In the very midst of the crisis, when crushed with the blackest depression, Abram had felt the presence of his God—Elohim, the God who had been nearly forgotten and few knew or worshiped.
Though Abram had seen nothing, he remembered being overwhelmed by such love and compassion that he wept for joy. Once again he felt surrounded by this same love. Such a slender thread of hope to go on. Such a strange bit of encouragement. Though he could not explain it, he knew he had been singled out and comforted. It was real, more real than the hand he held before his face, more real than the devastation all around him.
He stood up. The feeling of hopelessness had vanished. He felt vibrantly alive, and a small surge of courage began to grow. He thought first of Haran. It would be impossible to bury him, but now he knew he must go back and take the family ring that had been given to Haran. It would be a reminder of Haran and of all those from his family who had worn it in the past.
Haran still lay where Abram had left him, and the hand that bore the ring was still stretched out on the cool tiles. Abram was relieved that no one had taken it. It would have been a great loss. Abram stooped down and gently worked the ring off Haran’s lifeless finger and then, with only a moment’s hesitation, put it on his own. He was the older brother, and whether he wore the ring or not, he would be responsible for the family when his father died.
He stood up and looked around. He’d somehow have to escape the city to where his family waited for him. He didn’t know how he would go. He knew only that he must find a way.
As he peered into the darkness, he was surprised to see a figure materialize out of the shadows. When he came closer, Abram could see it was Urim, the cheese maker. “My lord,” Urim said, “if you will let me go with you, perhaps together we can find a way out.”
“What do you know?” Abram questioned.
“I know that you have been planning for some time to leave Ur. I want to go with you.”
“And your family?”
Urim’s teeth flashed white in the moonlight as he said with a smile, “My wife and children are already with your family and servants. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It seems everything has already been decided. How do you propose to get out?”
“I have no plan. It looks impossible. From what I’ve seen we’ve more chance of getting speared on an Elamite javelin than escaping, but I’m ready to try.”
Abram immediately liked the man. He was glad to have someone with him. If they escaped, it would be a miracle. They moved out of the shadows and Abram got a better look at Urim. The man was obviously no scholar but one of those ordinary men with an abundance of common sense. If we are to escape, Abram thought, this is the man who will find a way.
Sarai had left Ur much earlier. When Abram told her they would be moving out to live in tents until the possible trouble in Ur was over, she was annoyed. When he said she must pack up everything she treasured, she was miserable. It had taken one large, cumbersome cart heavily loaded to carry her jewelry and cosmetics. Three others were filled with her ornate robes, wedding finery, exquisite woven pieces, headdresses, and footwear. Finally it took a whole string of donkeys to carry the condiments, herbs, seasonings, dried fruits, grains, and wines she used for special occasions.
She had not known that Abram was not riding with them until they were at the gate ready to leave. She was terribly upset. She would never forget the last poignant moments.
It had been dark, and though she couldn’t see the marble fountain, she could hear its soft splashing on the hard granite curb. She breathed deeply of the pungent odor of the tuberoses, heard the nesting stork stir and flap its wings, and rubbed her hand over the heavy worn boards of the gate that opened out into the lane.
She reached out for Abram and clung to him, begging him to stay with her. He joked and humored her, trying to reassure her that she would be back within a few days. “It’s just a feeling I’ve had. I may be wrong, but I don’t want to take a chance,” he said. She knew it was more serious than he wanted to admit, and Sarai intuited that she would never see her lovely old home again.
When they paused outside the city to look back at the Hill of Heaven, Sarai again had misgivings. On the flat plain the man-made mountain rose huge and dark within the city walls, but the temple at the top had already caught the first rays of the morning sun. She knew the priests would be mounting the steps, and the high priest would be sprinkling drops of clear water in all four directions to purify the city.
