by Mesu Andrews
Job’s guards had been taken unawares, and the lead guide was now before Job on his knees. “Master, forgive us. The horses approached more swiftly and quietly than camels.” This man knew every desert and mountain trail like the back of his two-fingered hand. He was rugged, capable, and not known for making excuses. “Who would expect a troop of horses this far from Egypt?” the guide added, twisting his two fingers fiercely, awaiting the reprimand of a master whose camp had been turned upside down with fright.
“I understand,” Job said, placing a calming hand on the guide’s shoulder. “But because we’re near a port city, my friend, you can never know when my spice-trading cousin Zophar will turn up.”
The guide issued a scathing glance at the rotund, red-haired sheik on the lead horse, who was now laughing hysterically. Job could see his guide’s anger building, but he had bigger problems than the man’s wounded pride.
“All is forgiven,” Job said, “but my oxen seem to be headed toward the cliff.” Job pointed toward the jagged granite bluffs a few hundred paces away, and the man leapt to his feet, shouting commands at his herdsmen.
“Must you always make a grand entrance, Zophar?” Job shouted above the confusion as he approached Zophar’s sleek black stallion.
Zophar ambled off the beast and hurried over, slapping Job on the back. “My ships arrived yesterday in Elath, and some merchants brought word that you were camped in these hills above the city. I know I should have sent messengers announcing my arrival, but I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, you almost received the surprise welcome of my javelin,” Job said good-naturedly, guiding his cousin to the camp’s fire.
“You were always quite skilled with the javelin, cousin,” Zophar said, impishly checking his shoulder muscle. Job nudged his hand away and the two tussled like boys at play. The chill of the desert still lingered, but the warmth of shared lives erased years of separation.
“I had forgotten Grandfather Esau took special pride in your weaponry training as a youth,” Zophar said with a final shove.
“Just as Great-Abba took special interest in your trading skills.” Job chuckled and nodded at the horses behind them. “So tell me, my ambitious cousin. What sort of bargain have you struck with Egypt to gain such stallions?”
“Well, cousin, to trade in horses, one must be prepared to give Pharaoh what he wants—cinnamon.” Zophar leaned close so he could be heard over the continuing state of confusion. “But between you and me, camels are much better suited to carry my mighty physique.” He patted his ample middle and showcased it proudly before lowering himself awkwardly onto a rug by the fire.
Job delighted in hearing Zophar’s latest venture, envying just a little his ability to live life with such abandon, such zeal. Soon after their days together in the House of Shem, Esau had arranged a marriage for Zophar to the daughter of a wealthy Sabean spice merchant. Zophar traveled to southern Arabia to help spread the teachings of the Most High to the Ishmaelites, and at the same time to learn every detail of the lucrative spice trade. Within a short time Zophar married a second wife, gaining access to the ancient Sabean secrets of water channeling and sailing through his second father-in-law—a sailor by trade. Now he was the wealthiest spice trader in the East, and the teachings of the Most High had become the responsibility of another disciple of Shem, Sitis’s brother, Bildad.
“I see you have new rings, Zophar.” Job lifted one eyebrow as he crossed his legs and lowered himself easily onto a rug beside his cousin.
Zophar inspected his chubby fingers, heavy with gold and gemstone-covered rings. “Perhaps I do have a new trinket or two since I saw you last, but—”
“No, cousin. I mean those dark circles under your eyes that tell me you’ve been working too hard and sleeping too little.” Job felt like a nagging wife, but Zophar looked tired and unkempt—unusual for this fastidiously fashionable merchant. Zophar waved off his concern, but Job probed further. “Tell me, cousin, is this the first you’ve returned to Edom since your trade journey to Saba two years ago?”
Zophar closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and expelled what seemed to be the exhaustion of two full years. “Finally, I am on my way home, Job. I was delayed because a large group of Sabeans booked passage on my spice ship.” Ducking his head conspiratorially, Zophar nodded at the eleven horsemen who’d accompanied him. “Those Sabeans and their friends tested my patience to the limit, asking for more time to gather provisions for their new settlement in Moab. What was I to do? They’d already paid a handsome price for their passage—much of which purchased my trade cargo for this voyage.”
