Love Amid the Ashes (3 page)

The next morning, Shechem and Dinah emerged from his chamber, and King Hamor performed a simple Shechemite ceremony, making official the marriage of their hearts. “I’ll return before tonight’s wedding feast,” Shechem said confidently, as he and the king left the palace to negotiate her bride-price with Abba Jacob.

That’s when her dream turned to a nightmare—as it always did. Now she tried to wake, but couldn’t. Dinah had waited at the palace with King Hamor’s wife, and they were among the women who cried out against the sons of Jacob when they demanded all the men of Shechem undergo circumcision so that Dinah could remain Prince Shechem’s wife.

“No, my love,” Dinah said. “Please, put me away. Take a Shechemite woman and forget about me.” But the night before his cutting had been the tenderest night of Dinah’s short life, and the love he’d shown her was beyond anything she’d ever known. Surely, no man had ever loved a wife like Shechem loved her—not even Abba’s love for Ima Rachel could compare.

On the second day after his cutting, the prince said, “You see, my love, this will all be over soon.” Dinah had pampered and spoiled her beloved every moment of his recovery. He caressed her cheek as she slipped into bed beside him that night. “Someday we will laugh and tell our grandchildren the story.” The love in his expression pierced Dinah’s heart. Never before had she known such selflessness.

“Perhaps we should have children before we start talking about grandchildren,” she said, kissing his cheek, his neck, his shoulder.

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “Perhaps we should turn out the lamp and go to sleep so I can heal quickly.” Dinah giggled and snuffed out the oil lamps, taking her place in the bend of her husband’s arm until their breathing became slow and deep and steady.

And then came the wailing.

Dinah tried to wake but was captured in a semiconsciousness of horror and dread. Shechem’s face lay before her. His eyes empty. His lovely mouth twisted in death’s last plea. Her arms were warm, wet, sticky with her husband’s blood. “Simeon, Levi, no!”

Her brothers stood over her, their swords dripping.

“This Shechemite dog will never defile another man’s sister.” Simeon spat the words as he reached for Dinah’s arm.

“No! He did not defile me! We are married!”

“Not according to Abba, you’re not!” Simeon lunged at her, and she recoiled, trapped between the bloody shell of the man she loved and the animal brethren who had killed him.

“Get away from me! He did not rape me! Shechem loved me!”

“Dinah.” It was a man’s voice. “Dinah.” She felt a hand shaking her arm. “Dinah, wake up, we must leave.” It was the voice of Simeon—no, it was Levi!

Dinah screamed, terror gripping her anew. She clawed at the copper hair and beard before her. “No! Get away from Shechem. No, Levi! He loves me! He didn’t rape me! Don’t hurt him, Simeon! He loves me!” She flailed and kicked at the man trying to restrain her.

“Dinah, it’s me, Job. Dinah! Shh. Dinah, stop.” Strong arms subdued her. She couldn’t struggle free. Her screams turned to sobs, and Dinah’s body went limp.

“Dinah, shh.” Gentle arms rocked her. “It’s me, Job. Shh. It’s all right, Dinah.”

She gazed up into deep brown eyes, the color of her ima’s dark bread.

“You’re coming home with me, Dinah. You’ll be safe with my son.”

Dinah finally awakened fully, and for a moment—just a moment—she longed to melt into the strong, loving arms of the man who held her. He sat on the rug, cradling her, stroking her hair. But this man was to be her father-in-law!

Humiliation and shame tightened their hold on her. She wrested herself from his arms, huddling near the stacked baskets like a wounded animal. They had barely ever spoken, and now he had seen her deepest wound exposed. A low, guttural moan escaped. “Go,” she said, turning her face away. He tried to help her stand, but she crouched lower still. “No, please. Just go.”

He stood over her, offering his hand once more. “Dinah.” Silence hung in the tent like the thick burial odor of the shattered pot of myrrh. “Are you all right?” The mourners’ wails echoed in the camp with Job’s sigh. “Your abba has returned with Great-Abba Esau from the burial cave. Esau wants to leave for Mount Seir right away and asked that my caravan accompany him to the south.” Job paused again and spoke softly. “I’ll tell him I’m not prepared to leave so soon, nor can I afford the extended travel route. Can you be ready by dawn to leave for Uz?”

Dinah nodded, her throat too tight to reply. She heard the tent flap fall closed, and when she looked up, Job was gone.

Her breaths came in short, quick gasps. She hugged her knees to her chest, hoping to still her violent trembling.
I must not join the mourners’ wailing
, she thought.
For if I begin
,
I may never stop.
Rocking back and forth, she moved in tempo with the keening. What if her nightmares worsened? What if she screamed and flailed in the arms of her new husband? Would he be as understanding as Job had been? Dinah’s heart pounded, and she rocked faster.

