Till Shiloh Comes (36 page)

“Very hard.”

“I don't know what's to become of us.”

“Master, I've often wanted to ask you why you think Egypt is such a bad place.”

“I've always thought that ever since my father told me something about it.”

“What did he tell you about Egypt?”

“There was a famine in the land, daughter, just like there is now.”

“There are always famines. There always will be.”

“I suppose that's so, but anyway, my father wanted to go down to Egypt, just as my sons pestered me.”

“Did he go?”

“No, he didn't. God appeared to him and commanded him not to go. My father told me this many times.”

“Was that all God told him?” Tamar asked.

“No, he also made him a wonderful promise that I think about all the time.”

“What was that?”

“He said, ‘I will make your descendants as numerous as the stars of heaven and will give them all these lands, and through your offspring all nations on earth will be blessed.'” He turned and stared at Tamar. “Isn't that a wonderful promise? But I don't understand how it can happen. We're just a small band of people. How could all people be blessed because of us?”

“Don't you see, master?” Tamar whispered. “Indeed, we are small, but a river is small in its beginning. Why, I suppose the great Nile River at one point is so small a man could leap across it. Like the source of a river, your people are only a few dozen now, but they are the people God has chosen above all other nations. The Hittites may be stronger and the Amorites more numerous, but they are not the ones God has chosen.” Tamar's voice grew stronger, and she lifted her hands. “He has chosen Abraham and Isaac and now Jacob, and from you, master, will come One that will be in the line of Shiloh, for the Redeemer will come, and He will save His people.”

Jacob stared at Tamar, speechless. He had been greatly puzzled by this woman, and her history was a mystery to him. “So, what are you saying to me, Tamar?”

“I think this is a very different thing from what your father encountered. True, there was a famine and true, God did tell him not to go to Egypt at that time, but has He told
you
not to go?”

“Well … no, He hasn't, but …”

“He has not told you. Therefore, I think you should use every means to save your people—for what would happen if our people all perished? Would Shiloh ever come if the river were suddenly cut off?”

“God would have to choose another man, another Abraham.”

“No, that cannot happen. You yourself have said that God promised Abraham that
he
would be the father of a great nation. Now he's told it to your own father and to you too. But, master, we are going to die here if we don't get food.”

“What would you have me do, Tamar?”

Tamar had her answer ready. “I think you should seek God and pray about it.”

“What if I get no answer?”

“Then that might be the answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“If God doesn't say no, then you have freedom to move.” She paused. She knew that Jacob had a huge store of wisdom and would not be pushed. She rose and said, “Come now. Sleep, and maybe God will give you a dream. If He does, then you must obey. But if there is no word from God, you must do what a man can do.”

Jacob was too tired to argue any further, and he couldn't avoid the truth that some of what Tamar had said made sense. He lay down on the cot, and she put a light covering over him.

“Good night, master,” she whispered and left the tent.

Jacob lay in the darkness and thought about the problem for a long time. He was weary of life, but he began to pray, “O God of my fathers, speak to me that I might have your wisdom. I do not know which way to turn, but your hand is on all men. Let me know what to do!”

****

For three days Jacob fasted. Tamar watched him constantly and saw that he had plenty of water to drink, although he touched no food. She did not speak to him much, for he was caught up with a great inner struggle. When Judah came once and asked about his father, she said, “He's praying for wisdom, and I think he will send you all to Egypt.”

The whole camp knew that their fate lay in the balance. Starvation was like a pack of lean, hungry wolves that surrounded them on every side, so Jacob was certainly not the only one praying for wisdom.

Early one morning Jacob said, “Tamar, I will eat now.”

Tamar quickly fixed him a meal. It was merely a thin soup with a few bits of meat floating in it, but it brightened the old man's eyes. He said, “Go find my sons and tell them to come.”

“Yes, master!” Tamar went at once, and within thirty minutes all of the sons of Jacob were there, including Benjamin.

