The Sons of Isaac (26 page)

When Judith went into labor, Hittite women came down from the city and took over the birthing tent with their strange herbs, chants, and good luck charms. The birth was difficult, and when the child finally came, the women saw with dismay that it was only a girl. They rubbed her with salt and wrapped her in the prepared swaddling clothes and then brought her in for Judith to see. She thought the baby was ugly. She turned her face to the wall and insisted that she wanted nothing to do with the baby. “See,” she said, “it’s not strong. It was not meant to live.” With that she refused to nurse the baby.

The midwife brought the child to Rebekah and thrust it into her arms. “It’s just a girl and a poorly one at that,” she said. “It’s not worth saving.”

Rebekah took the little bundle in her arms and rushed to Deborah’s tent. “We must have some warm goat’s milk,” she said. “The foolish girl refuses to nurse the child.”

“That’s the way of many of the women of the city. If it were a boy and strong, they would be more than willing to care for it. To have a girl doesn’t bring them gifts and praise from their husband, nor does it make other women envious.”

Rebekah wept for the small, helpless little form. She couldn’t speak but sat pulling the warm milk up into a small reed and letting it flow drop by drop into the little mouth. The child cried a weak, mewling cry that was more like that of a small animal. At the end of a week it was evident the child would not live and Rebekah was frantic. She had spent so many years wanting a child, any child, that she could not bear to see this little one die.

All this time Judith resented Rebekah’s efforts. “The child is mine and I should be able to do with it as I please,” she said with an angry toss of her head.

When the child finally died, Judith packed up her belongings, gathered her servants, and followed the midwives back to the city. Within a week she was back in the temple, refusing to see Esau or take any message sent from him.

It was not long until Bashemath disappeared, and when Esau went up to the city, he found that she had returned home. Her father, Elon, was embarrassed. “I can’t give you back the lambs, but I do have another daughter who will be glad to come in her place. Her name is Adah and she has envied her sister. She will make you a good wife.”

Esau shook his head. “This has been a painful experience. My mother is very upset and my father disappointed.”

“Come, see if you are not impressed. Adah is not beautiful but she will be cheerful and is sure to give you sons.”

They walked over to the edge of the parapet and looked down into the courtyard. They could see Adah and Bashemath baking bread. It was obvious that Adah was not beautiful but she moved quickly and only smiled when Bashemath snatched the first rounded loaf of bread and started to eat it instead of helping.

Esau liked what he saw. He wanted desperately to please his mother, and he could see that this girl would not be as offensive as either her sister or Judith. It also looked as though she knew how to bake bread and did it well. He was about to agree to the arrangement when Elon motioned him to come sit under the awning; he had something further to say.

When they were settled, Elon edged up on the subject cautiously. “My daughter Bashemath tells me that if the child recently born to Judith had been a boy, you would have had him cut. Is this true?”

It took Esau a few moments to understand and then he realized he was referring to their tradition of circumcising. “Yes,” he said. “It is a covenant with our God.”

Elon frowned and nervously pulled at a loose thread in the hem of his robe. “You know, this is not our custom and my daughter would be very disturbed to have this done to any child she might have. I will have to insist this not be done for any of the sons she might bear.”

Esau frowned. “Then it is impossible. This is important to my people.”

Elon coughed and adjusted his headpiece. “Well, well, I suppose Adah can get used to new ways. It just seems rather cruel to us.”

Esau was about to challenge him on the idea of cruelty. It had seemed very cruel that Judith refused to nurse her child and yet that was completely accepted. He was about to turn away when he realized that Elon now owed him a wife, and he didn’t want to go back home alone.

“I’ll have to have three more lambs for Adah,” Elon said, leaning back and studying Esau with half-closed eyes.

“I’m not about to pay three more lambs when she may very well run back home like her sister.”

“No, no, don’t be afraid,” Elon said. “I’ll tell her that if she tries to come home, I’ll beat her. She won’t come back. I can promise you that.”

With this promise Esau took Adah back with him to the camp. He saw that she was not beautiful and he did not feel any great attraction to her, but he was satisfied when at the end of a year she had borne him a son. She said nothing when he was circumcised, and she let Isaac give him the name of Reuel, meaning “God’s friend.”

