Being twins maybe they should split the blessing and the birthright between them. Jacob had long ago resolved that if given the chance, he would snatch at least one of them away from Esau. He thought about it. Esau could have the birthright; it was the blessing he wanted. Or if Esau got the blessing, then he could have the birthright.
As he lay back against the base of the large projection of rock, he was about to doze off when he heard a low whistle. Looking up he saw Esau, hot and dusty, about to dip into his stew.
“No, no, no,” he shouted, jumping up and snatching the piece of bread from Esau. It was dripping with stew and Esau had just missed popping it into his mouth. “You have your birthright and your big feasts; you’ll not take my stew without paying some price.”
Esau laughed. “A price for stew?”
Jacob stood his ground. “Why not?”
“It’s so easy to make a stew and besides I’m hungry. There’ll be no big feast. I didn’t find any game.”
“You can’t have everything just because you’re the firstborn.” He said this with a sneer as he positioned himself between Esau and the coveted stew.
“I hope you’re not going to go on about the birthright again,” he shouted. “I’m starving. I won’t live to inherit anything if I don’t get something to eat.”
“You’ve just been gone two days …”
“Two days with nothing to eat. There’s a famine brewing out there. What good is it to be firstborn if one dies of starvation?” He pushed Jacob aside, squatted beside the pot, picked up the bread, and was about to dip it in the stew.
With all his strength Jacob pushed his brother into a small clump of thyme. “Exactly; what good will the birthright do you if you starve?”
Now Esau was frantic with hunger. He could smell the stew and this drove him to even more desperate measures. “What do you want? I’ll give you anything, my throwing stick, my knife, even my sling, just let me have the stew.”
Jacob laughed a hard mocking laugh as he looked down at his brother groveling before him. “There’s only one thing I want and you’ll never part with it, so you won’t get the stew if I have to dump it out on the ground.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would.”
“You can’t be talking about the birthright?”
“That’s the only thing you have that I want.”
Esau sat up and stared at Jacob in astonishment. “I think you’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. You can have the whole pot in exchange for your birthright.”
Esau laughed. “That’s easy. As you said, what good is the birthright to a dead man.”
Jacob’s eyes flashed and he cracked his knuckles as he did at times of great excitement. “You’d really give your birthright for my stew?”
“Why not? I don’t even know what a blessing is and the birthright …” He shrugged. “That’s a long time off and I’m starving.”
Jacob squatted down beside him. “You’re serious? You won’t go back on your word?”
“No, no. You can have it. Now give me the stew.”
When Jacob went to his mother’s tent and told her of the bargain, she didn’t immediately congratulate him. Instead she stood, head tipped to one side, eyes narrowing, and her lips pursed as she evaluated the whole thing. “That sounds like him. He doesn’t really value such things. He just lives for the moment. He’ll more than likely forget he ever made such a deal,” she said. “You’ll have to keep reminding him.”
That’s easy, Jacob thought as he put the fire pot and the empty bowl back in its place. He promised and I won’t let him go back on his promise.
* * *
In the days that followed, everyone but Jacob forgot about Esau’s promise. They were all too preoccupied with the news he’d brought. “Everything’s drying up,” he said. “There are no animals like there used to be.”
Isaac’s shepherds began reporting the same thing and traders coming through with their caravans added ominous details. “If it weren’t for the wells dug by Abraham,” they said, “both men and their beasts would be dying.”
“There have always been famines,” Isaac reminded his family. “Some have been worse than others. One of the worst was in the time of Sargon the great. All of the northern reaches of the Tigris and Euphrates were laid waste. That’s when our ancestors fled to Ur in the south.”
“Does that mean we should go down to Egypt till the famine’s ended?” Esau asked.
“It’s difficult to be strangers among a strange people,” Isaac said. “Our ancestors never went back north until Elohim spoke to Terah, my grandfather. One must be careful in making such moves.”
Finally, Isaac decided to ride into Gerar and talk to the king. He needed to find out what plans he was making to last out the famine.
He found the king in his treasury overseeing the delivery of payment for bags of wheat he had just received from some Egyptian traders. After their greetings, the king led Isaac to his audience chamber and invited him to sit with him. “We have much to discuss,” he said. “I hear your herds of cattle and sheep have not been touched.” The king spoke with raised brows and a narrowing of his eyes that gave him a crafty, puzzled look. “What is your secret?”
“Wells,” Isaac said. “My father dug many wells.”
“I don’t understand,” the king said.
“With wells you can irrigate and grow crops without the rain.”
The king frowned. “That sounds dangerous to me.”
“What do you mean?” Isaac asked.
“Surely such a thing will bring down the wrath of the goddess Anat and all the other gods.”
“Then what is your plan?” Isaac asked, puzzled.
“We’ll continue to entreat Anat; she’s in charge of such things. Of course we’ll continue to get grain from Egypt as long as they’ll sell it to us.”
“When we finish digging the new irrigation ditches,” Isaac said, “we’ll be harvesting a lot of grain and can spare some to sell in your market.”
