“Because I want to understand your father. I loved him all my life, and now . . . now he seems to be my most relentless opponent.”

“How can you say that? We live in the circle of his protection, his love and goodness are all around us in the loyalty and love of the men and women who serve him. He’s my father!”

“What greater enemy could I have, than the man who hurts my husband most deeply and who wants to raise our firstborn without our influence?”

“That’s not who my father is at all.”

“It’s all I’ve seen.”

Isaac just stood there, shaking his head.

“Then explain it to me!” Rebekah pleaded.

“Maybe the best reason for us to come to Kirjath-arba is for you to see who my father really is.”

“Maybe I’ll see who he is about the same time he sees who you are.”

“He sees me,” said Isaac. “You don’t. But I’m glad you don’t. It feels good to have your love and respect, even though the fact that I don’t deserve it turns it to ashes sometimes in my mouth.”

She would have answered that, but he kissed her to silence her and then Esau started complaining and Rebekah had no choice but to let Isaac leave.

As the boys learned to walk and talk, toddling about the camp, the differences between them became clear to everyone. If there was something to climb, Esau climbed it; something to get stuck in, Esau was stuck in it. Rebekah assigned two of her handmaidens to take turns watching Esau even when he was sleeping—it took him only a few moments after waking up to be in a place where he might fall into a crevice or tumble onto a fire, or where a scorpion or a serpent or even a prowling lion might find him. It did no good to tell Esau what to do—he was deaf whenever he was being told what he may not do.