Job glanced again at Zophar’s Sabean escort, and indeed they appeared to be a surly group. The gemstone hilts on their curved jambiyas glinted in the morning sun. Worn at the center of their belts, the double-edged daggers were a bold warning that quickly defined a Sabean’s tribe.
Job glanced at Zophar’s belt. No jambiya. Testimony that Zophar was still torn between the varied traditions he called home. He had lived in Saba only ten years before returning to Canaan with his wives and children to establish his trade routes through Edom, Arabia, and Egypt. But still Zophar dressed in Ishmaelite robes and wore the all-white ghutrah of a Sabean sheik instead of the black-and-white keffiyeh of his Canaanite neighbors. When asked why he refused the unique wool blend of Canaan’s head scarf, Zophar joked that the Sabean ghutrah accentuated his rugged good looks, but Job knew the real reason for his refusal. The keffiyehs were woven from the speckled and spotted wool of Uncle Jacob’s flocks, and Zophar had long ago rejected anything from Uncle Jacob.
“Anyway, I waited for that Sabean group and their Egyptian horses,” Zophar whispered, cocking his thumb at his rough-looking escort, “and we finally set sail four moons ago.” Zophar glanced around distractedly, finally settling on Job’s guide. “Whatever possessed you to hire a caravan guide missing three fingers?”
Job chuckled. “My servant Atif recommended him highly. Now, don’t change the subject.” He backhanded Zophar’s chest. “How did you ever make it through the Gulf of Aqaba in the winter? Wasn’t it monsoon season?”
Zophar dissolved into yet another fit of laughter, and the sound warmed Job’s heart like the camp’s fire chasing away the morning chill. “Only by the hand of El Shaddai and the secrets of Sabean seafaring did we sail through the headwinds of Aqaba in the winter.” Zophar slapped his knee, continued his story, and scanned the remainder of Job’s camp. “It was not a pleasant trip with one hundred Sabean ruffians and fifty Egyptian horses!”
Job listened in utter delight and laughed quietly, more amused by Zophar’s inability to concentrate than by his storytelling abilities. As a boy in the House of Shem, Zophar had found it nearly impossible to sit still and learn the teachings of the Most High. But give him a topic to debate, and even the finest teachers couldn’t refute his quick and agile mind.
Wrapped in fond memories, Job was startled when Zophar’s easy banter ceased and his features turned to stone. Eyes flaming, Zophar jumped to his feet, his chubby hands balled into fists and trembling. “What is she doing here?”
“What? Who?” Job stood beside him, looking in the direction of his cousin’s gaze, but he couldn’t imagine what would have turned Zophar’s mood so quickly.
“That murderess of Shechem!”
Job immediately glanced at Dinah’s tent.
“Yes, her!” Zophar screamed. “How could you allow her to defile your camp?”
At first, shock seized Job’s throat. How did Zophar even recognize Dinah? “Zophar, be quiet. She’ll hear you.” He glimpsed Dinah’s retreating form and saw the rest of his caravan standing like statues. Everyone heard him. Anger flared in Job, but when he turned to Zophar, he saw the man’s anger fall away like a snake shedding skin in the desert. Is that fear I see in you, Zophar?
Baffled, Job sighed deeply and said, “Tell me why you suddenly look frightened.”
“Because she’s like a disease, Job. She’ll infect your household�
�like leprosy!”
Job reached out and tried to calm Zophar, but he backed away. “This is ridiculous,” Job said, trying to keep his tone even. “Tell me how you know Dinah.”
Zophar’s eyes bulged, the veins in his forehead and neck straining with the force of his voice. “Everyone knows her, Job! From the Nile to the Euphrates, men have heard of her treachery against the Shechemites.”
“You, Zophar!” Job grabbed the front of Zophar’s robe, squeezing the fine linen between white knuckles. “I asked how you know Dinah. I don’t want the retelling of shepherds’ tales and traders’ gossip.”
