She broke off a small piece and handed the rest back to him. “Eat it all,” she said. He was dazed and bewildered. He had been prepared for death and suddenly there was water, enough water to be poured over his hands and cool his brow. His parched lips were dripping with the cool, crisp water as he questioned, “How?”
Hagar laughed and sank back on her heels. “Your father’s God, the Elohim, opened my eyes and showed me the well. It was for your sake He did this thing.”
Ishmael managed a wan smile. “Then do you believe in my father’s God?” he asked.
For a moment she hesitated. When she spoke, it was as though she was saying something she had already worked through in her mind. “I once trusted in a small clay idol of Hathor. It may seem strange to you, but I thought she was real and could do wonderful things for me.”
Ishmael was listening to her with a new awareness and understanding. “What happened to her?” he asked.
“I found she was nothing but a piece of clay. It was all in my imagination. There was no goddess, nothing but the clay image.”
“How did you know?”
“I flung her away and she broke into small pieces. She was never anything but clay.”
“And …”
“I learned one must be careful. Not all gods are real. Some are just clay.”
Ishmael lay back with his eyes closed. She thought he was asleep and started to move. He put out his hand and stopped her. “I’m glad,” he said, “that you are my mother.”
Hagar thought her heart would burst. All the anger, hurt, and frustration were washed away in that one lovely word. He had called her mother.
After Hagar and Ishmael left, Abraham did not have a moment’s peace. He had time to think, and he realized all the things that could go wrong before Hagar and Ishmael reached the well. He told Sarah what he had done and saw that she felt no remorse. She even smiled and called him the old, tender names of endearment. She was delighted.
It was about noon when several of his chief herdsmen rode into camp. They were angry and frustrated, and the news they brought was disturbing. They told how Phicol, the commander of Abimelech’s army, had seized the well Abraham had dug and claimed it as belonging to the king. “Phicol has gone to report to Abimelech but has left his men guarding the wells. Our shepherds can’t water their flocks.”
As soon as Abraham heard the news he realized that if his shepherds could not get near the well, neither could Ishmael and Hagar. There were no other wells or sources of water, and they would die of thirst.
“We must go at once to Abimelech,” Abraham said as he began putting on his best cloak and quickly fastening it with a toggle pin.
They had sent word ahead, and the king was waiting for them when they arrived. His first words surprised Abraham. “God is with you in everything you do,” he said. It was obvious that the king was remembering the curse that had fallen on him and his whole court when he took Sarah for his harem. He feared what Abraham might do with such power, and he wanted to extract a promise from him that he would not deal falsely with him or his children.
Abraham’s mind was on the well and the problems it had caused. It took a few minutes for him to realize that the king was afraid of him. Perhaps the king even thought he had come on an errand of revenge.
Quickly Abraham swore that he would do nothing to harm the king or his family. Then pressing his advantage, he complained to Abimelech about the well. “They have taken a well my men and I dug,” he said.
“I know nothing of this problem,” the king said. “This is the first time I’ve heard of it.”
“Then come with me to the seven wells and we’ll settle this matter as friends.”
The king was relieved that Abraham asked such a simple thing of him, and so they agreed to ride immediately to the site of the wells.
Abraham with his herdsmen and seven lambs arrived first at the wells.
“What are these for?” the king asked on his arrival as he pointed at the lambs.
“It is not going to be enough,” Abraham said, “that we have made this agreement and treaty between us. These lambs are witness to the fact that I dug the well and it is mine.”
The king agreed and further insisted that from that time on the place be called Beersheba, the well of the oath, as a constant reminder of their sworn agreement.
When the ceremony was over, the king came to the tents of Abraham’s shepherds for a great feast.
After the guests had gone, Abraham asked his host if anything had been heard of his son Ishmael and Hagar. “They are here waiting to see you,” the man said, clapping his hands so his servant appeared. “Bring the young man and his mother. Our lord, Abraham, wishes to see them now.”
Moments later Ishmael and Hagar appeared at the tent door. They had completely recovered from their ordeal and were overjoyed to see Abraham.
Ishmael told his father everything, even to the miraculous voice that saved them by guiding Hagar to the well. He ended by proudly telling him that he had arranged for them to go in a caravan that would leave at the end of the week for Egypt.
Abraham was impressed but anxious. “Are you sure you can manage this?” he asked.
Ishmael nodded. “With the help of the Elohim I will succeed.”
The next day Abraham took Ishmael and some of his herdsmen back to the well. “I am going to plant this tamarisk tree beside the well,” he said. “It will give shade to the stranger who needs water, and it will be a reminder forever that this is my well.”
One of his herdsmen came forward with the small shoot, and another came with a digging tool. In a short time the tree was planted, and the herdsmen went back to their work. But Abraham and Ishmael stayed at the well. “My son,” Abraham said, “when you come this way and your flocks or people need water, you will know this well by the tamarisk tree beside it. Never again will you be without water in Beersheba. And when you see this well, you will be reminded of our God and his faithfulness. We will call upon him here as El Olam, the everlasting God.”
