The Sons of Isaac

by Roberta Kells Dorr

  Everyone was quiet as they marveled over the strangeness of the story. “And that is all?” Rebekah asked. “There was no explanation of why this had to happen?”

  Eleazar looked surprised. “That much of the story is all I usually tell. It is enough for most folks.”

  “I want to hear it all,” Rebekah said. “I must hear it all if I am to understand my husband and his family.”

  “Well, it seems the angel called to Abraham a second time.”

  He hesitated and Rebekah urged him to go on. Her handmaidens clustered even closer so they would not miss a single word. “And … what did the angel tell him?”

  “The angel gave him a special message. Abraham has treasured this message and repeated it often as though he is constantly pondering its meaning.”

  “And …” Rebekah said again.

  “What the angel said was wonderful. He said, ‘Because you have done this thing and have not withheld thy son, thine only son, I will bless you and multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven, and the sand which is on the sea shore; and thy seed shall possess the gate of his enemies.’”

  “That was part of the blessing given me by my father,” Rebekah said. “How strange.”

  “That has been an age-old saying of those who wish to give a meaningful blessing, but no one has ever heard such a promise from an angel of Elohim. This was different.”

  “Is that all?” Rebekah asked.

  “No,” Eleazar answered. “It seems you will pull every bit of the blessing out and examine it before you even meet your intended groom.”

  “I must know it all. The good and the bad. Was there nothing bad predicted for them and their descendants?”

  “Nothing bad but something even stranger. Something we have all pondered from time to time.”

  “Tell me,” she said. “I must hear everything before we arrive.”

  Eleazar looked around at them all, and when he spoke there was a break in his voice as though it were such a precious thing that merely speaking of it moved him deeply. “The angel said, ‘in thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed because you have obeyed my voice.’ His name had earlier even been changed from Abram to Abraham, father of a multitude.”

  A great silence followed as everyone pondered the meaning of the angel’s words. Finally the handmaids rose and silently went about their work. Then Deborah followed them to make a last check of the tent and sleeping arrangements before retiring for the night. Only Rebekah remained by the fire. Eleazar, glancing at her, noticed tears in her eyes and knew she could not speak. “I understand,” he said at last. “You are the one who will bear the child who will fulfill all these promises made to Abraham. It’s not a simple thing to have been chosen for such a purpose.”

  It was a long moment before Rebekah could speak. “I’m but a simple, ordinary maid, not one to be responsible for such glowing promises.”

  For the first time Eleazar understood how overwhelming all of this must seem to her, and a great compassion filled his heart. Rebekah was so beautiful and had such a confident air, he had not thought of her as being overwhelmed by any situation. Now he realized that she could be very vulnerable. “I rather think Elohim knew just exactly what He was doing when He chose you to be Isaac’s bride.”

  “I … chosen?” she asked.

  “Of course. Were you not the one who gave me drink and then also watered my camels?”

  “That was but a simple thing.”

  “Were you not the one who agreed to come with me on such short notice?”

  “Yes … but …”

  “That was the sign I asked for, so that I would know whom Elohim had chosen.”

  Nothing more was said between the two, and after a while when the night breeze grew strong enough to make the fire flare up, the tents billow, and the tethers creak and groan, they each rose and went quietly to their own place for the night. Eleazar went quickly to sleep, but Rebekah lay awake long past the moonrise pondering all that she had heard.

  * * *

  When they reached Jericho, Eleazar told them it would be only a short time before they would arrive at their destination. He also told them he had made arrangements for them to visit the famous bath where Rebekah would be prepared and anointed for her wedding night. There were women who were clever at arranging the hair, decorating the fingernails with small flowers done in kohl, and rubbing fragrant spices into the skin. The perfumes were rare and costly, but Eleazar had a whole purse, which he gave to the attendant, admonishing her to spare no expense. “This is to be the bride of my master’s son and my master has ordered me to do this.”

  While the women were involved in preparations for the meeting of Rebekah and Isaac, Eleazar took care of some of his own business. The most important bit of business was to find a lad who would carry a message to Abraham’s camp telling of their arrival. He could not tell the day, but he could report on where they were and when they would leave. This would give Abraham’s men some idea of what day they would arrive.

  When it came time to leave Jericho, Eleazar came with the camels and his retainers to pick up the women. He could see that Rebekah was not only impressed with all that had been spent on her but was a bit frightened. He realized that she was just now beginning to face the reality of her situation. Undoubtedly she was fearful of meeting this stranger who was considerably older but was to be her husband. He tried to think of something that would reassure her, help her to understand that only happiness lay ahead for her in the camp of her uncle Abraham.

  “You are indeed lovely,” he said.

  “Will my husband be happy with me?” she asked.

  Eleazar hesitated only a moment and then he said, “Isaac, as you know, means laughter, and he is one who makes it his business to be happy. He will indeed be pleased with you.”

  But Rebekah couldn’t help but wonder.

