Sons of Isaac

by Roberta Kells Dorr

Overview

A story so timeless, it could have been taken from today’s headlines.

This grand account of love, greed, jealousy, hope, manipulation, and faith is pulled from the pages of biblical history—yet this is fresh, new, and never before published. The Sons of Isaac is the capstone work of a master of biblical fiction, Roberta Kells Dorr. When God tells Rebekah that she will bear Isaac twin sons and the older will serve the younger, Isaac is skeptical. But that revelation will forever mark the lives of his family.

The sweeping landscape of this saga ends much as it began and will influence the generations to come.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780802484994
Publisher:	Moody Publishers
Publication date:	04/15/2014
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	272
File size:	4 MB

About the Author

ROBERTA KELLS DORR is the author of seven books: six novels, one biography. She majored in creative writing at the University of Maryland and received her master’s in Religious Education from the Southern Baptist Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky. For seventeen years Dorr lived in the Middle East as the wife of a busy missionary surgeon and the mother of five children. On her return to the United States she carried with her the manuscript of the first novel she had written and researched extensively over the years. She claimed that the years in the Middle East, the exposure to their culture, and the experiences she had while there profoundly influenced what she wrote.

Read an Excerpt

SONS OF ISAAC

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By Roberta Kells Dorr, Barbara A. Lilland

Moody Publishers

Copyright © 2014 Roberta Kells Dorr
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8024-0959-1

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CHAPTER 1

Old Nahor shuffled out of his room and squinted up at the sky that appeared as a bright, blue patch above the walled courtyard. "It's a good day for a wedding," he muttered. Then slowly with many yawns and a few hiccups, he made his way to the water jar, lifted the lid, and peered down. He could see nothing and so impulsively pulled back his sleeve and thrust his arm into the jar.

"Grandfather, what are you doing?"

Nahor groaned as he pulled his arm out of the jar and turned to face his laughing granddaughter. "There's no water. They've used it all."

"Of course, we've been cleaning and cooking. Have you forgotten? Laban is bringing his new bride home today."

"Who could forget?" Nahor muttered as he pulled down his sleeve. "So her family's rich. Truth is he's getting nothing but an ugly, bucktoothed she goat of a woman."

"Grandfather," she said with a giggle, looking around guiltily. "If Laban heard you ..." She lifted the heavy jar of water from her head and leaned it carefully against the wall. "I'll help you over to the bench and then get whatever you want."

She took his arm gently. He held back, grimaced, and looked at her. "My son named you wrong. You're not a noose around his neck. I never understood." His old voice cracked with emotion as he shook his head in bewilderment. Reluctantly he let her lead him over to the shaded area beneath the grape arbor.

She helped him ease onto the bench where he usually spent the day. "Father says he called me Rebekah, or noose," she said, "because I was pretty enough to catch a rich husband."

"Of course, of course, he's always thinking of ways to get rich."

"That's just how he thinks," she said. She noticed that in the effort he had lost one of his slippers. Snatching it up, she quickly knelt and helped him work his foot into it.

"Now sit here," she said, "and I'll bring you some fresh water."

When she came back with a dipper overflowing with the clear, cool water, he was still muttering to himself about the name his son, Bethuel, had given his beautiful granddaughter.

"Grandfather, don't worry. I'm his favorite and that's all that really matters."

"Favorite? Then why are dark secrets and bargains made with the clay gods under the stairs ?" His eyes grew wild and he wiped his brow with a trembling hand.

For a moment Rebekah was afraid he was about to have another of his fainting fits. "Dark secrets and bargains?" she repeated as she tucked a throw of soft woven material around his shoulders.

He leaned toward her, cupping his hand around his mouth as he whispered, "They've greased the old goat-man's bald head and made big promises if he finds a rich husband for you."

Rebekah squatted beside him. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. "They've refused all the young men who've asked for me."

"Of course, of course, they're greedy. They want riches, gold, favors. And the old clay goat-man is to get it for them."

