“He remembers slights and snubs,” Jacob said. “I don’t expect him to get over this quickly.” All the time Jacob was adjusting the packs of dried figs and cheese and a blanket roll on the back of a donkey. Rebekah grasped his hands and looked at him with tears welling in her eyes. “How happy I’ll be to see you coming with a bride from my own house.”
“I am afraid for Father. He looks so old and worn.”
Rebekah hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks. “Don’t worry. You won’t be gone that long. The time will pass quickly.”
With a final hug she let him go, and was just watching him start to move down the path toward the two slaves who were going with him when she remembered something important. “Jacob,” she called softly as she hurried to catch up with him, “be careful around my brother Laban. He is a hard bargainer and a real trickster. Don’t let him get the best of you.”
Jacob smiled and gave his mother a last quick hug. “So it will be one trickster against another. Isn’t that what you named me?”
“I’ve sometimes regretted naming you Jacob.”
“Maybe the name will stand me in good stead in your brother’s house.”
“Remember your father’s blessing. May the God of your grandfather Abraham go with you and protect you.” With that she let him go and watched him disappear into the darkness.
She went back to her tent and sank down among the cushions. She took the bowl of warm broth Deborah had prepared for her and set it to one side. She couldn’t stand to eat anything. “I just want to be alone,” she told Deborah.
When the crying children were finally carried off and the tent was quiet, Rebekah sat thinking over all that had happened. Isaac had been so understanding when she had explained everything to him. Why had she not done that from the beginning? What had she been afraid of? Now, because of her silence and deception, Jacob was gone and Esau was lost to her forever. She had worked so hard at manipulating things. What if she had just trusted Elohim to work out His own promise?
* * *
Jacob slipped quietly out of the camp and was on his way up to the high plateau where he would skirt around Hebron and Bethlehem and get as far as possible on this first night. He must get so far that Esau could not easily catch up with him.
He had only his rough sheepskin cloak, and the night air was crisp and promised an early frost. From his satchel he pulled out some dried figs and ate as he hurried along. He dared not stop and light a fire for a proper meal. He didn’t ride but walked beside the donkey because he wanted to think. He felt burdened, oppressed by some choking pain that seemed to tear at his insides until he wanted to cry out in anguish. The night was dark, but he felt as though he were walking through a darkness that was almost palpable. He tried to get at the cause of the pain.
At first he felt it was the memory of his old, blind father stretching out his hands to give him his final blessing. The words flew around in his head like black crows. “May El Shaddai, the almighty, all-powerful God, bless you and make you fruitful and multiply you” … and then the part that made him almost retch with the pain, “and give the blessing of Abraham to you and your seed that you may inherit the land that God gave to Abraham.”
These were his father’s last words. They were words said to him and not to his brother Esau. They were the words of the blessing he had craved and lied to achieve. The problem was that he still didn’t feel that they belonged to him. Neither his grandfather Abraham nor El Shaddai would give blessings to a deceiver. He had thought, and his mother had thought, that to just wrest the words of the blessing from his father was all that was needed. Now he knew his father could say the words, but unless they were prompted by El Shaddai, they meant nothing.
The moon rose over the distant mountains of the Dead Sea and continued slowly into a high arch above him. The stars blossomed like small dove’s dung flowers in the soft black of the sky. He was aware of nothing but the rough stones in the path and the frequent cry of an owl. He walked fast to keep time with his turbulent thoughts. It was late when at last he came to a hillside looking out on the village of Luz. The village was small and the gates were closed. There would be no chance of rousing someone so he could spend the night in their guesthouse.
He found a grassy knoll and spread out his cloak. He needed a headrest. He looked around and saw a stone that seemed just the right size. He pulled it over to the grass, set it in place, and lay down, and was soon fast asleep.
He was exhausted and his sleep was deep and troubled. He saw Esau in his dream and then his father and finally his grandfather Abraham. They all seemed to look at him with disapproval. One word hung in the air around him even in his sleep, “Supplanter, you are a supplanter. With deception you have supplanted your brother.”
He was slightly aroused by an owl’s cry. He looked up into the now moonless sky and felt the stars pressing down upon him. They seemed almost within reach. A thought began to form in a hazy, dreamlike state. If only he could go to the gate of heaven as he had gone to his father and have it settled once and for all. If he could know that it really was Elohim who had chosen him as his mother said, he would have peace.
He turned over and was again aware only of some small creature digging near his headrest. He heard the owl cry once more and then he drifted off into a strange dreamlike state. He was gradually aware of steps, large steps, that led upward invitingly. He could not see the top, as they seemed to disappear into a bright, glowing mist. He lay still, very still, and watched as from the midst of the mist, he saw, very faint and far away, feet begin to appear descending the stairs and coming toward him.
Within moments beings of great power and beauty were coming down the stairs and then, just as they reached the bottom, turning and ascending in the same way. There was the smell of sod wet with spring rain and the fragrance of white lilies. There was the atmosphere of joy, bright, cascading joy.
