Rebekah

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Father, in Esau’s absence?”

  Jacob’s voice held a thin thread of hope, and Isaac wondered not for the first time what he had done wrong that this son should think he did not accept him. He only favored Esau to make up for Rebekah’s lack.

  “Father?”

  The question brought his thoughts up short. Had his mind wandered again? “Yes, my son?”

  “Can I bring you anything? Is there anything you need?” The voice had shifted slightly away from him, as though Jacob desired to leave.

  “No, no. I am fine. You may go and complete whatever tasks your mother has for you.” He offered a feeble wave to send him off and listened as his son’s steps retreated.

  “He is not a child that you should send him to his mother.” Haviv’s tone was gentle, though the words held reprimand.

  Isaac rubbed a hand along his beard and blinked, wishing for one moment that when he opened his eyes they would see as they once did. “I forget sometimes.” How faulty his thoughts were of late! Though the moments of his childhood seemed sharper in their focus, the early years with Rebekah were a bittersweet memory.

  “I know you do. But you would do well to remember that your sons are men now. Men fully capable of leading the men of the tribe in your place.”

  “You think me old.” But of course it was true.

  “I do not think you old. Your father lived to one hundred and seventy-five winters. You have many years ahead of you.” Haviv leaned in close so that his breath touched Isaac’s ear. “I think you must prepare your sons to lead after you, however. Bless them and give them control as your father gave you.”

  Isaac settled back among the cushions and caught a whiff of stew carried to him on the breeze, drawing nearer with each breath.

  “Are you ready to eat, my lord?” Rebekah’s tone held a smile, and he sat straighter, grateful for the interruption.

  “Yes, if you will stay with me and share the meal.” He turned toward the sound of her voice. “I will let you join your family,” he said, sending his words in Haviv’s direction. He did not need the man telling him what to do. Not now. Not while he had yet to grieve his brother’s death.

  “I will speak with you again later, my lord.”

  Isaac heard the man walk away but did not respond.

  Days passed with unending sameness, and though Isaac conferred often with Haviv and Jacob over issues arising in the fields with the shepherds and herdsmen, and listened to the normal laughter and bickering among the men and women of the camp, he could not shake the desire to hear Esau’s voice once more. How long would he stay away? Still, he knew the trek to Ishmael’s camp was not one a man traveled quickly.

  Afternoon shadows blocked the heat of the sun several weeks after Ishmael’s death, bringing with them a welcome respite. Isaac settled among the cushions in the receiving area of his tent, the sides drawn up to let in the breeze. He briefly dozed, then jerked awake, his thoughts troubled and weary. Was Haviv right in his assumption that Isaac had many more years ahead of him? Would he live long in this state of blindness? The thought pained him, making him suddenly long for Sheol. He had lived a long, good life already, so what need was there to continue in it? He was old and useless, and it was time he passed on the blessing of leadership to the son who would inherit that blessing. The blessing Jacob should now receive.

  But Jacob had stolen Esau’s birthright. Did he really deserve Adonai’s blessing as well?

  He shifted, silently cursing his inability to see the colors of the cushions Rebekah had made to brighten his surroundings. Cushions he had taken for granted in his sighted years. He tilted his head at the sound of male voices coming near, tuning his ears to listen more closely. But a moment later the voices quieted and someone stepped into the room, his presence obvious by his heavy breathing and the scent of the fields clinging to him.

  “Father, I am home.” Esau knelt at Isaac’s side. “How good it is to see you.”

  Isaac warmed to his son’s presence and lifted his arms toward the sound of his voice. “Come closer, my son. Let me feel your kiss on my cheeks.”

  Esau leaned in and did as Isaac requested. Isaac responded in kind, then pulled Esau into a fierce hug. “You are back. Why did you not tell me you were leaving?”

