by Angela Hunt
It stood in front of the morning, that truth, killing all joy. In that moment, the larger-than-life enthusiasm with which Shim’on had always confronted the world compressed into a shrinking space between the weight of his mother’s despair and his own welling anger. How could his father treat his first wife with such blatant indifference?
Reluctantly, his movements stiff and awkward, Shim’on followed his mother and brothers in the procession. The harder he tried to deny the truth, the more it persisted. He had always accepted his father’s aloofness as a natural part of the world, yet Yaakov had now cut through the veil of assumption and revealed his true feelings. If Esav comes with an approaching army to kill us all, Yaakov’s actions proclaimed, let him kill me, the maids and their children, Lea and her sons, but Rahel and Yosef must remain alive to inherit God’s blessing.
The bitterness of gall rose in Shim’on’s throat as the desert wind slashed and shoved against him and his brothers. Beside him, his mother’s pale face, red-rimmed eyes and quivering chin revealed her unspoken hurt.
For the first time, Shim’on understood the reason for her pain.
Esav had not come to kill, but to forgive. With joy and praise, Yaakov, now known as Yisrael, re-entered the land of his father. After some weeks, he came to the town of Shekhem and bought a piece of land from Hamor. There he erected an altar and called it El-Elohe-Yisrael, God, the God of Yisrael . Shim’on watched his father worship the Almighty God called El Shaddai, but his heart, filled with bitterness for his mother’s pitiable plight, was not stirred by his father’s fervent reverence.
In the camp, Shim’on now watched the usual comings and goings of his family with enlightened, wary eyes. Rahel, her maid and her children lived in one spacious, well-appointed tent; Lea dwelt with her handmaid and her younger children in another tent not nearly as large or luxurious.
Yaakov’s older sons, Re’uven, Shim’on, Levi, Yehuda, Dan and Naftali, had long since left the women’s tents to sleep under the stars with the flocks they guarded. Re’uven and Levi had already begun to talk about taking wives for themselves, but Shim’on could not bring himself to discuss marriage, especially not in his mother’s presence. Couldn’t the others see the pain in her pale eyes? Were they going to abandon her, too?
Of all Lea’s children, Shim’on supposed that Dina might have special empathy for their mother’s sorrow. After all, Dina was a woman, too, albeit a young one. But he soon discovered that his fourteen-year-old sister’s sympathy turned in only one direction: inward.
One afternoon not long after their arrival at Shekhem, he found Dina sitting outside Lea’s tent, her lanky form bent into an ungraceful crouch, her face covered by her hands.
Shim’on knelt beside her. “What ails you, sister?” His voice sounded more abrupt than he’d intended, so he made an effort to soften his tone. “This wind is biting. You should go inside.”
“Not with her,” Dina whispered. She lifted tear-filled eyes to his face. “I’ll not stay inside with Mother one more minute. Rahel isn’t feeling well and Mother is upset. She has taken to her bed with a headache, and she blames me for everything.”
“What could you have done to upset her?” Shim’on pushed a tangle of curls away from her wide forehead. “Rahel carries a baby, she can’t help her sickness. And you ought to be more help to Mother. She does not have an easy time of it here.”
“ She does not have an easy time?” Dina shrieked, an edge of desperation in her voice. “She is a wife of Yaakov, the wealthiest and most respected man in Canaan. She has a maid, servants and the costliest clothing a woman could want. Her husband is respected in the city yonder. By her our father has eight sons.”
“But has she his love?” Shim’on’s gaze drifted toward Rahel’s tent. Even above the dull roar of the constant wind he could hear Yosef’s carefree laughter spilling from that habitation. “Think, Dina, of the pain our mother endures. Think of what she must face every night when Father finishes his dinner and then goes to—” he inclined his head “—the other tent.”
“I don’t care!” Dina screwed up her face like a petulant child. “Mother doesn’t have to live with twelve brothers! Mother isn’t the only girl. She has a sister! She has never known what it’s like to be the only daughter.”
Shim’on was tempted to slap sense into the overgrown girl’s head, but he only grunted in disapproval. “You talk like a spoiled brat.”
