El Shaddai Volume I

By Jane Ann Lemen

El Shaddai is the story of God and mankind, specifically of God’s choosing a particular family to abide with and form a relationship with as an example for all of mankind. It is the story of the nature, vision, and purpose of God. And it is the story of one member of this family, Jacob, far more sinner than saint, as he literally wrestled to understand what having that relationship with God would mean to him, to his people, indeed to all of humanity, and perhaps to God himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781635686722

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El

Shaddai

Volume I

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Jane Ann Lemen

Copyright © 2017 Jane Ann Lemen

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2017

ISBN 978-1-63568-671-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63568-670-8 (Hard Cover)

ISBN 978-1-63568-672-2 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To the memory of my husband, Gordon N. Lemen,

and to the people of Horizons of Faith United Methodist Church and its two legacy churches

Prologue

The story you are about to read is of an event of great importance which took place four thousand years ago in an obscure area of the world, a place on the outskirts of great civilizations developing around it. The event, unnoticed at the time, was that of Almighty God, Creator of the universe, making contact with mortal human beings.

This contact was expressed through a covenant offered to one man, who neither sought it nor would have thought it possible had he even given thought to such a thing beforehand. And it is unlikely that he had any understanding of the eventual significance of this covenant. Why that particular man was chosen has never fully been explained. Virtually nothing is known of him before this selection other than the names of his ancestry and his homeland of Ur, in what the Greeks, millennia later, would call Mesopotamia but first (and herein) was called simply The Land Between the Rivers, which, after all, is the meaning of Mesopotamia.

The setting of this event was an age much like the present age, a time when humanity was struggling to make sense of the universe, seeking to discover if there was any meaning or purpose to existence other than the birth, life span, and death common to all creation. In this context it does seem amazing that a Supreme Being, God himself, should seek out humanity by selecting one man and his family to abide with and form a relationship with. And considering the choice, it also seems unlikely much would come of it either.

My story is of the covenant between God and this man’s son and grandson. It is the story of the vision, purpose, and nature of God. And it is the story of the struggle to understand what having a relationship with God meant to them, to their people, and indeed to all of humanity—and perhaps to God Himself.

BOOK I

– The Covenant

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The Covenant

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The Patriarchs

Chapter 1

Eliezer pulled on the reins of his camel and halted. Ahead of him he could see the distant walls of his destination, the city of Haran, in the land he knew of as Between the Rivers but which locals called Paddan Aram. Ahead of him, in a small grove, stood a well. It was the time of day when the women of the city would come to the well and fill their water jugs for the coming evening and night. Already he could see several, including a group of four who had just arrived.

Eliezer smiled as he thought of his prayer to El Shaddai that morning when he had suggested to the One and Only God a way to fulfill the mission which had brought him so far from home. Imagine him, a slave—an important slave to be sure, but nonetheless a slave—giving a suggestion to El Shaddai, God Almighty! Eliezer nudged his camel forward, and the string of camels behind him with their handlers resumed their journey.

Mismah, one of the four women Eliezer had noticed, also caught sight of him and his caravan of camels coming down the trail toward them. She nudged the girl next to her.

Rebekah! Look at that caravan! she whispered. Doesn’t it seem strange?

Her friend nodded. He has ten camels, but outside of the one he’s riding and two others, none are carrying a load. Is that what you mean?

Yes, Mismah replied, her eyes riveted toward the caravan. Why would he be bringing a string of seven camels without loads? The one riding is well dressed, but his clothes look foreign. And they look dusty, as if they’ve come a long ways. The other five men are obviously slaves. And look at the bells on the camels, and their beautiful blankets and the blue tassels on the bridles. That man on the lead camel must be wealthy. I suppose they’re going to Haran to trade. What could he be taking there to trade when most of his camels are unloaded? And why would the last man be bringing guard dogs? What do they have to guard?

Camels, perhaps? Rebekah suggested jokingly. She was as mystified as her servant Mismah. They look like they’ve come a long ways. We should offer them a drink of well water. And perhaps we’ll find out what brings them this way.

With that the girl turned to two handmaids who had accompanied her and Mismah and told them to draw water for the strangers. Then she walked toward the caravan, now drawing near, and, bowing low, approached the rider. Peace, my master, and welcome, she called. Please stop and have a refreshment from the well. You look very tired.

The caravan stopped, and the lead camel, the only one with a rider, slowly but obediently dropped its front quarters and then its hind quarters into the dismount position. The handsomely dressed rider slipped off.

Thank you, the man said smiling and also bowing. We have traveled a long way, and we are indeed tired and thirsty.

The girl held out a cup with well water in it. The man took a drink and then passed the cup to the camel boys who eagerly passed it among themselves. She looked at the weary animals; then she turned again to her handmaids, who had already filled their jars, and said, Pour your water into the trough for the camels. After they are watered, we’ll refill the jugs.

The rider’s smile grew even larger, and after saying a silent prayer of thanksgiving to El Shaddai, he bowed and said, Thank you. You are most generous. He looked at the girl standing before him—quite young, but very beautiful with deep brown eyes and long black hair. The girl seemed to notice his attention and, blushing slightly, turned aside to pour her jug into the trough. The camels eagerly came forward to drink, the one who had just unloaded his rider lumbering back to his feet to come to the trough. The dogs, held by their handler with chains, also drank deeply and then obediently lay down.

You said you had come from a long way. What has brought you to Haran? You don’t seem to have many goods for trading, the girl said.

