Abraham and Sarah
Authors: Roberta Kells Dorr
© 1995, 2014 by
ROBERTA KELLS DORR
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Edited by Barbara A. Lilland
Interior design: Ragont Design
Cover design: Brand Navigation, LLC
Cover images: man © Fotolia/magann; man’s eyes © iStockphoto LP/Kemter; Horizontal Bar Pattern © iStockphoto LP/naeinabil; woman © iStockphoto LP/master2; Desert scene © iStockphoto LP/adamkaz; Red Head Scarf © Big Stock/belinda-bw
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Dorr, Roberta Kells.
[Abraham & Sarah, the long journey]
Abraham and Sarah / Roberta Kells Dorr.
pages cm
Originially published: Nashville, Tenn. ; Moorings, 1995 as Abraham & Sarah, the long journey.
Summary: “A splendid exploration of faith against great odds and love that endures years of disappointment. Abraham and Sarah is a masterful historical drama from the moment that Abraham strides into the pagan temple to rescue Sarah. The couple set out in search of the blessings God had promised: abundant fertile land and decedents more plentiful than the stars. But years of wandering bring the couple to Egypt where once again Abraham convinces Sarah that as sister and brother surely they will pass safely through the territory. But Pharaoh takes Sarah into his harem where she befriends Pharaoh’s daughter, Hagar. Together the three are ordered to leave. Years of barrenness have embittered Sarah and she hatches a plan: Hagar must become the vessel for the child God has promised. Ishmael is born to Hagar and so is jealousy born in Sarah’s heart. But God had a plan and He was right all along. This miracle unfolds with historical authenticity leaving the reader with a better understanding of the ancient world and the life-changing faith of Abraham and Sarah”-- Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-0-8024-0957-7 (pbk.)
1. Abraham (Biblical patriarch)—Fiction. 2. Sarah (Biblical matriarch)—Fiction. 3. Bible. Old Testament—History of Biblical events—Fiction. 4. Brothers and sisters—History—Fiction. 5. Religious fiction. I. Title.
PS3554.O694A64 2014
813’.54--dc23
2013041485
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Contents
Excerpt from
David and Bathsheba
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Obedience is the fruit of faith; patience is the bloom on the fruit.
—Christina Rossetti
N
ahor cursed and spat. “It’s just one night in the temple of the goddess. That’s not going to hurt her saucy arrogance as far as I can see.” He stood with his brother Haran on the river landing. It was before sunrise, and the mist rose around them, making it difficult to spot the barge as it pulled away. The brothers had just tallied a shipment of copper and diorite that was to be sent on to Dilmun in the gulf. The great city wall of Ur rose behind them in the darkness. The door leading back into their family warehouse remained open, giving the only light.
Haran didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t eager to face their father with the unwelcome news. He pushed his round felt hat back on his head, leaned against the railing, and pondered the dilemma. The water lapped softly against the steps leading down to the river. The odor of brine and rotting wood filled their nostrils. Somewhere in a distant courtyard a cock crowed, signaling the approaching dawn. At sunrise they had agreed to meet their father.
“The rites are cruel and you know it. You just don’t want to face it,” Haran said without looking up.
“Every virgin in the city has gone through this ritual, so why not our sister?”
“I’ll tell you why,” said Haran, whirling around to face Nahor. “Neither our father nor Abram will allow it.”
“Abram isn’t here and our father can be convinced.” Nahor spoke with smug assurance. “Once he hears that the temple priests will buy no more idols from his shop, he’ll have to give in.”
Haran walked down a few steps and knelt to wash his hands in the swiftly flowing water. He lingered a moment. “The fresh water from the Zagros Mountains is beginning to flow,” he said. “I can almost feel it pushing the briny water back into the gulf.”
“Already?” Nahor lunged down the steps, pulled up the skirt of his robe,
and squatted beside his brother. He held his hand in the river and smiled. “It’s only been two days since the sacred rites were held on top of the ziggurat; just imagine, spring is already on its way.”
“You believe all of that?”
“Why not?” Nahor said. “There’s some kind of power there. A mystery man and the priestess coming together in a sacred marriage, and it seems to happen every time.”
“But the mystery man disappears. I suspect he’s sacrificed to the goddess in place of the king. At least that’s what’s whispered.”
“But spring comes. There’s fresh water to fill the irrigation ditches. The fields turn green and are filled with flowers.” Nahor stood, lifted his fringed skirt, and wiped his hands. “The sun’s up. It’s time to go talk to our father.”
Haran frowned as he walked slowly to the top of the stairs. “It’s a miserable business. Our father dotes on her. Her mother’s death almost killed him.”
