Rebekah

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Rebekah stilled, stunned by the depth of the question and the bitter tone that accompanied it. Did Ishmael still carry the scars of his youth, as her husband once did?

  But of course he did.

  “You ask a hard question, my brother.” Isaac’s words held assurance and calm, and Rebekah felt a small measure of peace as she looked once more in his direction.

  “I did not expect you to have an answer.” Ishmael’s tone moved from bitterness to the familiar mocking, but his eyes held a hint of yearning, as though he wished Isaac would prove him wrong.

  Silence followed the comment, and one glance at Isaac told Rebekah he was carefully crafting his response. But what could he possibly say to such a thing?

  A shiver worked through her, and she suddenly wished Ishmael had never voiced such thoughts. What good would it do for her impressionable sons to question their God before they had even lived long enough to know Him? And yet surely they were old enough to hear, to ponder, to question, as Isaac had done. Still, worry niggled her thoughts as she glanced from one son to the other, reading doubt in the eyes of one and curiosity in the eyes of the other.

  “God is good because He is,” Isaac said at last, drawing her attention back again. “He does not need a reason to do what He does, and He is not answerable to us when He chooses to test our faith. But we can see His goodness in the things He has made, in the very creation that surrounds us.” He pointed through the tent’s opening to the shadowed trees and the sounds of night animals surrounding them.

  “If God is good, why do evil men live?” Ishmael pulled a small dagger from the leather pouch at his side and held it between them like a shield. “I could kill you in your sleep, and who would stop me?”

  “I would stop you.” Esau jumped up to stand between his father and uncle.

  Ishmael laughed. “And so you would, young nephew.” He put away his weapon, and Rebekah released a breath.

  Ishmael rose up and leaned forward until he was nose to nose with Esau. “But if you were not home, or if your father were off by himself in the hills with no one to watch out for him . . .” He let the thought linger until even the air in the tent grew hot, uncomfortable.

  Ishmael removed his dagger and set it away from him, then leaned back against the cushions, his hands behind him. “And now”—he looked directly at Esau—“in my defenseless position, your father could lift his sword and plunge it into my chest, and who would stop him?”

  “I would cut his throat before he could reach you, Abba.” Kedar’s voice carried a thinly veiled threat.

  Ishmael laughed again, but Isaac sat silent, waiting.

  “If our father’s God were to sit by and allow such a thing from either of us, then He cannot be good. He would destroy evil if He were.” Ishmael leaned forward again, his look so intense Rebekah could feel the heat of it from where she waited in the shadows. “But how do we know it isn’t Elohei Abraham who created evil in the first place? How do we know He isn’t glad to use it against us?” Ishmael leaned back once more, took a long drink from the goblet, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, then returned his dagger to his side.

  “You see, my brother,” he said, his look confident, strong, “you cannot really know this God our father worshiped. I do not see Him as so very different from the gods of my mother’s people or the gods of our father’s family. He just disguises his intentions better than most.” A smug smile, as from one who is certain he has won a debate, creased his lean, angular face.

  Questions swirled in Rebekah’s mind, and fear twisted in her middle as she witnessed the admiration growing in Esau’s eyes. He was fully enamored with his uncle, and she felt him slipping away with each word of the conversation.

  Isaac shifted in his seat and folded his hands in his lap, his eyes focused on them as though they were clay tablets with words that could answer his brother with eloquence. His silence begged to be filled by more than the sipping of wine, the chewing of sweet cakes, and the whispers of Ishmael’s sons.

  At last, when Rebekah thought she could not bear his contemplation a moment longer, he lifted his head and looked deeply into Ishmael’s dark eyes. “I am not in the place of God to give an answer to all of your questions, my brother, but this one thing I know.”

  At his pause, Rebekah held her breath and glanced around the tent. Every eye focused on her husband—Jacob’s with the most interest.

  “Adonai Elohei Abraham is not a God who delights in evil. If He did, He would not have destroyed the world with the flood. Noah would not have felt the need to preach repentance, and our father Abraham would not have been called out from a city of foreign gods to follow after Him.

