The Sons of Isaac (27 page)

Jacob helped him to his feet and felt his arms around him, his fingers digging into Esau’s cloak, his face buried in its rough folds. He kissed him, then held him at arm’s length. “Yes,” Isaac cried, with tears running down from the sightless eyes. “This is the smell of a field that the Lord has blessed. It is the smell of my son Esau.”

Jacob knelt and Isaac placed his hands on his head and blessed him. “May the Lord give you of the dew of heaven and the fatness of the earth with plenty of corn and wine.

“Let the people serve you, and nations bow down to you, and cursed be everyone that curses you and blessed be everyone that blesses you.”

Jacob rose and stumbled toward the door of the tent. He did not want to risk saying anything that might give his act away. He had the blessing and now he wanted only to escape.

*  *  *

He did not want to wait where he would see Esau coming in with the venison and then patiently building the fire and boiling the water. He rushed to his mother’s tent and let Deborah and his mother pull the skin from around his neck and his arms. He flung Esau’s cloak from him and sneezed at the earthy odor. He plunged his arms, again and again, into the basin of water Deborah brought. He scrubbed them until they were red and raw trying to get the odor and the dried blood off. His mother was elated and kept praising him for managing everything so well.

He could feel none of the elation. He felt soiled and disappointed. It wasn’t at all what he had thought it would be. What he had gotten was not something he had earned or deserved but something he had been forced to cheat to gain. He rushed out and sat under an overhanging projection of rock where he could think. It occurred to him that maybe he didn’t really have the blessing at all. If it was Elohim who had to approve and agree, it was doubtful that He would approve such deceit.

He decided not to share these fears with his mother. She wouldn’t understand. He loved her for wanting him to have the blessing. It would be a terrible blow to her if she ever thought that in spite of all her plans, Elohim had not approved of what they had done.

It was dark when he returned home and went directly to his mother’s tent. He had expected to find his mother smiling and joyful; instead he found her pacing back and forth, now clutching the tent pole, then sinking her fingers into her flying hair, her eyes fierce and her jaw thrust out as though in defiance. “We must go immediately to your father’s tent.” The words sprang at him like sharp nettles. “Esau has come,” she said, “and they are demanding an explanation.”

A
t the last moment Rebekah decided that she should go alone to face Isaac and Esau. “It may be dangerous for you to come while Esau is still with his father,” she said.

“Perhaps I should agree to give him back the birthright and the blessing,” Jacob said.

“No, no, it’s impossible. That’s why Esau’s so angry. It can never be taken back.”

“Then I must go and try to make it right.”

Rebekah was hurriedly twisting her long hair into a knot and thrusting in a wooden pin to hold it in place. “There’s nothing you can do that will make it right in his eyes,” she said.

She snatched up her head cloth and going to the brass mirror on the tent pole quickly wound it into place covering her hair. She broke off a sprig of blossoming basil from a clay pot and thrust it into a fold. Leaning closer into the mirror to survey the effect, she moistened her lips, wet her finger, and nudged the hairs of her eyebrows into a curved line. Then smoothing down her robe with a swift, agitated movement, she looked long and pensively at Jacob.

With a stifled sob she reached out and grasped Jacob’s arm. Her fingers dug into the soft folds of his robe as she whispered, “You saw how disturbed I was when you arrived,” she said quietly. “Deborah had just told me she heard your brother means to kill you. If not now, then when your father dies.”

Jacob staggered back with a look of horror on his face as the full meaning of her words sank in. “And … what am I to do?”

“You are to do nothing. I’ll go and see what can be done.”

With that she hurried out and down the path toward Isaac’s tent. As she approached she could hear a terrible wailing. It rose and fell on the air like that of a wounded animal. She quickened her steps and rounding a corner came face-to-face with Esau. He seemed not to recognize her at first, but then with a sudden lunge and a face contorted with rage, he clawed at her. “You, you are the one. You have always favored my brother.” He was quickly steadied by two friends who struggled to hold him back.

In spite of his friends’ efforts, he again lunged forward and spat at her. With that and some wild curses, he turned and let his friends lead him off toward his own tents.

Rebekah was badly shaken as she lifted the tent flap and faced Isaac. She could see that he had heard everything. She saw the bowl of venison sitting to one side untouched and the bread strewn randomly beside it, and she was grieved for the pain of her elder son.

“Why, why did you let him do it?” Isaac asked, his face lifted and his sightless eyes glazed and cold.

Impulsively she knelt before him and bent to kiss the hem of his robe in respect, then leaning back on her heels, she spoke quietly and firmly. “You have forgotten the message given me by Elohim before the twins were born. You yourself told me to go and inquire of Him.”

Isaac was suddenly quiet and thoughtful. “I do remember something like that, but it was so long ago,” he said. “What happened?”

“The answer came to me quite clearly. ‘You are to give birth to twins,’ He said, ‘and the younger will serve the elder and rule over him.’”

“And you told me this?”

“Of course, but you never paid any attention to the prediction. From the moment they were born, you assumed Esau was to have the blessing and the birthright.”

Isaac buried his face in his hands and moaned. “You are right; what you say is right. I remember, I remember everything. Why didn’t you remind me? Why did you think you had to trick me?”

“Men don’t listen to women, especially if they are saying something that doesn’t sound logical.”

“Yes,” he said, lifting his head and turning toward her. “Yes, that was the problem; it wasn’t logical.”

“So you didn’t think Elohim would give a woman a message that wasn’t logical.”

“I should have known. That’s the way it’s always seemed. He isn’t logical. His ways are mysterious.”

“Esau blames me.”

