Tamar and I kept each other company those months, working hard on knitting and sewing baby clothes, wondering what sexes our babies would be. We also read our (when I say our I mean my) ancestors words to our children so that they might have benefit from their wisdom. I am unsure I would have worked so hard doing this, had I known what my father had planned to do.

We were a month out from giving birth when the whole family moved down to near Egypt. I wondered why, but did not question my father as I knew he was bound to do random things like this from time to time.

In this time Judah never visited Tamar at all, and it seemed he had no intentions of sleeping with any other women after Tamar was found to be pregnant. I remember asking Tamar, "Do you regret not having any more sex?"

Tamar shook her head, "Not really, No. My experiences with sex have never been pleasant. Had Judah treated me as a wife and not a prostitute, perhaps I would feel differently, but I would have to say my answer is No I do not miss sex and nor do I want it. I just hope to raise these little ones well." as she rubbed her now extended belly, "How about you?"

"I do not know," I said, thinking of the pleasure Shem had brought me despite my objections, "If my experience had been in marriage and not out of marriage, perhaps I would have enjoyed it more... I can only hope that at some point I will get to marry and experience the joys of marriage and not have my husband killed in front of my eyes."

Tamar seemed to understand my meaning as she did not pursue what had happened to me. It was like a general consensus not to talk of the bad things in our past. We rather concentrated on what we hoped would be a happy future bringing up our children.

I went into labour first, giving birth to Shem's and my daughter. I was given her to hold and I fell in love with her beautiful big brown eyes, they reminded me of Shem. I was cooing' to her, when my father came in and took her from me.

"Sorry DInah, this is a record of our shame, it is up to God now if she survives," and he placed a gold plate around her neck and took her from me.

I was shocked beyond measure, and as father walked out the door with my precious baby girl, I scrambled after him, "Wait... Father... No... Please let me keep her, she is all I have of Shem!"

My father pushed me aside viciously, "Stop that at once Dinah! This child is a source of shame for us all! Pull yourself together! If it is God's will this child will live."

"But father," I cried and begged pitifully from the ground, "Just having the child is a sign that he wanted Shem's line continued. He was only with me the once."

"Don't remind me of your transgressions! You will only serve to make me angrier," my father snapped as he walked off. 

I had the presence of mind that I could not go out dressed as I was so I hurriedly dressed and covered my face with a shawl and followed my father from a distance. I found it somewhat difficult as I had just given birth not long beforehand, but I prayed to the God of my father, "Please Lord, keep my baby safe and let her live. Do not let her die, oh Lord!" and when I was running out of strength I prayed again, "Lord, give me strength to watch over her."

My father left the child on the wall surrounding the palace and walked away. I hung about, worrying for the life of my child, but I did not dare go near her, for fear of my father. I felt that he would somehow know that I had rescued her if I did such a silly action. I had to trust in the God of my father to protect her.

It was not long before a senior looking official walked by the area, with all his servants in tow, and he heard the child cry. "What is that sound?" he asked his servants.

"It is a childs cry, Potiphar," they replied.

"Find it and bring it to me," he ordered them, and the child was found.

"It has a gold plate with writing on it, Potiphar," the servant pointed out the item to Potiphar.

He lifted up the plate and read it, "This girl is the daughter of the prince of Shechem, who is now dead. I am taking her home to raise as my own, I cannot leave her here knowing she is the child of those people."

"Yes, Potiphar," the servant bowed to him, before asking, "If I may ask, what will you call the child?"

"Asenath, daughter of Poti-pera, as I will raise her as if she is my own daughter," he proclaimed, easing my worry, "Now, you there, find me a wet nurse!"

"Yes, Potiphar, as you command," and the man hurried off. I was tempted to offer my services, but I knew my idea was futile at best. My father would not allow such sentimentality.

On my way back, I came across a woman muttering, "Why does my husband not curse God and die? Anyone in his situation would do that."

I stopped and ended up talking with her for awhile. I tried to comfort her, but she was having none of it. So I thought I would bring her situation to my father, trusting he would know what to do.