Treasury of Bible Stories Page 4

  “Father…” said Isaac.

  “Here I am, my son.”

  “We have the fire and the wood. But where is the sheep for offering?”

  Abraham’s throat was raw. His heart flamed. “God will see to the offering”—he swallowed—“my son.”

  The two of them walked as one to the mountaintop. Abraham built an altar. Clump, clump. Each step was like a killing blow. He laid out the firewood. Clump, clump. He bound his son Isaac—clump—placed him on the altar on top of the wood—clump—curled his fingers around the grip of the cleaver. It felt heavy as a boulder, heavy enough to crush him. Yet he held it tight. He could hardly see for the tears.

  MOVEMENT IN DREAMS

  In this story God demands Abraham sacrifice his son Isaac. Abraham moves slowly, clumping along, as though he’s in a dream. In fact, time does feel like it is passing more slowly in dreams than in wakefulness. This might be because action in a dream lacks the muscular feedback of action when we are awake, so the brain needs more time to process it. Or it might be because the sleeping brain is simply slower and more sluggish, so action is processed slowly and sluggishly.

  Abraham was ready to obey God’s most searing order and kill Isaac—his Isaac, his dear son with Sarah. At the last moment, God relented, and a ram appeared, to be sacrificed in Isaac’s stead.

  “Abraham, Abraham,” came an urgent, heavenly voice.

  “Here I am,” said Abraham. He swiped at his eyes.

  “Stop. Do nothing to the boy. Now I know you are in awe of God, for you don’t withhold even your son from me.”

  Abraham lifted his eyes and saw a ram caught by his horns in a bush. That ram became the burnt offering instead of Isaac.

  “Because you have done this, you will have more offspring than stars in the heavens and grains of sand on the seashore. I will bless all of them.”

  Abraham returned home. The moon was still alternating with the sun—so day followed night. Plants were still growing. Rain still fell now and then. Breath still moved in and out of Abraham’s lungs, of Isaac’s lungs. They were alive. All went on. Abraham even learned that back at his old home, his relatives were thriving. His brother’s son had grown by now and had a daughter named Rebekah. All went on.

  But it would never be the same. Abraham had been ready to slay Isaac, though he loved him. Isaac’s eyes still burned from the salt of his father’s tears as he had leaned over the boy with that cleaver.

  No, it would never be the same.

  Abraham’s servant Eliezer went to Nahor to find the right wife for Isaac. He set a test in his head: If he asked a young woman for water and she gave water not just to him but also to his camels, this would be the just bride. He was right. Rebekah was perfect for Isaac.

  REBEKAH

  Soon after the binding of Isaac, his mother, Sarah, died, perhaps of grief at what had almost happened to her son at the hand of her husband. Abraham was very old now, and he looked at his motherless son and decided Isaac needed a wife before Abraham, too, should die. So he told his servant Eliezer to return to Nahor, the homeland where he and Sarah had grown up, and fetch a wife for Isaac.

  “But what if the woman won’t come with me?” asked Eliezer. “Should I then send Isaac himself to fetch her?”

  “No. Isaac must not go there.” Abraham told Eliezer that a task messenger of the Lord would pave the way for him. And if the woman still refused to come, then Eliezer would be free of his obligation.

  So the servant loaded gifts onto 10 of Abraham’s camels and traveled to Nahor. He arrived in the evening and had his camels kneel near the well of the bubbling spring. The townspeople’s daughters came at that hour to draw water. Eliezer prayed about an imagined encounter. He’d say to a young woman, “Please lower your jar that I may drink,” and she would answer, “Drink. And I’ll water your camels, too.” Yes, the woman who answered that way would be the right bride for Isaac.

  And here came Rebekah, beautiful, glowing daughter of Betuel, son of Milcah, the wife of Abraham’s brother. She had a water jug perched on her shoulder. The sunlight sparkled off the beads of water that had formed on the outside of that jug in the hot air. It was heavy, no doubt, but the girl carried it as though effortlessly.

  Eliezer imagined the cool spring water inside, sloshing as she walked and his mouth felt parched. “Please lower your jar that I may drink,” said Eliezer.

