A Lineage of Grace, Page 5

  Judah was a Hebrew and strong; yet Tamar saw he was bitterly unhappy and tormented. He never seemed to have a moment’s peace, even when left alone and in silence. Everything couldn’t be blamed on a selfish, contentious wife and quarrelsome sons. There must be other reasons, deeper and more complex. If Bathshua knew what they were, she never spoke of them to anyone. She didn’t even seem to care what her husband suffered. She merely complained that Judah brooded every time he returned from seeing Jacob.

  Tamar frowned, wondering.

  Perhaps Judah’s despair had something to do with his father’s grieving.

  And the brother who had been lost.

  * * *

  Judah wished he hadn’t returned to his house so quickly. Far better had he returned to his flocks and seen to the animals Er too often neglected in his absence. His eldest had handed the full responsibility over to Onan after three short days! Er was a fool and useless as a shepherd. He had no love for the sheep that would one day belong to him. The boy stood by while wolves ripped open the belly of a defenseless ewe, then ran the predators off to become one himself. Er took pleasure in delivering the deathblow to a prized ram. Then he roasted and ate the meat!

  Sometimes Judah looked at his boys and saw everything he’d worked to build going bad. He saw Simeon and Levi. He saw himself.

  And he saw Joseph being led away in the shimmering heat of the desert sun.

  Judah had thought he could run away. He thought he could shrug off the responsibility.

  Sometimes he’d think back to the early days with Canaanite companions. His Adullamite friend Hirah had had all the answers. “Eat, my brother; drink; enjoy life to the fullest! Where passion burns, blow on the flames.”

  And Judah had burned. He’d craved corruption, hoping forgetfulness would come. Drink enough, and the mind clouds. Sleep with brazen temple prostitutes, and your senses melt away your conscience. After giving in to his jealousy and anger against Joseph, why not give in to every other emotion that pulled at him? Why not allow instinct to reign? Why not give lust control? He’d wanted desperately to become hard enough to feel no shame. Maybe then the memory of his young brother would cease to haunt him.

  But nothing obliterated or softened the memory. It haunted him still.

  Often, when he was out alone, staring up at the heavens, he wondered what had happened to Joseph. Were the boy’s bones bleached alongside the road to Egypt, or had he, by some miracle, survived the journey? If so, was he now a slave toiling under the desert sun, without hope or future?

  No matter what Judah did, his life had the stench of ashes. He couldn’t escape the result of his actions. It was too late to find and rescue his brother. Too late to save him from a life worse than death. Too late to undo the sin that poisoned his own life. He’d committed a sin so heinous, so unforgivable, he would go down to Sheol with it blackening his soul. Every time he saw his father, shame filled him. Regret choked him. He couldn’t look into Jacob’s eyes because he saw the unspoken question there: What really happened in Dothan? What did you and your brothers do to my beloved son? Judah, when will you tell me the truth?

  And Judah could feel his brothers’ eyes upon him, waiting, breath held in fear that he would confess.

  Even now, after all the years that had passed, the old anger rose in him. The jealousy burned. He longed to cry out and shake off the mantle of shame. If you knew us so well, Father, why did you send the boy? Why did you give him into our hands when you knew we hated him so much? Were you that blind? And then the pain would return. Joseph hadn’t been Jacob’s favorite simply because he was the son of his father’s favorite wife, Rachel. Joseph had deserved Jacob’s love. The boy had always run to do his father’s bidding, poured himself out to please him, while the rest always pleased themselves.

  As much as Judah wanted to cast away the blame for getting rid of Joseph, it stuck like tar. Sin clung to him, soaked in, sank deep, until he felt his blood ran black with it. He was guilty, and he knew it!

  And now Er’s young wife was asking him about God. Judah didn’t want to talk about God. He didn’t want to think about Him.

  Soon enough, he would face Him.

  * * *

  Judah sent word to Onan and Shelah to bring the flocks home. Then he commanded Bathshua to prepare a feast.

  “What for? It’s not the new moon yet.”