Sarai shuddered. As much as she loved her home, the place brought back memories of the fearful ordeal she endured before she was married to Abram. She could picture all too vividly the temple of Ningal in the shadow of the ziggurat, and she would never forget what had happened to her there. She didn’t like to think of it and promptly put the memory out of her mind.
There was the whir of wings as a family of bats was visible for a moment against the lightening sky. A wild dog howled and was answered by one of their trusted sheepdogs. Then the signal was given, and they moved out onto the worn roadway that bordered the irrigation ditches.
They had heard almost nothing of what was happening back in the city until Terah and Nahor had ridden in with their report of the Elamite attack and their own narrow escape. Sarai could tell by the fear in Nahor’s eyes, and the way his mouth twitched when he tried to tell of all they had seen, that something unspeakably terrible had happened. “It’s thanks to Abram we haven’t all been killed or captured,” Terah insisted.
“And where is Abram?” Sarai asked with alarm.
“And where’s my father?” Milcah demanded of her husband, Nahor.
Lot and Iscah pushed forward to face their uncle and grandfather. “Yes,” they demanded, “where is our father?”
Nahor glanced at Terah, who stiffened and glared at them all. His face was ashen. Though he was exhausted, he maintained the demeanor of authority. “Haran is somewhere in the city. We can only hope he is still alive.”
“And Abram … where is he?” Sarai pushed the two men aside and clutched her father’s arm in a frightened grip.
Terah’s agonized eyes told the story before he spoke. “Abram went to find Haran. Both may be lost to us.”
Sarai pulled back and glared at her father. “Not Abram. Nothing will happen to Abram. He’ll think of something.” Her voice was confident, but they could tell by the way she clutched her shoulder scarf and tossed her head defiantly that she was really frightened.
When night came and there was no news, the anxiety grew. Most of the family gathered around Terah as if needing his strength to face whatever might be in store for them. Sarai stayed in her tent, unwilling to let the others see her mounting fear and anxiety. She sat by a fire of nettles and aimlessly poked small sticks into the fire to keep the coals burning, her thoughts on Abram.
It had never occurred to her that anything really bad could happen to him. She realized with growing panic that she couldn’t even imagine life without him. He was always able to make things come out right. He was fearless.
She remembered with a shiver of delight how he had dared to rescue her from Ningal’s sacrifice. Then how he had smashed the idols and even dared to challenge the gods of the moon.
She would never forget how Abram had risked everything for her sake. Her father’s concubine, her brothers Nahor and Haran, and even her father thought she should do as the maidens of Ur and sacrifice to the goddess. She remembered how her father’s concubine had whispered, “They say that if you don’t go, you will be cursed. No child will grow in your womb.”
Even after all these years, she had not borne a child, and she was haunted by the priestess’s curse. She had never been allowed to forget the curse for a moment because the people of Ur were always asking her why she had not made peace with the goddess so she could have a child. In that way they continued to taunt her. She knew they whispered that her barrenness had resulted from her refusal to honor the great earth goddess Ningal and her daughter Inanna.
/> With a conscious effort she pushed the fearful memories from her mind. She was concerned about her husband, not about the past. She moved out of the tent into the bright moonlight. Nervous and impatient, she wanted to be where she could see the road more clearly.
It was impossible for the God Abram trusted to save him. Nanna ruled in Ur, and Nanna was a jealous god who allowed no other gods. If Abram escaped, it would have to be by his own wits. His God didn’t have much power, didn’t control anything of practical, everyday worth. She had tested him. She had asked for a child, and nothing had happened.
From where she stood she could see a stirring by the campfire. Then Lot and his brother Iscah stood up and looked down the road. Sarai strained to see what, if anything, they could be seeing. Gradually two figures, riding hard, emerged out of the mist that hung low over the river. Identifying them was impossible. Sarai clutched the tent pole and bowed her head on her hands. She couldn’t bear to look. They must be messengers with bad news.
