Jacob then instructed his sons to take his body back to Canaan and bury it in the cave with his ancestors. Joseph had his father’s body embalmed, and then with a great number of Pharaoh’s counselors and senior officers of the land, a great number of chariots and cavalry as well as all of Joseph’s family went to Atad—meaning the place of brambles—beyond the Jordan. Here they held a great and splendid funeral. Then his family went the rest of the way to the cave of Mach-pelah and buried him beside Leah and his ancestors.
At Joseph’s death he predicted that at some time in the future the family would return to Canaan. “When you return,” he said, “you must take my body back with you so that I may be buried in Canaan.”
This was done. In Joshua 24:32 we read that Joseph was buried in the parcel of land that Jacob had purchased so long before from the sons of Hamor at Shechem.
At this same place, on the West Bank near the site of the ancient city of Shechem, and on this same parcel of land, is the well that Jacob dug. Today many tourists come here to drink of the clear, cool water of this well. At one time a large church was built over this spot, but now there is only a small edifice protecting the well.
Tourists can still see the tomb of Rachel on the road to Bethlehem. It has had many exterior changes over the years, but the place has always been noted.
Then there is the site of the Oaks of Mamre, which until recently had a few ancient oak trees that were reported to be, if not the original oaks, at least oaks that grew from seedlings of those oaks. Not far from this place, a mosque has been built over the cave of Mach-pelah, where all the patriarchs are buried with their wives.
If you are wondering who received the birthright, you will have to turn to 1 Chronicles 5:1, which tells us that though Israel’s firstborn son was Reuben, he dishonored his father by sleeping with one of his wives, and his birthright went to his half brother Joseph by being given to Joseph’s sons.
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The Moody Publishers Team
Character List
(In Order of Appearance)
Nahor: Brother to Abraham, father to Bethuel, grandfather to Rebekah and Laban
Rebekah: Nahor’s granddaughter, Laban’s sister, youngest daughter to Bethuel and Milcah
Laban: Nahor and Milcah’s grandson, Rebekah’s brother, youngest son to Bethuel and Milcah
Bethuel: Rebekah and Laban’s father, Nahor’s son, Milcah’s husband
Terah: An ancestor (Abraham and Nahor’s father)
Deborah: Rebekah’s nurse
Abraham: Rebekah and Laban’s great-uncle, Sarah’s husband
Milcah: Nahor’s wife
Reumah: Nahor’s concubine
Barida: Laban’s wife
Nazzim: Barida’s father
Isaac: Abraham and Sarah’s son
Keturah: Abraham’s concubine
Eleazar: Abraham’s old friend and chief steward
Ishmael: Abraham’s son by Hagar
Zimran: Abraham and Keturah’s son
Anatah: One of the king’s daughters, attracted to Isaac
Zeb: A young goatherd from the family of Urim
Judith: Esau’s first wife who eventually returns to her family
Bashemath: Esau’s second wife who also returns
Adah: Esau’s third wife, sister to Bashemath
Elon: Adah and Bashemath’s father
Beeri: Judith’s father
Zibeon: Esau’s friend
Ahoolibama: Zibeon’s daughter, Esau’s fourth wife
Reuel: Esau’s first son with Adah
Eliphaz: Another son of Esau
Rachel: Laban’s younger daughter
Leah: Laban’s older daughter
Reuben: Leah’s first son with Jacob
Simeon: Leah’s second son with Jacob
Levi: Leah’s third son with Jacob
Judah: Leah’s fourth son with Jacob
Zilpah: Leah’s serving girl
Bilhah: Rachel’s serving girl
Dan: Bilhah’s first son that she gave to Rachel
Naphtali: Bilhah’s second son that she gave to Rachel
Gad: Zilpah’s first son given to Leah
Asher: Zilpah’s second son given to Leah
Issachar: Leah’s fifth son with Jacob
Zebulun: Leah’s sixth son with Jacob
Joseph: Rachel’s firstborn with Jacob
Dinah: Leah’s daughter with Jacob
Benjamin: Rachel’s second born with Jacob
Manasseh: Joseph’s older son
Ephraim: Joseph’s younger son
Now that you’ve enjoyed The Sons of Isaac, here’s a look at more biblical fiction from Roberta.
