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The Sons of Isaac(5)

By:Roberta Kells Dorr


Laban looked at Nazzim and listened closely to what he said, but even then he did not at first understand. “This day is my wedding day,” Laban began. “I will come with the men of my family to get Barida and take her to my house.” When he said this it began to dawn on him just what Nazzim had in mind.

“Yes, yes,” Nazzim broke in impatiently. “It is not usually done … but a man of my distinction can make his own rules. If I decide that I, along with the men of my house, wish to escort my daughter to her new home, who would dare criticize?”

“And I am to manage to have my sister where you can see her.”

Nazzim beamed. “You are indeed as clever as I had at first thought. Be assured, you will be richly rewarded whether I decide to marry her or not.” With that he assumed it was as good as agreed upon. He handed Laban his walking stick to hold for him while he clapped loudly three times for the young men who were waiting for him. They helped him to his feet, gathered up the mats and cushions, and within minutes Laban heard the soft, shuffling sound, the tapping of the walking stick, and Nazzim’s heavy breathing.

Then all was quiet.

When the men of his family returned, Laban ignored their questions about Nazzim’s visit. He needed time to ponder the strange turn of events. He wanted no discussions on the subject. He was determined to see that no one gave his sister even a hint of his plans until all the arrangements were made and it was too late for them to be changed.

When he reached home he saw that everything was in order for the celebration. “Go to the roof and sit,” the women advised. “We don’t want you in our way until you are to bring the bride.” He had time only to warn them of Nazzim’s coming, and then he got out of their way.

Laban headed for the stairs and then turned around and came back. He opened the big door under the stairs and sprinkled more of the precious incense in the dish in front of the old goat-god.

“See Laban,” one of Rebekah’s maids whispered. “He wants things to go well with his bride tonight.”

Laban heard her and laughed to himself. “Not for myself, old goat-man, but may my sister find favor in the eyes of Nazzim.”





When evening came the men of Nahor’s family made final preparations for the short ride through the city of Haran to the house of Nazzim. The dancers and drummers arrived, torches were lit, and last touches were given to the trappings of the donkeys that were to carry Laban and his entourage. Laban was obviously nervous. He shouted orders, made hasty decisions and then canceled them, paced back and forth until old Nahor cautioned that he would wear out the tiles of the court.

When at last the moon rose over the courtyard, Laban announced that it was time to leave. He glanced quickly in the direction of the small room under the stairs and noted with satisfaction that a thin trail of sweet incense was oozing out around the door. The old goat-man should be well pleased with his work.

As he rode out the gate he stopped to anoint the clay plaque dedicated to the moon god, Sin. Sin was the god of the people here in Haran, and Laban believed in acknowledging all the gods. He was determined to leave nothing to chance. He was sure that with these gods favoring him he would at last have the good luck and riches he so desperately wanted.

As he rode along the dark, cobbled streets lit only by moonlight and their own flaring torches, people appeared in the lighted windows above him. Some even leaned over their parapets to shout raucous advice and good wishes, which could hardly be heard over the drumming and singing of the wedding party.

However, as he neared Nazzim’s house one old woman leaned far out of her upper window and shouted, “There goes the handsome Laban to marry Nazzim’s ugly daughter.”

Laban looked up quickly to see who dared to shout such a thing, but the woman had disappeared and the shutters had been quickly pulled together with a bang. He glanced around to see if anyone else had heard what the woman said and then determined that they were more interested in the dancing, jigging step they fashioned to the steady beat of the drums.

It was the words, however, that continued to beat in Laban’s head. He wanted to be envied not pitied. If the old women shouted such rubbish, then it was certain that the people of Haran were whispering the same thing behind his back. If they felt that he was so mismatched, what would they think when they heard that Rebekah, who had turned away many suitors, was going to marry old Nazzim? He could feel the blood rising hotly and knew his face was red with frustration.

At last they turned from the narrow lane out into a wide cobbled area. Facing them was an impressive doorway opening to the courtyard of Nazzim’s house. Palm branches festooned the opening and torches flickered and flamed. The sweet odor of incense filled the air. From inside the courtyard the cry went up, “The bridegroom comes, the bridegroom comes.” Immediately torches appeared along the wall and the cry sounded from every corner of the inner court, across the roof, and down into the servants’ quarters. Cymbals crashed and women gave the yodeling joy cry that signaled a wedding procession.