The Sons of Isaac (22 page)

While they sat too stunned to question the vision, Isaac told them that Abimelech, king of Gerar, had also urged them to stay. “He is very friendly,” he said. “Even he says we can trade with them as long as the food lasts.”

In this way Isaac’s family gave up all thought of moving down to Egypt. Reluctantly Rebekah unpacked her things and started to make the large fortress next to the palace into a home.

The balcony that jutted out on the side of the king’s palace was a delightful place. There had once been a grapevine that twined up and over, forming a shaded area. Now the vine was leafless and dry but offered strong limbs on which to hang her cages of pigeons. The herbs she used for cooking were soon growing in the clay pots, which could be easily watered. She had basil, cumin, coriander, and mint. With these herbs she could make many different dishes of the meat that was still plentiful.

It soon became quite evident that even the king and his family had begun to suffer from the famine. Instead of the lavish feasts that had been held in the past, now there were only a few dates served on dry reed mats, and the last of their store of wine was carefully portioned out.

The king’s sister Anatah still held afternoon parties for her friends, and the women of Isaac’s family were always invited. The entertainment was usually gossip, village dancers, or sorting through the merchandise of traders from Egypt who brought jewelry, cloth, perfumes, and scarce herbs.

On one of these occasions, Abimelech had arranged with his sister to sit behind a curtain where he could see the women of Isaac’s family. “I have heard that even his serving women are doe-eyed and shapely,” he confided to his vizier. “His sister is reported to be a great beauty.” His eyes narrowed and he pulled at his short beard as a lustful grin played across his face. “I need a distraction right now. This woman may be just what I need.”

When the time came for the visit, Abimelech could not take his eyes from Rebekah. “She is the sister I have heard about,” he whispered, “and indeed she is all that I’ve been told. I’ll have my chief steward speak to Isaac at once.”

When Anatah heard what he wanted, and was given the description of the woman, she was appalled. “The woman you are so interested in is not his sister but his wife,” she insisted.

“Impossible,” her brother stormed. “I have carefully investigated and my friend Isaac says she is his sister.”

Anatah was not to be outdone. She had spent several hours every day on the palace roof hidden behind a screen where she could watch what went on in the apartments of Isaac and his immediate family. What she saw both intrigued and angered her. Their balcony was wide with a couch, large storage jars, a loom, and several reedy cages for pigeons. Off to one side was a fire pot, which was always lit in the early afternoon by a serving girl. Soon after this, a woman she knew as Rebekah, Isaac’s wife, would come with a tray, squat beside the pot, and make what looked like a delicious stew.

Even from her vantage point, Anatah could smell the tantalizing aroma. It was obvious Rebekah was making the most of what she could still find as the famine had undoubtedly hampered her usual procedure. There was no bread and no small grains in this mixture. All this interested the princess, but what followed made her resentful and angry.

Isaac, still handsome and virile, would appear and come striding through the curtained doorway, calling out some cheery greeting. Rebekah would jump up, push her hair back from her face, and, laughing, run to him. Sometimes she flung herself into his arms and, pulling his face down to her, would kiss him enthusiastically.

Other times they seemed to play a game where she flirted brazenly and he pretended not to notice; he even went to investigate the steaming pot. All the time it was evident to Anatah that he was very aware of Rebekah and was enjoying her attention. It always ended with both of them tumbling together with laughter and frenzied excitement on the couch. Only after a time, when they lay exhausted and spent, did she rise and ladle some of the fragrant mixture from the pot into a bowl and bring it to him.

He never took his eyes from her as he ate. He listened and nodded, sometimes laughed, and even examined some new piece of jewelry or apparel. It was at this point Anatah turned away; she had seen enough and she was desperately jealous. She had never had a man really notice her as a person. Though she had practiced every ploy in the art of seduction that she had learned in the temple of the goddess, she had received only jewelry for her efforts. With her husband there had been children, including three tall, handsome sons, but never anything really caring and personal.