Yes, I have come a long distance, and no, I don’t have goods for trading, he replied. My master has sent me to take care of some business with the House of Nahor. I believe Nahor may be dead, but he has a son named Bethuel. Would you know where I could find Nahor if he is living or, if he is not, this Bethuel?

The words my master had sent the girl into a momentary confusion—should she, a freeborn daughter of a prominent citizen of Haran, be talking with a slave, even a well-dressed one? But at the sound of her father’s name, she cast her fears aside.

Yes! I am Bethuel’s daughter, Rebekah! My grandfather Nahor has been dead for many years, she said, flashing a smile that seemed to light up the world. And who is your master who has sent you to see my father?

Eliezer smiled again. My master is Abraham, son of Terah and brother of Nahor, your grandfather.

Rebekah frowned. I don’t recognize the name Abraham, she said.

Perhaps you know the name Abram, Eliezer suggested. That was the name he held when he left here many years ago, long before you were born.

Rebekah mulled the name over. Abram did seem somewhat familiar. I think I have heard of a man named Abram, although I can’t remember what I heard about him. Was he from Ur far to the south?

Originally, yes. But so was the entire family. Terah moved them all here from Ur after his son Haran died.

Rebekah nodded. She had heard, and listened, when that part of the story had been told around the campfires at night. Suddenly she realized she had been remiss in her hospitality duties. Mismah! Perian! she called to two of the handmaidens. Run quickly and tell my father that the servant of one of his kinsmen has come. Tell Mother too. This man and his servants will need refreshment and lodging! Then Rebekah realized she didn’t know the man’s name. And you, sir, are?

I am Eliezer, servant and chief steward of the House of Abraham of Canaan, he replied gently.

Tell them Eliezer, chief steward of Abraham, is here, Rebekah repeated what had been said even though the two girls had been perfectly capable of hearing it themselves. Hurry now! You can come back for the water jugs!

No, my men can carry the jugs, said Eliezer. Your women needn’t make another trip. He then nodded to the third handmaid, a woman slightly older than the others, who had kept a discreet yet watchful distance just behind Rebekah throughout. And who is this?

This is my maid, Deborah. She has been my nurse since my birth, Rebekah said. Then she repeated the introduction of Eliezer, servant of Abraham, as if Deborah had also been unable to hear.

As the servant girls scampered up the path, Eliezer’s slaves filled the water jugs the young women had brought, and the whole party, including the now refreshed camels, slowly drew away from the well and followed the girls, who had now vanished out of sight.

Your father is well? asked Eliezer as they walked along with Deborah just a step behind but watching them carefully.

My father is well, as is my mother, Rebekah replied. And your master?

My master is quite old, but he is still in good health. He is anxious to hear of his nephew Bethuel. Does your father have many children?

Five living. My two older brothers both live in Haran. One is a soldier in the service of the king. I have a sister who is married and lives in Mari. I haven’t seen her in some time, in fact only once since she married. That was when her first son was born, and we journeyed to see her. And I have another brother just a year older than me. Laban and I are the only children now living in our father’s home.

Does your father still follow the nomad way of life?

Not too much now. He has land granted to him by the king of Haran, and he has built some on it, but much of our compound is still tents. He has put in fields and vineyards, and a beautiful garden, but our main wealth is still in sheep.

I passed a small town named Nahor as I came here, a few miles back. I thought at first that was where I would find your family, Eliezer said. He was enjoying chatting with this lovely and intelligent girl.

That does belong to the family, Rebekah said, although we haven’t done much with it. I think my grandfather Nahor lived there for a while. But that village was quickly outdone by Haran, and all this surrounding land is controlled by the king of Haran. My brother Laban wants to take over the village of Nahor someday. He thinks he can make a living there. I don’t think the town will ever amount to much—Haran won’t allow any rivals to its greatness, but Laban thinks he could prosper there even if in service to Haran.

They had walked some distance and crossed several canals which served Haran. Ahead tents and a small fenced compound came into view. A man whom Eliezer judged to be slightly younger than he was came bursting through the gate in the enclosure fence. Eliezer could see the tents and also the stone corrals and buildings of a prosperous man. The surrounding fields were filled with sheep, cattle, and donkeys, even a few camels. Bethuel was certainly doing well. Eliezer felt his trip to Abraham’s kinsman was going to be a success.

Welcome! Bethuel boomed out. Behind him trailed a handsome young lad about Rebekah’s age. Eliezer guessed that this must be Laban, the brother Rebekah had mentioned. Welcome to our home! I understand you are the servant of my uncle Abram? Bethuel had grasped both of Eliezer’s hands in his.

I am, said Eliezer, kneeling, bowing, and then rising again. I bring you greetings from my master to your household.

Bethuel looked at the hands he held in his. I see your master has given you his signet ring to wear, he said. You must indeed be a trusted servant, and I greet you as I would your master. Come into my home. We will find lodging for you, and you will dine with us. And you may stay as long as you wish. The House of Bethuel gladly welcomes the steward of the House of Abram!

There was a scurry of activity in the House of Bethuel that evening. It was not often that a visitor arrived, and when one did come, every effort was made for the guest’s comfort. Eliezer was shown to a tent in the main compound, while his servants, along with the camels and dogs, were housed in the stables and fed. Although the servants’ meal was not as abundant as that being fed their master, it was still better than anything they had eaten since leaving on this journey.

Eliezer was shown into a well-appointed tent for his stay, and soon a slave with a basin of water came and gently washed his feet. Another slave, this time a woman, also came and provided fresh clothes and oil for his head. By the time the dinner of roast mutton was served, Eliezer felt so refreshed it was hard for him to believe he had just ridden a camel a thousand miles.

