The Gate of Heaven

by Gilbert, Morris

  “For all your size you’re like a child—a simpleton! The birthright—the birthright! You sold God’s blessing for a simple meal?”

  Esau listened as his father berated him but could not understand why he was so upset. “I’ll buy it back from him. It’s just a word anyhow. I’m the firstborn. He can’t change that.”

  “Yes, you’re the firstborn, but Jacob now has the birthright. Because you gave it away! Son, son, how foolish you are!”

  Isaac drew close to his son in order to see his face. He had to look up, and he searched Esau’s eyes and features. Whatever it was he was looking for, he did not seem to find it. He shook his head and murmured, “Go away, son. You’ve been very foolish.”

  Esau stared at his father, then whirled and left the tent. Anger seethed inside of him, for he realized now that he had been outwitted. He still did not understand the import of his action, but if nothing else, he had lost his father’s respect. “That Jacob! That usurper! He has indeed lived up to his name! I’ll beat him until he gives it back!” Violence was the only response Esau could think of. In matters of cunning, he knew he was no match for Jacob. “I’ll never let him trick me again!” He spat out a stream of expletives, then stopped himself and shrugged. “But what does that old man know? It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a word.”

  Isaac buried his face in his hands and wept. He could not believe that his favorite son would despise his own birthright and give up God’s blessing for a bowl of soup! In his anger, he pleaded with God to intervene, but he didn’t know that God would even hear such prayers. Then in the midst of his anguish, Isaac had a startling thought. He slowly raised his head, his weak eyes staring into the murky darkness of the tent.

  “I do not have to accept this,” he murmured slowly. His confusion cleared like so many cobwebs breaking apart in the wind. “This matter is too important for two foolish sons to decide.” Tradition declared that the father’s blessing was needed before the birthright was actually passed on—nothing happened without that final seal of God’s approval. Who says I must give my blessing to the wrong son because of this impulsive transaction.

  Isaac struggled to his feet and began to pace as hope rose in him that all was not lost. “I am the father,” he said. “I will say who receives my blessing and who doesn’t. And I say that Esau will still receive my blessing when I am ready to give it.”

  With his decision made, he stepped out of the tent with a lighter heart, shielding his eyes from the painful sunlight, and made his way to find Rebekah. He would tell her first. He was certain she somehow had a hand in this mess. The family needed to know that he was still in charge—he was still the head of the family, and he would pass the blessing on to the son of his choice.

  Chapter 4

  Hezbod gnawed at the last shreds of meat on a sheep bone, licked it thoroughly, and then tossed it aside. “That was good,” he grunted. “Now, how about some wine, woman?”

  Bethez stared at him with disgust. “You’re going to get drunk again, old man.”

  Hezbod belched loudly and held out the cup. “A man’s got a right to a little pleasure after runnin’ with those sheep and goats all day long. Now, fill my cup and hush.”

  Bethez snorted with disgust but obeyed her husband’s command. They had lived together for so long there were no surprises left for either of them, and lifelong habits were deeply ingrained. True enough Hezbod did drink too much, but by the same token, Bethez was prone to nagging. Many a time Hezbod had said, “You give up nagging, I’ll give up drinking.” But both of them knew they would never relinquish their chief preoccupations and pleasures.

  The camp was quiet now except for the loud argument going on in Esau’s tent. Hezbod turned and shook his head with disgust. “Esau should have never married them two Hittite women. He should have known better.”

  “Well, for once you’re right.”

  “For once? I’m always right! Isaac should have told him to lay off them Canaanite women. They ain’t nothin’ but trouble.” He grinned slyly and added, “But then all women is trouble, I expect.”

  Bethez sniffed, then lifted her head at the screams now issuing from Esau’s tent. “Both of those women deserve a good beatin’. But you’re wrong about one thing, husband. The master did try to talk sense to Esau. He just didn’t have any luck.”