  “There was no time, Abba. A caravan had just passed along the route toward Havilah, and I wanted to join them. It is safer to travel in numbers.” Esau touched Isaac’s knee. “But I regretted my impulsiveness and wished I had told you. I would have taken you with me if I could. Ishmael’s sons were pleased that I came. I gave them your condolences.”

  Isaac felt his pride lift at Esau’s words, his commanding tone, the practical reasons for his choices. “Thank you, my son. You have done well, have carried yourself like a man and a fine representative of our household.”

  It was true. Jacob would never have been able to broach the territory where Ishmael lived without returning with some kind of ill will between the groups. Jacob could please his mother and the men and women of the camp, but he did not carry the understanding to appease other tribes.

  The thought beckoned him, and he turned toward his son with new vision. Vision that did not need physical sight.

  “My son,” he said, renewed resolve filling him. He had always known that Esau would make a great leader one day, and it was time he followed through on that belief.

  “Here I am.” Esau leaned close again, the scent of the fields filling Isaac with a deep sense of rightness, of peace.

  “I am now an old man and don’t know the day of my death.” He reached out a hand, fumbling until he touched Esau’s bearded face. “Now then, get your weapons—your quiver and bow—and go out to the open country to hunt some wild game for me. Prepare me the kind of tasty food I like and bring it to me to eat, so that I may give you my blessing before I die.”

  Esau did not respond quickly, and Isaac feared he would refuse the blessing on account of the birthright he had so easily despised. But surely it was his impulsive nature that had made him act so rashly. Surely he did not truly despise his heritage and all that his father believed.

  “It will be as you say, Father. I will go at once.” He bent to kiss Isaac once more in farewell and quickly stood. “Pray that your God heeds my success.”

  As Esau’s footsteps retreated, Isaac did just that.

  Rebekah took a step back from the entryway of Isaac’s tent, her blood pumping hard and fast, her mind working to understand what she had just heard. Isaac had promised the blessing to Jacob. Could he truly have just changed his mind and gone back on his word? Or had his word been given under compulsion, something he had never intended to keep?

  She held her breath, willing her racing heart to calm, as Esau emerged and turned left toward the tents that sat across the compound, the tents that housed his two wives and sons. He had to be weary from his recent journey, but he would waste no time leaving again to do Isaac’s bidding.

  How could Isaac do such a thing?

  She smoothed her hands along the sides of her robe, trying to still their sudden trembling. She could not let this happen. Isaac was simply too old and his memory too weak to realize what he was doing. She would help him see. Should she go in and talk to him, to convince him to bless Jacob before Esau returned?

  Indecision made her palms slick with sweat, and her heart picked up its pace once more. She moved away from Isaac’s tent and crossed the compound toward Esau’s with an attempt at casual indifference, her mind churning. Should she confront Esau?

  But no. While this son might have once despised his birthright, he surely desired the blessing now. A blessing he did not deserve. A blessing Isaac should not have offered.

  She came to the entrance of Esau’s tent and paused. How could she explain her presence here? She avoided contact with his wives at every turn and could not afford to confront them now. Gliding past in the pretense of moving toward the well—never mind her lack of jar to carry the
water—she stopped at the back of the tent, darted quick looks in every direction, and pressed her ear toward the tent’s back wall.

  “Are you going so soon, my love? You just now returned!” Basemath’s whiny voice rose above the din of his sons’ clamoring and Judith’s loud, mournful sigh.

  “I promise you, I will soon return, and when I do, it will be for blessing far greater than we have yet seen. Soon we will send my brother to the hills, and all that my father owns will be mine.”

  The women squealed at Esau’s boast, and with it came a sudden surge of anger rushing through Rebekah’s body like hot coals. She stepped away from the tent and moved along the tree line until she was half hidden by a row of servants’ smaller quarters. She watched, waiting for Esau to leave, her anger growing, her thoughts roiling, until resolve wound her decision tightly around her heart.

  Esau emerged from his tent, bow and sling hung over his shoulder, his stride arrogant and sure. She waited until she could no longer see him as he disappeared over a rise toward the open country, then lifted her skirts and hurried to find Jacob.

