Till Shiloh Comes

by Gilbert, Morris

  “God would have to choose another man, another Abraham.”

  “No, that cannot happen. You yourself have said that God promised Abraham that he would be the father of a great nation. Now he’s told it to your own father and to you too. But, master, we are going to die here if we don’t get food.”

  “What would you have me do, Tamar?”

  Tamar had her answer ready. “I think you should seek God and pray about it.”

  “What if I get no answer?”

  “Then that might be the answer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If God doesn’t say no, then you have freedom to move.” She paused. She knew that Jacob had a huge store of wisdom and would not be pushed. She rose and said, “Come now. Sleep, and maybe God will give you a dream. If He does, then you must obey. But if there is no word from God, you must do what a man can do.”

  Jacob was too tired to argue any further, and he couldn’t avoid the truth that some of what Tamar had said made sense. He lay down on the cot, and she put a light covering over him.

  “Good night, master,” she whispered and left the tent.

  Jacob lay in the darkness and thought about the problem for a long time. He was weary of life, but he began to pray, “O God of my fathers, speak to me that I might have your wisdom. I do not know which way to turn, but your hand is on all men. Let me know what to do!”

  ****

  For three days Jacob fasted. Tamar watched him constantly and saw that he had plenty of water to drink, although he touched no food. She did not speak to him much, for he was caught up with a great inner struggle. When Judah came once and asked about his father, she said, “He’s praying for wisdom, and I think he will send you all to Egypt.”

  The whole camp knew that their fate lay in the balance. Starvation was like a pack of lean, hungry wolves that surrounded them on every side, so Jacob was certainly not the only one praying for wisdom.

  Early one morning Jacob said, “Tamar, I will eat now.”

  Tamar quickly fixed him a meal. It was merely a thin soup with a few bits of meat floating in it, but it brightened the old man’s eyes. He said, “Go find my sons and tell them to come.”

  “Yes, master!” Tamar went at once, and within thirty minutes all of the sons of Jacob were there, including Benjamin.

  Jacob tried to hold himself in an upright position as he spoke to his sons. He looked weak and frail, but his voice was strong. “I have asked God, and I have no answer.” He heard a groan go up and said quickly, “But I consent. Take double money and take many gifts. Take the very best of the food we have and take back the money that was found in your sacks.”

  Everyone was listening breathlessly, and finally Jacob forced himself to continue. “And take Benjamin.” An uproar went up from the brothers, and Benjamin made a glad cry of joy. Jacob allowed them to talk for a while and then finally said, “I give my consent, and may El Shaddai keep you all safe.”

  Benjamin was beside himself. He was a grown man with a family of his own, yet he had still been kept under his father’s hand. Now he was elated to be going on a journey, and he threw himself into the preparations along with the others.

  ****

  The preparations did not take long, and on the second day after Jacob gave his permission, once again the animals were in line, and the brothers were ready for their departure.

  Jacob, supported by his staff, came out and blessed their journey. He prayed for them fervently, and finally Jacob embraced Benjamin, unable to speak.

  The brothers all watched this with anxiety. Dan whispered, “He may change his mind even now.”

  But Jacob did not waver. He came to Judah and said, “Judah, you have given your bond for this child, but you are released from your bond. I do not build my trust on you. I will trust El Shaddai alone that He will bring all of you back. Now go in the name of the Almighty.” He turned and walked away sadly, limping worse than ever.

  The brothers all watched him go, and then Judah said, “Come, brothers, it is time.”

  The small caravan wound its way out of the camp, and as they disappeared from sight, Tamar said, “God will watch over them!”

  Chapter 30

  Time passed slowly for Simeon during his imprisonment in Egypt. He knew it would take at least twenty days for his brothers to make the trip back to Canaan. He counted what he assumed would be the time needed to persuade Jacob to allow Benjamin to go, and then added the time for the return journey to Egypt. But that time quickly passed, and no matter how he figured it, the one element he could not change was the heart of his father. No one knew better than Simeon how Jacob had protected Benjamin all of his life, and he couldn’t be certain that his father would ever let him leave home. As the months passed and Simeon pondered these things, he gradually fell into a dark depression.