The dinner was a joyous affair. There was entertainment, a singer and an acrobat, and then a slave played softly on a small lute while they finished their meal. There was great laughter and merriment. The House of Bethuel would not be remiss in their hospitality to their kinsman or his chief steward.

At last Bethuel, his wife Naomi, the two children still residing with them, and their guest gathered around a small fire which kept away the chill in the air. The stars twinkled brightly overhead, and in the distance the soft sounds of sheep and cattle could be heard.

Bethuel had announced earlier that business matters could wait until the morrow, if that was suitable for Eliezer; this night would be a night for hospitality and catching up on family lore. Eliezer readily agreed.

I don’t remember much about your master, he began. You call him Abraham, but I knew him as Abram. I was a young lad when he and his nephew, Haran’s boy, left here. I’m not sure where he went or why.

No, you wouldn’t have known him as Abraham, Eliezer said. He received that name much later. He went from here to Canaan, far beyond the Euphrates, almost to the Great Sea. He left because he believed that El Shaddai had called him to leave.

Ah, yes, El, said Bethuel. Memories from his youth began seeping back into his mind, memories he had not thought of in many, many years. El. I have heard that part of the story, although not in depth. Abram, or Abraham as you say—I might as well get used to saying that name if that is the name he is now known by. Abraham had come to believe in a new god, and that this god wanted him to come to a new land where only El was to be worshipped. Do I have it about right?

It’s a little more involved than that, but that’s good for starters, Eliezer replied. We generally call this god El Shaddai, which simply means ‘God Almighty.’ That gives us a vision of how important he is and also separates him from the Canaanite god of thunder who they also call El.

I don’t understand, young Laban spoke up. Are you saying that you believe there is only one god in your land?

Eliezer laughed. I’m afraid it’s worse than that! We believe there is only one god in the entire universe!

Well, that’s ridiculous, scoffed Laban. There are many gods, to do many things.

Son, let’s be better hosts and not argue with our guest, his father chided him gently. Then he turned back toward Eliezer. El has been worshiped by our people too. You can see, ‘El’ is part of my name, as it is part of yours. Eliezer nodded agreement. But El has been only one of the several gods who we acknowledge as existing and who we worship. But I now recall my father saying that Abram—I’m sorry, Abraham—became quite adamant that there was only this one god and that this one god was calling him to go to a special place, a ‘Promised Land’ if you will.

My master Abraham does indeed believe that there is only one god, continued Eliezer, and that this god called him to a new land where he would be fruitful, and someday Abraham’s descendants would become a great nation, a nation with people too numerous to count.

Bethuel considered what Eliezer had said for a moment, and after some thought, he asked, And how many sons does Abraham have?

Just one.

Just one?

Yes, just one.

Bethuel pondered this. At last he said, Well, to me it seems that having just one son isn’t too good a start on making a nation too numerous to count.

Eliezer could not help but laugh. Yes, he said, I would agree my master has not gotten off to a very good start on his nation.

Only one son.

Eliezer was not sure if this was a comment or a question, but for some reason he felt compelled to expand. My master does have other sons by concubines, but they will not be part of the ancestry of the nation Abraham is to found.

No, I suppose not, his host agreed. A slave’s offspring would never inherit what should belong to the freeborn heir. Bethuel gazed at the fire for a moment. Then he said, How long have you been in Abraham’s service?

Over thirty years, Eliezer answered. I was a young man in my late teens when Abraham purchased me.

Where were you from?

Damascus.

Born a slave?

No, Eliezer replied slowly. He too was gazing into the fire now, perhaps remembering a time long past. No. My father was a merchant in Damascus. He had fallen into hard times and was greatly in debt. I had learned to cipher and do some reading and was therefore of value, so he sold me to save the rest of the family. Abraham had gone to Damascus to purchase some donkeys. Eliezer turned to face Bethuel with his face shining in pride. You may have heard of the donkeys of Damascus! We are quite proud of them!

Bethuel grinned. Oh yes, I have a couple myself, he readily answered. Big, handsome beasts, almost as big as mules. If I ever come to Damascus, rest assured I would buy a couple more to improve my breeding stock. So Abram left Damascus with new donkeys and you!

Eliezer laughed. Yes, donkeys and me.

Well, said Bethuel, I suspect he came out ahead on both counts. Over thirty years—that’s a long time that you’ve been with my kinsman.

Yes, Eliezer said. He purchased me when I was a young man, and now here I am with gray in my beard and less hair on my head!

They both laughed. Laban had softly arisen and left the group. Rebekah had lain down with her head in her mother’s lap and seemed to be asleep. Eliezer couldn’t help but notice how very young Rebekah was. She seemed more like a child as she lay asleep on her mother’s lap than the young woman he had seen at the well. Naomi stroked her sleeping daughter’s raven-black hair but said nothing—it wasn’t her place to say anything when the men were talking. Bethuel took a stick and stirred the dying fire back to life.

Finally Bethuel said, You must have come through Damascus on your way here?

I did.

Did you try to find your family while you were there? You must have been curious.

It was a moment before Eliezer answered. The smile was gone, yet he did not seem particularly saddened or even uncomfortable by Bethuel’s question. No, he said. It has been so long that there is no point. My parents are probably no longer living, and I am sure my brothers and sister have long forgotten me. That was part of my life that is over. I could not ask for a better master than Abraham, and I am content with my life. I have no desire to seek another one.

