Her robe was of the finest linen brought from Egypt on one of Terah’s trading ventures. Her caplet of silver leaves was the work of a royal artisan, and the jewelry she wore was chosen from the chest of family jewels hidden in the secret alcove beneath the stairs.
At last her father’s concubine brought her a bracelet of copper inset with jade and lapis lazuli. “Be brave and do whatever is asked of you and all will be well. Remember it is only one night,” she said.
Sarai had been so excited, she paid little attention to the words but instead went from one admiring group to another, showing off the new bracelet. It was obvious she had loved every bit of the preparation, from the anointing with fragrant oil to the procession of dancers and magicians that came to lead her to the temple of Ningal at the foot of the ziggurat.
Terah, the brothers Nahor and Haran, a few of the slaves, and Terah’s concubine followed behind the procession, keeping a careful watch so that no harm should come to Sarai.
When they came to the great gate leading into the temple, the guards insisted that only Sarai and the slaves bearing her sedan chair might enter. For the first time Sarai felt a twinge of apprehension. It was too dark to see any of her family. Most of the torches had burned out, and she could make out only a large, dimly lit courtyard. The gate slammed behind her with a harsh, grating sound. Quickly she was carried through a mob of impatient men who were milling around and making crude remarks. The chair was set down in a cleared space before the venerated temple of Ningal, the earth goddess. Sarai peered into the shadows and saw a group of young women huddled together on a clay bench built out from the temple wall.
Without a word being said, one of the priestesses came and led her to a place on the bench. “What do we do now?” Sarai asked. “What does this mean?”
The priestess seemed to be surprised at her question. “I see,” she said at last, “you are not one of us. You are not a Sumerian.” She waved her hand toward the clumps of men. “You will wait here until you are chosen by one of them,” she said. “He will pay the goddess for your favors.”
Sarai had trouble comprehending just what the priestess meant. She couldn’t imagine the delightful preparation and all the excitement were to lead to this. She sank down on the clay bench and turned to the young girl next to her. “What’s to happen?” she asked.
“We’re to sacrifice our virginity to the great goddess,” the girl whispered.
“I know that,” Sarai said, “but what does that mean?”
The girl looked at Sarai in surprise, then whispered, “It means we will be chosen by strangers who will pay the goddess the price of our virginity.”
“And then what?” Sarai demanded with growing apprehension.
“We must go with the man into the temple. He can do with us as he pleases,” the girl said, blushing.
Sarai suddenly understood enough to be alarmed. “Must we be chosen?” she asked. “Is everyone chosen?”
“If a person isn’t chosen, the price is lowered until even a poor beggar can afford the unfortunate girl.”
Sarai noticed with mounting disgust that the ribald crowd of men had pushed forward to look over the offerings for the night. Most of them were old enough to be her father. Some wore strange garments of other countries. They were traders looking for entertainment, and they had the money required. Others were from Ur and wore the typical fringed garment and had the usual shaved head and bulging eyes.
One old man, obviously wealthy, leaned heavily on a slave’s arm while pointing with a long, bony finger at first one girl and then another.
“He’s trying to decide which of us he wants,” the girl next to Sarai explained. “He’ll get his choice. You’ll see, he’ll get his choice.”
Sarai was indignant. “I don’t care who he is or what the priestess wants, I won’t go with any of them no matter what they pay.”
At that moment the old man pointed at Sarai and then prodded the young slave to lead him over for a better look. Sarai shrank back. Her hands clung to the bench with such force her knuckles turned white. The old man had to lean down to get a closer look. For a moment the torchlight glinted on his shaved head and greedy, lustful eyes. His clothes were of rich embroidery and fringed, but reeked of garlic and wine.
He was about to reach out and test the firmness of Sarai’s arm when several young men pushed him aside. They, too, had settled on Sarai. With crude jokes and obscene gestures they tried to get her attention.
Sarai eyed them defiantly, but that seemed only to make them more interested. The young priestess in charge noticed and raised the price on Sarai until some of them backed off.
“It won’t be so bad,” the girl next to Sarai whispered. “If we are fortunate, the high priestess herself will come to bless us and give us one of the small images for good luck. There will be entertainment before we are finally chosen.”
No sooner had she spoken than a sudden commotion arose near the great bronze doors of the temple. From inside could be heard trumpets, then chanting, and at last a grating, grinding sound as the huge doors slowly opened. The singing and chanting grew louder and louder. From the doorway came a great burst of blinding light and flames, then smoke billowed out into the courtyard, carrying with it the pleasant odor of sandalwood. In the midst of the smoke an apparition of female beauty appeared. Most of the men and many of the women fell to their knees and wept for joy, crying, “Inanna, Inanna, queen of heaven, give us blessing.”
She wore a crown of sparkling jewels and a garment of such dazzling white that no fuller could claim credit. The garment was decorated with only a jeweled girdle, and her feet, fragile as alabaster, were enclosed in golden, jeweled slippers.
“The queen of heaven. It’s the queen of heaven,” whispered the people in awe.
