She went back to her tent and told Deborah, “He’ll not confront Esau. It’s hopeless. It’s obvious I can no longer depend on him to make difficult decisions.”
“He doesn’t understand; he thinks you can manage everything,” Deborah said. “He doesn’t realize that if you are stern and harsh, most women will obey, but there will be a price to pay. They don’t forget.”
“Deborah, you must help me,” Rebekah insisted. “Esau will have his way and we must deal with the problems as best we can.”
* * *
Esau went up to Kirjath-arba at the feast of the new moon and was gone for a week. When he returned he brought with him not only his new bride but also two young slaves. Her belongings were all packed into a few finely woven reed baskets.
It was Deborah who reported to Rebekah that Judith carefully carried one of these baskets herself and warned that no one must touch it. “Inside the basket,” Deborah said, “is supposed to be a large, coiled snake.”
Rebekah drew back in horror. “Do you suppose she means to keep it?”
“I’m sure she does. Esau has bragged to some of the men that she has tamed it. He is proud of her accomplishment.”
Rebekah sank down among the cushions and pulled Deborah down beside her. “I can’t tell Isaac. What shall I do?”
“There may be very little to do at first. She has a young boy who must catch small rodents to feed the snake and this, plus her new husband, will occupy her for at least a month. By the end of the month she’ll undoubtedly be pregnant.”
Rebekah let out a cry. “And this, this Hittite is to be the first of my grandchildren.”
“And if it is a boy …” Deborah said.
“It will inherit the birthright and the blessing of Abraham!” Rebekah whispered the words in horror, and the two women looked at each other with tears in their eyes.
* * *
It was indeed as Deborah had predicted; Judith was pregnant by the time the first month was up and Esau was elated. “She is strong. The child will undoubtedly be a boy.”
Judith was soon nauseated and dizzy. She clung to the snake as a familiar creature that gave her comfort. “She even talks to the snake,” one of Judith’s women reported.
At first Rebekah refused to have her moved into her tent as long as the snake must come too. However, within a fortnight, a situation arose that forced Rebekah to take the girl even with the snake.
Since his new wife was pregnant and needed the care of his mother, Esau was again free to wander up to Kirjath-arba. He was now welcomed among the Hittites as one of them, and it was not long before a Hittite named Elon encouraged him to take his daughter as a second wife.
“She has been one of Judith’s friends,” her father said, “and the two can be company for each other. My Bashemath can cook the food we are used to and she can help when the baby comes.”
Thus Esau brought home another new bride who stayed with him in the bridal tent while Rebekah took care of Judith. To her surprise Judith was not unhappy with the turn of events. She spent many of her days sitting with Bashemath at the tent door and eating the familiar food that Bashemath cooked. When she returned to Rebekah’s tent for the night, she was sullen and demanding. “I’m not used to living like this,” she said, motioning around the tent with a look of scorn. “I’m used to the city.”
When Judith went into labor, Hittite women came down from the city and took over the birthing tent with their strange herbs, chants, and good luck charms. The birth was difficult, and when the child finally came, the women saw with dismay that it was only a girl. They rubbed her with salt and wrapped her in the prepared swaddling clothes and then brought her in for Judith to see. She thought the baby was ugly. She turned her face to the wall and insisted that she wanted nothing to do with the baby. “See,” she said, “it’s not strong. It was not meant to live.” With that she refused to nurse the baby.
The midwife brought the child to Rebekah and thrust it into her arms. “It’s just a girl and a poorly one at that,” she said. “It’s not worth saving.”
Rebekah took the little bundle in her arms and rushed to Deborah’s tent. “We must have some warm goat’s milk,” she said. “The foolish girl refuses to nurse the child.”
“That’s the way of many of the women of the city. If it were a boy and strong, they would be more than willing to care for it. To have a girl doesn’t bring them gifts and praise from their husband, nor does it make other women envious.”
Rebekah wept for the small, helpless little form. She couldn’t speak but sat pulling the warm milk up into a small reed and letting it flow drop by drop into the little mouth. The child cried a weak, mewling cry that was more like that of a small animal. At the end of a week it was evident the child would not live and Rebekah was frantic. She had spent so many years wanting a child, any child, that she could not bear to see this little one die.