Before the caravan was ready to leave, Urim appeared and asked to go with Ishmael to Egypt. “I must find Warda,” he said. “I must be sure she is all right.”
Ishmael welcomed the cheese maker and assured him that if his grandfather accepted him, there would be a position for the man and his cheese in the house of the pharaoh.
Urim shook his head. “I’m not intending to stay in Egypt. I don’t really belong there anymore.”
Abraham stayed long enough to make elaborate plans for their departure. He wanted his son to arrive before Pharaoh in a manner befitting a prince. Runners were sent on ahead, and again gifts were dispatched for Pharaoh. Nothing was left undone to assure Ishmael’s acceptance.
A week later, early in the morning, the caravan left Beersheba. Part of the group had come from Hebron and others from beyond the Jordan. The large caravan would travel down to Egypt on the old route called the Way of Shur.
Hagar felt both excited and anxious. What would it be like to return to her father’s house after all these years? She glanced over at her son and was reassured. Pharaoh would be proud to own this young man. All that the pharaoh had loved in his friend Abraham was now embodied in the young man who was his grandson.
Hagar looked back as the caravan began to move. The sun was just coming up, and she could see quite clearly the man she had loved so devotedly standing beside his well with some of his men. He looked suddenly old to her, and she had a feeling that she would never see him again. This part of her life was over. She had learned so much and was so different from the spunky, obnoxious young girl who had come with Sarah and Abraham from Egypt.
The last thing that was distinct and visible was the tamarisk tree, the little tree that would always stand as a welcome to her son and a reminder of the faithfulness of Abraham’s God, El Olam, the Everlasting. She would probably not come back, but Ishmael was young and strong and he would be back to see his father.
Urim was gone for months,
but when he came back, he brought welcome news. Pharaoh had been overjoyed to see his grandson and had immediately given him houses and lands, and Hagar had picked out an Egyptian wife for him. In time Pharaoh promised to put him in charge of all Egypt’s mines and holdings in the Sinai and the Negev. “He will be a great prince,” Urim predicted, “and his mother will dwell in his house in a position of honor.”
At first Urim said nothing of Warda, but gradually some of the women close to Safra learned that the old man who had abducted Warda was dead. Warda had inherited all his possessions and was considered a very great and wealthy landowner in the delta.
Urim had seen that he no longer fit into her new life and so with dull determination wished her well. Then on a lighter note, he promised to send her an assortment of his best cheeses once a year. It was evident that she no longer needed him, and so he returned to Abraham’s camp and to Safra.
For Abraham it was different. He felt bereft and lost. The son he had loved and cherished was gone, perhaps never to return. To make matters worse, Sarah was happier than she had been in years. “See,” she said, “it’s wonderful to have them gone. I should have known better than to have suggested such a thing as Hagar’s bearing me a child. It was all a big mistake.”
He winced with the pain of hearing her joy. He had made such wonderful plans for Ishmael. He had built so many dreams around him. Now all that was lost to him.
As time went on he also missed Hagar. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but she had been responsible for his remembering some romantic ditties of his youth. She had made his heart beat faster at her touch and the sap rise in his veins like it did in trees in the spring.
However, most difficult of all was the feeling that he had lost Sarah. She no longer seemed to see him. She had very little to say to him. At times she looked right past him in her delight at every move Isaac made. The child was everything. He made up her whole world and no one else mattered. She talked about Isaac, hovered over him constantly, and worried about the least problem he might face.
What will become of my son? Abraham worried. His mother has made a toy of him. She’s bound him so tightly to her that the child won’t be normal. I can’t even reason with her.
He not only felt that he had lost her, but he also felt that some tragedy was waiting for them in the future. He could sense it. Old women often said, “If you love something too much, the gods will snatch it away.”
Of course, a child like Isaac who had been miraculously given to them by the Elohim was different. He had special protection. No evil thing could come near him because he was the child of the promise. How could the promise be worked out if anything ever happened to Isaac?
Nevertheless the feeling persisted. Sarah’s love was stifling and unnatural, and no good could come of it.
In the ensuing years Isaac was the delight of his father and of all who came in contact with the great man and his son. Abraham could not resist telling stories of his wit and cleverness. “He can oversee the shearers during the sheep shearing time. He’s only twelve, and yet he can recognize shoddy work. He can tally our profits at the market, and he knows a good bargain without being told. He can chart the seasons by the stars, and he commands the respect of all my men. More than this, he is a good, obedient boy who gives his father no cause to worry.”
Abraham didn’t add that the boy was often criticized for spending so much time with his mother and for taking no interest in hunting or fighting. He threw the javelin awkwardly and almost never joined the young men in target practice with the bow and arrow. “His mother is too protective,” they whispered. “She had such a hard time getting him, she doesn’t want to take any chance on his getting hurt.”
Sarah knew what they said but she didn’t care. She wanted to be sure Isaac was never in any danger. She could not bear to think of any harm coming to him. “If he never learns to use a bow and arrow or throw a javelin well, he’ll never have to fight,” she said with smug satisfaction.