“No.” Her voice grew still, and through the dark arch made by her falling hair he saw a tear run down her cheek. “Look at me, Shim’on,” she whispered, her tone light and bitter. “I am a woman. I am old enough to take a husband, but my father and my mother care more for their sons’ plans than for their only daughter’s. They have not given one thought toward finding me a husband. There has been more discussion about finding wives for you and Re’uven and Levi.”
“I do not want a wife,” Shim’on said, bored with the conversation. He slapped sand from his legs and stood. “And if you are wise, little sister, you will go about your business and rejoice that you are a daughter of Yisrael. Even if you never marry, your life will still be richer and fuller than any Canaanite girl’s.”
He reached out to pat her head, but Dina ducked, retreating from his reach. She closed her eyes and shook her head, signaling that he had transgressed the bounds of human understanding.
“You are a fool, Shim’on.” She stared past him as the wind blew the mane of tangled curls across her oval face. “You will never understand.”
“You are the one who does not understand,” he said, listening to the sound of his mother’s weeping from inside her tent.
Dina wandered away, alone, from the family compound that day, and the next, and the next after that, but Shim’on paid her no mind. She was probably sulking in the desert, he imagined, or trying to incite them to worry about her. She would hide if he went out to search for her, so he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that he missed her. But because the Canaanites considered unmarried women legitimate prey, Shim’on slipped away from his flocks each night and hiked back to the family tents long enough to make certain Dina slept in her usual place beside Lea.
One afternoon he found his sister where he least expected to see her. He and his brothers had been moving the herds from one field to another, and at the well he saw a group of gaily painted girls. The Canaanite women were godless idolaters, Yaakov had warned his sons, and the sons of Yisrael were not to speak to them. But forbidden fruit casts a sweet spell, and Shim’on found his gaze drifting toward the chattering group of women as he and his brothers approached.
The painted courtesans said nothing, but coyly continued their giggling conversation until the sons of Yisrael were nearly upon them. Without warning, one of the unveiled girls shrieked and sprinted toward the wide gate of the walled city. “Shim’on!” Re’uven cried, disbelief echoing in his voice, “That was our sister!”
Shim’on started to object, but glanced toward the girls again. The remaining circle of women had stopped their chattering to stare at the sons of Yaakov with stone-cold eyes. Why would they do such a thing unless Dina had poisoned them with lies?
“Dina!” Shim’on gripped his shepherd’s staff and ran toward the city, his sandaled feet skimming the sandy ground. “Dina, daughter of Yaakov, come out! I must take you home!”
The gray stone of the city’s protecting wall loomed in his vision and he halted before the gate. A knot of men had gathered there, and they blocked his path, staring at him in undisguised curiosity. The people of Yisrael had not had many dealings with the men of Shekhem, and Shim’on instinctively knew he would not be welcomed in the city.
Craning his neck, he peered past the men. Beyond the gate, the city hummed with busy women and romping children, people going about their daily affairs. But nowhere could he see any sign of Dina.
Faltering before the sharp eyes of the men, Shim’on stepped back. “Excuse me,” he said, bobbing in a quick show of respect. “I thought I
saw my sister enter here. But I must have been mistaken.”
One of the men snickered and whispered to his companion, and Shim’on felt heat scald the back of his neck. He, one of the chosen people, had no obligation to deal with uncircumcised barbarians. Before any one of them could speak to him, he whirled and left the men standing in the city gate.
Distraught and confused, he and his brothers returned to the fields. A few hours later a messenger arrived from Lea. “Your sister, Dina, arrived home a short while ago, her face watered with tears,” the servant said. “Your mother asks you to come home at once. Hamor the Hivite is at the compound, asking for permission to speak to your father.”
“Hamor the Hivite?” Re’uven asked, a frown settling on his brow.
“I have heard of him,” Shim’on answered. “He lives in the city of Shekhem.” He glared at the messenger. “What was our mother’s mood when she bade you summon us?”
