The Red Tent: Jacob and His Wives

I was fascinated by the way that Anita Diamant describes the relationship between Jacob, Leah, and Rachel. It was entirely unlike what I'd imagined taking place between them, so I'm looking forward to discussing your reactions to Diamant's account.

The biblical account of Jacob meeting Rachel and Leah begins in Genesis 29 with Jacob's arrival in Haran. He meets several shepherds by a well and then meets Rachel, Laban's daughter, who is a shepherdess. Jacob had been sent by his father, Isaac, to Laban's house in order to take a wife from their people rather than from the Canaanites. When Jacob met Rachel, he "kissed Rachel and began to weep aloud. He had told Rachel that he was a relativ of her father and a son of Rebekah. So she ran and told her father" (Gen. 29:12).

After a month of staying with and working for Laban, Laban asked Jacob what his wages should be for working for him. Here is the first mention of Leah: "Now Laban had two daughters; the name of the older one was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel. Leah had weak eyes, but Rachel was lovely in form, and beautiful. Jacob was in love with Rachel and said, 'I'll work for you seven years in return for your younger daughter Rachel.'... So Jacob served seven years to get Rachel, but they seemed like only a few days to him because of his love for her" (Gen. 29: 16-18, 20). The Strong's concordance for "weak" in relation to Leah's eyes comes up as "tender, delicate." I've wondered about the comparison here - the juxtaposition of Leah and Rachel is meant to contrast Rachel's beauty with Leah's "weak eyes" -- my impression has always been that Leah wasn't particularly unattractive, but she dimmed in comparison to Rachel's beauty. What do you think of this verse?

The seven years pass, and Jacob goes to Laban to claim his bride. "But when evening came, he took his daughter Leah and gave her to Jacob, and Jacob lay with her... When morning came, there was Leah!" What!?! These few verses in Scripture have always puzzled me -- really, Jacob didn't know that it wasn't Rachel in his tent? It's hard to imagine that this sort of scheme could've been executed without protest from Leah OR Jacob. Anita Diamant reimagines the story and adds in her own version of the festivities, which humanizes the whole scenario for me, except that she veers so far away from the biblical account.

Regardless, here we are with Jacob and an undesired wife. He protests this union with Laban, who says that it is not their custom to marry off the younger daughter before the eldest, but what the heck, work for me for another seven years and I'll give you Rachel, too. To be fair, you can finish out the marriage week with Leah and then take Rachel as your bride, too. The week with Leah ends, and then, "Jacob lay with Rachel also, and he loved Rachel more than Leah" (Gen. 29:30).

I've tried to imagine what it must have been like to be the unloved wife of Jacob. I think back to junior high and high school, times when I had a crush on the same boy as one of my friends and that friend ended up dating him instead of me, and how sad/jealous/miserable/envious/angry that kind of passive or active rejection made me. And that was only in the days of dating -- how much worse when it happens in marriage. Perhaps the modern-day equivalent of the polygamous marriage is, at the extreme, extramarital affairs, and to a lesser degree yet still harmful, pornography's impact on a relationship. These kinds of distractions and intrusions into the intimacy of marriage destroy a woman's sense of security and sense of self. Oh, Leah.

God's mercy and compassion for Leah is demonstrated in the final verses of Genesis 29, beginning with verse 31, "When the Lord saw that Leah was not loved, he opened her womb, but Rachel was barren." In order to imagine what Leah experienced during these years, I wrote a poem that incorporates the assumed meanings of the Hebrew names of her first four sons', Reuben -- "he has seen my misery", Simeon -- "one who hears", Levi -- "attached", and Judah -- "praise".


Leah Considers Mercy
“When the Lord saw that Leah was not loved,
he opened her womb, but Rachel was barren.” - Genesis 29:31


On my knees in the dirt, I begged, Lord
I want to feel his kiss
hear whispers from his lips
but to my sister in law, sister of my blood
he cries, How beautiful you are, my lovely!
Not to me, not from him…
and then one came.
I named him Reuben: He has seen my misery.

I can feel the rolling hills raise up their crops,
tickle lambs’ feet—
years are grains of wheat,
harvests bountifully hollow, fall, frost.
Reuben crawls across the floor, his daddy’s
boy, but the door clicks shut.
I am not loved. The cord is cut
and Simeon: one who hears makes two for mercy.