“It’s your wells, you say, that make this possible?”
“In Ur of the Chaldees there was very little rain. They had to irrigate. There are great rivers of fresh water underground that your people can learn to use.”
“No, no!” the king said almost in alarm. “We must not offend the goddess. However, we would not mind buying the grain from you.”
Isaac looked at him and saw that he could not understand. He would never be in favor of getting water from the ground when their goddess had not sent the rain. To him it would be blasphemy.
As the king rose, he turned to Isaac. “Come, move into our city,” he said. “Perhaps we can work together to fight this famine.”
And so Isaac and his family moved to Gerar. The king proved to be generous. He moved some of his own family out into smaller quarters so Isaac and Rebekah and their family and servants could move into houses adjoining the palace.
“You will come and sit every day with me,” Abimelech said. “Your family will be like my family. This famine is sure to pass, but in the meantime we may need each other.”
Rebekah had not forgotten her former experience with the king’s sister Anatah. Now she was surprised when this same sister invited her to come sit with her women whenever she chose. Rebekah would have much preferred going down to Egypt.
When the spring finally came and there had been no winter rain, Isaac began to seriously consider moving down to Egypt. He called his men together and said, “If we stay here, we will have to depend on the wells and building irrigation channels. It will be hard work and in the end we may all starve.”
“We are ready to move. When can we leave?” they immediately asked.
Isaac held up his hand and signaled for silence. “We must not make such a move without first getting guidance from Elohim.”
They were all aware that he had been fasting and praying, spending most of the day and far into the night on his face before his father’s
God. Now for the first time, they understood his concern and they began to wait anxiously for his answer. Most of them believed it was already obvious what should be done. They would have no real choice but to go down to Egypt where the Nile could be trusted to fend off any famine.
When the day finally came that Isaac announced the answer that had been given him, they were all speechless with amazement. “We are not to go down to Egypt,” he said. “We are to stay right here and trust Elohim to take care of us. We still have the wells that have not run dry, and we can continue to build irrigation ditches as they have always done in Ur.”
He said no more but turned and went back into his tent. He had seen them frowning with puzzled, questioning looks and real fear clouding their eyes. He heard their murmuring and then quite clearly he heard one of them say, “Can we trust him to really hear from Elohim like his father? This goes against all our better judgment. To go to Egypt is the only safe thing to do.”
Isaac himself could hardly believe what he had heard from Elohim. It was so different from what he had expected. He was well aware of everyone’s reaction. He could see it in their eyes as they looked away—they were frightened. What he told them was not based on common sense. To stay on in the midst of the worst famine any of them had ever experienced sounded like the most foolish thing they could do.
Rebekah had been so sure they would be going down to Egypt that she had been quietly packing and was ready to go. Now she couldn’t help wondering if Isaac was making a big mistake. If Abraham had been there and told them they were to stay, that he had heard this from Elohim, it would have been different. Isaac’s speaking with such sureness didn’t impress her. “You know we will all starve if we stay here,” she said finally.
Esau was the only one who agreed with his father. He didn’t want to leave because he was totally entranced with one of the Hittite maids of Kirjath-arba.
Her name was Judith. He had seen her dancing with the maidens at one of the festivals honoring the goddess Anat. She danced handling a large snake that wound around her arms and encircled her waist. She not only danced with a fascinating, snakelike undulation, but she was also able to make the large snake obey her every command.
Esau was fearless in confronting the lions or the panthers that prowled the jungle of the Jordan. He had been known to wrestle one of the lambs from a large bear, but he avoided and feared the snakes. He had killed many of them as they reared up in his path and glared with their cold, beadlike eyes, challenging him. He knew that they were stealthy and deadly, and to see a young beauty like Judith tormenting and flirting with the big snake fascinated him.
He had waited until the performance was over and then, jumping down from the wall where he and other young men had been sitting, he confronted her. “Are you not afraid?” he asked.
“No,” she said as her eyes narrowed and she tossed her head, studying him all the time. “The snakes I can control,” she said, “but a young man like yourself is the real danger.”
He only later learned what she meant. She had been dedicated to the goddess as a very young child, and it was the only life she knew. Esau understood but was determined to have her for himself; to leave for Egypt at this time would spoil everything.
Jacob’s reaction was different. He was among those who crowded into his father’s tent to hear what had changed his mind. It interested him because it was so unlike his father. His father was never one to speak with authority. He was always looking for some peaceful way around any disagreement. Now here he was insisting on a plan of action that was definitely unpopular.
“It was the Lord Himself who appeared to me,” Isaac had said. “‘Do not go down to Egypt,’ was His message; ‘I will be with you and will bless you.’” They were all so shocked and confused that none of them remembered hearing the rest of the message, though Isaac had repeated all of it. For Abraham’s sake his seed was to multiply as the stars of heaven and all the land that had been promised Abraham would be given them. And, as had always been promised before, in his seed would all the nations of the earth be blessed.
While they sat too stunned to question the vision, Isaac told them that Abimelech, king of Gerar, had also urged them to stay. “He is very friendly,” he said. “Even he says we can trade with them as long as the food lasts.”
