by Mesu Andrews
Job kept his voice low. “How dare you defile Grandfather Isaac’s memory by acting so shamefully in front of all these servants? Now, please, let’s go into Uncle Jacob’s tent. I have important matters to discuss.” Job marched right past the two men, who at that moment looked like pouting children.
In the time it took the tent flap to close, Esau had regained his bluster. “Job, our caravan will leave immediately following the evening meal. We’ll travel in the cool of the night by torchlight to avoid the sun’s heat by day.”
Job smiled kindly but shook his head. “I’m sorry, Great-Abba, but I cannot be ready to leave so quickly. My servants will require more time to prepare my caravan to Uz.”
Esau’s eyes narrowed, and Job watched the wheels of his great-abba’s mind spin, gathering the truth of Job’s delay. “Because of that woman.” Esau spat the word as though it were a curse. “I saw you coming from her tent. She thinks she can steal away the valuable herbs and treasures in her tent and you’ll just blindly load it onto your caravan. Well, she owns only the clothes on her back and—”
“Great-Abba,” Job interrupted, “you know that I respect you, and I always honor and obey you whenever it does not conflict with El Shaddai’s teachings.” Esau started to protest, but Job’s fury silenced him. “Dinah will take only the possessions that belong to her. You can be sure of it, but we will not leave with your caravan tonight! Furthermore, I request that you leave twenty of your servants to accompany me to Uz.” Job turned his attention to Uncle Jacob. “I’ll need the extra men to carry the dowry I’m sure you’ll wish to offer for your beautiful daughter.”
“Dowry? My abba didn’t command me to give her a dowry.” Uncle Jacob’s protest silenced every clang and clatter in the camp outside. “And you’ve offered me no bride-price. Why should I pay a dowry for a woman who has already been defiled?” Esau’s bawdy laughter chilled Job’s blood and stoked Jacob’s anger. “I’ll not pay one silver kesitah for her dowry! She’s been in our abba’s house for fifteen years. If there’s a dowry to be paid, let my brother—who now holds the wealth of Isaac’s household—give Dinah her dowry.”
Esau stopped laughing. “I would not claim such a daughter, and I will not pay her dowry!” he screamed. The two brothers spiraled into a new fit of rage, and Job dragged his fingers through his hair, letting his head fall back in frustration. El Shaddai, how do You endure such selfishness on this earth? “Enough!” Job shouted above the noise, and both men turned to him in surprise.
Esau’s eyes narrowed once again. “Listen here, son of Zerah. Even though you are my favorite great-grandson, I will not endure your bossy tongue.”
Job smiled in spite of his irritation and reached up to place his hand on Esau’s muscled shoulder. “And even though you are my great-abba, I will not endure you speaking unkindly of my soon-to-be daughter-in-law.” Job held Esau’s gaze until the big man grunted a truce and stomped out of the tent.
When Job turned to Uncle Jacob, the elder man’s mouth was agape. “I’ve never seen anyone quiet my brother the way you just did, Job. How did you come to have such a hold over that devil Esau?”
Job’s heart squeezed a little at the hate encompassed in Jacob’s question. “Well, Uncle,” Job replied, “I suppose Great-Abba’s respect for me began on the night I was smuggled away in the hunting party meant to kill you.” Uncle Jacob’s face registered the shock Job had hoped for. “Are you truly interested in hearing the story?”
A suspicious smile spread across Jacob’s face. “What are you asking as payment for your story? I have no intention of paying Dinah’s dowry, no matter how well you tell a story.”
Job shook his head, weary of the pettiness in his family. “No payment is required, Uncle, and I’ll even be happy to pay a bride-price for Dinah. She is a pearl of great price.”
Suspicion creased Uncle Jacob’s brow. Job placed his arm around the older man’s shoulders and guided him to one of the legendary rugs of Jacob’s tribe. The speckled and spotted sheep and goats produced a uniquely woven cloth that had become quite coveted throughout Canaan.
“I simply ask that you tell me a story in return.” Job smiled and waited for his reply.
“I suspect there is more to the agreement, but my curiosity about your relationship with the impenetrable Esau forces me to agree,” Jacob said.