  “Nobody ever had any luck trying to talk sense to that man. I’m glad he’s out huntin’ most of the time. Jacob’s a much easier master. Works hard, just like the rest of us. Quiet, soft-spoken. But that Esau—he’s always fighting or shouting or causing trouble.”

  Bethez picked up one of her husband’s robes and began to mend a tear in it. Even though her old fingers were stiff now, she worked steadily. Finally the screaming and shouting reached a crescendo and then was cut off as if with a sword. “I wonder if he killed ’em,” she remarked. “Wouldn’t surprise me none if he did.”

  “Me neither. He’s got a bad streak in him.”

  Bethez pulled the needle through the cloth, then looked over at her husband. “I remember the night those two boys were born. They were no sooner out of the womb than Esau began actin’ like he does now. He was big and shouted and kicked just like he’s been doing ever since.”

  “What about Jacob?”

  “Oh, he was a quiet one. I told you how he came out holding on to his brother’s heel.”

  “Not more than a hundred times, I guess.”

  “Well, he did. Now those boys are forty years old, and poor Jacob has to put up with everything Esau hands him. I don’t know what’ll become of him when the master dies.”

  “That won’t be too long, I wouldn’t think. He’s doin’ poorly, ain’t he?”

  “Yes, he is. Almost blind now, but Jacob’s got his mama. They’ve always been close.”

  “It’d be better if Jacob and Isaac were close, I’m thinkin’. We’d all be better off if he was the one to inherit,” Hezbod grunted.

  Bethez shook her head. “Will never happen, though. That silly old man still thinks the world of Esau. He’s always been fooled by that boy—expecting great things, but he’s the only one who does.”

  “Give me some more of that wine,” Hezbod said moodily. “I ain’t drunk enough yet….”

  Jacob had been sitting with his parents when Esau’s wives burst in. Basemath was shouting so loudly that Jacob leaned back. She was a short, chunky woman with brown hair tied up by a thong, and her nose was bleeding.

  “What happened, Basemath?” Rebekah asked.

  “You know what happened. That son of yours hit me. Why didn’t you raise him right?”

  Judith, Esau’s first wife, spoke up. She was a tall woman, strongly built, and with an arrogant look on her face. “I told you to leave him alone, Basemath. You knew what would happen when you started picking at him.”

  “I’ll wait until he’s asleep, and then I’ll pour boiling water on him, that’s what I’ll do!” Basemath screamed.

  “Now, just a minute. You can’t do that,” Rebekah said. “What brought the argument on?”

  “I asked him to take me to town, and he said he wouldn’t do it. Look at these clothes. He could buy me something decent to wear, but he won’t. And it’s all your fault, Rebekah.”

  Jacob reached over and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. Isaac had dropped his head in anguish, and Jacob knew that he was a sick man and wanted nothing but peace and quiet. Jacob squeezed his shoulder and whispered, “I’ll get rid of them.”

  Getting to his feet, Jacob said, “Father’s not feeling well. Come along. I’ll listen to your complaints.”

  “You!” Basemath snorted. “What can you do?”

  Jacob’s voice flared in anger. “I can explain to you what good manners are! Evidently your parents forgot that part of your upbringing.” He dragged her out of the tent as she screamed and clawed at him. Jacob was not the powerful man his brother was, but he was still stronger than most. He clamped his hand down onto Basemath’s arm until she bega
n to whimper. “Now, stop this! There’s nothing my mother can do, and certainly nothing my father can do. Go back to your tent and behave yourself.”

  Judith was following beside them. “You ought to know better than to cross him, Basemath. Come on. I told you it wouldn’t do any good to come here.”

  Jacob was glad to see the two stalk off, and he went back into the tent. For some time he spoke with his father, who was shaking badly from the uproar. Jacob finally got him calmed down, and Rebekah led him off to help him into bed. When she had him settled, she came back and shook her head. With misery in every line of her face, she said, “Your father and I told Esau he shouldn’t marry those Hittite girls.”

  “Everybody told him, but you know Esau. He won’t listen to anyone.”