“He spoils her and you know it.” Nahor stood at the bottom of the stairs, his dripping hands held out to his sides. He had never liked the new wife old Terah had taken after his own mother died. For no reason he could explain, her daughter, Sarai, was a constant irritation to him. He sneezed, rubbed his hands impatiently on his robe, and mounted the stairs. “Our mother gave him three healthy sons, and as far as I know, Father never grieved for her.”
“Come now,” chided Haran. “None of this is our sister’s fault.”
“If she doesn’t make the sacrifice, it’ll be her fault. We’ll not only lose business, but the people of Ur will have nothing to do with us.”
“I understand,” said Haran. “I agree with you. It’s just that I see the difficulty with our father and with Abram.”
“I always say, if we’re going to live in Ur, we have to do as the people here do. There’s no other way.”
The two brothers stood silently watching the sky slowly brighten as the mist lifted and vanished. They could see flecks of light touch clumps of palms on the far side of the river. Behind them, the night watchman whistled as he made his way along the top of the wall, no doubt heading home. The stork that had a nest at the corner of the wall stretched her wings and landed on the platform beside them. The brothers looked at each other and Nahor nodded. It was time to inform their father of their decision.
Nahor and Haran met their father as arranged in the reception room of the old warehouse. The room was plain, even austere, and had the odor of
dried thyme and crushed coriander. The walls were thin, being made of sun-dried mud bricks and plastered over with mud, dung, and straw. The sagging shutters stood open as did the worn wooden door—a futile attempt to catch a little warmth from the sun. Large flies clustered around these openings and kept up a steady buzzing.
Terah was sitting cross-legged on a slightly raised dais covered with several sheepskins, his gnarled hands hovering over the leaping flame of the brazier to get them warm. He wore a motley assortment of layers, all stained and patched. The purple cloth he had wrapped around his head also served as a wrapping for his neck. His eyes were hooded and his nose an astonishing size, seeming to jut out from under the white tangle of eyebrows.
When Nahor and Haran stood before him, Terah spoke. His words shot out with a rare fierceness as he explained that as long as he had only sons there had been no problem. Now with his daughter, the very flower of his heart, he was being pressed into an impossible decision. “For Sarai,” he said, “the rites would be cruel and terrifying.”
When Terah stopped speaking, he motioned for his sons to sit down. They quickly obeyed and glanced at each other, not quite knowing how to begin. Finally Nahor spoke. “Our business is flourishing. We’d be foolish to let anything stand in our way.” He looked from his father to Haran, challenging them to disagree. “I just hired some new artists who are clever with clay. We are in line for big profits,” Nahor pressed on.
“Well,” Haran fumed impatiently, “I can tell you right now Sarai won’t go along with this if she knows what’s going to happen.”
Terah coughed and cleared his throat. His sons were immediately attentive, waiting for his opinion. They could tell by the set of his jaw, the way his eyes challenged them, and how his hands clasped and unclasped his measuring stick, that he was more upset than he had ever been in the past. “I know. I know very well the problem.”
Haran fidgeted and frowned. “Up to the present we have been loyal subjects. My daughter Milcah would have taken part in the mysteries if Nahor hadn’t married her.”
Nahor raised his hand and interrupted. “It comes down to this. If we refuse, we can’t expect the idols we make to be blessed by the goddess. If they aren’t blessed, who will buy them?”
Terah’s face clouded. “That’s just the problem. The high priestess is standing
firm on her decision. No family who refuses to make the sacrifices can continue to make idols.”
“She has forgotten,” Haran interjected, “we are not Sumerians, or black-headed ones, as they call themselves.”
“That adds to our difficulty,” Nahor said. “We’re not part of them. If we want to be accepted, we must honor their customs.”
Terah was impatiently jabbing at the hot coals in the brazier. “Such a strange custom. Why do they insist on it?”
Nahor hesitated, and when he spoke, there was a tone of awe in his voice. “They say it gives strength to the goddess. They swear that if a young virgin doesn’t submit to the mysteries, she’ll never bear children.”
Terah was visibly shaken. He had forgotten this aspect of the rituals. “Then …” he said, “even though my daughter is beautiful …”
“Exactly. No Sumerian would marry her. They would have nothing to do with her, fearing she was cursed.”
Terah’s shoulders sagged and he dabbed at his eyes. “Now you see,” he said, “it isn’t simple. Not simple at all.”
Nahor saw his father was weakening, and he jumped in to make the final point. “If we don’t have Sarai there for the ceremony tonight, we’ll lose the temple’s business, and Sarai will never marry or have children.”
“Then,” Terah said, looking intently at Nahor, “you believe what they say?”