Anatah laughed. “Don’t be afraid. This is my goddess and she will see that we have whatever we desire.”
“But she is only clay,” Isaac stammered.
“Of course she is clay, but inside the clay is a being of such power that she can grant any wish.”
Isaac was astounded. His father had told him about idols but he had said they were lifeless clay or stone and had no power at all. “How,” he asked, “can she do this?”
Anatah grew serious. “So it is a jinn but it can grant wishes.”
“The jinn are evil spirits,” Isaac said, drawing back.
Anatah tossed her head and laughed. “This jinn is good and will grant whatever I ask of it,” she said.
With that she flung her arms around Isaac and kissed him, then pulling back she said in a low chanting voice, “This is the man, oh my goddess, that I must have. Grant me my wish and let no one come between us.”
For a moment she had a strange look about her eyes and then she released him. “Now you can go,” she said in her normal voice. “Your stepmother is probably looking for you. Remember we have pledged in the presence of the great earth goddess and such pledges are binding.”
* * *
All the way back to camp Isaac was silent. He rode as in a dream, but it was a disturbing dream. One minute the lovely, desirable Anatah with her tempting lips and seductive glances appeared before him and the next he was remembering the ugly idol in the garden and the ritual he had witnessed and even been a part of.
He found that something strange had happened to him. He wanted Anatah with a terrible urgency like wanting water when out in the desert and the water skins were empty. To add to his torment Anatah had whispered just before he mounted his mule ready to leave, “Now that we are pledged to each other, I can give myself to you whenever you come.”
What would his father say to such things? He feared to tell him and yet he had never held anything back from his father. He must tell him. But instead of being excited and joyful, he dreaded the encounter.
Abraham noticed as the men sat around the campfire that night that Isaac was silent and looked disturbed. Something had happened to his son and it could well have to do with the trip to Gerar. It was always in the cities that evil occurred. Even when he had drawn himself and his family away from them, they still intruded with their evil.
When the others were leaving, Abraham drew Isaac aside and invited him to come sit with him for a time. The two walked back in silence to Abraham’s tent, where an oil lamp had been left burning. This was always a favorite time of day for Isaac. Even as a small boy he had loved the evening. To sit just inside his father’s tent with the flaps up so they could see the stars was a special treat. They seemed so close, almost alive in the black curtain of the sky.
His father was always talking about the stars. Coming from Ur he knew many interesting facts about them; more than that, he always mentioned the promise. The strange promise from Elohim that his descendants could be numbered as the stars.
Eventually the moon would rise over the jagged mountains to the east, changing familiar objects into mysterious and fanciful shapes. The soft glow of the hanging oil lamp cast long shadows on the sides of the tent and across the ground coverings. It was a magical time, a time for talking and confiding, and the two had shared many such times ever since Isaac could remember. Since it was his habit to never hold anything back from his father, he now struggled to find words to tell him of the strange happenings in Gerar.
“There is a lovely young princess in Gerar,” he said finally.
“And, this princess, is she a good match for you?” Abraham asked.
“Oh yes, she loves me and has even made arrangements to give herself to me.”
Abraham’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes narrowed. His fingers pulled at the fringe on his shawl as he struggled to form a statement or word a question. “So,” he said finally, “she plans to give herself to you. Does her father approve?”
“Well, she has the approval of the goddess she worships.”
For a moment there was silence. Abraham leaned forward and opened his mouth but no words came. He stared at Isaac as though really seeing him for the first time. He had assumed so much. It had never occurred to him this child of the promise could be tempted by someone who worshiped idols.
Of course it was evident he was no longer a child. In fact he was almost forty years old and might have been married long before this if his mother had lived.
“My son,” Abraham said at last, “I have been remiss in that I have not sought out a wife for you as Sarah insisted before she died. Other sons of mine like Ishmael can marry as they please, but you are different. You are the child of promise and those who come from you will inherit the blessing.”
Isaac’s face clouded as he struggled to put his thoughts into words. “But is a woman of that much importance?” he asked finally.
Abraham understood. Often, even among his own people, it was thought that since the man ruled the family, his wife was of little importance. She was simply a means of bringing children into the world and taking care of them until they could care for themselves. He pondered this as he struggled to find words to express his own thoughts.
“My son,” he said, “all my life, starting in my old home in Ur, I have studied the stars and it is evident that there is a pattern in things, a plan behind all that we see. It is the pattern put there by Elohim, and when we fit into that pattern, things go well for us. A father and mother both guide their children and teach them the ways of Elohim. That is His plan.”
“But this princess, she’s not just beautiful, she’s everything I could want in a wife. I would be so happy with her.”
Abraham frowned. He had not imagined that it had gone so far. Something must be done quickly, but what he didn’t know. This was going to be very difficult. He realized once more that as much as he might wish for a proper wife for Isaac, he knew no one who met the requirements. He wondered what Sarah would have done. Surely she would have known how to find the ideal bride for her beloved son.
