Till Shiloh Comes

by Gilbert, Morris

  Judah’s words enraged all of the brothers. “It’s not fair!” Simeon shouted. “It’s just not fair!”

  “Life isn’t fair.” Judah shrugged. “Don’t forget that our father stole his own blessing from his brother, Esau, with help from his mother. They tricked the old man. I love my father, but he’s a crafty man. He knows how to get his own way, and you can depend on this: Joseph will get the birthright and rule over us all.”

  There was grumbling and complaining about this until Leah finally snapped, “All of you hush and eat!”

  Judah drew close to his mother and said quietly, “Why do they have to quarrel like that?”

  Leah looked surprised. “Don’t you resent that Jacob loves Joseph best?”

  “I have to live with it. We all do. I find the best way is just to ignore it.”

  Leah’s red-rimmed eyes flared. “I will never ignore it, and neither will your brothers—and neither should you!”

  Chapter 2

  Early one morning Joseph said to his little brother, “Naphtali told me that a caravan of traders has stopped at a village north of here. Let’s go buy ourselves some fine presents.”

  Benjamin was delighted at the prospect of a day with his big brother but asked a little anxiously, “Will Father let us go?”

  “Oh, we don’t need to bother asking him,” Joseph replied with a shrug. “We’ll just bring him a present too.”

  “But he might not like it if we go without telling.”

  Joseph laughed at the boy and tousled his hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll make him think the trip was his idea.”

  Soon the brothers were well on their way, and the sun was reaching its zenith as they walked along the rough pathway. From time to time Joseph would smile down at his younger brother, for there was no one on earth he loved more. He and Benjamin were all that were left of their mother. Since she had died at Benjamin’s birth, Joseph often talked to his little brother about her, sharing all the details he could remember. The younger boy loved to hear the stories over and over.

  Benjamin was a chubby-cheeked eight-year-old with a sunny disposition. He had unusual smoky gray eyes, and thick, shiny auburn hair, which was molded to his head like a metal helmet. He walked along happily clinging to Joseph’s hand, wearing a short-sleeved, knee-length garment of rust red with a blue embroidered hem.

  Although Benjamin was usually cheerful and friendly, at times a painful sadness would overtake him. The child bore the weight of his mother’s death like a tragic burden, knowing intuitively that his father, Jacob, somehow blamed him for it. His father would often act in a reserved manner toward Benjamin, not meeting his gaze; yet at other times he would hold him tightly and tell him tales of his mother. The confusing alienation Benjamin felt with his father had brought him closer to his big brother Joseph, whom he idolized completely.

  As the pair walked hand in hand past an olive orchard that clung precariously to a steep hillside, Benjamin looked up and saw the Sons of the Maids picking olives and putting them in baskets. He did not call to them, for he knew that these four older brothers did not much like him or his brother Joseph.

  Joseph had been whistling one of Benjamin’s favorite tunes, but he stopped as they passed the orchard and went on in silence. Once they were out of earshot of their unfriendly half brothers, Joseph looked down and asked, “Are you tired?”

  “No, not even a little.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t too long a trip for your short legs?”

  “No,” Benjamin said with a quick smile. “I promise I won’t be a burden to you.”

  “All right. But if you get tired, tell me and I’ll carry you.”

  Benjamin merely shook his head and smiled up brilliantly at Joseph.

  “Please tell me a story, Joseph,” Benjamin begged. “The one about Noah and the animals.” Joseph had an endless supply of stories—either ones he made up or stories of their ancestors. The story of Noah was one of Benjamin’s favorites, and now as they strolled northward, Joseph told the story of their ancient ancestor who had gathered two each of all the animals of the world and put them on a huge boat to save them from the flood.

  After two hours of walking and several stories later, Joseph insisted they sit down to rest at a tiny spring. He slung a leather bag off his shoulder and opened it, pulling out two chunks of bread and strips of dried mutton for their lunch, which they ate along with sips of water from a flask. There were also succulent dates, and Joseph made Benjamin open his mouth and stand away while he tossed them in. Benjamin managed to catch most of them, and even those that fell to the ground he retrieved and ate anyway, brushing off the dust first.