  “Do I understand why you were sent away or why I was bound and laid on an altar like a lamb to be slaughtered? No, I do not. But I have heard God’s voice on that mountain, and I know He delights far more in obedience, which our father fully understood, than in the circumstances that allow evil to prevail.”

  Ishmael drew a hand over his beard, studying Isaac for the space of several heartbeats, but at last he looked away, signaling an end to the debate. “I cannot say I agree with your conclusions. I do not see His motives as more benevolent than any other of the gods I serve.”

  “Can the gods you serve, the gods of wood and stone, speak? Can they lift even one finger to do what is just and right?” Isaac’s gaze was unflinching, and Rebekah wanted to cheer her husband’s response.

  But Ishmael’s expression was closed, his hooded eyes shifting slightly from Isaac to his sons. At his nod, they stood as one.

  “I will allow that neither one of us can know for sure what our father’s God is like,” he said, his tone brooking no further argument.

  Isaac stood, and Jacob and Esau rose with him.

  Isaac embraced Ishmael and kissed each cheek. “You leave tomorrow?”

  After seven days, Ishmael would want to return to his clan, and Rebekah would be happy to see him go.

  Ishmael nodded, at last showing the soft hint of a smile. “Ready to see me off, are you, Brother?” He returned Isaac’s kiss of departure and clapped him on the back.

  “Of course you know you are welcome to stay as long as you like.” Isaac walked with his brother through the tent’s opening, their conversation drifting out of earshot, Ishmael’s sons following.

  Rebekah moved from her place in the shadows and set about clearing the goblets and scraps of food left on the golden trays, her ears attuned to the night sounds and the voices of Jacob and Esau as they moved from the tent.

  “I want to go with him.”

  Esau’s words stilled her hands, her heart suddenly thumping hard against her ribs. She walked closer to the tent’s opening.

  “Go with who?” Jacob’s tone held surprise. “Uncle Ishmael?”

  “Who else? Did you not hear his stories of the hunts he has carried out, of the mighty game he has killed? He could teach me better use of the bow. He is more skillful than Father.”

  Esau’s excited voice held persuasion, and she knew in an instant that if he turned those pleading eyes on Isaac, he would promptly get his way. She must not let him.

  “All I heard was his disdain for our grandfather’s God. Does this not concern you?”

  Rebekah breathed a sigh that Jacob had been listening with discernment, that he cared about the weightier matters.

  “Of course. But have you not thought these very same things? Uncle only voiced the questions we have all raised at one time or another. And how can we know anything for certain? Have you heard God’s voice?”

  “Abba has.”

  “So he says.”

  Esau’s words came out harsh, despite his attempt to lower his voice, and Rebekah did not miss the signs of anger bubbling within her firstborn son. Did Isaac realize how Esau felt? The boy was too easily persuaded, too quickly influenced.

  Images of Haviv and Nadab flashed in her mind’s eye. Haviv, who had married Selima and remained a faithful servant, loyal to their God. Nada
b, who had stormed off and married a Canaanite and abandoned his family, Isaac’s camp, and their faith. She could not let Esau end up like Nadab.

  She stopped, looked across the camp where Isaac bade Ishmael farewell. The men would rise before dawn and be on their way, leaving her little time to convince Isaac to keep Esau here. The boy would make a strong case. But she could be just as convincing.

  26

  Holding a clay lamp in one hand, Isaac slipped through the entrance of his tent and lowered the flap, closing himself in semi-darkness. A deep sigh lifted his chest, but the burden would not dislodge, the turmoil of the evening resting heavily on his shoulders.

  Ishmael’s questions had not troubled him for his own sake. He had wrestled with the questions of God’s power and goodness since his youth. He had not understood the test of faith that led his father to obey a seemingly outrageous command, one that the gods Ishmael served might easily demand, but one his father’s God would not. Adonai had called his father out from among such beliefs and practices. To ask it of him was so foreign to all that his father had come to know of Him that he would not have obeyed at all if not for the fact that he knew Elohim’s voice. There had been no mistake. Isaac understood that now.