Here’s what others have to say about David & Bathsheba:
“David & Bathsheba is the kind of reading experience hard to find these days…engrossing, enriching…so that you do not want the book to end.” –Catherine Marshal, author of “CHRISTY”
“The troubled passion of Bathsheba and David is evoked with rare scholarly fidelity but more important to art, with profound insight into the well springs of human motivation. In our time the Bible has never prompted a finer fiction.” –Dr. Philip Herzbrun, Professor of English Literature, Georgetown
Prologue
It was evident to everyone in the crowded, darkened room that the king could not last through the night. There was a silence that seemed part of the very atmosphere. It was not a fearful, foreboding silence but a waiting silence, as though something very important and awesome were about to happen.
Family and friends tiptoed in and out of the room; old warriors awkwardly brushed tears from their eyes as they filed past his bed for a last glimpse; small grandchildren were held up to look at him and the women of the harem gathered together soberly in a frightened knot at the foot of his bed. They all sensed how barren and empty life would be without him and wanted to cling to every precious moment left to them.
The king reached out his hand to Bathsheba, and she took it and held it in both of hers bending over to hear the words he was struggling to speak. “You must not weep for me. This illness is unto death, but do not grieve. The Lord, Himself, has come to see me. His Shekinah glory has filled the room, and He has spoken to me of all that shall come to pass in the future. He has given me a message of hope for my people.” His voice was so weak she could barely hear him. “Nathan the prophet,” he continued with great effort, “has written it, that all may hear and be comforted.”
He motioned for Bathsheba to bring out a rolled parchment from under his mattress. He watched her unroll it and hand it to Nathan to read to the people.
The room grew quiet, the king’s eyes closed, and a gust of wind made the lamp’s flame bend and flutter as Nathan held the parchment to the light to see more clearly. When he finally spoke, his voice was strong and vibrant but mellowed with emotion. “These are the last words of David,” he said, pointing to the scroll. “David the son of Jesse speaks. David, the man whom God gave such wonderful success; David, the anointed one; David, the sweet psalmist of Israel.”
At these words the people wept and tore their robes and covered their faces. Their grief was that of small children who have heard their father is dying and don’t know where to turn for comfort. “These are the last words of your king,” Nathan spoke in a loud voice that carried over the noise of their grief. “Listen and be comforted.” Slowly the weeping quieted and the keening died down. A young scribe raised the lamp so that it shone on the scroll, and Nathan began to read the words that God had given to David.
The Spirit of the Lord spoke to me,
And His word was on my tongue.
The Rock of Israel said to me,
“One shall come who rules righteously,
Who rules in the fear of God.”
He shall be as the light of the morning;
A cloudless sunrise
When the tender grass springs forth upon the earth;
As sunshine after rain.
And, it is my family He has chosen.
Yes, God has made an everlasting covenant with me;
His agreement is eternal, final, sealed.
He will constantly look after
My safety and success.
The godless are as thorns to be
Thrown away, for they tear the hand that touches them.
One must be armed to chop them down;
They shall be burned.
When the reading stopped the room was quiet, no one moved, it had grown dark and the shutters were drawn against the mounting gusts of wind. The king’s bed was outlined by two flickering lamps at its head and by the lamp held by the young scribe. With a great effort the old king opened his eyes and looked out past Bathsheba and the people who stood round his bed. He struggled to speak, “A great one is coming—an anointed one, Messiah, will sit on my throne, and He will rule righteously.”
