Till Shiloh Comes

by Gilbert, Morris

  ****

  Judah sent his friend Hirah to take the goat to the prostitute, but he returned shortly. “I could not find any harlot on the road where you said she would be.”

  Judah looked up. “You must have gone to the wrong place, then.”

  “No, I asked several men of the area, and they all said there is no harlot in their village.”

  Judah rose and scratched his head. “You must be wrong, Hirah.”

  “I asked everybody I could find, and they all said the same thing. So I’ve brought the goat back.”

  “Well, she must have changed her mind and gone somewhere else. Perhaps she thought the signet ring was worth more than a goat.”

  Hirah stared at him strangely. “I’ve never known you to go to a harlot before, Judah.”

  “I never have,” Judah said gloomily, shaking his head. “I thought I was a better man than that.”

  “Well, it’s over now,” Hirah said. “Forget it.”

  “I’ll try, my friend, but when a man fails, it’s hard to forget.”

  ****

  As usual, it was Reuben who had to perform the unpleasant task. His shoulders were bowed, and his lips were turned down in a moody frown as he approached Judah’s tent. “I’d give anything not to have to do this. Poor Judah’s had enough to bear without this.”

  He found Judah butchering a goat, his hands bloody and the carcass before him in pieces. He looked up. “Why, hello, Reuben. Have some of this goat. It’s a nice fat one.”

  “Judah, I’ve got something to tell you.”

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

  “I hate to be the bearer of evil tidings.”

  Judah stood up and wiped his hands on a rag. “It would be best if you just told me.”

  “It’s Tamar.”

  “What about her?”

  Reuben gnawed his lip, but there was no way he could put it easily. “She is with child.”

  Judah stared at Reuben, and his face grew red. “She’s with child by whom?”

  “She will not say. I’ve talked to her myself. She won’t say a word about the man.”

  “I’ve always known that woman had a streak of evil in her,” Judah said slowly, his lips growing into a tight line.

  “But she’s had a hard life losing two husbands,” Reuben said in her defense.

  “That’s no excuse!” Judah spat. “She’ll have to pay the penalty.”

  Reuben was startled at Judah’s harshness. “Surely you don’t mean to have her stoned!”

  “She will burn for her offense!”

  Reuben was horrified. “You can’t mean that, Judah!”

  “It’s the tradition of our people to put to death any woman caught in harlotry. You know that as well as I do. Remember the woman five years ago over in the camp next to ours? She was stoned for the same offense.”

  “She was nothing but a common woman, but Tamar is your daughter-in-law.”

  “My sons are dead,” Judah said flatly. “She will die as she deserves.”

  Reuben pleaded with him, and when Judah would not listen, Reuben appealed to his brothers to dissuade him. But Judah remained firm in his resolve. He refused to see Tamar and insisted that the sentence be carried out at once.

  When Jacob heard the news, he too was startled and went to Judah to try to persuade him to show mercy, but Judah would have none of it.

  “You’ve always been one to keep strict rules, Father. If we allow women to behave like this, what will become of us?”

  Jacob could not answer, and Judah left to carry out the punishment. He called his friend Hirah, who was visiting the camp of Jacob’s tribe, and commanded him to go bring the woman to be executed. Hirah stared oddly at Judah but shrugged and went to carry out Judah’s orders.

  Judah waited, and when Hirah returned shortly, he straightened up. Hirah held a staff in one hand and a signet ring on a cord in the other. “What are those?” Judah demanded.

  “The woman says that the father of the child is the owner of these.” He extended them, but Judah drew back as if the man held deadly snakes in his hands. He stared at the items, unable to speak. Finally he reached out and took the signet ring and staff. “These are mine,” he admitted.

  “I know. I recognized them,” Hirah said simply.

  Judah stared at his friend and his legs went limp. He slumped to the ground, holding the items as tears began to flow. Judah’s shoulders shook as he sobbed, and when he looked up, his red eyes were inflamed with grief. “She has been more righteous than I!” he cried. “Go and tell her that—” But then he stopped. “No. I will tell her myself.”

