“Do you really think he would have been able to kill you?” Ishmael whispered in a hoarse voice.
“Of course,” Isaac responded without hesitation. “Our father was serious. If Elohim told him to do something, he would do it.”
Ishmael shuddered. “I’m glad I was not the chosen or blessed of my father. Do you sometimes wish he had picked me and let you be free to do as you pleased?”
Isaac kicked at a stone until it spun loose from the sand and went rolling down a small incline. “No, if I escaped the fright of the sacrifice, I would have also missed the joy of the ram in the thicket.”
“So you think Elohim put the ram there?”
“Of course, it was the angel that told my father not to harm me. He had already raised the knife when he saw the ram in the thicket.”
“I have been told our father gave the place its name,” Ishmael said. “Jehovah-Jireh … the Lord will provide.”
The two stood by the fire mulling over their conversation and the strangeness of their lives. At last Ishmael heaved a sigh of relief as he said, “I now understand many things, and it is good I was not chosen by my father for the birthright or the blessing.” The two embraced and then without another word walked silently away from the fire into the shadows and each to his own tent.
* * *
Isaac did not go right to sleep. Instead he lay wide-awake watching the tent cloth billow and fold and hearing the tent poles creak and groan. He found himself puzzling over the birthright and the blessing. What were they worth when it seemed that a man like Ishmael could find the same results without the restrictions and discipline? Ishmael prayed but he didn’t presume to hear the voice of Elohim. He had entered into the covenant through circumcision, but he was not to have the birthright or the special blessing, and so it seemed that he wasn’t expected to regulate his life in such a strict way.
The more he thought about it, the more he grew confused. Ishmael did not have to live apart from the men of the cities. He could even keep an idol in his house and not feel guilty.
He remembered asking his father about the blessing and receiving a very strange answer: “It is not just that we are to be blessed but that through us the whole earth will be blessed,” his father told him.
It was only after Ishmael had gone that Isaac learned the real purpose of his visit. He had come to ask Abraham for a blessing on his twelve sons and also to tell him that Hagar had died. He had buried her in an ancient, pagan temple on the coast of the Red Sea. This temple was built around a strange stone that had fallen from the sky and was considered sacred.
* * *
Several days passed before Isaac rode out to check on the men who stayed with the herds. He and his men rode up the dry riverbeds and circled the jagged mountain ranges to come at evening to an oasis where his herdsmen were camped. He found them all doing well with no reports of sickness or attacks from wild animals. He ate with the men, and when the moon came up he unrolled his pack and slept out under the stars close to the fire.
He often studied the stars, remembering always that his father had said Elohim had promised him descendants as the stars. Sometimes he would hold a fistful of sand and watch it pour in a thin stream onto the hard-packed earth. “Your descendants shall be as the sands,” had been quoted to him over and over again. What did that mean, he wondered, if your wife was barren and had been barren for twenty years?
At times he had thought his father had made a mistake. Now he was almost sure of it. For Ishmael to have twelve sons was almost sure proof of Elohim’s preference. Then there was also Keturah, who already had four sons. Surely if the promises were to come down through his line, he should have at least one son by this time. Was he, Isaac, still the one to have the birthright and the blessing?
When he reached home he went straight to the tent of his father and was relieved to find him alone. The servants had built a fire in the fire pot and Keturah had a delicious stew cooking in a stone dish on the top. Abraham sat holding the big folds of bread, waiting for the moment when he could dip pieces in the soup. This was his favorite dish.
He quickly pulled out a cushion for Isaac, and tearing the bread in half gave him the larger part. “You have been out riding and will find this stew very tasty,” he said.
Isaac accepted the bread and sat down but said nothing. Abraham watched him for a few moments and then asked, “Is something troubling you, my son?”
“I am almost sixty years old, my father, and I find that there are many things I have taken for granted and have not understood.”
Abraham almost laughed until he saw the serious look on his son’s face. “What have you not understood?” he asked.
After a long moment of silence, Isaac looked up at his father with such a look of pain that Abraham was shocked. “The most basic thing in our lives. It is the blessing Elohim has promised. What is it? How do you know I am the one to receive it?”
Abraham’s hand holding the bread stopped in midair. He turned to give Isaac a stunned look. He had always assumed that Isaac understood everything. He was such a devoted son and so careful to abide by the simple rules Elohim had given them. “You have done everything I have ever asked of you,” Abraham said. “You went up Moriah with me and let me tie you to the altar without crying or saying a word. You agreed to let Eleazar go back to Haran to find you a bride. What have you not understood?”
Now tears were in Isaac’s eyes. “Don’t you realize? I did those things because I loved you and you asked it of me.”
Abraham was visibly shaken. He placed the bread on the rim of the fire pot, pushed his headpiece back, grasped his beard, and frowned. For a moment he was speechless. He studied Isaac as though seeing him for the first time. When he spoke it was hesitantly. “My son, you are the child of promise. It is you who will receive Elohim’s special blessing. Don’t you understand that?”
“I have heard the words, but I don’t know what this blessing is and why you think I am to inherit it.”