Job lifted an eyebrow and motioned to the lamb’s wool rug, and Jacob nodded his permission for them to sit together. “I was thirteen years old,” Job began, “but I remember it like it was yesterday. It was seven days after you’d deceived Grandfather Isaac into thinking you were his eldest son. When he conferred the covenant blessing on your head, you realized the soon-coming wrath of Esau and fled in fear for your life, hoping to reach Uncle Laban’s home in Haran.”
Jacob raised his chin, his usual defense at the ready. “I may have deceived my abba to receive the touch of blessing, but El Shaddai knew who would best protect Yahweh’s truth and fulfill the covenant of Abraham. Esau refused to sit under the great teachers of the House of Shem. He didn’t deserve the blessing.”
Job nodded but refused to condone his uncle’s deception. “Great-Abba Esau called a meeting of all the men in his clan. He commissioned Eliphaz to lead what he deemed ‘an important hunt.’ Esau called on his other four sons to choose one more from each of their families. They were to follow at a distance until you crossed the Jordan River, and then his secondborn—my grandfather Reuel, the greatest archer of the Edomites—was ordered to send an arrow into your thigh.” Job paused. “They wanted to wound you first, to instill fear before the others encircled you and killed you, Uncle.”
Jacob’s face lost all color.
“Upon your death, Esau believed he would be free to reclaim Abraham’s covenant blessing at the touch of Isaac’s hand.”
Apparently too agitated to remain seated, Jacob rose and began to pace. “Is there a point to your story, Job? I thought you were going to tell me why you could lead my brother on a leash like a pet lamb. What does all this nonsense have to do with your power over Esau?”
“Oh, this is not nonsense, Uncle. It is the reason you are alive.” Jacob stopped his pacing, and Job motioned for his uncle to resume his place on the rug beside him. “Please, won’t you sit down for the end of the story?”
Jacob growled and lowered himself onto the rug while Job waited patiently to continue. “You know that Eliphaz would rather fall on his own sword than harm a single hair on your head, since you two were disciples together in the House of Shem. Uncle Eliphaz looked like day-old ashes when Great-Abba Esau called on him to lead the so-called hunt.”
“As it should have been. The whole idea of hunting a man is barbaric.”
Jacob’s self-righteous attitude set Job’s teeth on edge, but he refused to digress from the story. “When Reuel chose his secondborn son—my abba, Zerah—for the hunt, the look on Abba’s face matched Uncle Eliphaz’s.”
Jacob looked awestruck. “Why would Reuel choose another disciple of Shem among the hunters? He knew I taught your abba in the House of Shem. He knew that the three of us—Eliphaz, Zerah, and I—were the only three of Isaac’s seed who were joined by El Shaddai’s teachings. Why would he choose to place my two allies in the hunt?”
“Esau chose Eliphaz for the same reason Reuel chose my abba. Each hoped that by forcing your allies to choose duty over devotion, they would become stronger—as Esau defines strength. You see, both Great-Abba Esau and Grandfather Reuel perceived priestly skills as weakness and valued only the abilities of a hunter and warrior.”
Jacob closed his eyes. “El Shaddai, help us.” Looking at Job, he asked, “How did one as kind and gentle as you come from a bloodthirsty tribe like Esau’s?”
Job ignored his question and continued with the story, knowing that his next words would be answer enough. “I waited for my abba just outside the Tent of Meeting to congratulate him on his appointment. When he didn’t come, I peeked inside again and heard him and Uncle Eliphaz
planning to take me on the hunt. At first I was excited—just as bloodthirsty as the rest of Esau’s clan, Uncle.” Job saw the look of horror on Jacob’s face. “And then I became furious. They weren’t going to let me fight at all. Uncle Eliphaz planned to assert his firstborn authority to protect you from his brothers’ swords. He planned only to let them rob you of the secret gifts Grandmother Rebekah sent along to buy Uncle Laban’s favor.”
“And they stole everything!” Jacob said with venom. “Esau is the reason I arrived at Uncle Laban’s household without a single kernel of grain to offer as a bride-price for my beloved Rachel!”
The fury Job had tamped down bubbled up. “Yes, they robbed your silver, grain, and spices, Uncle, but at least you’re alive, and you returned from Padan Aram twenty years later with four wives, eleven sons, and a beautiful daughter.”
Jacob hushed in the face of Job’s anger.
