Till Shiloh Comes (3 page)

Leah struggled to keep her anger from showing in her face as she looked up. “They'll be all right,” she said curtly.

“But where are they?”

“They're out playing somewhere. You know how careless Joseph is. He's headstrong, and Benjamin thinks his brother is the Almighty himself! He'd stick his head in the fire if Joseph told him to.”

“I suppose that's true enough, but I can't help worrying about them.”

Leah replied sharply, “When Simeon and Levi were lost last month for two days in the wilderness over by Bethel, you never even said a word.”

“That's different,” Jacob said defensively. “They're grown men. Joseph and Benjamin are just children.”

“Joseph is seventeen years old. He's old enough to get married or get into trouble or do anything else a man can do.”

Jacob gave her a startled look but knew she had spoken the truth. He also knew that he favored Joseph, and to a lesser degree Benjamin, but he went to great lengths to conceal the fact. He did so now as he tried to cover up his anxiety.

Then he heard a voice call out, “Father!” and his expression grew relieved. “Oh, good—there's Reuben,” he said. “I sent him off to find them.” He ducked out of the tent to find Reuben alone. “Where are they?” Jacob demanded. “I told you to bring them back with you.”

Reuben's massive shoulders drooped with fatigue. “I've looked everywhere,” he muttered, “but I can't find any trace of them.”

“Well, go look some more. Don't you care that your brothers are lost?”

“Yes, I care, Father,” Reuben groaned, “but they could have gone in any direction. Which way should I look?”

“How should I know! Make yourself useful for a change and go!”

Reuben could never look his father full in the eye and could not face him now. Having disgraced himself with Bilhah, he knew he had forever lost the position a firstborn son should have. Not only had he lost his father's respect, he knew Jacob would never give him the blessing—the most important sanction among the wandering tribespeople of the region. It was a special privilege given to the firstborn son and included a double portion of the family inheritance, along with the honor of one day being the family leader. Although it was a birthright to which the firstborn son was entitled, it was not actually his until the blessing was pronounced. Before such time, the father could take away the birthright from the oldest son and give it to someone more deserving.

Reuben trudged away with a heavy heart. He had no idea which way to look for Joseph and Benjamin, but he determined to stay up all night if necessary.

Jacob watched him go, then limped back into the tent. “He didn't find him,” he grunted to Leah.

“Yes, I heard, but you can't blame Reuben for Joseph's wrongdoing.”

“I'm sure the boy didn't mean any wrong.”

“He never means any wrong because you always let him off the hook,” Leah said. Her eyes narrowed, showing their red, irritated lids as she stared at her husband. She had deeply loved him once, but she no longer had any illusions about his feelings for her, even though she had borne him six children. Her blind jealousy still reared angrily when she saw Jacob spoiling Rachel's son.

Jacob barely tasted the food Leah put before him, mostly just pushing it around in the dish, with shoulders slumped. When Leah left him alone, his mind drifted back to the difficult time when he had left his father-in-law's house, worried sick about having cheated his brother out of his birthright. His strength had been drained that night as he waited for morning with the certainty that he would suffer his brother's vengeance. Then he had wrestled all night with a man whose noble visage was indescribable, demanding that the stranger tell him his name. But the man had refused to do so.

He remembered that when dawn came, he had struggled with his last bit of strength to overthrow his visitor, whom he knew was more than human, and his thigh had been thrown out of joint. The pain had never completely gone away. The stranger had asked him, “What is your name?” Jacob had finally admitted who he was and also confessed that he had cheated his brother. Before the stranger left, he said to Jacob, “Your name will now be Israel.”

He thought then of Rachel, and he felt his grief as fresh as the day he had buried her at the place where she had died giving birth to Benjamin. Tears came to his eyes and he began to pray: “Oh, El Shaddai, let no harm come to my boys! You have been faithful to provide for me as you promised when I left my father and mother's house. You met me on the way and gave me a dream of a great ladder reaching up to heaven, and you promised to bless me, and you have.”

Jacob concentrated fully on God. He had heard his father and grandfather speak of their encounters with the Strong One, the almighty and everlasting Lord. Both of them had been men of great faith, especially his grandfather, and now as Jacob prayed, he sought to summon up the faith of Abraham.