  As they rested Benjamin asked, “Joseph, why do the Sons of the Maids and the sons of Leah dislike us so much?”

  Joseph was surprised. “I think you know the answer to that one.”

  “But I try to be as nice to them as I can.”

  “You can never be nice enough to make them like you, Benji. They’re jealous of us because we’re the sons of the True Wife.”

  The little boy knew this well but could not understand it. “We all have the same father.”

  “Yes, but not the same mother. Our father loved our mother more than anything in this world. You’ve heard him say so himself.”

  “Doesn’t he love Leah and Bilhah and Zilpah at all?”

  “Yes, he is fond of them, but he does not love them like he loved his True Wife. Haven’t you ever heard how our father worked for his uncle Laban for seven years to get Rachel for his wife, then on the wedding day he was tricked into marrying his older daughter, Leah, because they hid her face with a veil to deceive our father?”

  “That was a wicked thing to do, wasn’t it?”

  “Very wicked.”

  “But Father did marry Leah.”

  “Yes, but he never loved her like he did our mother.” Joseph regarded Benjamin curiously. “Haven’t you noticed how much better looking we are than any of our brothers?”

  “No. Are we?”

  “You foolish boy! Just look at yourself sometime—see your reflection in the water or in that bronze mirror Leah has. Then look at those red-eyed sons of Leah and the rough Sons of the Maids. Then look at you. What a beautiful, handsome boy you are!”

  “And you too, Joseph. You’re the best looking of all of our father’s sons.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Joseph shrugged modestly, though in fact he could not deny Benjamin’s statement. “And we’re smarter than they are too,” he went on. “They know this and it makes them dislike us.”

  Benjamin struggled with this for a time, then said, “Father is unhappy with me because my mother died giving me life.”

  Tears sprang to Joseph’s eyes and his heart swelled, knowing that his brother spoke the truth. He bent down beside the boy and put his arms around him, holding him to his breast. “I love you enough to make up for our father and all of our half brothers.”

  “Do you really, Joseph?”

  “Never doubt it, Benjamin. You and I are all that’s left of our mother, and no matter whether the earth stands or falls or if the sun stays in heaven, you and I are brothers. True brothers.”

  Joseph saw the tears in Benjamin’s eyes and jumped to change the subject. “You’ve got to stop asking so many questions or I’ll have to put a bug in your mouth.”

  “No, don’t do that!” Benjamin said, but he only laughed because he knew Joseph would never do any such wicked thing. “Tell me more about the dream you had last night.”

  “Well, like I said, it was quite beautiful….”

  ****

  Jacob limped back and forth in front of his tent, his infirmity not so much a matter of age as a result of his encounter with an angel years earlier on the way back from Laban’s country. They had wrestled all night, and he had received a new name—Israel. It was a name he and others in the tribe spoke with great pride because it meant “prince of God,” whereas the name Jacob had the rather unsavory meanings of “d
eceiver” or “usurper.” Nonetheless, he was usually called by his given name on an everyday basis.

  The head of the tribe wore a cotton garment woven with narrow pale-colored stripes. He was of medium height and stooped with age. His beard joined with the hair on his temples and fell from his cheeks to his breast in sparse strands. His eyes were still sharp, with pouches of soft skin beneath them, but his face was etched with worry. He finally stepped inside the tent where Leah was busy with the evening meal. “I’m worried about Joseph and Benjamin.”

  Leah struggled to keep her anger from showing in her face as she looked up. “They’ll be all right,” she said curtly.

  “But where are they?”

  “They’re out playing somewhere. You know how careless Joseph is. He’s headstrong, and Benjamin thinks his brother is the Almighty himself! He’d stick his head in the fire if Joseph told him to.”

  “I suppose that’s true enough, but I can’t help worrying about them.”

  Leah replied sharply, “When Simeon and Levi were lost last month for two days in the wilderness over by Bethel, you never even said a word.”