Bethuel realized that his question could have been taken as an attempt to get his guest to express dissatisfaction with his master and his status. Yet he did not feel this man who was, after all, a slave, had given a defensive or evasive answer. Still, Bethuel felt embarrassment at violating the rules of hospitality by venturing a question so personal, especially to someone not truly at liberty to express his feelings. Bethuel himself had purchased Mismah first as a playmate and then a companion and handmaiden for his daughter when both girls were only two. He had never considered whether Mismah ever wondered about her parents or why she was a slave, nor did he now. He had willingly offered hospitality to this slave of Abraham’s since he felt Abraham had sent him as his emissary—hence the signet ring—and Bethuel would not violate the rules of hospitality further. So he changed the subject.

So what happened to the concubine’s children? he asked. Any of them have any claim of an inheritance?

Eliezer glanced at his host. He now realized the breach that Bethuel had almost made and was grateful that this subject of his past would not be discussed further. But in escaping that breach, Bethuel had inadvertently brought up another delicate topic.

It was thought that the oldest did at the time. Ishmael was born about seven years before my young master Isaac, Eliezer began. At first he was treated as a legitimate heir. His mother had been the handmaiden of the wife of my master, and indeed she had sat on my mistress’s lap during the child’s birth.

Bethuel was surprised. She sat on her lap? he asked. Then the concubine was acting in the place of the mistress who had no children? Such a child is not usually considered a bastard.

No, Eliezer agreed, realizing that he was now the one who had said too much. The night was fair, the fire was warm, and the wine they had drunk at dinner was very good. If he had indeed gone too far, now he must finish the story. But you see, when El Shaddai had told Abraham that he would be the father of a great nation, the promise was not just to Abraham—it was that Abraham and his wife Sarah would have this child. Therefore the child by the concubine could not be considered the rightful heir. And when Sarah, in her old age, suddenly found herself with child and in season gave birth to a son, then my master indeed had a problem.

And what did he do with his problem? asked Bethuel.

He sent the concubine and her son away from his tents, Eliezer replied simply. Only Isaac, the child of Abraham and Sarah, could inherit what we call the covenant, the promise of God Almighty. Hagar and her child had to leave.

Bethuel stared at the fire. It was a strange turn of events. I suppose that is so, he at last said. The concubine and her child would be an endangerment to the wife’s child. Do you know what happened to them?

Yes, answered Eliezer. El Shaddai did not abandon them. They found shelter, and the lad grew into a fine warrior and lives in the desert where he is prospering. He too will become a great nation—although not as great, I think, as my master’s will be.

Bethuel laughed. I can’t imagine you saying otherwise, my friend! he said and once again laughed. He didn’t notice that he had called a slave his friend. Indeed he felt a twinge of envy that Abraham had such a fine steward overlooking his properties.

The fire was dying down, too far down for resurrecting. Rebekah was sound asleep and Naomi was nodding off. Bethuel stretched. He was feeling the effects of a long day. And surely his guest was in need of sleep after so long a journey by camelback.

I think we should retire to our rest now, Bethuel, son of Nahor, said to his guest. As soon as we have some bread and goat’s milk in the morning, we’ll discuss this business that has brought you so far to see me. Peace be with you.

And with you, came the reply.

* * * * *

Eliezer woke before dawn the next morning. He had many things on his mind. Although beginning the day in worship to El Shaddai was his custom, he felt a special need for prayer this particular day. He had an important mission to perform for his master, perhaps the most important he had ever performed, and he was in need of aid from the most powerful force he knew.

There were great concerns here. The girl had turned out to be far younger than he had anticipated. She was obviously well into puberty, and that was enough for a marriage contract. But seeing her asleep on her mother’s lap had made her young age worrisome. Would this child, not really out of her mother’s care, be ready for the challenge ahead of her?

The marriage itself was only one of many problems. Eliezer knew his young master, and had complete trust in Isaac’s ability as a husband, both in his tenderness and goodness of heart and also in his strength and ability to defend his family if he must. But Rebekah would be saying good-bye to the only family, the only home, the only life she had ever known, most likely never to see any of it again. He remembered the long, plodding journey from southern Canaan to Haran. It would be just as long, just as plodding, going back, and with each step of her camel, Rebekah would be leaving all that was safe and familiar and beloved by her.

And for what? A husband, yes. But a young, virgin girl like Rebekah from a good family would easily find a husband. And as handsome and good and decent as young Isaac was, there were other men who were also handsome and good and decent. And who didn’t live hundreds of miles away.

And these other handsome, good, and decent men weren’t nomads. Rebekah was leading a very settled life, much different than the one she would have in the House of his master. She was strong. He could tell that much. But strong enough to drive a tent peg into hard ground? Strong enough to grind grain or weave or carry a load on her back for miles when they moved? Strong enough to reach inside a struggling ewe, turn the lamb into the proper birthing position, and pull forth a live animal rather than a limp corpse?

The choice, of course, would be Bethuel’s, but Rebekah would have to believe in this marriage and accept this new life willingly to be the wife for Isaac.

And that brought up the matter of belief. It was apparent that Bethuel and his family believed in many gods, of which El was just one. Would Rebekah be able to understand, let alone accept the beliefs of Abraham? And when children came—surely children would come easily to this lovely girl, and Isaac would never be faced with the temptation of using a slave as a surrogate mother for his wife as his father had been tempted with all the disastrous consequences—when children came, could Rebekah indeed raise them in the belief of only one god which, as her brother had pointed out, was ridiculous and defied all sense and rationale? And could Rebekah stand by as her sons, her infant sons, were dedicated to El Shaddai?