  Isaac had counted the days it would take for Eleazar to make the journey to Haran. He knew it was hazardous and long, taking about twenty-five to thirty days. He had estimated by the moon’s fullness and then its fading that enough days had passed for Eleazar to have arrived at his destination. Then when it occurred to him that he had no way of knowing how long it would be before he would start back, or if his trip had been successful, he stopped counting.

  As the days and weeks went by, he became more and more curious about this cousin who was to be his bride. He tried to picture her, but only questions and problems filled his mind. He decided it was almost too much to hope that she would be as beautiful and as adventuresome as his mother had been. On the other hand, he had to admit to himself that even his own mother would not have come so far to marry someone she had never seen.

  Gradually it occurred to him that Eleazar might be successful simply because the young woman was so undesirable or ugly no one had wanted to marry her. If she were really attractive, she would have so many suitors she would never agree to taking a chance on a distant relative she had never seen.

  Then what would they do if after she had come so far they found her to be totally unsuitable? Under most circumstances, if a bride proved to be lacking in some way, she could be sent back to her parents. He had heard of one such case where a new bride could not bake bread without burning it, and she was sent back to her parents immediately in disgrace.

  With a sinking heart he realized this could not be done with a cousin who had come so far to marry him. Also, since his father had made such a point of trusting Elohim to lead Eleazar to the right woman, there could be no question of not accepting her.

  He understood his father’s concern that he not marry any of the local women. It would have been an impossible situation. Their lives and ways of living were so different. His half-brother Ishmael had many sons but the women he had married were a great trial to his father. Abraham was obviously determined to avoid that mistake a second time.

  He was always amazed at how completely his father trusted Elohim. Abraham seemed to have no doubts that in spite of th
e difficulties, their prayers would be answered and the right woman would be found. It was his father’s way to first find Elohim’s will in a matter and then to trust completely in the outcome. He himself had not this certainty. He would have to wait and see what happened.

  On this night he had been restlessly tossing and turning as he mulled over the possibilities. Finally he rose and quietly strapped on his bone-handled dagger, flung his cloak over his shoulder, and, as was his custom, walked out into the crisp, early morning darkness.

  He walked toward the rocky heights that led to the Valley of Salt and his father’s well at Beersheba. “When Eleazar comes,” he reasoned, “he will probably be coming down from the highlands on one of these paths.”

  He walked slowly, pondering the strangeness of his life and the importance of the events that were about to take place. He kept to the low trails where the paths were clear and distinct from constant use by his father’s sheep. Floating up and around him on the crisp morning breeze were the odors of fragrant herbs that gave off their most pungent aroma when crushed underfoot. He marveled at the constantly changing fragrance. At one time it would be the sharp scent of thyme; another, the stringent odor of sage or yarrow. All the time he was plunging farther and farther along the path leading to Beersheba.

  Gradually he became aware of someone breathing heavily and at the same time the soft pounding sound of running feet. He stopped and looked around. Though the sky was lightening, he could see very little because of a fog that hung low in the valley below him and on the path ahead of him. He stopped and listened. It was evident that someone was on the path ahead of him and running toward him.

  Suddenly a part of the mist darkened and as Isaac stood still and waited, the figure of a young boy emerged. The boy looked surprised and then frightened. He was breathing hard and couldn’t speak. He leaned against the rock wall that rose up on one side of the path and looked questioningly at Isaac.

  “Where could you be going in such a hurry and so early in the morning?” Isaac asked.

  “I have an important message to deliver and I was told I should go quickly.”

  “And whom may I ask is the message for?” Isaac questioned.

  The boy looked puzzled and then smiled. “I don’t suppose it would hurt to tell. It’s not that sort of secret message.”

  “Then tell me where you’re going. These are my father’s grazing lands and …”

  “Then your father must be Abraham.”

  “My father is Abraham,” Isaac said. He was instantly alert and excited. He realized the message could have something to do with Eleazar. “Was it a man named Eleazar who gave you the message?” he asked.

  “Yes, it was,” said the boy with a puzzled look.

  “Did he have any women with him?”

  “Oh yes, a very fine lady by the looks of her camel’s trappings.”

  Isaac could hardly contain his excitement. “Did you happen to catch a glimpse of this young lady?” he asked hesitantly, knowing it was not customary to ask so openly about a young woman.

  The boy hesitated and quickly Isaac reached in his knapsack and held out a big chunk of smoked cheese.

  The boy grinned and reached for the cheese. “I did catch just a glimpse of her. This Eleazar was giving me instructions and she leaned forward to hear.” He stopped and took a big bite of the cheese.

  Isaac reached out and held his arm so he couldn’t take another bite, “So you saw her …”

  “Yes,” the boy said, realizing he would not get loose until he had told more. “A wind blew up and caught at her mantle,” he said, “and before she could pull it around, I did see her.”

  “You saw her?” Isaac asked with growing curiosity.

  “I did. I saw her. Well, to tell the truth, it was just a glimpse.”

  “And …” Isaac tightened his grip on the boy’s arm.

  “She knew I had seen her and at first she looked frightened. Then she smiled. For a moment I swear it was like the sun was shining.”

  “She smiled? Why?” Isaac asked.