When Urim came to deliver his cheese a few months later, he found Abraham in his tent conferring with some of his herdsmen, and so he waited quietly, off to one side, until they were gone. “My lord,” he said, “this cheese is quite delicious. I have used a new process. I think you’ll like it.”
Abraham nodded absentmindedly as he motioned for Urim to put the cheese on the leather mat just inside the door. “I’m sure it will be very good. You usually come earlier. Has there been some problem?”
“Not a problem, my lord. Just an unusual experience. I’ve been up the ridge to a festival at Bethlehem. They were harvesting their grain and giving the first cuttings to the storm god. ‘The celebration of firstfruits,’ they call the celebration.”
Abraham was immediately interested. “What do you make of it? I’m sure you can remember coming through the land when it was dry and parched with no harvest at all.”
Urim saw that he had captured his interest, and he took the liberty of squatting beside Abraham so he could reply in a whisper. “The Canaanites believe they have had no more famines because they have made many costly offerings to Ashtoreth, Baal, and Hadad.”
“What do you mean by ‘costly offerings’? It’s obvious their celebrations and customs are more base and depraved than any in Ur or Egypt.”
“They are bragging in their markets that by offering their children to the gods, they have at last won favor.”
“You said ‘children’? Are there many who will make such a sacrifice?” Abraham was no longer preoccupied. He was intensely interested.
“More than you can imagine.”
“I suppose it’s some of these people who have more children than they can feed or care for.”
Urim sat toying with the fringe on his tunic. He hesitated before blurting out, “No, my lord. The children have to be the most beautiful, most loved, or they say the sacrifice is worthless. Preferably it is the firstborn like the firstfruits the god wants. The god wants their best or he will wreak vengeance on them.”
Abraham didn’t answer. He was deep in thought. Urim sat and waited for his response.
Abraham’s thoughts had run wild. The mention of the firstfruits had done it. Abraham had been accustomed to the sacrifice of firstfruits and the firstborn of his cattle to the Elohim, not out of fear, but out of gratitude. He believed that to sacrifice of his increase was to recognize God’s ownership. He owned nothing; he was a steward of all he possessed. God, the Elohim, was the real owner.
Urim grew restless. There was one question he wanted answered and he decided to just plunge in. “My lord,” he said cautiously, “these gods they worship are only made of wood or stone, as you have often said. They may even be demonic beings, and these people are offering their very best to them. The Elohim is the true God, the Creator of all things. Do you think you could ever offer your son to him?”
Abraham was startled. The thought had once or twice occurred to him, but he had quickly pushed it aside. To have it voiced in such a way was shocking. He looked at Urim with annoyance. “No,” he said firmly, “the Elohim has made promises to me. Isaac was given by the Elohim. He is essential if the promise is to be fulfilled.”
Urim could see that he had probed too deep and was about to annoy Abraham. He had only one more observation to make, and he blurted out the words, “As I see it, the difference between worshiping the Elohim and a god like Baal is that one can’t control the Elohim. We have no power over him, but their wooden and clay gods can be taken out in the field and beaten if they behave too badly after a sacrifice.”
Without another question he backed to the tent door and was gone. Long after Urim left, Abraham pondered the questions Urim had voiced. It was the most frightening thing he could imagine. “Sacrifice Isaac! Impossible!” Could he love Elohim if He should ask such a thing of him? His hurt would be monstrous, but nothing compared to what Sarah would experience.
A score of pictures flashed through his mind, Sarah’s delight in the little boy’s first steps, her laughte
r when he sang the tribal songs, her pride in his quick wit, and her utter and complete joy at being a mother. “No,” Abraham assured himself, “the Elohim would never ask such a thing of me.”
He went further and reasoned that he had left family and friends to wander among strangers and through alien lands in answer to the Elohim’s wishes. He had always given readily the best that he had whenever the Elohim had requested it. He even prided himself on being called by his neighbors “the friend of God.”
It was true, as Urim had pointed out, that none of these things controlled Elohim. Their relationship was not one of control but one of trust, and he had grown to trust Elohim.
He breathed a sigh of relief. The Elohim would never ask such a thing of him. He felt better. He felt a sense of relief as though some great issue had been settled. That night he sat among his men around the fire at peace with himself and his world.
If Abraham had not grown accustomed to hearing the voice of the Elohim and recognizing it, he could have excused what happened next as a trick of his imagination. As it was, the words were distinct, and the voice, one he immediately knew. There was no doubt what had been said and who had said it. He had insisted the message be repeated lest it be some trick his mind or a demon was playing on him. It was no use. The voice was gentle and compassionate, but the message tore through his mind like a thunderbolt.
It wasn’t at night or at a time when he was daydreaming or praying. It was in broad daylight with birds singing and flowers bursting with fragrance, his flocks covering the valley as far as his eye could see.
As in the past his name was called. It was personal and intimate. “Abraham,” the voice said.
Abraham recognized it immediately. “Here I am,” he said.
Everything became silent. The leaves of the small fig tree no longer moved, a brown lizard dodged back under a rock, a spider hung motionless in its web, and no birds crossed the sky. The whole world held its breath.
Abraham and Sarah Page 29