Esau was still restless, and while Adah was pregnant, he had made friends with a man named Zibeon, a Hivite who also lived in Kirjath-arba. They went hunting together, and it came about quite naturally that eventually Zibeon urged Esau to marry his daughter Aholibamah. She was young and seemed to be attracted to Esau.

Esau had noticed how she leaned over the parapet to watch him when he sat with her father or hurried to open the door to the courtyard when she knew he was coming. She had large, dark eyes and a slow, seductive smile. It wasn’t long until Esau had cut a sharp bargain with her father and taken her home with him.

He had not realized that since she was of a Hivite background and tradition, she would be in constant conflict with Adah, whose family was Hittite. There was a steady round of bickering and hurt feelings, which only annoyed Esau. He would go off hunting and leave the problem for his mother to solve.

*  *  *

As time passed, things did not get better. Esau’s two wives were constantly fighting and their children were quarrelsome and ill-mannered. Rebekah was continually annoyed and irritated. The grandchildren she had hoped to enjoy were like a passel of wild cubs. They fought and screamed. Their little faces were always wet with sweat and streaked with dirt. They paid no attention to their mothers and hardly were aware of their grandmother. Only Esau could manage them, and this he did with a few good-natured cuffs to their ears.

Gradually Rebekah left the care of Esau’s children to his wives and the servants while she retreated as often as possible to Isaac’s tent. Here it was usually peaceful and quiet, since he was now almost totally blind and saw only those who came on urgent business. He was feeling old and useless. “Surely a man in my situation cannot live long,” he kept saying.

As she had feared, he began to think about passing on his responsibilities and turning everything over to Esau as his firstborn. Rebekah now shamelessly listened whenever Esau visited his father, and it was on one such occasion that she heard the conversation she had been dreading.

“You see, my son,” she heard Isaac say, “I have grown old and sightless. I will soon be feeble and could die at any time. I would like you to take your quiver and your bow and go out into the field and get a young deer. When you have made that savory dish I love, bring it to me and I will eat and then give you the blessing I have promised.”

Rebekah’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a startled cry. It was evident that Isaac had paid no attention to her reports of Esau’s many and irresponsible marriages. She shuddered to think that it would be Esau’s sons who would have the blessing of father Abraham. If she and Isaac had not insisted, Eliphaz and Reuel would not have been circumcised. Esau was more like her brother Laban, who could worship many gods and saw little benefit in limiting one’s chance of good luck to only one god.

She was behind the curtain that divided Isaac’s tent, and she must at all costs be quiet. It was against their tradition and custom for a woman, even a wife and mother, to eavesdrop on her husband’s private conversation. To appear uninvited on his side of the tent and interrupt a conversation was unthinkable. She quietly rose and nervously adjusted her headpiece and fingered the brass beads at her throat. Something must be done and quickly, but what? Isaac would not listen to her and Esau was determined to do as he pleased.

For a brief moment she toyed with the idea of trusting Elohim to work things out. It was so obvious that Jacob was the one to have the blessing. At the same time, she had to admit that even Jacob was not very interested in building altars or spending much time worshiping Elohim.

“At least he’s not encumbered with pagan wives and quarrelsome children,” she muttered as she impulsively decided to act. If Elohim had entrusted her with the message that it was Jacob who was to have the blessing, then surely He expected her to help bring it about.

Quickly she tiptoed out of the tent and sent a young boy to find Jacob. While she was waiting for him, she ordered a fire built and water brought. All the time she was gathering her spices, she was mulling over just what could be done.

By the time Jacob came, she was ready to explain everything. She first told him what she had heard. Then clutching his sleeve and searching his face with narrowed eyes, she said, “Now is the time to act. There’s no time for discussion. It’s obvious that you must pose as Esau. You will bring me two young kids from our herd, and I will quickly prepare the dish your father loves.”

When he had gone she hurried back to the simmering pot and, squatting down beside it began to think of anything that might possibly go wrong. Esau was hairy and Jacob was smooth. If Isaac suspected anything, he was sure to reach out and touch Jacob. He would embrace him and would surely notice the smell of fresh fields and dried herbs was missing. She must have Deborah bring one of the rough, hairy garments belonging to Esau. That still left the problem of his arms and neck being smooth without the bushy feel of Esau.

