Tears came to her eyes as she realized that this small one was being totally ignored. Everyone had now left her alone in the tent while they celebrated and rejoiced over his brother. She could hear the clamor and now drums beating and the ram’s horn blown to announce the importance of the occasion. From time to time, loud and clear, she heard the strong, lusty cry of her firstborn.
She laid her cheek against the soft dark hair of her neglected child and let her tears fall freely. No one cares about this lovely child, and no one has even come to give him a name. She rocked back and forth studying his little form with wonder and delight. There really have been two babies struggling in my womb. Two nations, the voice called them. And it was said the elder shall serve the younger.
If it really was the voice of Elohim, surely He would reveal His will to Isaac and his father, Abraham!
She felt the soft little hand of her child curl around her finger. Looking down she remembered again that it was this hand that had grabbed the heel of his brother. She laughed a tight, bitter laugh. “We will call you Jacob, the supplanter, the cheater of his brother, the heel grabber,” she murmured in utter frustration. “We will see if even Elohim can manage to give you the blessing and the birthright when your father has already announced it will go to Esau.”
It was some time later that Isaac discovered another child had been born. “What will we call him?” he asked Rebekah.
“I have already named him Jacob,” she said, hoping he would get the subtle message and remember the prediction.
He looked puzzled for a moment and then smiled. “You can name this one; I have already named our firstborn Esau.”
It was spring and the time was fast approaching for celebrating the fifteenth birthday of Isaac’s twins. It was also a happy, joyful time, for during these years Abraham and his family had prospered in a most astonishing way. The winter rains had been abundant and one saw bright clumps of flowers thriving in unexpected places and even more surprising, large patches of winter wheat.
Abraham had used the learning of Ur to produce this miracle. In Ur the land was barren except for the areas that were irrigated. “Any land will become fruitful with water,” he said. “Dig wells, take advantage of the winter rains, and this will no longer be barren land.”
Not only had the land become productive, but his flocks of sheep and goats had multiplied in an amazing way. The fine quality of his wool was acclaimed and sought after, not only in the cities along the central ridge but also in the coastal cities as far north as Byblos, Ugarit, and Carchemish. The scraped and treated sheepskins were often carried down into Egypt where they became sandals, cushions, and even vellum for writing.
Abraham had become a man of vast and enviable wealth. This was to be both the source of his great satisfaction and his growing problem. The men of the cities and the traders along the caravan routes looked at him with greedy eyes. It all looked so easy and they coveted the same success.
It had also been more than thirty-five years since Keturah had become Abraham’s concubine, and in this time she had blessed him with six strong, healthy sons. They were quick to learn, and he had observed with pride how easily they could master any physical feat. In competitions of brawn or muscle, they all excelled.
Two of them, Ishbak and Shuah, were about the same age as Isaac’s twins. Abraham had noticed with growing concern that they tended to seek out Esau for their adventures but ignored Jacob. As a result, Jacob was more inclined to be in his mother’s tent learning her tricks of making a succulent lentil stew or helping to turn a young lamb on the spit. The boy must be lonely at times, Abraham thought.
When the men sat around the campfire in the evening, Jacob kept to himself and only listened to the men talk. Esau and the sons of Keturah were always in the midst of any discussion. They never seemed to lack tales of adventure that involved both skill and raw courage. Abraham was too old now to enter into the heady excitement of either the hunt or the games of physical skill, and so he too sat and listened and watched.
He noticed how Isaac’s eyes shone with pride as Esau fearlessly wrestled and sometimes even bested the sons of Keturah. He would challenge them to target practice with their bows and arrows just so he could see Esau excel. He could not restrain himself from bragging about the attainments of his handsome son. He never seemed to notice Jacob. It was as though the boy didn’t even exist, and yet Jacob was much more like Isaac had been at the same age.
As the competition between Keturah’s sons and Esau grew more fierce, Abraham saw with alarm that what had at first seemed good and healthy had grown almost ugly and destructive. It was slowly disrupting the peace of the camp. Rebekah and Keturah were no longer friends. They watched their sons from a distance and became bitter if their sons were not the favored ones. Isaac was unwittingly a part of the whole dilemma. He was so proud of his more aggressive son, Esau, that he was often unfair to Keturah’s sons and totally oblivious to the needs of his second son, Jacob.
Abraham had long ago explained to Keturah that her sons were not to receive the birthright or the blessing. At first she had accepted this without anger or resentment. However, as the competition grew between her sons and Esau, she began to pout and cast dark looks at Rebekah and Isaac. She had even tried by cunning and craftiness to turn Abraham from his intentions.
When Abraham commented with delight on some special dish she served him, she would motion for her son Jokshan to come and tell his father how he had managed to trap the bird. “Your son Isaac has never done such a thing and at such a young age,” she would say with pride as she pushed her son into the firelight.
The boy would quickly come to stand before Abraham, still holding his throwing stick. His eyes seemed to glint in the firelight with anticipation of his father’s approval. His head was held high with a certain haughty assurance. “See, we named him right, Jokshan, fowler,” she would say. “He will never go hungry.”