  He lumbered out of the tent and went at once to Tamar’s tent on the edge of the camp. She was sitting in front of it, and when he stood before her, she looked up at him with an unreadable expression in her eyes.

  “I have been evil, and I grieve over what kind of man I am.” Judah waited for her to speak, but she did not. He nodded and said, “I will acknowledge your child as my own.” Then he stumbled blindly away.

  As Tamar watched him go she smiled with satisfaction, laying her hands on her abdomen. Her purpose had been accomplished.

  ****

  Jacob ordered that Tamar’s tent be moved back to the center of the camp to await the arrival of her child. Everyone there came to accept her condition, even though they all knew the child was Judah’s. Judah in the meantime could not face the humiliation, and he left to stay in Timnah with his friend Hirah.

  Jacob managed to ignore the unpleasantness by acting as if nothing unusual had happened.

  When Tamar’s time to deliver came, the midwives helped her. They knew she was delivering twins, and during the process, one of them cried out, “Look, there’s the hand of one of the infants!”

  The other midwife quickly pulled a scarlet thread from her pocket and tied it around the tiny wrist that had emerged to mark the firstborn. But then the two women watched as the hand disappeared, and they both felt something mysterious was happening.

  Finally the two babies were born, but it was the second-born who had the scarlet thread around his wrist.

  Tamar had not uttered a single cry during the birth of the two infants. She took the firstborn and held him to her breast. She looked into his face and said, “I will call you Perez, for you have broken forth.” She stroked the red face of the infant and whispered to him, “You are the seed of Judah! God has touched you!”

  Chapter 16

  Joseph had made a place for himself in prison exactly as he had at Potiphar’s house. He had risen to the point where Rashidi entrusted most of his work to Joseph, leaving the governor free to devote his time to writing his poem that was going to change the world. What time was not given to his creative endeavor, he spent in speaking with Joseph, for he had learned to prize the young Hebrew above measure. It did not trouble Rashidi in the least that Joseph did all of the work of the prison, and neither did it trouble Joseph. The more he worked, the less time he had to think about his grievous past.

  Several new prisoners had arrived during the night, and Joseph went to interview them in the morning, as was customary. His policy of lenient treatment for prisoners was working out well. It made sense to him that men who were healthy could do more work than men who were half starved and beaten. The other prison officials had come to agree when they saw the huge increase in work accomplished by the prisoners under Joseph’s care.

  This time there were eight prisoners, and as Joseph spoke to each of them, he was able to gain some insight as to where they might best be used. He was always interested in finding prisoners with the intelligence to be trained as overseers.

  He was only halfway through the interviews when he overheard one of the prisoners speak in the Canaanite language. Joseph immediately turned and walked over to the man. The prisoner, misunderstanding Joseph’s interest, flinched and ducked his head.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Joseph said in the man’s own language. “I am Joseph, the overse
er. What is your name?”

  “I am Modach,” the prisoner murmured, his eyes wide with surprise. He was of average height, with thin, sharp features and skin weathered to the texture of leather. “You speak my language,” he whispered.

  “Yes, Modach, I do. Which tribe do you descend from?”

  “I am of the tribe of Shua.”

  Joseph interrogated him for some time, and finally he asked off-handedly, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of the Hebrew Jacob.”

  Modach’s eyes brightened, and he nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, sir! I know the tribe of Jacob very well indeed.”

  Joseph gave a start, for in all his years of captivity he had never encountered anyone who had even been in his part of the world, much less had known of his family.

  “How is it that you know of the Hebrew tribe?”

  “I know because one of the sons of Jacob married a girl from our tribe.”

  “Which son?”

  “His name is Judah, and he married the daughter of Shua.”

  Joseph blinked, for he had often thought of Judah and his ill-fated marriage. He had once even asked Judah why he married a woman who was not a Hebrew, but Judah had glared at him and told him to mind his own business.