  “Drink.” Rebekah lowered her jar and watched Eliezer slake his thirst. “I’ll water your camels, too.” She poured jug after jug of water into the camel trough.

  Eliezer gave Rebekah a gold nose ring and two gold bracelets, and asked who she was and if there was room in her home for him to pass the night.

  Rebekah said she was the child of Betuel, the son of Milcah, and assured Eliezer that they had fodder for the camels and a room for him. She ran ahead and told her mother what had happened.

  Rebekah’s brother Laban looked at the gold jewelry and rushed out to the well to bring the man home with him to eat and sleep. But Eliezer needed to tell them his message before he would eat. So he told them the whole story—of Sarah giving birth to Isaac in her old age and how Isaac now needed a wife from this place—the homeland of Sarah and Abraham—not from the land of the Canaanites, where Isaac now lived. Eliezer described Abraham’s considerable wealth and he repeated the words that Abraham and he had exchanged, about what to do if the woman Eliezer found was not willing to come with him. He told about his prayer of finding a woman who would give water to both him and his camels. On and on he went, describing how Rebekah had been the exact answer to his prayers—and how the discovery that she was the granddaughter of Abraham’s brother meant all of it had happened just as it should have.

  CAMELS

  This is the second time we’ve seen camels—Abram and Sarai brought camels when they left their homeland originally. These were probably one-humped dromedaries, used primarily for transportation of goods. By around 1200 B.C.E. saddles appeared, so camels could also be ridden. Camels have two rows of eyelashes and three eyelids, to keep sand out of their eyes. They have fur that keeps sand out of their ears. Their nostrils close between breaths to keep sand out of their throats. Thus, they are perfectly designed for desert living.

  Laban and his father Betuel told Eliezer, “Here is Rebekah. She is yours.”

  So Eliezer bowed low and gave Rebekah and her brother and her mother silver and gold jewelry and costly and precious cloths. Then he ate and slept.

  In the morning Laban and his mother hesitated. They wanted Rebekah to stay home another 10 days before journeying.

  Eliezer begged them not to delay; his master was waiting.

  At this point they turned to Rebekah, the one to whom all of this mattered the most, to ask what she wanted.

  The lovely Rebekah said, “I will go.”

  Her family blessed her, wishing her many children who would inherit the gates of their enemies.

  So Rebekah and her handmaids climbed on the camels and left with Eliezer.

  Isaac, meanwhile, had returned from a visit to the very well where Hagar had saved Ishmael. He was meditating in a field at home—simply being alone as a man of 40 years will do—when he looked up and saw camels approaching.

  Rebekah was on one of those camels. She lifted her eyes and saw Isaac, and she slid from the camel and asked Eliezer, “Who is that man?”

  “My master.”

  So Rebekah covered herself in her shawl.

  Eliezer told Isaac the whole story, yet again. He told about his prayer and about the girl who gave water generously to both him and his camels. He repeated it as though this third telling would seal the event as a truth that couldn’t be questioned: Rebekah was meant for Isaac.

  Isaac brought Rebekah home to his mother’s tent—still full of grief from the old woman’s death—and he married her and loved her. Yes, she was welcome comfort after such sorrow.

  Isaac was contemplating in a field when Rebekah saw him. Somehow she knew this man would me
an something to her. She got off her camel and learned that the man in the field was her future husband.

  Isaac’s first son, Esau, brought home animals for his mother, Rebekah, to cook into stews. His younger brother Jacob stayed at home instead.

  ESAU AND JACOB

  Rebekah, like Sarah, had trouble conceiving. Isaac pleaded with the Lord, and Rebekah became pregnant with twins. They tussled inside her. In her discomfort, Rebekah went to the Lord complaining, “Why me?”

  The Lord told her each twin “would lead a nation, and the elder would serve the younger.”

  This message was an echo. Abel had been Cain’s younger brother—and the Lord had gazed upon him, not upon Cain. Isaac had been Ishmael’s younger brother—and God’s covenant had been with Isaac, not with Ishmael. Rebekah responded to that echo; her heart cleaved to whichever child would be born second.

