The Sons of Isaac (39 page)

“But sometimes even if we pray, things go wrong,” she said.

Jacob had often had the same thought. However, his own experience had taught him that though at times everything seemed to be going wrong, if one just waited and withheld judgment, things eventually would come out right again. What had seemed so hopelessly tangled could even become a blessing when left in Elohim’s care.

He tried to find words to comfort her, but there seemed to be nothing that would ease her pain or bring her peace.
If we could just get to the town of Ephrath where there would be proper houses and midwives who could help her,
he kept thinking as the camels plodded on and no village was in sight.

T
he road leading around the small city of Jerusalem was rough and stony. It bordered a brook called the Kidron. Jacob, with his large family, came along this road and, seeing a pleasant grove of olive and myrtle trees, decided to stop so Rachel could rest. He was troubled by her obvious discomfort and, at times, real pain.

“I will be stronger in the morning,” Rachel said as Bilhah helped her down from the litter and led her to a cushioned seat in the shade of a large olive tree.

“Reuben,” Jacob said, “come with me. We must go up to the city and tell them of our plight. We will need their permission to camp here.”

When the elders of the city heard their story and determined that Jacob was indeed the grandson of Abraham, Melchizedek’s old friend, they gladly gave their permission. The story of Melchizedek’s meeting with Abraham and Abraham’s generosity in paying him a tenth of the spoils taken in battle had been told over and over until they knew it well.

They not only gave their permission but ordered supplies of cool wine and big round loaves of freshly baked bread to be given them for their evening meal. Because Jacob feared that the elders may have heard of the massacre at Shechem, he hastened to assure them that they would stay only for the night. He could tell by their quick glances back and forth among themselves that they were relieved. “Stay,” they chorused, “stay as long as you like.”

When Jacob returned to the camp with the news that they could rest there for the night, everyone was relieved. Bilhah almost wept with gratitude. “My lord,” she said, “Rachel has only this moment fallen into a deep and troubled sleep. I bathed her poor, swollen hands and feet in cool water from the brook and made her an herbal drink.”

“I must see her,” Jacob said.

“She’s sleeping,” Bilhah warned him. “Go and eat. There’s nothing you can do.”

Jacob moved past her as though he had not heard. Determined not to wake Rachel, he quietly sank down on the mat beside her. To his surprise she reached for his hand, breathed a sigh of relief, and went back to sleep. He sat without moving, studying the dear, loved face and pondering the strangeness of things. It was obvious that no one came into the world in any other way and no one, no matter how elegant or important, could leave without dying and being buried.

He shifted uneasily. He did not want to carry those thoughts to their conclusion. He preferred to think that with a bit of rest Rachel would be all right.

It was late afternoon and from a distance came the rhythmic, swinging chant of harvesters. Looking up he could see men driving their animals around the threshing floor on a great rock that rose above the city to the north. Nearby he could hear his wives giving orders in whispers and his sons guiding the sheep down to the brook with soft cooing sounds. In the darkening sky above the olive trees, small sparrows dipped and swooped, then settled on the lower branches to rest.

Evening came quickly. It was announced first by the call of watchmen on the city walls above them. Then the hollow, strident tones of a ram’s horn signaled the end of day and the closing of the city gates. In their camp, fires were lit and the tempting odor of roasting game filled the night air. Later, much later, there was singing. On this night it was the lonesome, haunting songs they sang, with no exchange of the usual jokes or dancing.

Joseph came from the fire to where Jacob still sat holding Rachel’s limp hand. He didn’t say anything but crept close to his father and was soon asleep. Jacob dozed off hearing only the periodic, eerie call of the night watchmen on the city wall announcing the progression of the night. When Rachel stirred he gave her sips of hot broth brought to her by Leah. Then finally, even he drifted off into a sound and dreamless sleep.

In the morning, before dawn, Jacob roused and noticed that Rachel was having periods of contracting, wrenching pain. She would be in real labor soon, and they must try to reach his father’s camp near the Oaks of Mamre. With growing alarm, he ordered everyone to quickly gather up their things. “We must be on our way out of this valley before sunrise,” he said.

Just as the sky was lightening in the east, they headed down the road that led around the city to the Hebron road. They stopped briefly at a cave that contained a spring to fill their water skins. “It’s called Gihon,” a shepherd standing nearby told them. “Gihon means ‘bursting forth,’ because it flows out in bursts,” he said. The water was cool and refreshing and they felt encouraged.

It was the end of summer and almost time for the early rains. The brief light at dawn quickly faded and soon dark clouds rolled in, covering the sky. There was an unwelcome chill in the air, a barren look to everything. Instead of the bright flowers that carpeted the ground in spring and summer, there were now only the thickets of thorns and leafless vines hanging over the stone terraces. Most of the olives had been harvested, and only rarely did they see women out beating the branches to gather the last green nub. These trees still had their leaves though they were now a gray-green, dusty and tattered.

Fear clutched at Jacob’s heart as he nudged the pack animals along. He knew they must hurry, but to get to his father’s camp began to seem impossible. It could be that in the very act of hurrying, they would bring on some disaster. He struggled to remember how far it was to the Oaks of Mamre from the fortress of Jerusalem.
Perhaps, if we cannot get that far, then dear God, let us at least make it to Ephrath.

They passed a cluster of small, stone houses and were told the place was called Giloh. The women stood in their doorways staring at them with wide, troubled eyes. They had heard that the wife of the wealthy prince was already in labor. No one threw stones at them, and even the dogs didn’t bark as they passed by onto the high plane above the village.

They were encouraged when at last they began to catch glimpses of Ephrath in the distance. “If we can just get to the city and find proper lodging,” Jacob urged, “there is a well on the north side and many caves where we could find shelter if there is no room in the inn.”