Abraham was well aware of her strategies as she pushed forward her other sons in the same way, but he never minded. He admired the boys and loved their brash assurance. Isaac had never managed such an air of confidence.
However, there was one area in which he was always disappointed. He had a habit of asking these sons to come and sit with him, anticipating a lively conversation. “Have you ever wondered how a bird can fly?” he might ask, expecting some interesting conjecture. Instead the boy would look at him with wide, puzzled eyes and frown slightly.
“It’s not such useless puzzles he’s concerned with,” Keturah would explain after he had gone. “He doesn’t waste time dreaming about things that don’t matter.”
Abraham had to conclude that all of Keturah’s sons were of the same practical bent. They excelled at doing and producing visible results and had no time for what seemed to Keturah “idle talk.” He realized that Isaac of all his sons was of the most thoughtful disposition. He always enjoyed a good discussion, and Jacob was the same, while Esau was more like the sons of Keturah. It surprised Abraham to see such differences in his own family.
* * *
On a night in early spring, Abraham was gradually wakened by the creaking of the tent poles as they tugged against the tethers. A cool breeze had sprung up. The moon was full, and outside the tent were whole splashes of light. The stillness was broken only by the bleating of some of the young lambs separated from their mothers. He rose with difficulty, realizing how feeble he had become. He unfolded his shawl that had served as a pillow, wrapped it around his shoulders, and went to the tent door. It was a rare time that he was ever alone, and he knew that one needed to be alone at times to unravel some of life’s mysteries.
He had much to ponder. The time was fast approaching that he must make a decision; he must do something about Keturah and her sons. He could remember how excited he had been when Keturah seemed to be able to produce sons one after the other with no trouble. After Sarah’s long time of barrenness, he had viewed this as something wonderful and even mysterious.
&
nbsp; Now he saw things differently. He knew he would not live much longer, and after he was gone, where would this struggle and competition lead them? There were six sons of Keturah and Isaac only had two. Keturah was encouraging her sons to edge out those of Isaac, if not for the blessing then for the birthright. He had even known instances where the sons of a concubine had murdered the sons of the legitimate wife just for the advantage.
It was evident he must move quickly, make some hard decisions. Isaac was the immediate concern. He must not be displaced, but after him what would happen? Esau, Isaac’s firstborn, seemed only concerned with practical matters, while Jacob was just the opposite. Why hadn’t there been just one son for Isaac with these two qualities perfectly blended, he wondered.
He held tightly to the tent pole as he lowered himself to the sandy floor. He must settle this in his mind before daylight, and then he must act. He could already feel his strength ebbing, his voice getting softer, and his eyes dimming. Who could guess how long he had before he would be gathered to his people in the great and strange land of the dead.
He tried to go back over the years that had gone so quickly. He wanted to remember each of the sons of Keturah so he could deal justly with them. He realized that as he had grown older they all tended to blur together without separate identities.
There was Zimran, meaning celebrated. Abraham was always embarrassed to think how he had almost forgotten Isaac in his joy at this son’s birth. During the twenty years that Rebekah had been barren, Keturah had been having children. Jokshan, the fowler, came next then Medan, judgment. Keturah had insisted on the name because she had pressed him to make a judgment in favor of her son as opposed to Isaac’s claim on the birthright.
Some time had passed after that before she had presented him with Midian and then Ishbak. The last son she had named Shuah, depression, because he had been born at the same time as Isaac’s twins. With Isaac’s twins everything changed. He had heirs and her sons could no longer be considered. Keturah had grown depressed and even bitter.
As much as he loved the boys, it was evident that he must send them away. He would give them each a generous settlement and send them with their mother back to her father, their grandfather. They would be more than welcome there as the old man had produced only daughters. He determined to do it quickly while he was still of sound judgment and in control of things. There was not much time left and things must be in order so there would be no conflict after he was gone.
He knew it would not be easy. Keturah would cry and the boys would complain among themselves. They would not dare to openly come against him. However, if things were not settled now, once he was gone and Isaac was in charge, there would be constant trouble.
He thought of Isaac, and as happened so often these days, he was reminded of their trip to Mount Moriah. Layers and layers of meaning kept coming to him in these years since it had all happened. There was nothing unusual in his taking his son to sacrifice him. This was done quite often by his Canaanite neighbors for seemingly trivial reasons. A child or young person might be sacrificed for the success of a trading venture, the erection of a house, or even to clear a man’s conscience before his household gods.
One of the things that made their sacrifice so different from his was that they usually had many sons and he had only the one special son of the promise. Ishmael, his firstborn, was not even considered. It was obviously a test of some sort. He had realized at first that in presuming to be a friend of his God, it was to be expected that at some time that obedience would need to be weighed and evaluated. Mount Moriah may have been that evaluation.
It was also different because he had been told to go to a specific place, Mount Moriah, to make the sacrifice. The usual procedure was for the sacrifice to be made close to the man’s home. Friends and relatives would be notified and a feast would be prepared and served once the ritual was over. None of these things were part of his instructions.