Both men looked into the fire but seemed uninterested in the stew pot that was giving off a delicious fragrance. The large pieces of bread had been forgotten.
“To explain,” Abraham said, “I must start way back. You already understand that Elohim, the one God, has always existed. Men discover Him; they don’t invent Him. This is His world. He created it and everything in it.”
“He existed back before Noah and the great flood?” Isaac asked.
“Of course. He let the flood happen because men had become so evil.”
“And Noah? Why did He save Noah?”
“This is the first thing we have learned about Elohim. When He wants to do something in His world, He always chooses a man. Noah was chosen and I have been chosen as you are also chosen.”
Isaac was gazing at his father intently. “What does it mean to be chosen?” he asked. “Chosen for what?”
“We don’t always know. We must listen to Elohim and do what He tells us. We must know that He exists and that He has something of importance for us to do.”
“And Noah? What happened to him?”
“Noah obeyed Elohim and his family was the only one saved from the flood.”
“And his blessing?”
“He and his family were saved and he was given the rainbow as a very special gift from Elohim.”
“I know about the rainbow. Elohim will never again destroy the world with a flood. You used to tell me that after the rains.”
“Our family history tells us more about Noah. He was saved because God saw he was righteous and because he listened to God and believed in Him. But we also know that Noah left rules for us to follow if we would be righteous.”
“We have the rules of Noah?”
“Of course. Our people come from the line of his son Shem, and they settled just below the mountain where the ark landed. The village of Haran is not far from that mountain. Shem lived to be very old. I can remember seeing him when I went north on trading trips with my father.”
For a long time the two sat without saying anything. The moon rose and the fire died down. The sounds of mothers quieting their children could be heard, and then the soft, hurrying footfalls as someone walked by the tent. At last Abraham spoke. “It’s not difficult. One who would know Elohim must believe that He is and that He is a rewarder of them that seek Him.”
“And,” said Isaac, “what are His rewards?”
“For each man they will be different, but for me and my family it is plain. I am to be given this land and descendants as numerous the stars. I will be blessed and in turn will be a blessing.”
“It’s that simple?”
Abraham smiled. “It’s as simple as a friendship. He has chosen to love me.”
“But I have no children. Rebekah is crushed with the burden of it all. She feels she has been rejected. She’s miserable.”
“My son,” Abraham said, after a pause, “have you asked Elohim for the child?”
“No,” Isaac said finally. “I thought it was something that happened normally without asking.”
Abraham picked up his piece of bread and dipped it in the stew, then bit off the succulent morsel and motioned for Isaac to do the same. When he had eaten almost all of the bread, he reached out and grasped Isaac’s arm. “My son,” he said, “it’s important to ask Elohim for the things we need and want. Then when they come, we know they come from His hand and not from our fleshly efforts or an idol’s fancy. We thank Him for the gift and are satisfied.”
The fire had died down to a pile of glowing coals. The stew pot was almost empty and the bread was gone. Isaac rose to go and then hesitated. “Even though I have no children, you still believe all this will come to pass.”
Abraham rose and came to where he could look at his son, who now stood in the soft, full light of the new moon. “I have no doubt, no doubt at all.”
With that Isaac turned and went through the darkness toward his tent. Abraham stood watching him go until he was lost in the shadow of one of the tents.
Isaac was once again camped at the oasis called La-Hai-roi, a place considered holy as it was here that Hagar, the mother of Ishmael, had seen the angel and been comforted. Hagar had named it Beer-La-hai-roi, or the well of Him that liveth and seeth me. Since that time, it had changed a great deal. Now there were tall palm trees and the well had a worn stone curb. It was a favorite stopping place for caravans going up to Hebron or over to Gaza.
Isaac had moved to this site not only because it was such a pleasant spot, but because he hoped the same angel that had brought such comfort to Hagar would again appear to bless and comfort Rebekah.
Actually it was in this place they reached the final crisis. First, it was here that Rebekah became obsessed with the problem of Sarah and her handmaid Hagar. Every way she turned she was reminded of Hagar’s trauma, which had been acted out in this very place. She felt first the agony of Sarah who had been barren all of her life and at almost ninety was still childless. Then she was haunted by the frustration of Hagar who, while carrying a child for Sarah, had been beaten by her so that she had run away and had come here to this well.
“Why,” Rebekah asked Isaac, “did Elohim let Hagar get pregnant so quickly? If He had just let Sarah have a child instead, things would have worked out much better.”
During the visit of Ishmael, Hagar’s now grown son, she had become increasingly aware of her problem. All of his wives had seemingly produced sons with no difficulty. They were plump, jolly women who thought it the very simplest thing to get pregnant and have a child. When she had asked them what herbs or magic potions they had used, they laughed and winked at each other as though it were a silly question.
Finally there was Keturah, who had never had to eat the strange, bitter potions or go through difficult ordeals to become pregnant. She had been able to fit right in with Ishmael’s wives, discussing the trials of the birthing stool and the joys of nursing her little sons.
Rebekah’s handmaids had tried to encourage her by pointing out that she still had the firm, pointed breasts of a young girl and her stomach was only gently rounded. These wives she so admired, they said, had thighs that spilled over their saddles and were so heavy they swayed the backs of their donkeys, their breasts were like filled wine jugs, and when they smiled there were teeth missing.
