“Elisha. It is not a girl.”
How can it be? The children must think I am crazy. “My mistake. Promise this hurting each other will never happen again.” They nod.
I walk back across the field baffled. Not a girl. With each unsteady handful of lentils and barley I place back in my apron, the chant pounds in my head. My whole body is wobbling. I drop the few vegetables I pick up. Why do I keep going to the children? That little boy looks nothing like me. A picture forms and I close my eyes.
I am in the middle of a circle. The children close in on me. My arms are raised to protect my head and face. They are beating me with sharp rocks. They shriek and the na, na chant is in my ears. Their fists fly over my stomach and head, trying to reach my face. I cry. They hit me with their hands, then with fallen branches from a tree. I squeal with pain, afraid they will not stop until they kill me. A woman comes to my rescue.
I never told anyone. I forgot. But I remember now. Being overpowered. Sure I would not survive. That was why I was afraid of my friends.
I tug at my hair trying to decide if I should chew when my cloud settles down right next to me. “That was a difficult memory. They did not treat you well as others have also done.”
I hold back tears. “Sandalphon, you came back. That is true. At times, life has not been easy.”
“Did this teach you anything?”
“Teach me? No.” He does not say a word. “I guess it should have, but I do not know what.”
“You pretend to protect yourself by not thinking things through.”
“I am too upset to think. Please help me.” Again he does not speak.
I take time gathering up my apron and collecting more food. “Did the children hear the villagers say I was evil and not wanted?” He will not answer. I must think. “I was an example of what could happen to them. That made them afraid. They decided to solve their anger and fears by beating me.”
“Excellent. There are different paths in life. One is fear, another is love. Show love for others and yourself, for living in fear is most painful.”
“Thank you for my lesson,” I call after him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The first meal is finished. “Sarai, are you ready for a question?” She nods. “I woke up to a picture of you ready to light a lamp.”
“Picture? That is strange.”
“It made me remember that in our village the smallest thing was precious. We lit oil lamps if it was too dark in the hut and on the Sabbath. I understand that you and Abram are able to have anything you need, including oil, but why do you light the lamps every night?”
The smile embraces her face. “They are a symbol of God’s light and how it shines down on us. He answers my prayers, provides me with oil, and gives me the strength to stand beside my husband through every test. It is the chance to bow my head in thanks.”
“I wish I were . . . No, I want to be as trusting as you. I am not sure God is there, and have a difficult time believing it is he who gives me what I need.”
Her hand is on my shoulder. “When you do, you will find the joy that comes with appreciating it.”
“I hear you, Sarai, and I promise to think about—do it.” I said that to please her.
The sun is not quite high and Hagar appears, dusty from her travels. We are astounded. Abram takes her to his tent and speaks to her at length, then comes to us to recount her story.
“Hagar went into the desert on the path to Shur. An angel appeared when she stopped at a spring. He decreed she must submit to her mistress. ‘Return to Sarai without fear, and I will grow your descendants so that they shall be counted for a multitude.’ Then he said her son is to be called Ishmael.” Hagar no longer spoke of the Holy Spirit. She calls her god El Roi, the Seeing God.
My heart goes out to Sarai. Hagar will have the son Sarai wants. Will they fight over the child? Hagar’s presence continues to brings chaos and disorder. She complains about discomfort from the pregnancy to any who choose to listen. It was not difficult having to do Hagar’s chores as well as mine while she was gone but having her back meant I could take care of something I want to do.
When I have time alone, I go outside. The men built an altar for Sarai, and I want one of my own. I wander around Sarai’s tent and then Abram’s. There is nothing of interest, so I move farther away. A tree branch fell in the night, and I break off a stick that resembles an arrow or a flock of birds flying. I stroll until a rock small enough to fit the palm of my hand sparkles in the sunlight. Picking it up, a carving of the sun is on its face. I carry my treasures back to the tent. I add the arrow and sun rock and stare at the new collection.