When Jacob came, he told Rebekah that he too had been thinking of all the difficulties. He saw no solutions. “My father can tell by my voice I am not Esau,” he said. “Now that he can’t see, he depends on how things feel, and he will notice right away that I am not hairy like Esau. He will judge me as a deceiver of the worst kind and instead of a blessing I’ll be cursed.”

Now Rebekah stood up, holding the stirring stick in one hand and brushing the damp strands of hair back with the other. Her voice was low and urgent. “Upon me and me alone be your curse,” she said. “Now go and prepare the goats and also bring me the skins. We must be quick about this business if we are to succeed.”

With that Jacob stumbled out of the tent strengthened by his mother’s fierce insistence. He captured the goats and prepared them in a trance. His mother would somehow come up with a plan, and he must go along or everything would be spoiled.

By the time the goats were simmering in the broth, Rebekah had formed a plan by which she could disguise Jacob. She sent Deborah to find one of Esau’s cloaks while she busied herself over the skins. The short, soft underskin of each goat’s belly was just right for her purpose. She scraped them clean and then told Jacob to hold out his arm. When he saw what she was going to do, he again objected. “This won’t work,” he said. “My father will know right away that we have tried to deceive him.”

All the time that he was complaining, Rebekah was working to fit a strip snugly around his neck and then two others to cover his arms. When they were firmly in place, she leaned back and studied the effect, then reached out and felt of it. She smiled. “It will do,” she said.

Jacob was still nervous. “People will see me,” he said, holding out his arms awkwardly. “I can’t go to my father’s tent without being observed.”

“Don’t worry, Deborah has sent the children away and given everyone else orders to keep away from Isaac’s tent so he can have quiet. There is nothing to fear, but you must hurry.”

With that she felt of Jacob’s arms once more and then, with a nod of satisfaction, handed him the bowl of fragrant stew and some bread and ushered him out of the tent.

The entrance flap to his father’s tent was raised, which was a sign that his father was waiting for someone. Jacob felt a slight twinge of fear and guilt as he realized that it was Esau he was expecting. Then remembering all the hurts and slights he had received in Esau’s shadow, he stiffened and entered the tent. In the dim light he could see Isaac sitting among the cushions; his legs were crossed and his hands on his knees. “My father,” he said.

Isaac immediately became attentive. “Here I am,” he said. “Who are you?”

“I am Esau, your firstborn.” He paused a moment, fearing that his voice may have already betrayed him. “I have done as you commanded,” he said, “and here is the venison.”

Isaac seemed to hesitate and Jacob urged, “Come and eat, so that you can bless me.”

Isaac still hesitated. “How have you found it so quickly?”

Jacob was temporarily paralyzed with fear. He frowned and then hurried to assure him. “Because,” he said, “the Lord, your God, brought it to me.”

Again Isaac hesitated, paying no attention to the fragrant stew Jacob had placed before him. “Come closer so that I can feel whether you are really Esau or not.”

Sweat broke out on Jacob’s brow. His anxiety mounted until he remembered his mother was standing just outside the tent listening. Quickly he put out his arm and guided Isaac’s hand to feel the rough, hairy skin.

“The voice is Jacob’s but the hands and arms are Esau’s,” Isaac said. “Are you truly my son Esau?” he asked directly.

“I am,” Jacob said with as much conviction as he could muster.

“Bring me the venison that I may eat before I bless you,” Isaac said, and Jacob knew this was going to be another test. If the dish his mother had prepared was not quite right, his father would immediately sense the deception and all would be lost. Jacob handed him the dish and then sat where he could watch as his father dipped the bread in the warm broth and ate. At first he was hesitant as though testing to see if it was really the dish he was waiting for, and then to Jacob’s relief he ate hungrily. When the dish was finished, Jacob brought him wine and stood watching him drink. He had begun to feel more relaxed. Then just as he was sure the ordeal was almost over, his father stretched out his arms. “Come near now and kiss me, my son,” he said. Jacob knew this was the final test. His father was still suspicious.