Of course the final difference was that the boy was not sacrificed after all. If he shut his eyes, he could still see his son’s trusting gaze, feel the raised knife in his right hand, the place marked with his thumb where the knife would fall. There had been the sudden rigidity in his raised hand and the voice telling him not to harm his son. Then the miracle of seeing the ram in the thicket.
He remembered telling Isaac when he had asked about the lamb for the sacrifice, “The Lord will provide.” Of course there had been no lamb and he had tied his son, placed him on the altar, and raised the knife before the ram had appeared. The usual procedure would have been for the sacrifice to be carried out regardless of what he heard or felt. He’d never heard of anyone untying and releasing the sacrifice. If he hadn’t been used to listening for Elohim’s voice, he would have gone ahead and sacrificed his son. He buried his head in his hands and wept. Even as an old man the memory moved him deeply. His son’s trust, Elohim’s faithfulness, and then the realization that his God did not want His people to sacrifice their children.
Very slowly the memory faded and he was again aware of the night sounds, the dark sky punctured with bright stars, the smells of damp earth and growing things, and finally the fresh breeze that toyed with the tent flaps and lifted the sand at his feet. Yes, I must send Keturah and her sons away. Isaac would not have the strength to do it. He would give in to their pleading, might even give them his birthright.
With great effort he raised himself, dusted the sand from his robes, and turned back into his tent. He rolled his shawl into a pillow and eased himself down onto his mat and was soon fast asleep.
The next day he woke with a new feeling of urgency. He had to accomplish all that needed to be done. He must make his announcements soon and carry out his decision quickly. Keturah and her sons must be sent away as soon as possible. First, he would have to tell Keturah. Then he would have to make an announcement to his immediate family and close tribesmen.
Before he took any action, he called Eleazar and conferred with him. He must not offend his friend who was Keturah’s father, and he did not want his sons to feel that he had been unfair.
When Eleazar came, Abraham did not ask his advice as he often had done in the past; instead he simply told him his plan. “You must take several trusted men and ride as quickly as possible to my old friend, Keturah’s father. You will tell him that I am soon to be gathered to my people and I must leave my camp in order.”
Eleazar started to object but was silenced by Abraham’s stern look and upraised hand. “You will tell him,” Abraham continued, “that while I have a son to manage my affairs when I am gone, I know that he has none. He gave Keturah to me at a time when I needed her; now I am ready to return her with her six sons and such of my wealth as they will need. They are good sons and grandsons and will bless him in his old age.”
Eleazar was gone for a fortnight, and when he returned he had nothing but good news to impart. “The old prince welcomed me as though I were a brother,” he said, “and when I told him your decision, he wept.” His daughters were all married and gone and both his trading business and his herds were being managed by hired strangers. He was being raided and terrorized by robbers and he expected at any time to be taken prisoner and have all his wealth snatched from him.
Now when Abraham called Keturah and told her of his decision and the problems her father was having, she didn’t object. She had quickly seen that it would be to her sons’ advantage to be in a secure position. However, Abraham was amused to see how shrewd she was in bargaining with him. “She makes decisions like a man,” he confided to Isaac.
There was much discussion and argument among Keturah’s sons until they finally concluded that in all that was planned, they would be the winners. In the end they were impatient to leave and actually resisted the effort of their father to send them off with dancing and singing and huge feasts. They bragged and strutted about with a new sense of their importance.
Esau welcomed their leaving, but Jacob had a different reaction. For the first time he
fully understood the importance of being the firstborn, of inheriting the birthright and the blessing. These were things he valued all the more since he felt they could be denied him.
Many times he had heard his mother telling of his birth and the word she had received from the Lord. To her it was all settled—he, Jacob, was to have the blessing and the birthright. However, he knew that his father had paid no attention to anything his mother had said. He was assuming that Esau would have both the birthright and the blessing.
To make his situation even more bitter, now both Zimran and Jokshan taunted him, saying, “It’s your brother, Esau, who will inherit everything. You will only prosper in his shadow.” At this they would nudge each other and smirk. He noticed with growing frustration that they treated Esau very differently. Since he was to receive the blessing and the birthright, they wanted him as their friend.
He understood quite well why the sons of Keturah were being sent off to their grandfather. This was how things were done. The firstborn son must have no competition. He wondered how long it would be before a choice would have to be made between himself and his twin brother. What would happen when his mother and father at last confronted their very different ideas of what should take place? Of course nothing would happen until Abraham died. When he died, everything would eventually be brought out into the open, and there could be some terrible conflicts.
Jacob watched Keturah and her sons leave with a feeling of relief. The last few days had been filled with feasting and packing, some crying, and more advice given back and forth. At the last, Keturah was concerned for Abraham’s care. He was not strong now and would need constant attention. “He must have warm broth on waking in the morning and fruit in season,” she told Rebekah. “Perhaps you could have Jacob tend to these things. He is the only one who doesn’t have something important to do.”
The Sons of Isaac Page 14