Rebekah stood up. She knew Nahor had strange dreams and delusions at times. "Maybe you dreamed it," she said.

"Go look, see for yourself." He pointed in the direction of the stairs and then leaned back against the stone wall, exhausted, and closed his eyes. He would doze and forget, but Rebekah was disturbed. She knew her father, Bethuel, and her brother, Laban, put great store by the gods of clay and stone made by old Terah, her great-grandfather, before he left Ur. The god with the greatest powers was the one they called the old goat-man. He was a moon god and could control any situation for a price.

She started toward the pigeon houses fastened to the far wall but stopped when she came to the stairs that led to the roof. She stared at the crude, bolted door that opened to the space below the stairs. Behind this door were shelves on which sat the family gods. Except for the small fertility gods the women were allowed to have, all the gods were kept here. This was a forbidden area for the women. They were not allowed to even look on the gods. Bethuel and Laban carried out the secret rituals at night when everyone else was asleep.

"Go look and see," her grandfather had said. The idea would never have occurred to her, but now she felt she had to know. She had to find out.

With trembling hands she slid the heavy bolt to one side and pulled the great wooden door out toward her. For a moment she was blinded by clouds of incense with their sickeningly sweet smell. She recognized the odor. It was Bethuel's most valuable incense; he had given five sheep for one little jar of it. She waved the smoke away and to her horror saw that her grandfather had been right ... the old goat-god's bald head was glistening with freshly applied sacred oil.

"Rebekah, what are you doing!" Her mother's voice vibrated with shock and horror. She had come to the edge of the roof and was leaning over the parapet.

Rebekah jumped back, letting the door slam shut.

"It's true. What Grandfather said is true," she stammered.

"What are you talking about?" her mother asked as she came hurrying down the narrow, uneven stairs.

With one swift movement Rebekah pushed the bolt into place and stood with her back to the door. "They've made a bargain with the old goat-man. He's to find a rich husband for me."

"And what's so bad about that?" Her mother stood with her hands on her hips, a puzzled expression on her face.

"All they care about is their own gain and high position. I want something better than that."

"What's better than a rich husband? Laban understands these things. He's even marrying an ugly wife for the gain it will bring him."

"It's his choice. She may not be beautiful but he can have other wives. I can have only one husband."

Her mother brushed past her, muttering, "Your father has burned his prize incense, poured out his most expensive oil. He wants the very best for you and for the family."

Rebekah said no more, but that night she sought out her beloved nurse, Deborah, in the vine-covered shelter on the roof. She told her everything and was comforted when the older woman held her in her arms. "It may not be so bad," she said. "For your family it isn't just the old goat-man god under the stairs but all the gods, even the Elohim of your uncle Abraham."

"They always seem to be at odds with each other," Rebekah said. "Who can we trust? Who is the strongest?"

Deborah drew back and looked at her for a long moment before answering. "All the gods are greedy," she said. "They want gifts and make hard bargains. Your father and your brother are trusting the old goat-man. We'll see what comes of it."

Rebekah adjusted her headpiece and brushed back the coins that fell from it down each side of her face. They made a pleasant tinkling sound as she laughed. She bent over and hugged her nurse. "Then I'll ask the Elohim of my uncle Abraham to find me a husband, and we will see who wins."

* * *

Rebekah had never seen her uncle Abraham or her aunt Sarah. They had left the family long before she was born. She had heard very little of them, and what she had heard was usually carried on in whispers. Even this talk stopped when any of the children appeared. She had finally learned that Abraham and Sarah had no children. (News had reached them of a son bom to them in their old age, but that was taken to be a rumor, as it was clearly impossible.) This seemed very strange since her grandfather, Nahor, the brother of Abraham, had eight sons by his wife Milcah and five by his concubine Reumah. Most of these sons were gone on trading trips or out herding their father s sheep.

Rebekah and her brother, Laban, were the children of Bethuel, the youngest son of Nahor and Milcah. They still lived in the home of their grandparents, a large, sprawling house with several courtyards, large kitchens, and adequate space for quite a few animals when it was necessary to bring them inside.

