The Sons of Isaac

by Roberta Kells Dorr

  Anatah, hearing him, turned away. “They don’t even worship the goddess,” she said, frowning. She was still in love with Isaac, and it made her furious that he had been able to find such a beauty and have two handsome sons without once acknowledging the goddess. She had been taught that such people would be cursed with barrenness, their land lie fallow, and their animals give no milk. She believed that only the goddess could control the vital, life-giving force. Only she could bless a woman with children, flocks with young, and make dead, brown seeds spring to life.

  * * *

  In the days that followed Isaac worked with his men to combat the formidable creeping blight of the famine. “We must dig ditches and raise water from the wells to fill them. In this way we can sow the seed that we have and be assured of a harvest even without the rain,” he said. “When the land has water, things will grow.”

  Every day his men rode out and kept the water flowing in the irrigation ditches. Gradually they saw the seeds they had planted sprout and miraculously begin to grow. They hardly noticed that the king’s men rode out to see what was happening. They had mixed opinions. To some it was miraculous, but to most of them it was unnatural and against their religion. Only the gods could send rain, and to trick them by getting water from the ground was dangerous.

  Abimelech paid little attention to their reports. He could not believe the work of mere men could defeat a famine that had obviously been sent by the gods. “Come see for yourself,” his men challenged, but he had other things to do. So it came as a great surprise when it was reported that Isaac and his men had reaped a hundredfold harvest and were willing to sell grain in the markets of Gerar.

  He still held a grudge against Isaac for deceiving him, and he had expected him to have nothing but evil fortune. Now to find that he had succeeded in producing an abundant harvest in the midst of a famine was an outrage. Furthermore, when it was reported to the king that Isaac had given credit to his God, saying, “It is Elohim, known also as El Shaddai, who has caused me to be blessed,” he was furious.

  “It is an open affront to our gods. Anat and Baal will not forgive such a challenge to their power,” the people began to whisper among themselves. Then the king called a conference with his advisers and finally with the priestesses in the temple of Anat, and they all agreed that something must be done.

  They first secretly told the people to refuse to buy the grain Isaac’s men had grown, but the people were too hungry to listen. Even in the king’s household, when Egyptian grain ran out, his servants bought the despised grain from Isaac’s men. “He has gotten too strong for us,” the king lamented. “With his wells and grain, fat cattle, and ready water, he may as well be king.”

  With that thought, a conspiracy grew labeling Isaac an enemy of the gods and goddess of their people. “He has grown wealthy with his wells and water,” the people said. “He has benefited from the drought. Worst of all, he has given the credit to his God.”

  Abimelech was ready to listen to the advice of his sister Anatah. “It is useless to punish Isaac,” she said. “The problem is bigger than his wells and the harvest. We must show that our gods are stronger than his.”

  “How do we do that?” the king asked.

  “We must entreat the goddess and Baal to bring rain. Surely they will want to triumph over this alien God.”

  “He is not totally unknown to us,” Abimelech said. “We have in the past worshiped El.”

  “But He did nothing for us,” Anatah said, frowning. “He may have created things, but He doesn’t control them. It is Anat and Baal that have always responded to our prayers and gifts.”

  In the end it was decided to defeat Isaac’s plans by stopping up the wells that had been dug by his father, Abraham, and were the source of his success. The counselor who thought of this solution was honored by the king and given the high position of the “king’s friend.”

  It did not take long for Abimelech’s men to ride out and with shouting and singing fill the wells with sand and stones so it would be almost impossible to reclaim them. They trampled down the irrigation ditches and crushed out the newly sprouting growth and then rode off in triumph to tell the king.

  Isaac’s men had watched with horror and anguish. It was not easy to dig a well in this land where the soil was dry and unyielding. They could not understand what was happening. Why would people suffering from famine destroy the only source of relief? They had wanted to fight, but Isaac held them back. “Let them go; we wouldn’t win that way. They would still stop up the wells and some of our men would be killed.”

  To everyone’s amazement Isaac refused to be discouraged. He had wisely hoarded some grain for seed so that when given another chance, he would have something to plant. No matter how Rebekah begged for even a handful of grain to make bread, he would not relent. “This grain is still going to keep us alive and bring us great prosperity,” he said.

  When his sons asked what he meant, he explained, “When we again have water and can open the channels to irrigate, we will plant this grain and for each kernel planted we will reap a hundredfold.”

  “And,” said Jacob, “they will give us of their riches in exchange. Everyone has to eat to live.”

  Isaac smiled. “While they are pleading with their goddess for relief from the famine, we will be busy using the gifts Elohim has given us to actually accomplish it.”

  * * *

  While Isaac rode out into the desert each day with his men and worked long hours in the sweltering sun to unstop the wells, the people of Gerar were totally caught up in a frenzy of a different sort. They hoped to bring back prosperity and stop the famine by placating the goddess Anat. “She has the power,” they said, “to send the rain and make the land blossom again.”