“But they are honored and respected,” Rebekah reminded them. “They gave their husbands sons.”
Now, on this night, Rebekah was even more distressed. She had taken so many vile smelling potions and had ordered so many charms that she was exhausted with the effort. “I used to be so happy, so excited about everything,” she said to Deborah. “Now I think only of getting pregnant. I must have a child. I couldn’t bear for Isaac to take a woman like his father took Hagar.”
In the midst of this discussion, they heard someone approaching and Deborah lifted the tent flap to peer out into the darkness. Seeing that it was Isaac, she let it fall and hurried back to Rebekah. “Now, now,” she said, as she coaxed a few curls into place around Rebekah’s face, “it’s your husband, Isaac. You mustn’t let him see you this way.” Then she quickly snatched up the fire pot and sprinkled some citrus peels on the coals to make a pleasant smell.
Just as Isaac appeared out of the shadows, Deborah disappeared out the back of the tent. Rebekah usually ran to meet him and had some happy event to recount. Now she rose from the cushions where she had been sitting, but did not smile. Though she held out both hands as usual, he could see there was something wrong. “My love,” he said, putting an arm tenderly around her and leading her back to the cushions, “what’s wrong? What has happened?”
She tried to smile but instead quickly turned her head away so he could not see her eyes filling with tears. It was then he saw the clumps of herbs and weeds, the gourds that were strewn around with vile black potions dried in them. The smell was no longer the sweet fragrance of jasmine or sandalwood but some rancid, putrid odor that almost choked him. “What has happened?” he said, peering into the darkness as he tried to assess the situation. “This is like the cave of some fearful witch.”
At that she pushed him away and scowled. “I’ve tried everything. All these awful potions to drink or eat or be bathed in.” She flung out her arms in a gesture of helpless frustration. “It’s no use. I can’t do even the simplest things that other women do so easily.” At that she crumpled down among the cushions and sobbed great wracking sobs that tore at Isaac’s heart. He had never seen her cry like this before, and he couldn’t imagine what had brought about such disaster. His lovely, smiling little wife had somehow been deeply hurt, and he meant to get to the bottom of it.
“Is it me? Have I done anything to hurt you?” She couldn’t speak but shook her head. He became more frantic as he asked, “Has someone hurt you?” Again she shook her head but sobbed even more wildly.
He sank beside her and held her tight while he spoke soothing words, brushed back her hair, and tried to see her face. “Tell me, you must tell me what has happened,” he insisted. She shook her head but could not answer.
In a veritable frenzy Isaac shouted for Deborah. The old woman must have been standing just outside the tent, for no sooner did he call than she appeared. “What has happened to my wife? Who has hurt her so?” he stormed.
Deborah had never seen Isaac so agitated. She stood speechless, not knowing what to say.
“Come, come,” he said. “Why has she been eating all these strange things, and what is this terrible odor?”
At that Rebekah pulled away from him, and without bothering to straighten her mantle or wipe the tears from her cheeks, she blurted out, “I’ve been drinking ugly potions, gathering rare herbs, boiling foul smelling ointments, and still I’m not with child.”
“My lord,” Deborah said, coming to her defense, “she has indeed tried everything. Even the Egyptian cures.”
“Egyptian cures?”
“Ishmael’s wives brought me special gifts when they heard of my trouble,” Rebekah said.
“What sort of gifts?” Isaac asked.
“Some giant beetles called scarabs. They were dried and you mix them with lentils.”
“Beetles! Why beetles?” he said.
“They are believed to have strange and wonderful powers,” Deborah said. “At the beginning of the wet season, they suddenly appear and then they disappear when it’s dry. They say that when they’re eaten, they can make a person live long or become pregnant.”
“They also brought huge frogs to eat.” Rebekah made a grimace of distaste.
“You ate frogs?”
“An old Egyptian woman from Gerar told us these large frogs will always bring children,” Deborah explained.
“I only ate the legs,” Rebekah said. “Then someone told me not to eat them anymore or my children’s eyes would bulge out.”
“I don’t understand.” Isaac looked puzzled and confused.
“My lord,” Deborah said, “these special frogs are called matlametlo. They hide in the root of a bush in drought and come bursting out when it rains. The Egyptians believe these frogs can bring new life.”
“I thought we agreed we’d wait for Elohim to give us a child,” Isaac said finally.
For a moment there was silence as both Rebekah and Deborah realized that Isaac could not understand their frustration. He seemed so sure. He apparently had no doubts that at the right time Rebekah would fulfill the promise and become pregnant.
“It’s quite obvious to me Elohim’s a God for men, not a woman,” Rebekah interjected gently. “I’ve prayed and waited twenty years and nothing’s happened.”
“My mother …” Isaac began.
Rebekah jumped up. “I’ll not suffer as your mother did. I can’t endure a Hagar. I’d rather die.”
“Who has even suggested a Hagar? I’ve never considered taking another wife.”
“I know what will happen if I can’t have a child.”
The Sons of Isaac Page 12