A tiny shadow flitted past the narrow ray of sunlight peeking through the tent flap. Dinah stopped rocking. There it was again. And then a sweet chirrup broke through the mourners’ wails. A pink-and-black-crested hoopoe bird landed just outside. The little creature peered in and then proceeded to enjoy its late afternoon dust bath.
Oop-oop-oop
came its lovely song, slicing through Dinah’s pain.

“Oh, little bird,” she whispered, “we are too much alike, you and me. Grandfather Isaac said you were one of Yahweh’s most lovely creatures, but He has judged you as unclean.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Men have said I am lovely too, but must they all judge me as unclean?”

In the frenzied activity of the camp, a servant rushed by and frightened the hoopoe into flight, and loneliness gripped Dinah’s heart anew. “Oh, how I wish I had wings and could fly away to a new home of my own making. A home where my past was forgotten and my future unfettered.”

~Genesis 9:26–27~

[Noah] said, “Blessed be the
Lord
, the God of Shem! May Canaan be the slave of Shem. . . . May Japheth live in the tents of Shem, and may Canaan be his slave.”

Job stood beside Dinah’s tent, hearing only her mumbled whimpers. He ached with the need to comfort her but trembled with frustration at her refusal. Dinah had endured more tragedy than any young woman should bear. When he had reached out to wake her, she cried out to protect Shechem—the man reported to have raped her. Why? There was obviously more to the story than rumors disclosed. If she was to marry one of his sons, he had the right to know exactly what had happened in Shechem.

Job could easily locate Uncle Jacob. Just listen for the constant bickering in the camp, and the sons of Isaac were at its source. He stepped away from Dinah’s tent, crossed under Grandfather Isaac’s canopy, and came upon the hotheaded brothers.

“Every speckled, spotted, or dark-colored sheep and goat is mine!” Jacob railed. “I slaved for Uncle Laban twenty years to earn those flocks and herds, and you’ll not lay a hand on them.”

“You can keep your moldy-looking animals, but I’m taking everything else.” Esau was red from head to toe, eyes bloodshot and bulging.

“You can have everything, you big red dog,” Jacob cried, “but Abba anointed me with Abraham’s covenant promise, and that includes the land of Canaan. So you can have all the worthless possessions, but leave the Promised Land to me.”

“Ha! It is you who holds the worthless piece, brother! Elohim may have promised Canaan to Abraham, but He forgot to inform the Canaanites. It is you who’s been swindled this time.”

Jacob gritted his teeth and rose up on his toes to spit the words in Esau’s face. “I am not as easily swindled as my dimwitted brother.”

When the mighty red mountain raised his hand to strike Jacob, Job cried out, “Great-Abba, no!” Esau seemed startled by the intrusion and was distracted just long enough for Jacob to dive at his midsection and tumble his massive brother to the ground.

Job’s fury peaked at these selfish old fools whose abba’s dead body was barely cold in the grave before they pawed at the inheritance and brawled like children. He promptly walked over to the ridiculous, rolling elders and kicked dust in their faces.

When they separated and stood up sputtering, Job began his rebuke. “You should both be ashamed of yourselves, tussling like Hittites in Isaac’s camp. You’re old men with brittle bones!” He knew such an argument didn’t hold much sway with the great hunter, Esau, and the able-bodied shepherd, Jacob. Both men were almost as strong at age 125 as Job was at age sixty.

Jacob raised an accusing finger. “If he wasn’t so greedy, trying to take all the inheritance instead of just the firstborn’s two-thirds, we would have no problem.”

Esau started to bluster, but Job raised his hand and spoke through clenched teeth. “Look at the servants around you! Look at them!” The sons of Isaac glanced about sheepishly. The servants, who had been working feverishly to prepare for the journey, had halted their work and were staring at the spectacle. With the brothers’ gaze upon them, however, they hurried back to work, humming and whistling shepherds’ songs.

Job kept his voice low. “How dare you defile Grandfather Isaac’s memory by acting so shamefully in front of all these servants? Now, please, let’s go into Uncle Jacob’s tent. I have important matters to discuss.” Job marched right past the two men, who at that moment looked like pouting children.

In the time it took the tent flap to close, Esau had regained his bluster. “Job, our caravan will leave immediately following the evening meal. We’ll travel in the cool of the night by torchlight to avoid the sun’s heat by day.”

Job smiled kindly but shook his head. “I’m sorry, Great-Abba, but I cannot be ready to leave so quickly. My servants will require more time to prepare my caravan to Uz.”

