The Sons of Isaac

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Old Nahor shuffled out of his room and squinted up at the sky that appeared as a bright, blue patch above the walled courtyard. “It’s a good day for a wedding,” he muttered. Then slowly with many yawns and a few hiccups, he made his way to the water jar, lifted the lid, and peered down. He could see nothing and so impulsively pulled back his sleeve and thrust his arm into the jar.

“Grandfather, what are you doing?”

Nahor groaned as he pulled his arm out of the jar and turned to face his laughing granddaughter. “There’s no water. They’ve used it all.”

“Of course, we’ve been cleaning and cooking. Have you forgotten? Laban is bringing his new bride home today.”

“Who could forget?” Nahor muttered as he pulled down his sleeve. “So her family’s rich. Truth is he’s getting nothing but an ugly, bucktoothed she goat of a woman.”

“Grandfather,” she said with a giggle, looking around guiltily. “If Laban heard you …” She lifted the heavy jar of water from her head and leaned it carefully against the wall. “I’ll help you over to the bench and then get whatever you want.”

She took his arm gently. He held back, grimaced, and looked at her. “My son named you wrong. You’re not a noose around his neck. I never understood.” His old voice cracked with emotion as he shook his head in bewilderment. Reluctantly he let her lead him over to the shaded area beneath the grape arbor.

She helped him ease onto the bench where he usually spent the day. “Father says he called me Rebekah, or noose,” she said, “because I was pretty enough to catch a rich husband.”

“Of course, of course, he’s always thinking of ways to get rich.”

“That’s just how he thinks,” she said. She noticed that in the effort he had lost one of his slippers. Snatching it up, she quickly knelt and helped him work his foot into it.

“Now sit here,” she said, “and I’ll bring you some fresh water.”

When she came back with a dipper overflowing with the clear, cool water, he was still muttering to himself about the name his son, Bethuel, had given his beautiful granddaughter.

“Grandfather, don’t worry. I’m his favorite and that’s all that really matters.”

“Favorite? Then why are dark secrets and bargains made with the clay gods under the stairs?” His eyes grew wild and he wiped his brow with a trembling hand.

For a moment Rebekah was afraid he was about to have another of his fainting fits. “Dark secrets and bargains?” she repeated as she tucked a throw of soft woven material around his shoulders.

He leaned toward her, cupping his hand around his mouth as he whispered, “They’ve greased the old goat-man’s bald head and made big promises if he finds a rich husband for you.”

Rebekah squatted beside him. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. “They’ve refused all the young men who’ve asked for me.”

“Of course, of course, they’re greedy. They want riches, gold, favors. And the old clay goat-man is to get it for them.”

Rebekah stood up. She knew Nahor had strange dreams and delusions at times. “Maybe you dreamed it,” she said.

“Go look, see for yourself.” He pointed in the direction of the stairs and then leaned back against the stone wall, exhausted, and closed his eyes. He would doze and forget, but Rebekah was disturbed. She knew her father, Bethuel, and her brother, Laban, put great store by the gods of clay and stone made by old Terah, her great-grandfather, before he left Ur. The god with the greatest powers was the one they called the old goat-man. He was a moon god and could control any situation for a price.

She started toward the pigeon houses fastened to the far wall but stopped when she came to the stairs that led to the roof. She stared at the crude, bolted door that opened to the space below the stairs. Behind this door were shelves on which sat the family gods. Except for the small fertility gods the women were allowed to have, all the gods were kept here. This was a forbidden area for the women. They were not allowed to even look on the gods. Bethuel and Laban carried out the secret rituals at night when everyone else was asleep.