  “That’s different,” Jacob said defensively. “They’re grown men. Joseph and Benjamin are just children.”

  “Joseph is seventeen years old. He’s old enough to get married or get into trouble or do anything else a man can do.”

  Jacob gave her a startled look but knew she had spoken the truth. He also knew that he favored Joseph, and to a lesser degree Benjamin, but he went to great lengths to conceal the fact. He did so now as he tried to cover up his anxiety.

  Then he heard a voice call out, “Father!” and his expression grew relieved. “Oh, good—there’s Reuben,” he said. “I sent him off to find them.” He ducked out of the tent to find Reuben alone. “Where are they?” Jacob demanded. “I told you to bring them back with you.”

  Reuben’s massive shoulders drooped with fatigue. “I’ve looked everywhere,” he muttered, “but I can’t find any trace of them.”

  “Well, go look some more. Don’t you care that your brothers are lost?”

  “Yes, I care, Father,” Reuben groaned, “but they could have gone in any direction. Which way should I look?”

  “How should I know! Make yourself useful for a change and go!”

  Reuben could never look his father full in the eye and could not face him now. Having disgraced himself with Bilhah, he knew he had forever lost the position a firstborn son should have. Not only had he lost his father’s respect, he knew Jacob would never give him the blessing—the most important sanction among the wandering tribespeople of the region. It was a special privilege given to the firstborn son and included a double portion of the family inheritance, along with the honor of one day being the family leader. Although it was a birthright to which the firstborn son was entitled, it was not actually his until the blessing was pronounced. Before such time, the father could take away the birthright from the oldest son and give it to someone more deserving.

  Reuben trudged away with a heavy heart. He had no idea which way to look for Joseph and Benjamin, but he determined to stay up all night if necessary.

  Jacob watched him go, then limped back into the tent. “He didn’t find him,” he grunted to Leah.

  “Yes, I heard, but you can’t blame Reuben for Joseph’s wrongdoing.”

  “I’m sure the boy didn’t mean any wrong.”

  “He never means any wrong because you always let him off the hook,” Leah said. Her eyes narrowed, showing their red, irritated lids as she stared at her husband. She had deeply loved him once, but she no longer had any illusions about his feelings for her, even though she had borne him six children. Her blind jealousy still reared angrily when she saw Jacob spoiling Rachel’s son.

  Jacob barely tasted the food Leah put before him, mostly just pushing it around in the dish, with shoulders slumped. When Leah left him alone, his mind drifted back to the difficult time when he had left his father-in-law’s house, worried sick about having cheated his brother out of his birthright. His strength had been drained that night as he waited for morning with the certainty that he would suffer his brother’s vengeance. Then he had wrestled all night with a man whose noble visage was indescribable, demanding that the stranger tell him his name. But the man had refused to do so.

  He remembered that when dawn came, he had struggled with his last bit of strength to overthrow his visitor, whom he knew was more than human, and his thigh had been thrown out of joint. The pain had never completely gone away. The stranger had asked him, “What is your name?” Jacob had finally admitted who he was and also confessed that he had cheated his brother. Before the stranger left, he said to Jacob, “Your name will now be Israel.”

  He thought then of Rachel, and he felt his grief as fresh as the day he had buried her at the place where she had died giving birth to Benjamin. Tears came to his eyes and he began to pray: “Oh, El Shaddai, let no harm come to my boys! You have been faithful to provide for me as you promised when I left my father and mother’s house. You met me on the way and gave me a dream of a great ladder reaching up to heaven, and you promised to bless me, and you have.”

  Jacob concentrated fully on God. He had heard his father and grandfather speak of their encounters with the Strong One, the almighty and everlasting Lord. Both of them had been men of great faith, especially his grandfather, and now as Jacob prayed, he sought to summon up the faith of Abraham.

  Jacob had been praying a long while when he heard voices coming, and his heart leaped with joy to hear Joseph! He got to his feet and hobbled out the tent door, ignoring his discomfort. He could see by the light of the torch Dan carried that Benjamin was sound asleep on Naphtali’s shoulder.