Suddenly the mist at the top of the stairs glowed with a brilliance that made Jacob cover his eyes, and the beings on the stairs fell to their knees. A warm and encouraging voice sounded from the head of the stairs. “I am the Lord God of Abraham your father, and the God of Isaac. The ground you are lying on belongs to you; I will give it to you and your descendants. You will have as many descendants as the dust. They will cover the land from east to west and from north to south. All the nations of the earth will be blessed through you and your descendants. I am with you and will protect you wherever you go, and I will bring you back safely to this land. I will be with you constantly and will give you all I am promising.”
Jacob awoke with a start. Though the stairs had disappeared, the atmosphere was still charged with vibrant life. The glow faded and the stars were again all that was visible. “God lives here,” Jacob burst out in terror and awe. “I’ve somehow stumbled into His home! This has to be the very entrance to heaven!”
The next morning he awoke early before the sun had fully risen over the mountains in the distance. He impulsively set the stone that had been his headrest upright and poured olive oil from his pouch over it as he had seen his father and his grandfather do when they were consecrating an altar. “I shall not forget this place,” he said. “It must have a name, a name separate from the village nearby. I’ll call it Bethel, for it is indeed the house of God.”
He paused beside the pillar and thought. It seemed important that he make some vow, some commitment in the place where the great El Shaddai of his father and grandfather had sworn such promises to him. “If,” he began, not wanting to vow or promise something he could not manage. “If this God of my fathers will help and protect me on this journey and give me food and clothes and bring me back safely to my father … then,” here he paused and thought. Here would be his part of the agreement and it must be something appropriate and not so difficult he couldn’t do it. He continued slowly and thoughtfully, “then I will choose El Shaddai, Elohim as my God! This memorial pillar will become a true altar and place of worship.”
He paused a
gain and tried to think what sort of promise would his father make if he were dealing directly with his God. “I will give You back a tenth,” he said at last, “of everything You give me.”
As he turned and continued on his way, his mother’s warning flashed through his mind: “Be careful around Laban.” He wondered briefly what she meant. Then still glowing with the experience of the night before and the assurance that El Shaddai, the almighty God, was to be with him, he felt able to deal with whatever might arise.
* * *
It did not take Esau long to discover that Jacob had fled. His first impulse was to hurry after him and wreak his revenge. However, his friends soon convinced him that it was his mother he had to deal with, not Jacob. Jacob could be punished later. With his anger only slightly abated, he stormed over to confront his mother.
Rebekah had been expecting him. She had fixed honey cakes and poured out a cup of her best date wine. She saw him as he came up the path beside the brook Besor, swinging his riding prod viciously at the reeds along the bank. She rose to meet him with peaceful words, but before she could say anything, he burst out, “So … where is that heel-grabber, supplanter brother of mine?” He stood in the door of her tent, feet wide apart, his eyes blazing with hatred and his hands angrily twisting the prod.
“Come sit and I’ll tell you,” she offered.
“I’ll not sit in this tent,” he said with an ominous toss of his head.
“If you wish to hear anything from me, you’ll come sit and have some of these honey cakes I baked for you.”
Esau seldom had honey cakes as his wives were busy with children and gossiping and didn’t take time to make such things.
He reluctantly came and sat on the cushion she offered and then took a fistful of the honey cakes and gulped down the wine before he again demanded, “Where has my brother gone? What mischief is he up to now?”
Rebekah motioned for the serving girls to take the screaming children out so they could talk, and then she turned to Esau. “When you sold your birthright, did you not realize what you had done? And when you married these quarrelsome idol worshipers, did you think to receive the blessing of your grandfather Abraham?”
Esau dropped the riding prod and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. He shifted uneasily on the cushion. “Women don’t count,” he said. “It’s the man who must deal with his gods.”
Rebekah sat looking at him and feeling a great sorrow for this willful, wild son. She didn’t know how she could explain. “You want to know where your brother Jacob has gone?” she asked finally.
Esau’s whole demeanor changed. His face took on a sullen sneer as he said, “Yes, I demand to know.”
“He has left for my brother’s family in Haran.” She could see that Esau was visibly shaken. He had not even imagined such a thing.
“Why’s he going there?”
“He’s going to find a bride who is suitable.”
“What do you mean … suitable?” Now he was hostile, ready to defend his own choice of wives.
“You don’t understand, do you?”
“Do you mean he thinks he’ll find someone more beautiful?”
“He’s looking for someone who knows our ways and follows our customs, even understands why we worship a God who can’t be seen.”
“Every one of my wives is beautiful. He won’t find anyone in Haran more beautiful.”
“Esau,” she said, reaching out to him in real compassion, “your wives are pretty but they don’t fit and never will. They see nothing wrong with having idols and they think circumcision is cruel. They even at times take your children with them to their pagan festivals.”
Esau fell back as though he had been slapped. The riding prod fell from his hand and his expression became pained. “I can get rid of my wives; I’ll send them back to their fathers with apologies and gifts.”