  Rebekah reached up and pushed a lock of Jacob’s hair back from his forehead. “I want you to marry a Hebrew girl, son. Not one of the wicked women from this country.”

  “Mother, I’m not likely to marry anyone. I can’t afford it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Esau will have control of everything, and he doesn’t have any affection for me.” Jacob wanted to scream in frustration. “What about your vision, Mother. What about—” Jacob put his hand to his chest. No, I must not say anything about the medallion.

  “I do not know. Maybe your father will change his mind.” Rebekah placed her hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “If he weren’t so ill, he’d see that you were treated better.”

  Jacob felt a pang of compassion for his mother, for Isaac was very stubborn where Esau was concerned. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’ll work something out.”

  The next day Jacob tried to speak with Esau concerning the behavior of his wives. The two were standing out looking over the flocks where Esau, for once, had come to help with the shearing. He was a good hand at this when he wanted to be, but his interest usually tapered off after a hard day’s work, and he would go off hunting again. He had listened impatiently while Jacob explained that their father was feeble and didn’t need to listen to his wives complain.

  “Just let me know if they give Father any more trouble. I’ll give them both a beating.”

  That’s his answer for everything, Jacob thought with disgust, and he changed the subject to the flock. “It’s time to move from here, Esau.”

  “No, it’s not time yet.”

  “But the grass is nearly gone, and our herds have grown. We’ve got to move up north.”

  Esau stared at Jacob and merely clamped his lips together and shook his head. Jacob continued to explain the need for the move, but Esau finally waved his hand and said, “I’m not ready to move yet.”

  “But the herds—”

  “Look—Father’s illness has put me in charge of this clan. Despite your trickery, Father knows I am the better leader. And I’ll tell you something else, Jacob—when Father dies, I’ll be the master. Then you’ll have to work instead of being a woman. Mother spoils you, but I’ll take care of that.”

  “That’s not fair, Esau. I work very hard.”

  But Esau just shook his head and shouted, “We’re not moving and that’s final! Now, don’t talk to me about this again.”

  “But, Father, it’s time to move,” Jacob pleaded. “We’re losing animals for the first time. You’ve got to talk to Esau.”

  “I can’t do that,” Isaac said in his tired, gravelly voice. His voice had once been clear and strong, but those days were gone now. He was sitting on a mat in his tent while Rebekah did her work, listening. She motioned for Jacob to continue. It had been her idea for Jacob to talk with Isaac, but her son was convinced it was a waste of time.

  “Father, you’ve got to listen to me. For some reason God has blessed us here. We’ve never had such harvests, and we’ve never had such increase in our herds. But we’ve got to use good judgment. Esau doesn’t know much about the animals. He’s too interested in hunting.”

  “You’ve always complained about your brother, Jacob. I don’t want to hear it.”

  Jacob threw up his hands and would have left, but Rebekah intervened. “You’ve got to listen to him, Isaac. Jacob is right.”

  “And you always stick up for him, Rebekah. You’ve spoiled him.”

  “You’ve been listening to Esau,” Jacob said bitterly.

  “Everyone knows that you’re your mother’s favorite.”

  “And everyone knows Esau is your favorite!” Jacob spat out before he could think. He saw that the words hurt Isaac, and he immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, Father, but there’s some truth to it.”

  “Well, he’s the firstborn.”

  Jacob bit his lip, and Rebekah spoke up. “You’ve got to do something for Jacob, Isaac. He needs a portion. He’s worked hard all of his life, and he deserves a reward.”

  “The firstborn must be the head of the clan,” Isaac insisted. “I’ll talk to Esau. He’s a good man. Just a little rough.”

  Jacob knew it was useless to say any more. “Father, I’ve been thinking of going away and starting over. Perhaps you could give me just some of the flock.”

  Isaac shook his head. “Your brother will take care of you,” he said.

  Jacob stared at his father, then turned to his mother. But he saw only the helplessness in her expression. “I wish Grandfather were alive,” he muttered quietly, then rose to his feet and left the tent.