When her brother refused to believe this was indeed Isaac’s wife, she determined to prove it to him. She would bring him to this rooftop, or, better still, to a window in his own apartments and let him see for himself.

The plan succeeded far beyond her imagining, and she could not have been more pleased. Her brother was at first incredulous, then amazed, and finally angry. “This Isaac has dealt deceitfully,” he muttered. “He could have made me look foolish. He has obviously been willing to risk someone lying with his wife and having to be stoned for the offense.”

“My brother,” Anatah said after she had enjoyed his ranting sufficiently, “it’s no more than his father, Abraham, managed with your father. You should have been more cautious.”

“It’s true! His father did deceive us in the same way.” Abimelech frowned and sat down among the cushions of his couch. Taking off his crown he absentmindedly sat, turning it in his hands as he thought. The crown had been worn by his father, and as he looked down at it, he thought bitterly of how both his father and he himself had been deceived by this family. With a sudden swift movement, he put the crown back on his head and adjusted it so that it felt comfortable. He stood up and glared at Anatah. “I will see this so-called friend of mine and have it out once and for all. I’ll not punish him openly, but I’ll see that many difficulties are placed in his path.” As he left the room he muttered to himself, “Why should the gods give two such beautiful women to one family?”

Anatah, hearing him, turned away. “They don’t even worship the goddess,” she said, frowning. She was still in love with Isaac, and it made her furious that he had been able to find such a beauty and have two handsome sons without once acknowledging the goddess. She had been taught that such people would be cursed with barrenness, their land lie fallow, and their animals give no milk. She believed that only the goddess could control the vital, life-giving force. Only she could bless a woman with children, flocks with young, and make dead, brown seeds spring to life.

*  *  *

In the days that followed Isaac worked with his men to combat the formidable creeping blight of the famine. “We must dig ditches and raise water from the wells to fill them. In this way we can sow the seed that we have and be assured of a harvest even without the rain,” he said. “When the land has water, things will grow.”

Every day his men rode out and kept the water flowing in the irrigation ditches. Gradually they saw the seeds they had planted sprout and miraculously begin to grow. They hardly noticed that the king’s men rode out to see what was happening. They had mixed opinions. To some it was miraculous, but to most of them it was unnatural and against their religion. Only the gods could send rain, and to trick them by getting water from the ground was dangerous.

Abimelech paid little attention to their reports. He could not believe the work of mere men could defeat a famine that had obviously been sent by the gods. “Come see for yourself,” his men challenged, but he had other things to do. So it came as a great surprise when it was reported that Isaac and his men had reaped a hundredfold harvest and were willing to sell grain in the markets of Gerar.

He still held a grudge against Isaac for deceiving him, and he had expected him to have nothing but evil fortune. Now to find that he had succeeded in producing an abundant harvest in the midst of a famine was an outrage. Furthermore, when it was reported to the king that Isaac had given credit to his God, saying, “It is Elohim, known also as El Shaddai, who has caused me to be blessed,” he was furious.

“It is an open affront to our gods. Anat and Baal will not forgive such a challenge to their power,” the people began to whisper among themselves. Then the king called a conference with his advisers and finally with the priestesses in the temple of Anat, and they all agreed that something must be done.

They first secretly told the people to refuse to buy the grain Isaac’s men had grown, but the people were too hungry to listen. Even in the king’s household, when Egyptian grain ran out, his servants bought the despised grain from Isaac’s men. “He has gotten too strong for us,” the king lamented. “With his wells and grain, fat cattle, and ready water, he may as well be king.”

With that thought, a conspiracy grew labeling Isaac an enemy of the gods and goddess of their people. “He has grown wealthy with his wells and water,” the people said. “He has benefited from the drought. Worst of all, he has given the credit to his God.”

Abimelech was ready to listen to the advice of his sister Anatah. “It is useless to punish Isaac,” she said. “The problem is bigger than his wells and the harvest. We must show that our gods are stronger than his.”

“How do we do that?” the king asked.

