Rebekah (41 page)

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 to 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.

He reached toward the low table at his side and felt for the cup of wine Esau had left for him, lifted it to his lips, and drank deeply. But the satisfaction of being right did not settle in the deep places of his heart as he had expected it would. Had he done the right thing? Rebekah had been so certain, so convinced of Adonai’s will for the twins throughout their years. It had been the cause of many an argument, yet she was unwilling to give in despite his pleas that she do so. He had considered her unwillingness a lack of respect, had determined to somehow prove her wrong in the end, despite his promise to Jacob after Esau sold him the birthright.

Was he wrong?

Uneasiness settled within him, and he checked himself, frustrated with the rambling thoughts of a foolish old man. What did it matter? Esau was the firstborn. He deserved the blessing, and Isaac had given it. Somehow Rebekah would
come to accept it, and all would be made right between them again.

But a moment later, as footsteps sounded outside his tent once more, a sense of foreboding filled him, making each movement languid.

“Father?”

A dim shadow further darkened the room, and a man moved closer. “My father, sit up and eat some of my game so that you may give me your blessing.”

The foreboding grew, and his heart thumped hard within him. “Who are you?” The question came out raspy, as though spoken through dry reeds.

“I am your son, your firstborn, Esau.”

Swift and violent trembling shook him, and he could not get his hands to hold steady. He dropped the goblet, felt the wine spill over his robe.

“Who . . . who was it, then, that hunted game and brought it to me?” He swallowed and told himself to breathe. “I ate it just before you came, and I blessed him—and indeed he will be blessed!”

Silence lasted the space of several heartbeats as Esau seemed to come to grips with the truth. Isaac startled as a moment later Esau’s voice rose in a loud and bitter cry.

“Bless me—me too, my father!”

“Your brother came deceitfully and took your blessing.”

Which meant Rebekah had also deceived him, making him the greatest of fools. Had God truly spoken to her then? Had He allowed this to come about because of Isaac’s own stubbornness, his refusal to believe her? But Elohei Abraham did not need to deceive to accomplish His will.

“Isn’t he rightly named Jacob? He has deceived me these two times. He took my birthright, and now he’s taken my blessing!” Esau’s voice cracked, and he leaned closer, grasping Isaac’s hand. “Haven’t you reserved any blessing for me?”