  The firstborn had red hair all over, like a coat. They called him Esau. The second-born came out clinging to his brother’s heel. They named him Jacob, which meant “heel.”

  Esau became a hunter, always outside. Isaac loved him best because of the tasty game dishes he brought home. Jacob became a tent-dweller, a homebody. Rebekah loved him best—with that steadiness that Abraham had felt for Isaac.

  It was as though each parent had only one son.

  Meanwhile Abraham took another wife and had other children. When he died, his firstborn, Ishmael, and his second-born, Isaac, buried him beside his first wife, Sarah.

  Soon after, back in Canaan, Jacob made a red lentil stew—with bubbles from the bottom of the pot turning everything tipsy-turvy, like a rebellion, releasing an aroma so fine, it dizzied the birds. Esau came home exhausted and famished. He begged Jacob for that stew.

  “Sell me your birthright,” said Jacob.

  Esau might have laughed—the right of the firstborn in exchange for a bowl of stew? But what did the firstborn’s right amount to, anyway? Esau would die, just as Abraham had. Human life was a flash of light—here and gone. So Esau agreed. He ate Jacob’s stew and gave up his birthright.

  Many years later, when elderly Isaac’s eyes were bleary, he called out, “My son.”

  “Here I am,” said Esau, knowing he was the son Isaac had always needed.

  Isaac told Esau to hunt game and make him a savory dish before he died. Then he would bless Esau.

  Esau left for the fields.

  Rebekah had overheard. She wanted that blessing for Jacob. She told Jacob about the promised blessing and ordered him to bring her two choice goat kids for a stew. Then Jacob could pretend to be Esau, bring the stew to Isaac, and receive the blessing.

  “Esau is hairy,” said Jacob. “I am smooth. Father will know I’m a trickster. He’ll curse me.”

  “If there’s a curse, it falls on me,” said Rebekah.

  Jacob fetched the goat kids. Rebekah made the stew. She dressed Jacob in Esau’s clothes. She put the hairy goat pelts on Jacob’s hand and neck.

  Disguised, Jacob went to Isaac’s bedside. “Father.”

  LENTILS

  In this story, Esau gives up his birthright for a lentil stew. Lentils were an essential food in biblical times and are still widely eaten today. One of the first cultivated crops, they were grown from present-day Bangladesh, westward across India, Pakistan, the Arabian Peninsula, Egypt, and around the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. Lentils grow without special attention, and rotate well with grains to keep a field fertile. They are high in protein and the dried plants make good animal fodder. Lentils are even used in traditional medicine.

  Jacob covered himself in a goat pelt and served his father, Isaac, a stew, pretending to be Esau. Fooled by the feel and smell of him, Isaac gave Jacob the blessing he had intended to give Esau.

  “Here I am.” But Isaac felt confused. “Who are you, my son?”

  “Esau,” lied Jacob. “Eat now, then bless me.”

  “You were quick.”

  “The Lord your God gave me luck.”

  “Come close. I must feel you, to know you are Esau.” Isaac felt carefully. “The voice is Jacob’s. But the hands are Esau’s. Are you truly my son Esau?”

  “I am,” lied Jacob again.

  “Feed me.” Isaac ate stew and drank wine. He kissed Jacob, and smelled his clothes. “Your smell is the smell of the field blessed by the Lord.” Isaac blessed Jacob from the life force of his blood: Jacob would have the dew of the heavens, the fat of the earth, abundance of grain and wine, and he would be served by many nations and be the master over his brothers.

  Soon after Jacob had left the room, Esau appeared with his stew. “Eat, Father. So you can bless me.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Esau. Your firstborn.”

  “But who then already fed me?” Isaac trembled. “I gave him my blessing. It stays.” Blessings cannot be undone.

  Esau twisted in pain. He was Isaac’s favorite. He was the one Isaac turned to for good food. They loved one another deeply. This could not be. “Bless me, too, Father.”

  “Your brother stole your blessing.”

  “Jacob took my birthright and now he’s taken my blessing! Oh, Father, have you no blessing left for me?”