  “I intend to discuss the future with my sons.” He picked up his mantle and walked out into the night. He preferred the darkness and sounds of night creatures to the lamplight and carping sounds of his nagging wife.

  Bathshua followed him outside. “They already know what the future holds! They’ve talked about it many times.”

  “They haven’t talked with me!”

  She put her hands on her hips. “What sort of trouble do you intend to bring upon my house now, Judah?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Certain things need to be made clear.”

  “What things?” She was like a dog with a bone. She wouldn’t let go.

  “You’ll know everything when they do.”

  “They’re my sons. I know them better than you do! You could at least help me keep peace around here! Tell me what you plan to do. I will try to prepare them.”

  Judah glared back at her. “That’s been the problem from the beginning, Bathshua. I’ve given you a free hand, and you’ve ruined my sons.”

  “I’ve ruined them! They’re just like you: stubborn, foul tempered, constantly warring with one another! All they can think of is themselves!”

  Judah strode away.

  * * *

  Tamar had known from the beginning that the feast would end in disaster. Bathshua had spent the entire day burning incense on her private altar and praying to her gods while Tamar, Acsah, and the servants saw to the preparations for the feast Judah ordered. Her mother-in-law was in bad temper, more fractious than usual, tense and looking for trouble. Tamar didn’t intend to make matters worse by asking why Bathshua was so distressed over a father gathering his sons to talk about the future.

  Er provided a fattened lamb. Tamar overheard one of the servants say he’d probably stolen it, but Bathshua asked no questions. She quickly ordered it slaughtered and spitted for roasting. Fresh bread was made and placed in baskets. Fruit and nuts mounded on trays. Bathshua commanded that all the jugs be filled with wine.

  “Water and milk will make for a more amicable evening,” Tamar said. Er was given to excess and would undoubtedly drink until he was drunk. Surely Bathshua knew that as well as she did.

  Bathshua sneered. “Men prefer wine. So we’ll give them wine, and plenty of it.”

  “But, Bathshua—”

  “Mind your own business! This is my house, and I’ll do as I please.” She moved around the room, kicking cushions into place. “Judah commanded a feast, and a feast he’ll get. Whatever happens will be on his head!” Her eyes glittered with tempestuous tears.

  Judah’s sons began feasting before Judah returned to the house. Tamar thought Judah’s temper would erupt when he saw them, but he took his place calmly and ate without saying a word. His sons had already taken the best morsels for themselves. Er was already drunk and in the midst of telling how one of his friends had tripped a blind man walking along the road to Timnah.

  “You should have seen him scrambling around like a snake on its belly, trying to find his stick.” He laughed and tossed some grapes into his mouth. “‘Over there,’ I’d say, ‘over there,’ and the old fool would grovel in the dust. He never even came close to the stick. He’s probably still trying to find the road.” He threw back his head and laughed, his mother joining in.

  Tamar tried not to show her disgust.

  Er held out his cup. “More wine, Wife.” He made her title sound like an insult. As she poured, he looked at the others. “Wait until I tell you how I got the goat.”

  Judah tossed his bread back into the basket. “You’ve said enough. Now I have something to say.”

  Er grinned. “
That’s why we’re all here, Father. To hear whatever it is you have to say.”

  “It isn’t settled in my mind who will be my heir.”

  The words were like a lightning strike in the room. There was sudden silence, crackling tension. Tamar looked at the members of the family. Bathshua sat pale and tense, her hands balled into fists. Er’s face, already flushed from too much wine, turned dark red. Onan’s eyes glowed. Shelah was the least affected, already asleep from too much wine.

  “I’m your heir,” Er said. “I’m the firstborn!”

  Judah looked at him calmly, his eyes steady and cool. “It’s my decision. If I want to give everything to my servant, I can.”

  “How can you even suggest such a thing?” Bathshua cried out.

  Judah ignored her, his gaze still fixed upon his eldest son. “The sheep don’t prosper in your care. Nor does your wife.”

  Tamar felt the heat flood her face and then drain away as her husband and mother-in-law turned their attention to her. Both spoke at once. Er called her a foul name, while Bathshua came to his swift defense. “She has no right to complain!” Bathshua said, glaring at her.