  Joseph got regular reports about Simeon from Rashidi, and he commanded his lieutenant to see to it that his brother got special attention. “Go sit with him. Try to encourage him all you can,” Joseph had told him. “He must be feeling low, but I cannot go myself.”

  Rashidi was curious about Joseph’s brothers and took the command as an opportunity to find out more. He had made several visits, and late one afternoon after his work was done, he went to the room where Simeon was kept, taking Joseph’s Hebrew interpreter with him. There was only one door, and a guard was posted outside.

  As Rashidi and the interpreter stepped in, he saw Simeon standing at the window gazing out. The window was barred, and the sunlight flowed in, throwing a pale golden beam on Simeon’s face. The Hebrew, Rashidi saw at once, was miserable. For the first few visits that had not been the case, and Rashidi had reported to Joseph that his brother was doing all right. Now, however, Simeon’s mouth was drawn down in a scowl, his eyes were hooded, and his shoulders slumped in a posture of utter dejection.

  “Well, my friend, I have just been to the kitchen. I commanded them to bring you a delicacy. What would you say to some fine beer soup with raisins and a joint of mutton?”

  Simeon turned at the familiar voice and waited for the interpreter to translate. Then he nodded. “Thank you, sir. That sounds very good.”

  “I think you will enjoy the soup,” Rashidi went on. “It’s very fine. I also gave orders for them to bring some very special wine,” he said, plumping himself down on a bench against the wall. “It was intended for one of the lower magistrates of the courts, but he got so drunk he wouldn’t have appreciated it, so I gave him some cheap stuff. I thought it might be a treat for you.”

  Simeon nodded briefly and murmured in a listless voice, “Thank you very much.” Then he turned back to stare silently out the window.

  “Well, now. You seem a little out of sorts this morning. I can understand that.”

  “Can you? I very much doubt it.”

  “You don’t think I’ve ever had any problems? All men have problems.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “You suppose it’s true? Of course it’s true! Surely as the smoke flies upward, each of us has to eat our peck of dirt.”

  A momentary smile touched Simeon’s broad lips as the interpreter tried to translate this idiom. “Well, I have more than a peck of dirt to eat, sir.”

  “We all think that when we’re in the middle of trouble, but even the darkest day will produce some sunshine sooner or later.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “In addition to the wine, I have another very special treat for you,” Rashidi said expansively. “Something not every man will get.”

  Simeon turned with a faint flicker of interest in his eyes. “And what is that, sir?”

  “I am a poet, and I have brought you a portion of my epic poem. I would be glad to read it to you.”

  Again Simeon smiled faintly. “I’m not sure that poetry can help me.”

  “Nonsense! Poetry can help everyone.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not very poetic. I don’t understand poetry very well.”

  “It
’s not necessary to understand it to appreciate it,” Rashidi said. “Just the sound of the words as they roll—the exact word in the exact spot—it’s like an arrow driving home into the very center of the target. Ah, that’s the glory of poetry. Shall I read you a bit of it?”

  “I suppose it can’t do any harm.”

  Rashidi began to read from the papyrus scroll he had brought in. He loved to read his own poetry, and his voice rolled sonorously. His stentorian tones drifted out through the window and past the door so that the guard outside rolled his eyes and said, “O you gods, more of that abominable poem of his!”

  Simeon listened for a time to the sounds of the poem as Rashidi recited and could sense the artistic rhythm and flow of the Egyptian language, but of course he could not understand a word of it. The interpreter could only tell him in general what the poem was about but could not translate it word for word. It left Simeon puzzled by the meaning and purpose of it.

  When Rashidi stopped, he smacked his lips and shook his head. “Oh, that’s a glorious piece of work!”

  Simeon, despite his gloom, was amused. “You don’t mind praising your own work?”