  Her priestesses dressed faithfully in their ornate robes and sang and danced before her image in the temple courtyard. They poured precious oil on the altar before her shrine and encouraged the people to sacrifice some treasured ornament or a perfect animal to show their love and devotion to her. “When she sees that we trust her and love her enough to offer our best to her, then she will bless us. Our vats will be filled with oil and our granaries will burst with wheat and barley, our cattle will give birth to perfect young, and our grapes will hang in thick clusters,” they repeated over and over to reassure themselves.

  When the famine grew worse, the high priestess went into seclusion before the goddess. The temple was not large, but it had a courtyard paved in worn, irregular stones. Off to one side was a well with a carob tree shading its dark depths. The temple was of chiseled stone with a long, red curtain that covered the doorway and hid the altar that lay before the niche where the statue of the goddess stood.

  Now while the drums rolled their dirge and the shofars blared their alarm, the priestess stayed hovering over the latest sacrifice. She chanted and circled the altar, flinging incense and special dust that made the fire burn with an unnatural green glow. All this time the people of the city stood crowded together in the courtyard, peered eagerly over the wall, or pushed and squeezed in at the gate. They were anxiously waiting for any word of encouragement.

  When she finally came out and stood before them, she spoke in a strong, vibrant voice and her words hung on the air with the terrible atmosphere of doom. “The goddess has spoken,” she said. “We have not given our best, she says. Only the best sacrificed on her altar will move her to have compassion on us. Are you ready? Will you sacrifice your greatest treasure?”

  “We will. We will.” The shout rang out as the people fell to their knees and wept with the awesome challenge. They buried their heads in their hands and rocked back and forth as each imagined sacrificing some prized possession. They loved the joy of surrender to this great cause. They shuddered as they hoped it would be their secret treasure the goddess would choose. What renown and honor would be theirs if some sacrifice on their part would bring about relief from the famine?

  Again the priestess entered behind the curtain and stood
before the altar. Her voice rose and fell as she repeated the incantation that was to summon the goddess. Then came silence. Even the people grew silent and still as they waited.

  Finally, with a dull thudding sound, the drums of fate began to announce the reappearance of the priestess. The shofar was blown and the curtain parted to show her with hands raised, standing before the shrine of the goddess. Slowly she turned and with slow, deliberate motions advanced toward them. Her eyes were glazed, and when she spoke it was as though someone else were speaking through her.

  This time her pronouncement was greeted with shock and disbelief. The priestess announced that Anat was a goddess so strong and powerful that she could not be moved by the usual sacrifices. Something of inestimable value to all of them must be sacrificed.

  “What do we have? What more can we give?” the people whispered among themselves with dread.

  “Your greatest treasure you have withheld. Until you sacrifice the brightest and best of your children, Anat will not be moved. She is in control of the mystery that gives life to all things. The life force is within her hands to give or withhold. We are but as ants in her sight, and our pain is not her pain. She is not to be summoned but only entreated. We must give her what she asks, and she asks for the sacrifice of your children. Will you sacrifice your children?”

  For a moment there was stunned silence. At times in the past the goddess had expected such devotion, but not in their generation. Just as the silence was growing awkward, a voice from the crowd shouted, “We are ready. We will sacrifice.” At that the chant began, “We will sacrifice, we will sacrifice.”

  In just this way began the daily sacrifice of not just jewelry and gold but perfectly formed young children, for the goddess would have nothing but the best.

  A week passed and then a month, with no break in the famine; no rain and no relief from the terrible hunger. Once again the priestess called the people together. She had an announcement of great importance. The goddess had spoken and there was both good news and bad. The good news was that the goddess was ready to act on their behalf and summon the great life force to the earth so that seeds would sprout and vines put out their shoots and the animals birth strong, healthy young.

  The bad news was that this last time the goddess must have not just the gold and silver, the blood of animals, or the more precious blood of their children, but she must have royal blood. Only this was a fitting sacrifice for the great Anat.

  While the people waited in an anxious silence, the priestess continued. “The royal family will draw lots, and the family that draws the dark stone will prepare their oldest son to be sacrificed.”

  That evening just at sunset, the lots were drawn and the lot fell to Anatah, the king’s sister. It was to be her oldest and most favored son that the goddess was demanding. Anatah was stunned and then frantic. “Not my son!” she was heard to shout. “Take the sons of slaves or strangers, but not my son.”

  “Hush,” the priestess hissed. “It is an honor you have been given.”

  “The honor can be given to someone else,” she stormed. “I’ll not let her have my son.”

  Isaac and his family watched from the roof of their house as the sad procession of the king’s family returned from the temple and the terrible pronouncement of the priestess. They could make out the form of Anatah and her three sons, now young men, walking beside her. She would not deign to weep or cry out in protest before the people but walked with slow, dragging steps as though in great pain. Her eyes stared straight ahead, her chin was up, and her back held straight and rigid with controlled tension.

  The king, Abimelech, led the way through the crowd that parted before him. As he approached, the people grew silent. They wondered what the princess would do. They looked at the handsome young men and some of them turned away weeping.

  Because of the severity of the famine, the princess had only a short time to prepare her son for his ordeal. There were no parties now at the palace; the gates remained closed and the shutters drawn. The whole city appeared to be in mourning. As the fateful day approached, women gathered at the palace gates, weeping and pouring ashes on their heads. Merchants offered great treasures to be given the goddess in the young boy’s place. From the palace itself there could be heard hysterical weeping both day and night.