Eliezer remembered when he had been purchased by Abraham. Before the sale had been completed, Abraham had asked to take the young Eliezer aside, still in shackles, and explained to him what being a servant in the House of Abraham would mean. And then, to Eliezer’s surprise and the slave merchant’s astonishment, Abraham gave Eliezer the choice of agreeing to his purchase or not.

Abraham had said to him, I must insist on you agreeing to this belief of mine in only one god. There can be no compromise on this. You must agree to it and with a free heart, even if the rest of you is never free. It is most likely against all that you have been taught and have believed to this day (and indeed it was) but for my people to be the people of this one god, all must believe in him of whom there is no idol and whose name is so sacred that you will never know it. That privilege is given only to me and my family. Without your pledge to this, I cannot allow you in my tents, not even as a slave.

And then, before Eliezer could make his reply, Abraham had continued. There is one more thing you must be aware of, Abraham had said. There will be an initiation rite, one which will be performed on you as soon as you reach my tents outside the Damascus city walls and one which will be performed on any sons you may have when they are a week old. And then Abraham had explained the rite of circumcision. Eliezer shuddered when he remembered the sharp pain of the knife cutting his foreskin and the cries he had heard many times over the years when the male infants, including his sons, including Abraham’s sons, had also been circumcised.

And yet on that day some thirty years ago in Damascus, Eliezer had been able to look his new master in the eye and say, yes, he would follow this one god, he would undergo what seemed to him to be a mutilation. It was certainly not that he trusted this new El Shaddai that he had never heard of before. It was rather that he instinctively trusted Abraham. And that faith in Abraham had led him over the years to a very deep trust in El Shaddai.

Now Eliezer felt a deep burden, perhaps the heaviest burden he had carried in his almost fifty years. It was up to him as Abraham’s emissary to explain this to Bethuel, and perhaps later to Rebekah, to explain this new god and what faith in him might lead to. Yet for all his doubts, he had a deep sense that Rebekah, the daughter of Bethuel and Naomi, was indeed the wife El Shaddai intended for Isaac. His prayer the morning before had been for the fulfillment of a certain sign, and Rebekah had fulfilled that sign.

And so, with the assurance that Rebekah was indeed the one to be the wife of young Isaac, Eliezer prayed for El Shaddai to give him the words so that Bethuel, with a free heart, could agree to this marriage contract.

* * * * *

After the breakfast of bread and goat’s milk as well as figs, Eliezer followed Bethuel into a room in Bethuel’s house. The room was sparsely furnished, but there were mats and pillows where they could sit and talk. No doubt the room had been used for many business transactions before.

After a slave brought them goblets of wine, Bethuel turned to his guest and asked, And now, what is the business that has brought you this far distance and that I can be of assistance with?

Eliezer smiled. My master has sent me to seek a wife for his son Isaac, he said. My master desires his son to marry of his own people, but he is too old to make the journey himself, and he did not want to send Isaac on his own so far from our home. So he entrusted the mission to me.

Bethuel smiled and nodded his head. Not wanting to assume anything, he then tentatively asked, And the wife you have chosen is… letting his voice trail off.

Eliezer was quick to finish the sentence. The wife I wish to take back to my master’s son is your daughter Rebekah.

Bethuel took a sip of his wine. Is there any reason other than my being a kinsman of Abraham?

Yes. Eliezer smiled. I had asked El Shaddai to furnish a certain sign to me that would prove this was the right girl for Isaac. Bethuel looked at him with increased interest. Eliezer continued. We arrived yesterday after a long journey tired and very thirsty. I asked El Shaddai to send someone who would not only offer me a cup of cold water from the well but also water for the camels.

Bethuel looked bemused at this novel test for selecting a bride. And Rebekah did so? he asked.

She did.

And what does this indicate to you, that you would want my daughter for your master’s wife, other than she has been taught proper manners toward sojourners in our land? Bethuel asked, once again sipping his wine.

Eliezer was glad to answer. It indicated that Rebekah was someone who, as you said, knew proper hospitality, but also thought of the sojourner’s animals, their needs. Very few would have thought about the camels, considering them mere beasts with no more needs than a wagon. But a wife for my master would need to look on them as living creatures, put here by El Shaddai for our comfort and use, yes, but also to be cared for as El Shaddai’s creation. A wife for my master would care for the camels not just for the financial asset that fine camels are, but also as part of this creation which we may use for our benefit but which we must also care for. Your daughter did that. I knew then my search was over—if you will consent to the marriage.

Bethuel looked at this shrewd manager of his kinsman’s affairs. He could see this could be a good marriage for his daughter. And what, he said, getting to the heart of such negotiations, do you bring for the bride price?

Eliezer brought forth a small bag and spilled its contents on the ground between them. I bring jewelry, rings for Rebekah and for your wife, and other precious jewels and pieces of gold. He could tell Bethuel was impressed thus far, so he continued. Also I brought trunks of fine woolens and other items. And as you noticed, I brought more camels than would be needed for this trip. Five of the ten are yours if you agree to this bride price. There are two fine studs among them that would enhance any breeding program you have. The rest are females, young but ready for breeding. They are the finest we have. And they are all well trained for caravan use should that be your wish. You may choose any five. I will need the others to return to Canaan.

Bethuel smiled. He had admired the camels when he first saw Eliezer alight from the lead camel. His kinsman had sent a fine bride price indeed. He picked up the rings and stones and turned them over in his hand. He said nothing. Obviously he was thinking over this generous offer for his daughter.

Eliezer then asked, Has anyone else asked for Rebekah’s hand?

Bethuel did not take his hand off the gems. A prince in Haran has made some discreet inquiries, he said. He then put the gems and rings back into the bag and looked directly at Eliezer.