Zophar slapped away Job’s hand and smoothed the front of his robe, his face pinched like a sun-dried fig. “When I returned from Saba with my wives to establish my household in Naamah, the Canaanites hated me because Uncle Jacob had poisoned them against Esau’s descendants. But King Hamor of Shechem was generous and kind and spoke on my behalf, saying Edomite trade routes would benefit generations to come. Prince Shechem was the best of Hamor’s sons—the most honorable young man I’d ever met. They were my friends, Job.” Stabbing his finger toward Dinah’s tent, he said, “That woman seduced the prince so her brothers could murder and loot the town to fill Jacob’s tents with gold. I was on the road between Shechem and Bethel when Uncle Jacob’s caravan passed by. I saw her dressed in the bloody rags of royalty, sitting on top of a cart full of Shechemite plunder.”
“Enough!” Job’s defenses rose to fury. “You know nothing about Dinah or the real story or the pain she has borne all these years! This young woman is responsible for her sin alone. Not her brothers’ or Jacob’s.” Job continued relentlessly, as if Dinah’s battle had somehow become his own. “I have made the proper sacrifices for her sin—whatever small part she might have played in the awful tragedy. She stands forgiven before El Shaddai.”
The shock on Zophar’s face was palpable. “How can you say she is forgiven, Job? Her treachery continues long past Shechem. During my trade visits to Isaac’s Hebron camp, I watched her coddle and cajole our grandfather. She is as conniving as her abba, trying to ensure her future by—”
“Stop right there, Zophar!” Job warned. “She is part of my household now.”
Zophar’s face was as white as his ghutrah. He grabbed Job’s shoulders and shook him. “A part of your household? No, Job! Tell me you have not betrayed your vow to Sitis and taken that woman as your wife!”
Job measured Zophar’s question. “If you can take a second wife, Zophar, why can’t I?” he said with icy calm.
“Because you promised!” He shoved Job’s chest, knocking him back. “You promised Sitis that she would be your only wife—as Rebekah was to Grandfather Isaac. No, Job, you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t!”
Job stood his ground and stared at Zophar defiantly, his heart pounding in his ears. Of course he would never break his vow to Sitis, but for the first time in his life, he refused to explain himself. He and Zophar had disagreed many times, but somehow this felt different. A chasm had formed between them that no words could bridge.
“I am taking her home to marry Ennon,” he said, expressionless. “But regardless, she is forgiven, Zophar. She is forgiven by El Shaddai—even though you and Uncle Jacob and Great-Abba Esau have seemingly forgotten how to forgive.”
Zophar’s face turned scarlet with rage. “She has cast her seductive spell on you—just like she did on Prince Shechem. She’ll ruin your household. Mark my words.”
“I am under no spell, Zophar. And Dinah is no longer under the weight of her shame.” Job shook his head, feeling the weariness of his travels and this futile argument. “If you would just talk with her, you would see the great love she had for Grandfather Isaac, and you would understand his dying wish that she marry Ennon.”
Shock drained all of Zophar’s anger, and his eyes welled with tears. The sudden silence stole Job’s breath. How cruel to tell Zophar of Grandfather’s death in such a thoughtless way.
“Forgive me, cousin.” Job hung his head. “Grandfather Isaac finally rests with Father Abraham.”
No one spoke. The camp noise swelled, the oxen finally corralled for travel, tents falling to be packed and loaded.
Finally, Zophar spoke into the dying fire. “I didn’t know Grandfather as you knew him, Job. I passed through Isaac’s camp only occasionally on my trade routes. I didn’t study the teachings with him as you did.”
Job turned to Zophar, waiting for him to meet his gaze. He wouldn’t. “Zophar, my cousin-brother, Grandfather Isaac commanded that Ennon marry Dinah because their offspring is the only hope of bringing Abraham’s covenant blessing into Esau’s clan.”
Zophar’s head snapped up. “So Grandfather Isaac forced you to take Dinah?” He gave a sardonic smile. “Uncle Jacob must have finally persuaded him to rid his clan of that woman’s shame.”
Job felt as if he’d swallowed white-hot embers. “Don’t ever speak of my daughter-in-law that way again, Zophar. Dinah is a beautiful woman who has been wrongfully accused and shamefully treated all her life.”
Fury returned to Zophar’s features. “How can you be so blind?” He picked up a handful of dust and flung it at Job’s chest.
“That’s enough,” a woman’s quiet voice said from behind them. Dinah’s features were a detached facade that hid her pain beautifully. Nogahla stood beside her, poised as if she might dart back to their tent at any moment.