  “That boy is wrong,” Isaac said. “Isn’t he, Rebekah?”

  Rebekah loved Isaac, but she loved Jacob fully as much. “No, he’s not wrong. You’ve got to show more concern for him.”

  “Esau is the firstborn. Now, let’s have no more talk about it!”

  Chapter 5

  Standing outside the tent, Rebekah felt a calm possess her as the night passed away and the new day was born. She sighed deeply, for the last month had been hard. Jacob had been restless, and it had taken all her persuasive powers to keep him from leaving home. Esau had been hard on his younger brother—arrogant and constantly harping on Jacob’s shortcomings. As for Isaac, there was nothing to be said. His appetite was good, but he usually kept to his bed and rarely ventured more than a few yards outside his tent. His blindness had dimmed his appetite for the outdoors he had always loved, and it was all Rebekah could do to persuade him to get a little exercise.

  The camp was beginning to wake up with the usual morning vigor. The sky was still dark and Rebekah stared up at the stars, which looked like sequins on black velvet. As she turned to face the east, she saw the horizon crack apart as if a fissure had divided earth from sky.

  Pleasure came to her as the light of morning broke, and for a long time she stood there, simply drinking in the birth of a new day.

  The noises of the camp gradually became more pronounced, the voices of children with their treble cries, men from the outskirts shouting at the cattle, and the singing and chattering of the women as they began the morning meal. The air was soon filled with the smell of woodsmoke, and the heat of the sun began to warm the camp. With a sigh Rebekah turned and began her day. She entered the smaller tent, which adjoined the large one where she and Isaac slept and spent most of their waking hours. The smaller tent held the cooking supplies, and she began, after a moment’s thought, to select ingredients for the morning meal.

  As she worked, her mind went back to the problem with Jacob. She ground corn into fine flour to make the mush that Isaac liked so much without thinking about her labor. She was good at blocking out everything except what was in the center of her thoughts, and now this was Jacob and his brother, Esau.

  She had always striven to be fair to Esau, but he had been a hard child to love. Whereas Jacob was affectionate, often showing his love with caresses and pats, Esau was never demonstrative toward her. At first Rebekah had tried to share her caresses equally between the two boys, but Esau had early drawn away or laughed at her. As her sons had reached manhood, the differences between the two had become more pronounced. Rebekah sighed
and shook her head at the thought.

  Maoni, the sixteen-year-old servant girl, came in yawning and rubbing her eyes.

  “Start preparing that fruit, Maoni,” Rebekah commanded.

  The girl was attractive and was already drawing the attention of young men. Rebekah was making plans for the girl, selecting which of the suitors would be best. Even as she thought of this, she was suddenly disgusted with herself. Why do I think I have to manage everyone? Maoni’s old enough to know which man she likes the best. As long as he’s suitable, I’ll have nothing to say about it. Satisfied with her decision, she said, “You go get some water from the spring, Maoni. I’ll finish this.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  By the time Maoni had returned with a jug of fresh water, Rebekah had milked a goat and filled a cup with the frothy liquid. She arranged the mush and the veal she had pounded into small bits on a platter, preparing to take the breakfast to Isaac. She had left the small tent and started to enter the larger one when she halted abruptly. She could hear Esau’s voice inside, which was a surprise. He was rarely seen about the camp in the early morning because he was either out hunting or sleeping late. She started in, but then stopped and stood listening instead, deciding to come back later. She had developed a suspicion, and what she heard confirmed what she had feared for some time.

  “What can I bring you, Father?” Esau’s voice was clear, strong, and throbbing with life. “Anything you would like in particular?”

  Isaac’s voice by contrast was weak and feeble. “My son, is it you, my son Esau?”

  “Yes, Father. Shall I get you something to eat?”

  Rebekah listened intently during the long pause that followed, and then she heard Isaac say, “Son, I am old, and I know not the hour of my death.”

  “Why, you’ll be here for many years yet, Father. Never fear.”