Yes, this prince has asked, and he might—might, mind you—be able to match what Abraham has so generously sent, he replied. But I cannot say that either my wife or I have been thrilled at the thought of Rebekah being married to that particular young man. I’m not altogether comfortable with this prince of Haran. Still there are many problems with your offer too… His voice trailed off.

Such as? Eliezer asked although he knew what the problems would be.

Bethuel straightened up and leaned back in his seat. Such as the distance she would be away from us. What you are asking would mean that we would never see her again. And she is young.

She has reached her womanhood?

Oh yes, came the quick reply. She’s all of fourteen years old. But she is our youngest, and I guess that I had thought she would be with us longer. He looked Eliezer directly in the eye. I trust you won’t think it unseemly, but I would like to ask my wife’s opinion on this. She and Rebekah are quite close, she will be most affected by her going so far away. And to a nomadic camp. Let me call in Naomi.

Eliezer nodded his head. It had never occurred to him to invite the bride’s mother into the discussions, but if that was what Bethuel wanted, Eliezer dared not object.

Naomi’s reaction to the offer of a marriage contract was to put her hands to her mouth in fright and struggle to keep tears from coming to her eyes. Oh so far, so very far away! she cried. Oh my. Oh my, oh my. And her struggle with the tears became a losing battle.

Yet Eliezer knew he had only to convince Bethuel. Convince him and the mother would have no choice. A memory of the last time he saw his mother, also with her hands to her mouth and tears in her eyes as she had turned away from him, made him all the more sure that this was a decision that would be made by a man, not a mother, just as the decision to sell him into slavery had been solely his father’s.

She’ll be far away from us, probably forever, and living in a nomad’s tents, explained Bethuel. Naomi merely nodded and dabbed her eyes with her skirts.

There is one other factor I must mention, Eliezer said as gently as he could. She will have to leave all the gods and idols of Paddan Aram behind, all of them, and accept only El Shaddai, the god of Abraham’s House, as the sole god, the only god to be worshipped. And she will have to raise her children in the same belief.

Naomi looked with wondering eyes. And why is this? she asked.

Eliezer explained as simply and straightforwardly as he could. Abraham was called by the god we call El Shaddai, who we believe is the one and only god, to go to a land promised to Abraham and his descendants. It is currently called Canaan, and we do not control it. We live there only by the permission of the Canaanites and other inhabitants of the land. But El Shaddai, God Almighty, has chosen my master Abraham and has made a sacred covenant with him, that Abraham will be the father of a great nation, and that through this nation all peoples of the earth will be blessed. Abraham’s part of the covenant is to worship only El Shaddai, and that includes all of his household. That is why Abraham sent me here to his kinsmen. He thought it would be easier for someone of the House of Terah, your grandfather and Abraham’s father, to understand and accept this covenant. Everyone—family, freeborn, slave—of the House of Abraham must accept this covenant with El Shaddai. Rebekah will have to leave behind any household gods, even the belief in them, when she goes to marry my master’s son Isaac. And that will not only be in Canaan, even should she return here she must believe only in one god, El Shaddai.

The two parents stared at Eliezer. This was beyond anything they had ever heard of. It was one thing to accept another god and add to the collection of household gods, or even to believe that a new god was the sole proprietor of the land to which they were going, leaving others behind—but to accept that this new god was the only god in all the world! Never had they heard such a thing!

At last Naomi spoke, still dabbing her eyes, Is that the name of this god? El Shaddai? It’s a strange name. It just means ‘God Almighty.’

Eliezer smiled gently. No. He has another name, he explained. We call him El Shaddai because his actual name is too holy to be spoken. Abraham knows what it is. I believe his wife Sarah knew it, and I’m sure Isaac knows it. Very likely Rebekah would be told what it is someday.

Do you know it? asked Bethuel.

No, Eliezer answered simply.

The two bewildered parents now stared at one another. The immensity of the mission their young daughter would be sent on overwhelmed such trivial things as jewels and camels.

At last Naomi spoke. Looking at her husband, she said, I can’t make this decision. I can’t decide. And again tears spilled over onto her cheeks.

Bethuel looked at his beloved wife. Neither can I, at last he said. Neither can I make this decision. It must be left to Rebekah herself.

Eliezer was stunned. It had been enough of a surprise to bring the wife in on the discussion and negotiation. But to bring in the bride herself? To let her decide if she was to marry his master’s son? The whole world seemed to be turning upside down.

Nevertheless Rebekah was sent for, and also her brother Laban. Eliezer began to fear that there could be an entire tribal council before the matter was decided. But no, there were only the five of them—Bethuel, his wife Naomi, his son Laban, and his daughter Rebekah sitting with Eliezer, chief steward of Abraham of Canaan. And again Eliezer proposed the contract, again spilling the contents from his bag, showing the contents of the trunks he had brought—while waiting for the two children he had the trunks brought into the room—extolling the virtues of the most excellent camels he had brought, telling Rebekah and her family of the virtues but also the hardships of a truly nomadic life, of the countless hours, indeed days and weeks, of walking behind flocks and herds, of putting up and taking down tents, of the meagerness of belongings when everything had to be moved on short notice. And then Eliezer once again explained the covenant of an unseen god who, without visible image, indeed with a Name Too Sacred to Speak and known only by a handful of people, of which she would be one, but yet a god who claimed to be responsible for everything in the universe, and who, for some strange reason, had selected her kinsman Abraham out of all the people on the earth to be the recipient of a covenant which would be passed down through Isaac, his children, and their descendants. And most importantly, Eliezer explained what that would mean for whoever Isaac would marry, for both her life and for the lives of her children. For their lives would not be their own but would forever belong to El Shaddai.