Turning to Job, Dinah asked, “Will you provide a guide for Nogahla and me to return to Abba Jacob’s household?” Job saw triumph on Zophar’s face and deadness in Dinah’s eyes. “Now that you’ve heard Zophar’s recounting, I’m sure you’ve changed your mind about me.”
Job’s heart broke at the old shame hanging anew on Dinah this morning. Last night’s lamb would be worthless ashes if Dinah returned to Jacob’s bitterness. “No, I will not hire a guide for you and Nogahla to return.”
Dinah squeezed her eyes shut and turned. Grasping Nogahla’s hand, she started down the path to Elath, each woman carrying two small packs.
Before Job could call Dinah back, Zophar laughed and said, “Come back here. Even you don’t deserve what a bandit would do to you on the way back to Hebron. You can travel with one of my spice caravans along the coastal mountains. They’ll find your thieving abba somewhere between Beersheba and Hebron, I’m sure.”
Dinah stopped but didn’t turn, and Nogahla simply looked up at her mistress. Waiting.
“No, Zophar,” Job shouted loudly enough for Dinah and Nogahla to hear. “I refuse to release her to Jacob’s household. Grandfather Isaac promised Dinah to my son Ennon, and I will not give her safe passage unless he refuses her.”
“Why?” Dinah dropped Nogahla’s hand and rushed at the two men, all pretense gone. “Why not send me back now and be done with it? You know your son will hold the same opinion of me as this—this—” She motioned to Zophar, her tone laced with disgust.
“Be careful, Dinah,” Job said quietly amid her storm of words. “I would not allow him to accuse you unjustly, nor will I allow you to dishonor Zophar in my presence.”
“How can you say he accuses me unjustly?” Tears threatened to overflow her beautiful long lashes, but she swiped at both eyes with the back of her hand. “You know what I’ve done! Send me back! Don’t make me wait for the humiliation of your son’s refusal.” More tears threatened, but she valiantly guarded her veil of dignity.
“Send her back, Job.” Zophar gripped Job’s arm, pleading. “If you force Ennon to marry her, he will become a laughingstock in Edom.”
Job gently covered Zophar’s iron grip. “And what of El Shaddai’s forgiveness? What of Isaac’s wish? What of Abraham’s blessing to Esau’s clan? Do none of these mean anything to you, my cousin-brother? Does a woman’s heart and soul mean so little?”
Zophar jerked his hand away. “Take caution, cousin. This woman will destroy your household.” He looked at Dinah and spit on the ground at her feet. “I don’t care if Grandfather Isaac believed you carry
Abraham’s covenant blessing in your womb. Your abba is a liar and a thief, and your brothers are murderers. You’re no better.”
Dinah turned and grabbed Nogahla’s hand on her way back to their tent. Zophar marched to his horse without another word and disappeared with his Sabean escort in a cloud of red dust.
Job stood quietly, turning slowly in a full circle, amazed that his servants had dismantled his camp in the short time it had taken for him and Zophar to dismantle a lifelong kinship. Nearly everything was ready for travel into the port town of Elath, where they would trade livestock for gifts and gather supplies for the final three days of their journey to Uz. Only Dinah’s tent was still standing, but he wasn’t yet prepared for the confrontation sure to come. He decided instead to walk toward a beautiful outcropping of rocks about a hundred paces toward the sun, overlooking the city below. He needed some time with El Shaddai.
Many mornings during the past five years, on his journeys home from Grandfather Isaac’s camp, Job had found a comfortable cleft in the rocks and rested his back against the rough red stone until the whisper of El Elyon’s truth resonated in his soul. Of course, God Most High had never spoken to him. Such a miracle was reserved only for those who possessed the covenant blessing, but perhaps someday one of Ennon’s sons would hear the voice of El Shaddai.
What would it be like to hear You speak, El Elyon? Would a man ever be the same?
5
~Job 1:1–3~
In the land of Uz there lived a man whose name was Job. . . . He had seven sons and three daughters. . . . He was the greatest man among all the people of the East.
Nogahla, stop gaping out the tent flap and help me pack.” Dinah was too angry and humiliated to let the girl’s curiosity slow her busy hands. “If Job is determined to have his son reject me in front of the entire town of Uz, then we must be ready to leave with the rest of his caravan.” Tears still threatened, but she refused to let them spill over.