The display makes me happy, different, transformed, accepted. I understand with sharpened awareness that I do not value Sarai as I used to. She will not judge me. My shame rules me. Not sure I can speak the words, I feel more a woman of courage.
Hagar continues badgering Sarai. Abram cannot help. One evening as the preparation of food is underway, Sarai finds some peace. She helps prepare the food as she used to, and we are ready to eat. The women are calling for help. Hagar is ready to birth Ishmael. Sarai with her strength and nimbleness is faster to her tent than I am.
Hagar is squatting over the hole and breathing hard. The women gather and are on every side to support her. The birth is quick and easy. Sarai washes the baby with warm liquid and salt. The oil to soothe his skin is rubbed all over and he is wrapped in strips of swaddling. She hands the bundle to me, and I raise my eyebrows in question. She answers with a nod toward Hagar, and I put the little one to his mother’s breast.
I watch the two women. Sarai comes to Hagar’s side. “We have been blessed with a healthy baby boy.” Sarai shows no hint of anger or jealousy in her voice. At the age of eighty-six, Abram has his son. The oil lamp that burned down in celebration of the birth goes into my apron to become part of my altar. No one else wants it. We leave the new mother to care for her child.
I add Ishmael’s candle to my collection and wave the flames over my head the way Sarai does for Shabbat. It does not matter if my prayers are perfect, what matters is the intention, but I am still nervous. “Dear whoever you are, please help me to be a better person and tell me if I should be composing. My last attempt was not adequate, but as of late the urge to make up songs and sing came back. Is that what I am supposed to do? Please let me know and I am grateful for your help.”
Through the years of watching Ishmael grow up Sarai changes. Did Abram see it? She moves through her daily work like a soldier in armor, sludging through the desert sand. As if her heart was removed from her chest, and she is to blame for the happenings with Hagar. Her head hangs as if to say, The Holy Spirit will never allow me to conceive. Her light returns when she sits with the women who come for advice. When she does not feel well, she has gained enough trust to let me meet with them. Sandalphon told me that if I was a gentle speaker like Sarai the women would be more attentive. He was right.
Hagar decided she is now a prominent person and develops an unsuitable haughtiness. She wishes one and all to acknowledge her status as higher than Sarai’s. She condemns Sarai for not having a son by parading Ishmael everywhere.
Sarai returns to dullness. She fulfills her duties, but during our time alone she lets down her protection. “I do not know what to do. Abram is growing closer to Hagar. She is the mother of his child. She is back to her old ways of defaming me and urging people to think of her as his wife.”
“Can you speak to Abram?”
“Abram makes sure to listen to my complains and do not suffer too many indignities. But that is all.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Thank you, Elisha, but no there is not.”
I decide to speak up. “Sarai, I know how difficult it has been, but I see you wavering. You say you walk with your God, but there is a part which disregards him with dullness.”
“You misunderstand. God is always in my heart. I never ignore him. Inside us there is a place in
the pit of our existence meant for healing. It is the same place where we attempt to settle and reconcile our problems and resolve feelings about the people concerned.”
“I think I have been struggling to do that since I left my tribe.”
“It often takes a long time.”
I go to sleep, thinking Sarai and I are not so different. As people, all humans share some similar experiences and feelings, but I do not believe in the Holy Spirit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Everything is cleaned and put away. Abram left at dawn for Beersheba. These days he goes there oft en. There are no groups or women coming. After attending to my altar, my heart encourages me to unburden myself. Sarai is thoughtful and I am not sure of how she is feeling. My insides are curdling, but I must speak now. My body is tense, and my stomach is angry at the meal I forced into it.
I gather the courage and determination to approach her. “May I please speak with you?”
“Elisha, why so formal? Many moons passed since you asked me like that. Your face is ashen. What is wrong?”
“This is the most difficult thing to speak of.”
She takes my hand. “We have plenty of time. Shall we rest?” She pulls me to the mats.