Esau’s eyes narrowed, and Job watched the wheels of his great-abba’s mind spin, gathering the truth of Job’s delay. “Because of that
woman
.” Esau spat the word as though it were a curse. “I saw you coming from her tent. She thinks she can steal away the valuable herbs and treasures in her tent and you’ll just blindly load it onto your caravan. Well, she owns only the clothes on her back and—”

“Great-Abba,” Job interrupted, “you know that I respect you, and I always honor and obey you whenever it does not conflict with El Shaddai’s teachings.” Esau started to protest, but Job’s fury silenced him. “Dinah will take only the possessions that belong to her. You can be sure of it, but we will
not
leave with your caravan tonight! Furthermore, I
request
that you leave twenty of your servants to accompany me to Uz.” Job turned his attention to Uncle Jacob. “I’ll need the extra men to carry the dowry I’m sure you’ll wish to offer for your beautiful daughter.”

“Dowry? My abba didn’t command me to give her a dowry.” Uncle Jacob’s protest silenced every clang and clatter in the camp outside. “And you’ve offered me no bride-price. Why should I pay a dowry for a woman who has already been defiled?” Esau’s bawdy laughter chilled Job’s blood and stoked Jacob’s anger. “I’ll not pay one silver kesitah for her dowry! She’s been in our abba’s house for fifteen years. If there’s a dowry to be paid, let my brother—who now holds the wealth of Isaac’s household—give Dinah her dowry.”

Esau stopped laughing. “I would not claim such a daughter, and I will not pay her dowry!” he screamed. The two brothers spiraled into a new fit of rage, and Job dragged his fingers through his hair, letting his head fall back in frustration.
El Shaddai, how do You endure such selfishness on this earth?
“Enough!” Job shouted above the noise, and both men turned to him in surprise.

Esau’s eyes narrowed once again. “Listen here, son of Zerah. Even though you are my favorite great-grandson, I will not endure your bossy tongue.”

Job smiled in spite of his irritation and reached up to place his hand on Esau’s muscled shoulder. “And even though you are my great-abba, I will not endure you speaking unkindly of my soon-to-be daughter-in-law.” Job held Esau’s gaze until the big man grunted a truce and stomped out of the tent.

When Job turned to Uncle Jacob, the elder man’s mouth was agape. “I’ve never seen anyone quiet my brother the way you just did, Job. How did you come to have such a hold over that devil Esau?”

Job’s heart squeezed a little at the hate encompassed in Jacob’s question. “Well, Uncle,” Job replied, “I suppose Great-Abba’s respect for me began on the night I was smuggled away in the hunting party meant to kill you.” Uncle Jacob’s face registered the shock Job had hoped for. “Are you truly interested in hearing the story?”

A suspicious smile spread across Jacob’s face. “What are you asking as payment for your story? I have no intention of paying Dinah’s dowry, no matter how well you tell a story.”

Job shook his head, weary of the pettiness in his family. “No payment is required, Uncle, and I’ll even be happy to pay a bride-price for Dinah. She is a pearl of great price.”

Suspicion creased Uncle Jacob’s brow. Job placed his arm around the older man’s shoulders and guided him to one of the legendary rugs of Jacob’s tribe. The speckled and spotted sheep and goats produced a uniquely woven cloth that had become quite coveted throughout Canaan.

“I simply ask that you tell me a story in return.” Job smiled and waited for his reply.

“I suspect there is more to the agreement, but my curiosity about your relationship with the impenetrable Esau forces me to agree,” Jacob said.

Job lifted an eyebrow and motioned to the lamb’s wool rug, and Jacob nodded his permission for them to sit together. “I was thirteen years old,” Job began, “but I remember it like it was yesterday. It was seven days after you’d deceived Grandfather Isaac into thinking you were his eldest son. When he conferred the covenant blessing on your head, you realized the soon-coming wrath of Esau and fled in fear for your life, hoping to reach Uncle Laban’s home in Haran.”

Jacob raised his chin, his usual defense at the ready. “I may have deceived my abba to receive the touch of blessing, but El Shaddai knew who would best protect Yahweh’s truth and fulfill the covenant of Abraham. Esau refused to sit under the great teachers of the House of Shem. He didn’t deserve the blessing.”

Job nodded but refused to condone his uncle’s deception. “Great-Abba Esau called a meeting of all the men in his clan. He commissioned Eliphaz to lead what he deemed ‘an important hunt.’ Esau called on his other four sons to choose one more from each of their families. They were to follow at a distance until you crossed the Jordan River, and then his secondborn—my grandfather Reuel, the greatest archer of the Edomites—was ordered to send an arrow into your thigh.” Job paused. “They wanted to wound you first, to instill fear before the others encircled you and killed you, Uncle.”

Jacob’s face lost all color.

“Upon your death, Esau believed he would be free to reclaim Abraham’s covenant blessing at the touch of Isaac’s hand.”

Apparently too agitated to remain seated, Jacob rose and began to pace. “Is there a point to your story, Job? I thought you were going to tell me why you could lead my brother on a leash like a pet lamb. What does all this nonsense have to do with your power over Esau?”

