The instructions went on endlessly until Jacob was afraid he could not remember everything and begged to be released from the responsibility. He went first to Rebekah, who was preparing some birds for their dinner. He begged her to make some other arrangement. “No, no,” she said. “This is a good time for you to learn everything you must know if you are to have the birthright and the blessing.”
“But Esau said …” he began.
“We are not listening to Esau or anyone else,” his mother retorted. “It was Elohim Himself who spoke and told me the younger was to rule the older. That should be enough for you. Don’t listen to all these people who didn’t hear the voice.”
“But my father …” Jacob said.
Now Rebekah stood up. The bird she had been plucking dangled from one hand, and with the back of the other, she pushed away a stray curl that had crept from the tightly wound head cloth. For a moment she just stood looking at Jacob, and then she frowned. “I’m going to tell you something you must never forget,” she said. “You are the chosen one. You are the one who will receive the blessing and the birthright. I don’t know how it will come about or when, but that’s what’s going to happen.”
She pulled off a few more feathers, then handed the bird to one of the serving girls. “Come,” she said. “I, myself, am taking you to your grandfather. You must listen to all he has to say. You must remember everything. He’ll not live long and these things he knows must not be forgotten.”
“But,” Jacob objected, “we have been told these things many times.”
She held out her hands for one of the serving girls to pour water from the pitcher over them, then wiped them on the end of her mantle. “Come now,” she said. “When your father dies you must be the one to carry on the wisdom and the meaning of your grandfather’s belief. This is just the training you’ll need.”
When they came to Abraham’s large tent, she confidently raised the flap and pushed Jacob before her into the tent. “Here, my father,” she said, “is Jacob, the lad who will take care of you. He’s very clever and so will want to hear all that you can tell him of our family and our God.”
She stood smiling and confident while Abraham raised his head and looked at them with a steady, piercing gaze that frightened Jacob. Jacob hung back until his mother again pushed him toward his grandfather. “Here’s your grandson who will serve you, and you in turn must teach him.”
With that she gave Jacob another push, raised the tent flap, and left the two alone together.
Abraham cleared his throat and looked at the boy. He had always noticed Esau, and this was the first time he had ever seriously considered Jacob. “Boy,” he said, rather kindly, “come sit here beside me and we’ll get acquainted.”
Jacob hurried forward, and bending over his grandfather’s hand, he raised it to his forehead in respect, then quickly he edged onto a leather cushion that was far to one side of his grandfather.
“No, no, boy, come sit here where I can see you,” Abraham said, thumping a cushion at his side. “First, you will tell me something important about yourself and then you may ask me anything that puzzles you.”
Jacob told him that he was not a hunter like his brother nor was he as strong and handsome as his brother. “I have no talent for anything, it seems, but cooking like a woman,” he said.
To his surprise Abraham laughed. “To learn to cook is a good thing. If I could cook I would not be dependent on anyone.”
Jacob relaxed. He had always seen his grandfather as large and impressive. Men listened when he talked, bowed over his hand in respect, and at times even kissed the hem of his robe. They always seemed to be eager for his advice.
In the past, when he had been invited to the large tent, he had been lost among the sons of Keturah and the many visitors. He had stood back and watched his grandfather with awed amazement but had let Esau and his father do all the talking. He always hoped he would not be noticed.
Now there was a strained silence as the two studied each other. Jacob knew from experience that his grandfather was looking for some family resemblance. That’s what everyone in the family did. He was always compared to some relative who still lived in Haran.
Abraham stroked his beard and frowned. “And now it’s your turn,” he said. “Is there some question you would like to ask of me?” His voice was deep and formal, but his eyes under the gray, feathered brows were kind.
Jacob squirmed. He did have a question he had wanted to ask but was afraid it would seem silly. He looked around the tent and back at his grandfather. He wished he could think of something that would impress him. He had many questions, but he could only remember one at this moment. “Why did our family leave Ur of the Chaldees?” he asked finally.