Sarai had not bowed; instead she looked with intense curiosity at this woman who was the high priestess of Inanna, the queen of Ur. The high priestess moved out to join one of the young priestesses who carried a basket on her arm filled with small images of the goddess. The high priestess proceeded to give each young woman one as a talisman to bring her luck and good fortune in love. Each time she handed one to a girl, she would say, “May the earth goddess, Ningal, be pleased with your offering and make you fruitful.”
Sarai was surprised that the hands of the high priestess belied the youthful impression she created. She was much older than she at first appeared. Looking more closely, Sarai noticed hard lines around her mouth and saw that her eyes were glazed as though she was not really seeing anything.
Sarai took the small image from her and sat studying it. To her confusion and astonishment, she saw that the image was quite familiar. She had seen hundreds like it being crafted in her father’s shop.
She had no time to think about the strangeness of her discovery because at that moment the young priestess began to pass through the men with a large bronze pot. There was much discussion and at times tough bargaining as each man picked out the young woman of his choice. With a flourish he dropped the gold pieces in the pot, claimed the young girl, and disappeared into the dark, shadowed entrance of the temple.
Sarai was fifth in the line and could see that it would be but a short time before the old man would drop his coins in the pot and come to claim her. She broke into a sweat and angrily peered into the darkness, looking for a familiar face. Where were her brothers or her father? How could they leave her here? How could they desert her, knowing what they must know?
She saw the leering stance of the old man as he fumbled in his belt for the coins. He handed them to the young slave and waved his cane at the priestess, demanding that he be next.
Sarai jumped up, ready to object, and dropped the small clay image. As it hit the cobblestones of the court, one short arm broke off and rolled under the bench. Instantly the air was filled with wailing and shrieking as a dozen young priestesses rushed to pick up the broken image.
“It is an omen,” they shrieked. “The goddess is angry.” They turned an
d glared at Sarai and were about to insist that she go with the old man.
Suddenly there was a disturbance at the gate, followed by shouting. A band of armed men pushed their way into the courtyard. Their leader, who was tall and handsome and had a reckless air about him, stepped forward into the light. He looked boldly around as though challenging the crowd, and then with long, sure strides he walked to the priestess holding the brass pot.
With a thrill of recognition Sarai stepped forward. It was Abram. She hesitated as she saw him take a pouch from his belt and pour its contents into his hand. Then while they all watched in stunned amazement, he let the gold slip through his fingers slowly so they would know he was paying a good price.
For a brief moment he looked at the priestess. Turning, he strode over to where Sarai was standing. He took her in his arms, and she clung to him with all hauteur gone, only unabashed relief evident. Then holding her at arm’s length, he asked if she was all right. Sarai nodded and noticed that his eyes were tender and filled with compassion.
Motioning to his men to lead the way, he started toward the gate with Sarai. Suddenly fierce-looking temple guards blocked the way, their lances drawn. At the same time everyone heard a deafening clap of cymbals and a roll of deep thundering drums. Smoke began to pour from the temple doorway. As the smoke cleared, out of the darkness emerged a figure of fearful demeanor. There was no doubt it was the high priestess of Ningal.
All talk ceased as men and women fell to their knees and bowed their faces to the ground. Only Abram and Sarai remained standing, and Sarai, terrified, cringed behind Abram and covered her eyes.
The priestess was tall and thin, with hair coiled round with snakeskins so it looked like a mass of writhing snakes. Unlike the priestess of Inanna, she was the image of power and gave off the aura of dark deeds and hidden mysteries.
Her garment was elaborately fringed, and on her head she wore a domed headpiece decorated with the horns of young bulls. From her hands hung a magical gaggle of bones, bat wings, and dried mandrake roots.
Most frightening of all was the mask of a snake’s head she wore over her face, leaving only her eyes showing. They were glowing like two hot coals, and from behind the mask came a sound like the hissing of a cobra.
She came forward, all the time making the hissing sound and at times the sound of rattlers. Her movements were smooth and practiced, almost slithering. When Abram stood his ground, her eyes behind the mask became dark and foreboding, and as the hissing sound stopped, she raised her arm, pointed at Sarai, and demanded, “Where are you going with this woman?”
“She is my sister, and I’m taking her home where she belongs.”
“Belongs? She belongs here. She must make the sacrifice or be cursed.”
Instead of being frightened, Abram looked amused. “What or who gives you the right to curse?”
The high priestess, trembling with rage, pulled off the snake mask, revealing features hard, menacing, and feral. Her eyes blazed with indignation as she pointed one long finger at Sarai and through clenched teeth spat out her most frightening curse, “By the authority of the great goddess of Ur, I, her high priestess, curse anyone who leaves without sacrificing.”
“A curse?” Abram questioned. “What curse does Ningal give to one who has done no wrong?”
“Curse! I curse her with barrenness. Her womb will be filled with evil spirits, her arms forever empty.”
Abram hesitated only a moment while Sarai stood paralyzed, the burning eyes of the high priestess and the terrible word barren ringing in her ears.
Abram drew himself up until he towered over the high priestess and in a composed voice spoke, “We have no fear of your curses. We are not worshipers of your gods.” With that he turned, took Sarai by the hand, and proceeded to elbow his way past the astonished guards and through the crowd as they parted before him.