What does she have, fairer skin? But not two sons
with wild hair, chasing
their father after dinner, waiting
under woolen blankets, sucking thumbs.
Not empty shadows, cold pillows, heavy silence.
My lover is hers—he browses
among lilies—I am not his.
I finger fields of dandelions: this strange abundance.

Reuben and Simeon dart out of the kitchen, call Dad!
when the door opens.
His hands hold them close.
Bread and wine on the table, I’m roasting lamb—
so hungry—eyes water, mouth dry, stomach grows.
Dinner’s ready and I’m famished
but it’s time, Levi: attached.
Three of him and me. Now he will hold me close.

Just like their shepherd father, my boys grow
tall and handsome.
On the run, Reuben
picks daffodils—it is spring and the meadow
is filled with yellow. This afternoon, Simeon drew
a stick woman smiling
and Levi is piling
blocks outside the house. I thought we were through,

but I have a fourth one now. He is here,
suckling at my breast.
For now we are at rest,
just him and me. Jacob, Rachel, and the boys peer
in, wait to see the son who has my eyes
and all his Father’s glory.
I know he’ll have a story
but it’s enough to hear him breathe. I name him Judah: praise.

The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

"We have been lost to each other for so long.
"My name means nothing to you. My memory is dust.
"This is not your fault, or mine. The chain connecting mother to daughter was broken and the word passed to the keeping of men, who had no way of knowing. That is why I became a footnote, my story a brief detour between the well-known history of my father, Jacob, and the celebrated chronicle of Joseph, my brother. On those rare occasions where I was remembered, it was as a victim. Near the beginning of your holy book, there is a passage that seems to say I was raped and continues with the bloody tale of how my honor was avenged.
"It's a wonder that any mother called her daughter Dinah again."

Thus begins The Red Tent by Anita Diamant, Dinah's version of the story of Leah and Rachel and their husband, Jacob, of the relationships between mothers, sisters, and daughters under the red tent -- the place women went during their menstrual cycle.

In preparation for our book discussion on The Red Tent in February, I'd like to walk through the biblical account of the marriages of Leah and Rachel and what happened in Shechem. I think it will be interesting to look at this account vs. what is given by Anita through Dinah in The Red Tent, and consider these stories as they relate to us today. What can we learn from the relationships between these women? What can we learn about God from this passage of Scripture? What liberties are taken with the biblical account of Dinah's story in The Red Tent, and are they effective, troubling, or simply a literary device?

Lots to think about with this book! I'm looking forward to walking through some of the Biblical accounts of Leah and Rachel's lives and the lives of their children, especially Dinah who appears only briefly in Genesis, with you over the next few weeks.

Hope

"And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character, and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." (Rom. 5:2-5) Hope.

It is what astounds me most as I watch the footage from Haiti - the hope of the people. The faith of the people. In spite of their terrible circumstances, in spite of the way the earth still trembles and shakes the foundations of their homes and schools even a week and a half later, their faith is not shaken. The believers of Haiti are wearing this verse like a cloak.

Christmas Cookies

Christmas Cookies

This baking is taking

the fruit of some body

and mixing it with the fruit

of the earth, birthing

harmony in each small cookie,

Mary’s sowing, reaping, crushing, sifting,

the cow with milk to give, hen with eggs to fold in,

substance of life and life-giving blending.

Isn’t this season about celebrating

the melding of spirit

with flesh? Remember

our miracles blossom from trauma

and this baking is beating

ingredients, dividing

dough in heaping spoonfuls,

elements indivisible – egg and sugar,

wheat and water.

Bite in, lick the crumb from your upper lip…

Partake in this communion of saints

while the miracle still warms the wafer.

And now we are all here: laborer,

consumer, life-giver, hovering over a tray

of peace on Earth.

God's Utilization

As a follow-up to the Gerard Manley Hopkins poem, which was written during an age, I think, when overt praise and religious neon signs were permissable, I thought I'd share a poem that probably won't see the light of day in any other forum. It's too cute. I like it, though, especially for its music and sincere but somewhat shallow praise. It's my kind of sappy.

So, without further delay, I present to you, "God's Utilization."

God’s Utilization

I stare bewildered at this sky
in hopes of lofty passersby.
Determined for some revelation,
I praise my God for exploitation.

The atoms in the atmosphere
compose a complex cloudy tier
of vapors written for the birds,
a sweet confession, hardly heard.

In these, the puffy, fluffy white
are held the fingertips of light.
From where a drop of rain once grew,
a tickled ray of gold pokes through.