At the end of the lengthy speech, Bethuel turned to his daughter and said, Behold, Rebekah, this bridal offer and its demands come from this god of Abraham and Isaac. Your mother and I cannot speak to you, for it or against it. You stand before this servant of my kinsman. Will you go with this man?

And so Rebekah stood, between her family and all she had ever known, and this stranger she first met the day before. And she knew her whole life was before her. On the one hand, should she say no, she would keep a life of probable security and familiarity similar to what she had always known. But should she say yes, she would have a new, vastly different life, that of a nomad following the whims of a strange new god who offered a covenant of blessing but also a covenant that seemed impossible to fulfill. She knew nothing of this god, nothing except what Eliezer had told her and her family the night before around the campfire and again this morning gathered in her father’s business room.

But in this short time Rebekah did know that she had come to trust this man Eliezer, this slave a few years older than her father, this man who had been impressed because she had offered to water his camels. And because she could trust Eliezer she also believed she could trust his master Abraham and Abraham’s son Isaac. And because she could trust them, she would trust this new god El Shaddai and his covenant.

Rebekah answered, I will go.

* * * * *

The rest of the day was spent preparing Rebekah for the journey to Canaan. Decisions had to be made on what could be taken, what could not be taken, what might be taken, and what had to be left because there was no more room for them. Five of the camels, who had enjoyed a rather light trip to Haran, would not be so fortunate on this return trip. They would have much heavier loads. The other five would be staying with Bethuel.

For one thing, it was decided to send three servants with Rebekah. One, of course, would be Mismah who had been her constant companion as well as handmaiden since they were two years old. Deborah would also go. She was ten years older than Rebekah and had been her handmaid since Rebekah’s birth. The fourth was an older woman, Tamarei, about forty years old. She would bring more maturity to the young girls. Tamarei was not particularly pleased about her selection, but she said nothing. It was not her place to complain about decisions made by her master. All three knew they would not be coming back to Haran, but Tamarei had deeper roots there in Paddan Aram, the Land Between the Rivers, and felt more keenly a loss in leaving. But far worse things happened to slaves, she well knew, so she resolved to make the best of it.

But having three handmaidens go with Rebekah was two more than Eliezer had counted on. That necessitated him going into Haran and buying saddles that would permit two people to ride on a single camel, and women at that. It would not be proper for him to ride with any of the women, and two camels would be needed for pack animals. That meant that the four women would pair up on the remaining camels, the other five now belonging to Bethuel as part of the bride price.

Eliezer wondered how familiar his bridal entourage was with camels. They would have to ride most of the way, and camels were more difficult than donkeys or mules. Bethuel had camels, but were these women familiar with them? He was assured that they had been raised with camels all their lives, even Tamarei, and camels would be no problem for his young master’s new bride and her company. They were aware that camels were prone to bite, as were mules and donkeys, and while they were not so prone to kick as mules and donkeys, they did have another bad habit, that of spitting, which could be a nasty experience.

Naomi, however, had a concern of her own, of more urgency than who was to accompany Rebekah and how familiar they were with camels. Her little girl was now a young woman about to go off to a distant land to marry a young man, and while Naomi had explained the workings of the female body shortly before Rebekah’s monthly flow of blood had begun almost a year before, she had not explained the workings of the male body. She had thought that there was still plenty of time for this conversation, but suddenly that very morning she discovered that her child would be leaving her the next morning. She had to talk to Rebekah now.

And so as they packed Rebekah’s belongings and discussed what to take and what not to take, Naomi slowly drew her daughter off to a place where they could talk and not be disturbed.

She looked at her daughter. It seemed only a short time ago that Rebekah was learning to walk. And now here she was, fourteen years old, and leaving to be married. Tears came to the mother’s eyes as she kissed her child on the forehead.

Rebekah, my dear, she said, I must talk to you. There are things you must know before you arrive at your new husband’s home.

Rebekah looked at her mother’s eyes but said nothing.

We know nothing about Isaac except what we know about Eliezer and what we remember about Abram, she began. We assume that Isaac is also a good and trustworthy man. Regardless, he will be your husband, and you will love only him the rest of your life. You will be his wife. That will mean you will give yourself to him completely, in every way. You and Isaac will be as a man and a woman are supposed to be.

Rebekah nodded her head, still not speaking. Naomi could tell from her daughter’s trusting look that Rebekah needed and wanted her to say more but did not know how to ask. The two were seated on a bench where they had been sorting clothes. Naomi slipped her arm around her daughter and drew her close to her. Rebekah snuggled against her mother much as she had done when she was five years old and needed consolation after a spat with her brother.

On your wedding night, Naomi began, "Isaac will bring you into his tent, and there he will lay with you. And in the course of that night, you will surrender your maidenhood to him. It will be the only time in your life you will be able to do that, which is why it is to be with your husband.

How that will come about, I can’t tell you, Naomi continued. Some men are very gentle and caring, and give their wives much pleasure and joy. Others are clumsy and too eager and become interested only in their own pleasure. Others simply take what they want. I cannot say which kind of man Isaac is. Regardless, you must always be faithful to him. If you are not, your life is forfeit and you will be stoned to death.

Rebekah snuggled back into her mother’s shoulder. I will have no problem being faithful to Isaac, she said. But I think there was more you wished to tell me? About the wedding night itself?

