” She meant the words, had faith in her god, yet questioned the horrifying practice of sacrificing children to Chemosh.

The idol, which loomed far above the surrounding city streets, would soon gather into his enormous, gaping mouth, Donatiya, Ruth’s lifelong friend.

Huge flames stretched out fiery fingers from the vast cavern that served as the mouth and throat of Chemosh. Those fires produced horrendous heat belching from the inferno and compelled the king’s eunuchs to remain a far distance from that fiery cavity.

Soon the time would arrive to cast Donatiya into the flames. Then, the eunuchs would pick her up by her arms and legs, and with immense strength, launch her up and into the yawning, sizzling mouth of Moab’s chief god.

Ruth’s tear-stained face laid bare her feelings at this spectacle of the violent, monstrous worship of her god. She understood completely why the multitude soon would scream praises to Chemosh. Those deafening shrieks served to drown out the horrifying cries of agony as her friend inhaled the super-heated air. Death would come instantly. Then her skin would melt as her body roasted in the flames, leaving Donatiya a charred mass. What remained would never leave the idol. She would never receive a proper burial in a tomb or the ground. Chemosh was the tomb.

Ruth’s stomach churned as smoke from the blazing fire leaping inside the idol’s mouth drifted across the city, assaulting her eyes and nose. Retching had become a genuine possibility. Surely a more humane way to worship and appease Chemosh could be instituted. Why this? It made no sense that her god, in whom she believed with all her heart, would require such heart-wrenching sacrifice. Nevertheless, the Baal gods and Moloch, gods of the Canaanites, demanded human sacrifices, also.

All gods require a human sacrifice, Ruth told herself, except Yahweh, the Israelite God. Why? I must know.

So sudden did the crowd fall silent that it jarred Ruth. The eerie calm hurt her ears. Reluctantly she raised her eyes and then bit her lip. She tasted blood. Donatiya, her dear friend, had started to climb the temple steps. Soon she would be torn from this life and sent on to the next.

Recoiling from the appalling sight, the teenager burst into tears. Refusing to watch the scene unfold, she buried her face into her mother’s shoulder. Figat shrugged her off. Ruth refused to lift her eyes.

Although Ruth did not witness Donatiya raise her hands to Chemosh, nor hear her speak words drowned out by the roar of the crowd, the ritual of this ceremony she had observed on other occasions.

Drums began to pound, and Ruth dug her fingernails deep into her palms. Screeches bellowing from the mouths of the worshipers filled the air. Minutes passed, and with each drum beat, the horrid yells grew louder. “Great is Chemosh, god of the Moabites!” The frenzied crowd droned the same monotonous words countless times.

Ruth peeked through swollen eyelids. Donatiya had reached the top step and the king’s eunuchs, chosen for their gigantic size and strength, approached the delicate and beautiful girl. Within seconds, they would sling her into eternity.

Ruth dried her tears with her sleeve. Screaming her words over the din, she asked, “Should we not worship a god who wants us to be happy? Why cannot Donatiya live and continue to worship Chemosh, not die and leave friends to be sad and mourn her? Answer me, Mother, please! I do not understand our god!”

“We cannot know all of the ways of a god!” Figat shouted back making her voice heard over the roar of the people. “It is especially true of our chief god.”...