  “Mind? Of course not! I’m the one who appreciates it more than anyone else. Most people don’t really know what a work of genius this is.”

  “I am sure it will bring you great fame,” Simeon said dryly. “Is there money in being a poet?”

  “Money? Money is the last thing I think of, Simeon!”

  Simeon sat down on the bench next to Rashidi and looked into the man’s eyes. “So you don’t care about money.”

  “Not a bit! I could be happy with nothing but a ragged rug to sit on and a wooden bowl for my food as long as I can have my poetry.”

  Simeon looked at Rashidi’s rich clothing, the gold rings on his biceps, and the rings glittering from his fingers. “Have you ever been poor?” he asked.

  “Well, not really. My father was a wealthy man, and he took care of me. I went into government and became a governor of a prison, and now I am the third most important man in the country. Pharaoh’s the king, the Provider tells him what to do, and I tell the Provider what to do!”

  “If you’ve never been poor, how do you know you could bear it?”

  The question seemed to puzzle Rashidi. He clawed at his hair, digging his fingernails into his scalp, his face twisted up in an expression of deep thought. “I just know it,” he said finally. “My art’s more important than my comfort.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to help me with your poetry. I am a very simple fellow, just a herdsman. I had a brother once who was very much of a scholar. He could read and write all sorts of languages, and he liked poetry too. As a matter of fact, he even wrote some.”

  “Which one of your brothers was that?”

  “Oh, none that came with me. We …” Simeon looked down at the ground, his face again assuming a gloomy cast. “We lost him many years ago.”

  “Oh … was it a sickness?”

  “N-no, not exactly.”

  “Torn by wild beasts, perhaps.”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Well, you should appreciate my poem, then, because there are many lines in it that talk about how to handle loss. A man must expect it and give himself up to the will of the gods without arguing.”

  Simeon turned and demanded, “Have you ever had a loss? A loved one? A wife? A child?”

  “No, I can’t say that I have.”

  “Then you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simeon said flatly. His anger was stirred by the richly dressed Egyptian who proposed to solve the problems of the world with a few lines written on papyrus. “One of these days you will, though. Someone you love will die, or you will get sick, or you will fall from favor. Something will happen. It always does.”

  Rashidi stared at Simeon. “Well,” he said finally, “I can see that we don’t need to talk about poetry.”

  Simeon looked directly at Rashidi. “Tell me. What kind of a man is the Provider?”

  “What kind of a man? Why, you can see.”

  “I’ve only seen him briefly. You can’t make a judgment about a man like that. Tell me about him.”

  “Well, he has a very strict sense of justice. He will not permit injustice of any kind.”

  “Does he believe in the Egyptian gods?”

  “As a matter of fact, he seems to care very little for the gods of Egypt.”

  “What does he believe in?”

  “I’m no theologian myself, so I can’t really understand it. But he believes in a very peculiar concept of the gods.”

  Simeon continued to ask questions of Rashidi, who managed to avoid most of them with bland and evasive answers. Finally he changed the subject. “What will you do, my friend, if your brothers never come back?”

  Simeon looked up, and his eyes were dull. “Then I will die here,” he said simply.

  “Well, let’s hope for better things.”

  “I have no hope.”

  “But, man, you must have hope!” Rashidi exclaimed. “Without hope man cannot exist.”

  Simeon only shook his head and said, “It’s no more than I deserve.”

  Rashidi studied the Hebrew for a long time. “Are you a murderer?” he asked finally.

  Simeon was looking down at the floor, but at the question he lifted his head. His small eyes fastened on Rashidi, and his voice was raspy as he said, “A murderer? I am much worse than that!”

  ****

  “What did he say, Rashidi?” Joseph demanded as soon as his lieutenant came into the room. “Tell me everything.”

  Rashidi had come directly to Joseph’s quarters as soon as he had left Simeon’s cell. He went over and picked up a bunch of grapes and plucked one and threw it into his mouth. He let the juice trickle down his throat, then picked another one, but Joseph came over and snatched the grapes away from him. “Never mind eating! Tell me what he said.”