I swallow hard. “You spoke of a healing part. In my belly, I know I am not whole. I hope that by speaking of the problem, I can be.”
“You do not have to whisper. Whenever you are ready.”
“If I do not say it now it may not happen.” Sarai remains silent. “Long ago I went to speak to Abram in Urusalim. I tried to avoid telling him everything that happened to me. He pushed me to say it out loud.” My chin shakes so hard that my words are garbled. “The son who lived in the house, he . . .” My tunic is wet with perspiration. “I was a virgin and he spoiled me forever.”
Sarai’s fingers cover her mouth. “I am so sorry, Elisha. I have appreciated for some time your sensitivity and deep-seated hurts.” Her compassion warms me.
“He went to class with me, Resheph. I am surprised I can speak his name. He would be nice, then turn mean. Young and uneducated in these affairs, I was afraid to challenge him for fear he would toss me away. My heart told me he could change, and we would be happy together. I loved him and thought he loved me. I was so wrong.”
“Elisha,” Sarai’s voice is hushed and filled with tears, “there are many ways we can be betrayed, but this is horrifying and the most unbearable.”
“It is still hard to speak that word. Under the pretense of working on one of Abram’s assignments, he reached around and held my hand. He held it so tight I could not pull away, and then he did it.”
“Dear girl, you are brave for telling me. Thank you. You hinted at this once before. Your honesty touches me. What can I do to help?”
“I do not know. Your kindness is enough for now.”
“I am here any time you wish to talk, or if you need anything else from me. Will you permit me to hold you?”
She reaches over, and I throw my arms around her. It takes time to weep away the many years of self-imposed silence.
I wake before dawn, leave the tent, and my go to my corner to enjoy the stillness. I hope to find a new song. Abram is walking from the horizon toward me. By now I know his disposition. He spoke to the Holy Spirit on his way back from Beersheba. I hurry inside to let Sarai know. She waits for him at the entrance to his tent.
I cannot hear the words that pass between them and busy myself cleaning. I am about to put the broom aside and find them coming into our tent.
“Elisha, please join us. Abram has news to share.”
His face radiates joy. I put the broom away, and we make ourselves comfortable on the mats.
“I am blessed. God spoke to me again. He declared me a prophet, and I threw myself down on my face. ‘You shall no longer be called Abram,’ he said, ‘but your name shall be Abraham. I will maintain an everlasting covenant with you and your offspring throughout the ages.’ Then he told me, ‘Such shall be the covenant you are commanded to keep. Each male among you shall be circumcised, and throughout the generations every male shall be circumcised at the age of eight suns. My covenant shall then be marked in your flesh.’”
“Abram. You will cut your foreskin? How will you suffer the pain?”
He voice is gentle. “My name is now Abraham, and the Holy Spirit will help me to counter that with my love for him. But there is more to be told.” We sit back and watch his face. “As for Sarai—” she sits up, her back straight—”God said, ‘She will be known as Sarah. I will bless her and give you a son by her.’”
“I am now Sarah.” She brings a shaking hand to her forehead. “A son by me?” She holds up her hand as if warding off any more information.
Abram shakes his head. “It is true. I laughed, and the Holy Spirit assured me, though I will be one hundred and you ninety, we shall be parents.”
They are both deep in reflection.
Abraham stands. “I will gather the men for the ceremony. Please prepare libation and water as you would for a birth.”
We gather the available jugs and heat the liquid. The new names are strange, they do not yet fit. I am curious why new names were given. I want to ask her, but the time is not right.
Many full moons passed when removing the sand at the entrance to our tent, I hear voices in the distance. I turn to see and three men are approaching. It is late, yet Abram has guests. He meets them at the Terebinth tree.
“Sarah, Abraham has visitors.”
“Visitors?” She goes near the tent flaps and looks out. “I do not know these men.”
