The Sons of Isaac (18 page)

When she finally arrived at her tent, she entered the cool darkness and sank onto the cushions completely exhausted. Almost immediately, her small serving maid, Tesha, came, and she sent her to find Isaac. She could hardly wait to tell him all that had happened to her. Elohim had spoken just as Abraham had suggested, and the message was strange and wonderful.

She had expected Isaac to be as excited as she was, but to her chagrin, she found him paying very little attention to the message. Instead, he was mainly pleased that she was no longer anxious. “But what does it mean?” she asked. “The elder shall serve the younger?”

Isaac puzzled over it a moment. “Are you sure that is what you heard?” he asked hesitantly. “It doesn’t sound right. To have twins would be unusual, but it would be against all tradition and custom for the elder to serve the younger.”

Rebekah looked down at the cushion and fingered the fringe. “I was so sure … but …”

Isaac hugged her. “It’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right,” he said. “Whether you have one child or two doesn’t matter; you are going to have a child and that is what is important.”

She pulled away and looked at him. “But I was so sure …”

“Of course, I understand.” He pulled her to him and gently kissed her forehead where her mantle had fallen away. “This is all so hard for you but it will all be over soon.”

Rebekah pulled away and took some time adjusting her mantle. She didn’t want him to see how disappointed she was. She had expected such a different reception. He patted her hand and then rose and strode out through the opening in the tent.

She sat very still pondering all that had happened. How had she thought Elohim would really bother to speak to a troubled woman? No matter what Isaac had said, it was evident he didn’t really believe Elohim had actually bothered to speak to her.

She gave a groan as the churning and twisting suddenly seized her. She bent over, clutching her stomach. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she stuffed the end of her mantle in her mouth and bit down hard. He was right about one thing: it was getting close to her confinement. It wouldn’t be long now. However painful the birth might be, it would be a relief to be rid of this constant upheaval.

As quickly as the struggle had seized her, it stopped, and she sank back into the cushions exhausted. She stretched her fingers out over her bulging stomach and breathed deeply. “I was so sure,” she murmured.

*  *  *

It was within that week that the birth pains began and the birthing stool was moved into her tent. Deborah hurried to get the folded swath of fine linen for the swaddling clothes while others busied themselves getting extra water from the well and the salt for rubbing the newborn. They stopped only to spread the news that Rebekah was about to have the long-awaited child.

Rebekah had been on the birthing stool for a considerable time and the midwives were beginning to get anxious when Deborah, who was holding her hand, felt her grip tighten. “The child is coming,” she said just as Rebekah let out a great cry and, weeping, clung to Deborah.

Within minutes the old midwife held up a screaming, struggling infant. “It’s a boy! He’s healthy and strong,” she shouted.

“He’s covered with soft red hair like a lion’s cub,” another exclaimed as she rubbed the child with oil and salt and wrapped him quickly in the swaddling clothes, ready to take him outside the tent where Isaac waited impatiently.

“There is yet another child coming. I saw a hand clutching the heel of this one,” the old midwife had exclaimed, but no one but Rebekah heard her. The women had all followed the first midwife outside the tent. Isaac was given the child. Immediately the somber mood changed and there was dancing and singing and exclaiming over the rugged health of the child. “He is beautiful to see with soft, red hair and a strong cry,” they chanted and sang.

Even when one of the serving girls rushed out to tell them another child was being born, they paid no attention. Isaac was laughing and exclaiming over the child he held. He wept tears of joy and cried with a loud voice, “This is the child of promise, my firstborn, the child who will inherit the birthright and the blessing. We will call him Esau because of his redness.”

In the tent Rebekah held out her arms and asked to hold the second child, who had arrived quietly without the attention or fanfare of the first. There had been no swaddling cloth to wrap him in, so he was hastily rubbed with oil and salt and wrapped in Rebekah’s head cloth. The old midwife studied him a moment. “He’s a scrawny, poor one, not healthy and strong like the other.”

Rebekah hungrily clasped the small bundle and cradled him in her arms. She studied his little face. His eyes were shut tight, giving his features a worried look that tugged at her heart. She marveled at his small, perfect ears and ran her finger around his face and gently touched his mouth so that he gave a small sucking motion. She smiled as she examined his tiny hand and thought how the midwife had cried out that his hand had been clutching the heel of his brother.

Tears came to her eyes as she realized that this small one was being totally ignored. Everyone had now left her alone in the tent while they celebrated and rejoiced over his brother. She could hear the clamor and now drums beating and the ram’s horn blown to announce the importance of the occasion. From time to time, loud and clear, she heard the strong, lusty cry of her firstborn.

She laid her cheek against the soft dark hair of her neglected child and let her tears fall freely.
No one cares about this lovely child, and no one has even come to give him a name.
She rocked back and forth studying his little form with wonder and delight.
There really have been two babies struggling in my womb. Two nations, the voice called them. And it was said the elder shall serve the younger.

If it really was the voice of Elohim, surely He would reveal His will to Isaac and his father, Abraham!

She felt the soft little hand of her child curl around her finger. Looking down she remembered again that it was this hand that had grabbed the heel of his brother. She laughed a tight, bitter laugh. “We will call you Jacob, the supplanter, the cheater of his brother, the heel grabber,” she murmured in utter frustration. “We will see if even Elohim can manage to give you the blessing and the birthright when your father has already announced it will go to Esau.”

It was some time later that Isaac discovered another child had been born. “What will we call him?” he asked Rebekah.

“I have already named him Jacob,” she said, hoping he would get the subtle message and remember the prediction.