  “I don’t know. Anyway before I left, when no one was looking, she motioned me over to where she was sitting so tall and splendid on her camel. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘take this and forget what you have seen.’”

  The boy reached in his leather pouch and pulled out a perfectly round flattened piece of gold. It had a delicately etched palm tree and some letters. Isaac saw at once that it was the kind of charm women wore as decorations framing their face. She obviously had been concerned enough to part with one of the coins in her headpiece. He felt a twinge of guilt to think of how he had pried her little secret out of this simple boy.

  His feelings of remorse quickly passed as there was one more question he must ask the boy before he let him go. “Where was Eleazar when he gave you this message?” he asked.

  “In Jericho,” the boy answered with an obvious impatience to be off.

  “Then go quickly. If you follow this path, you will come to the brook Besor and you will see the tents of Abraham spread along its length. I’ll see you in my father’s tent, and it will be as though we had never met.”

  The boy quickly stuffed the rest of the cheese in his mouth, brushed past Isaac, and hurried off down the path and disappeared into the mist.

  * * *

  As Isaac hurried back along the path, his mind whirled with the preparations that must be made. “A fine lady, on a camel with elegant trappings,” the boy had said. For the first time he worried that living in a tent might seem too difficult for her. He would, of course, take her to his mother’s tent.

  He knew that his uncles lived in the city and only went out to the fields to plant and herd their flocks. She probably preferred the city. He paused and tried to imagine how their camp would look to someone who had always lived in the city. To him the time they spent out in the fields was wonderful, but to a wife it could look very different.

  I must hurry and set my mother’s tent in order. She must not have reason to despise anything that belonged to my mother. He started to run and was back at the camp in an amazingly short time.

  He went directly to his mother’s tent, and on lifting the flap paused to look around. He was mesmerized by the familiar odor of jasmine mixed with musk and patchouli that still filled the air. A soft linen robe lay just where she had left it thirteen years before when she went up to Hebron where she had died. It was flung across the carved chest she had brought with her from Ur. Her fine brass mirror hung by a leather strap from the tent pole, and her incense burner had tipped over beside the fire pot. He removed the stopper from an alabaster jar to smell the contents. It was her favorite fragrance, the rare and expensive patchouli.

  In one corner, neatly stacked, were her cooking utensils. A tripod and goatskin container for making leban from the sweet, fresh milk of the goat, a wooden bowl for kneading bread, a clay bowl that had always held the bubbling ferment that made her bread light and fluffy. There were a few tongs and ladles and clay jars holding flour and smaller ones holding her spices. Hanging above from one of the tent girders were strings of dried beans, peppers, and clumps of garlic and onions. She had always cooked for her family, and Isaac wondered if the young girl Eleazar was bringing would do the same.

  He paused beside her loom, which held a partially finished piece. He rubbed his hand along the well-worn beams while he looked around the room. He tried to imagine someone young and beautiful moving among his mother’s things. He thought he would despise her if she should not like his mother’s belongings. How could he endure it if she insisted that she wouldn’t cook and had his mother’s treasured, carefully collected cooking things removed. He suddenly wished he could be free of the whole complicated business. He would much prefer remaining as he was. He had to admit he had been lonely, but that was not as bad as having some disagreeable young woman making demands on him.

  He immediately felt remorse. He realized that he had no reason to think of her in such an unkind way. In fact, he could al
most picture her now. She must be quite young and terribly brave. There was so much she didn’t know, and yet she was coming and trusting all would go well with her. How charming the little scene. Her mantle blowing off and her laughter until she noticed the boy had seen her. He liked it that she had laughed. She was naive but resourceful. Imagine pulling off one of the gold ornaments from her headpiece to be sure the boy gave only a good report of her.

  Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, he felt a lump in his throat and tears sprang to his eyes. He had been deeply touched by this show of bravery in his little bride. He felt a strange new urge to protect her. There would be so many things for her to adjust to. She had probably known that would be true and yet had decided to come. She had trusted him and he must not fail her. Even if she moved his mother’s things around, or wanted to get rid of some of them, he would not be resentful or angry. She had given him an unconditional trust and he must give her all the love she deserved.

  * * *

  Isaac was more accustomed to walking out in the evening than in the morning. At this time of day there were the soft sounds of birds nesting, the rustling of little animals hurrying to hide, or the whispering sound of grasses ruffled by the evening breeze. He would watch as the sun, large and luminous, lighted the huddled walls of Gerar in the west and in the east the moon rose pale and fragile in the still blue sky.

  The fields that he walked across were the same, but now he found himself watching the horizon and listening for the jangle of the trappings that announced a camel caravan. It had been two days since he had encountered the young boy who brought the good news of Eleazar’s return. Two days of wild excitement in his father’s camp. Vast preparations were being made to welcome Bethuel’s daughter, his bride.

  He didn’t want to meet her for the first time with everyone watching. He wanted it to be something unique and private. He knew they were all anxious to see if she was beautiful and if he was going to love her as his father had loved Sarah. He knew he couldn’t avoid their curiosity, but first he wanted to greet her himself. He wanted to spare both of them any embarrassment.