The servant’s face went grim. “She has not ceased to water her couch with tears. Yaakov entertains his guests in a gracious manner, but your mother will not come out of her tent. She remains inside with Dina, and both women do nothing but weep.”
“Why do they weep?” Shim’on snapped.
“It is said,” the servant whispered, his expression hard and resentful, “that Shekhem, young son of the prince Hamor, has defiled your sister. By force he has humbled her.”
“I knew it!” Shim’on slammed his fist upon his palm. “Nothing but evil could come of Dina’s sporting with the women of that heathen city. I warned her to remain at home!”
“This is not good,” Levi said, his fist tightening around his staff. “But we will not cast blame until we have heard the tale.” He nodded toward the messenger. “We will come at once.”
They hurried home, borne on wings of indignation and curiosity. When they arrived at Yisrael’s camp, they found Hamor the Hivite, a tall, slender man with a carefully shaped beard, seated beside Yaakov’s fire. Hamor rose in a measure of respect as Yaakov acknowledged his sons; then the Hivite extended his hand to introduce a younger man who sat beside him.
“This is my son, Shekhem,” he said, nodding. He drew his richly colored robe closer about his shoulders. “He is a fine youth who stands to inherit all I possess.” Respectfully, the older man turned his attention back to Yaakov. “The soul of my son longs for your daughter, Dina. Please give her to him in marriage. Then, as I have told you, our communities shall be joined. You shall dwell with us, your daughters will marry our sons. Your sons may take wives from among our daughters. The land will be open before you—live and travel in it, acquire property in it. The land is rich, my friend Yisrael, and we can prosper in this place together.”
Shim’on felt his anger begin to boil at the older man’s words. Hamor offered riches and prosperity as if the land was his to give, but he was an ignorant fool! Why should they share Canaan with this man when God had already promised all of it to Yisrael and his descendants?
Not to be outdone by his father, the younger man stood. “May I only find favor in your sight,” he said, his dark-eyed gaze passing from Yaakov to his sons. “However much you say to me, I will give in payment. To whatever extreme you multiply the bride-price and the marriage-gift, I will give it. Only please, I beg you, give me the girl to be my wife!”
“Hasn’t he already taken her?” Re’uven growled in Shim’on’s ear.
“This man has done a disgraceful thing,” Dan murmured, his voice pitched for his brothers’ ears alone. “Such a thing ought not to be done.”
“Careful, brothers,” Levi whispered, a forced smile on his face. “We will not arouse the anger of these people. Hamor is a prince in the land. He commands many warriors within the city. Would you have them come and take Dina by force? We must stall them, we must think of some way to gain some time.”
Shim’on looked to his father—Yaakov was watching them, his expression an unreadable mask. Why didn’t he rise to Dina’s defense? Why didn’t he say anything?
As if he had read Shim’on’s thoughts, Yaakov turned to the Hivite. “My sons,” he said to Hamor, tilting his head toward the brothers, “confer among themselves, my esteemed friends. They are close to their sister, closer even than I am. Since what you propose concerns their future, let them decide what we shall do. I will abide by their wishes.”
Hamor frowned slightly at Yaakov’s words, but Shim’on turned to his brothers with a new sense of purpose. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Father wished to cast Dina off; he had practically washed his hands of all Lea’s children since the days of their births. Now Yaakov sat dumb by the fire, without remorse for his daughter’s defilement, without regrets, without concern for any of them. Very well. Since he didn’t care what happened to Dina, he shouldn’t care if his sons chose to avenge their sister. If Yaakov would not defend Lea’s children, Lea’s children would defend each other.
Shim’on looked up at Re’uven. “What shall we do?”
When Re’uven faltered, Dan spoke. “We should give her to this youth. He is a comely lad and he seems to genuinely care for her. I have heard nothing but good spoken of Hamor’s son since we have come to this place.”
“We can’t give her to uncircumcised idol-worshippers!” Yehuda said, aghast. “And what Hamor suggests is impossible. We should remain a separate and distinct people, we are not to intermarry with those who serve strange gods.”