  “Tamar hasn’t uttered a word of complaint,” Judah said coldly, “but anyone with half a brain and eyes in his head can see the treatment she receives at your son’s hands.”

  “If you’re wondering about the bruise on her face, Father, she fell against the door a few days ago. Didn’t you, Tamar? Tell him!”

  “Perhaps you tripped her the same way you tripped that blind man along the road.”

  Er paled, but his eyes were like hot coals. “You’re not going to take away what’s mine.”

  “You still don’t understand, Er, do you? Nothing belongs to you unless I say it does.”

  Tamar had never heard Judah speak so quietly or so coldly and with such authority. In this frame of mind, he was a man to be respected and feared. For the first time since she had entered his household, she admired him. She hoped he wouldn’t weaken.

  “Nothing will be taken from my hand unless I offer it,” Judah said, his look encompassing Bathshua and her sons. “I gathered you here tonight to tell you that the one who proves himself the best shepherd will inherit my flocks.”

  “Is this a test?” Er was contemptuous. “Is that it?” He sneered. “Give the flocks to Onan now, if it pleases you, Father. Do you think it’ll matter in the end? Onan is better with sheep, but I am better with a sword!”

  “Do you see what you’ve done?” Bathshua cried out. “You’ve turned my sons against each other.”

  “After I’m gone, it’s God who will decide what will happen.”

  “Yes,” Er said, lifting his head as well as his cup. “Let the gods decide!” Wine sloshed over his hand as he proposed a toast. “In praise to the gods of Canaan! I vow to give my first daughter to the temple in Timnah and my first son to the fires of Molech!”

  Tamar uttered a cry of despair at the same time Judah rose in anger. “No!”

  She couldn’t breathe. Would she conceive and bear children only to see them die in the flames of Topheth or perform intercourse on a public altar?

  Er’s pride burned white-hot. He rose as well and faced his father defiantly. “Do you think I care what you do? My brothers will follow me, Father. They will do as I do, or I will—” He stopped as though the breath had been drawn from him. His face changed; his eyes widened with fear. The cup dropped from his hand, splashing a red stain down the front of his fine tunic. He clutched at his chest.

  Bathshua screamed. “Do something, Judah! Help him!”

  Er tried to speak and couldn’t. He clawed at his throat as though trying to pull hands away. Shelah, who had awakened at his mother’s screaming, scrambled back, crying, while Onan watched Er drop to his knees. Judah reached out to his son, but Er pitched forward and fell facedown into the platter of roasted meat. He lay still.

  “Er!” Bathshua said. “Oh, Er!”

  Tamar was trembling violently, her heart galloping. She knew she should go to her husband’s aid, but she was too afraid to move.

  Bathshua pushed at Judah. “Leave my son alone. This is your fault!”

  Judah shoved Bathshua back and went down on one knee. He put his hand against his son’s neck. When he drew back, Tamar saw her own terror mirrored in his eyes. “He’s dead.”

  “He can’t be!” Bathshua said, pushing forward, falling to her knees beside Er. “You’re wrong, Judah. He’s drunk. He’s just . . .”

  When Bathshua managed to roll him over, she saw his face and screamed.

  THREE

  Tamar wept with Judah’s family during the formal mourning period. Judah was convinced God had struck down his firstborn son, and Bathshua, refusing to believe it, was inconsolable. Onan pretended to grieve, but Tamar saw him talking and laughing with some of the young Canaanite men who had called themselves Er’s friends.

  Tamar was ashamed of her own feelings. She wanted to mourn Er as a wife should, but she found herself weeping more in relief than sorrow, for she’d despised her husband. He’d held her captive in fear, and now she was free! Mingled with her grief was a deep fear of the God of Judah, who clearly possessed the power of life and death. She was more deeply afraid of this God than she had been of any man. When the Lord, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, had struck down Judah’s eldest and most rebellious son, this God had also delivered her from a life of misery. One moment Er was breathing vows to sacrifice his children and lead his brothers astray, and the next he was dead!