For a moment his eyes were bright with all that they were seeing. Bathsheba felt his hand close on hers ever so gently and then relax. His eyes closed, and he was gone from them. Bathsheba bent over the dead form and sobbed. The women of the harem began the terrible wailing for the dead, and David’s mighty men and counselors, tribesmen, officers and servants let their tears flow openly and unashamedly.
Then Nathan the prophet and Beniah the captain of the house guards picked up the royal robe that lay across the foot of David’s bed and the crown that once belonged to the king of Rabboth Ammon whom David had vanquished, and they placed them on Solomon and led him out into the common room where all the leaders of the tribes and men of state were gathered.
All the people came to file before Solomon to pledge their allegiance and acknowledge him as their king. Then the young Solomon turned to Nathan and asked him to bring his mother to stand beside him that all Israel might know that she was indeed a handmaiden of low degree whom the Lord had seen fit to exalt to be the mother of the king.
Book One
AHITHOPHEL
Ahithophel, Chief Elder of the village of Giloh, paced back and forth across the courtyard of his home, kicking the well-curb as he passed. He was not used to waiting. He reached over the stone well-curb and looked down into the depths of his limestone cistern to check the water level. The village could do without grain and fuel, but without water they would be at the mercy of the enemy.
He sat down on the worn stones of the well and stroked his gray beard reflectively. It was hot in his courtyard, and he jerked the long striped headcloth from around his neck and wiped the sweat from his face. “This silence is ominous,” he murmured aloud. “If the battle had gone well we would have heard by now.”
He stood up, flung the headcloth around his neck, and walked to the steps that led from the courtyard to the roof of his house. As he mounted the uneven steps, his thoughts churned: The Philistines could not have picked a better time to strike. If there had only been a little more time, a month or two, perhaps Saul would have seen his mistake and made friends again with David, his captain, and the men who had followed him into exile.
He paused to catch his breath at the top of the stairs and looked out over the cluster of houses and the city wall to the road, which the young men of Giloh had traveled toward their meeting with the Philistines in the north. The road was now ominously empty; no donkeys with wares to trade, no women carrying jars to and from the well. He leaned over the parapet and looked south where the road led down to the desert around Beersheba and the caves of Adullam. “Thank God,” he muttered, “my son is with David and not fighting the Philistines at Gilboa.”
The roof was beginning to cool at this time of day, and Ahithophel usually left it to the women who spent their time there weaving at the loom, which sat under the grapevine that climbed from the lower garden and fanned out over the western portion of the roof. Usually there was the steady sound of the worn, wooden shuttle, whispering through the cords, but today there was no sound from the loom. As his eyes became accustomed to the late afternoon sunlight, Ahithophel noticed that both Reba, his wife, and Noha, the wife of his son Emmiel, were at the loom as usual but were sitting motionless. This added to Ahithophel’s impatience. He liked to feel things moving and throbbing around him.
“There’s no reason to stop the loom,” he said to them. “If there were bad news we would have heard it.” Noha obviously had been crying, and now she covered her face with her mantle and wept louder. Impatiently he turned to his plump, efficient little wife. “Reba,” he ordered, “see if you can stop this foolishness. There’s no need for her to cry. Emmiel is with David and his men. Whether Saul wins or loses today, my son is safe.”
Noha rose from the loom sobbing uncontrollably. “Emmiel is not with David’s men,” she exclaimed as she hurried past him. “He went with the army of Saul to fight at Gilboa.”
Ahithophel looked as though he had been slapped. He seized Noha by the arm. “It is not true. My son is with David and his men in the south.”
“Emmiel has gone to fight the Philistines at Gilboa,” she insisted through her tears.
Ahithophel dropped her arm and glared at her. “How do you know this?”
Noha checked her tears and met his gaze with red, swollen eyes. “Emmiel told me he was going,” she sobbed as she fled down the steps to her room.
Ahithophel was astounded. His only son, Emmiel, the apple of his eye, the delight of his ear, had neglected his wife and left his own fields and flocks to share the life of an outlaw with David and his men. Ahithophel had counted on Emmiel’s bitterness toward Saul to keep him from the battle.