“Hamor would never accept our refusal,” Re’uven spoke up at last. “He would see it as a sign of hostility. He and his men would come for her when we least expect it. Can we leave our mother and father unprotected while we are away with the flocks? Are we prepared to fight off Hamor’s men if they should begin to harass us in the wilderness? We will die if we refuse this man. I am certain of it.”
“Then we shall not refuse him,” Levi said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “We will give him what he wants, for now. Then we will defeat him before he can strike at us. We will redeem our sister and bring her back.”
Shim’on couldn’t believe he’d heard correctly. “We will give Dina to them?”
“Yes,” Levi answered, his strong hand gripping the back of Shim’on’s neck. His eyes smoldered. “We will tell this Hamor and his son that we would be pleased to intermarry with them. But, we will say, we cannot give our sister to one who is uncircumcised, for that would be a disgrace to us. Only if every man in the city becomes circumcised can we give our daughters to them. We will tell them that if they agree, we will settle among them and become a single people.”
“He will never agree.” Yehuda shook his head. “It is too much to ask of a man.”
“Did you not see the light of love burning in the young man’s eyes?” Levi asked, gesturing toward Hamor’s handsome son. “He will agree, I would take an oath on it. And when they have fulfilled their part of the bargain, we will take our sister and make young Shekhem pay for his lustful folly.”
As much as he wanted to believe Levi, Shim’on was surprised when Hamor and Shekhem agreed to the proposal. And when Zilpa, Lea’s maid, brought Dina forth from her mother’s tent, Shim’on gaped as his sister walked forward with a tremulous smile on her face. He had expected to see pain, humiliation and shame, but love shone from her gray eyes, lighting her narrow face with beauty he had never seen in her before.
“I will not delay to do the thing you have requested,” Shekhem said as he took Dina’s hand. Though he spoke to Yaakov and the brothers, his eyes never left his bride’s face. “And I accept your daughter as my wife. I will live with her nobly, and bring her nothing but honor all the days of her life.”
“I will speak to the men of our city tomorrow,” Hamor promised, turning to Yaakov. “When the men meet at the gate of the city, I will tell them that this union will benefit both of us. We shall live as one, your children and mine, and together we shall become a great nation.”
Shim’on heard Hamor’s words as if from a great distance, so amazed was he by the aura of loveline
ss emanating from his sister. Her slim young figure, now enveloped in a gauzy cloak of iridescent colors, moved with the sure grace of a dancer. Loose tendrils of shining dark hair softened her face; her eyes shone bright in the pale light of the transforming moon. She stepped toward Shekhem and reached for his hand, then laced his fingers with her own.
Could she truly love this son of a goatish barbarian?
He shook his head, denying the thought, and stood with his brothers as the wedding couple left the camp and walked toward the dull glow on the horizon that marked the torchlit city of Shekhem.
Three days later, well before sunrise, Levi and Shim’on slipped away from the herds and hurried toward the walled city. They had sharpened their daggers, and each brother sprinted with a deadly lance in his right hand. On the previous night, a spying servant had confirmed their hopes: Hamor, prince of the city, had spoken to the other men at the gate. The greedy fools, eager to share Yaakov’s wealth, had consented to circumcision. And today, twenty-four hours after the mass ritual, every man in the city was bound to be incapacitated.
As the first tints of the rising sun touched the city walls, Shim’on and Levi attacked. The brothers dispatched the guards at the gate and then they separated, each going his own murderous way. Revenge was easy, for most of the city’s men lay deep within drug-induced sleep. In each house Shim’on slew every male without remorse while one thought echoed in his brain: “For Dina. For Lea. For those Yaakov has cast aside.”
The screams of waking women and crying children alerted the settlement’s remaining inhabitants, but Shim’on and Levi rolled through the city like a stormy sea, overcoming anyone who rose up against them. Shim’on felt his pulse quicken when he entered a large house and recognized Hamor in his bed; he struck before the old man could draw breath to protest. When a stumbling noise from an adjacent room led Shim’on to a slow-moving Shekhem, Shim’on paused a moment, his dagger in one hand, his lance in the other. His brother-in-law stared at him with eyes like clear black glass, impossible to read.