  Her emotions were so confused, for the truth of her situation came to roost and feast upon her thoughts. She was not delivered at all, for now she was a widow. Her situation was no better than before. In fact, it was worse! She had no husband, no son, no standing in this household. She couldn’t go home. Unless Judah did what custom demanded and gave her Onan as a husband, Tamar knew she would never bear sons or daughters at all. Her life would be useless. She would live without hope.

  Only a son could deliver her!

  The days passed slowly, and Judah said nothing. Tamar was patient. She hadn’t expected him to speak of the matter during the mourning period. He would do what he must, for he was wise enough to know he couldn’t leave things as they were and have his household prosper and grow. Judah’s clan needed sons and daughters, or his household would diminish and die out.

  Her failure to provide children made her a failure as a woman. Judah had chosen her to bear children for his household, and her position was unchanged. She was still the girl Judah had chosen. Judah must give her Onan as a husband. Onan must sleep with her and provide a son to inherit Er’s portion. It was the way of both Canaanite and Hebrew. Brother must uphold brother.

  Knowing this, Tamar didn’t spend her time worrying about when Judah would make the decision. Instead, she spent her time wondering about the God of the Hebrews. Her heart trembled when she considered the power He held. She was filled with questions but had no one to ask. Judah had made it clear he didn’t want to talk about the God of his father.

  So she rolled the questions over and over in her mind, seeking answers by herself and finding none. If God struck down Er for promising his children to the gods of Canaan, why hadn’t He struck down Judah for allowing Bathshua to train up his sons in the worship of Baal? Or was the misery in Judah’s life the curse laid upon him for some unknown act of rebellion? Judah had said once that the hand of God was against him. He was convinced; therefore, it must be true. Judah would know, wouldn’t he? Fear filled Tamar at such thoughts, for if the hand of God was against Judah, what hope had any member of his family?

  How do you soften the heart of a God who is angry with you? How do you placate Him when you don’t know what He wants from you? What do you offer as sacrifice? What gift can you give? Obedience, Judah had said, but Tamar didn’t know the rules to obey.

  The fear of the Lord was upon her. Yet, even in her fear, Tamar felt strangely comforted. Er was no longer her master. Her fate was now in the hand
s of Judah. Not once during the year she’d been in this household had she ever seen her father-in-law offer sacrifices to the gods of Canaan. It was Bathshua who worshiped Baal and Asherah and a dozen others with fervent devotion. She was the one who poured out wine and oil, and cut herself. Judah kept his distance, and Bathshua never opened the cabinet where she kept her teraphim when Judah was within sight of it.

  But Tamar had never seen Judah give offerings to his God either.

  Did he do so when pasturing his sheep? Did he worship when he was with his father or his brothers? Her father-in-law never said anything one way or the other, and Tamar dared not inquire of Bathshua.

  If the God of Judah allowed, she would bear children by Onan, and she would fulfill the hope Judah had to build up his household. Er was dead. She would take comfort in knowing her children would never be placed in the arms of Molech and rolled into the fires of Topheth, nor would they be trained up to perform lewd acts with a priest on a public altar dedicated to Astarte. They would grow up in the ways of Judah’s father and not in the ways of her own. They would bow down to Judah’s God and not bend to those of Bathshua.

  Her heart cried out for this to be true, though nothing was certain. A year in Judah’s household had taught Tamar that Bathshua had the upper hand. On the one occasion Judah had exerted his authority, his eldest son had rebelled and died.

  She couldn’t go to Judah and talk of these things. It was too soon, too painful. When Judah was ready, he would send for her. What else could he do? She was to be the childbearer.

  * * *

  Judah pondered the future of his family. He knew what he had to do but still waited seventy days before summoning Tamar. When she stood before him in her black tsaiph, slender and dignified, her head up, he realized she had changed. Her face no longer bore the marks of ill treatment. Her skin was smooth and healthy. Yet it was more than that. Poised and calm, she looked at him. She was no longer the trembling child-bride he had brought home to Er.