And though the source sets in the west,
we are left a treasure chest
of colors, bold and pale ones, too,
to balance off the azure blue.

Evolving sky, how you amaze
when cirrus clouds pull their frays,
and thunderheads announce their tales
through mighty light and wailing gales.

What cumuli explode in puffs
of figures formed and bunched in tufts!
Combined exchange of fat and thin,
these clouds provoke a youthful grin.

And on this lazy, daisy day,
we’re left to pass the time away
by staring skyward, eyes alight
reflecting grace with great delight.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

My, how time flies -- already the end of October! I am sitting at home wrapped in a blanket waiting for the furnace repairman to return and take care of my furnace. I appreciate times like these because it is so rare to have previously unscheduled free time. I paid some bills, played some lexulous, and now I am diving in to some Gerard Manley Hopkins, whose work has been recommended by a number of poet-friends as of late, and it is available online, which makes for easy reading. Here's one:


Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). Poems. 1918.

13. Pied Beauty


GLORY be to God for dappled things—

For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;

Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;

And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.


All things counter, original, spare, strange;

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

Praise him.

-------

What a delight to read! Love it.

Off to read some more.

Big Nose! Big Nose!

This morning while my daughter and I ate our eggs, Lydia looked up and said, "Mom, you have a big nose." "Yes, I know, Lydia," I replied, and she said, "How small is my nose?" "Tiny."

I immediately thought of a joke my dad used to tell, over and over, when I was little. A man with a wooden eye was always really self-conscious of his eye. He had a really difficult time getting a date, but one night at a party, he saw a girl he thought might like to dance with him. She was attractive enough, but she had a big nose. Maybe this girl will understand me, he thought to himself, and so he walked across the room, still feeling self-conscious. Would she notice his wooden eye? When he finally approached her, he asked her if she wanted to dance. "Oh, would I!" to which he replied, "Big Nose! Big Nose!"

har har har.

Lydia was observing a documentable fact -- my nose is bigger than hers. She's three. I'm 27. It happens. At some point, the fact that I have a nose was turned into an opinion that it is too big, or too long, or somehow unattractive. "It's a nose!" I say to myself, "my nose! What does it matter?" But every now and again I catch a sideways glance in the mirror or find a photo taken at the wrong angle and I wrinkle up said nose and think, "ugh."

I think we all find ourselves self-conscious about something on us or in us. Sometimes the list is long, and it varies from day-to-day. Some items never seem to leave the list. Some feel like they've been there as long as we can remember. Someone or something in our pasts planted a seed of self-doubt that made us consider ourselves against an impossible standard: perfection.

As I typed that word, the verse from Philippians 1:6 came into my mind, "He who began a good work in you will carry it into completion until the day of Christ Jesus." "Completion" here shows up in the KJV as "perfect" -- and in the Greek is the word, "epiteleō" - perform, perfect, accomplish, finish, performance, make, do.

I think it is safe to say that when we are very young, our self-image is rather neutral. It is only formed based on the outside influences surrounding us - our parents, friends, and strangers shape and mold that self-image... for better or for worse. Our self-worth and self-image are determined first by what we hear and then by how we process it. Some comments are easily dismissed; other opinions embed themselves like weeds. As we grow older, that self-image is fed by repetition externally and internally.

If our self-image is slowly created by outside influences and our own bad habits of repeating those opinions, then the work of Christ is rebuilding that self-image in Him. Regardless of whether we have an inflated view of ourselves or a seriously deflated view of ourselves, God wants us to view ourselves in light of Him. If we are basing our identity on how we measure up to the world's standards, we will either be puffed up and egotistical, self-conscious and defeated, or crashing back and forth between the two depending on our own successes and failures. God tells us to find our identity in him. This isn't new - we were, after all, made in His image. The work of Satan and sin twists and destroys self-image and identity for every person. It is the redemptive work of Christ that renews and "perfects" us. (What does the perfect nose look like, anyway?)

Gradually, the standards for the proper dimensions of one's nose are rooted out of our conscious and replaced by the word of truth: Jesus says, "I designed you. You are mine. I made you in my image. I know you. I love you. I adore you. You are beautiful. I am making you holy. I have begun a good work in you, and I will carry it to completion."

Thank God - I don't need to be concerned with the size of my nose. That's not what he's measuring. In 1 Samuel 16:7, "The Lord said to Samuel, 'Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.'"