The Sons of Isaac(27)

Laban closed the door. Turning to his mother, he said, “Have you explained to her what Eleazar has proposed? Does she understand what may happen if we do not go along with his plan?”

To his surprise it was Rebekah who answered with a slight lifting of her chin and a note of disgust in her voice. “Of course I understand. I’ll never marry that terrible old man your ugly god picked out for me.”

“We must not speak against the old goat-man,” Laban admonished. “He can wreak terrible revenge.”

To everyone’s surprise, Rebekah grinned. “He’s not very strong if Nazzim is the best he can produce.”

“You have to admit he’s rich and probably would not have lived very long. Two very good recommendations for any husband.” Laban was stern and defensive.

“There’s no need to argue,” Rebekah assured them. “I’ll go with this messenger from my uncle and marry the young man who has been so obviously chosen for me by his God.”

Laban stood studying her for a moment. He knew his sister very well. Often she was sweet and obliging, but there were times when she asserted herself in what he considered a stubborn and even manipulative way. He nervously pulled at his short beard as he admitted to himself how often his whole family had been known for their ability to bend and twist even difficult situations to attain their own ends.

He shrugged and walked to the door. “Wait in here,” he said, “and I’ll bring Eleazar so we can discuss this more thoroughly.”

* * *

Eleazar had asked to meet with Rebekah, her nurse, Deborah, her handmaidens, and her immediate family. When they were all assembled, old Nahor rose with difficulty and with a quavering voice confronted Rebekah. He voiced the question for the last time. “You are the light of this house, the joy of my old age. Will you choose to leave all of us and your life here to go with this messenger of my brother?”

“It’s best that I go, Grandfather,” she said, looking at him sadly but not moving to embrace him as she normally would have done.

“But my dear child, you know the story of how my brother, Abram, who’s now Abraham, left us, broke up the family to follow this God of his. Now he wants to take the very apple of my eye for his son. It’s too much. He asks too much.”

Laban began to be concerned that the old man would persuade her to stay, so he broke in, “It’s quite simple, Rebekah. We’ll abide by your decision. Will you go with this man and marry the young son of our uncle, yes or no?”

Rebekah looked around at all of them and then focused her gaze on Eleazar, who had been sitting silently in the seat of honor. “I intend to go with this man and marry my cousin.”

As she said that, her mother gave a cry and ran to embrace her. Nahor turned his face away and wiped at his eyes, while only Laban looked relaxed and pleased.

“My father,” Bethuel said at last to Nahor, “will you give her the family’s blessing before we send her away?” Nahor frowned and coughed and motioned for Bethuel to pronounce the blessing. He had not forgiven his brother, Abram, for leaving, and he could not bless this taking of his favorite granddaughter. It gave too much the look of compliance.

Bethuel, without hesitation, called for Rebekah to come kneel before him. As was the custom he placed his outer, fringed garment over her head and lifting up his eyes, he said, “Thou art my much loved daughter. Be thou the mother of thousands of millions and let thy seed possess the gate of those that hate them.” He had remembered that she would be traveling to a strange country and her children would no doubt need strength and courage to face those who would hate them just because they were different.

The camels were ready, and her handmaidens were gathering up their things and the belongings Rebekah had said she would take. It was important to leave before the sun mounted too high in the sky and it became hot and uncomfortable to travel. Even more important was the necessity of being well on their way before Nazzim discovered he had been robbed of his bride.

While her handmaidens were busy, Rebekah’s mother took her to one side. Usually a prospective bride had hours of instruction. Rebekah’s mother was frustrated with the turn of events that gave her no time to give much advice. “Aye, aye,” she moaned, clutching her mantle across her trembling mouth. “If I had known how it would be, I would have been wiser. How you will manage I don’t know.”

“Mother, I’ll manage very well. I’ll be quiet and demure, the perfect young bride.”

The mother held her at arm’s length. “You are too young, too impulsive. How will you manage?”