Regaining his composure, Job remembered his greater purpose and spoke softly. “When our hunting party released you, Uncle Eliphaz continued the journey northward with me to the House of Shem. Our nine kinsmen returned to Esau’s camp with your treasure, but it wasn’t enough to assuage Great-Abba’s anger. Once again, Grandfather Reuel challenged my abba to overcome his weakness, and he forced my abba to explain the failed hunt to Esau. When my great-abba heard the report, he struck my abba to the ground. His head crashed against a rock, and his lifeblood spilled out.”
Jacob raised his chin once again, as though grief and remorse would slide off his hard exterior like water off a bird’s wings. “So you’re saying that Esau’s guilt over Zerah’s death makes him bow to you like a pauper to a prince?” Jacob waved his hand. “Pshht. I don’t believe it. I’ve known that red beast too long. Esau has no conscience. His guilt doesn’t make him bow to you.”
“No, Uncle,” Job said. “Great-Abba Esau doesn’t bow to me at all.” Job examined every line and furrow on Jacob’s weathered face. “Esau respects me, Uncle Jacob, because I have forgiven him and loved him even when he wronged me.”
Jacob’s eyes flashed. “Then you are a fool.”
Job allowed the silence to echo his uncle’s words before he spoke again. “Now it’s your turn to tell me a story.” Without blinking, without any emotion or accusation, Job finally asked the question that had burned on his heart since the moment he’d heard Dinah’s pained cries. “Did your sons kill Prince Shechem with righteous cause, or has your own unforgiveness infected your whole household with hatred?”
Jacob began to tremble, and his face flushed as red as his twin’s. “Get out! Get out of my tent!”
“I will leave,” Job said calmly, rising to his feet, “but I will take Dinah with me and teach her the ways of El Shaddai as I was taught in the House of Shem—as she should have been taught in your household.” Before he lifted the tent flap, he offered one final word. “I pray that someday, Uncle, you will find the freedom that comes with forgiveness.”
“Get out!” Jacob’s angry voice accompanied sounds of breaking pottery as Job walked away from his uncle’s tent. He could only hope that in the days to come, Jacob would remember some of his words and the seeds Job had planted would grow and bear fruit.
“Thank you for asking Uncle Esau to allow us to travel separately.” Finally, on this third night of their journey, Dinah could move beyond her embarrassment and voice her gratitude. Her camel plodded beside Job’s. A canopy of stars sparkled above as torchbearers lit the way below. “And thank you for not being angry when I wasn’t ready to travel at dawn the next day. I hope waiting on a woman did not shame you in front of the servants.”
Job chuckled. “Dinah, those who think me weak for waiting on a woman would certainly find something to criticize, if not that. I am not shamed by what others think. My shame or innocence is settled between me and El Elyon.” He furrowed his brow and tilted his head in a distant stare.
Dinah fell silent, studying him. Tall and muscular, he was the epitome of Edomite strength. Yet this tender man was as different from Esau as the sun from the moon. In the throes of her nightmare, his copper hair and raspy voice had reminded her of her brothers, but his kind and gentle character had wiped away any resemblance to the men of Jacob’s tribe. The few silver strands in his wavy mane caught the glimmer of torchlight, and when Job turned to look at her, his dark eyes penetrated her soul.
“Thank you for agreeing to marry my son. You will make a beautiful bride.”
Dinah’s heart leapt into her throat. She searched his face for signs of ridicule—there were none. “Of course, I would never think of disobeying Grandfather.” Focusing on the caravan ahead, her cheeks felt as if they might burst into flames.
“The customs of Abraham’s daughters give you the right of refusal. Yet you didn’t refuse.” He paused.
Her heart raced. Did he wish she had refused?
“I’m glad you’ll be a part of my household now.” Job’s voice sounded like warm, honeyed wine. Dinah slowly turned and found herself lost in his brown eyes.
He thinks I’m beautiful, and he’s glad I’ll be a part of his household . . . Had any man been so kind to her since . . . ?
Wait!
Wasn’t this the same trap that had ensnared her at Shechem? Was every man a betrayer? Dinah shook her head as if waking from a dream. For twenty years, merchants and shepherds had recounted the story of Jacob’s sons slaughtering innocent Shechemites, and most had blamed her for going to the city that day. Abba Jacob told the tale that Prince Shechem brought the trouble on his city by raping his daughter, defiling her without the proper marriage traditions of Yahweh. No matter which story Job had chosen to believe, she would never allow him—or any man—to deceive and betray her again.