  “I made him master over you. I blessed him with grain and wine. What do I have left to bless you with?”

  Something. Anything. Just one blessing from this father who was so dear to him. Esau wept. “Bless me, too.”

  Isaac rallied. He blessed Esau with the dew of the heavens and the fat of the earth. But he said Esau would live by his sword and serve his brother. Yet one day Esau would rebel, and break free of the yoke that his brother had placed on his neck.

  Poor Esau muttered that once Isaac died, he would kill his brother Jacob.

  Rebekah, ever the eavesdropper like Sarah before her, told Jacob to flee fast. He must go live with her brother in her homeland until Esau’s wrath should subside. But first, she convinced Isaac to warn Jacob not to marry a Hittite woman here in Canaan. Esau had taken two Hittite wives and Rebekah couldn’t bear them. She’d be bereft if Jacob did the same. So Isaac told Jacob to marry a woman from Rebekah’s homeland. This time he blessed Jacob truly, knowing who he was.

  By chance, Esau heard this exchange. He hadn’t realized his mother didn’t like his wives. So he went to Ishmael, Isaac’s half-brother, and married one of his daughters. Poor Esau, he was unaware of the friction between Ishmael and Isaac. Esau could never do anything right.

  Jacob ran away to the land of his mother. There he stopped at a well and moved aside a huge stone that normally took three men to move. Where did his energy come from? He was already smitten with the girl watching him—his cousin Rachel.

  JACOB, RACHEL, LEAH

  Jacob left his parents, Isaac and Rebekah, in Canaan, and traveled toward Rebekah’s homeland, the homeland of his grandfather Abraham. Along the way he stopped in a spot that felt so holy, he thought of it as “the place.” He stayed the night, using a stone for his pillow.

  And he dreamed, oh, did he dream. The dream came slow and heavy and real, as though saying, “Here I am.” A ladder appeared with its foot stretching earthward and its top stretching heavenward—like the top of the tower of Babel. Task messengers went up and down that ladder. “I am the Lord,” came the heavenly voice, “the God of Abraham and Isaac.” This voice blessed Jacob: His offspring would spread out like the dust of the earth.

  Jacob was awestruck. The ladder was the gateway to heaven. Isaac’s blessing had not been an accident; the Lord was with Jacob. In the morning, Jacob poured oil over his pillow stone and named the place Bethel. If the Lord brought him safely home, Bethel would become the house of God and Jacob would tithe to God forever.

  Bursting with gratitude, Jacob arrived in his mother’s homeland in search of her brother Laban. He came upon a well with three flocks of sheep around it. A huge stone covered the well mouth. All the shepherds had to work together to move that stone aside for the sheep to drink. Jacob asked the shepherds if they knew Laban. />
  They did. Furthermore, Laban’s young daughter Rachel was now driving her sheep to the well.

  Jacob saw that amazing girl and energy shot through him. He moved the huge stone from the well. Then he swept Rachel into his arms and kissed her. And wept, while the astonished girl watched. He explained he was the son of her aunt Rebekah.

  Rachel ran to tell her father, Laban, who ran to welcome Jacob: “You are my bone and my flesh.”

  Jacob fell to working for Laban. After a month, Laban asked what recompense he wanted. Laban had two daughters, beautiful Rachel and her older sister, Leah, with the soft eyes. Jacob was in a long line of people who knew love. Abraham had loved his wife Sarah and his son Isaac. Isaac loved his wife Rebekah. Rebekah loved her son Jacob. Jacob already loved Rachel. He asked to marry her. Laban agreed, if Jacob worked for him for seven years.

  Seven years passed as though days, because Jacob’s love was so strong. Then they wed. That night, Laban brought his daughter into Jacob’s tent. But in the morning, Jacob saw the truth: The woman beside him was Leah, not Rachel. Jacob, who had tricked Isaac into giving him Esau’s blessing, had now been tricked himself. He cried out, “Why?” Laban said that younger daughters were never married off before older ones. If Jacob waited a week, he could take Rachel as his second wife, but he must work seven more years. Jacob agreed, and so within a week both daughters were his wives.