“Isaac,” he said, “it’s late and such important decisions need much thought and prayer. We must not decide this quickly.” The two sat for a while longer, discussing a hunting trip into the desert and then Isaac said good night and left for his own tent.
Abraham watched him go with an aching heart. He could see that Isaac was drawn to this woman who was so wrong for him. He saw only the glittering attraction and had no idea of the price he would pay if he married her. Marriage, he thought, is the union of two people who will bring children into the world, and so the world is changed for better or for worse with every new generation. Good children are the reward of wise marriages.
Abraham sat by the fire for a long time thinking about all that had been said, but most of all he pondered the problem of where he would find the right wife for his son.
Later that night he was unable to sleep. He rose quietly and paced back and forth, trying to piece together some solution to the problem. He bitterly regretted that he had let so much time pass since Sarah’s death without finding a wife for Isaac. Certainly a Canaanite princess who worshiped idols was in no way a proper bride for this son who was to have the blessing of Elohim as well as that of Abraham, and would claim the birthright.
Early the next morning he sent for Keturah. Abraham thought that she might have some solution to the problem. Keturah wished she could say something that would relieve his anxiety.
“It’s difficult for the lad,” she said after reviewing the events of the visit to the palace. “There’s no one in our camp who would be really suitable for Isaac.”
“It’s all the more complicated than it may have seemed at first,” Abraham confided. “He says he has found the woman who can make him happy. Her name is Anatah.”
“I saw Anatah. She is a proud beauty with a saucy manner that could be quite flattering to any young man she was attracted to.”
Abraham groaned. “Where
can we ever find a wife for him who is acceptable and who can make him forget someone like that?”
“He’ll want to go back,” she said, “and what will you say to that?”
“He must not go back. She has told him that since they have pledged themselves in front of the goddess, she will give herself to him even without her father’s permission.”
Keturah drew back and covered her mouth as though to stifle an expression of shocked disbelief. “In front of one of their images? He told you this?”
Abraham was silent. He felt embarrassment and shame that he hadn’t paid more attention to training his son in their beliefs. “It’s my fault. I assumed too much. He was the promised son. When I had to take him up on Moriah to sacrifice him, he trusted me and Elohim.”
“As I heard it from Sarah,” Keturah said, “he trusted you and you trusted Elohim. That is different. He loves you and will do anything you ask … but he knows very little of Elohim.”
“How can this be? All my life I have tried to do the will of Elohim. How can my son not know Him?”
* * *
Before the morning star blazed in the eastern sky, Abraham knew what he must do. First of all it was evident that he must send back to his own people in Haran to find a bride. A traveling merchant had brought word of Nahor’s family, saying, “By his wife, Milcah, he has eight sons and by his concubine, Reumah, he has four sons.” No mention was made of daughters, but undoubtedly there were girls in the family too.
It was true that many of his people still worshiped idols, but they did not engage in the hurtful, evil practices of the Canaanites or the Amorites. To indulge in human sacrifice or to offer young children to the fertility gods was not something his family had ever taken part in. Furthermore they were of the family of the old patriarch, Noah. They had descended from his son Shem, and it was Shem who had Noah’s special blessing.
No matter how hard it would be to carry out such a plan, it was the only choice he had. To give his son to one of those who did not have Noah’s blessing would be to somehow cheat him of what was due him. A blessing given by a man of God’s own choosing, such as Noah, was not lost or dissipated in one or two generations. It would carry down the years, bringing blessing to thousands of children yet unborn.
He wondered if he himself should go back to Haran to choose the bride. Then he thought better of it. He was no longer agile enough to travel so far. It would be better to send someone he could trust. Someone who knew just what was wanted and would be most sensitive to the bidding of Elohim. Immediately one man came to mind, Eleazar, his chief steward. He had never failed in any trust. He was also a man who listened to and knew the voice of Elohim and would not move without such guidance.
He had no doubt that Eleazar would agree to go, but far more difficult would be the persuasion of Isaac. He had trusted his father when they had climbed Mount Moriah, but would he trust his father and Elohim when it meant giving up the princess who had already captured his heart?
He hoped it wasn’t too late to find a bride for him who would blot out the memory of the princess of Gerar. This too he must put in the hands of Elohim. Only the creator God could know who was right for Isaac and lead them to her.
It was time to find such a bride.
After a sleepless night spent in prayer, Abraham walked out into the desert and sat down under an acacia tree to watch the sun come up. He felt as though a great burden had lifted. He didn’t know how it would happen, but he felt his prayers had been heard and an answer was on the way.
He walked back to camp with high expectations. As he neared the first tent, a young boy ran to meet him with the news that a messenger had come from the king of Gerar and that he was needed right away.
It was as the boy had said; the messenger carried a written parchment that was fastened with the king’s own seal. When Abraham arrived, the messenger stepped forward, broke the seal with a flourish, and read the formal message. To everyone’s surprise it announced the coming of the king’s steward. The king’s steward dealt only with the most serious business of the king’s realm and they wondered why he would be coming to visit them.