They had not gone much farther before Jacob ordered them to stop. “We must let Rachel get down and rest a bit,” he said, mopping his brow. There was a small cave nearby, and he decided this was the only suitable place for her to rest.

Leah came forward and took charge. She first checked Rachel to determine her condition, and then quickly ordered the men to go to the well and get as much water as possible.

Jacob didn’t move. He looked at her with alarm and then frustration as he said, “You sound as though you think the child will be born here.”

Leah didn’t even look at him but kept helping Rachel get as comfortable as possible. “That’s right,” she said. “This child is on its way and it is not going to be easy.”

Rachel didn’t seem to hear her, but Jacob did. He grabbed Leah’s arm and pulled her away, demanding, “What do you mean? She can’t have a child out here by the road.”

Leah impatiently tried to pull away. “We can’t control that,” she sputtered. “We can only make the best of things.”

Jacob pulled her around so he could look at her directly. “Is she … is she in any trouble?” he asked, cringing as Rachel gave a piercing cry.

Leah whirled to look at her sister and pulled away from Jacob. “The child’s not positioned right, and that means plenty of trouble.”

Jacob lunged forward in a desperate effort to help Rachel, but Leah pushed him back. “There’s nothing you can do but pray and see that the boys get water and build a fire. Now, go! We’ll do the best we can.”

As Leah turned away, Jacob saw red blood spurting like a fountain and he fled a short distance away and sank down on an outcropping of rock. He was far enough away that he could barely see what was happening and could not hear what was being said. “Oh, God of my fathers, take pity on Rachel,” he cried over and over again. Then burying his head in his hands, he pled, “Don’t be angry that she carried off the idols. She doesn’t understand. She wants a child, that’s all she wants. She just wants a child.”

Time passed and he grew more anxious. Something was wrong. In desperation he cried, “Why Rachel? You can have Leah or Bilhah or Zilpah, but not Rachel, not my only love Rachel. Don’t take Rachel. Rachel’s my joy, my life. Take anything I have, but not Rachel,” he pled desperately.

It seemed that hours had passed when Leah motioned for him to come. He hurried down and knelt beside Rachel. He tried to hide the shock of seeing her so pale and weak. He searched her face and then looked at Leah and the women, seeking reassurance that she was all right.

He felt a gentle tug on his sleeve and saw that Rachel wanted him to see the child. For the first time he looked at the bundle she held. He had seen so many round, red faces with tufts of curling, black hair; he didn’t expect to feel anything unusual. “I’m calling him Ben-oni, son of my sorrow,” she whispered with difficulty as she studied his face to see if he understood.

“Ben-oni,” he repeated puzzled.

“I’ll not be here to enjoy him,” she said with a catch in her voice. She bent her head and with a terrible tenderness kissed the dark curls.

Seeing how much she treasured this tiny token of their love, Jacob looked again and was surprised at the surge of emotion that choked him so he couldn’t speak.

They called Joseph and he came and knelt beside his mother, all the time struggling to keep from crying. Rachel was now too weak to speak, but she moved Jacob’s hand so that it covered Joseph’s, then with tears dropping onto the dark curls of the sleeping child, her head fell forward, her hand loosened, and they knew she was gone.

Even though they had been aware of her weakness, none of them had imagined she could leave them so quickly. Jacob’s other wives had all survived having children and no one had thought such disaster could strike so suddenly and at such an unlikely time and place.

Only Leah had the presence of mind to lift the baby from Rachel’s arms. She handed him to Jacob. He was already in swaddling clothes and wrapped in Rachel’s mantle. Jacob buried his head in the folds of the white homespun, and smelling the lavender of Rachel’s garments, he wept.

Everyone knew she must be buried before sundown and they wondered how it could be managed. To their surprise Jacob handed the new arrival to Leah and then took charge. He first took the cloak Rachel had woven for him and, removing it from his own shoulders, gently wrapped her in it. Joseph brought a wreath of sand lilies and black iris to place on her head. This reminded Jacob of the floral wreath she had worn when he had first seen her at the well in Haran. It moved him so deeply he had to turn away until he could regain his composure.

With a heartrending sob, Jacob placed her in the cave. Then with feverish activity, he encouraged his sons to join him in gathering stones to build a monument to mark the site.

When it was finished, he sought out Leah. Taking the baby from her, he announced, “I intend to call him Benjamin, son of my right hand.”

*  *  *

The next day they pressed on to camp beyond the tower of Eber. The plan was to stay there briefly while preparing themselves for their arrival at Isaac’s camp beside the Oaks of Mamre.

Jacob was so consumed with his grief and pity for his two motherless sons that he was totally unaware of the growing resentment of his other wives and their sons. Reuben, the eldest, was the most affected. He saw the love his father had for Joseph and this new child, and a great fear and resentment rose within him.

It was as though Jacob suddenly had no children but these two children of Rachel. Reuben had been able to endure his preference of Rachel over his own mother, but now his obvious favoritism of Rachel’s sons was too painful.

When he tried to talk to his father, it was as though Jacob didn’t even hear what he was saying. When Reuben thoughtfully and patiently waited on him, Jacob took it for granted. Finally, when Reuben sought his father out to discuss his future, Jacob didn’t have enough time. Reuben had been led to believe that he, as the eldest, was the one to receive the birthright and the blessing. Now he strongly suspected that his father would choose Joseph. Then there was the matter of his marriage. If he, Reuben, was to receive the birthright, some thought should be given to his marriage.

All these concerns had been pushed aside for the greater matter of Rachel and her children. Jacob seemed consumed with their welfare. He had for some time openly favored Joseph, and now they had all seen him rename this new child “son of my right hand.” What could that mean but that he was thinking of giving Benjamin the birthright or the blessing?