Jacob tried to hold himself in an upright position as he spoke to his sons. He looked weak and frail, but his voice was strong. “I have asked God, and I have no answer.” He heard a groan go up and said quickly, “But I consent. Take double money and take many gifts. Take the very best of the food we have and take back the money that was found in your sacks.”

Everyone was listening breathlessly, and finally Jacob forced himself to continue. “And take Benjamin.” An uproar went up from the brothers, and Benjamin made a glad cry of joy. Jacob allowed them to talk for a while and then finally said, “I give my consent, and may El Shaddai keep you all safe.”

Benjamin was beside himself. He was a grown man with a family of his own, yet he had still been kept under his father's hand. Now he was elated to be going on a journey, and he threw himself into the preparations along with the others.

****

The preparations did not take long, and on the second day after Jacob gave his permission, once again the animals were in line, and the brothers were ready for their departure.

Jacob, supported by his staff, came out and blessed their journey. He prayed for them fervently, and finally Jacob embraced Benjamin, unable to speak.

The brothers all watched this with anxiety. Dan whispered, “He may change his mind even now.”

But Jacob did not waver. He came to Judah and said, “Judah, you have given your bond for this child, but you are released from your bond. I do not build my trust on you. I will trust El Shaddai alone that He will bring all of you back. Now go in the name of the Almighty.” He turned and walked away sadly, limping worse than ever.

The brothers all watched him go, and then Judah said, “Come, brothers, it is time.”

The small caravan wound its way out of the camp, and as they disappeared from sight, Tamar said, “God will watch over them!”

Time passed slowly for Simeon during his imprisonment in Egypt. He knew it would take at least twenty days for his brothers to make the trip back to Canaan. He counted what he assumed would be the time needed to persuade Jacob to allow Benjamin to go, and then added the time for the return journey to Egypt. But that time quickly passed, and no matter how he figured it, the one element he could not change was the heart of his father. No one knew better than Simeon how Jacob had protected Benjamin all of his life, and he couldn't be certain that his father would ever let him leave home. As the months passed and Simeon pondered these things, he gradually fell into a dark depression.

Joseph got regular reports about Simeon from Rashidi, and he commanded his lieutenant to see to it that his brother got special attention. “Go sit with him. Try to encourage him all you can,” Joseph had told him. “He must be feeling low, but I cannot go myself.”

Rashidi was curious about Joseph's brothers and took the command as an opportunity to find out more. He had made several visits, and late one afternoon after his work was done, he went to the room where Simeon was kept, taking Joseph's Hebrew interpreter with him. There was only one door, and a guard was posted outside.

As Rashidi and the interpreter stepped in, he saw Simeon standing at the window gazing out. The window was barred, and the sunlight flowed in, throwing a pale golden beam on Simeon's face. The Hebrew, Rashidi saw at once, was miserable. For the first few visits that had not been the case, and Rashidi had reported to Joseph that his brother was doing all right. Now, however, Simeon's mouth was drawn down in a scowl, his eyes were hooded, and his shoulders slumped in a posture of utter dejection.

“Well, my friend, I have just been to the kitchen. I commanded them to bring you a delicacy. What would you say to some fine beer soup with raisins and a joint of mutton?”

Simeon turned at the familiar voice and waited for the interpreter to translate. Then he nodded. “Thank you, sir. That sounds very good.”

“I think you will enjoy the soup,” Rashidi went on. “It's very fine. I also gave orders for them to bring some very special wine,” he said, plumping himself down on a bench against the wall. “It was intended for one of the lower magistrates of the courts, but he got so drunk he wouldn't have appreciated it, so I gave him some cheap stuff. I thought it might be a treat for you.”

Simeon nodded briefly and murmured in a listless voice, “Thank you very much.” Then he turned back to stare silently out the window.

“Well, now. You seem a little out of sorts this morning. I can understand that.”