  “Well, he’s rather a strange fellow. What was he like when he was younger?”

  “We weren’t particularly close. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t stand me.”

  “I can’t understand that. A handsome, intelligent fellow like you.” Rashidi grinned.

  “I wasn’t all that nice when I was younger. Not like I am now,” Joseph said.

  “Not nice? What did you do? Did you bully them? Beat them up, perhaps?”

  “Of course not. I was too young for that. They were all grown men, and I was just a boy. As a matter of fact, Simeon pounded me a few times. He was very lean and quick and hot-tempered. He could be cruel at times.”

  “Well, that’s been taken out of him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He’s pretty much lost hope, Joseph,” Rashidi said with a shrug. “I read him some of my poetry to cheer him up.”

  “Well, that was a fool thing to do!” Joseph exclaimed. “That interminable poem of yours would never cheer anybody up!”

  Rashidi shot Joseph an insulted look. “You don’t appreciate art.”

  “I don’t appreciate boring poetry. Now tell me what my brother said.”

  Rashidi began to give a word-for-word account as far as he could remember it, and Joseph listened intently. When Rashidi came to the end and told how Simeon had proclaimed that he was worse than a murderer, Joseph started.

  “His heart must have changed!” he exclaimed. “Simeon would never have admitted he was wrong in the old days. The only thing that could have brought him to this is a guilty conscience.”

  “He looks guilty, all right. As a matter of fact, we ought to take his razor away from him. He looked gloomy enough to slit his own throat.”

  “No, I don’t think he would do that. It appears he’s had a change of heart.”

  Rashidi went over and took the grapes from Joseph’s hand. He sat down on a padded chair and began to eat them one after another. His voice was garbled as he asked, “Do you think a man’s heart can change?”

  “Why, ce
rtainly!”

  “Have you ever seen it happen?”

  “Of course I have. My own heart has changed.”

  “Do you think a man like me can have a change of heart?”

  Joseph looked at Rashidi to see if he was teasing. Rashidi had no religion as far as Joseph could determine. He merely went through the pomp and circumstance demanded by the customs of the land, paying money to the priests, going through the sacrifices with a bored expression, trying to keep from yawning, but more than once Joseph had seen that beneath that careless and caustic exterior was a quite different vein.

  This was not the first time Rashidi had asked him about the matters of the heart, and now Joseph said quietly, “A man’s heart is in his own hands, my friend. In one sense I think we all do what we want to do. Those who want to get drunk, get drunk. Those who want to take another man’s wife do it, and those who want to do better, finer things find a way to do that as well.”

  Rashidi listened as he munched the grapes, and there was a glow in his dark eyes. He was not a man who had many friends or who trusted many, but he had learned to trust this man. Now as Joseph spoke of such things as honor and truth and justice and kindness, he did not speak. But when Joseph finally ended, he tossed the stem of the grapes back on the table and said, “I’ve always thought it was too late for me.”

  “It’s never too late for anyone who wants to find God.”

  Rashidi looked vulnerable for a moment, and then he quickly covered up what he considered a weakness by giving a short laugh. “Well,” he said in a blustering tone, “if I find this god of yours, I might have to change a great many things.”

  “Yes, you would.” Joseph went over and put his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders. “You might have to change some things in your behavior—and you would even have to change some things in your poem.”

  “Change my poem?”

  “Yes. There’s a gloominess in it and an uncertainty. But a man who has God in his heart doesn’t have those things. Now I must leave.”

  Rashidi watched as Joseph left the room. He paced nervously back and forth for a time, then lifted up his head and said softly, “Well, Joseph, Great Provider of Egypt, you’ve got me confused now. I was all happy in my godlessness before I met you. Now you’ve brought all sorts of troublesome thoughts to my mind.” He laughed shortly and shook his head. “And now I’m talking to myself. That’s a sure sign of a crazy man!”