Rebekah: Women of Genesis (35 page)

“The baby in my belly, of course,” she said. “What other baby do I have?”

“But there are two of them,” said Eber.

“Two?” asked Rebekah.

“Two nations are in your womb,” said Shem.

“Are they at war with each other?” she asked.

“This isn’t a joke,” Arphaxad said sternly.

“I wasn’t joking,” said Rebekah.

And then, suddenly, she knew that she
had
been asleep, that these men had not come to her at all, because she was lying in her tent looking up into the darkness and no one was with her except Deborah, whose soft snoring wove through the pulsing rhythm of the locusts’ night music.

Too bad it was only a dream, she thought. Too bad the ancient ones couldn’t come and tell women about the children who would be born to them.

“What do we have to do,” said Shem, “give a blast from a trumpet or send an army of angels before you’ll believe us?”

“We should have gone to Abraham, and let
him
 tell her,” said Serug. “
He
knows when he’s being given a true vision.”

Again she awoke, and now the walls of the tent were becoming visible in the first light of dawn. Was it a dream? Had they really come to her?

“Both,” said Shem impatiently. “We came to you
in
a dream. Now listen this time. You have two great men inside you, two mighty nations, two ways of life, and the one will be stronger than the other, and the elder will serve the younger.”

The elder will serve the younger? “What does that mean?” she asked.

“What?” said Deborah. “Is it morning? It’s too dark to be morning.”

“Go back to sleep,” said Rebekah. “I was talking in my dream.”

But this dream did not fade as others did. It remained clear in her mind, every word they had said to her, especially what they had prophesied about her children—her twin sons, the two nations inside her.

Two of them. That explained everything. Why hadn’t she already thought of the possibility? No wonder the baby never slept—it was two babies, and when one quieted down the other awoke.

But what could it mean, saying that the elder would serve the younger? This wasn’t a case like that of Ishmael and Isaac, where the younger was born to the true wife, and the elder to a mere concubine. She was mother of both of them, and so the birthright would go to the firstborn, without question.

She told Isaac about the dream, and he was also puzzled. “Maybe it was nothing more than a dream,” he said. “Then it wouldn’t have to make sense.”

“But I’ve never dreamed such a dream before. I didn’t even know what these men looked like.”

Isaac laughed. “If it was just a dream, you
still
don’t know.”

“They were so real. They got so
annoyed
with me.”

“Ah, then it was definitely a true vision.”

“Isaac, I think the Lord answered my prayer. He told me why the baby—the babies—were keeping me awake.”

“Told you more than that, if it was from God.”

“Does he mean our sons won’t get along with each other?”

“From what you’ve been going through, I’d say they’re already at war.”

“But surely it was a prophecy about how things would be when their descendants have become mighty nations.”

“Brothers born the same day, from the same womb,” said Isaac. “Of course they’ll quarrel.”

“Why shouldn’t they be close friends, sharing everything?”

“Maybe they will,” said Isaac. “It’s not likely, but I suppose it’s possible. No two of Keturah’s children get along for more than ten minutes at a time, but maybe
our
children will be completely generous of spirit and never resentful of anything.”

“That’s right, they’ll be just like us, and never criticize anyone, and be pleasant to everyone and never think a harsh thought.”

“Well,
you
don’t have harsh thoughts, anyway.”

“I have thoughts so harsh they could straighten a lamb’s hair,” said Rebekah. “
You’re
the one who’s always thinking the best of everyone.”

“Am I? Well, let’s try this one. When you told me your vision, do you know what I thought of first? That when the Lord finally gave someone besides Father a truly spectacular vision—”

“It wasn’t spectacular, it was—”

“It seems spectacular enough to me,” said Isaac, “because I didn’t see it. So which of us is the one with thoughts so pure God can pour out his Spirit into a holy vessel?”

“Holy vessel? Me?” said Rebekah. “I’m much more critical and mean-spirited than you even know how to be, so if it depended on purity of thoughts—”

“My point was how unrighteous it was for me to envy your vision,” said Isaac. “I was praying every day for you to be comforted, and you
were
comforted. And instead of being grateful, I’m selfish. Sometimes I despair of ever being a truly good man.”

“Isaac, you’re the best man I know,” said Rebekah.

“Only because you don’t really—”

She knew how the sentence would end, and she refused to let him say it. “I know your heart better than you do, because I can see what you
do,
how your life blesses everyone you touch.”

“But
I
see how I envy my father and now my wife.”

“Maybe your heart is already so full of love for others that you already know how to bless them without having any visions at all, do you think of that? Maybe you’re so at one with the Lord that your whole life is one long continuous vision of a sort that people like me can only dream of!”

“Maybe you’re a wonderful sweet loyal wife who thinks better of her husband than he deserves. The Lord truly blessed me when he gave you to me.”

“He gave you to me as much as he gave me to you!”

Isaac smiled and kissed her and left her with the last word—and with no hope that he would ever believe what a good man she knew him to be.

For hours that morning, after her vision—or her dream, whichever it was—Rebekah was able to sleep undisturbed. She learned later that Deborah guarded her tent fiercely, making sure that no one bothered her, despite the chaos that soon erupted in the camp.

For soon after Isaac left her tent, five riders on camels appeared at the crest of the hill where the path to Kirjath-arba left the valley, and the runner soon returned with word that it was the master himself coming to Lahai-roi. Abraham, who hadn’t left Kirjath-arba since he buried Sarah’s body at Machpelah.