Jacob had been praying a long while when he heard voices coming, and his heart leaped with joy to hear Joseph! He got to his feet and hobbled out the tent door, ignoring his discomfort. He could see by the light of the torch Dan carried that Benjamin was sound asleep on Naphtali's shoulder.

“Well, we found them,” Naphtali said. “You ought to thrash them until they can't stand up, Father.”

Jacob was angry enough to do so and demanded of his favorite son, “Joseph, where have you been?”

“We went to the village where the Midianite traders were passing through. We wanted to buy you a present.”

“You went alone through the wilderness with your brother? Shame on you, son!”

Dan and Naphtali gave each other a look. Dan shrugged, leaned over, and whispered, “He'll bluster and shout at Joseph, but in the end he'll wind up giving him honey cakes.”

Such almost proved true. Benjamin could hardly stand up he was so tired, and Jacob said, “Bring him into the tent. Joseph, I'm not through with you yet.”

Dan and Naphtali waited for their father to thank them, but he ignored them completely as he gathered his “two lambs,” as he called them, into the tent.

“We should've let the wolves get 'em!” Dan snarled.

“You're right. Father will wind up making heroes out of them, and not give a word of thanks to us for wearing our legs out looking for them!”

Leah brought the boys food and Joseph ate ravenously, but Benjamin was so sleepy he wound up slumping over his dish. “Take him and put him to bed, Leah,” Jacob said, pulling Benjamin to his feet. “I'll speak to you tomorrow, young man.”

“Yes, Father. I'm sorry. We should have told you we were going.”

“Indeed you should.” Jacob tried to sound angry, but the woebegone, tearstained face of the lad was too much. He put his arms around him, held him close, then kissed him and whispered, “Go on to bed, little lamb. Go to bed.”

As soon as Leah had taken Benjamin to the tent he shared with Joseph, Jacob turned and said, “Joseph, I continually think you have reached the height of foolishness, but this is the worst!”

Joseph fell to his knees. “Father, I deserve your just punishment. I was indeed wrong. Get out the rawhide and beat me until my back is bleeding.”

“Don't think I won't do it!”

“I deserve it, Father. I was thoughtless and had no more sense than one of the lambs that wanders away from the herd.”

Jacob had been frightened at the possible loss of his two favorite sons, and now he was filled with indignation that Joseph had been foolish enough to risk both his own life and his brother's.

Seeing his father's face, Joseph sought to assuage his anger by pulling a bag out of his woven sack. “We really went to buy you a present, Father, and here it is—sugared dates all the way from Damascus. Your favorite!”

“You shouldn't have done that,” Jacob said. Nonetheless, he took the bag and sampled one of the dates. “They are very good, but you were still wrong.”

Joseph embraced his father and said, “If only our beloved mother were alive, I wouldn't have done such a thing. I miss her so much, and Benjamin wants to hear about her all the time. I'm such a wicked lamb because she's not here to correct me.”

To this day, Jacob could not speak of Rachel without weeping, and now the tears ran down his cheek. “Yes, my beloved Rachel. She would have been the ideal mother. You will never know how I miss her, son.”

“So do I, Father. Except for you, I have no one, and little Benji has only you and me. We're all that's left of our beloved mother.”

And so it was that, instead of beating Joseph with a strap as he richly deserved, Jacob found himself holding the boy, weeping, and whispering, “Oh, my dear lamb, if I had lost you, I would have lost the last I have on this earth of her, the True Wife. You must never, never take such risks again!”

“I promise I won't, Father.”

With the danger of his father's punishment over, Joseph felt a quick surge of relief, though he had never been in doubt about how the thing would turn out.

Jacob dried his eyes and cleared his throat. “My son,” he said, “you must thank your older brothers for searching for you. They have worn themselves out.”

“Oh, I will, Father, I will. How I dearly wished that they loved me more.”

“It is within your power, my lamb, to make them love you more. I must say to you that you need to show more humility. They are your elders, and you need to show them the respect that older brothers deserve.”