Yes, my dear. Naomi sighed. Yes, about the wedding night itself. Whichever kind of man he is, the first few times he sleeps with you, and especially at the breaking of the maidenhead, you will probably feel pain. I want you to be prepared for that. You may feel pain and there will be some blood. But, my dearest Rebekah—and Naomi turned her so they were looking straight into each other’s eyes—I want you also to remember that the most important things in life, those that really matter, are often painful. You have seen women in childbirth and how they scream and cry. There is no greater pain than giving birth. And yet that pain is necessary for the even greater joy of a newborn child. For there is no greater joy than holding your newborn babe in your arms. Remember that, my child. The pain you may feel as your maidenhood is given up will be replaced with a deep and abiding love, a love not so tingly and exciting as the passion of the bed, but a love that will carry you and Isaac through all the pain and sorrows of life that may come, even—and here Naomi’s voice broke and it was a moment or two before she could go on—through all the pain that may come. Then Naomi held her daughter very tight.

And Rebekah, still snuggled in her mother’s arms, wondered if Naomi had meant to end her sentence with all the pain that may come, even your daughter leaving you forever.

That evening the nightly gathering around the campfire had a poignancy to it.

Things were subdued. There was some attempt at frivolity, and although everyone chuckled appropriately at jokes and stories told, it was a quick chuckle followed by a silence. The subject most on everyone’s mind was avoided until the very end when it was time to retire for the night and the subject of the last daughter of the House of Bethuel leaving could no longer be avoided.

Naomi was the one who said the first good-byes that night although she would be the last to leave the campfire. She gave Rebekah farewell gifts, a woolen cloak to keep her warm, and also a fine veil she had purchased that day at the market in Haran. Keep this veil over your face whenever you see men on the way to the tents of Abraham, she admonished. And especially keep your face veiled when you first meet your new husband, Isaac. He will see your face at the proper time.

Laban had embraced his sister, then, with his hands still on her shoulders, looked in her eyes and said, May this god of Abraham bless you and keep you—until we meet again. He then kissed her forehead and left the campfire, knowing that in spite of what he had just said they probably would not meet again.

And last of all, Bethuel bade Rebekah a good night. I believe you are going to a good place, he said to his youngest child. As I said, I do not remember much about Abram, but I also have never heard anything said about him except that he was a good and righteous man. I am sure his son Isaac must be the same. You will do well there. And then he too kissed her on the forehead and left, leaving Naomi to walk her to the women’s tent.

The next morning the five camels which would make up the caravan to Canaan were brought out and two were loaded as pack animals. Two others were outfitted with the new saddles. Eliezer would ride the lead camel. Four of the five slaves who had come with him would each lead a camel, and the fifth would bring along the guard dogs. Bethuel had admired the big brutes, not that he cared much for dogs, but he knew they would not only alert the travelers to danger but also would be a formidable foe should anyone attempt to harm Eliezer’s party. It had been prudent to bring them along.

Then it came time to mount the camels, and Eliezer discovered to his dismay that his thorough discussion about camels the previous night had not included whether any of his party had ever ridden a camel. None had. None wanted to. All were adamant in opposition to such travel arrangements. When the time to mount came, with the camels kneeling before them, not one of the women budged one step toward the animals.

Must we ride? asked Rebekah. We are all strong. We could walk.

Canaan is much farther away than you imagine. We can get to there much faster if we ride, Eliezer explained. Camels, even the pack camels, can walk much faster than a man on foot. And we don’t have enough provisions to go at such a slow pace.

The camel boys will be walking! Rebekah retorted defiantly.

The camel boys can walk much faster than you can. Eliezer’s patience was seeping away. You won’t be able to keep up with them.

But they are so tall, Rebekah said. Strange, the camels her father owned had never looked so tall as these she was expected to climb aboard.

Two of the camels had tired of waiting at this point and stood back up. Eliezer called for the camel boys to have them drop to their knees once more to be mounted. See, he said hopefully, now they aren’t so tall.

Still no one moved.

I’m not sure… Rebekah began.

Mismah’s fear of the camels outweighed her fear of disobedience. How will we stay on them? she said. We’ll tumble off!

Yes, agreed Deborah. How can we stay balanced on them? When they start to get up, we’ll slide off the back.

That you will not, said Eliezer decisively. Camels rise with their hindquarters first, then their front.

Deborah felt chagrined; she had known that much about camels and had let foolish fears overcome her sense. But before she could reply she heard a wail from Rebekah. Then we’ll tumble over their heads.

And they’ll spit on us! When we fall to the ground, they’ll spit on us! wailed Mismah.

I’ve lived forty years, and I’ve never been on a camel, declared Tamarei, who had also suddenly gained courage, not to get on the camel, but to speak openly in the presence of her master. I see no reason to get on one now!

Eliezer looked helplessly at Bethuel. Over his shoulder he could see young Laban laughing. He looked around at his men, but they avoided his glance, looking everywhere but at Eliezer. Still he could tell they were struggling to keep from laughing aloud.

I could go back into Haran and get baskets, he finally said. You could ride in baskets on the sides of the camels.

No! said Rebekah. I’m not a cluster of grapes or, or a sheaf of wheat that I’ll be put into a basket!

Then you must mount the camel. Bethuel spoke with authority but not harshness. That is your choice. Either get on the camel or we must get baskets. He came forward and took his daughter’s hand in his. Here, he said gently, let me help you on the saddle. You too, Mismah. We won’t have the camel stand quite yet. We’ll let you get used to just being on him at first. Come.

Hesitantly Rebekah stepped forward holding on to her father’s hand. Gingerly she started to mount the saddle when the camel swung his head around and stared at her with large round eyes shaded by ridiculously long lashes. Rebekah jumped back at