  33

  She found him in his tent, resting in the early afternoon heat. “Jacob, my son.” She bent low and shook him, rousing him from sleep.

  “What is it, Ima?” He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face, though he still carried the look of one held in a dream.

  “Wake up and listen to me.” He blinked at her sharp tone and sat up straighter.

  She knelt at his side. “Look, I overheard your father say to your brother Esau, ‘Bring me some game and prepare me some tasty food to eat, so that I may give you my blessing in the presence of the Lord before I die.’ Now, my son, listen carefully and do what I tell you.”

  She waited but a moment, assured of his full attention. They were alone, but she kept her voice low nonetheless. “Go out to the flock and bring me two choice young goats so I can prepare some tasty food for your father, just the way he likes it. Then take it to your father to eat, so that he may give you his blessing before he dies.”

  Jacob stared at her as though she had completely lost her senses, raising her ire. “But my brother Esau is a hairy man, and I’m a man with smooth skin. What if my father touches me? I would appear to be tricking him and would bring down a curse on myself rather than a blessing.”

  She batted the thought away with a wave of her hand. “Let the curse fall on me. Just do what I say, my son. Go now and get them for me.”

  Jacob waited but a moment, then rose, grabbed his blade from the floor at his side, and hurried from the tent.

  Rebekah walked with calculated slowness to her tent, thoughts turning over in her mind as she entered the darkened interior. Normally, the sides would be lifted to let light and air into her quarters, but she thanked the Unseen One that she had left them down this morning, affording her the privacy she needed. The garments she had woven that long-ago day for Esau—the ones she knew he would not fully appreciate but had worn with pride because Isaac had given them to him—sat tucked away in a corner of her tent, in a basket of clothing she had refused to send off with his wives. The decision would prove useful now.

  She lifted the basket’s lid, pulled the colorful robe from its place near the top, and held it to her face. She sniffed and sighed. The robe still carried Esau’s scent. He had worn it to the fields on more than one occasion, against her wishes. Another providential gift that the smell of the land still lingered within the threads.

  Setting the robe aside, she retrieved her store of spices from where they hung along the rod that held the tent’s roof aloft, snipped several strands of rosemary and dill, and dug into her stone jars of cumin and caraway seeds. She carried them to the cooking tent, glad that it was too early for the women to be about the preparations for the evening meal, and set to baking the spiced flatbread Isaac loved.

  Jacob soon returned with the kids, and they set to work skinning them and cutting up the meat into small chunks. While Jacob began the stew, adding the spices at her direction, she scraped the skins free of any last bits of flesh, rubbed them with water, and then smoothed the insides with oil to soften them. She quickly found her bone needle and thread and attached the skins to Jacob’s hands, where the robe would not cover, and the smooth part of his neck that remained exposed above the collar.

  Hours passed, and Rebekah gave an anxious glance toward the hills in the direction Esau had taken, fearing that God would indeed bless his efforts and he would return too soon.

  “What if Esau returns before my father finishes his meal?”

  “If he returns, I will distract him.”

  Jacob allowed her to dress him in Esau’s robe, the bowl of steaming stew and tray of flatbread sitting on a low table nearby.

  “But what if my father recognizes my voice? I will be cursed before I can enter the tent.”

  “You will tell him you are Esau. He cannot see you. He will believe you once he smells your brother’s clothes and touches your skin.”

  Silence settled as they looked at one another.

  “You must do this, my son. Your future depends on it. Adonai chose you to inherit the blessing, and I will not let your father give it to your brother in your place.”

  “You ask a hard thing of me, Ima.” He looked into her eyes, unflinching, but she held her ground, knowing what he did not. They had no other choice.

  “I only ask you to fulfill the promise as God intends.” She crossed her arms, challenging him with her sternest look, until he glanced beyond her, his sigh defeated.