Everyone rushed around madly like birds before a storm, pitching a new tent for Isaac as his own tent was prepared for Abraham to take possession of it. A fine young kid was butchered and spitted over the fire for the feast tonight, and all the women found opportunities to return to their tents and change into their finest clothing, or at least add a bit of decoration to their attire.

Finally, when Abraham was installed at the door of Isaac’s tent, there could be no more delay. Isaac himself went to Rebekah’s tent, thanked Deborah for letting her mistress sleep, and then passed through the door.

“Father is here,” he said to her when she finally murmured a greeting to him.

“Father?” she asked, trying to imagine why Bethuel should come all the way to Lahai-roi. Then she came fully awake and realized what was happening. “How close is he? How long do we have to get ready?”

“All is in readiness. He’s in my tent, and he wants to see you.”

“But why didn’t you wake me? I should have been helping. I had work to do, I—”

“Rebekah, I think it’s
good
 for my father to see you sleeping through the work of the camp. After all, you’re the woman who can’t travel to Kirjath-arba because she’s so delicate.”

“Oh,” said Rebekah. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“And don’t make yourself beautiful,” said Isaac. “Don’t dress your hair.”

“No, Isaac, there are limits!”

“Which is more important? To be pretty, or to stay in Lahai-roi?”

“Did he come alone?”

“He didn’t bring Keturah, if that’s what you mean.”

“I am truly favored of the Lord.”

A few minutes later, hastily dressed and with her hair at least a little smoother than it had been after her night of tossing and turning, Rebekah crossed the space between her tent and Isaac’s, to take her place on a pile of three thick rugs before Abraham.

“It’s going to be a big one,” said Abraham, sizing her up.

“Two,” said Rebekah.

“Two?”

“Rebekah had a dream last night,” said Isaac.

“My husband’s prayer was answered,” said Rebekah.

Abraham looked at Rebekah thoughtfully. “Tell me the dream.”

So Rebekah recounted her dream, as best she could remember it. She made it a point to include their rebukes of her, so it would be plain that she was not pretending to be particularly righteous or deserving and that the dead did not regard her with much respect.

Abraham listened to it all, then bowed his head. “It’s from the Lord,” he said.

Just like that? “How do you know?” asked Rebekah.

“I know,” said Abraham.

She understood what he meant, and nodded.

“And I’m glad that the mother of my grandsons has a heart open to the spirit of God.” He turned to Isaac. “The Lord gave you one of the best of his daughters.”

Rebekah blushed and her eyes filled with tears. The man of legend whom she had admired throughout her childhood, whose name was linked with the name of God—after all these months of thinking that he didn’t trust her to raise her own child, it was such a relief to know that he did not despise her after all. That he did not reject the vision she had, just because it came from her.

“Two nations,” Abraham said. “Is every child born in our family going to found his own nation?”

“I don’t know what it all means,” said Rebekah.

“The Lord tells us what he tells us,” said Abraham. “And then we do our best to understand it.” He leaned forward and looked searchingly in her face. “Is it God who tells you to defy me and refuse to come live with me?”

And just like that, the glow of his praise faded, and she once again faced the stubborn old man who wanted to take her sons from her.

“Is it God who tells you to demand that Isaac and I not be allowed to raise our sons ourselves?”

His expression darkened. “I’m not asking you to
send
your sons, I’m asking my son to move home.”

“Father,” said Isaac, “her question is a fair one. Do you command her to come to Kirjath-arba as the head of the household, or as prophet of God?”

“Maybe I
invite
her merely as the child’s—the children’s—grandfather.”

“I misunderstood,” said Rebekah. “If it’s the children’s beloved grandfather who invites us, then my answer is, ‘What a wonderful invitation! I wish I could accept it. But you can be sure I’ll bring the children to visit as soon as I can after they’re born.’”

Abraham turned away from her then and stared off into the distance.

“I’m going to die soon,” he said.

“Forgive me, Grandfather,” she said, “but you’ll die when the Lord takes you, and God’s work in the world won’t suddenly come to a halt.”

She felt Isaac stiffen beside her, and Abraham slowly turned to affix his gaze on her. “I don’t deserve that.”

“Nor do Isaac and I deserve to have you doubt our ability to raise godly children,” said Rebekah. “A man and woman are masters of their own children, and as long as they fulfill that responsibility honorably, no one has a right that supercedes theirs.”

“Parents don’t know everything,” said Abraham. “Parents make mistakes.”

“They do, sir,” said Rebekah. “But the Lord who sends children to them knows the mistakes they’ll make, and the things they’ll do well, too. If he chooses to give these children to Isaac and me, who would dare to tell him he was wrong?”

“I’m saying that
I’ve
made mistakes, and I want to help you learn from them.”

“It’s one thing to learn from them, and something else to watch you make a whole new set of mistakes with our children.”

Abraham turned to Isaac. “Why is she at war with me?”

Isaac answered quietly, but without hesitation. “Her mother had her children taken away from her, Father. She fears the same thing happening to her.”

“I’m not taking them away from you,” said Abraham to Rebekah. “I’m giving them to God!”

Suddenly Isaac leaned forward so far that his backside rose up from the ground and he had to support himself on the knuckles of his hands; he looked for all the world like a hyena or baboon challenging an intruder. “A man gives
himself
to God,” said Isaac, “because he belongs only to himself. If my sons are given to God, it will be because Rebekah and I taught them well enough that they chose to give their lives in his service.”