Leah Wrestles with God

LEAH WRESTLES WITH GOD

by A.J. Kandathil

If I could, I’d wrestle with God over one truth in my life: my father had to lie to get me a husband. My father, Laban as he was known, thought if he got his nephew Jacob drunk enough, if it was late enough, and if my face was veiled enough, Laban could fool him into mistaking one daughter for the other. That’s who I was then—the other daughter. I was older, but Rachel had the kind of beauty that put her ahead of me in every way.

For seven years, I’d watched my sister steal secret moments with Jacob. You could feel the spark between them all the way on the other side of our fields. Jacob had always been kind to me, but it was a selfish kindness, a tool to get what he was after. And that was my sister. I was jealous—of course I was. Snaring men had always been so easy for Rachel. I never felt anything but invisible in her company, and I knew I wasn’t beautiful enough to catch Jacob’s eye. I’d also always known that my father was shrewd—just as shrewd as Jacob turned out to be.

There wasn’t any ceremony. There were no vows. This was what marriage was: an agreement between two men. When Laban came to me the night of the feast, even I was shocked at his cunning. His plan to exchange my sister for me under cover of darkness seemed like a curse. Had I waited so long to be married only to be yoked to a man who was fooled into my bed?

“Jacob didn’t work seven years for me,” I said as my father led me away from the crowd. “He worked for Rachel.”

Unaware, my sister threaded her way through the dense clot of guests. She was happy; she still thought this night was for her. Only from a distance could I see how this ignorance adulterated her impenetrable beauty. The party was loud and lit by fire, a blazing star in an empty expanse of farmland. That was our home—open space that stretched beyond our ability to see it, with enough secret spaces to hide so no one could hear you laugh or cry.

My father didn’t flinch at my words. Instead, he waved his arm in dismissal. “He won’t even know it’s you until morning, and by then it will be too late,” he said.

The farther we got from the feast, the more we hurried. It was already late, and Jacob was waiting in his tent. I’d need to be inside it before my father told Rachel what he’d done.Wait one week, he’d tell his daughter to quell her anger. Let your older sister have one week, then you can marry him, too.

Laban had me by the wrist, and I could feel my fingers swelling beneath his grasp. What was he going to do? Throw me at the feet of his nephew? I couldn’t stand the humiliation of it. I might not have been beautiful, but I still had my good sense. I stopped just short of the tent where Jacob had intended to spend the night with my sister. Laban’s arm petrified like a piece of stone. Even though I looked for his eyes in the dark, I couldn’t find them. I wouldn’t ask him if he knew what he was doing. Of course he did.

After a minute of silence, he loosened his grip. My father turned toward me and rested his hand on my back, just as he used to do when I was a girl and afraid of the deepest part of the water on the far end of our land. Even then, he’d pushed.

“Don’t you want to be married?” Laban asked me. Before he’d been urgent. Now he sounded weary.

He’d asked those words, but they didn’t form a true question. If I didn’t marry Jacob, then I’d either never wed, or I’d be wed to an outsider who might take me away. This was the only home I knew, and I didn’t want to leave it. In that brief moment, I saw my father’s deceit for what it might have been—a kindness to me, his eldest daughter, who had always been overlooked. Even he thought of me as the other sister. I’d never find a husband like Jacob on my own, and my father knew it. It was this kindness, even in its deceitful cradle, that undid the tangles of my integrity. This action, for better or worse, would hold our family together. I took a timid step toward Jacob’s tent, and I touched my father’s cloak.

“Don’t do this,” I almost said. Almost. The truth was–I did want to be married. But to take what belonged to my sister? That was cruel, even though I’d been forced to share everything with Rachel since the day she was born. She was tireless with her own desire. “If I don’t have that blanket, I’ll just die,” she’d say during the colder season, or “If I don’t get that apple, I’ll just die.” Rachel had ways of getting what she wanted. That was something she’d learned from our father.

“Hurry, now. Hurry.” Laban’s words covered me just like the veil he placed over my head.

So I stepped into Jacob’s tent and waited for him to turn toward me. I don’t need to tell you how my heart pounded. I was sure everyone at the feast could feel its vibrations. When Jacob reached for me, I smiled beneath my veil as I reached back. For one week, just one week, I wouldn’t have to share.

My wedding night was the best and worst night of my life. I felt beautiful. I felt worthy. Most of all, I felt like myself. A miracle occurred: I was not my sister, and for once, Jacob could not tell the difference.

For a moment, I was happy. But by dawn of the next day, the rest of my life began. Just before Jacob opened his eyes, he sighed and rubbed his head. I could tell he had a bad hangover. When he opened his eyes and the previous night’s haze dissipated, he looked confused. Was I Leah and not Rachel, his beloved for whom he’d slaved for seven years? How had he ended up in the wrong tent? I watched the realization of truth creep over him, like a sunrise over the mountains. Laban, his own flesh and blood, had played a dirty trick on him. I was the dirty trick. Jacob didn’t say a word, and he didn’t even try to hide his disappointment. The recognition was devastating for us both.

From that morning forward, I started to pay the price of being seen. Before, Jacob had just disregarded me, and now he looked at me with contempt. He couldn’t see who I was. He could only see who I wasn’t. And Rachel’s wrath was even worse. She was used to getting her way, as the pretty ones always are. Do you think I wanted this? I wanted to scream at her. For my husband to be in love with you? But she would never understand that I was the kind of girl who had to take what she could get.

After that night, our lives became a jumble of lies and second-bests. Seven days later, Laban came through on his word and gave his second daughter to be Jacob’s second wife. This time, there was no party. The damage had already been done, and no one wanted to celebrate what had occurred at the hands of two liars. Even though I’d had no choice, I’d become my father’s accomplice. I lost the nerve to look anyone in the eye. We all flirted with bitterness. Around our supper table there was never any talk of the twelve tribes or fathering any nations. How could any of that come from a family like ours? We were known by our strife. Our misunderstandings. Disappointments. Loneliness. Attempts at forgiveness.

Don’t do this, I almost whispered to my father on that night before the irreversible occurred. It would have changed the course of history, but I wasn’t worried about that. Instead I was haunted by the quiet devastations that constructed my life. I’d never been romantic, but I wanted to be loved, and not just by my husband. By my father, too.

For years after our wedding night, Jacob was outraged to be so deceived by my father, but he should have seen it coming. When Jacob lied to his own father to secure his older brother’s birthright so many years before, our crooked story began. Lies beget lies, and liars keep company with their own. Still, a cheater is always surprised when he gets cheated. And some of us just get caught up in the chaos, wondering whether the truth ever mattered. God might not lie, but His people do.