  “It is too much,” Isaac said at last. “What makes them think there really is a goddess or that she controls such things as famine?”

  “Maybe an angel will appear and a ram be taken in his place,” Jacob said.

  “There’ll be no ram and no angel,” Isaac said.

  “How do you know? You were saved.”

  “Our family has had long experience with these things. I can assure you there is no goddess.”

  “But everyone believes in her,” Esau said. “There are all these temples built in her honor and people sacrificing to her.”

  “I have told you many times, there is only one God; all other gods are either demons or imagined creatures. My own grandfather, as you know, made images out of clay in Ur and people worshiped them.”

  For a moment there was silence as his sons thought about what he had said. It seemed impossible that so many people could be mistaken. “Why would they choose to worship something that was false?” Jacob asked at last.

  “People want something they can see and touch and manage. Something that makes sense of their world as they imagine it to be. To believe in a God who is unseen, who is Spirit, does not suit them.”

  “Then we must tell them,” Esau said. “The young prince can be saved.” He jumped up ready to go to the rescue.

  “Esau, my son,” Isaac said sadly, “it’s not so easy. It’s fashionable to believe in the goddess. People like the festivals and it seems logical to them. The temples and their believers are very powerful. You well know it’s dangerous to openly voice a disbelief in the goddess. It is entirely possible that instead of the young prince being sacrificed, one of you could be taken.”

  The boys knew this could happen. Often during times of crisis, men captured in battle or strangers were sacrificed. “I’ve thought sometimes,” Esau said, “that Elohim might ask you to sacrifice one of your sons, and since I am the firstborn, it would be me.”

  Isaac’s eyes filled with tears as he reached out to Esau. “Come my son, let me explain.” Esau came hesitantly and sat before his father. Isaac took both of his hands in his and for a moment studied his son’s eager, young face. “I have never fully understood just why Elohim told my father to go to Moriah and sacrifice me. I do know this, that my father always taught, after that experience, that our God did not want the sacrifice of any human being.”

  Though his sons had heard him say this other times, they had never really understood. Now, here in Gerar, with the eminent sacrifice of one of the young princes, it had new meaning. They knew the young princes and had spent many afternoons playing Egyptian board games with them. Being young and optimistic, they felt sure that somehow the young prince would be rescued. It did not seem reasonable that the king would actually let one of his nephews be sacrificed.

  As the time drew near, it became evident that public sentiment had changed. Now there was rejoicing and singing honoring the prince who was to save them from the famine. Even the family in the palace was swept up in the euphoria of the occasion. When the prince rode out, he was now greeted with poets chanting his praises and young girls reaching out to touch the bridle of his horse or bending down to kiss his feet. “He has been chosen,” they whispered. “The goddess has chosen him to save his people from the famine.”

  His mother, Anatah, was greeted with such love and admiration it was hard for her to continue in her grief at losing her son.

  On the day of the sacrifice, Isaac and his family again watched from the roof of their house. They saw the drummers and trumpeters form at the gate before the palace. Then the singers followed and finally the young man himself. He was seated on a white mule that was decked in throws covered with priceles
s jewels. His garments were of the finest Egyptian linen and on his head was a gold circlet signifying his position as prince in the king’s household.

  He looked neither to the right nor the left and seemed not to even notice the crowd that chanted and sang and shouted his name over and over. “He has been given strong herbs so he will not weaken or cry out,” Isaac said, turning away. “He must not be seen to fear what is about to happen to him.”

  Jacob and Esau, looking at their father, suddenly realized that he was reliving his own feelings as he had gone with his father up to the altar on Moriah. It was obvious he felt deep sorrow in the young prince’s fate. It was all so tragic. Their father knew there would be no angel and no ram in the thicket for this young man and he could hardly bear the pain of it. When he looked at them, his face was drawn and gray and his eyes were dark and piercing. They had never seen him so disturbed.

  He stood rigid and silent, listening to the shouting and singing from the street below them. Then when the big drums of fate rumbled in the distance and drowned out the noise of the street, he buried his face in his hands. An ominous silence followed and then a burst of singing, horn blowing, and drums rolling in a quick staccato beat and they knew it was over, the sacrifice was complete. The people were ecstatic with joy. They danced and sang while free wine from the temple wine cellars was passed around. The fearful deed had been done and now they knew the goddess would relent and end the famine.

  “My sons,” Isaac said, finally putting his arms around each of them and drawing them away from the sight below, “never forget, our God does not want the sacrifice of children or of princes or of just ordinary young men. He does not want human beings, made in His image, sacrificed.”

  The next day Isaac rode out with his two sons to the place where his men were preparing to re-dig one of his father’s wells that Abimelech’s men had stopped up. It was going to be difficult if not impossible. The sun was blistering hot and the well filled with large stones. “We have no choice but to unstop the wells,” Isaac said, as they rode on to inspect the other wells that had also been filled in with sand and debris. “We will all starve without water and food,” he said.