“It is too late for that,” Rebekah said. “There are some things in life that cannot be changed. You have children. These are your children and the wives are your wives. These are the result of decisions you made freely. While wives can be sent back, children cannot be thrust back into the womb, no matter how much you pray or wish it to happen.”
“You don’t understand. I had no choice. The only women available, as you say, were not suitable.”
“If you had asked me, I would have at least suggested that you go and visit Ishmael. He has daughters.”
Esau got to his feet and, slapping the prod against his right leg, moved to the door of the tent. “I understand,” he said thoughtfully. “My wives were only a whim of the moment. I didn’t think about children or their fitting into our family. Now maybe I should go visit Ishmael and see if I can’t find at least one suitable wife.”
With that he ducked down and made his way out of the tent in a hurry before she could object. After he was gone Rebekah sat alone thinking. How hard it was to make things right when they had gone so wrong. Even her own best qualities had been used in the wrong way. The girl who joyfully watered the camels for Abraham’s servant so long ago was also the one who, wanting to make things turn out right for her son, went to all the effort of disguising him to pass for his brother. Now her beloved son was fleeing for his life and her only other son was filled with hatred enough to kill.
And Isaac, who was so patient and kind, let Esau destroy himself with big expectations and bad marriages rather than discipline him.
What would have happened, she wondered, if she had trusted Elohim to work out His own plan for their lives? What would have been different if she had not felt it necessary to manipulate and manage everything?
If she had reminded Isaac of Elohim’s words, perhaps he would have made the decision to bless Jacob. As it was, things could not have turned out worse. Esau had been badly hurt and her beloved Jacob would undoubtedly receive a rough welcome from Laban. She knew her brother well. When he realized Jacob had come with no gifts, only promises of birthright and blessing, he would not be pleased. She feared that Jacob would find only thorns in Laban’s house.
As it happened Jacob did not go directly to the house of his uncle, nor did he meet Laban until he had first seen that his uncle did indeed have a beautiful daughter. It happened quite by chance. He was thirsty, his water cask was empty, and he turned aside to join some shepherds. “Where can I find a well?” he asked.
“You’re in luck,” one of them said. “We’re waiting till all the shepherds arrive to lift the stone off the well and water our sheep.”
“Where do you live?” Jacob asked.
“We live in Haran,” they said.
“Do you know someone named Laban, the son of Nahor?”
“Certainly!”
“Is he well?”
“Not only well but prosperous. It’s his daughter we’re waiting for. She should be coming with his sheep.”
“He has no sons or servants to care for the sheep?”
They rolled their eyes and looked at each other, nodding their amazement. “It’s obvious you know nothing of Haran. Laban has sons and servants and slaves aplenty. He’s very wealthy, but his daughter is young and likes to herd sheep better than staying at home.”
“Look! Here she comes now,” one of the men said.
Jacob looked in the direction the old man pointed and saw a young wisp of a girl standing first on one rock and then another as she counted her sheep. When she was satisfied that they were all there, she gave a shrill, piercing whistle and proceeded to lead them right to the group by the well.
Jacob stepped back so he could observe her before she noticed him. He saw that she wore no covering on her hair but a chain of daisies that she had obviously woven while she watched her sheep. Her hair was thick and curly, her mouth generous, and her eyes sparkled with good humor. Her gown, hiked up to make walking easier, displayed doeskin sandals whose laces crossed back and forth over slim ankles and up tanned legs. The long sleeves of her gown were folded back, leaving her hands exposed.
Something seemed
to amuse her, for she did a quick, waltzing step and landed on the well cover with her hands on her hips and looked around at the rest of the shepherds with a saucy challenge. “I see that none of you were able to lift the stone,” she said in a slow, confident voice.
Jacob saw this as an opportunity to get acquainted. He stepped out from the group of shepherds and with one swift movement lifted her from the stone. Then with a surge of strength that surprised even him, he rolled the huge stone aside. Without waiting for her reaction, he reached for a leather bucket he had noticed hanging from the limb of a nearby tree and lowered it again and again into the well as he drew water for her sheep.
When her sheep were all watered, he threw his head back and drank hungrily of the water before handing it to one of the other shepherds.
Rachel had been standing to one side observing everything with admiration but was totally taken aback when Jacob turned, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. He held her at arm’s length and studied her face with obvious approval. “There,” he said. “I’ve set the record straight, evened things up I should say.”
Rachel pulled away and pretended to straighten her gown, while all the time she was looking at him sideways, out of the corner of her eye. “Who are you?” she asked. “Surely we have no such impetuous men in Haran.”
Jacob laughed. “Of course you don’t. But I’m your cousin. The son of your aunt Rebekah.”
Rachel gasped and then laughed. “I remember Aunt Rebekah drew the water and watered all your father’s camels. There were ten of them.”
“Exactly,” Jacob said, smiling with pleasure that she understood.
Without another word, she blushed and pushed back her curls, toppling the wreath of daisies from her head. Then she turned and, forgetting her sheep, ran toward the village.
Jacob looked around at the shepherds and motioned for them to come water their animals. “Are all my uncle’s daughters so lively?” he asked.
The Sons of Isaac Page 21
