Rachel, Beloved of Israel
A novel of longing, love, and the God who sees.
What if everything they thought they knew about you was wrong?
Rachel, Beloved of Israel is a heartfelt retelling of one of the Bible’s most misunderstood woman. Often portrayed as vain, jealous, manipulative, or spiritually lacking, Rachel’s true story is far more complex.
What if she was more like us - a woman trying to glimpse God’s promises amidst the pain of unmet promises and fading hopes? A woman trying to navigate love shadowed by deceit and the bitterness of rivalry? A woman faced with tragic loss and the crushing weight of unfulfilled dreams?
Rachel, Beloved of Israel, follows Rachel’s journey from her days as a shepherdess to the long years of waiting and weeping, from the fractures of family to the fragile joys of motherhood. Her story is not just ancient history, it’s a mirror for anyone who’s ever felt misjudged, overlooked, or unsure of their place in God’s plan.
Your First Taste
Rachel woke confused and disorientated, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. A dull throb hammered a steady beat behind her eyes. No matter how hard she tried, her thoughts refused to clear. What was wrong with her? It was morning - she must have slept through the night. Why was she so tired?
A pair of brown eyes watched her intently, followed by a soft whine as a familiar wet nose nudged her hand. She turned towards Shep, his tail thumping the floor with relief. A sharp pain shot through her temple. She winced, pressing her hand to her forehead. Everything felt heavy, her body slow to obey.
Was she married already? She could not remember a single moment of the ceremony. Perhaps she had drunk too much wine - but that was so unlike her? She had never felt this unwell in her life. There had to be another reason. Perhaps she had come down with something at the last minute and Abba had postponed the wedding?
Abba! The last thing she remembered was Abba handing her a cup of wine. Rachel sat up with great effort, managing to prop herself up on her elbows. Her eyes found Zilpah, staring at her from a stool in the corner. A wave of nausea washed over her. Something was terribly wrong.
“Zilpah?” Rachel managed to croak. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”
“Oh, thank the gods, you’re alive!” Zilpah’s breath hitched, the tight knot of fear in her gut unfurling in a rush of relief. She had stayed all night, her heart pounding at the possibility of Rachel’s death - a death for which she would be held solely responsible.
As Rachel’s vision slowly sharpened into focus, her stomach lurched, bile rising in her throat. There, on the floor of her own bedroom, a row of grotesque idols had been arranged in a semicircle before Zilpah.
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