  But his children did not, nor would they until they had lived their own hardships. If only he could instill this understanding deep within them so they might be spared their own tests of faith. Would Esau’s faith be tested and grow in the company of Ishmael? Should he allow the boy to go with his brother as Esau had pleaded with him to do?

  He rubbed the back of his neck, certain the pounding of his head would not be eased until he closed his eyes in sleep. Weariness swept through him, but as he moved from his sitting quarters to his sleeping chamber, he stopped abruptly. Rebekah sat among his bed cushions, her hair undone, her expression earnest.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The hurt in her dark eyes made him wish the words back the moment he had spoken them.

  “That is, I did not expect you.”

  She merely nodded and dropped her gaze as her hands twisted the fabric of her robe. She still wore the garments of the day, as though she knew he might send her back to her own tent. The thought stirred him to gentle his response, and he set the lamp on the low table and came to kneel beside her.

  “I am sorry, Rebekah. I am tired and worn out with the many voices of argument and reason. I do not wish to speak any more this night . . . but I can see you are distressed or you would not be here. So please, tell me quickly that we may both get some rest.” He reached for her hand, hoping to still her fidgeting and coax her to hurry and speak.

  She lifted her head, and his heart melted at her pleading look. “You must not allow Esau to go with your brother.” She kept her voice low, though the tone implored him. “I watched him tonight, and I heard him tell Jacob that he wanted to return with his uncle. But Esau is too eager to please his uncle, and I fear he will fall into Ishmael’s ways if we allow it.” Her words ended in a rush, and she pulled his hand to her chest, where he could feel the rapid beating of her heart. “Please, my lord. I know he will ask you.” She paused, and he knew she could read the look in his eyes. “He already did?”

  Isaac nodded. “He could speak of little else the moment Ishmael returned to his tents.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  Isaac lifted his free hand, which suddenly felt weighted with age, and pulled the turban from his head. “I told him I would think on it. I will tell him in the morning before dawn.”

  Crickets picked up where his last words left off.

  “You must tell him no.”

  Her tone and the insistent way she spoke sparked irritation within him.

  He pulled his hand from hers. “I will take your opinion into consideration.” He put his back to her and removed his robe and tunic. He lifted his night tunic in one hand, then thought better of it and turned to face her.

  She lifted wide eyes to his, then lowered them, the heightened color of her cheeks barely visible in the lamp’s flickering glow.

  He settled himself among the cushions and studied her. “Put aside your robe and come.”

  She looked at him and opened her mouth as if she would say more, then closed it and did as he had asked. His heart stirred as she nestled in the crook of his arm, the feel of her soft skin and the scent of her hair filling him with desires he had ignored for too long. He kissed her, letting his lips linger, and looked deeply into her eyes.

  “I share your worries, Rebekah. But I also know that a boy too restricted is a boy who may one day rebel far worse than he might have. Remember Nadab.”

  “I do! This is why I do not want Esau near his uncle. He is too vulnerable, too easily swayed—”

  He held a finger to her lips, then slowly moved it aside and kissed her again, more deeply this time, until her rigid form relaxed in his arms.

  “I’m sorry, my lord, I just—”

  “Shh . . .” He sifted his fingers through her undone hair and pulled her closer. “No more tonight.”

  She released a sigh that he sensed signaled her own irritation, and he knew her well enough to know she would bring it up again in the morning. But for tonight he allowed himself to forget his cares, forget the days of mourning his father and the struggles of brother and sons, and enjoy the pleasures of the one he loved.

  The next morning dawned too early, and Rebekah’s tension rose with her. She had been right to come here, to be with her beloved as they had not been in many months. How was it that they had allowed their sons to fill their days and nights, to keep them from each other?