In this way Isaac’s family gave up all thought of moving down to Egypt. Reluctantly Rebekah unpacked her things and started to make the large fortress next to the palace into a home.
The balcony that jutted out on the side of the king’s palace was a delightful place. There had once been a grapevine that twined up and over, forming a shaded area. Now the vine was leafless and dry but offered strong limbs on which to hang her cages of pigeons. The herbs she used for cooking were soon growing in the clay pots, which could be easily watered. She had basil, cumin, coriander, and mint. With these herbs she could make many different dishes of the meat that was still plentiful.
It soon became quite evident that even the king and his family had begun to suffer from the famine. Instead of the lavish feasts that had been held in the past, now there were only a few dates served on dry reed mats, and the last of their store of wine was carefully portioned out.
The king’s sister Anatah still held afternoon parties for her friends, and the women of Isaac’s family were always invited. The entertainment was usually gossip, village dancers, or sorting through the merchandise of traders from Egypt who brought jewelry, cloth, perfumes, and scarce herbs.
On one of these occasions, Abimelech had arranged with his sister to sit behind a curtain where he could see the women of Isaac’s family. “I have heard that even his serving women are doe-eyed and shapely,” he confided to his vizier. “His sister is reported to be a great beauty.” His eyes narrowed and he pulled at his short beard as a lustful grin played across his face. “I need a distraction right now. This woman may be just what I need.”
When the time came for the visit, Abimelech could not take his eyes from Rebekah. “She is the sister I have heard about,” he whispered, “and indeed she is all that I’ve been told. I’ll have my chief steward speak to Isaac at once.”
When Anatah heard what he wanted, and was given the description of the woman, she was appalled. “The woman you are so interested in is not his sister but his wife,” she insisted.
“Impossible,” her brother stormed. “I have carefully investigated and my friend Isaac says she is his sister.”
Anatah was not to be outdone. She had spent several hours every day on the palace roof hidden behind a screen where she could watch what went on in the apartments of Isaac and his immediate family. What she saw both intrigued and angered her. Their balcony was wide with a couch, large storage jars, a loom, and several reedy cages for pigeons. Off to one side was a fire pot, which was always lit in the early afternoon by a serving girl. Soon after this, a woman she knew as Rebekah, Isaac’s wife, would come with a tray, squat beside the pot, and make what looked like a delicious stew.
Even from her vantage point, Anatah could smell the tantalizing aroma. It was obvious Rebekah was making the most of what she could still find as the famine had undoubtedly hampered her usual procedure. There was no bread and no small grains in this mixture. All this interested the princess, but what followed made her resentful and angry.
Isaac, still handsome and virile, would appear and come striding through the curtained doorway, calling out some cheery greeting. Rebekah would jump up, push her hair back from her face, and, laughing, run to him. Sometimes she flung herself into his arms and, pulling his face down to her, would kiss him enthusiastically.
Other times they seemed to play a game where she flirted brazenly and he pretended not to notice; he even went to investigate the steaming pot. All the time it was evident to Anatah that he was very aware of Rebekah and was enjoying her attention. It always ended with both of them tumbling together with laughter and frenzied excitement on the couch. Only after a time, when they lay exhausted and spent, did
she rise and ladle some of the fragrant mixture from the pot into a bowl and bring it to him.
He never took his eyes from her as he ate. He listened and nodded, sometimes laughed, and even examined some new piece of jewelry or apparel. It was at this point Anatah turned away; she had seen enough and she was desperately jealous. She had never had a man really notice her as a person. Though she had practiced every ploy in the art of seduction that she had learned in the temple of the goddess, she had received only jewelry for her efforts. With her husband there had been children, including three tall, handsome sons, but never anything really caring and personal.
When her brother refused to believe this was indeed Isaac’s wife, she determined to prove it to him. She would bring him to this rooftop, or, better still, to a window in his own apartments and let him see for himself.
The plan succeeded far beyond her imagining, and she could not have been more pleased. Her brother was at first incredulous, then amazed, and finally angry. “This Isaac has dealt deceitfully,” he muttered. “He could have made me look foolish. He has obviously been willing to risk someone lying with his wife and having to be stoned for the offense.”
“My brother,” Anatah said after she had enjoyed his ranting sufficiently, “it’s no more than his father, Abraham, managed with your father. You should have been more cautious.”
“It’s true! His father did deceive us in the same way.” Abimelech frowned and sat down among the cushions of his couch. Taking off his crown he absentmindedly sat, turning it in his hands as he thought. The crown had been worn by his father, and as he looked down at it, he thought bitterly of how both his father and he himself had been deceived by this family. With a sudden swift movement, he put the crown back on his head and adjusted it so that it felt comfortable. He stood up and glared at Anatah. “I will see this so-called friend of mine and have it out once and for all. I’ll not punish him openly, but I’ll see that many difficulties are placed in his path.” As he left the room he muttered to himself, “Why should the gods give two such beautiful women to one family?”
The Sons of Isaac Page 16