Immediately after the message was read, the young man snapped the scroll back together and dropped it into the leather case. With military precision he turned and shouted at the few retainers who had come with him. In minutes they were back on their mules headed toward Gerar in a cloud of dust.
As soon as the dust cleared there was much speculation as to what the steward’s business might involve. At first it was suggested that it probably concerned the wells and herding grounds that had become crowded. Only Eleazar suggested that it might have to do with the king’s daughter.
“Perhaps we should call Isaac and determine just what happened during his visit to the palace,” Eleazar said. “If the king believes that Isaac has chosen his daughter, this could be serious enough and important enough for the king’s steward to be sent to negotiate the terms.”
Abraham was horrified. “It’s impossible. My son can never marry a Canaanite. He’s the son of promise, the one to receive the blessing and the birthright.”
“But don’t you see,” said Eleazar, “if the king thinks his daughter wants to marry Isaac and they have reason to believe he has agreed to some relationship, it will be very difficult to back out. They will be greatly offended.”
“And,” said Abraham, tugging at his beard and wiping his brow, “if we are to live in peace with them, we must not offend them.”
“There is no offense greater than to spurn a king’s offer of his daughter.”
Both men sat silently contemplating the possibility of such a disaster. The more they thought about it, the more likely it seemed that the king was sending his chief steward on some such mission. “He wouldn’t send his chief steward to discuss the water rights or the grazing difficulties, and a mere boy could deliver an invitation to a feast,” Abraham said.
“Do you intend to ask Isaac to be with us when we receive the steward?” Eleazar asked.
“He’ll not be here. He’s ridden out with my men to Hebron to buy some special rams in the market.”
“That’s good,” Eleazar said, looking relieved. “We must deal with this first and then we can talk to Isaac. It will be better that way.”
“If the marriage of the king’s daughter is the business to be discussed, it will not come out well, no matter what we say or do. I’m afraid the lad’s heart will be broken and the king will be looking for vengeance.”
“It may not be that bad,” Eleazar said, hoping to cheer his old friend.
“I know exactly how bad it will be. I’ve dealt with such matters before, and I’ve always tried to get out of the difficulty by telling half-truths.”
“And,” said Eleazar, leaning forward with interest, “what will you do this time?”
“I intend to tell the truth. I have only Elohim to help me, and it’s hard for Him to help a man who tells half-truths.”
Eleazar toyed with the fringe on his robe and struggled to think of something encouraging to say, but in his heart he knew this situation could be both dangerous and hurtful to all of them.
News of the expected guests had reached the women, and while the men had been talking the women had been making preparations. It was a rare honor for the king’s chief steward to visit, and under other situations they would have had several days to prepare. Now they rushed around in a great flurry of activity.
Some were making sweet date cakes and others arranged dried figs and choice fat raisins on leaf-covered straw mats. They sent one of the young servants out to milk several goats and another to draw water at the well. Still others spread special floor coverings of fresh woven reeds in the main reception area of Abraham’s tent.
Just as everything was ready, one of the young goatherds ran in to say there was a cloud of dust on the horizon in the direction of the city of Gerar. Immediately Abraham rose and went to the door of his tent. He still wore the garments of Ur and spoke with t
he accent of Mesopotamia. He called for his fringed cloak of fine linen and his girdle of polished brass. A young aide anointed his beard with rose water and fastened his sandals on his feet.
The king’s chief steward arrived with all the pomp of his royal position. He had fifty retainers, forty of which were soldiers carrying shields and spears, five carrying banners, three drummers, and two trumpeters running before his chariot. Abraham sent Eleazar out to escort the steward and the king’s scribe to his tent while the retainers waited at attention in the hot afternoon sun.
When the steward was finally seated, they exchanged extensive greetings. The weather was discussed, arriving caravans noted, and finally the news of Egypt digested. As always, this gave time for each man to size up the situation.
Abraham was pleased to see that the steward drank the grape wine leisurely and lingered over the honey cakes. All this took place before the steward was even ready to begin edging toward the business he had come to discuss.
“My friend,” he said as he slowly ran his finger around the edge of the brass goblet, “you have found exceptional favor in the eyes of the king.”
Abraham nodded and waited with growing apprehension to hear what had brought this all about.
“The king has observed that you manage your business well.”
“He is kind to say such things.”
“He has even heard that you speak five languages.”
“I was a merchant for some years, and one must learn many languages in such a business.”
“It seems that at one time you were a special friend of the pharaoh of Egypt. Is that true?”
“Yes, yes, that is true.” He could tell by the man’s hesitation and sly look that he wanted to ask about Sarah’s experience with the pharaoh but didn’t dare for fear of offending him.
“You have a fine son,” he said slowly as he gave Abraham a penetrating look. “I have seen him at times in Gerar. I suppose he will marry a princess from Egypt.” Though Abraham knew it was the custom for any messenger to edge up cautiously onto the main subject of his visit, still this bantering made him uneasy. He was especially uncomfortable as the subject of marriage and his son was brought up. The steward was obviously closing in.
The Sons of Isaac Page 4