  “Did you meet this man?”

  “Why, yes, master. Shua was very fond of his daughter, and twice I took gifts to her after she married. I became very well acquainted with many of the tribe of Jacob.”

  Joseph began to pepper Modach with questions and found that the man had a quick intelligence and a good memory.

  Finally Modach shook his head. “It was a tragedy what happened to Judah.”

  “A tragedy?” Joseph said fearfully. “Is he dead?”

  “No, not that I know of. He and the daughter of Shua had three sons. But it was a tragic thing….” the prisoner said, shaking his head.

  “What was tragic about it?” Joseph demanded impatiently, keeping his voice moderate despite the rapid beating of his heart. He had always had kind feelings for Judah and hated to hear that he had fallen on evil times.

  “The man had three sons, and a woman named Tamar married the oldest son, a bad fellow indeed! He died very soon after their marriage. Then, as the tradition of that tribe dictates, his brother Onan took the woman as his wife to produce his brother’s heir, but no children were conceived and he died too.”

  “That is indeed sad. Do you know what happened to Judah and his other son?”

  Modach shifted and shook his head. “I only heard rumors.”

  “What sort of rumors?”

  “It was said that the woman wanted to marry the youngest son, but Judah refused.”

  “What became of them?” Joseph asked.

  “The woman became pregnant, and at first she was to die for her harlotry, but the sad truth came out.”

  “What sad truth?” Joseph demanded. “Tell me, man!”

  “Rumor has it that the father was Judah himself.”

  Joseph’s heart grew cold. “Then what happened?”

  “The woman was spared, and she bore twins. I know no more, sir.”

  Joseph continued to question him, and since Modach was an intelligent man, Joseph promised him, “I will find a good place for you here. I am sorry for your trouble.”

  Modach bobbed his head and murmured his thanks, then asked, “Do you know the tribe of Jacob, sir?”

  Joseph stood very still and dropped his head, then whispered, “Yes, I know the tribe of Jacob very well.”

  ****

  “Well, I hear we have some famous people in our little establishment.”

  Joseph looked up to see that Rashidi was smiling at him. The two of them had been going over the later verses of Rashidi’s poem, and the governor was in a good mood. Joseph loved poetry, but he thought Rashidi had exalted ideas about his own work. The poem made little sense to Joseph, but he was careful about his critical comments, making sure to commend those parts that appeared to him to have some value. It was his opinion that the poem would never be finished, but that did not trouble Rashidi. It was the work itself rather than the end that seemed to please him.

  “Famous guests? I haven’t heard of them, sir,” Joseph replied.

  “They came while you were out yesterday.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The servants of Pharaoh. One of them is Belsunu, Pharaoh’s butler. The other’s name is Kamose, the baker, I believe. So we have the butler and the baker of the great pharaoh himself here in Khari. A most interesting development.”

  “Why are they here? What are their crimes?”

  “They offended Pharaoh somehow. It doesn’t take a great deal to offend the great ones. As far as I can make out, the baker cooked a meal that made the pharaoh ill.”

  “What about the butler?”

  “Some minor infraction,” Rashidi said carelessly. “I think he made a mistake about one of Pharaoh’s appointments. I don’t remember.”

  “How long is their sentence?”

  “Indefinite.”

  Joseph smiled. “That’s unusual.”

  “The Pharaoh is unusual. He may send for them today, or he may leave them here for fifty years. You know how the gods are.” Rashidi grinned at Joseph, taunting the younger man’s belief in God. “They are irrational.”

  Joseph smiled. “I think you believe more in God than you let on, Rashidi.”

  Rashidi attempted to look surprised. “Nonsense! I’ve told you ever since you came that I believe in no gods.”

  “So you say, but your poem leads me to believe that you aren’t telling the truth.”