  And yet she knew the neglect was due in part to the conflict they faced about the promise she had received from the Lord—the promise that he struggled to accept. She had avoided his bed when he angered her, when he favored Esau over Jacob, and he had gone off on his desert treks over the same slight.

  The thought shamed her. Had their love truly come to this—this vying for power and place between two sons? Would they really allow the future to pit them against each other?

  She dressed quickly in the chill air, grateful for the sputtering wick that had not yet gone out. She refilled the oil in the lamp and moved through the spacious tent to the closed flap.

  Isaac had somehow risen and left before she’d awakened. The thought made her heart skip and dance with sudden fear. Had Ishmael already left? Had he taken Esau with him? She should never have been so demanding the night before. Isaac’s pride could make him decide against her just to prove that he could. It was his decision, after all. And she could tell he did not agree with her.

  She lifted the flap and blew out the lamp’s flame, then set the lamp on a low post near the entrance. Pink shades of coming sunlight bathed the eastern ridge, casting a rosy glow over the camp. Her feet felt the dew’s cool dampness as she walked hastily across the compound toward Ishmael’s tents. She found the tents disassembled and packed on camels already mounted by Ishmael’s sons. Isaac embraced his brother as they gave each other their final farewell.

  She scanned the crowd, her heart pounding, searching. But there was no sign of Esau. Was he up ahead with the caravan or still in his tent? But surely he would be up and ready if Isaac planned to allow him to accompany these men.

  Ishmael turned his back to Isaac and climbed atop his beast, commanding it to rise. And then they were off, traveling the merchant road to the south, headed back to Ishmael’s hills.

  Isaac watched them go until they became small in the distance. At last he turned and saw her. He approached, smiling.

  “I hope I did not wake you.” He traced a finger along the outside of her face, his expression warming her.

  She shook her head. “No. I wanted, needed, to be up.” She glanced beyond him to the road. “So you told Esau no?” She longed to look at him, to read the emotions in his eyes, but could not bring herself to do so.

  “What do you think?” His fingers beneath her chin coaxed her to face him, and she
could not pull away.

  “I think you did the right thing.” She was right, wasn’t she? “That is, I didn’t see Esau among the men.”

  Isaac’s brows drew together, and a shadow passed through his eyes. He turned them both back toward the camp and placed one arm around her shoulders. “I have promised to let Esau visit soon. When he is a little older.”

  She stopped walking, forcing him to halt with her. She must choose her words carefully. Did he not just give her what she wished? Who knew what time would bring to them? Esau might decide a visit unnecessary, or Isaac might be convinced to change his mind. The thoughts calmed her anxiety, and she gave him what she hoped was a grateful smile.

  “Thank you, my lord. Perhaps when he is older, he will be strong enough to withstand your brother’s influences.” She slipped her arm through his. “In the meantime, we must teach him more of Adonai and to be kinder to his brother, to be more like his father, to prepare them both for the future.”

  She made a move to continue on, but Isaac did not join her. She turned back, realizing once again that she had said the wrong thing. If she could only make him see . . .

  “Is something wrong, my lord?” She shivered, knowing the cool morning air was not the only cause, burdened by the look in his eyes.

  “I know you are the mother of my sons, beloved. And I know you had a hard time when you carried them. Whether God spoke to you about them . . . I am not in the place of God to know such a thing. I did not hear the words, and I am not certain I accept them.”

  Her heart sank in the space of a breath. “You don’t believe me.”

  “I am not sure I want to.”

  “But why? Is it because Jacob is not what you expected in a ruling son? Are you so ashamed of your younger son that you would pick the older, the one who questions your faith, ahead of him?”

  The shiver grew until her hands shook. She wrapped her arms about her, begging her limbs to be still.

  His heavy sigh filled the space between them. He dragged a hand over his beard, as though the action might force the words from his mouth. “I am not ashamed of Jacob, beloved. I just see more qualities of leadership in Esau. In time, if his faith grows and he learns greater trust in Adonai, he will make a fine prince to carry on my father’s name. As the firstborn, that is his right.”