We watch. Still young in his build at almost ninety-nine, Abraham kneels before each man and washes the visitor’s feet. Then he ushers the three into his living quarters.
He entertains them while Sarah and I hurry to prepare food and drink. A servant roasts a lamb. Sarah carries the flatbread, curds, and fig cakes we made to Abraham’s tent. I am surprised when she reappears and waits hidden in the flap listening to the conversation. She runs back to me, her face red, one hand flailing in the wind and the other covering her mouth to keep the laughter from spilling over.
“What is so funny?”
“Those men,” she has trouble getting her words out. “They said a moment ago,” she pulls me into our tent, “I am going to be with child, and he will be born within the year. It is the funniest thing I heard in a long time.”
“But Sarah, your Holy Spirit told Abraham it would be so. Do you not trust?”
“Can you imagine me with an out-sized middle? I am a shriveled old woman. It is ridiculous. What am I to think? I will speak with Abraham after the men leave.”
The three men go on their way and Sarah goes to Abraham. She returns in a few moments and is still laughing. “Abraham said he does not understand why the men said that. He also questioned how it will happen since we are both past our prime. It does not make sense.”
“Does it have to make sense if it comes from your God?”
She continues as if she did not hear me or ignores what I said. “As far as Abraham knows, the covenant is the one made near Shechem. He was quite sure that was the one. We will wait for a sign.”
Could I allow a God to run my life? But everywhere I go it is God, God, God. Sarah appears to be losing her convictions.
There were two women’s meetings, one early in the morning and another that finished a few moments ago. Sarah is tired, but peaceful in the fading warmth of the sun. I sit next to her. “Sarah, I wanted to ask a question, but the time has not been appropriate. May I ask now?”
“Thank you for your consideration. Things have been difficult. Please speak.”
“Why did your God change your names?”
“Most people think names are a thing so others know how to get your attention. They are not. A name influences the potentials of its bearer. It can change your life.”
That is why Sandalphon instructed me to call myself Elisha. “Does my given name, Galina, mean courage?”
�
��No. It means God is my salvation.”
I gasp for air and cover my mouth with the palm of my hand. If Sarah is right, her God has been taking care of me all along. That is the most ridiculous thing she could say.
Ten full moons later, Isaac is born. He is a beautiful baby and Sarah cannot stop laughing. The birth brought a joy which comes from a place deep inside. She is holding her tiny bundle and watching his every move.
“The birth made me realize that this is God’s way of showing he speaks to women as well as the men. That he speaks to each one of us if we listen.” I try to take what she said into my heart.
Abraham and Sarah are charmed by their infant and spend much time with him. I too am held captive by this miniature of Abraham. He is a new experience for all of us.
The next morning, I am outside finishing the baking and Hagar catches me by surprise. “I watch you cradle Isaac in your arms. Do you wish to be his mother? You will not, nor will you be Abraham’s wife. They belong to me. You will see. In the end I will have them both.” I dare not let Sarah know, but I pray for her.
I finish the sweeping and go to my altar. There are new questions and new reflections. How was it possible for Sarah to conceive and give birth to a child at her age? This never happened before. Did a God truly order it? If so, he is the most powerful God ever. If all this is true, how do I make amends for shoving him away? I imitate Abraham and lie down on my face as he did.
“Dear God, please do not punish me for not accepting you. As a youngster I wanted to do the opposite of my parents because they were not nice to me. I loved Eshmun because he was small and not pretty, like me. He was my only friend. When my parents turned to you there was nothing to hold in my hand, nothing to see, nothing to comfort me. Abraham and Sarah have shown me your power and the love and faith people have in you. They agree to monstrous things you ask of them and carry them out even if it means death. But I was too frightened to accept that. Though I am still afraid of what you might ask of me, and I am not sure that all comes from you, I am prepared for you to be my God. I pledge to follow you for the remainder of my life and to do as you ask. Thank you for giving me this chance. I am your servant, Elisha.
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