  “Ah, my poem! Well, that’s art. That’s different. A man may do things in art that he cannot do in real life.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true,” Joseph said. “I think art ought to imitate life as much as possible.”

  Rashidi was interested. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, you’ve seen the pictures that our royal artists paint of Pharaoh and of others?”

  “Certainly I have.”

  “What position are they in?”

  “Why, they’re always turned sideways and have one foot extended.”

  “Exactly. Tell me, Rashidi, is that the way people always are? Don’t we ever see anyone’s full face?”

  “But it’s the royal art. It’s the tradition.”

  “Someday,” Joseph said quietly, his eyes growing dreamy, “an artist will come along who will paint men and women as they really are. That will be true art.”

  “Oh, and a poet will come along who will tell things as they really are, I suppose,” the governor said with a sardonic grin.

  “That is what I would expect a great artist such as yourself to do, sir.” Joseph smiled.

  Rashidi suddenly laughed. “You’re making fun of me. Get out of here and go see if you can put those two to work. Calm their nerves if you can,” he added. “They’re scared to death I’m going to cut off their heads—which I may be ordered to do.”

  ****

  Indeed both the butler and the baker were frightened men. Joseph discovered this as soon as he went into their cell. For political reasons, Rashidi had seen to it that they were given better quarters than the average prisoner. It was entirely possible that these two might go back to the court of Pharaoh, and Rashidi wanted no unfavorable reports of his work or of his prison going back to the palace.

  Joseph stepped inside and instantly the two men rose. He thought wryly that it would be difficult to find two less similar individuals. One of them was fat and short, the other skinny and tall. “I am Joseph, the overseer. What are your names?”

  “I am Belsunu, the butler of Pharaoh.”

  “The former butler,” the skinny man said. “My name is Kamose.”

  “Well, I am sorry to see you here, but perhaps it will not be for long,” Joseph said.

  “It may be forever,” Kamose grunted.

  “You always look on the dark side of things, Kamose,” the butler said with irritation
. “Why can’t you speak more cheerfully?” He turned to Joseph and bowed. “I am hopeful that our sentences will be short.”

  “I will hope the same for you. In the meantime, what can I get you to make your stay more comfortable?”

  “You can let us out!” Kamose snapped.

  “Why, I’m sorry, but that is beyond my ability. I am a prisoner like yourselves.”

  Both men stared at him, and Belsunu asked sharply, “I thought you were an overseer.”

  “So I am. The governor uses me in this capacity, but I can no more walk out of here than you can.”

  “How long have you been here?” Kamose demanded.

  “Almost three years.”

  “Ah, me,” Kamose moaned. He went over and sat down and put his head in his hands. “Why did this have to come upon me? The gods are angry with me.”

  “The gods aren’t angry with you,” Belsunu said, winking at Joseph. “Pharaoh is, because you baked him a bad cake. That’s why you’re here. Why didn’t you bake a good one?”

  “I didn’t even bake that cake. My assistant did, but I get blamed for everything.”

  Joseph said to Kamose, “Perhaps you’d like to cook your own meals.”

  “No. I just want out of here.”

  “Well, I’ll be sure that you both have good food.”

  “I heard the guards talking. They said we’d be put to work in the quarry.” Belsunu shook his head. “That would kill me. I’m so fat and haven’t done any real work in years.”

  “Nothing like that will happen,” Joseph assured him. “We’ll make your stay as pleasant as possible. Why don’t you tell me something about yourselves?” He sat down and listened as the two told their stories. Belsunu, the butler, was full of cheerful words. He had had an easy life until now, and he was optimistic about getting out. Kamose was depressed and could say nothing good. He fully expected to remain in prison for the rest of his life.

  Finally Joseph excused himself and went back to report to Rashidi.

  “I calmed their nerves as best I could, sir. The baker is hard to encourage. He’s a terrible pessimist.”

  “They’ll be all right,” Rashidi said with a shrug. “Now, sit down and listen to this new stanza I’ve written….”