The next summer Rebekah got her first suitor in a year, and it wasn’t a real one, just a visit from a traveling merchant who sat down with Father and told him that an up-and-coming young merchant in Byblos had asked him to find out, if he could, whether Rebekah was still unmarried and what it would take, as a bride-price, to win her hand. As Laban reported the scene to Rebekah later, Father was outraged, but he contained his anger and patiently explained that concubines might be bought that way, but his daughter was not for sale. “These merchants,” Laban said, no doubt echoing Father’s sentiments, “they live by buying and selling, so they think everything is for sale.”

When Pillel heard the story, though, he got curious and had one of his men go to Byblos and find out about the young merchant on whose behalf the traveler had made his outrageous inquiry. It was months later that word came back, but Pillel made his report to Father and Father in turn told Laban and Rebekah about it as if it were a huge joke. “Do you know who it turned out to be?” he asked.

They had no idea, of course, since they didn’t know anyone from Byblos.

“Belbai,” said Father.

For a moment Laban’s face was blank, though Rebekah remembered at once. Khaneah’s son, who had been beaten and expelled along with his mother from the camp, because he had written ugly things about Rebekah.

Then it dawned on Laban, and his face filled with rage.

“No, don’t be angry,” Father soothed him. “It’s nothing more than a testament to your sister’s beauty. The boy is still entranced!”

Laban wrote in the dirt, “I should have killed him here.”

Rebekah punched him in the arm, thinking he was merely exaggerating, but Father took him seriously. “Perhaps,” he said. “Pillel even offered to have him killed for me.”

“Father!” Rebekah cried, and even though he couldn’t hear her, he certainly could read the expression on her face.

“He committed a crime worthy of death,” said Father simply. “I could have killed him then in perfect justice. But now? No. I let him go, and that’s that. You’re not to do anything either, Laban. Do I have your word?”

Laban set his lips and hesitated.

“I want your oath before God,” said Father. “You will cause no harm to Belbai, yourself or by anyone else’s hand. Swear!”

Laban wrote the oath Father demanded.

“And don’t think,” said Father, “that God will not hold you to that oath just because you wrote it instead of saying it with your lips.”

Laban rolled his eyes.