Rebekah (35 page)

The trip to the outskirts of Gerar took three days for the members of the camp, longer for the herds, before they had passed the last of the burned-out grasses and dry wadis. Isaac walked the length of their makeshift encampment, listening to the sounds of nightfall and the soft voices of men huddled around enclosed fires. Women and children lay on pallets in a few of the larger tents that had been set up for protection against the night. They would unpack the rest of their goods when they arrived in Gerar tomorrow.

The thought both comforted and worried him as he paused
at the tent that housed Rebekah and her maids. Would the change in location give them a new start, allow them to set their differences aside? Surely they had lived through worse disagreements down through the years of Rebekah’s barrenness and troubling pregnancy.

But as he looked at the tent, longing to call her out to him, to hold her close, he glanced down at the entrance and spotted Jacob stretched out near the tent’s door, a guard against the night. His stomach tightened at the sight, a mix of pride and jealousy rivaling for space within him. How could he be jealous of his own son? And yet, had not Rebekah turned more often to Jacob than to him of late?

He searched his mind for a time, an event that had caused her to turn away, to favor Jacob over Esau, over him. Had it been since the twins’ birth, with the vision she claimed? The vision that had divided them from the start?

No, even if the vision were true, she had been a caring mother, loving both boys, devoting herself to their care. No one in the camp could call her neglectful, and at times he had feared she would smother them as his mother had done him. There had to have been a time—something that caused the change.

But despite the longing to understand, he could not place the cause. She had favored Jacob long before Abraham’s death.

The memory made him move on, but he was surprised at the grief he still felt. Since his father’s death, he needed Rebekah more, not less. Needed her laughter and her love. But he had spoken little with her during the journey, and she had fallen exhausted on her pallet soon after dusk each night.

His feet crunched stones and dry twigs as he walked toward the tree line circling the camp, and the black sky overhead winked down on him with stars too many to count. A throat cleared, and he looked toward the sound, seeing Haviv striding toward him.

“Is everything settled?” He fell into step with Haviv and continued toward the seclusion of some overhanging oaks.

“All is well.” Haviv ran a hand along the bumpy bark. “But there is news you should know.”

Isaac waited, crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me.” Though by the look in Haviv’s eyes, he sensed he would prefer not knowing.

“The traders we met at the pass had news of Gerar, of the men of the place.” Haviv stepped back from the tree and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, clearly troubled. “They do not fear Adonai as we do. They do not respect a man’s property, particularly the women in his household . . . not even his wife. If our women go to market alone or mingle with the women of the city, they will be at risk. And I fear . . .” His pause was too long.

“You fear what?” A lump formed in Isaac’s throat.

“I fear that the more beautiful women in our group will be at the greatest risk. Selima. Rebekah.” Haviv let the words hang on the breeze, his look saying more than words.

“My father faced this in both Egypt and Gerar before I was born. Surely the new king of Gerar is not as debased as his father, for even his father repented of taking my mother without thought, and Adonai protected her even then.”

But fear still found its way into Isaac’s heart, and he wondered if his father had lost faith for lying to the men, saying his wife was his sister, or if he’d been wise in the way he approached both kings.

“Is the situation dire? Should we turn back or go south to Egypt?”

Haviv shook his head. “I do not know what is best. My father lost his first wife in just such a manner, by an unworthy king.” He shifted from foot to foot and glanced over his shoulder, as though he feared the men of Gerar were already close enough to hear them.

“What will you do with Selima?” He could not have every man in the camp claiming to have no wives, to make every woman a sister. The lie would be too obvious.

“I do not know. I will accompany her to market or keep her only in the camp. She has our youngest to attend. A babe on her hip should be a strong deterrent.”

Selima had given Haviv five strong sons and four daughters in their nearly thirty-five years of marriage, their youngest still not having weaned. But Rebekah had borne only Esau and Jacob with many years since their birth. She carried the body of a younger, still beautiful woman, not worn down with childbirth as Selima had been.

“Perhaps if we moved farther south,” Haviv was saying, “toward Egypt, we would find the land still fertile, less arid.”

“There is desert between here and Egypt. We face danger either way.” Isaac looked once more to the starlit heavens. “I will think on it and pray.” He met Haviv’s gaze. “I will give you my decision before we break camp in the morning.”

Isaac picked up a handful of stones, sorted through them for several smooth, round ones, tucked them into the pouch at the left side of his belt, and readied the sling in his right palm. He moved away from the camp, letting the moon guide him along the path at the side of the hill, aware of every sound, every flap of wings, every cricket’s mating cry. The hoot of an owl drew him to look up at the sky, and he caught its form silhouetted in the moon’s bright glow.