“You are right, and it was good of Dan to find me. He is a good man …” Joseph hesitated, then could not help adding, “…even if he does visit that Canaanite harlot over the hill.” He clapped his hand over his mouth and said, “I didn't mean to say that!”

Jacob stared at his son grimly. “He's that kind of a man, Joseph, and you must never be like him. You must never be like any of your brothers.”

“But Reuben is a good man, Father, even if he—”

Joseph broke his words off, and Jacob stared at him sadly. “I wish you had never told me about the sin he committed with Bilhah.”

“I wish I hadn't told you either, Father. It just came out. I love Reuben.”

Jacob stood still, staring at Joseph as though something was preying on his mind. Suddenly he reached into his tunic and drew out an object suspended on a leather thong.

Joseph had seen it before, but he was always fascinated by it. “Can I see the medallion, Father?”

Jacob nodded, and Joseph inspected the gold piece shining in the light of the lamp. On one side was a lifelike lion and on the other a lamb.

“I love to hear the story of the medallion,” Joseph said. “Tell me again, Father.”

Then Jacob began to tell the story of how the medallion had been given to men so far in the dim past that no one could remember it. “It was handed down to those of the line of Seth, to Noah, and continued through the generations all the way to Abraham, and he gave it to me.”

“And one day it will belong to me, won't it, Father?” Joseph said eagerly as he stared hypnotically at the medal.

Jacob stared at his tall young son, longing to give it to him, but he shook his head. “No one can say who receives this medallion but El Shaddai, the Strong One. When it is time, the Lord himself will tell me who will wear this medal and from whom will come the line of Shiloh.”

“Shiloh. Who is that?”

“It's the name I've given to the One who will redeem the world. In a dream years ago I began to imagine this coming one, whom my fathers waited for, as having that name. It is simply the name of a village and it means ‘peace.' Perhaps it is a foolish fancy of mine. I don't know.”

Joseph held the medallion between his fingers. He rubbed it lovingly and said, “I hope I will be the one to receive this.”

“I hope so too, my son, but no man can know. Now, get to bed. It's late.”

“Good night, Father.” Joseph embraced his father, kissed him, and left.

As Jacob stood alone in the semidarkness, he realized a terrible truth. “I'm glad that Reuben sinned with Bilhah!” As he spoke the words aloud he felt shame for thinking such a thing about his firstborn. A father should always uphold his firstborn in honor, but he had never felt that way toward Reuben. Nor had he felt that any of Leah's sons deserved honor, although he loved them all. They were difficult boys, some of them having Leah's fiery temper and several having the devious behavior of their grandfather Laban.

But to be glad that his firstborn had committed such a sin! Shame washed through Jacob, and he fell on his knees and cried out, “Oh, forgive me, God, for such a wicked, awful thought! Cleanse me, I beg of you.” The old man knelt there for a long time, holding the medallion between his trembling fingers. Finally he bowed over completely, his head against the carpet that formed the floor of his tent, and cried out again, “Let me be Israel and not Jacob!”

When he rose, he still felt a heavy burden of guilt. He realized that, despite his prayers, his fondest hope was that Joseph—not Reuben, nor Simeon, nor Levi, nor any of the other brothers, but Joseph, the beloved son of the True Wife—would be the one through whom would come Shiloh, the Bringer of Peace, the Redeemer.

As Jacob lay underneath a light covering, he was conscious of the night sounds drifting in from the outside world. Wild dogs howled in the distance, disturbing his peace of mind. He had always hated wild dogs. There was something primitive and terrifying in their cries. He loved most animals, especially his flocks of goats and sheep and cattle. But the wild dogs were different. He had fought them off after they had scattered the remains of one of his sheep or cows, and many times in his long life he had seen them in packs, pulling down a helpless lamb or sheep, tearing it to pieces and devouring it while it yet lived.

A shudder went over Jacob at the memories. He was blessed—or cursed!—with an accurate memory and could recall events from when he was a mere boy as if they had just occurred. It was a blessing that he could remember so clearly the face of Rachel, his beloved True Wife. He often took refuge in the silences of the desert, thinking of her smile, her touch, or her beautiful eyes.