On this particular day Laban was spending the afternoon with the men of his family at the public baths. His bride, Barida, had taken over the same facility with her maidens that very morning. The village of Haran had only one such nicety, which had to be shared. Three days of the week women and children took over the steamy, dark rooms with their warm stone floors and tepid pools, but the other days belonged to the men. If there was a wedding, as was the case on this day, the bride and the women of her family and friends had the morning and the groom with his male family members and friends the afternoon. The people of Haran considered themselves fortunate that the river Balikah flowed nearby and they had plenty of water for bathing and irrigation.

That night Laban and the men of his family would go to escort Barida to his home. The agreement had already been signed and Laban was excited. Though he had been warned by his mother and his sister of Barida's snaggle-toothed ugliness, he was pleased beyond reason to be marrying into the family of Nazzim.

Nazzim always had the best of everything. His house was of the same mud brick as the rest of the villagers, but it had many rooms and the courtyard was large and shaded. He owned the local caravansary and shop where travelers and men from the village could sit and talk while drinking his fine barley beer or eating roast lamb that turned endlessly on a spit over the fire.

Nazzim was old now. Though his face was creased like a crumpled sheet and his thin lips sucked in over toothless jaws, his eyes were hard as agates and missed nothing. There was now no hint that in his younger days he had been a lusty, handsome man. Numerous stories were told of his questionable exploits right in their village and in the countryside beyond.

It was said that if he saw a woman he wanted, he would go to any lengths and pay any price to get her for his harem. Things had changed now, and it was whispered that he had outlived all of his favorites and had even sent some of the younger women back to their families in disgrace. "They were totally useless," he complained. "None of them were entertaining and any dish they prepared was uneatable."

* * *

As Laban sat getting the last fine shaping of his beard by one of the slaves, he heard a commotion in the outer room. The men with Laban fell silent as they listened. Voices could be heard, muffled and indistinct, rising and falling as though in some urgency. Then there was silence but for the soft padding of bare feet on wet stones.

A young man appeared in the doorway. He stopped and peered around the room until his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. When he spotted Laban, he came quickly and knelt before him. "My lord," he said. "My master, Nazzim, waits outside. He wishes to see you alone."

Laban was immediately alarmed, though he struggled to look unconcerned. He had visions of the old man calling the whole arrangement off, even taking his daughter back to give her to a more likely prospect. "Show him in," he said nervously. He waved for the members of his family to leave him alone.

The young man disappeared and again came the sound of voices in the outer room and then a shuffling, slow, dragging sound accented by the solid thumping made by a staff. Laban's anxiety became acute as he realized how important this meeting must be for Nazzim. The old man had trouble walking and rarely left his own courtyard. What could possibly be so important that he would come to the public bath to seek out the bridegroom of his daughter ?

By the time the old man stood in the dim half-light of the doorway, Laban was dabbing the sweat from his brow. He rose and came to kiss the old mans hand as was the custom, then led him to one of the benches that surrounded the wall. "I'm most honored," he stammered as he puzzled over the strange affair.

Nazzim thumped his staff on the hard stone floor and shouted an unintelligible order that brought two young men carrying cushions and a tray with brass goblets filled with his famous date wine. He jabbed the staff at the bench, indicating where he wanted the cushions and the armrests. Then with great difficulty he sat and again ordered the cushions to be adjusted and the armrests to be put in place. When he was comfortable and the young men had helped him pull his feet up so he could sit cross-legged on the bench, he signaled for Laban to come sit beside him.

Laban hurried to accommodate him while the two young men held the tray of drinks for both of them. With this completed, Nazzim motioned for them to wait just outside the door; then he turned to Laban. "This is a good day for our families," the old man said, looking with sharp, piercing eyes at Laban.

"You greatly honor me," Laban said as he tried to find some clue as to Nazzim's purpose in coming.