The familiar awe filled him at the sights and sounds of night, and he continued uphill, attuned to his surroundings, until he came to a secluded rock enclosure near the cliff’s edge. The camp lay below him among the trees, partially hidden from his view, and he felt a measure of comfort in its nearness.

But he also felt a sense of respect for Adonai as he stepped into the wild of night. He walked farther into the rock recesses, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The place appeared to be deserted, and after inspecting the area for animals he did not wish to disturb, he settled onto a large rock, resting his back against the rock wall.

Starlight danced above him, and he stared at their formations, identifying the Bear and Orion and some constellations that his ancestors would have worshiped and deemed deities. How could a man think the stars held power or answers over the world, over his life? The voice of God he had heard long ago—
that
held power over a man.

He closed his eyes against the sight above him.

Oh, to hear Your voice again, Adonai. To know for certain You are guiding me where I should go. Are You with me as You had been with my father? Should I turn back to the dried-out plains and thirsty fields? Should I return to Hebron? Or go south to Egypt? Where, O Lord, would You send Your servant?

He sat listening to the night sounds until the crickets’ voices died away and the howl of distant jackals faded from his hearing. His eyes felt weighted, as if heavy stones rested upon them, and though he struggled to open them, to look once more to the heavens, he could not lift his lids. His breath drew in and out in a normal rhythm, his chest lifting and falling. He sensed sleep would soon overtake him but felt as though he already dreamed.

Warmth settled over him, and he relaxed, cocooned in an ethereal vision between night and day, light and darkness. The bleating of a ram, like the one caught in the thicket the day of his binding, met his ear, and he turned his head, expecting to see it once more ready to take his place. Instead, he looked into the face of a man he did not know, who stood in the glow of the light.

“Do not go down to Egypt.”

The man spoke, and the voice thundered as it had that day in Isaac’s ears, familiar and fearful, yet he was not afraid.

“Live in the land where I tell you to live. Stay in this land for a while, and I will be with you and will bless you. For to you and your descendants I will give all these lands and will confirm the oath I swore to your father Abraham. I will make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and will give them all these lands, and through your offspring all nations on earth will be blessed, because Abraham obeyed Me and kept My requirements, My commands, My decrees, and My laws.”

“I will do as you say, Lord.” As the words left his lips, the light vanished, and the weights lifted from his eyes. He looked up and blinked against the blinding light of stars too numerous to count.

I will make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky.

A little thrill rushed through him. Jacob and Esau would bear sons, and their sons would bear sons, and his children’s children would possess all the lands that now lay dry and fallow. Someday they would flourish again.

He slowly stood. In the unspoken request of obedience came the knowledge that he would be blessed because his father had believed and obeyed, even to the point of great loss. As he must be willing to lose as well, to sacrifice all to the obedience of Adonai.

To what end? Could he do as his father had done?

The thought brought with it a rush of memories. Strength failed him as he saw himself in the place of his father. His sons were almost the age he had been at his binding. If Adonai asked it of him, could he so fully obey?

He shuddered and sank to his knees beside the rock, wrestling with the question long into the night.

 29 

Rebekah led a heavy-laden donkey through the gates of Gerar the next day, just one of the throng of men, women, and children in their camp. Isaac moved at the head of the group, and she could see him walking tall and determined many paces ahead of her, Jacob at his side.

A twinge of pride lifted her chin. If Esau had been with them, Jacob would not be standing as Isaac’s right-hand man. Esau surely would have taken his brother’s place. Perhaps Isaac had been right in letting the boy go off with his uncle after all. It would be Jacob whom Isaac introduced to the king as his son. Jacob who would carry the appearance of Isaac’s heir.

Please, Adonai, let it be so.

Buildings of hardened clay rose on either side of a paved stone street as she clutched the donkey’s reins harder, leaving behind the tent-enclosed merchant stalls and the calls of men to come and peruse and purchase their wares. Heat filled her face at some of the ribald comments cast toward the veiled women. She felt the clasp of her head scarf to make sure it held secure over her face.

“What do you make of this place?” Selima sidled up alongside her, holding tight to her young daughter’s hand. She leaned closer, but her gaze did not hold Rebekah’s, flitting
first right, then left, taking in the town whose grandeur grew the farther they progressed.

“I don’t know.” Rebekah glanced over her shoulder toward the merchants’ stalls and spotted a lone man ambling beside their caravan, attempting to get closer to the women huddled at the center of the group. She looked quickly away, her heart suddenly pounding. King Abimelech’s palace grew closer, but the thought did not comfort. “Do you think we are safe here?”