Lot began to run as soon as he recognized his uncle as one of the riders. “Abram!” he shouted. Sarai lifted her head and saw that it was indeed Abram. He was barely recognizable. His clothes were torn and bloodstained; his face was dust-blown and streaked. In his belt he carried a sword that was covered with dry, caked blood. Only his eyes were familiar, but they had lost their sparkle and looked out at the world with a new seriousness. Before she could move he had jumped from his mule and hurried past Lot and Iscah to sweep her up in his arms.
She felt his arms tighten around her, and at the same time she felt a hard, cold object press into her side. Her hand reached for his and she realized he was wearing the ring. Haran’s ring. She buried her head in his shoulder and wept.
Only after Abram was sure Sarai was all right did he agree to answer questions. He explained that the cheese maker had known of a sheep gate where animals were brought for sacrifice, and it led out of the city. They had managed to escape through the gate and found two mules tethered just outside. They had not hesitated to claim the mules, knowing their owners were probably dead.
Reluctantly he told them of his search for Haran. But long before he was able to tell of his death, Milcah began to scream. She tore her hair, scratched her face until it bled, and pleaded over and over to be allowed to go back to Ur. “I won’t leave him to the vultures,” she wailed. “I won’t let the Elamites humiliate my father.”
All the while both Lot and Iscah blamed themselves for not forcing their father to leave the city. “We should have known. It was obvious the Elamites were bent on destroying Ur.”
Everyone was so upset by the news that no one took time to correct the brothers. No one reminded them of how difficult it had been to get them to leave. In the end they realized that no amount of grieving would bring Haran back, and two days later they sadly gathered up their things, ready to move on.
As usual, Sarai challenged Abram with questions. “Why,” she asked, “if your Elohim is so powerful could he not destroy the Elamites and save Haran? That would have convinced everyone that he was the strongest God. Everyone would have believed in Him.” She tossed her head and gave Abram a searching look.
Terah had traveled the trade routes since his youth, so he directed where they were to go now. There was no time to lose, no time for grief. In profound silence they headed up the well-known northbound route.
Within a fortnight they had covered the barren wasteland of Sumer and were edging around the affluent kingdom of Mari. A fortnight later they arrived at the confluence of the Euphrates and the Balikh. There they turned north and after a week had arrived at the city of Haran.
Terah was not well. At Haran the family determined that he was too tired and feeble to go on. They left their animals with caretakers in the grazing lands outside the city, then hurriedly crowded into whatever lodging was available. Abram and his family moved into an old stone fortress abandoned by a brigand who had become wealthy robbing caravans.
Bit by bit news of the destruction of Ur reached them. The Elamites had taken the king, Ibbi-Suen, into captivity, destroyed the lovely fountains and the intricate irrigation system, burned the almond trees, decimated the places of learning, and thrown out the clay tablets that recorded Ur’s splendid history. Gradually they accepted that Ur, the only city they had called home, was gone. With that realization, as well as grief for his son Haran and worry over what was to happen to his family, Terah became seriously ill. In a short time he died, and with his death new and fearful decisions had to be made.
“I hear Abram’s planning on leaving Haran,” Urim’s wife, Safra, said as her husband came into the courtyard with his cart and unsold cheeses. “He must be going back to Ur.”
Urim was immediately interested. “He can’t go back to Ur. They say the Elamites have totally destroyed it.”
“Then where’s he going?”
“They say he’s breaking up the family. Nahor is terribly upset about it. He also accuses Abram of not honoring the old family gods.”
Safra looked doubtful, “I know Terah made a show of worshiping Nanna. Even brought some fancy idols with him from Ur.”
“You’re right, but Abram’s against those gods … even the family gods.”
Safra was squatting in the middle of the courtyard, plucking the feathers from several pigeons they would eat that evening. She squinted into the bright sunlight as she glanced up. “It’s strange,” she said, “very strange. And hard to believe.” Her words hung between them like vultures while she studied his face.
“Strange? What do you mean? What have you heard?”
