It involves Kikanos, a conquering hero returning home, only to find… the gates barred against him.
Imagine this: Kikanos, fresh from quelling rebellious nations, leads his victorious army toward his city. But as they approach, they see the city walls looming high. "They must think we were gone so long," Kikanos muses, perhaps aloud, "that they've fortified the city against the Canaanites!" That's what Ginzberg tells us, at least, in his Legends of the Jews.
But there's more to it than meets the eye. When Kikanos and his men reach the gates, they find them firmly shut. They call out to the guards, demanding entry, but the guards, under the influence of none other than Balaam, refuse to open them. Remember Balaam? The prophet who could both bless and curse? He’s a key player here.
A skirmish breaks out. Can you picture it? The weary but triumphant army, clashing with their own city's guards. In this initial fight, Kikanos loses one hundred and thirty men. A heavy price to pay for a homecoming.
The next day, the battle continues. Kikanos positions his troops on the riverbank. Thirty of his riders, confident in their steeds, attempt to swim across the river. But the waters prove treacherous, and they are swept away. Thirty more lives lost.
Undeterred, Kikanos orders the construction of rafts to transport his men across the river. But as these makeshift vessels reach the canals, disaster strikes again. The waters swirl violently, like they're driven by powerful mill wheels, and two hundred more men are dragged under – twenty from each raft. It's almost as if the very waters are fighting against them.
On the third day, Kikanos tries a different approach. He orders an assault on the side of the city infested with snakes and scorpions. You can almost feel the heat, the dust, the fear. But even this daring maneuver fails. The reptiles, guardians of the city in their own right, kill one hundred and seventy more men.
Finally, Kikanos is forced to concede defeat – at least for now. He abandons the direct assault. But he doesn't give up entirely. Instead, he lays siege to the city. For nine long years, he surrounds it, preventing anyone from entering or leaving. Nine years of tension, of waiting, of simmering conflict.
What does this story tell us? Perhaps it's about the futility of war, even when victory seems within reach. Or maybe it's about the unexpected obstacles that can arise, even when you're coming home. It's a reminder that even the most powerful leaders can be thwarted, and that sometimes, the greatest battles are not fought on the field, but within the walls of our own homes – or in this case, outside them.