Rebekah's Well

A

fire burns in the corner of the room, its golden light soft against the heavy wool woven drapes that hang from a central point in the ceiling, bringing warmth to the cold sandstone block walls of the dwelling. The red drapes in the firelight give the square room a cave-like, rounded shape, warm and insulating against the harsh damp and cold of the night wind blowing from the eastern desert.

The flickering light softly illuminates the faces of the women gathered around the couch where the young woman lies as she strains and cries in her birthing labours. At the foot of the couch, closest to the light of the fire, sits the midwife; calmly, reverently she cradles the baby’s head already emerged into the light. Again, with indescribable pain and one more determined effort from the exhausted woman, the child comes forth from her body into the poised, sure hands of the midwife. A graceful sweep of the midwife’s arms, a single fluid movement as if a continuation of that spasm from mother’s womb, the midwife gathers the child up, sweeping it to the breast and into that first embrace. Heart touching heart, the mother looks for the first time upon the face of her new-born child and the women raise their voices in song – a song echoing the mother’s cries of joy as she knows her love for her child.

And the child was a girl-child, a sister to Laban. As is the way of their people, the mother and the midwife look into the face of the child to search for her name, for a name has great power and must be chosen carefully, after meditation and consideration of the signs that are revealed in the child.

So it was that the girl-child was named Rebekah, which means connection, as the tether binds and secures livestock 1

– for she had the ability to join together and to understand the binds that tie things together, even for that which seemed separate and distinct. And indeed as the child grew, so too grew her ability to see the patterns and connections in all things.

Rebekah would be first to see the signs and to announce the arrival of the spring; from the movements in the skies above, as the birds, egrets, herons and the pelicans would arrive, spiralling on invisible thermal threads, laddering upward, as they passed through the valley on their way north; from the movement on the earth, for she watched the patterns in the busy-ness of the insects and knew their signs as they told of the changes about to happen. Though the skies were cloudless, she knew when the first rains were about to begin by watching the insects in their nests. As the trees grew and burst into blossom, Rebekah could read the signs in their growing as if they spoke to her of what they missed and needed, and as she cared for her father’s groves, her trees would bring forth the best fruits and grow stronger and faster than their neighbours’. She understood that a vine growing close by a wild rose would produce the best grapes. So too, in caring for the animals owned by her family – the goats, the cattle and the camels – she had a particular song for each one, so that when Rebekah milked them each one would give the purest milk with the best flavour that made the finest cheese. As was her name, so indeed did Rebekah see the bonds connecting all things together and the patterns and arrangements that brought forth the best in all.

As Rebekah grew into a young girl she was brought more into the circle of women and their day-to-day work, watching as they worked at their crafts. She saw how the women 2

worked the newly shorn fleece, taking a muddled handful, combing and carding into ordered strands, spinning it into thread, colouring with the dyes of the earth or the meadow, weaving the threads, and so transforming a sack of fleece into beautiful cloth. She watched as the women cut the cloth and sewed it into cloaks and garments. For each task, at each stage of the work, the women sang, their voices and music spinning their stories, telling the history of her people. And their stories spoke of their connection and relationship with the One God; for her people, the One God, though invisible, was ever in conversation with them and they had a special connection to and love for God – their One God. In the weaving of the cloth they told the stories of her people’s agreement to worship the One God and of how they shunned the practices of others who made, by their own hand, the cold, lifeless, unanswering stone carvings they called god. And how the idol-worshippers, beseeching pieces of stone to respond to their whims and caprice, receiving no reply, added more and more to the minutia of their already complicated rituals, fuelling superstition and empowering those who claimed mastery in performing their rituals.

In her daily tasks, as Rebekah watched and then as she worked at the women’s crafts, she understood the ways to card, to spin and to weave, and she learned thus the meaning of righteousness, that in all her actions to keep the right connection between her heart, her mind, her tongue and her hands, and that which God wished for her.

So it was that after just a short time observing the women at work in their crafts, Rebekah was taught alongside the other young girls, for in this way were the girls educated 3

in skills, in their history, and their characters moulded and shaped so that girls would become women strong in skill and faith.

Laban, her brother, and the other boys worked with the men tending the cattle and their flocks of sheep and goats; he would also learn to read and write with the holy man. When the men and boys had worked the fields and the crops were ready to harvest, the olive trees bowing with the abundance of fruit and the grapes full with juice, the men and women, together with the boys and the girls, worked side by side from sunrise until last light to bring in the harvest. Rebekah loved the time of the harvest and for her this was the time when she felt all the connections come together, just as in song when all the voices come together at a crescendo of fullness, all join as one.

Each morning in the early light Rebekah and the other girls of the village would lift the large clay water jars upon their heads and walk out of the village to the big central well, fill the jars with cold well water so that each family may have water for their needs that day. Grace, in each step, whether turning to look across to where the animals grazed or swerving around the village children scampering across her path in the excitement of their games, or adjusting her waistband, or whatever obstacle came across her path, grace in each step kept the full jar balanced upon her head and the water unspilled. Accustomed to the weight, enjoying the refreshing cool descending from the jar, aware of the water level and its changes as she kept the balance, she walked through her days with grace and balance within her being, with gratitude to the well, springing forth crystal cool and pure water – the source of all life.

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End of this sample.

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