“Can you? I very much doubt it.”

“You don't think I've ever had any problems? All men have problems.”

“I suppose that's true.”

“You
suppose
it's true? Of course it's true! Surely as the smoke flies upward, each of us has to eat our peck of dirt.”

A momentary smile touched Simeon's broad lips as the interpreter tried to translate this idiom. “Well, I have more than a peck of dirt to eat, sir.”

“We all think that when we're in the middle of trouble, but even the darkest day will produce some sunshine sooner or later.”

“Perhaps.”

“In addition to the wine, I have another very special treat for you,” Rashidi said expansively. “Something not every man will get.”

Simeon turned with a faint flicker of interest in his eyes. “And what is that, sir?”

“I am a poet, and I have brought you a portion of my epic poem. I would be glad to read it to you.”

Again Simeon smiled faintly. “I'm not sure that poetry can help me.”

“Nonsense! Poetry can help everyone.”

“I'm afraid I'm not very poetic. I don't understand poetry very well.”

“It's not necessary to understand it to appreciate it,” Rashidi said. “Just the sound of the words as they roll—the exact word in the exact spot—it's like an arrow driving home into the very center of the target. Ah, that's the glory of poetry. Shall I read you a bit of it?”

“I suppose it can't do any harm.”

Rashidi began to read from the papyrus scroll he had brought in. He loved to read his own poetry, and his voice rolled sonorously. His stentorian tones drifted out through the window and past the door so that the guard outside rolled his eyes and said, “O you gods, more of that abominable poem of his!”

Simeon listened for a time to the sounds of the poem as Rashidi recited and could sense the artistic rhythm and flow of the Egyptian language, but of course he could not understand a word of it. The interpreter could only tell him in general what the poem was about but could not translate it word for word. It left Simeon puzzled by the meaning and purpose of it.

When Rashidi stopped, he smacked his lips and shook his head. “Oh, that's a glorious piece of work!”

Simeon, despite his gloom, was amused. “You don't mind praising your own work?”

“Mind? Of course not! I'm the one who appreciates it more than anyone else. Most people don't really know what a work of genius this is.”

“I am sure it will bring you great fame,” Simeon said dryly. “Is there money in being a poet?”

“Money? Money is the last thing I think of, Simeon!”

Simeon sat down on the bench next to Rashidi and looked into the man's eyes. “So you don't care about money.”

“Not a bit! I could be happy with nothing but a ragged rug to sit on and a wooden bowl for my food as long as I can have my poetry.”

Simeon looked at Rashidi's rich clothing, the gold rings on his biceps, and the rings glittering from his fingers. “Have you ever been poor?” he asked.

“Well, not really. My father was a wealthy man, and he took care of me. I went into government and became a governor of a prison, and now I am the third most important man in the country. Pharaoh's the king, the Provider tells him what to do, and I tell the Provider what to do!”

“If you've never been poor, how do you know you could bear it?”

The question seemed to puzzle Rashidi. He clawed at his hair, digging his fingernails into his scalp, his face twisted up in an expression of deep thought. “I just know it,” he said finally. “My art's more important than my comfort.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to help me with your poetry. I am a very simple fellow, just a herdsman. I had a brother once who was very much of a scholar. He could read and write all sorts of languages, and he liked poetry too. As a matter of fact, he even wrote some.”

“Which one of your brothers was that?”

“Oh, none that came with me. We …” Simeon looked down at the ground, his face again assuming a gloomy cast. “We lost him many years ago.”

“Oh … was it a sickness?”

“N-no, not exactly.”

“Torn by wild beasts, perhaps.”

“I really don't want to talk about it.”

“Well, you should appreciate my poem, then, because there are many lines in it that talk about how to handle loss. A man must expect it and give himself up to the will of the gods without arguing.”

Simeon turned and demanded, “Have you ever had a loss? A loved one? A wife? A child?”

“No, I can't say that I have.”