Only once did Sarai look back. She saw the priestess; her feet planted wide apart, her long finger pointing ominously at her as the words she spewed burned like fire.
“Barren! I curse you with barrenness! I curse you with an eternal curse in the name of the great goddess Ningal!” Again and again she shouted, then chanted the terrible words. “You will never have a child. Ningal will never bless you. I have cursed you in her magic name.” The eyes of the priestess were wild and terrible, and Sarai knew she would never be free of them or the words she had spoken.
By the time they reached home, Sarai was hysterical. She clung to Abram and at first refused to let any of the servants near her. “It was terrible,” she shouted at the women. “You made it seem so exciting. You made it sound like an honor.”
The women backed away, and only Terah’s concubine responded. “You are back early,” she said with a twinge of accusation in her voice. “You didn’t make the sacrifice.”
“Make the sacrifice!” Sarai said, whirling around and glaring at her. “It was terrible. Nothing exciting like you made it seem.”
The concubine stood with her hands on her hips as she rolled her eyes in unbelief. “If you didn’t make the sacrifice, I can imagine it was quite unpleasant.”
At the concubine’s words Sarai burst into tears and could not be comforted. She clung to Abram’s arm and hid her face in the folds of his sleeve.
The concubine shrugged and turned to Abram. “What happened? Obviously she didn’t stay for the sacrifice.”
“I paid the price and rescued her,” Abram said as he put his arm around Sarai as though to protect her from further attack. “I can’t imagine who would do this to Sarai. She’s completely devastated.”
“Do this to Sarai!” the concubine sniffed. “Is she better than the rest of us?”
Abram ignored her challenge and turned to Sarai’s old nurse. “Here,” he said, “brew her some warm honey and herbs and put her to bed. No doubt a good sleep will help more than all this talk.”
To everyone’s relief, Sarai stopped sobbing and followed her nurse back to the sleeping rooms.
When they were gone, the concubine turned to Abram. “A sorry mess you’ve made of things,” she said. “Now the poor girl will never marry, and if she ever does, she’ll never have a child.”
Abram didn’t answer but turned and walked toward the door with long, sure strides. He stopped only once to look at all of them and to make sure Sarai had left, then he pushed through the door, letting it bang with an ominous thud behind him.
Only after Abram was assured that Sarai had finally gone to sleep did he come to face his father and the brothers. They had heard everything and were embarrassed and indignant. They felt that Abram had disgraced the family. “How can we live here among these people?” Terah said with hands out pleading. “We may not understand their gods or their customs, but we are here as strangers—guests. We must try to fit in.”
“It was only for one night. It wouldn’t have hurt her,” said Nahor.
“She could have married a rich man or a prince. Now there is no one,” said Haran.
Abram looked around at them and squared his shoulders defiantly. “We are not as the Sumerians. We will never be and we need not try.”
Terah spoke with a great effort. He seemed to have aged in the few minutes they had been engaged in the discussion. “If we don’t fit in, it will be hard to succeed at anything here in Ur. We may even have to leave.”
For a few moments Abram said nothing. When he finally spoke, it was with sadness but a note of authority that surprised his brothers. “We may have to leave but how much better to leave than have our own family destroyed by the evil around us.”
“Evil?” Haran asked with a slight smirk.
“Yes, evil,” Abram said, looking him in the eye until his brother turned away and his father left with drooping shoulders, greatly disturbed.
A fortnight later the family was still divided over the matter of the idols and Sarai’s traumatic experience. Abram had tried to explain to them an astonishing revelation that had come to him with such force and veracity tha
t he now saw everything differently.
Terah and the brothers tried again and again to explain to Abram that it made no difference how one worshiped or who was worshiped. The moon god Nanna was in control of many things in nature and it seemed logical to worship him. It was also noised about that men and women who prayed to the little clay images had some astounding stories of answered prayers.
“Surely so many people can’t be wrong,” Nahor said.
“The images are simple things of clay made by humble men,” Abram objected.
“But who’s to say they don’t possess wonderful magic to drive away the evil spirits and bring good luck, especially when they are fashioned to the high priest’s specifications and are blessed with a touch of his oil?” Terah said.
The arguments always ended with someone reminding Abram that they had lost a good bit of business already because of his foolishness, and Sarai—in spite of her beauty—would never be married. “Our most lucrative business is in images for Ningal’s feasts. Now she will have nothing to do with us,” they said.
Abram was frustrated that his father and brothers could be so blind. Since the new revelation, it had seemed illogical that something molded out of ordinary clay could be a god worthy of prayers and worship.
He was thinking along these lines early one morning as he made his way down to his father’s warehouse and workrooms. The workrooms were at the end of a narrow lane leading into a section of the city called the Karem. Traders and artisans clustered in this section of the city. High mud walls rose on each side of the lane. Here and there were worn wooden doors that led into the courtyards, workrooms, and storage areas of the city.
When Abram came to the familiar door of his father’s shop, he found the wooden bolt still in place, which meant that neither his father nor the workmen had arrived. He was familiar with the bolt, and within minutes he had the door open and was stooping down to enter the courtyard now flooded with early morning light.
Abraham and Sarah Page 2