He walked to the edge of the roof and looked down the slope to where his winepress and clusters of olive trees blended into the fragrant pines of the lower hillside.
“I don’t believe it,” he muttered.
In the turmoil of his own emotions he had completely ignored his wife, Reba. Now she came to him and placed a firm hand on his arm. “Emmiel is strong and brave. I’m sure he will be all right.”
Ahithophel did not look at her. “You think he went then? Why should he go? I don’t understand.”
“He would go,” said Reba, “because he loves his country. His quarrel is with Saul. That a king could be so jealous of a young, successful captain like David that he would seek to kill him is repulsive to our son. He would never fight for King Saul. But Israel? That is different.”
“But why? Why did he tell that sniveling wife of his and not his own father? I don’t understand.”
“My lord, our son is emotional and impulsive, and he knew that you would try to dissuade him with logic.”
Ahithophel sighed. Reba was right. His family, friends and neighbors all looked up to him as a man of wisdom and had chosen him as the ruling elder of Giloh. He was considered wealthy by village standards; his olive oil brought the highest prices, his granaries were bursting with wheat, his flocks overflowed the sheepcotes every spring.
Pragmatic to the core, Ahithophel wasted no time in religious discussion or reflection. He believed in observing the feasts and times of sacrifice, the circumcising of children, giving the firstfruits and being careful to touch no unclean thing. In return he expected and even took for granted that the God of Israel would reward him with good health, abundant crops, and deliverance from his enemies.
He was known as one who was loyal to his friends but a bitter opponent to his enemies. Above all, he cherished his family. Though his wife, Reba, kept close to the loom and the grindstone, when she chose to speak, it was noted by the amused villagers that Ahithophel usually listened. And though he, himself, was critical of Emmiel for choosing to live in exile with David ben Jesse in the desert caves of Adullam, he would listen to no complaint of him from others. He was proud of his two grandchildren: Machir, a boy of twelve, and
Bathsheba, a spirited girl of six. However, it was his granddaughter with her big, brown, laughing eyes and thick, curling, wispy hair who really held the heart of Ahithophel.
Often when he was sitting at the town gate discussing important matters with the elders, he would see Bathsheba’s large brown eyes peeping at him from behind the carob tree that grew in the open square. He would always pause in his deliberation and hold out his hand to her, and Bathsheba would come running to him, her small brown feet leaving little curls of dust and her hair blowing out from under the embroidered kerchief. Standing on tiptoe she would whisper something in his ear, then scamper shyly away.
His eyes followed her with satisfaction as he commented to his friends, “She will be a beauty.”
* * *
The daylight hours dragged into evening, and still there was no news of the battle. A meal was spread in the courtyard, but no one cared to eat. Gradually the old men of Giloh came by twos and threes to discuss with their chief elder the strange quiet and their fears for the army of Israel. As silently as shadows they appeared, wrapped in their warm, brown, loom-woven cloaks to sit by the fire of fir twigs and dung patties in the corner of the courtyard.
“My boy went with only his shepherd’s crook and sling,” said one old man with terror in his eyes.
“Mine had a bow and arrows but no armor, only the clothes he was working in,” another lamented.
“The Philistine chariots are swifter than eagles. Their iron weapons pierce the leather shields of our men as though they were made of air,” voiced a third.
“My brother,” Ahithophel cut across the babble, “it is true. If the battle is lost at Gilboa the Philistines will claim the fords at the Jordan, roll on to take the trade route to Damascus and sweep down the Jordan Valley to attack Bethlehem and our own village of Giloh. We must prepare ourselves.” He rose to his feet and walked with them to the doorway.
“You, Philemon, and your family will gather fuel and water. The rest of you must collect large boulders and stones to be thrown from the walls if we are attacked.”
The Sons of Isaac Page 31