  “Well, we found them,” Naphtali said. “You ought to thrash them until they can’t stand up, Father.”

  Jacob was angry enough to do so and demanded of his favorite son, “Joseph, where have you been?”

  “We went to the village where the Midianite traders were passing through. We wanted to buy you a present.”

  “You went alone through the wilderness with your brother? Shame on you, son!”

  Dan and Naphtali gave each other a look. Dan shrugged, leaned over, and whispered, “He’ll bluster and shout at Joseph, but in the end he’ll wind up giving him honey cakes.”

  Such almost proved true. Benjamin could hardly stand up he was so tired, and Jacob said, “Bring him into the tent. Joseph, I’m not through with you yet.”

  Dan and Naphtali waited for their father to thank them, but he ignored them completely as he gathered his “two lambs,” as he called them, into the tent.

  “We should’ve let the wolves get ’em!” Dan snarled.

  “You’re right. Father will wind up making heroes out of them, and not give a word of thanks to us for wearing our legs out looking for them!”

  Leah brought the boys food and Joseph ate ravenously, but Benjamin was so sleepy he wound up slumping over his dish. “Take him and put him to bed, Leah,” Jacob said, pulling Benjamin to his feet. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow, young man.”

  “Yes, Father. I’m sorry. We should have told you we were going.”

  “Indeed you should.” Jacob tried to sound angry, but the woebegone, tearstained face of the lad was too much. He put his arms around him, held him close, then kissed him and whispered, “Go on to bed, little lamb. Go to bed.”

  As soon as Leah had taken Benjamin to the tent he shared with Joseph, Jacob turned and said, “Joseph, I continually think you have reached the height of foolishness, but this is the worst!”

  Joseph fell to his knees. “Father, I deserve your just punishment. I was indeed wrong. Get out the rawhide and beat me until my back is bleeding.”

  “Don’t think I won’t do it!”

  “I deserve it, Father. I was thoughtless and had no more sense than one of the lambs that wanders away from the herd.”

  Jacob had been frightened at the possible loss of his two favorite sons, and n
ow he was filled with indignation that Joseph had been foolish enough to risk both his own life and his brother’s.

  Seeing his father’s face, Joseph sought to assuage his anger by pulling a bag out of his woven sack. “We really went to buy you a present, Father, and here it is—sugared dates all the way from Damascus. Your favorite!”

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Jacob said. Nonetheless, he took the bag and sampled one of the dates. “They are very good, but you were still wrong.”

  Joseph embraced his father and said, “If only our beloved mother were alive, I wouldn’t have done such a thing. I miss her so much, and Benjamin wants to hear about her all the time. I’m such a wicked lamb because she’s not here to correct me.”

  To this day, Jacob could not speak of Rachel without weeping, and now the tears ran down his cheek. “Yes, my beloved Rachel. She would have been the ideal mother. You will never know how I miss her, son.”

  “So do I, Father. Except for you, I have no one, and little Benji has only you and me. We’re all that’s left of our beloved mother.”

  And so it was that, instead of beating Joseph with a strap as he richly deserved, Jacob found himself holding the boy, weeping, and whispering, “Oh, my dear lamb, if I had lost you, I would have lost the last I have on this earth of her, the True Wife. You must never, never take such risks again!”

  “I promise I won’t, Father.”

  With the danger of his father’s punishment over, Joseph felt a quick surge of relief, though he had never been in doubt about how the thing would turn out.

  Jacob dried his eyes and cleared his throat. “My son,” he said, “you must thank your older brothers for searching for you. They have worn themselves out.”

  “Oh, I will, Father, I will. How I dearly wished that they loved me more.”

  “It is within your power, my lamb, to make them love you more. I must say to you that you need to show more humility. They are your elders, and you need to show them the respect that older brothers deserve.”

  “You are right, and it was good of Dan to find me. He is a good man …” Joseph hesitated, then could not help adding, “…even if he does visit that Canaanite harlot over the hill.” He clapped his hand over his mouth and said, “I didn’t mean to say that!”