“Oh, this is not nonsense, Uncle. It is the reason you are alive.” Jacob stopped his pacing, and Job motioned for his uncle to resume his place on the rug beside him. “Please, won’t you sit down for the end of the story?”

Jacob growled and lowered himself onto the rug while Job waited patiently to continue. “You know that Eliphaz would rather fall on his own sword than harm a single hair on your head, since you two were disciples together in the House of Shem. Uncle Eliphaz looked like day-old ashes when Great-Abba Esau called on him to lead the so-called
hunt
.”

“As it should have been. The whole idea of hunting a man is barbaric.”

Jacob’s self-righteous attitude set Job’s teeth on edge, but he refused to digress from the story. “When Reuel chose his secondborn son—my abba, Zerah—for the hunt, the look on Abba’s face matched Uncle Eliphaz’s.”

Jacob looked awestruck. “Why would Reuel choose another disciple of Shem among the hunters? He knew I taught your abba in the House of Shem. He knew that the three of us—Eliphaz, Zerah, and I—were the only three of Isaac’s seed who were joined by El Shaddai’s teachings. Why would he choose to place my two allies in the hunt?”

“Esau chose Eliphaz for the same reason Reuel chose my abba. Each hoped that by forcing your allies to choose duty over devotion, they would become stronger—as Esau defines strength. You see, both Great-Abba Esau and Grandfather Reuel perceived priestly skills as weakness and valued only the abilities of a hunter and warrior.”

Jacob closed his eyes. “El Shaddai, help us.” Looking at Job, he asked, “How did one as kind and gentle as you come from a bloodthirsty tribe like Esau’s?”

Job ignored his question and continued with the story, knowing that his next words would be answer enough. “I waited for my abba just outside the Tent of Meeting to congratulate him on his appointment. When he didn’t come, I peeked inside again and heard him and Uncle Eliphaz planning to take me on the hunt. At first I was excited—just as bloodthirsty as the rest of Esau’s clan, Uncle.” Job saw the look of horror on Jacob’s face. “And then I became furious. They weren’t going to let me fight at all. Uncle Eliphaz planned to assert his firstborn authority to protect you from his brothers’ swords. He planned only to let them rob you of the secret gifts Grandmother Rebekah sent along to buy Uncle Laban’s favor.”

“And they stole everything!” Jacob said with venom. “Esau is the reason I arrived at Uncle Laban’s household without a single kernel of grain to offer as a bride-price for my beloved Rachel!”

The fury Job had tamped down bubbled up. “Yes, they robbed your silver, grain, and spices, Uncle, but at least you’re alive, and you returned from Padan Aram twenty years later with four wives, eleven sons, and a beautiful daughter.”

Jacob hushed in the face of Job’s anger.

Regaining his composure, Job remembered his greater purpose and spoke softly. “When our hunting party released you, Uncle Eliphaz continued the journey northward with me to the House of Shem. Our nine kinsmen returned to Esau’s camp with your treasure, but it wasn’t enough to assuage Great-Abba’s anger. Once again, Grandfather Reuel challenged my abba to overcome his weakness, and he forced my abba to explain the failed hunt to Esau. When my great-abba heard the report, he struck my abba to the ground. His head crashed against a rock, and his lifeblood spilled out.”

Jacob raised his chin once again, as though grief and remorse would slide off his hard exterior like water off a bird’s wings. “So you’re saying that Esau’s guilt over Zerah’s death makes him bow to you like a pauper to a prince?” Jacob waved his hand. “Pshht. I don’t believe it. I’ve known that red beast too long. Esau has no conscience. His guilt doesn’t make him bow to you.”

“No, Uncle,” Job said. “Great-Abba Esau doesn’t bow to me at all.” Job examined every line and furrow on Jacob’s weathered face. “Esau respects me, Uncle Jacob, because I have forgiven him and loved him even when he wronged me.”

Jacob’s eyes flashed. “Then you are a fool.”

Job allowed the silence to echo his uncle’s words before he spoke again. “Now it’s your turn to tell me a story.” Without blinking, without any emotion or accusation, Job finally asked the question that had burned on his heart since the moment he’d heard Dinah’s pained cries. “Did your sons kill Prince Shechem with righteous cause, or has your own unforgiveness infected your whole household with hatred?”

Jacob began to tremble, and his face flushed as red as his twin’s. “Get out! Get out of my tent!”

“I will leave,” Job said calmly, rising to his feet, “but I will take Dinah with me and teach her the ways of El Shaddai as I was taught in the House of Shem—as she should have been taught in your household.” Before he lifted the tent flap, he offered one final word. “I pray that someday, Uncle, you will find the freedom that comes with forgiveness.”