“We must entreat the goddess and Baal to bring rain. Surely they will want to triumph over this alien God.”

“He is not totally unknown to us,” Abimelech said. “We have in the past worshiped El.”

“But He did nothing for us,” Anatah said, frowning. “He may have created things, but He doesn’t control them. It is Anat and Baal that have always responded to our prayers and gifts.”

In the end it was decided to defeat Isaac’s plans by stopping up the wells that had been dug by his father, Abraham, and were the source of his success. The counselor who thought of this solution was honored by the king and given the high position of the “king’s friend.”

It did not take long for Abimelech’s men to ride out and with shouting and singing fill the wells with sand and stones so it would be almost impossible to reclaim them. They trampled down the irrigation ditches and crushed out the newly sprouting growth and then rode off in triumph to tell the king.

Isaac’s men had watched with horror and anguish. It was not easy to dig a well in this land where the soil was dry and unyielding. They could not understand what was happening. Why would people suffering from famine destroy the only source of relief? They had wanted to fight, but Isaac held them back. “Let them go; we wouldn’t win that way. They would still stop up the wells and some of our men would be killed.”

To everyone’s amazement Isaac refused to be discouraged. He had wisely hoarded some grain for seed so that when given another chance, he would have something to plant. No matter how Rebekah begged for even a handful of grain to make bread, he would not relent. “This grain is still going to keep us alive and bring us great prosperity,” he said.

When his sons asked what he meant, he explained, “When we again have water and can open the channels to irrigate, we will plant this grain and for each kernel planted we will reap a hundredfold.”

“And,” said Jacob, “they will give us of their riches in exchange. Everyone has to eat to live.”

Isaac smiled. “While they are pleading with their goddess for relief from the famine, we will be busy using the gifts Elohim has given us to actually accomplish it.”

*  *  *

While Isaac rode out into the desert each day with his men and worked long hours in the sweltering sun to unstop the wells, the people of Gerar were totally caught up in a frenzy of a different sort. They hoped to bring back prosperity and stop the famine by placating the goddess Anat. “She has the power,” they said, “to send the rain and make the land blossom again.”

Her priestesses dressed faithfully in their ornate robes and sang and danced before her image in the temple courtyard. They poured precious oil on the altar before her shrine and encouraged the people to sacrifice some treasured ornament or a perfect animal to show their love and devotion to her. “When she sees that we trust her and love her enough to offer our best to her, then she will bless us. Our vats will be filled with oil and our granaries will burst with wheat and barley, our cattle will give birth to perfect young, and our grapes will hang in thick clusters,” they repeated over and over to reassure themselves.

When the famine grew worse, the high priestess went into seclusion before the goddess. The temple was not large, but it had a courtyard paved in worn, irregular stones. Off to one side was a well with a carob tree shading its dark depths. The temple was of chiseled stone with a long, red curtain that covered the doorway and hid the altar that lay before the niche where the statue of the goddess stood.

Now while the drums rolled their dirge and the shofars blared their alarm, the priestess stayed hovering over the latest sacrifice. She chanted and circled the altar, flinging incense and special dust that made the fire burn with an unnatural green glow. All this time the people of the city stood crowded together in the courtyard, peered eagerly over the wall, or pushed and squeezed in at the gate. They were anxiously waiting for any word of encouragement.

When she finally came out and stood before them, she spoke in a strong, vibrant voice and her words hung on the air with the terrible atmosphere of doom. “The goddess has spoken,” she said. “We have not given our best, she says. Only the best sacrificed on her altar will move her to have compassion on us. Are you ready? Will you sacrifice your greatest treasure?”

“We will. We will.” The shout rang out as the people fell to their knees and wept with the awesome challenge. They buried their heads in their hands and rocked back and forth as each imagined sacrificing some prized possession. They loved the joy of surrender to this great cause. They shuddered as they hoped it would be their secret treasure the goddess would choose. What renown and honor would be theirs if some sacrifice on their part would bring about relief from the famine?