Snapping her eyes forward, she said, “I’m anxious to meet your son.” Her words were clipped, her hands tight on the reins. Just ahead she noticed the night’s camp coming into view. “Just in time,” she whispered.
“You must be tired,” he said, pointing to a group of rocks amid the beautiful red cliffs surrounding them. “A warm fire awaits.” Job nodded graciously and prodded his camel on, speaking with the guide and greeting the rest of the caravan. Again tonight, he’d sent a few servants ahead to prepare the camp for all the weary travelers.
Nogahla waited patiently for Dinah to dismount. Abba Jacob had given the little Cushite handmaid as Dinah’s lone dowry. No traditional gifts to ensure her safe return if Job’s son refused her. No wedding gown or headpiece of coins and jewels to wear. Job had been gracious and offered Abba a bride-price, but preserving a measure of dignity, Abba had refused.
“Good evening, mistress,” the Cushite girl said, ushering Dinah into their tent as though she were the queen of the Nile. Were it not for Nogahla’s white teeth and sparkling eyes, she might have disappeared into the night.
Dinah reached for her hands, trying to settle her emotions yet still press her wishes. “Please, Nogahla, as I told you last night and the night before, there’s no need to bow to me. I am no better than a servant myself.”
The girl looked utterly stricken.
“Would it surprise you to know that one of my abba’s wives was a Cushite?” Dinah asked, tenderly brushing her cheek.
Nogahla’s eyes grew round, and she nodded. Dinah chuckled. The little maid could carry on an entire conversation without speaking a word—her expressions seemed a perfect reflection of her heart and mind.
“My ima Rachel’s serving maid, Bilhah, was just as dark-skinned as you are,” Dinah said, “and one day Rachel gave Bilhah to Abba as his wife.”
Studying her timid Cushite maid, Dinah tried to imagine how Bilhah must have felt entering into the intimate act of marriage as a servant, not a real wife. An adult sorrow gripped Dinah, a sadness of which children were blissfully ignorant. She remembered grinding grain and baking bread with her third ima Bilhah’s careful instruction. Her fourth ima, Zilpah, loved to weave and spin, but she had no patience for teaching Dinah the fine artistry of cloth and thread. Zilpa
h had been given to Jacob as a slave wife too—the handmaid of Leah—but Zilpah never regained her smile as Bilhah had.
“My mother was taken as a slave from our homeland in Cush when she was very young,” the girl said, interrupting Dinah’s memories. “I am the daughter of her master. My father was a wealthy Egyptian soldier, and my mother was a slave in his household. Though he had a wife, my father loved my mother and would sometimes let me ride with him on his fine horses.”
Dinah searched Nogahla’s expression for regret or sadness. There was none. The girl knew only a servant’s life. She spoke of her heritage as though it were a list for the market. “How old are you, Nogahla?”
“I’m not certain,” she said, tapping her chin with a graceful finger. “But just before I was taken from my mother, she told me I was five years old, and I helped prepare ten annual feasts in Master Isaac’s camp.”
Dinah’s heart broke at the girl’s sparse recollections and recalled the women led by chains and iron collars in the streets of Shechem. “Nogahla, I can’t keep you as my servant.”
The girl’s full, pink lips began to tremble. “Mistress, please. If you put me away, do you know what others will do with a girl my age?” Tears leapt over her bottom lashes. “If I have offended you, I’m sorry. I’ll—”
“No, you have not offended me.” Dinah sighed and reached for the girl’s hand. “I simply think it’s wrong to make you my servant. I have never needed a servant.”
“But I need a mistress,” the girl whispered, squeezing Dinah’s hand. “And my mistress needs a friend. Can we not take care of each other?”
“Excuse me.” Job’s voice was soft and tentative outside the tent. “Dinah, are you still awake?”
Nogahla pulled away, and Dinah hurried to the tent opening. “Is there something wrong?”
Job’s face was—well, indiscernible. She didn’t know this man well enough to interpret the subtle furrow of his brow or the way the right side of his mouth tilted up just a little.