He looked puzzled for a moment and then smiled. “You can name this one; I have already named our firstborn Esau.”

I
t was spring and the time was fast approaching for celebrating the fifteenth birthday of Isaac’s twins. It was also a happy, joyful time, for during these years Abraham and his family had prospered in a most astonishing way. The winter rains had been abundant and one saw bright clumps of flowers thriving in unexpected places and even more surprising, large patches of winter wheat.

Abraham had used the learning of Ur to produce this miracle. In Ur the land was barren except for the areas that were irrigated. “Any land will become fruitful with water,” he said. “Dig wells, take advantage of the winter rains, and this will no longer be barren land.”

Not only had the land become productive, but his flocks of sheep and goats had multiplied in an amazing way. The fine quality of his wool was acclaimed and sought after, not only in the cities along the central ridge but also in the coastal cities as far north as Byblos, Ugarit, and Carchemish. The scraped and treated sheepskins were often carried down into Egypt where they became sandals, cushions, and even vellum for writing.

Abraham had become a man of vast and enviable wealth. This was to be both the source of his great satisfaction and his growing problem. The men of the cities and the traders along the caravan routes looked at him with greedy eyes. It all looked so easy and they coveted the same success.

It had also been more than thirty-five years since Keturah had become Abraham’s concubine, and in this time she had blessed him with six strong, healthy sons. They were quick to learn, and he had observed with pride how easily they could master any physical feat. In competitions of brawn or muscle, they all excelled.

Two of them, Ishbak and Shuah, were about the same age as Isaac’s twins. Abraham had noticed with growing concern that they tended to seek out Esau for their adventures but ignored Jacob. As a result, Jacob was more inclined to be in his mother’s tent learning her tricks of making a succulent lentil stew or helping to turn a young lamb on the spit.
The boy must be lonely at times,
Abraham thought.

When the men sat around the campfire in the evening, Jacob kept to himself and only listened to the men talk. Esau and the sons of Keturah were always in the midst of any discussion. They never seemed to lack tales of adventure that involved both skill and raw courage. Abraham was too old now to enter into the heady excitement of either the hunt or the games of physical skill, and so he too sat and listened and watched.

He noticed how Isaac’s eyes shone with pride as Esau fearlessly wrestled and sometimes even bested the sons of Keturah. He would challenge them to target practice with their bows and arrows just so he could see Esau excel. He could not restrain himself from bragging about the attainments of his handsome son. He never seemed to notice Jacob. It was as though the boy didn’t even exist, and yet Jacob was much more like Isaac had been at the same age.

As the competition between Keturah’s sons and Esau grew more fierce, Abraham saw with alarm that what had at first seemed good and healthy had grown almost ugly and destructive. It was slowly disrupting the peace of the camp. Rebekah and Keturah were no longer friends. They watched their sons from a distance and became bitter if their sons were not the favored ones. Isaac was unwittingly a part of the whole dilemma. He was so proud of his more aggressive son, Esau, that he was often unfair to Keturah’s sons and totally oblivious to the needs of his second son, Jacob.

Abraham had long ago explained to Keturah that her sons were not to receive the birthright or the blessing. At first she had accepted this without anger or resentment. However, as the competition grew between her sons and Esau, she began to pout and cast dark looks at Rebekah and Isaac. She had even tried by cunning and craftiness to turn Abraham from his intentions.

When Abraham commented with delight on some special dish she served him, she would motion for her son Jokshan to come and tell his father how he had managed to trap the bird. “Your son Isaac has never done such a thing and at such a young age,” she would say with pride as she pushed her son into the firelight.

The boy would quickly come to stand before Abraham, still holding his throwing stick. His eyes seemed to glint in the firelight with anticipation of his father’s approval. His head was held high with a certain haughty assurance. “See, we named him right, Jokshan, fowler,” she would say. “He will never go hungry.”

Abraham was well aware of her strategies as she pushed forward her other sons in the same way, but he never minded. He admired the boys and loved their brash assurance. Isaac had never managed such an air of confidence.

However, there was one area in which he was always disappointed. He had a habit of asking these sons to come and sit with him, anticipating a lively conversation. “Have you ever wondered how a bird can fly?” he might ask, expecting some interesting conjecture. Instead the boy would look at him with wide, puzzled eyes and frown slightly.

“It’s not such useless puzzles he’s concerned with,” Keturah would explain after he had gone. “He doesn’t waste time dreaming about things that don’t matter.”

Abraham had to conclude that all of Keturah’s sons were of the same practical bent. They excelled at doing and producing visible results and had no time for what seemed to Keturah “idle talk.” He realized that Isaac of all his sons was of the most thoughtful disposition. He always enjoyed a good discussion, and Jacob was the same, while Esau was more like the sons of Keturah. It surprised Abraham to see such differences in his own family.

*  *  *

On a night in early spring, Abraham was gradually wakened by the creaking of the tent poles as they tugged against the tethers. A cool breeze had sprung up. The moon was full, and outside the tent were whole splashes of light. The stillness was broken only by the bleating of some of the young lambs separated from their mothers. He rose with difficulty, realizing how feeble he had become. He unfolded his shawl that had served as a pillow, wrapped it around his shoulders, and went to the tent door. It was a rare time that he was ever alone, and he knew that one needed to be alone at times to unravel some of life’s mysteries.

He had much to ponder. The time was fast approaching that he must make a decision; he must do something about Keturah and her sons. He could remember how excited he had been when Keturah seemed to be able to produce sons one after the other with no trouble. After Sarah’s long time of barrenness, he had viewed this as something wonderful and even mysterious.