“Lot’s wife says Abram’s been told to leave Haran and he’s been promised land and blessings.”
Urim shrugged. “Fortune-tellers say such things.”
“It wasn’t a fortune-teller.” She looked up and saw that her little serving girl was listening. She motioned for Urim to bend down so she could whisper, “It’s his God, the Elohim he worships. He’s the one they say told him.”
Urim drew back and stared at his wife in disbelief. “That’s just women’s talk. That’s all.”
“That’s not all,” she said. “He’s to have descendants as the stars.” She looked up in time to see the amused expression on Urim’s face. She shrugged and went back to plucking one of the birds. “Well,” she added, “that’s what they say.”
Urim strutted around the courtyard, his eyes half closed in thought. After walking back and forth several times, he came over to his wife and demanded, “To be given land and descendants? What kind of foolishness is this? Where would he go? His family is here. No one gives anybody land, and as for descendants … he doesn’t even have one child.”
“I know. That’s what we all thought. That’s what’s so strange.”
Urim stood in the middle of the courtyard, feet wide apart, mind calculating as he rubbed his chin. “Well, I’ll tell you what I think. I think all this trouble has left him a bit addled. At least we must admit he’s gone to dreaming.” With that pronouncement, Urim started toward the door leading out of the courtyard, then turned back. “And Abram’s wife … what does that fancy wife of his think?”
“She’s spunky.” Safra held the pigeon suspended in midair as she carefully examined it. “She says she’s not going.”
Urim laughed as he snatched up the water jug, drank from the spout, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “That should be interesting. I’ve heard she always gets her way.”
Safra dropped the pigeon in the stone pot and looked up. “We’re all waiting to see what happens.”
Urim watched her pick up the second pigeon and begin to idly pluck the feathers. “And Nahor, his brother Nahor, is he going too?”
“No, Nahor thinks he’s making a big mistake.”
“Who told you all this?”
Safra hesitated as though not wanting to trust him with the information. Then thinking better of it, she said, “Nahor’s wife, Milcah. She’s never gotten over her father’s death.”
Urim again picked up the jug and tipped it ready to drink. “So Nahor’s not going. That’s serious. Abram’s breaking up the family.”
Safra seemed not to hear him. “I wish I were going someplace,” she said wistfully.
Urim set the jug down so hard that it almost cracked. “That’s the trouble with men like Abram. They make people discontent with where they are and what they’re doing.” Then he muttered, “Myself included.”
At that very moment Lot was making his way with his uncle Nahor to the house of Abram. Lot knew that Nahor was alarmed. He had been upset for a long time, but now everything was coming to a head.
As the older brother, for Abram to leave and split up the family was unthinkable. As a little boy, Lot had often heard Terah say, “Families have to stick together to succeed.” Everyone seemed to know that.
Another steadfast rule was to never leave the graves of your people. Terah had died and was buried here in Haran, and that meant the family should stay in this place. Lot could see that the confrontation would be bitter. He viewed it as ominous but exciting. He didn’t know which side he would take. To stay with Nahor in Haran was safe, but with Abram, life would always be an adventure.
Although Lot admired and respected Abram, Nahor fascinated him. He could see in the pursing of the lips and slight squinting of the eyes just a hint of the crafty, sly nature Nahor was reputed to have. Nahor was unequaled at making a bargain, but openly admitted being void of the integrity and rectitude of Abram. He counted it an advantage that some of their customers tended to steer clear of him and asked to deal with Abram instead. “As a family we complement each other,” he would say with a smirk and slight nod of the head.
Lot suspected that the furor over Sarai’s rescue and then the destruction of the idols, rather than his uncle Haran’s death or the invasion by the Elamites, hastened Terah’s death. It was whispered among those who knew the family well that after these scandals, Terah never regained his strength. In time, Abram no longer mentioned the unfortunate confrontations, and everyone in the family agreed that the episodes should be forgotten as soon as possible.
Abraham and Sarah Page 5