  “I will do as you ask.” He bent to retrieve the tray, glancing back at her once as he left the tent. “Stand guard and mimic a dove’s call if my brother draws near.”

  “I cannot mimic such a thing. Only your father possesses such a skill.”

  He shrugged. “Then whistle a tune I will recognize.” He brushed through the entrance, striding away from her.

  She hurried to keep up, to listen near the tent’s walls. But she would be no use to him whistling. She could not make her lips do such a thing.

  She would pray God’s blessing on her plans instead.

  Jacob hesitated at the threshold of Isaac’s tent, but he did not look to see if Rebekah had followed. The sides of Isaac’s tent were raised, and Rebekah knew he could not see her, but just the same, she stood in a hidden place near a corner out of sight.

  “My father,” Jacob said, his voice a slight warble.

  “Yes, my son,” he answered. “Who is it?”

  “I am Esau, your firstborn. I have done as you told me. Please sit up and eat some of my game so that you may give me your blessing.”

  Silence followed Jacob’s comment, and Rebekah held her breath, waiting, irritated. How many years had she endured Isaac’s exasperating patience?

  “How did you find it so quickly, my son?” he said at last.

  “Adonai your God gave me success.”

  Good. The exact thing Isaac had prayed for Esau. She felt a measure of pride at Jacob’s shrewdness.

  “Come near so I can touch you, my son, to know whether you really are my son Esau or not.”

  Rebekah stilled, her heartbeat slowing as though suddenly frozen in her chest. Did he know? But he would have recognized Jacob’s voice.

  Please, Adonai, let him believe Jacob’s words. The prayer seemed ludicrous, but her need to pray it remained.

  She longed to peer into the tent to see what Jacob would do. Did he set the dish near his father so that the scent of the stew would distract him? Did he have the courage to continue the ruse to the end?

  “The voice is the voice of Jacob, but the hands are the hands of Esau.”

  The goatskins had convinced him. She held back a breath, her heart now beating faster within her.

  “Are you really my son Esau?”

  Blood pounded in her ears as she strained to hear.

  “I am.” Jacob’s voice sounded stronger, more convincing this time.

  “Bring me some of your game t
o eat then, my son, so that I may give you my blessing.”

  Rebekah heard movement and could barely catch the sound of the bread dipping into the bowl. She glanced about the camp, but the women still worked in the tents, away from the heat of the sun. Childish voices drifted here and there, but they played far from Isaac’s tent. No sign yet of Esau. She leaned closer, silently begging him to finish eating and be done with the task.

  “Come here, my son, and kiss me.”

  Her heart skipped a beat at the words before taking off at a wild gallop within her. Shallow breaths escaped her, and she feared he would hear. She took a careful step away from the tent but stilled at the sound of Isaac’s voice.

  “Ah, the smell of my son is like the smell of a field that Adonai has blessed. May God give you of heaven’s dew and of earth’s richness—an abundance of grain and new wine. May nations serve you and peoples bow down to you. Be lord over your brothers, and may the sons of your mother bow down to you. May those who curse you be cursed and those who bless you be blessed.”

  So it was done. Murmurs too quiet to hear followed the blessing, but at last Jacob emerged from the tent and met her at the farthest edge, where the peg held taut the goatskin roof. A wide smile creased his face, but the joy was short-lived. A commotion came from across the compound, and Rebekah grabbed Jacob’s arm and hurried him toward her tent.

  Esau had returned from the hunt.

  Isaac leaned against the cushions, relieved. It was done. The blessing had been given, and Esau would indeed be blessed. Rebekah’s vision had been wrong. Hadn’t he known it all along? If Adonai had truly spoken to her, if Jacob had truly deserved the birthright, he would not have needed to resort to deception to receive it. Rebekah had simply been overwrought, her pregnancy too troubling. Surely she had imagined meeting the angel of Adonai. Many a woman had experienced similar imaginings, if some of the men in his camp were to be believed.