"May this day be blessed by all the gods," Nazzim continued.

"May I bring happiness to your family," Laban said as he became more relaxed.

"May my daughter be fruitful in your house."

Nazzim obviously had not come to call off the wedding. Laban became more confident that he had come to ask some favor that could not wait. The sense of relief was so great that he was inclined to grant any favor the old man might ask.

The two sat in silence sipping the date wine and testing the atmosphere for any hostility. Finally with guarded words, Laban spoke, "What can I do to show my gratitude for the privilege of marrying your daughter ?"

Nazzim stroked his beard and smiled. Laban had obviously said the right thing.

"Since you have broached the subject ..." He hesitated and looked at Laban as though needing encouragement.

"What subject, my lord?" Laban asked, leaning forward with eager anticipation.

"Why, the subject of marriage," old Nazzim said as he chuckled and then coughed with the exertion.

"Marriage?" Laban said, puzzled. Did the old man have wedding counsel for him at this late hour?

"Yes, marriage. I have decided to marry again."

Laban choked and coughed in surprise. Then collecting himself, he asked, "May I ask who is to receive this great honor?"

Again Nazzim laughed. "Of course, that's why I've come to you. I am an old man but rich. I can give great favor to those I choose." As he said this he leaned over and tapped Laban on the arm. He didn't smile but instead grimaced and nodded with a knowing look.

Laban was more puzzled than ever. He couldn't imagine what he might have to do with Nazzim's getting married. If the old scoundrel wanted help, he would give it gladly. He quickly sifted through the possible meanings and could think of nothing. "You are very generous," he said at last. "I'll do anything I can to help you find the happiness you seek."

Nazzim sucked in his breath and worked his lips back and forth over his toothless gums; a cunning look came on his face. Laban had seen this look before when he was about to make a clever bargain. "Then it is settled."

Laban squirmed uneasily. "Everything is settled but to find who the lucky woman is."

"Of course, of course, I can't expect you to presume so much. How could you possibly guess ? Quite simply, it's your sister."

"My sister!" Laban could not keep the surprise from his voice.

"Yes, I believe her name is Rebekah. Strange name. They say she is a beauty and yet is not lazy." Nazzim's small eyes settled on Laban as if waiting for some expression of his pleasure.

Laban squirmed uncomfortably. He smiled a forced, stiff smile and stared at Nazzim. The man was as old as Haran and more feeble. He smelled of musty grain, garlic, and rotting flesh. Rebekah would never go along with such an arrangement if she could help it. It would be very difficult to persuade her. However, he could see many advantages.

It was almost as though the old goat-god beneath the stairs had answered their prayers in record time. Someone rich, they had asked, and who in all the area was as rich as Nazzim? If Rebekah married the old man, he began to think, what wealth they would control. With his marriage to the daughter and her marriage to the old father, they would soon be in charge of everything the old man owned.

There had always been a problem when marriage to Rebekah was discussed with other young men and their families. They all expected, even insisted, that any young woman they would consider must first participate in the secret fertility rites at the temple of the goddess. Above all else they wanted a bride who would produce children, and such rites were deemed an absolute necessity. The family of Terah had always managed to cleverly evade these demands by marrying their women within the family. However, with Rebekah there were no young men available within the family.

Now Laban looked closely at Nazzim. He had sons and daughters by his many wives and there was a slight chance he would not feel so strongly about the fertility rites. If he really wanted Rebekah, it was possible he would not insist on the offensive rituals.

Laban felt he must somehow manage this. What did it matter that he was old and repulsive ? He was so feeble he was not likely to last a year. "I am honored, greatly honored," Laban stammered as he smiled.

"There is one thing you must do for me first," Nazzim said. "The fertility rites in the temple are not necessary, but it is important that I see her before we draw up the final agreement."

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from SONS OF ISAAC by Roberta Kells Dorr, Barbara A. Lilland. Copyright © 2014 Roberta Kells Dorr. Excerpted by permission of Moody Publishers.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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