“No,” Isaac said finally. “I thought it was something that happened normally without asking.”
Abraham picked up his piece of bread and dipped it in the stew, then bit off the succulent morsel and motioned for Isaac to do the same. When he had eaten almost all of the bread, he reached out and grasped Isaac’s arm. “My son,” he said, “it’s important to ask Elohim for the things we need and want. Then when they come, we know they come from His hand and not from our fleshly efforts or an idol’s fancy. We thank Him for the gift and are satisfied.”
The fire had died down to a pile of glowing coals. The stew pot was almost empty and the bread was gone. Isaac rose to go and then hesitated. “Even though I have no children, you still believe all this will come to pass.”
Abraham rose and came to where he could look at his son, who now stood in the soft, full light of the new moon. “I have no doubt, no doubt at all.”
With that Isaac turned and went through the darkness toward his tent. Abraham stood watching him go until he was lost in the shadow of one of the tents.
Isaac was once again camped at the oasis called La-Hai-roi, a place considered holy as it was here that Hagar, the mother of Ishmael, had seen the angel and been comforted. Hagar had named it Beer-La-hai-roi, or the well of Him that liveth and seeth me. Since that time, it had changed a great deal. Now there were tall palm trees and the well had a worn stone curb. It was a favorite stopping place for caravans going up to Hebron or over to Gaza.
Isaac had moved to this site not only because it was such a pleasant spot, but because he hoped the same angel that had brought such comfort to Hagar would again appear to bless and comfort Rebekah.
Actually it was in this place they reached the final crisis. First, it was here that Rebekah became obsessed with the problem of Sarah and her handmaid Hagar. Every way she turned she was reminded of Hagar’s trauma, which had been acted out in this very place. She felt first the agony of Sarah who had been barren all of her life and at almost ninety was still childless. Then she was haunted by the frustration of Hagar who, while carrying a child for Sarah, had been beaten by her so that she had run away and had come here to this well.
“Why,” Rebekah asked Isaac, “did Elohim let Hagar get pregnant so quickly? If He had just let Sarah have a child instead, things would have worked out much better.”
During the visit of Ishmael, Hagar’s now grown son, she had become increasingly aware of her problem. All of his wives had seemingly produced sons with no difficulty. They were plump, jolly women who thought it the very simplest thing to get pregnant and have a child. When she had asked them what herbs or magic potions they had used, they laughed and winked at each other as though it were a silly question.
Finally there was Keturah, who had never had to eat the strange, bitter potions or go through difficult ordeals to become pregnant. She had been able to fit right in with Ishmael’s wives, discussing the trials of the birthing stool and the joys of nursing her little sons.
Rebekah’s handmaids had tried to encourage her by pointing out that she still had the firm, pointed breasts of a young girl and her stomach was only gently rounded. These wives she so admired, they said, had thighs that spilled over their saddles and were so heavy they swayed the backs of their donkeys, their breasts were like filled wine jugs, and when they smiled there were teeth missing.
“But they are honored and respected,” Rebekah reminded them. “They gave their husbands sons.”
Now, on this night, Rebekah was even more distressed. She had taken so many vile smelling potions and had ordered so many charms that she was exhausted with the effort. “I used to be so happy, so excited about everything,” she said to Deborah. “Now I think only of getting pregnant. I must have a child. I couldn’t bear for Isaac to take a woman like his father took Hagar.”
In the midst of this discussion, they heard someone approaching and Deborah lifted the tent flap to peer out into the darkness. Seeing that it was Isaac, she let it fall and hurried back to Rebekah. “Now, now,” she said, as she coaxed a few curls into place around Rebekah’s face, “it’s your husband, Isaac. You mustn’t let him see you this way.” Then she quickly snatched up the fire pot and sprinkled some citrus peels on the coals to make a pleasant smell.
Just as Isaac appeared out of the shadows, Deborah disappeared out the back of the tent. Rebekah usually ran to meet him and had some happy event to recount. Now she rose from the cushions where she had been sitting, but did not smile. Though she held out both hands as usual, he could see there was something wrong. “My love,” he said, putting an arm tenderly around her and leading her back to the cushions, “what’s wrong? What has happened?”