“It’s my fault, all my fault,” he groaned. “I encouraged him even when I knew he’d sold his birthright to his brother. I just assumed since he was the eldest …”

“He is the eldest, but he knows nothing of your father’s God and has encumbered himself with the daughters of Heth. His wives and their children are obnoxious, a constant burden.”

“Even I have sensed disruption and turmoil,” Isaac said. “Why didn’t you come and tell me?”

“You’ve not been well …”

Even though he could not see, Isaac was aware that she had settled herself on a cushion beside him.

“And what else have you been keeping from me?” he questioned.

“It’s Jacob,” she said, taking out the sprig of basil from her headpiece and running her fingers over the delicate leaves. “If he takes a wife, as Esau has done, from the daughters of Heth, it will be impossible to bear.”

“So … ?”

“Perhaps we should send him to my brother in Haran. He has many wives and must have some daughters.”

They talked awhile longer, and when she rose to go, Isaac told her to send Jacob to him for a final blessing. “It’s right that he not take a wife from our neighbors. I’ve let Esau do as he pleased and it’s not been good. I must do better by Jacob.”

*  *  *

As Rebekah hurried from his tent, she realized that she had not told him of Esau’s threat. Actually it didn’t matter since he had given his permission for Jacob to leave.

Knowing how violent Esau could be when he was opposed, she hurried Jacob over to Isaac’s tent. She didn’t trust him to go alone lest something go wrong. She would wait just inside the tent where she could quickly see anyone approaching. If Esau had any idea of what was to happen, he would be dangerous.

She couldn’t hear what Isaac said, but she saw that he embraced Jacob with real feeling. When she saw Jacob kneel and Isaac place his hands on his head, she knew that at last everything was right and as it should be. He was giving Jacob the blessing again, and this time knowing that it was Jacob whom he blessed. She didn’t know what he said but that didn’t matter; it was the blessing she wanted for Jacob.

Jacob would have to flee feeling his brother’s hatred, but he would know that at last, after all these years, he had his father’s love and blessing.

*  *  *

It was growing dark as Rebekah said a hurried goodbye to her son. “You will find plenty of relatives and there will be some young beauty for you to marry. I’ll send for you when this trouble dies down. Esau can’t be angry for long.”

“He remembers slights and snubs,” Jacob said. “I don’t expect him to get over this quickly.” All the time Jacob was adjusting the packs of dried figs and cheese and a blanket roll on the back of a donkey. Rebekah grasped his hands and looked at him with tears welling in her eyes. “How happy I’ll be to see you coming with a bride from my own house.”

“I am afraid for Father. He looks so old and worn.”

Rebekah hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks. “Don’t worry. You won’t be gone that long. The time will pass quickly.”

With a final hug she let him go, and was just watching him start to move down the path toward the two slaves who were going with him when she remembered something important. “Jacob,” she called softly as she hurried to catch up with him, “be careful around my brother Laban. He is a hard bargainer and a real trickster. Don’t let him get the best of you.”

Jacob smiled and gave his mother a last quick hug. “So it will be one trickster against another. Isn’t that what you named me?”

“I’ve sometimes regretted naming you Jacob.”

“Maybe the name will stand me in good stead in your brother’s house.”

“Remember your father’s blessing. May the God of your grandfather Abraham go with you and protect you.” With that she let him go and watched him disappear into the darkness.

She went back to her tent and sank down among the cushions. She took the bowl of warm broth Deborah had prepared for her and set it to one side. She couldn’t stand to eat anything. “I just want to be alone,” she told Deborah.

When the crying children were finally carried off and the tent was quiet, Rebekah sat thinking over all that had happened. Isaac had been so understanding when she had explained everything to him. Why had she not done that from the beginning? What had she been afraid of? Now, because of her silence and deception, Jacob was gone and Esau was lost to her forever. She had worked so hard at manipulating things. What if she had just trusted Elohim to work out His own promise?

*  *  *

Jacob slipped quietly out of the camp and was on his way up to the high plateau where he would skirt around Hebron and Bethlehem and get as far as possible on this first night. He must get so far that Esau could not easily catch up with him.

He had only his rough sheepskin cloak, and the night air was crisp and promised an early frost. From his satchel he pulled out some dried figs and ate as he hurried along. He dared not stop and light a fire for a proper meal. He didn’t ride but walked beside the donkey because he wanted to think. He felt burdened, oppressed by some choking pain that seemed to tear at his insides until he wanted to cry out in anguish. The night was dark, but he felt as though he were walking through a darkness that was almost palpable. He tried to get at the cause of the pain.

At first he felt it was the memory of his old, blind father stretching out his hands to give him his final blessing. The words flew around in his head like black crows. “May El Shaddai, the almighty, all-powerful God, bless you and make you fruitful and multiply you” … and then the part that made him almost retch with the pain, “and give the blessing of Abraham to you and your seed that you may inherit the land that God gave to Abraham.”

These were his father’s last words. They were words said to him and not to his brother Esau. They were the words of the blessing he had craved and lied to achieve. The problem was that he still didn’t feel that they belonged to him. Neither his grandfather Abraham nor El Shaddai would give blessings to a deceiver. He had thought, and his mother had thought, that to just wrest the words of the blessing from his father was all that was needed. Now he knew his father could say the words, but unless they were prompted by El Shaddai, they meant nothing.

The moon rose over the distant mountains of the Dead Sea and continued slowly into a high arch above him. The stars blossomed like small dove’s dung flowers in the soft black of the sky. He was aware of nothing but the rough stones in the path and the frequent cry of an owl. He walked fast to keep time with his turbulent thoughts. It was late when at last he came to a hillside looking out on the village of Luz. The village was small and the gates were closed. There would be no chance of rousing someone so he could spend the night in their guesthouse.